Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  Then Karamaq’s life fell to disgrace.

  His appointment as garrison commander providing security for a band of annoying scientists was but the least objectionable of the assignments he received after the war. At this point, dying with honor in battle was a distant, fanciful dream. Even the scout ships he commanded did not warrant names but merely numbers. Nevertheless, his own personal and family pride demanded he conduct himself as a proper soldier of the Empire no matter the task asked of him. It was the only existence he had ever known, following in the footsteps of his father and generations before him to serve. Others might view his career trajectory as penance, but Karamaq refused to give such judgmental detractors the satisfaction of seeing him react to their derision. So long as he wore the uniform of a Klingon warrior, he would give it the respect that was its due.

  And now, perhaps, he might well see his perseverance rewarded on this day.

  The bridge of the wa’ was barely large enough to deserve such a description. Two seats for the craft’s pilots took up most of the compartment’s available space, positioned as they were before a wide, curved console separating them from the oversized viewscreen. The compartment featured no other stations and there was no room for another seat or even for Karamaq to pace. This did nothing to assuage his growing impatience while he waited for the ship and its companion to reach their destination.

  “How much longer?” He was growing bored with the image on the viewscreen, which thanks to the sensor data it received was showing nothing but jagged, unforgiving rock face as the wa’ descended deeper into the canyon.

  Seated in the left position, Soriq turned from his controls and regarded Karamaq. He was more slender than the average Klingon male soldier, with a bald scalp and a thin mustache that drooped down along the edges of his mouth.

  “We have descended nearly halfway to the bottom of the canyon, Commander.”

  In the other chair, Bar’not sat hunched over a sensor monitor. The interface viewer cast a dim orange glow across the young Klingon’s face. Unlike Soriq he had hair, long enough it required a band to keep it pulled back from his face. The leather tie rested at the base of his skull and the resulting ponytail fell between his shoulder blades. When he looked away from his instruments, Karamaq saw the uncertainty in his eyes, and when the younger Klingon spoke, it seemed out of reluctance.

  “Our scans are registering the Starfleet cruiser’s hull, Commander. There is a power source, and more than four hundred life signs, though from this distance I am unable to distinguish between different species. Some of the life-forms appear to be outside the ship, either on the asteroid surface or in some kind of structure. I am also detecting indications of their own sensors, but they are operating at a reduced level.” He looked up from his controls. “The ship has no defenses, Commander.”

  “Excellent.” Karamaq nodded in satisfaction. Destroying the four sensor drones Bar’not detected during their approach was a prudent decision, he decided. Eliminating the Endeavour’s ability to summon help was useful, of course, but to find it was a helpless target at the bottom of this canyon? The thought made Karamaq smile. The crevasse would serve well enough as the wounded starship’s grave.

  “Notify the cha’ we are continuing our descent,” Karamaq said, referring to the other scout ship.

  Bar’not said, “Commander, I’m registering three ships ascending from the canyon floor.” The younger Klingon scowled as he studied his instruments. “They are small personnel transports. Two are Orion, and the other one is a transport of Alpha Centaurian design.” Looking up from the console, he cast a confused look at Karamaq. “The Orions are towing the other ship with a tractor beam.”

  “Orions.” Karamaq knew of the aborted raid against the Endeavour orchestrated by D’zinn, the foolish captain of that Orion scow assisting Doctor Le’tal with her testing of the disruption-field technology. At least, so far as he knew, that attack had failed, so what was this? Though his combat instincts may have been dulled by being away from battle, he was still suspicious. “Are they armed?”

  “Their weapons and shields are not active, Commander,” Bar’not replied.

  Karamaq grunted, unsure what to make of this. “Raise our shields and place weapons on standby.”

  “One of the Orion vessels is hailing us,” Soriq said.

  This should be interesting, Karamaq thought. “On-screen.”

  The image on the viewscreen changed to that of a burly Orion male. Karamaq recognized him as Netal, D’zinn’s second-in-command aboard the Vekal Piltari.

  “Commander. It is good to see you. We have effected an escape from the Federation ship, but most of my people are still being held hostage. Your arrival is most fortunate, and we would be grateful for your assistance.”

  Something about the Orion’s demeanor bothered Karamaq, but he could not identify the source of his discomfort. He was stiff, and the tone and delivery of his speech seemed somehow forced. Nevertheless, the worries of a troubled Orion did not concern him.

  “This is not a rescue mission, Orion. I act on behalf of the Klingon Empire, to which that ship represents a threat. I see you’ve claimed a prize. Take it and consider it compensation for your loss.”

  Now Netal’s manner seemed genuine. He leaned closer to the screen’s visual pickup, his expression turning irate. “You would kill my people? After what we have done to help you?”

  “You and your people were useful for a time,” Karamaq replied. “No longer.”

  Netal drew in a long, deep breath. “D’zinn knew you would betray us at the first opportunity. She never trusted you, Klingon.”

  “D’zinn should have come to that realization sooner. She might have avoided paying such a price for her ineptitude. Instead she is soon to find herself answering to her own superiors for her failures.” Karamaq stepped closer to the screen. “You, on the other hand, have an opportunity of your own. Break off your approach and leave immediately. Take your salvage with you, and consider yourself fortunate.”

  “No, I do not believe I will do any of that, Klingon.” Netal’s angered visage lingered for an extra beat before the connection was severed, restoring the image of the two Orion transports and their captured vessel.

  Bar’not jerked in his seat, turning from his console. “Commander! One of the ships has launched something. It is too small to be a missile or torpedo.”

  “Show me.” Karamaq looked back to the viewscreen in time to see six diminutive objects arcing away from one of the Orion ships. They seemed inconsequential. Was this a ploy of some kind?

  Then they struck the wa’s shields.

  “Some kind of energy surge!” Soriq called out. His fingers moved across his controls in response to the sudden change. “It is feeding off the shields themselves. Registering a massive feedback through the shield generators.” His warning was accompanied by alarms sounding in the cramped bridge and a series of alert indicators flaring to life across the helm console. “Our shields are down!”

  * * *

  Sitting in the Dreamline’s pilot seat, Kirk smiled as the electromagnetic-pulse emitters wreaked havoc on the Klingon ship. On one of the helm console’s sensor monitors, he watched as the second set of emitters, launched by Lieutenant Sulu from one of the captured Orion transports, unleashed similar chaos on the second Klingon vessel.

  “Remind me to thank the Andorian Guard the next time I see them.” Kirk reached for the console, keying a communications frequency. “Kirk to Sulu and McCormack. It’s showtime.”

  In response to his command, the tractor beams holding the Dreamline in position between and behind the Orion ships deactivated, leaving the transport free to navigate. Kirk raced through the process of bringing the craft’s engines online. On the console’s targeting scanner he noted the Orion ships breaking away, their own shields and weapons activating. With Sulu and McCormack each flying one of the transports, they along with the Dreamline now formed a hasty trio of ships poised to defend the Endeavour. He also watched
as the two Klingon scouts, already recovering from the unexpected attack, split away from each other.

  “Just like we talked about, pilots,” Kirk said. “Take it to them and keep them off the Endeavour.” Looking over his shoulder, he added, “Commander Stano, I could use your assistance.”

  In the seat next to him, Netal muttered something unintelligible. His mood likely was not helped by the phaser pointed at his head courtesy of Commander Katherine Stano. The Endeavour’s first officer stood just to the left of the doorway of the Dreamline’s cockpit, out of frame for the communication system’s visual pickup.

  “Up and out of there, big boy,” Stano said, gesturing with her phaser for the Orion to stand up. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry the Klingons screwed you over.”

  Netal glowered first at Kirk before turning his attention to Stano. Behind the first officer, a pair of Endeavour security officers stood with phasers at the ready. “And you? What are your intentions?”

  Holstering her phaser as the security guards took custody of the Orion, Stano slid into the copilot’s seat. “Captain Khatami gave her word. You and your people won’t be harmed. Of course, her word won’t matter if we can’t keep the Klingons off our backs.” She pointed a thumb toward the cockpit doorway. “Guards, secure our guest.” Once Netal and his escorts were gone and she was able to study the helm console’s status readouts, she looked to Kirk. “Captain, you have to know your reputation precedes you. So, with that in mind and on a scale of one to Kirk, how crazy is this plan?”

  Though his attention remained on his controls, Kirk could not hold back a small grin. “I’ll admit it’s up there.”

  The idea to use the pulse emitters had been Lieutenant Uhura’s, once the Endeavour’s engineers recovered and studied the devices following the Orion assault on the ship. Realizing the nonlethal weapons could be used again seemed to have no constructive purpose at the time, but with the crippled starship’s deflector shields inoperative and a Klingon attack on the way, necessity and desperation had joined forces to prompt this unorthodox action. Mounting the launchers captured during the Orion raid was a simple matter, with deployment of the emitters routed from each launcher’s control pad to the helm console of their respective ships. Kirk’s plan was that the tactic might distract the Klingons long enough to buy time for the Endeavour’s engineering team to restore the shields. That the insane scheme had worked even better than he hoped was a bonus. The question now was whether he and the team he had assembled for this task could seize the advantage given to them.

  We’re about to find out, aren’t we?

  With the power-up process complete, Kirk guided the Dreamline on a course away from the canyon wall. He divided his attention between the helm controls and the targeting scanner, trying to track the Orion and Klingon ships. Everyone, it seemed, had made the smart decision to pull up and out of the canyon, preferring to risk the asteroid field rather than the canyon and its much tighter quarters. Of course, this now meant everyone would have to be aware of the asteroids as well as their respective adversaries.

  Never a dull moment.

  “I can keep tabs on them,” Stano said. Despite getting a very brief tutorial from Sulu and McCormack on the transport’s operation, the Endeavour’s first officer was an accomplished pilot in her own right. This made the learning curve easier but Kirk could tell from her voice she remained somewhat apprehensive. “And I’ve got sensors and weapons, too.”

  Though he was not Sulu, Kirk still considered himself a fair pilot. The unfamiliar controls took some getting used to but skill, experience, and even instinct helped him settle into handling the transport. He had worried about not being able to get the Dreamline’s engines up and running in the event the ploy with the emitters failed to disrupt the Klingons, but so far the transport was behaving itself.

  “Weapons at ready status,” Stano said. “We’re still not a fighter ship, but at least we’ve got shields. That puts us one up on the Klingons.”

  “Sulu to Captain Kirk,” said the Enterprise helm officer over the intercom. “They’re starting to get a little cranky out here, sir.”

  Kirk exchanged glances with Stano. “Time to get in the game.”

  Coordinating his effort with Sulu’s, he guided the transport into a low banking turn, bringing the craft’s nose around so that one of the Klingon ships came into view. The Orion ship piloted by Sulu was giving chase, attempting to maneuver in behind the other vessel. Meanwhile, the Klingon ship was barreling toward one of the larger asteroids in the distance.

  “McCormack here,” said the Endeavour helm officer. “I think we made them mad with that little trick of ours. Our bogey is trying to get a lock on us. I don’t know how long I can keep them off our tails.”

  Ahead of the Dreamline, Kirk watched as Sulu’s ship unleashed a pair of salvos toward the Klingon scout. One of the disruptor beams impacted against the unprotected vessel’s hull even as the enemy ship arced up and to port in a bid to escape. A quick look to the targeting scanner told him Sulu was doing a decent job keeping his quarry on the run. McCormack, on the other hand, was on the receiving end of similar harassment.

  “Hang in there, McCormack,” he said, punching controls and breaking off his pursuit. “We’re coming.”

  Stano said, “Shields or no, these ships weren’t designed to go up against Klingons. At least not for very long.”

  “I know.” Kirk felt his jaw clench. “But they just need to do it long enough.”

  Thirty-seven

  “He’s a Klingon.”

  Atish Khatami watched Anthony Leone frown at his tricorder as he waved its portable scanner over the head of Lieutenant Ivan Tompkins. The Endeavour’s chief medical officer was rarely a happy person, but it was obvious the readings he was getting from his scans of the engineer were doing nothing to improve his mood.

  “Surgically altered,” Leone continued. “Pretty damned good job of it too.” He gestured past Khatami to where Morgan Binnix and Phil Watson stood just outside the brig cell. “Even better than the job done on them, and that wasn’t shabby at all. I’m still not sure how he was able to fool my medical scanners in sickbay.” He regarded Tomkins. “Anything you want to offer?”

  The prisoner said nothing, though his gaze shifted for the briefest of moments to Binnix and Watson. Khatami saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as though he was suppressing a sneer at the sight of the two agents who still sported their Klingon features.

  For his part, Tomkins—more accurately, the Klingon transformed to look like someone named Ivan Tomkins—glowered at Khatami. He had said nothing since being revived from the effects of Lieutenant Brax’s phaser. Now he sat, restrained at the wrists and ankles to a chair and seemingly content not to utter another word for all eternity.

  “How long have you been aboard my ship?” Khatami asked. With her arms folded across her chest, she paced around the room in a circle with Tomkins at its center. “Did you replace the real Lieutenant Tomkins? Hell, was Lieutenant Tomkins even a real person, or just a fabricated identity?”

  Tomkins remained silent. He no longer even looked at her, but instead fixed his stare at the wall in front of him.

  Only through the efforts of Lieutenants Estrada and Uhura had they even been able to expose him. After discovering his latest transmission intended for anyone who might be listening, the communications officers were able to determine the signal’s point of origin, and send a hail to that location. Tracking that signal to its recipient led them to the impulse deck and the communicator in Tomkins’ pocket. Despite their ingenuity, it had not been in time to prevent the damage the spy inflicted on the Endeavour’s already beleaguered deflector-shield system.

  Standing in a corner of the brig behind Khatami, Lieutenant Brax said, “This is most unfortunate, but perhaps the situation is contained. We know Klingon agents have been operating within the Federation and Starfleet for many years. Based on what Starfleet Intelligence has been able to learn, operatives of this sort a
re deployed as individuals rather than teams. In theory, this reduces the likelihood of their activities being detected.” The Edoan paused, shifting his stance on his trio of feet. “Regrettably, I am not well versed in such matters.”

  “None of us are.” Khatami paused her pacing as she came to stand in front of Tomkins. “I don’t have time for this nonsense right now. What else have you done to sabotage my ship? Another bomb? Something else rigged to overload?” She stepped closer, and when she spoke this time she allowed menace to creep into her voice. “Have you killed any more of my people?”

  Once more, Tomkins offered no reply.

  “Tell me what I need to know to keep my people safe,” she said, her eyes still fixed on his. “If I lose one more person because of something you’ve done, there won’t be anything of you left for Starfleet Intelligence to interrogate.”

  As expected, Tomkins stared straight ahead. He did not move; did not blink. He barely breathed. If Khatami did not know better, she would swear he had lapsed into a coma with his eyes open.

  It took every ounce of her willpower for Khatami not to place her boot in the center of the man’s chest and kick him over. She briefly considered what it might feel like to beat him to a pulp and then order Brax to jettison him to the asteroid’s surface. None of that would happen, of course, but she could not help the ugly thoughts. Guilt quickly replaced fury and shame beset sorrow as she stared at the spy who wore the face of someone she had once trusted.

  Exasperated, Khatami stepped back from him; she held her arms at her sides, forcing herself to deny Tomkins the satisfaction of seeing her clench her fists. “What the hell are we supposed to do with him?”

  “Starfleet Intelligence will want him,” Binnix replied. “It’s not often we capture one of these bastards, let alone get to hold them long enough to get anything useful out of them.”