Screaming Rebel
The Samaritan's Dilemma - Part 1
by Douglas Kulp
(codename.doug@gmail.com)

The Samaritan's Dilemma - Part 1

He wasn't sure which was worse, the suspense, the waiting, or the shear boredom.

Ezekiel O'Cambell closed his bible and placed it on his lap. He was getting tired of trying to find passages to place his spirit at ease, there were only a hand full that he decided were relevant in this case, and he already had them committed to memory. But none of them seem to do any thing other than to remind him just how board he was.

Looking around his cell, the only thing he saw was the bench, slash bunk that he sat on, and the toilet, slash sink that faced the opposing wall. He didn't even get to enjoy the pleasures of tossing his eating utensils into the force-field. The fact that he was an ordinary old human, the fact that he was deemed a low security risk, and the fact that Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco had a much larger incarceration facility, meant that they could house in an ordinary cell closed off with steel bars. The force field bays were reserved only for beings that had the means of overcoming such a simple form of containment. As it was, the only thing he could do was sleep, and read his bible. And right now, sleep didn't seem like much of an option. He hadn't slept much for three days.

That having been said, she he placed his bible beside him, leaned back to close his eye, his fatigue still managed to silent creep up on him, and managed to sneak the horrors of nearly a year ago back into his minds eye.

Sparks were exploding all around him; he could hear the hull cracking and splintering in many places, held together only by the magnetic locking system that pulled the molecules together into chains. The deck beneath him buckled and rippled, literally twisting into an odd shape that made the gravity well difficult to navigate as he sprinted to the weapons system console.

He pushed aside the body of Lieutenant Carler, or at least what was left of her body, and tried to work the controls.

"Navigation, role to starboard forty-two degrees, try to keep our good shields facing the Yaran!" the Captain Harrison shouted at the top of his lungs, "Weapons, can we fire back?"

It was amazing, the USS Edison was splintering into peaces, and the Captain was still determined to fight on. He radiated such power and confidence that he could of sworn that you didn't need the emergency lighting. But that didn't change any thing; it just made you forget about the inevitable so you could do your duty.

"Captain, weapons are off line! Shields are failing!" Commander Ezekiel O'Cambell shouted. Just then, a new alarm sounded, one of the most frightening alarms a Starfleet officer could imagine. "Engendering reports antimatter containment is failing! Breach in

"Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship! Com, signal the Yaran our surrender!"

"Incoming photon torpedoes!"

"All hands, brace for impact!" the Captain ordered.

The Edison jolted as if it had been hit with a giant baseball bat. He could feel a substantial portion of the ship rip away through the deck.

"Captain, we lost the port warp pylon and about a quarter of the main saucer section!" Ezekiel shouted.

"My God, they are targeting the escape pods! Captain! They are targeting the escape pods! Captain!"

Ezekiel turned and saw that the captain now had a substantially sized support beam protruding through his chest.

"Commander! What are your orders?"

He felt another blast rip through the ship, with even more of the hull crumbling away. He could see the outer hull of the bridge pealing and bulging from the still remaining air pressure. They may have only seconds before the bridge was exposed to vacuum.

"Commander!"

"Commander..."

Ezekiel suddenly snapped awake. He saw two overtly large guards standing outside the bars of his cell while the jailer tended to the lock.

"...its time," the guard finished.

Ezekiel let out a long, heavy sigh. He picked up his bible and stood up so that he could be escorted back to the hearing room. As boring as his cell was, the hearing room was not going to be much of an improvement.

The hearing room was a simple square room with the Admiralty sitting behind an elevated bench place alone the north wall, with himself and his counsel against the east wall, the prosecutor on the along the west wall, and a small observation gallery placed to the south.

He was escorted in and placed in the defendant's chair. It wasn't until every one had filed in and had taken their seat that a boson rang a simple bell three, signaling every one to stand up and at attention while the five admirals walked in and took their seats.

"This court is now in session," the lead admiral said, "dose the defendant have any thing further he wishes to add before judgment is passed?"

As he was instructed, Ezekiel didn't say any thing, but instead let his counsel to the speaking for him. "Yes your Honors," he began, "I wish to remind the panel that the Commander was simply looking after his the welfare of his men. The Edison was lost; the enemy was targeting the escape pods..."

"Commander, they are targeting the escape pods! What are your orders?"

He only briefly looked around the bridge. All but a few of the bridge crew were dead. He could see the large cracks starting to crawl along the bulkhead walls. There was only one thing to do.

He turned on his console, and commanded the transporter to begin an emergency evacuation procedure that would transport him self and any survivors the sensors found down to the planet below. The computer worked quickly, calculating which batch of survivors needed to be transported first, and which batch still had a few seconds of life remaining. Apparently, the computer had placed the bridge crew to the front of the line. Even as he could feel the transporter take hold over his body, watched the cracks in the bulkhead scream as they split open, revealing the darkness of space behind them. Sparks flew every where as the force fields fought a losing battle trying to keep the life sustaining atmosphere contained. Then there was a horrific explosion. Fire blazed every as a hail of deadly shrapnel ripped through the very place where he stood, but the transporter managed to remove him from harms way. And then... silence. The fire, the sparks, the screeching hull, the alarms and klaxons, all had suddenly fallen silent.

He found himself and a few dozen others in the middle of a lightly wooded area, just after dawn, with the new sun starting to chase away the shadows. It was a darkness that was interrupted by a disturbing flash of light high above them. The Edison's anti-mater containment fields finally failed.

But would the Yaran follow them? The Yaran were still relatively primitive, it was likely that their sensors weren't sophisticated enough detect a transport beam, especially under combat situations. Still, the Yaran had a nasty habit of being under estimated. They weren't supposed to be able to take down galaxy class starship either.

Moments passed and death did not rain from above. Looking up, all he could see was the derby from the Edison starting to burn up in the atmosphere and it plummeted to earth. Finally, they started to tend to the more seriously wounded. It looked like they were safe for the moment. But as was his luck, the moment proved to be fleeting.

"Commander, I am picking up movement in the trees, a number of men," some one informed him, "I think they are armed, sir."

"Who here is armed?" Commander said as he stood up to take charge. Only one person came forward with a type I phaser.

Moments later, they came in force through the trees. There could be no doubt, it was an army. But it was an army armed only with spears, swords, and large shields. The hand phaser was more than a match for them if they decided to become hostile; at least until the hand phaser's power cell ran out of energy.

"Forward! I want them surround and contained," a sergeant ordered, "send for a lieutenant!" The men worked with precision and accuracy, quickly surrounding the group with enough spears to discourage any escape or act or resistance. Apparently, they weren't intimidated by the phaser as men with large, four way crossbows quickly moved into place to add additional coverage. Ezekiel began to wonder if it wouldn't have been better to go down with the ship.

"Instead of going down with the ship, commander, you beamed down sixty seven survivors onto a planet that was occupied by a primitive, bronze age culture, resulting in irreparable damage to their cultural and religious development," the lead admiral said, "A clear and blatant violation of the Prime Directive and well as Starfleet Regulations."

"Your honors, he had just been in a pitch battle," his counsel said, "They were targeting the escape pods. He was simply overcome by the natural drive for survival to..."

"No!" Ezekiel suddenly said as he stood up. "Sirs, I was not overcome by the moment. In the brief instant that I had to analyze the situation, I simply could justify to my self to letting my crew die for the sake of possibly 'contaminating' a culture. I also had a responsibility to warn Starfleet about the Yaran."

"That wasn't you decision to make, Commander," the lead admiral said, "You swore an oath to uphold the Prime Directive - with your life. Regardless of the fact that you and your people did your best to minimize contamination, it is called the Prime Directive for a reason. This hearing is not to discuses the validity of the Prime Directive. You have clearly and admittedly violated that directive, the highest order a Starfleet officer is expected to uphold. Do you have anything further to add?"

"No sirs," Ezekiel said, "I believe I have made myself plane."

"Very well," the lead admiral said, "You will now step forward and come to attention to receive your judgment."

Ezekiel stood up and marched as smartly as he could to the center of the court room. He then snapped to attention as ordered.

"Commander Ezekiel O'Cambell, this panel finds you guilty of violating the Prime Directive. You are hereby disbarred from accepting any command responsibility aboard any craft operating in Federation space, or any vessel to be operating under Federation registry. This includes the civilian merchant fleet. You are also expunged of your service with Starfleet, and shall be stripped of all benefits, accolades, and privileges. Bailiff, please carry out the sentences."

The bailiff stepped up to him, and then paused. With a sudden and intentional violence, he gripped his Starfleet com-badge and a substantial portion of his uniform, and ripped the whole piece out. He then held his com-badge directly in front of him so that he could see it, before opening his hand, and letting it bounce off the hard wood floor of the court room. But from the pain he felt, it could have just as easily been his heart that had just been torn out and dropped on the floor.

"Mr. Ezekiel O'Cambell, this court now stands abjured," the lead admiral said, "You are dismissed."

The bell was range three more times as the panel and observers all silently filed out. Ezekiel only continued to stand at attention in the center of the court room, lacking any further will to do any thing else. But as the courtroom became emptier and emptier, it became harder and harder for him to continue holding his head up high as standing at attention would warrant. Almost as hard as it was to keep his tears contained. Thank God he managed to have the strength to keep from weeping during is admonishment.

It was over. Every dream he had ever had or ever felt worthy of pursuit. Even his altruism, his desire to die for his country, they were all gone. He was so close to command, so close to meeting every goal he had ever set for himself, now ripped away and tossed on the floor, like something that is to be swept away with the dirt and soil. Every thing he had scarified for, the girl he loved that he turned his back on, the family he left behind, it was all for nothing. There were no dreams left.

With one final measure of insult, the lights in the court room were turned off over him, plunging him into a despair-like darkness. At first, he thought he could handle the simple ancient tradition of having his badge ripped off in disgrace. But the pain was just beginning to make itself felt.

He was tempted to kneel down and hold his badge one last time, but he knew they wouldn't let him keep it, at least not for long. He would have to turn it back over along with all of his other Starfleet trappings and uniforms before they released him from custody.

Even as the new reality began to set it, Ezekiel began to gather himself. He would find his way some how. But after a few moments, he turned and realized that he wasn't as alone in the dark courtroom as he first imagined himself. His counsel was still waiting for him.

"I'm sorry sir; it was the counsel's opinion that the enforcement of the Prime Directive has become too lax. Our recent problems with the Yaran sort of amplified that point. I am afraid that they decided to make an example out of you," he said.

"I see," Ezekiel said.

"It might please you to know that they have gone easy with the rest of your crew. They have all been returned to duty. They wanted to be here with you, but it was the opinion of the counsel that such a showing of support would contradict the Admonishment. Your men did ask me to give you this though."

With that, he took out an ornately carved box from his case, and handed it to him. Ezekiel opened it up and found a black velvet cloth that had twenty three small, polished, precious stones held in sterling silver setting. As he held it up, they looked like stars shinning.

"I am told that each birth stone represent the birthday of one life that you had saved from the USS Edison. The box is also large enough to hold your bible," he said.

Ezekiel folded and returned the cloth to the box, and then picked up his personal bible and found that it did indeed have more than enough room. It was a beautiful gesture, but why did he feel like he had been handed a headstone to mark the dead, rather than a testimonial from the survivors?

"It's very nice," Ezekiel said, "Will you tell them thank you for me?"

"Of course. I only wish I could have done more, Commander. Good luck on the outside. My dad served for fifteen years as an enlisted. He likes to tell me that there is life after Starfleet."

Ezekiel carefully snapped the box shut and looked up at him.

"I hope he is right."

Ezekiel looked at the scanner readings. He should have guessed "old slow poke" was late again. The main computer probably shut itself down again, thinking that it just had a warp core breach. Such a catastrophic event tended to cause a total crash of the onboard network.

He turned the shuttle around to begin backtracking along its registered course. This of course meant that they would be late on the other checkpoints; he would have to recompute the intercept schedule.

He pressed a single key on the display.

Ezekiel sighed; the "chore" was completed. He was half tempted to do it by hand any way. Not that he could ever best the computer's efficiency.

The shuttle changed course and began its pre-programmed search pattern, once again leaving him with nothing constructive to do.

He turned and picked up his sextant and resumed practicing his manual relativity calculations. He would find a star off in the distance, and then compare it with another star even further away. As the light from the star entered into their frame of reference, the individual wavelengths in the starlight were separated, red began to lag behind the violet. The difference in shift could be used to calculate the shift in special relativity, which in turn could tell him how fast he was going in relationship to relative time.

Still, it fascinated him to know that one could navigate a starship with almost exactly the same tools that were used to navigate the tall sailing ships that plied Earth oceans hundreds of years ago.

Just then, the door to the control room opened, and Captain Muller walked in. Actually, the term waddled would be more accurate. Muller was that rare Human who was so grossly overweight that walking meant transferring his full weight from one leg to the other. The shuttle was no more than forty feet from bow to stern and still he was exhausted by walking from one end to the other.

To be fair, one reason for his obesity had to do with the sedentary nature of the job. They would spend two months in space just roaming around checking on the progress of automated cargo freighters, with less than a hundred square feet to share between two people. Ezekiel himself had put on a few more pounds than he would have liked. And while they did have a holodeck on board to while away the hours, the corporation never spent enough money on them to keep them running, let alone to keep them safe. Most crews simply ate less, and ended up being rather thin and anemic.

But Muller also had a drinking habit, one he never bothered to conceal. The doors had no more than closed behind Muller than he had tossed an empty bottle onto the deck. Something that Ezekiel would have to pick up later, not that he complained. Picking up after the slob gave him something to do.

Muller waddled over to the only seat on the control room and squeezed himself in. Once he was comfortable, or at least once a portion of him self was held in the chair, he began checking on the ships status.

"Why did you chance course?" Muller snapped.

He sighed again.

"Freighter 2317 missed its checkpoint - again. I changed course to chase it down. The computer system probably just needs a manual reset again," Ezekiel said, "That's the third time this trip."

"That's not the point. It's not your decision to make. I am in charge here, not you," Muller said.

"You can kiss my grits, Captain," he said as he collected his manual navigation kit went to move into the next room. But a beep from the console that he wasn't familiar with changed his mind.

"What's that?" Muller said.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes into his head as he stepped back to the console. Reaching past the fat man, he ordered the computer to give him a report.

"We are being hailed by the FRS John Brown," Ezekiel said, "They are dropping out of warp and coming along side.

"Put them on screen," Muller said, "Now!"

"Yes captain," Ezekiel said. But to comply with the order, he had to move to the other side of the chair and press the 'receive visual communication' command key from the other side, again having to reach around Muller to do it.

The face of a surprisingly attractive woman appeared on the screen. All though having been out to space for this long, perhaps every woman looked attractive. She looked to be about Ezekiel's age, in her late twenties, and had long blond curls that seemed to bounce with every move of her head. But her features also carried strength and confidence with them as well. This was perhaps echoed by her ice-cream white uniform with black shoulder boards that had four bawd gold strips, the traditional rank of captain in the civilian fleet.

Captain Muller suddenly offered a leering laugh that clearly caught the female captain off guard.

"Jork'Con, that old dog of a Klingon, he sent us a hooker-ship," Muller said as he slapped Ezekiel in the gut, "He probably thinks this will make me quit bragging about soaking him for every thing he was worth at Human Poker a few months back."

This clearly flustered the female captain, but her blond curls and dove like features didn't make her anger particular menacing.

"I am CAPTAIN Jennifer Adriane, of the Federation Registered Ship, John Brown. I understand you have one Ezekiel O'Cambell aboard," she said.

"Maybe we do, maybe we don't," Muller said trying to be cryptic, "What do you want with him?"

"That be a personal mater being between him and me," a second woman with a strong Jamaican accent said from some where off screen. She stepped onto the screen next to Captain Adriane. She was a much older woman, perhaps in her mid forties. "My name is Nyesha Grace, a business woman with a business proposition, and I and asking you for permission to beam myself over so that I can have words with Mr. O'Cambell."

"And what's in it for me?" Muller said. His question caused the two girls to do a double take. Then it became clear that Adriane's patents had come to an end as she stepped off screen.

"Pilot, bring main phaser batteries on line, setting four, lock on target and fire one burst," she said from off camera.

"Muller, raise shields, now!" Ezekiel reacted. There was no way he could reach past Muller to get to the controls, and Muller himself was to slow and lethargic to even register the impending attack.

The shuttle jolted, knocking Ezekiel to the deck. He quickly got up to check the engineering panel lit up with a number of flashing alarms. Fortunately, they were only hit with a setting four, only just enough energy to sear the outer hull.

"Damage report!" Muller demanded.

"We lost sensor platform number three and four, and control nozzle four, starboard reserve oxygen supply is damaged and inaccessible, minor damage only, auxiliary systems are on line and functioning. But we lost the primary power coupling for shield systems," Ezekiel said, "Clearly, that was what they were aiming for."

"What the hell are you doing? Do you know what they will do to you for attacking another ship?" Muller shouted in a fit of rage.

"No, we didn't attack you mon, we only want your attention," Nyesha said, "Do we have your attention, captain? If we do, I will beam over and talk with your first officer. I will not be long and I will soon be on my way. If we do not have your attention, perhaps we will try writing graffiti on the side of your shuttle, perhaps something derogatory about your supervisor."

Muller tried to sneer, but it was defendant he didn't have any thing to back it up with. "You have one hour," he snapped.

"I am most grateful," Nyesha said.

"O'Cambell, man the transporter," Muller ordered. He stepped to the other side of the control room, making a point to step around the two transporter pads that had been built into the floor at the center of the control room. He gave it permission to synchronize transport with the John Brown's transporter system.

"She is coming aboard now," Ezekyel needlessly announced as a transporter pattern began to form over one of the pads. The pattern quickly took the form of a shapely woman. When the pattern ended, Nyesha Grace was standing before him. She was short, and dressed in a dark colored business suite befitting her cultural heritage. But what stood out was the fact that she had a type II phaser strapped to her hip."

"I presume you are Ezekiel O'Cambell," she said as she offered him a handshake. He took it, and found that she had an impressively strong grip.

"You found him," Ezekiel said, "What can I do for you?"

"Is there not a place were we may talk privately?" Nyesha said.

Ezekiel looked over at his shoulder, and at Muller who was practically drooling like a starving man looking at a meat display.

"I am afraid their might not be," he said, "But we can go into the other room to talk if you like." With that, he opened up his hand and invited her into the back end of the shuttle.

The straps holding his wrists together were tight enough that they were cutting off the circulation to his hands. Even as he pulled at them, there didn't seem to be much hope of him undoing them. But even if he could, he was being let through an army easily ten thousand man strong. Even in these woods, there was absolutely no chance of him escaping.

He wondered how it was that the computer beamed them down so close to an army. And given the activity of the men, and even the number of wounded that seemed to be milling around, their may be an opposing army nearby as well that the computer didn't avoid. Of course the computer was programmed to put them away from settlements. It probably didn't even consider the possibility that an army might operate some distance from a settlement, or that it would be desirable to stay away from one.

There could have been no doubt they were alien. The local's body physiology featured a larger more cyanine like jaw and a skin texture that looked like glass scales that shimmered in the daylight. A point that the soldiers were compensating for by covering their faces and exposed skin with suet or paint, presumably so that they wouldn't give there position away to the enemy. Still, the natives didn't seem all that disturbed by his Human appearance. Perhaps they had more important things on their minds.

He and another officer were being let through a tent encampment, where the quality and size of tents continued to become fancier and larger. The guards escorted them into an area that had been cordoned off by tall elevated tapestries that depicted warriors ridding bravely into battle. At the far end was a large towering throne that was made from polls and stretched leather. There was also a large map at the center was a large map made up of wood panels. At the moment, aids were collecting markers that would reveal troop positions and movements. At the far side, there were a number of fighters warring armor that was more exotic than the rest, hinting that these were the field generals. One of them waved the others away, who quickly marched past both of them to leave the enclosure, and taking their aids with them.

The remaining general walked around the map and carefully regarded both of them.

"Remove their bonds," he ordered.

"Sire, I don't think that it is wise to let the prisoners lose here," the guard behind him said.

"Thank you, man-at-arms, you will now remove their bonds," he said again.

"Yes sire," the guard said. While he undid their bonds, the general walked over to a far table and began to pour drinks.

"Tradition demands that I pour you a glass of wine to commemorate a first meeting. Especially one of this magnitude and significant," the general said as he brought them two glasses, "Unfortunately, the riggers of war do not afford me such luxuries as wine, even for the king." With that, he handed the two of them two large mugs of clear odorless liquid. "It is nothing more than water I am afraid. Guard, stand post outside, and direct all maters of war to General Bokar."

"Yes sire," the two guards said. They then turned to leave. The king then regarded the two of them strangely.

"You do not drink?" the king said.

"We... we were waiting for you to take up your glass," Ezekiel said, "So we could drink together."

"Ah, they told me to be prepared for 'odd behavior' such as this," the king said, "As your host; I am not permitted to drink with you in greeting. It's considered... inappropriate. On the other hand, too not drink what you are offered is a great insult. It is nearly a declaration of war. Please, you must be thirsty."

The lieutenant looked at him for his cue. Ezekiel nodded, and both of them drank as much as they could before giving them back to the king.

"I noticed that a number of your men are wounded. I have little too spare, but I will share with you what I can. With your permission, I would like my men to tend to your needs," the king said.

Ezekiel again nodded to the lieutenant.

"This is good," the king said, "Lieutenant!"

"Yes sire," an officer said as he charged into the enclosure.

"Take this one back to his people. Instruct the surgeon and supply officer to provide for their needs as best as they can. Then make preparations to extract their wounded from the battle field."

"At once sire," the officer said, "and their security arrangements?"

"Unchanged, they are to remain confined and under control. Bind any one who is not cooperative, but do not harm them needlessly."

"Some of the devices you confiscated from us are useful for treating injuries," Ezekiel said, "We need them back." The king rubbed his chin for a moment in thought.

"Lieutenant, see to his request. But weapon remains under the control of the blacksmiths."

"Yes sire," the officer said. He then escorted the lieutenant out of the enclosure.

"I thank you for your aid and hospitality," Ezekiel said.

"You are welcome. Now, let us talk. Might we start with your name?" the king said, "I am King Harr, ruler of my grandfather's kingdom of Hemmat. Currently, I am commanding a campaign into a neighboring kingdom. And you are?" Ezekiel paused.

"I can not tell you," he said.

"Why not?" King Harr said.

"I am prohibited from doing so. I can not interfere in any way," Ezekiel said.

"I do not see how giving me your name will change the outcome of this campaign, one way or the other," Harr said.

"I am sorry sir. I am a soldier my self, and my orders and regulations are quite specific in this regard," Ezekiel said.

"You are from Starfleet, the military arm for the United Federation of Planets. By your rank and uniform, I see that you are a commander of a ship that plies the space between the stars. I am told that your captain is not among you, and that you are the highest ranking officer in your group. And while we do not understand your magic, they found only one weapon among you," King Harr said.

"Than you also know that our highest law, our Prime Directive, forbids us from interfering in any way, shape, or form with your affairs."

"That, I did not know," Harr said as he sat down on his thrown, "And I wonder just how true this law of yours is. You still can not give me your name?"

"I am sorry, King Harr, I can not. My regulations are very specific."

Just then, a guard charged in, "Sire, the emissary from the opposing army has arrived."

"Good, send him in," Harr said.

A moment later, another armored warrior was brought in. While his hands were not bound, he still had a heavy blindfold over his eyes preventing him from seeing. He also wore a significantly different style of uniform. The guard pulled away his blindfold and left the enclosure.

King Harr went to the far table and prepared a single cup of water for him to offer as a greeting. The enemy general accepted the cup with a nod and drank it fully. Only when the greeting was completed did he examine Ezekiel.

"King Torr honors me by sending one of his strongest generals, General Nort," Harr said.

"King Torr is as interested in ending this war as you are, King Harr. And if he is not, most assuredly I am, King Narr. Now exactly what is this... being? I know of no myths that tell of him."

"This is a commander from Starfleet."

"From Starfleet!" General Nort shouted, "And you are keeping them here."

"We found sixty seven of them behind our front lines just this morning. How they got there, we can not explain. General Nort, it is plane that our differences can only be settled by one of two ways, on the battle field, or through mediation. We need an outside voice at the table," Harr said.

"What we need is not an outside voice, but the truth. You have been taking our young people as slaves, as you have always done. But your take has become so extreme it threatens our ability to harvest our crops or bare young. I need no outside voice to speak the obvious."

"If not an outside voice, then a clear perspective to investigate our charges, perhaps. I tell you are young are being taken as slaves just as surly as yours are," Harr said, "If you do not accept my truth, will you accept his?" General Nort paused to consider this.

"Yes, we will consider his truth. Perhaps mediation is a good idea. I can order a halt to our advance."

"I can't do it," Ezekiel said, "I can't help you."

"What?" Harr said.

"I told you, the Prime Directive prohibits me from interfering in any capacity. Even to mediated," Ezekiel said.

"But must," General Nort said, "Starfleet's reputation as peace makers are known to all. We are at war; will you not even help us find peace?"

"I can't interfere," Ezekiel said.

"This is an outrage," Nort said, "King Harr; I demand you turn over these prisoners to my command, immediately!"

"I will not turn them over to you, and especially not to Torr whose designs on my borders are also well known," Harr said.

"You can not be aloud to keep them. These starfleet people represent a massive shift in the balance of power for the entire region. Why did you call me here, King Harr, to threaten me into submission? To mock me with your happy fortune?" Nort said.

"A asked you here in good faith to end this war," Harr said.

"Instead, you have escalated it. Before you only fought with Torr's army, now you battle his entire alliance. You have faired well against fifty thousand men, how well will you do against five hundred thousand?"

"You have my word, I will no use there magic in this campaign," King Harr said.

"I trust your word when you are out in open, King Harr, but what happens to your word when you are backed into a corner," Nort said.

King Harr turned on Ezekiel again. "You must help us."

"I can't interfere," Ezekiel said, "the Prime Directive will not allow it."

"You have the power to end this conflict, here and now!" Harr shouted, "Not a single soldier need die this moment forth! You will do nothing and let the conflict expand!"

"I can not help you," Ezekiel said again.

King Harr's rage clearly boiled within him. He suddenly drew out his sword, and charged at him, blowing through the map panels as he attacked, his sword raised high ready to remove Commander Ezekiel O'Cambell's head.

To be continued...