by Dayton Ward
Stepping closer to the transporter pad and folding his arms across his chest, Gold knew that Corsi was still watching him, and he forced himself to recall the report she had just provided and that he now realized he had only partially heard.
“She killed herself?” he asked.
With her hands clasped behind her back as she offered her report to the captain, Corsi nodded. “Yes, sir. Soloman tells me that she activated a burst data transfer using a personal computer interface she was wearing on her wrist. It triggered what he’s calling a failsafe protocol that each implant is fitted with.”
“Found it,” Sarjenka said, her tricorder emitting an animated series of beeps as if to punctuate her statement. Holding up the device, she added, “What’s left of it, anyway. It’s at the base of her skull, where you’d expect to find it, but there’s not much left, I’m afraid.”
Frowning, Gold asked, “A self-destruct?”
“That’s what it looks like, sir,” the young doctor replied. “I’ll have to examine these readings more thoroughly, but it looks as though the implant activated a microburst explosion that severed the brain from the spinal cord. Death was instantaneous.” Listening to the report and observations, Gold shuddered as he envisioned the gruesome, albeit swift, end that had claimed the mysterious Lisqual woman.
From where he stood next to the transporter console, Minister Qrana said, “It was a protocol devised in the event of a catastrophic loss of control over the reformant community, Captain. A signal was to be transmitted to each mediator that would induce an overload and destroy the device.” The minister had beamed aboard the da Vinci at Gold’s request, invited to see Jannim’s body and perhaps make an identification.
Indicating Jannim’s body with a nod, Qrana added, “For obvious reasons, it was always a solution we were loath to use, due to the risk of death or irreparable damage to the brain at the very least. Still, there is some good to come out of this. Now that she is dead, the protests will no longer continue, and life can once again return to normal.”
“With all due respect, Minister,” Corsi said, “I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. Jannim felt strongly enough about her cause to die for it. I doubt she was willing to just give up because she faced capture.”
“What do we know about her?” Gold asked.
Qrana replied, “According to my security minister, her name was Dolanara, a once-respected member of the Reformation Ministry. In fact, she was among the initial group of our people to meet with your representatives when your Federation revealed itself to us.”
“Interesting,” Corsi said. In response to Gold’s inquisitive glance, the security chief added, “That would have placed her in a position to see our technology firsthand, sir, as well as learn about our policies and beliefs. It would give her the chance to learn what she needed to prepare for the uprisings she caused, and even how we might deal with the situation once Betrisian leaders requested our help.”
“I do not understand,” Qrana said, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Corsi replied, “Based on what Commander Gomez told me, the building Dolanara was using as her home and base of operations for infiltrating the planet’s global network was rigged with explosives. Soloman was able to track through the data transfer logs leading up to that event and found a trigger command embedded in one series of transmissions. It was a sort of alarm designed to go off if she was removed from the building against her will. It was tied to her implant, monitoring her location at all times.” Shrugging, she added, “It’d have to be something she overrode when she left the house for normal reasons, but if she was taken without having the time to deactivate it, then…you get what we saw. If anything, our beaming her directly to the da Vinci only accelerated the process.”
“It is unfortunate that an individual life was lost,” Qrana said after a moment, “but it is important to note that the greater community has been served.” He paused, shaking his head. “It is much like the legend from which this radical took her name. In the tales I read as a child, the original Jannim angered the magistrates once too often, compelling them to execute him as an example of how insurrection could not be tolerated and was in fact a danger to the common good.”
Not sure if he was ready to buy all of that, Gold instead asked Corsi, “How much damage did she do?” Instead of replying, the security chief turned to Soloman, who had remained at the transporter room’s rear computer station for the last half hour, scouring the Betrisian computer network in search of answers to the new questions posed by Jannim’s abrupt passing.
“The damage was significant, Captain,” the Bynar replied. “All of the computer equipment at her home was destroyed. Further, she initiated a series of protocols that activated new data encoding and scattering schemes, and apparently issued new instructions throughout the reformant community before locking out the communication network that ties into their neural mediators. At present, the reformants are operating under whatever instructions Jannim supplied them. Without her original files to search for a decryption key, we’re unable to countermand those orders or issue new directives.” Indicating his workstation with one hand, he added, “Determining the full extent of what she put into motion and deciphering enough of it to take the appropriate countermeasures will take time. I’ve already enlisted the services of Dr. Faulwell to assist in this endeavor.”
Gold nodded in approval. Bartholomew Faulwell was perhaps one of Starfleet’s most gifted cryptography specialists. If anyone could help Soloman, it was him. Stepping around the transporter console until he stood next to Soloman, the captain said, “You said ‘full extent.’ Does that mean you’ve been able to find anything that might be useful?”
Soloman replied. “Indeed I have, sir. Another prerecorded message has just been transmitted for global broadcast.” His hand moving with grace and speed across the workstation’s computer interface, the engineer entered a string of commands, in response to which the console’s center monitor flickered to life with a new image. It displayed the now-quite-familiar visage of the cloaked and shrouded Dolanara—or Jannim, as the public still knew her.
“My fellow citizens, if you are watching this message, then you can safely assume that I have either been captured or killed by agents of the very government that is sworn to uphold our laws and defend our way of life.”
Standing behind Gold, Corsi said, “Gets right to the point, doesn’t she?”
“As this is the case, it is time for you to fully understand one of the darkest periods in our history, a stain that has been allowed to fade from memory by those who are most responsible for it being inflicted on our collective conscience. During the bitter conflict that engulfed us and our allies more than a generation ago, we found ourselves in a horrendous war of attrition. Though we possessed a formidable military force, it was decided that large numbers of troops were needed to augment the existing ranks, and a decision was made to conscript thousands of reformants to that end.”
“You instituted compulsory military service for your criminal populations?” Corsi asked.
His eyes narrowing in comprehension, Gold nodded. “Of course. You just issued them new instructions through their implants.”
“Forced to fight a war in which they had no stake or even understanding,” the image of Jannim continued, “reformants were reprogrammed to behave as soldiers. They even were given an incongruous new title: Morhenza, or what our new Federation friends might call ‘legionnaires.’ Of course, their neural mediators also were helpful in quelling the natural emotional responses to the brutalities of war, to say nothing of quashing any ideas of disobedience, mutiny, and so on. Our leaders will tell you that it was a distasteful decision, but one believed to have facilitated our winning of the war.
“When the conflict ended, those Morhenza who survived were returned to their previous lives. What is not generally known, nor perhaps seen as acceptable, is that for many reformants, that decision meant resuming their sentences of rehabilitation a
nd service to the state. For those unfortunate souls, it was as though no time had passed, even though in many instances individual reformats had participated in war efforts for longer periods than if they simply had remained as wards of the penal system.”
“Pause that, Soloman,” Gold snapped, his eyes narrowing in barely controlled contempt as he turned to Qrana. “Fine way to treat those who won your war for you.”
“Do not be too quick to judge us, Captain,” the minister replied, straightening his posture as he reacted to Gold’s accusation. “It was a difficult time for us. Rebuilding efforts after the war were considerable and quite time-consuming. Our society needed a return to something resembling normalcy as we struggled to leave the war behind us.”
Now glowering at Qrana, Gold said, “Your telling us all of this at the outset might have saved us a host of problems, Minister. By keeping this information from me, you put my people at risk. If you think that doesn’t upset me, then you’ve got a lot to learn about humans in general and me in particular.”
Blinking in the face of the rebuke, the Lisqual bowed his head. “It was deemed an internal security matter, Captain. No slight was intended. We…we simply did not realize the extent to which this Jannim was willing to go.”
“Leslie Banks will be glad to hear that,” Corsi said, making no effort to keep the venom from her voice, but she backed down when Gold shot a warning glare in her direction.
Patting Soloman on the shoulder, the captain asked, “What else is there?”
“This reprehensible action by our leaders caused massive outcry amid the populace,” the image of Jannim said, as Soloman restarted the visual playback, “for a time, of course. Protests and riots were incited across our nation, which security forces were tasked with quelling. Many of the people involved in such actions naturally became reformants themselves, and activist groups soon found themselves driven underground, thereafter coming forth only sporadically to lodge infrequent protests and other actions before disappearing in bids to avoid apprehension by the authorities.
“Eventually, and unfortunately, in the eyes of many, the protest movement seemed to fade, perhaps as a consequence of inmates dying off or finally being released from the system to resume their normal lives. But make no mistake: The injustice visited upon the reformant community continues unabated, and in fact has grown even more obscene.”
“It gets worse?” Gold heard Sarjenka say, and turned to see that the young doctor, apparently having finished her examination of Jannim’s body, was now watching the message with no small amount of interest.
Jannim said, “Sadly, there are many of you watching this broadcast who are fully aware of what I am about to divulge: The sentences of thousands of reformants have been extended—many of them indefinitely—because those members of society who benefit most from the status quo have grown accustomed to an easy division between the privileged and the workers. They believe that there exists a need for what amounts to nothing more than a servant class.”
“Well, that was predictable,” Gold said, eyeing Qrana as he recalled their earlier conversation. “Something else you neglected to share, I see.”
On the computer display, Jannim continued, “I and a small trusted band of supporters have spent a considerable amount of time and effort in preparation for this day. After learning that our leaders were petitioning to join the United Federation of Planets, after meeting their first group of visitors to our world and gaining insight into the wondrous community they represent and what it might bode for our people, it was obvious what had to be done. We were faced with an unparalleled opportunity to expose this distasteful chapter of our society’s past and perhaps affect real lasting change for so many who have been wronged. What you have seen to this point—the uprising, the civil disobedience—is but prologue.” With that, the transmission faded, leaving behind a blank screen.
“No,” Qrana said, his voice barely a whisper.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Gold asked. “Is there any more to that message?”
Shaking his head, Soloman replied, “No, sir.” He pointed to the rightmost of the console’s three monitors. “But I am picking up new data transmissions along with other significant new activity within the network.” Then Gold watched the Bynar flinch as though physically struck.
“What is it?” Sarjenka asked, the alarm clear in her voice. “Soloman, are you all right?”
Hunched over the workstation, the engineer actually grunted in reply, his right hand reaching out as if to clutch between his fingers the streams of data that now were scrolling across the computer screens at a speed that made them all but unintelligible to the naked eye.
“Failsafe protocols,” he said. “Hundreds of them. Similar to the one Jannim used to kill herself, but not nearly so devastating, I think.” His eyelids fluttered as he accelerated his communion with the data network, drawing and processing data directly. “A protocol has been enacted that has removed the identification and tracking codes on three hundred and forty-nine distinct neural mediators. All records of these codes are also being purged from the system.”
“Three hundred and forty-nine?” Corsi repeated. “Not all of them?”
“Of course,” Qrana said, and when everyone turned to regard him, the minister cleared his throat. “I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate. At the conclusion of the war, there were several thousand Morhenza to deal with. The number you cite is approximately the same as the number still living and operating under reformant status since the end of the war.”
Turning to Soloman, Gold said, “And you’re telling me we can’t track those implants?”
“That’s correct, sir,” the Bynar replied. “Additionally, with the tracking logs purged of all references to these specific codes, there’s no easy way to extrapolate probable locations of the affected reformants based on their last known whereabouts.”
Frowning, Sarjenka asked, “What does all of that mean?”
Gold released a tired sigh. “There are, essentially, three hundred and forty-nine sleeper agents down there, probably scattered across the planet, all with military training and who the hell knows what kinds of resources at their disposal. If Jannim’s message was the truth, it means these Morhenza have been given new mission orders and have basically gone quiet.”
“Which means,” Corsi added, “that we probably won’t know what they’re up to until they strike somewhere.”
“In other words,” Gold said as he rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to ward off mounting fatigue, as well as a growing sense that he was sinking deeper into a pond of quicksand, “we probably won’t know anything until it’s too late.”
Chapter
7
Genetically predisposed to the arid climate of Drema IV, Sarjenka typically was not prone to perspiration. Still, she had found that when focusing her attention on a task or a problem, particularly when facing a rigid deadline, her increased anxiety would manifest in a fashion that one of her Starfleet Academy classmates rather blithely called a “flop sweat,” which never failed to soak through her clothing.
She was sweating like that now.
“Any solution to finding and dealing with the reformants will lie as much with the technology as with their biology,” Dr. Lense had said upon hearing the latest status reports offered by Soloman in his effort to understand the mysterious Jannim’s sophisticated strategy, as well as to locate the renegade Morhenza she had loosed upon targets across Betrisius III. “We should concentrate our investigation on the point where those two things overlap.”
That was exactly what Sarjenka had been doing for the past several hours in response to the assignment meted out by Captain Gold: Find a way to communicate with the currently unmanaged reformant community, and to stop the more than three hundred Morhenza now wreaking havoc across the Lisqual nation. Soloman and Bart Faulwell were both engrossed in the first aspect of that joint task, but with Lense and the EMH still working to treat Banks, it fell to
the young Dreman doctor to carry out the latter job.
“It is getting worse.”
Looking up from the computer workstation, Sarjenka turned to where Dr. Luluma currently sat at another terminal in the da Vinci sickbay’s main research lab. “I beg your pardon?”
Luluma pointed to her computer monitor. “Incidents of unrest have increased by fifteen percent since the last report,” she said. “Every reformant has abandoned their designated work assignment and is simply standing in the middle of public thorough-fares, as well as blocking entry and exit from government buildings all across the country.”
Stepping across the lab until she could see her companion’s workstation, Sarjenka said, “Reports of attacks on government targets are increasing, as well.” She allowed her eyes to take in the scrolling columns of text comprising the status report. While she was relieved to see that no deaths had been reported, and actual injuries were isolated and few, the truth was that Jannim’s final act of insurrection—which appeared geared toward nothing less than full-scale disgrace and deposing of government at all levels across the country—was having a devastating effect.
Coordinated assaults on government facilities and other public property, as well as the resulting damage, were escalating. Fire bombings and other methods of demolition appeared to be the favored tactics, owing to the effectiveness of the Morhenza’s military training and their apparent ability to mobilize other members of the reformant community to assist them in carrying out their assaults. Though the da Vinci lacked sufficient personnel to make any sort of meaningful contribution on the ground, Captain Gold and the ship’s senior staff were working with planetary leaders to coordinate responses to the unrest, to say nothing of trying to discourage the use of military forces to employ methods of quelling the uprisings in a manner that surely would lead to hundreds if not thousands of needless deaths.
