by Dayton Ward
Movement at the doorway leading to the suite’s other room caught Picard’s attention, and he looked over to see Chen standing at the entrance, her expression one of nervousness.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain, but I’ve just been contacted by the Enterprise. Commander Worf is reporting that Admiral Riker needs to speak with you immediately. He’s ready to route the connection down here at your order, sir.”
Rising from his chair, Teclas said, “I have taken up too much of your time as it is, Captain. Thank you for meeting with me. Perhaps we can do so again, under more pleasant circumstances.”
“I appreciate you coming to see me, Ambassador,” Picard replied as he stood. “As I said, I will see to it that what you’ve shared with me is forwarded on to President Ishan and the council.”
Teclas bowed his head. “I am most appreciative, Captain. Good day.” With a nod to Chen, the Romulan turned and exited the room, leaving Picard alone with his subordinate.
“Well, that was interesting,” he said. Retrieving his tea, he moved from the table to the comm station situated in the wall on the room’s far side. “Lieutenant, did Commander Worf indicate why Admiral Riker might be calling?”
“No, sir,” Chen replied. “He just said it was important.”
“Very well. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant. I’ll call for you when I’m finished here.” As Chen turned to depart the suite, Picard tapped his communicator badge. “Picard to Enterprise.”
“Enterprise. Worf here.”
“Patch Admiral Riker down to me, Number One.” Taking the lone seat positioned before the suite’s communications station, Picard was just getting settled when the single display monitor activated, followed by a scrolling stream of Ferengi text that then was replaced by a Federation seal and the caption ENCRYPTION PROTOCOLS ENABLED. CODE 47AT-1. Picard nodded in approval at that, knowing it meant Commander La Forge had succeeded in employing security parameters that would ensure the conversation was not being monitored by outside parties. The code designation La Forge had appended to the message was the chief engineer’s way of authenticating to Picard that the protective measures were active and—for the moment, at least—uncompromised. La Forge also had told him that Riker was employing a similar strategy at his end, with the assistance of his trusted chief engineer from the Titan.
A moment later, the graphic was replaced by the face of Admiral William Riker. Picard noted the small green icon in the screen’s lower left corner, another indicator supplied by La Forge to indicate the frequency’s secure status. He knew that Worf would be monitoring the connection—though not the actual conversation—to guard against possible infiltration.
“Jean-Luc,” Riker said, smiling. “Good to see you, as always.”
“Likewise, Admiral.”
Riker’s smile widened. “We’ve been friends long enough that I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? At least now, while we’re on a supposedly secure channel?”
“Very well, then, Will.” Picard held up his tea in salute.
“Have you heard from Beverly?”
“Still on her way to Deep Space Nine, at last report.” Picard knew that Riker was asking the question under the guise of “catching up” and perhaps using the feint to determine whether their communications actually were being monitored. Glancing to the display screen’s bottom corner, Picard noted that the icon there remained a steady green. “She’s due to arrive there in a day or so, if my math’s right. René misses her terribly, of course.”
“I can imagine. Deanna sends her best. Natasha is growing like a weed.”
“As is René.”
“My father always told me that kids grow up too fast. Now I know what he meant. How’s Ferenginar?”
“Wet, and boring.” After sipping from the tea, Picard set the cup aside. It was time, he thought, to test the limits of their secure connection. “Will, you and I both know the Enterprise being here is a colossal waste of time.”
“Not for long. I’ve got a new assignment for you. We’ve just done some reshuffling of sector patrol routes and there’s a gap, which the Enterprise has been ordered to fill. You’ll be relieving the Sutherland.”
“Patrol duty?” That was perhaps the last thing Picard would have expected Riker to say. “You can’t be serious?”
“I am, and so is everyone else.” Riker paused, sighing. “Ordinarily I’d think it was a misuse of the flagship and her captain, but with tensions heating up and all the posturing taking place with both the council and the Typhon Pact, it’s felt that we need to ‘enhance our visibility’ along the borders, particularly with respect to the Pact’s more prominent players.”
“The Romulans?”
“For starters, though for obvious reasons we’re also beefing up patrols along our border with Breen territory. However, you and the Enterprise will be heading for the Neutral Zone.”
Picard considered that for a moment. “Starfleet has a habit of sending me to the Neutral Zone whenever they want to get me out of their hair for a while, don’t they?”
“I guess they figure you have a long way to travel if you want to cause trouble.” Riker’s smile returned. “However, these new orders also allow me to give you something else to take care of on your way out there. Remember the last thing I told you?”
Picard’s gaze once more shifted to the screen’s bottom edge and the indicator that continued to glow a steady green. “Indeed I do,” he said, recalling the veiled message Riker had dispatched soon after his own confrontation with President Ishan.
Sometimes the enemy hides in plain sight.
Riker now was convinced that President Ishan—perhaps guided by his former chief of staff, Galif jav Velk—had somehow conspired with the True Way to perpetrate Nanietta Bacco’s assassination. Riker was pursuing that angle from his end, but he had intimated the presence of obstacles hindering his efforts. The two men had not been able to converse on this subject since then, for fear of their communications being monitored.
“Well, I have reason to believe the circle is larger than we think,” Riker said, “and that involved players are . . . closer to home. I’ve been researching recent orders cut for various ships and starbases to see if anything sticks out. I haven’t found too much yet, but there are some patterns emerging. As for your next assignment, I need you to go to Starbase Three Ten and pick up a shipment of supplies for the colony on Acheron.”
Frowning, Picard said, “Starbase Three Ten? That’s a bit out of our way so far as traveling to the Neutral Zone.”
“I know, and to be honest, there already was another ship scheduled to make that delivery, but I need you to take a look around while you’re there and see if anything strikes you as unusual. The starbase commander’s a friend of yours, right?”
“Yes,” Picard replied. “Admiral Rhaast and I went to the Academy together.” He paused, realizing what Riker might be suggesting. “I’ve known her for decades, Will. You don’t think she’s involved in any of this, do you?”
Riker held up a hand. “I have no reason to believe that, Jean-Luc. However, some of the ships that have been given assignments that took them to Starbase Three Ten for one reason or another trace back to directives handed down from someone very high up.” He stopped there, but his expression was enough for Picard to complete the thought.
Ishan, or someone in his inner circle. Velk, perhaps. The president pro tempore’s chief of staff already had made his presence known during the interim administration, particularly in his dealings with Admiral Akaar and Riker himself.
“What I want you to do,” Riker continued, “is simply try and look around and see if you can determine whether anything odd might be going on, which we then might be able to trace back. Maybe Admiral Rhaast has noticed something. With all the ship traffic that starbase gets, it’s a good chance something’s stuck out for her.”
Considering how he might go sneaking about the installation in command o
f one of his oldest friends still on active Starfleet duty, Picard said, “And if I find something? What then?”
Riker shrugged. “One step at a time, Jean-Luc.”
Before Picard could say anything, something on his monitor caught his attention, and he saw that the green icon had turned red. If La Forge was right, then that only could mean one thing.
Someone’s listening. He had no way to know who might now be monitoring the conversation, and he could only hope that his chief engineer was at this moment attempting to trace to its source whatever signal he had detected.
“Very well, Admiral,” Picard said, forcing himself not to sit straighter in his chair or do anything else that might tip off possible eavesdroppers that their presence was known. He saw in Riker’s eyes that his friend had received the same warning from his own people. “Once the afternoon session is concluded and I can take my leave of the Grand Nagus, we’ll make course for Starbase Three Ten. I’ll have the estimated time of arrival and departure for Acheron with my next report.”
“Excellent, Captain,” Riker replied, playing his part. “I know the detour is a bit outside the norm, but the Enterprise is the only ship in the vicinity that’s large enough to handle the entire consignment and get there in a timely fashion. Once that’s concluded, you’ll be free to head for the Neutral Zone to relieve the Sutherland.” He smiled. “Thanks for adding the extra stop. I owe you dinner the next time you’re back this way.”
“A debt I shall most certainly collect, Admiral. Picard out.”
His smile faded as the image shifted from Riker to the Federation seal before reverting to the official symbol of the Ferengi Alliance. Picard watched as the red icon lingered on the display for an extra moment before it, too, faded.
Had someone, either Ishan or one his confidants, heard enough of the conversation to damage whatever plan Riker had put into motion? There was no way to be sure, though Picard trusted La Forge’s technical expertise when it came to defeating electronic eavesdropping. The only course of action would be to stick to the scheme Riker had plotted and carry out both his legitimate assignment as well as the more clandestine tasks the admiral had given him. As his former first officer might say, whoever else had entered the game would be keeping their cards close to their vest, waiting for the right moment to play their hand.
Picard just hoped that his crew—and Beverly, for that matter—would be able to cover that bet.
Twelve
Jevalan, Doltiri System—Earth Year 2369
Grateful for the momentary respite, Beverly Crusher dropped onto the bench along the starboard side of the shuttlecraft Justman’s cargo compartment and slumped against the bulkhead. She blew out her breath and closed her eyes, already feeling the first tendrils of sleep teasing her exhausted mind and body.
I don’t need much, she thought. Just a month, or so. I think I’m starting to get a little old for this kind of thing.
How long had it been since their arrival? A glance to the chronometer on the cockpit’s console told her almost nine hours had elapsed since the Enterprise had entered orbit above this world. The time between then and now was but a blur, with Commander Riker leading the first away team in order to give Captain Picard a hands-on assessment of the situation here on the planet’s surface. The Cardassians had left devastation in their wake before evacuating the planet with its collection of encampments and other outposts, strip mining operations, scores of bedraggled slave laborers, and even a significant number of Cardassians. It was the latter part of the entire tragic equation that had struck Crusher harder than anything else. After all, it was expected that the Cardassians would treat Bajorans as disposable, but their own people? Seeing that, and how some of them had been treated at the hands of those who had risen up to throw off the shackles of their oppression, had all but made her ill.
There had been precious little time for such personal failings, as no sooner had she and Riker delivered their initial reports to the captain than Picard and the commanders of the other two starships that had accompanied the Enterprise—the Farragut as well as the hospital ship Centaur—had begun mobilizing response teams to send to the surface. Now it was nine hours later, and Crusher was certain that she and her medical and other support personnel—to say nothing of the comparable teams from the other starships—had only just begun to have any appreciable impact on the number of refugees being routed through their processing and treatment facility.
“Well, that was a great rehearsal,” a voice said. “I think we’re ready for the real thing. Can’t say I’m looking forward to the reviews, though.”
Crusher turned to see Lieutenant Miranda Kadohata, one of the Enterprise’s junior operations officers, standing at the foot of the shuttlecraft’s rear ramp. Her thin smile was humorless, though her expression warmed as Crusher acknowledged her.
“Opening nights are always the hardest,” she said, leaning forward on the bench. “Do I look as tired as I feel?”
Frowning, Kadohata asked, “I don’t know. Do you feel dead?”
“I wish I felt that good.”
“Then you look great.”
The quick banter elicited a small chuckle as Crusher stood from the bench and tried to stretch tired muscles, doing her best to ignore the dirt and dried blood that spattered the medical smock she wore over her uniform. As for Kadohata, the gold fabric of her uniform was dirty, and her boots and legs were covered with mud. Strands of her dark hair, normally held in a tight bun at the back of her head, hung loose about her face and shoulders. There were circles beneath her brown eyes and smudges of dirt—or something else—on her cheeks.
“Do you want some coffee?” Crusher asked, stepping across the Justman’s cargo compartment to the small replicator in the forward bulkhead.
Shaking her head, Kadohata grimaced. “I’ve had enough coffee for one day, I think. Maybe even the next three or four.” Then, she shrugged. “Oh, to hell with it. Cream and sugar, please.”
After providing the appropriate instructions to the replicator, Crusher turned away from the mechanism. “What have they had you doing? Come to think of it, why are you even down here, anyway?”
Kadohata replied, “I’ve been asking myself that same question all day. The simple answer is that bodies are needed whenever we’re short staffed down here. Commander Data detailed our section to help out the engineering teams with infrastructure repairs.”
Two cups materialized in the replicator’s alcove, and Crusher retrieved them. Handing one to Kadohata, she said, “Lucky you.”
“Don’t I know it.” Pausing to take a sip of her coffee, she held up the cup in salute. “Thank you, by the way.” She reached up to push aside a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “Now that the surviving refugees have been moved from the Tabata labor camp, I’ve been overseeing repairs over there. The power generators and water filtration system were destroyed during the final attack. I guess I should be thankful I wasn’t assigned to remains handling. According to a friend of mine who’s on that detail? They’ve catalogued nearly a thousand bodies.” She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what the Cardassians were trying to do when they pulled out of here. From the reports I’ve read, they had more than enough firepower to level all the camps and everyone in them. Were they hoping to just leave any survivors here to die from starvation or exposure?”
Crusher sighed as she sipped her own coffee. “The official statement from the Cardassian government is that the detachment assigned here fled because they feared for their lives in the face of a massive resistance effort on the part of the Bajorans.” It had sounded ridiculous when Captain Picard had briefed her and the rest of the Enterprise senior staff on the Jevalan situation, and Crusher considered it ludicrous now that she had spent the day wading through the aftermath of the Cardassians’ evacuation. “I think they just cut their losses and got the hell out of there, but not before making one last statement before running away like a bunch of cowards.”
More than
a week had passed between the Cardassians’ departure and the arrival of the first Starfleet vessel, a small scout ship without the resources to provide any meaningful aid to the hundreds of survivors in the seven different labor camps scattered across the planet. The Enterprise, Centaur, and Farragut had arrived within hours of each other, and Starfleet was sending additional ships to assist in the relief effort for the next day or so, but the three starships and their crews would bear the brunt of the work involved. Not wanting to overtax any of the vessels with survivors, initial treatment and processing centers had been established in hasty fashion in areas adjacent to the three largest labor camps, which were situated far enough away so that the emergency facilities would not be overrun by hordes of frantic survivors. Refugees were beamed in groups to receiving areas for initial processing and examinations before being transported to the medical stations set up at one of the three main hubs. The camp established by the Enterprise groups had been teeming with incoming survivors at a steady though not overwhelming rate, owing in large part to the triage and other efforts of those satellite locations.
Elsewhere, temporary housing sites were being constructed to billet those Bajorans who had no desire to return to the labor camps, though a significant number of the former slaves were taking matters into their own hands, building interim shelters within the existing compounds. With rumors of the Cardassians preparing to withdraw from their occupation of Bajor, it was not unreasonable to assume that the refugees from this and similar camps on other worlds would be returned to their homeworld, but what would be waiting for them there? Large sections of Bajor had been strip-mined, while others had borne the brunt of ecological damage at the hands of Cardassian oppressors. It would take years to repair the wounds—both physical and otherwise—inflicted upon Bajor and its people, if indeed such healing even was possible.
