08-07-2024, 10:44 PM
<<DS9/Promenade<<
==Several weeks later, shortly before Artemis launch==
==Starfleet Security HQ, San Francisco, Earth==
==Now all you merry blacksmiths, a warning take by me/
Stick to your country horseshoes and your anchors for the sea./
When the gods of war come calling, promising you gold/
They'll take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul!==
Benjamin was tired. Tired of being in prison, tired of not knowing what was going on, tired of the entire proceeding.
He was moved from DS9 to Earth on what had to have been the slowest ship in the fleet - nearly a month and a half worth of transit. There had been little to no conversation the entire way, as none of the crew wanted to speak to him, his lawyer had taken a much faster ship, and he didn’t feel like he could call his family as often as he needed to talk.
He was done. Too bad the system wasn’t done with him.
The door opened and LCdr Rabb walked in, set down her case, and gave him a smile. “So, I’ve got good news for you,” she said, “if you’re in the mood.”
He let out a sigh and a strangled chuckle, shaking his head at her somehow indefatigable good mood. “Good to see you too. It's been too long. I’ve done well, how’re you?”
For the first time since he’d known her - not long, of course, but still - she was wrong-footed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and set the padd she’d been brandishing aside. “I know it's been a long trip, but I’ve been working on your case as hard as possible. I know that left you alone, and I apologize for that, but it was unavoidable.”
Benjamin nodded, adding “Thank you.” He briefly considered saying something else, but refrained, instead going back to the prepared path. “So, what’s this good news, then?”
She smiled and gave a nod, picking the padd back up. “So, I’ve been in talks with the prosecutor. He’s been talking a very good game, but one thing is very obvious: he’s got holes in his case you could drive a Galaxy-class through.”
“That is good news,” he replied. “I presume? I know absolutely nothing about any of this.”
“It is good,” she said, “because it means that if we actually went to trial, he couldn’t prove most of the charges. He could likely drive home the conduct charge, and the substance charge will be fairly easy. But the meat of the case, the Treaty of Algeron violations? All he’s really got is your word and the statements of a couple of crewmen who were involved in a mutiny on the Philadelphia.”
“A mutiny?”
“Don’t ask,” she said; “you really don’t want to know.” She paced around the table a bit, holding the padd against her other palm. “But the upshot is, they’re consequently unreliable at best and damaging to his case at worst - which they will be once I get to cross-examine them - and so he doesn’t particularly want to try it.”
“So, I’m off the hook?” Benjamin asked, still out of his depth.
“Unfortunately no,” she said. “Like I said, he’s got the substance and conduct charges locked up. You know it, too - given our review of your history, with all of that having been in the record for him to access as well, there’s just no chance he doesn’t get those through no matter what I do to the rest of his case. If we go to trial, you will be guilty on those counts, and there’s always a chance that the court will, for any number of reasons, still find you guilty on the Algeron charges.
“Now, to get to the good news,” she said abruptly, and set the padd down in front of him. “Because he knows he has only a slim chance on the Algeron charges, and he’s as frustrated at the politicians ramming it down his throat as we are, he’s offered us a deal. He’ll drop the treaty violations if we plead guilty to the remaining two charges.”
“So,” Benjamin said, looking down at the padd, “I’m still going to prison? I wouldn’t exactly call that good news.”
Rabb’s smile softened, a touch of sadness hitting her face. “Ben,” she said. “I’m a good lawyer. But part of that is knowing when the deck is stacked against you and there’s no way out. This is probably not far off of what you would have gotten if we did go through the trial, but the risk of some political factor getting involved and making it worse is significant, even if it's far from assured.
“This way,” she said, “you can at least control the variables and get an assured result. And like I said, there’s only so much I can do for you.” She put a hand on the padd, and nodded. “It’s a little harsher than I’d like, but it’s the best I can do. I suggest you take it.”
Benjamin looked down at the padd, reading through it. He felt numb, really. He’d somehow still had hope that he’d get out of this unscathed - other than what Tyra would do to him on his return, of course - but now… now that hope was gone.
For a moment, he felt like he had before he joined Starfleet. When Captain Colso had picked up his escape pod on the Tzenkethi border, nearly a week of hunger and enforced sobriety having driven him past rage and into self-recrimination and self-doubt. Aitrus had presented him with a choice: he could be turned in for serving on a smuggling crew, or he could join Starfleet and better himself.
And for a while, he’d felt like it had worked. He’d truly become a better person, or so he thought. Now, after all of this… now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe this is what I deserve, he thought. Maybe I should’ve just let him throw me in the brig and on into prison, saved us all the trouble.
“Let me think on it,” he told her, and picked up the padd, still only barely seeing the contents.
“Alright,” she said gently. “You don’t have to decide just yet; prosecutor didn’t set a deadline. I’ll come back tomorrow and we can talk some more, if that’s okay?” Benjamin nodded, and she packed her things and left.
Alone, Benjamin stared at the padd, and tried to decide his future once more.
==And it’s sparks a’flying/
Passions strong/
I am the blacksmith singing/
The hammer and the anvil song.
—The Longest Johns, “Hammer and Anvil Song”==
==Several weeks later, shortly before Artemis launch==
==Starfleet Security HQ, San Francisco, Earth==
==Now all you merry blacksmiths, a warning take by me/
Stick to your country horseshoes and your anchors for the sea./
When the gods of war come calling, promising you gold/
They'll take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul!==
Benjamin was tired. Tired of being in prison, tired of not knowing what was going on, tired of the entire proceeding.
He was moved from DS9 to Earth on what had to have been the slowest ship in the fleet - nearly a month and a half worth of transit. There had been little to no conversation the entire way, as none of the crew wanted to speak to him, his lawyer had taken a much faster ship, and he didn’t feel like he could call his family as often as he needed to talk.
He was done. Too bad the system wasn’t done with him.
The door opened and LCdr Rabb walked in, set down her case, and gave him a smile. “So, I’ve got good news for you,” she said, “if you’re in the mood.”
He let out a sigh and a strangled chuckle, shaking his head at her somehow indefatigable good mood. “Good to see you too. It's been too long. I’ve done well, how’re you?”
For the first time since he’d known her - not long, of course, but still - she was wrong-footed. “I’m sorry,” she said, and set the padd she’d been brandishing aside. “I know it's been a long trip, but I’ve been working on your case as hard as possible. I know that left you alone, and I apologize for that, but it was unavoidable.”
Benjamin nodded, adding “Thank you.” He briefly considered saying something else, but refrained, instead going back to the prepared path. “So, what’s this good news, then?”
She smiled and gave a nod, picking the padd back up. “So, I’ve been in talks with the prosecutor. He’s been talking a very good game, but one thing is very obvious: he’s got holes in his case you could drive a Galaxy-class through.”
“That is good news,” he replied. “I presume? I know absolutely nothing about any of this.”
“It is good,” she said, “because it means that if we actually went to trial, he couldn’t prove most of the charges. He could likely drive home the conduct charge, and the substance charge will be fairly easy. But the meat of the case, the Treaty of Algeron violations? All he’s really got is your word and the statements of a couple of crewmen who were involved in a mutiny on the Philadelphia.”
“A mutiny?”
“Don’t ask,” she said; “you really don’t want to know.” She paced around the table a bit, holding the padd against her other palm. “But the upshot is, they’re consequently unreliable at best and damaging to his case at worst - which they will be once I get to cross-examine them - and so he doesn’t particularly want to try it.”
“So, I’m off the hook?” Benjamin asked, still out of his depth.
“Unfortunately no,” she said. “Like I said, he’s got the substance and conduct charges locked up. You know it, too - given our review of your history, with all of that having been in the record for him to access as well, there’s just no chance he doesn’t get those through no matter what I do to the rest of his case. If we go to trial, you will be guilty on those counts, and there’s always a chance that the court will, for any number of reasons, still find you guilty on the Algeron charges.
“Now, to get to the good news,” she said abruptly, and set the padd down in front of him. “Because he knows he has only a slim chance on the Algeron charges, and he’s as frustrated at the politicians ramming it down his throat as we are, he’s offered us a deal. He’ll drop the treaty violations if we plead guilty to the remaining two charges.”
“So,” Benjamin said, looking down at the padd, “I’m still going to prison? I wouldn’t exactly call that good news.”
Rabb’s smile softened, a touch of sadness hitting her face. “Ben,” she said. “I’m a good lawyer. But part of that is knowing when the deck is stacked against you and there’s no way out. This is probably not far off of what you would have gotten if we did go through the trial, but the risk of some political factor getting involved and making it worse is significant, even if it's far from assured.
“This way,” she said, “you can at least control the variables and get an assured result. And like I said, there’s only so much I can do for you.” She put a hand on the padd, and nodded. “It’s a little harsher than I’d like, but it’s the best I can do. I suggest you take it.”
Benjamin looked down at the padd, reading through it. He felt numb, really. He’d somehow still had hope that he’d get out of this unscathed - other than what Tyra would do to him on his return, of course - but now… now that hope was gone.
For a moment, he felt like he had before he joined Starfleet. When Captain Colso had picked up his escape pod on the Tzenkethi border, nearly a week of hunger and enforced sobriety having driven him past rage and into self-recrimination and self-doubt. Aitrus had presented him with a choice: he could be turned in for serving on a smuggling crew, or he could join Starfleet and better himself.
And for a while, he’d felt like it had worked. He’d truly become a better person, or so he thought. Now, after all of this… now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe this is what I deserve, he thought. Maybe I should’ve just let him throw me in the brig and on into prison, saved us all the trouble.
“Let me think on it,” he told her, and picked up the padd, still only barely seeing the contents.
“Alright,” she said gently. “You don’t have to decide just yet; prosecutor didn’t set a deadline. I’ll come back tomorrow and we can talk some more, if that’s okay?” Benjamin nodded, and she packed her things and left.
Alone, Benjamin stared at the padd, and tried to decide his future once more.
==And it’s sparks a’flying/
Passions strong/
I am the blacksmith singing/
The hammer and the anvil song.
—The Longest Johns, “Hammer and Anvil Song”==