by Dayton Ward
The connection ended and the presider’s image disappeared from the screen, replaced once more by the view of Sralanya. Worf pondered the planet for a moment, considering his options. Not for the first time, he fumed in silence at the thought that he was here, safe from immediate danger, while his captain awaited whatever fate Hilonu and Eizand justice might have planned for him. Commanding officer’s prerogative notwithstanding, Worf knew it was he who should be down there with the away team.
What would Captain Picard do if he were standing here? Depending on the circumstances, he might exercise the very moderation Hilonu had recommended, though his decision would be driven by whatever information he possessed with regard to the condition of any personnel still on the surface. If the presider had permitted Picard to speak to him, Worf could imagine the captain ordering him to wait for further instructions, provided he felt that he and the others were in no immediate danger. If that were indeed the case, Picard would almost certainly err on the side of diplomacy in the hopes of resolving the situation in as amicable a fashion as he could forge.
Unfortunately, Worf did not have access to the captain. All he had to inform any decision he might make was what Hilonu had told him. Without taking some action, there was no way to ascertain the captain’s and the away team’s condition. They could be injured, for all he knew. The inability to locate at least one member of the team, T’Ryssa Chen or T’Sona, was troubling.
He could not stand here and do nothing.
“Lieutenant Šmrhová, would moving us closer resolve your sensor readings?”
The security chief replied, “It couldn’t hurt, sir. However, we’re not alone up here. There is the network of satellites and space stations, but so far they all seem to be maintaining their own orbital paths. That said, those within our line of sight around the planet’s curvature are tracking our location and movements. They may not take kindly to us doing anything crazy, and they do have those EMP generators. We should probably give them a wide berth.”
Worf nodded. “Understood.” Stepping backward until he once more stood just behind the forward bridge stations, Worf said, “Lieutenant Faur, break from standard orbit and lower our track until Lieutenant Šmrhová’s scans improve. Plot a course that steers us clear of any of the space stations or satellites.”
“Aye, sir.” The conn officer tapped several controls on her console’s flat surface. “The computer’s fashioned a course for us. Breaking from standard orbit.”
With the sort of confidence that could only come from someone possessing tested skill and experience, Faur moved her hands across the workstation. On the main viewscreen, the lieutenant’s actions had an immediate effect, as Worf watched the curve of Sralanya shift and disappear from view as the Enterprise’s orbital path changed. From where he stood behind her, the first officer was able to see her console’s graphical representation of Sralanya and the starship’s position relative to it. A series of small red icons represented the network of satellites and other space-based habitats circling the planet, and he noted how the course plotted by Faur and the ship’s computer would at first take the Enterprise away from the planet before maneuvering the vessel into a new trajectory that would keep it well away from any of the artificial constructs and perhaps even convey to the people of Sralanya that no affront or harm was intended. Within moments, Faur had guided the starship into its new, lower orbit, and Worf listened as she and Šmrhová coordinated their efforts.
“Sensor readings are definitely clearing,” the security chief reported a moment later, but Worf could still detect a note of skepticism in her voice. “I’m able to detect five members of the away team, but the scans are still encountering interference.”
Faur said, “I don’t know how much lower I can take us without picking up some buffeting from the atmosphere.”
“Bridge to engineering,” said Worf. “Commander La Forge, we require more power to the sensor array.”
His voice filtering through the bridge’s intercom system, the Enterprise’s chief engineer replied, “We’re already on it, Commander. It’s not just a question of power, though. We think the combination of lingering background radiation and the mineral composition of the subsurface rock and soil are what’s causing the problem. I may have to make some more adjustments to filter out the interference.”
“Do so quickly,” said Worf. “We are attempting to locate and retrieve Captain Picard and the away team.”
“Understood.”
Behind him, Worf heard a telltale tone from Šmrhová’s tactical console. He recognized the alert as meaning the sensors had detected a potential threat to the ship, and he turned to see her frowning as she studied the readings before her.
“Sir, several of the satellites and two of the larger constructs are breaking from their orbits.” Pausing, she tapped a short sequence of commands to her station before adding, “They’re moving to intercept us. According to my scans, they’re activating their onboard weapons systems. The closest is at one hundred seventy-six kilometers and closing.”
“Yellow alert,” snapped Worf, returning his attention to the viewscreen. “Shields up. Lieutenant Faur, prepare to break orbit. Šmrhová, open a channel to those satellites and Presider Hilonu’s office.”
Once the security chief reported that the frequency was open, Worf said, “This is Commander Worf of the Starship Enterprise. Our sensors have detected the movement of your satellites in our direction. If they continue on their present course, I will have no choice but to deem their intentions as hostile and take whatever action I deem appropriate to protect this vessel and its crew.”
After a moment, Šmrhová said, “No response, sir, but they’re definitely receiving us.” When another tone sounded from her console, she added, “Twelve satellites and two of the larger stations have broken from their previous orbital tracks and are definitely moving toward us. I’m picking up a communications frequency shared between them. I’m not sure, but I think each of the two stations is controlling six of the smaller satellites. It’s definitely looking like a coordinated effort.”
Watching the graphic on Faur’s console that showed the satellites maneuvering closer to the Enterprise, Worf knew he had but seconds to make a decision, but what was the best course of action here? He hated the idea of running, especially with the captain and the away team on the surface, but he also had to consider the larger situation. While he was confident the ship’s phasers were more than a match for whatever the Eizand weapons might offer, did he really want to complicate matters by lashing out, even in defense of his vessel and crew? What would Picard do in this situation?
A tactical withdrawal is not a retreat if it is undertaken without being forced.
It was something Picard, as consummate a strategist in Worf’s estimation as he was an explorer and a diplomat, had said more than once. What always seemed to make the captain so effective in battle was his reluctance to resort to violence, but not fearing to utilize every available resource once that became the only option. He was as shrewd as he was prudent in this regard, and Worf had learned as much about the proper conduct of war from Jean-Luc Picard as he had from every instructor at Starfleet Command School and every Klingon commander he had ever studied.
Then there were the other facets of this particular situation. With Picard and the away team still in Eizand custody somewhere on or below the planet’s surface, a display of superior weaponry might provoke some form of punitive action against them. Further, Sralanya was not a declared enemy, and with Picard unreachable, it fell to Worf to represent Starfleet and the Federation in the best possible light. While he was certain a more aggressive response to the away team’s capture would result in its retrieval and return to the ship, the damage to relations between the Federation and this newly discovered world could be irreparable. For the moment, all of this could be the result of a simple yet massive and unfortunate misunderstanding. It was Worf’s job to determine whether that was true and how to resolve the issue for the
benefit of everyone involved, including the Eizand.
Evaluating all of that, Worf knew he had only one real option.
“Lieutenant Faur, break orbit. Ready phasers to disable those satellites, but not destroy, if they get too close.”
He was just deciding what “too close” might mean when another alarm sounded. This one burst from the intercom system, accompanied by red alert indicators flaring to life around the bridge.
• • •
Standing over the master systems display table in the Enterprise’s main engineering room, Geordi La Forge felt the slightest reverberation in the deck beneath his feet. Tucked deep inside the central portion of the starship’s secondary hull, insulated by surrounding decks, conduits, and layers of hull plating, this sensation along with the sudden illumination of the shield generator indicators on the oversized display were the only things telling La Forge that the ship had just been attacked.
“Look at that,” said Lieutenant Veldon, one of his junior engineers, who currently was manning the MSD and the adjacent wall display that dominated the engineering section’s primary operations area. A Benzite, Veldon wore a special respirator harness around her neck that produced a steady vapor comprised of elements native to her home planet’s atmosphere, making her more comfortable in the Class-M environment favored by most humanoids and commonplace aboard Starfleet vessels. “Starboard shields are down eighteen percent.”
La Forge, his attention divided between the wall display and table, was already tapping lengthy strings of instructions across the MSD’s control interfaces. The damage reports showed him that the impacts against the Enterprise’s starboard deflector shields had come from attacks launched by two of the Eizand satellites. Not constant beams, the salvos instead had come in the form of powerful resonance bursts from the electromagnetic pulse generators housed within each of the unmanned vehicles. He had been studying the devices since the first sensor data had been collected upon the starship’s insertion into orbit of Sralanya, and had concluded that the ship would only be at risk if subjected to attacks by several of the satellites working in concert. That notion seemed unlikely, given how Captain Picard had facilitated communications with one of the Eizand leaders and arranged for face-to-face meetings on the planet.
Unlikely, but not impossible, and now here we are.
He tapped his communicator badge. “La Forge to bridge.”
“Bridge,” replied Commander Worf, and the chief engineer noted that the Klingon’s voice sounded tighter and more curt than usual.
“Worf, those EMP generators are already having an effect on our shields. We’re rerouting power to compensate, but I don’t recommend we let them keep taking shots at us.” As he made his report, La Forge tapped another control, activating a connection to the Enterprise’s sensor array. From the MSD, he had access to all of the telemetry being collected by the starship’s host of scanning equipment, just as if he was overseeing those operations from the science or tactical consoles on the bridge. Thanks to this, he now was able to see that still more of the satellites were already maneuvering into position even as the starship was undertaking a new course to move it farther from Sralanya. A scan of the devices had revealed that none possessed the capability to leave the planet’s orbit on their own, so retreat was still a viable option for the Enterprise and would give La Forge and his team time to come up with a means of dealing with the satellites, perhaps without being forced to destroy them.
“I don’t know how much we can take if they gang up on us, Worf.” From what he could discern from the readouts, the ship was continuing to withdraw, but was doing so at a speed La Forge thought was too slow. There was only one reason for such a strategy: Worf was unwilling to leave Captain Picard and the away team on the surface, and was doing everything he could to balance his concern for them against the safety of the ship. Knowing the first officer as he did, La Forge was certain the conflict of priorities would be weighing on his friend.
“We are attempting to—”
The rest of Worf’s reply was lost as everything around La Forge bucked in response to a new assault on the ship’s shields. Static flooded the open communications frequency and every light source in engineering flickered. The deck shuddered beneath him and La Forge grabbed the edge of the MSD table to keep himself steady as the Enterprise absorbed the brunt of the new attack. Still standing on the other side of the table, Lieutenant Veldon pointed to the technical schematic displayed on the table’s center screen.
“Commander, shield strength has dropped another twenty-six percent.”
“Damn it. Reroute power from nonessential systems. I want to stay ahead of this. Bridge, what’s the story up there?”
The Klingon replied, “Seven of the satellites launched a simultaneous attack.”
“I can see that.” La Forge studied the schematic, noting the blinking amber line that traced around the computer-generated dorsal view of the Enterprise and represented its deflector shields. “We’re already down below fifty percent on shield strength. We’re rerouting power, but now it’ll take more time to get us back to full capacity.”
No sooner did he speak the words than the ship trembled from another assault, and this time the alarm sirens blared all through the engineering section. Glancing up from the MSD, La Forge saw several members of his staff moving between workstations, diagnosing the slew of new reports and alert messages streaming across numerous consoles and displays around the room.
“Shields at seventeen percent,” reported Veldon.
His fingers almost a blur as he entered a rapid-fire string of commands to the various interface panels on the table’s flat surface, La Forge said, “I’m pulling power from the warp engines. That should buy us some time.” Another indicator flashed on the MSD, and he saw that the ship’s phasers had just been fired.
In a louder voice, he said, “Worf, we can reroute power for the shields, but it’s a temporary measure. We need some breathing room if I’m going to get this under control.”
Over the still-open comm frequency, Worf said, “Acknowledged. We disabled two of the satellites, but more are coming. We’re moving the ship to a safe distance.”
A moment later, other displays on the table marked the Enterprise’s new course away from the planet and its increase in speed to half impulse, which was more than enough to break orbit and push the starship well out of range of its attackers.
Having heard the bitter tone of defeat in his friend’s voice, La Forge said, “We’ll figure this out, and we’ll get the away team back.”
“Keep me apprised of your progress. Worf out.”
The connection severed before the chief engineer could say anything else, but in truth there was little if anything left to say. He and his people had a job to do.
“He seems rather upset,” said Veldon, the vapor from her respirator drifting up and over her face.
“That’s one way to put it,” replied La Forge. Feeling the first hints of a headache beginning to form behind his eyes, he rubbed his temples and willed himself to ignore the warning signs and focus on the task at hand. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, so we should probably get started.”
16
Isle of Arran
November 20, 2032
Kirsten Heffron decided she could get used to this.
Sipping coffee, she sat in a wooden rocking chair, admiring the lush, gently sloping farmland that extended some distance from the front porch of the farmhouse that was the unlikely headquarters of the equally improbable people who had rescued her from Majestic 12’s clutches. In the distance, the pale pink glow of dawn approached from beyond the hills. She always enjoyed coffee or tea while watching the sunrise, and while it was a favorite and refreshing way to start a new day, it was also a luxury in which she had rarely indulged in recent years. It was another of life’s simple pleasures that often fell by the wayside as she became ever more involved in the demands of her job.
Not anymore. For better or worse, t
hose days are probably over.
The more she mulled that thought, the more Heffron realized she did not care. She had served her country to the best of her ability, and her country had repaid her with betrayal. That would not happen again; not so long as she had any say in the matter. Retirement, even if forced upon her, would be something she would enjoy free of guilt from this point forward, and it began with reacquainting herself with the things she missed from simpler, happier times.
After a long, hot bath—a treat she had afforded herself at least once each day since her rescue and the likes of which she was denied during her extended captivity with only a shower provided in her various holding cells and “community” cottages—Heffron had wrapped herself in comfortable sweats and a robe. The ensemble, along with an assortment of her other clothing and several personal items, was a gift from her benefactors, who liberated them from the storage facility where MJ-12 had placed her belongings after taking her into custody. Heffron was pleased to note that the jeans in particular were of much looser fit than the last time she had worn them. It was nice to see that incarceration had at least one tangible benefit.
Doesn’t mean I’m in any hurry to go back.
As for the farmhouse and the island on which it sat, Heffron was forced to admit that she had never even heard of this place before arriving here via the most unlikely of transportation methods. The woman, Natalie Koroma, had never mentioned it during any of their handful of previous meetings. In fact, the mysterious woman had never provided even the slightest hint as to where she might live or work, no doubt a deliberate choice on her part to keep her identity secret. It was but one more piece of the bizarre puzzle surrounding Koroma and her colleagues that Heffron could never solve, as she had no idea what the completed picture might look like.
“Good morning, Director Heffron.”
