How to Break the Prime Directive (and get away with it)

Part 1: How to Break the Prime Directive

“If the captain finds out about this, we're screwed,” announced Ensign Viola Nyman. The young exobotanist collapsed into her chair with a dramatic sigh. “We'll all be court-martialled!”

The four humanoids sat around the scuffed gray table that served as the hub of the shared sitting room in their suite. The four of them had shared these quarters – the two females assigned the bedroom to the right, the two males the bedroom to the left – for six months now. This was long enough that Nyman had come to like and trust the other three. She had believed she knew them fairly well. Now she was not so sure.

Nyman's gaze swept around the table as she glared at her three suitemates.

Ylmaq, a conn officer, pretty for a Klingon, tugged at her red uniform shirt, then frowned. This came across as a scowl, more irritated than penitential.

At the other end of the table, Suvok's face was bland, in that fundamentally annoying way that only Vulcans – especially Vulcan engineers – seem to be able to manage.

The final member of the party, communications officer Sabian Grax, at least had the courtesy to look uncomfortable, his pale cheeks flushed pink, his black eyes downcast. But as Grax was Betazoid it was probably just a show of false contrition, showing Nyman what he knew she wanted to see. Besides, it was all his fault in the first place.

“Do you know what you've done, Sabian?” Nyman glared at the Betazoid. “There's no way those people have warp travel. Mud huts, their village was made of mud huts.”

“Calm down, please, Vi?” Grax said, holding his hands out, palms up, in a supplicating gesture. “I did graduate from the Academy. I know the Prime Directive.”

Suvok, his voice low and calm, said, “I was there when Sabian stood the exam on General Order One. He successfully recited all forty-seven suborders, by heart.”

Nyman rolled her eyes. Suvok and Grax had been roommates for 4 years at the Academy before both being assigned to to the Hotspur. The Vulcan might claim to be entirely logical, but in Viola's experience, Suvok had a huge soft spot for his friends.

“So then you know what a big deal it is to break it!” Nyman said, her voice taut with frustration.

“Hmph,” Ylmaq finally spoke up, her voice loud. “Sometimes it is more honourable to break the Prime Directive. This is one of those cases. Besides, General Order Two overrides General Order One.”

“Starfleet General Order Two?” Suvok's left eyebrow arched. “No Starfleet personnel shall unnecessarily use force against any sentient race?”

“He really is sentient, Suvok!” Grax complained, gesturing to the ball of green fur that lay sleeping on the worn, gray couch behind him. “Surely you, of all people, can feel that!”

Suvok's response came slowly, its tone soothing. “I have told you before, Sabian. Vulcan telepathic talents are limited and rely heavily on physical contact. I cannot perceive psionic waves propagating through the air, as you do. And I was not objecting to your assertion that our guest is sentient. The village of small houses proves that. I was objecting to Ensign Ylmaq's implication that General Order Two applied in this case, or excused us from following the Prime Directive if it did.”

“If we had not intervened, he would have died,” Ylmaq said in her calmest voice. “It would have been dishonourable not to help him.

“I'm not saying we should have let him die,” Nyman replied. “I'm saying we shouldn't have brought him here, to the ship. And definitely not to our own suite! And especially not in my sample bag! Why on earth would you transport him here, instead of just moving him out of the way of the flood?”

“I know, I know. You think it was stupid.” Grax sounded defensive. Defensive and frustrated. “But I just – well, when I saw that wall of water coming towards us, I just tucked him into the bag and asked to be transported the heck out of there! It was my gut reaction.”

“I'm going to be thrown out of exobotany forever, thanks to you! No, never mind exobotany, I'm going to get thrown out of Starfleet! We have to get him back to his planet.”

“A planet which is rapidly falling away behind this vessel,” Suvok pointed out.

A mewling sound from the couch caused all four heads to turn.

“He is waking up!” Ylmaq crowed.

Grax shot the Klingon a dirty look. “How could he stay asleep, with all this noise?”

The green ball of fur lengthened to a furry oval. Two bright, black eyes opened, staring at them. The creature pulled itself up vertically, still looking like nothing more than a green, fuzzy oval shape with eyes.

Nyman commented, “If we get him to keep his eyes closed, maybe we can claim he's Grax's pet tribble who fell in a vat of paint.”

Ylmaq visibly shuddered. “Do not mention those creatures. There is a reason why the tribble homeworld was destroyed.”

The small alien being on the couch began to chirp and whistle.

Viola looked from person to person. “Is he talking? What is he saying?”

Grax knelt down, looking into the small creature's eyes. His focus seemed intense and it was a long time before he nodded. “He wants to know where he is, and who we are.”

“Well, tell him!” Viola said. She was aware of the anxiety in her own voice. It embarrassed her, but at this point, she didn't care.

“I'm trying! Would you shut up already? It isn't like I speak whistle and I'm having trouble presenting my thoughts in a way he'll understand. His brain is weird” Grax protested.

“I suggest you try not to broadcast that piece of information to our guest,” Suvok pointed out.

Grax rolled his eyes in response. “You're breaking my concentration. If you could all just be quiet -”

A siren sounded, interrupting him as red lights began to flash.

“Red Alert!” Ylmaq exclaimed.