Star Trek: Typhon Pact 06: Plagues of Night

by David R. George III

  Beld approached the hologram near the representation of the entrance to the Bajoran wormhole, then lifted a gloved hand to indicate an area away from it, in a direction opposite that of the blue light. “It is here,” Beld said, his words delivered in the electronic scratch emitted by his helmet.

  “There?” Trok asked. “But the Omarion Nebula is located within Dominion space. We’re traveling away from our objective.”

  “We are traveling along the path best suited to successfully achieving our objective,” said Joralis Kinn, stepping over to stand beside Beld. The usual green cast of the Romulan’s skin seemed deeper, almost bilious. “We will wait to reach the far end of the prescribed shipping lanes—” He pointed to the wide mouth of the blue cone in the navigational projection. “—and then circle back around to the Dominion.” He drew his finger through the air, around the spherical display, until he reached the relative point where Beld had placed the Omarion Nebula.

  “Do you know how much time that will add to our journey?” Trok objected. “If we wish to ensure the safety of the Breen Confederacy and the Romulan Star Empire and the rest of the Typhon Pact, we need to develop the slipstream drive now, not in five hundred or a thousand days from now.”

  “Yes, we seek to develop the advanced drive in the shortest possible time,” Kinn agreed. “But we must also be mindful of not allowing the Federation to impede our efforts to facilitate that development.” He pointed toward the blue light in the display, then looked to Beld. “Show him,” Kinn said.

  Beld reached to the console below the projection and worked some controls. As Trok watched, a series of red dots blinked on in the display. They all bordered the blue swath identifying the Federation-mandated shipping lanes.

  “These,” Kinn said, “represent Starfleet sensor buoys seeded along the mandated routes of Typhon Pact vessels after entering the Gamma Quadrant. I do not know if this has been explicitly stated, but it is reasonable to assume that if Federation sensors detect a ship deviating from this region—” He spread his hands along the blue expanse. “—then Starfleet will send a starship to investigate, and probably attempt to apprehend the offending vessel and crew.”

  “If they can find us,” Trok said.

  “Irrelevant,” Kinn said. “Even if this ship cannot be located—and perhaps especially if this ship cannot be located—the Federation and their Khitomer allies would accurately claim a violation of their agreement with the Typhon Pact. In such a case, they would probably abrogate the arrangement. They would also fortify their defenses at the wormhole, and they would not allow this ship to travel back to the Alpha Quadrant and then on to Breen space.”

  “We do have contingency plans to fight our way through the wormhole, but only if absolutely necessary,” Beld said.

  “Those plans rely on normal operations on and around Deep Space Nine,” Kinn said. “If the Federation expects a battle, they will be far better equipped for it, which would necessarily diminish our chances of success.”

  Trok studied the navigational display, hoping to find a means of invalidating what Kinn had said. “If we destroy one of the buoys,” he finally suggested, “make it look like a system failure …” He did not bother to finish his statement, knowing that he had made his point, but also recognizing its simple flaw.

  “Even if we could disable one of the buoys and mask our complicity,” Kinn said, “we would disappear entirely from the coverage of the numerous remaining sensor platforms, which would alert Starfleet of our actions. Additionally, the coverages of the Federation’s sensors overlap, making the disruption of a single buoy inadequate to the task of eluding their efforts to track Pact vessels.”

  Trok uttered an expletive, which his helmet translated into an electronic squawk.

  “It is no matter, Engineer Trok,” Kinn said. “It will take us longer than we wished to reach the Dominion, but we will reach it.”

  Trok nodded. The Romulan made the task ahead of them sound effortless, but the engineer suspected it would not be that easy. Which is probably why I’m so anxious to get started, he realized. The sooner they reached the Dominion and acquired what they needed—without, Trok hoped, the intervention of either the Founders or the Jem’Hadar—the sooner they could be on their way back to the Confederacy.

  And the sooner I can nullify the Federation’s technological advantage over the Typhon Pact, he thought. And if I can bring the slipstream drive to the entire Breen fleet and to the starships of the other Pact powers, utter defeat will be at hand for the Khitomer Accords powers.

  August 2383

  19

  Ro Laren stood on the upper walkway of the Promenade, peering out into space through an oval window that reached twice her height. In the distance, a brilliant point of light flared in the darkness, and then a circular mass of churning blue eddies swirled into existence, as though out of nothing. Ro had never counted herself among the Bajoran faithful, and yet a few seconds later, as she watched the wormhole collapse into itself in a flurry of motion, and then disappear completely in a single bright flash of white light, she thought that she could understand at least some measure of their reverence. Whatever the physics of the artificial wormhole—which, as far as Ro knew, Federation scientists had begun to comprehend, but had yet to replicate—the illuminated dervish seemed special, felt like some extraordinary marvel of the universe.

  If you’re going to believe somebody a god, she thought, there are certainly far less compelling reasons than their ability to create something like that.

  For long moments, Ro continued to stare out at the patch of space where she had seen the wormhole. Behind her, she heard sounds of movement from down below, on the first level of the Promenade, as some of the station’s shopkeepers no doubt readied for the day ahead. She wondered if Quark might be among them, but she knew that he rarely opened his place himself; even Treir typically slept in after her late nights there, usually leaving Broik to unlock the bar and prepare for business.

  Maybe I’ll go pay Quark a visit in his quarters, Ro thought. She felt unsettled, and so she wanted some company. But she knew that Quark would still be in bed, and like anybody else, he needed his sleep. Besides, I already know what he’d tell me.

  As Ro went on looking straight ahead, out past Deep Space 9’s habitat and docking rings, out at empty space, she felt the gray cloud of fatigue dulling her thoughts. She had slept poorly through the night, waking often, and always with her mind focused on a particular impending arrival at the station. She tried to tell herself that the continuing travel of Typhon Pact vessels to and from DS9 troubled her, but in the two months since the program had begun, there had been no incidents beyond an occasional, usually drunken skirmish in Quark’s. And her suspicions about her chief of security, and his own alleged suspicions of two other crew members, had proven unwarranted. Investigations, including interviews and deep-background checks, exonerated them all. Most important—and most telling—the station had suffered no acts of sabotage.

  I know what’s bothering me, Ro thought. I’m just not sure exactly why. That morning, she had chosen to stop by the Promenade on her way to ops, not so that she could watch the wormhole cycle into and out of reality, but to get a glimpse of a part of the station not visible from her office.

  Finally ready to do so, Ro lifted her gaze. Having arrived within the hour, docked at an upper pylon, one of Starfleet’s best known vessels hung above DS9: U.S.S. Enterprise. Although Ro had not served aboard the Sovereign-class vessel, designated NCC-1701-E, she had spent more than a year of her Starfleet career as a flight controller on its predecessor, the Galaxy-class NCC-1701-D. To Ro’s eye, the newer Enterprise appeared sleeker than its antecedent, with a less rounded and more elongated primary hull, streamlined warp nacelles, and an overall shallower profile.

  But neither the older nor the newer ship carried any meaning for Ro. Their captain did.

  Jean-Luc Picard had been a significant force in Ro’s life. After standing court-martial for her role in the
disastrous events on Garon II, she’d spent more than three years in the stockade. Upon her eventual release, Picard supported the resumption of her Starfleet career, a decision not especially popular with Starfleet Command. Later, he recommended Ro for enrollment in Starfleet’s demanding Advanced Tactical Training program. She welcomed the challenge and met it head-on, but it unexpectedly sent her life spinning in another direction, ultimately leading to her betrayal of the Enterprise captain.

  Ro had wholeheartedly believed in the worthiness of the cause for which she had committed her act of treachery. The self-styled Maquis had been displaced from their homes when the Federation had ceded a number of planets to the Cardassian Union. Having grown up on a world occupied by the brutal Cardassians, Ro not only sympathized with the Maquis, but empathized with them. Although she would sooner have chosen to remain loyal to Captain Picard, she could not allow herself to be party to the arrest of people simply fighting to protect themselves and their homes.

  Nearly six years passed before Ro saw Picard again. By that time, the Maquis had been utterly defeated by Dominion forces, and she had joined the Bajoran Militia, which had posted her at DS9 as its chief of security. When Enterprise visited the station, Captain Picard appeared in her office, where he faced her not with anger or acrimony—though he would have been justified in doing so—but with acceptance and a seemingly genuine interest in her career and her life.

  Later, when Bajor became a member of the Federation, Ro had confronted the choice of attempting to rejoin Starfleet—over the objections of more than one admiral—or opting for the path of least resistance and moving on from DS9. She gravitated toward the latter alternative, until Captain Picard somehow overcame the voices in Starfleet Command opposing Ro. He also offered her his support in a simple but powerful way: he had a Starfleet uniform delivered to her office on the station, along with a handwritten note encouraging her to remain on DS9.

  In some ways, Jean-Luc Picard had become like a vintern to Ro—an older, experienced figure who provided personal guidance, an exemplar of behavior and principle. Although they had communicated on only those two occasions in the past dozen or so years, she still felt connected to him. Her father had been tortured to death when she’d been just seven years old, causing her great anguish and leaving a void in her life that had led her more than once down the wrong path, and few others—not family members, not vedeks, not Starfleet admirals—had been able to point her in the right direction. Picard’s interest and belief in her had been like a beacon in the night, guiding her forward to better places.

  Then why am I so nervous? Ro asked herself. She knew that Captain Picard intimidated her, but she still thought that she should be excited and happy to see him, especially after such a long time.

  I will be happy to see him, of course, she thought. But her emotions seemed more complicated than that. Though he had behaved as though he had forgiven her disloyalty to him, she could not help wondering if he truly had. Regardless, how could Ro ever repay the captain for all that he’d done for her, for all that he’d allowed her to accomplish?

  You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. In her life, she had leaped into battle, outnumbered and outgunned, against the formidable Jem’Hadar, and yet she felt anxious about seeing a man she respected and admired, and who seemed to hold her in high regard. It made no sense.

  Ro pulled herself away from the window and headed for the nearest turbolift. She resolved to go to her office and see if the Enterprise crew had yet filed an itinerary for the few days they would spend at the station. Then she would contact Captain Picard and ask if she could, at his convenience, board the ship to see him.

  As Ro headed for the lift, she glanced over the railing toward the main entrance of Quark’s. She saw the doors thrown wide and the counter that opened directly onto the Promenade ready for business. She saw three people inside—Broik, Frool, and M’Pella—but not her … what? Friend? Companion? Paramour?

  Ro smiled. He’s just my Quark, she thought, content not to define their relationship. Whatever they had together, it had worked for them for some time. There seemed little reason to risk spoiling it by assigning it a label.

  She entered the turbolift and stated her destination. When the cab arrived at ops, still several minutes before the start of the alpha shift, it pleased Ro to see that most of her command crew had already taken their posts to begin the day: her first officer and the Bajoran liaison, Cenn, sat at his general-services console, Chief Chao at the main engineering station, Candlewood at sciences, and the station’s newest transfer, Slaine, at tactical. It still felt peculiar to see a Cardassian working alongside Bajorans, but since the addition of Cardassia and Ferenginar to the Khitomer Accords almost a year earlier, a limited integration of personnel had taken place across the various military services.

  Zivan Slaine held the grade of dalin in the Cardassian Guard, which roughly equated to the rank of lieutenant commander in Starfleet. In the few months that she’d been stationed on DS9, Dalin Slaine had performed well in her position, particularly given the high volume of Typhon Pact vessels traveling within the Bajoran Sector and through the wormhole. Though understandably reserved when she’d first come aboard, Slaine had lately displayed a willingness to mix with the crew in off-duty hours.

  As Ro descended to the lower, central level of ops, she saw Cenn look up from his console, then quickly cross to intercept her at the base of the steps. “Good morning, Captain,” he said quickly. Before Ro could even respond, he nodded his head in the direction of her office and said, “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Ro looked up, but even before she saw the rigidly postured figure, she guessed that Captain Picard had come to her office before she’d been able to visit him aboard Enterprise. He stood before her desk, with his back to the rest of ops, his head turned toward the left. In profile, he appeared strong and regal.

  “Thank you, Desca,” Ro said to her first officer. “Anything else to report?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” Cenn said. “We had routine activity through the gamma and delta shifts, with a few ship arrivals and departures.” He pointed up toward her office and Captain Picard. “Most notably, the Enterprise.”

  “All right,” Ro said. “I’ll check back with you after my meeting.” She walked past Cenn and started up the stairs that led to her office. To her annoyance—and really, to her confusion as well—she felt her heart race inside her chest. What is it about this man? she thought, but she had no answers for herself.

  The doors to Ro’s office parted with an audible click. At the sound, Picard turned in her direction. He looked much the same as the last time she’d seen him, seven years earlier, though the small line of gray hair that had ringed his head back then had vanished, leaving him completely bald. He appeared fit, though perhaps the flesh of his face had sagged a bit, and the lines around his mouth and eyes had deepened.

  “Captain Ro,” he said, and he surprised her by smiling—an actual face-brightening, tooth-filled smile. Picard had supported her and provided a strong influence in her adult life, but his reputation of being a man reserved by nature, even austere, had been well earned.

  Ro felt the sudden inclination to step forward and embrace her former commanding officer. Thinking that the gesture would likely embarrass both of them, she resisted. “Captain Picard,” she said, pleased that she managed to keep her voice level and mask her nervousness. “It’s good to see you.”

  Picard raised an arm and motioned across the room. “I was just admiring your artwork,” he said, walking over to the side of the office where a painting hung on the outer bulkhead. Bordered by a simple, gilt frame, it depicted a starscape with a green-and-white planet hanging in the lower right-hand corner. Visible through the cloud cover, recognizable coastlines identified the world as Bajor. Four moons orbited above it, while a shard of Endalla, its largest natural satellite, showed over the horizon. “If I’m not mistaken,” Picard said, “the stars are accurately represented. I think I c
an make out a number of the better-known Bajoran constellations.” He traced his fingers just above the canvas as he enunciated the historic stellar configurations: “The Runners … the Dawn … the Falls … the Tears … the Temple.” He glanced back over at Ro. “I think that may be all of them I know.”

  “And right in each case,” Ro said, moving over to join him in front of the painting. “It’s called Bajor at Peace.” Ro indicated a triangular star formation on the left side of the work. “This is the Flames,” she said, “and that—” She pointed to one of the lower stars. “—is Sol.”

  Picard nodded at the mention of his home star. “Is the artist Bajoran?”

  “Yes,” Ro said. “A woman named Acto Viri.”

  Picard seemed to consider the name. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with her work.”

  “I’m not either,” Ro said. She appreciated art for art’s sake, but she knew little about the subject. For that reason, she rarely spoke about it, though she felt comfortable discussing Bajor at Peace with Picard.

  Abruptly, Ro realized that her heart had stopped galloping, and that the captain had made it so. Apparently either anticipating or recognizing her disquiet, Picard had adroitly driven their conversation in a manner clearly designed to put her at ease. She felt grateful for his perceptiveness and consideration. “Captain Kira acquired the painting when she was in command of the station. When she left Deep Space Nine to enter the seminary, she gave it to me.”

  “Very generous.” Then, changing the subject, Picard said, “So: Captain Ro.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s been more than a year since my promotion, and I still can’t believe it myself.”