Star Trek: Typhon Pact - 13 - The Fall: Peaceable Kingdoms

by Dayton Ward

  Rhaast glanced around them, as though to ensure that no one might be eavesdropping, but they were alone here. In a low voice, she said, “I must be honest with you, my friend: I do not like the more aggressive stance we—Starfleet and the Federation—seem to be taking. Defending ourselves against known threats is one thing, of course, but it seems that we are looking for fights where none exist, even with those parties with whom we have legitimate grievances.”

  After a moment, Picard offered a slow nod. “Agreed.”

  “Of that I had no doubt,” the admiral replied. “And to be sure, not everyone in Starfleet or on the council shares this desire, but at the moment President Ishan’s will seems unwavering.” Once more, she glanced over her shoulder before adding, “I worry what might happen should he win the upcoming election, for he does have his share of supporters. What strikes me is the level of tenacity I am seeing in some of the newer officers. I do not mean recent Academy graduates, but those new to command positions. It is almost as though they are out to prove that something like the Borg invasion will never happen again, now that we have a leader like President Ishan, along with a ‘fresh perspective’ with respect to Starfleet’s role as an instrument of Federation policy.”

  Picard had seen a bit of that, himself. Following the tremendous losses it had suffered during the final Borg invasion, Starfleet was forced to promote numerous officers regardless of their time in service, level of experience, and even duration at their present rank. Mid-grade officers with no real practical fleet experience were finding themselves pushed through accelerated training regimens so that they might be given command billets aboard starships or at starbases or other critical facilities across the Federation. This “new generation” of leaders, most if not all possessing the requisite drive and potential to excel in their new roles, still were lacking in significant field experience. Veterans like Picard and his contemporaries who remained in the service often were viewed with reverence if not awe by their fresh counterparts, a situation that always had unnerved him.

  Then, there were the other sentiments.

  “I’ve heard rumblings here and there,” Picard said, “a few odd comments dropped in your officers’ lounge, that sort of thing. Nothing too outlandish, but a few observations that those of us from the ‘old guard’ failed to prepare for what many saw as the Borg’s inevitable full-scale invasion.”

  “I have been made aware of similar comments. I believe ‘ideological entrenchment’ was the phrase my yeoman heard; an inability to adapt to ever-evolving threats from beyond the Federation’s borders. That can no longer be tolerated, of course, and such sentiments now have a champion, in the form of President Ishan.”

  “I’ve seen some of those editorial features on the Federation News Service,” Picard replied. He was troubled by many of the claims made by the people hosting those programs. “The notion that the Federation and Starfleet must put forth some unquestioned display of strength and resolve seems to be of particular importance now.”

  “In some respects, I can agree with that,” Rhaast said. “With the Typhon Pact seemingly lurking within every shadow and their long-term agenda still a mystery, a certain level of vigilance seems required, perhaps even more so than what some might consider ‘traditional’ when compared to Starfleet’s accepted role.”

  Picard grunted. “To a point, yes.” There were those, both within the Federation Council and Starfleet’s highest command echelons, calling for a more aggressive policy toward the Pact, and there were even a few extreme suggestions that waiting for the upstart coalition to make their move was a grave mistake in the making.

  Ishan, of course, while not going so far as to advocate such a bold strategy, still was looking for any reason to tie the Pact, specifically the Tzenkethi, to President Bacco’s murder. However, a special-operations team, dispatched originally to track down the assassins, had instead come across new evidence implicating the True Way. Elements of the Cardassian extremist sect had been acting at the direction of someone within the Federation government. Admiral Riker had suspected President Ishan and Galif jav Velk of collusion with the terrorists, but any chance of proving that had faded after the special-operations team was sent to find the band of rogue agents. All of the Cardassians were killed during the operation meant to capture and return them to the Federation for trial, but not before the startling revelation that the True Way’s mission to kill President Bacco had come from President Ishan’s chief of staff. Before Velk could be charged with that crime, he had been taken into custody, apparently after confessing to Ishan his role in the unsanctioned covert action to eliminate the True Way assassins. With Velk and Ishan seemingly insulated from any possible accusations of complicity in Bacco’s death, rumors once again were circulating that the entire operation somehow had been sanctioned if not coordinated by the Typhon Pact. Despite the utter lack of anything resembling credible evidence to support such allegations, Ishan already was using the rumors—which Riker suspected him of leaking in the first place—to further cement his hawkish stance against the upstart coalition.

  As it was, damage elsewhere remained to be felt. Once made public, the startling revelation of the True Way’s involvement in Bacco’s murder would deal a devastating blow to the tenuous peace agreement between the Cardassians and the Federation. Whether this fragile bond survived that disclosure remained to be seen.

  And that’s without taking into account anything Beverly might find on Jevalan.

  “Joris,” Picard said, and this time it was he who looked around them to ensure they were not being overheard. “This starbase is a key hub for ships coming and going between several Starfleet security patrol routes through this sector. Have you noticed anything . . . unusual . . . with respect to the ships that have made port here?”

  Now it was Rhaast’s time to frown as she regarded her friend. “Unusual? What do you mean?”

  It was a good question, one Picard had been contemplating since his last conversation with Riker and following the admiral’s request to be on the lookout for indications of coercion, collusion, or corruption that could, through even the most indirect means, lead in some way back to President Ishan. While he was working with little more than suspicions and gut feelings, Riker already was tightening his inner circle of close, trusted friends. The small group, at least so far as those officers and others in a position to help him on Earth, was being supplemented by Picard and a small cadre of others scattered across Federation space. Though Picard had cultivated his own very short list of friends and contacts over his lengthy career—among whom he listed Joris Rhaast—Riker still had warned him to tread with care when approaching anyone about Ishan or any of the policies and actions the president pro tem had enacted during his brief tenure in office. Ishan, it seemed, had eyes and ears everywhere, or at least was in the process of establishing such a surreptitious network. How far had his reach extended? Would he already have made it out this far, and if so, how powerful was his influence? As he regarded Rhaast, Picard knew that it was prudent to wonder if the charisma and sway Ishan had demonstrated was strong enough to undermine a friendship going back six decades.

  No, he decided. It most certainly is not.

  “I don’t think it would be anything too overt,” Picard said. “Have you noted anything you might consider out of the ordinary with respect to requests for supplies or personnel? Perhaps ships are heading to or returning from destinations not in keeping with their normal duties?”

  Rhaast sighed. “Given our location, it would not be unusual to service a ship that had been given a classified assignment. There have been occasions where I’ve been tasked with supporting covert missions, but those orders always are delivered to me from Starfleet Command. I also am quite certain that vessels have come here while in the midst of carrying out such assignments, the details of which were not shared with me.” After a moment, the admiral stepped closer and again lowered her voice. “Where are you going with all of this, Jean-Luc? Do you think someo
ne at Headquarters is conducting secret missions for President Ishan?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind,” Picard replied. While he himself had supported and even undertaken similar covert assignments in the past, the current administration’s apparent preference for such activities was troubling. In his mind, it only strengthened the doubts he had about President Ishan’s true motives. “If these missions are legal, then their classified nature is an issue that can be addressed at a later time.”

  “If they’re legal?” Rhaast asked. “Are you suggesting the Federation president might be doing something illegal?”

  Though Rhaast had broached the subject, Picard was unwilling to drag her too far into this mess, fearing whatever reprisals might come her way if Ishan somehow were to get wind of the Enterprise’s real reason for visiting Starbase 310. “Joris, all I’m suggesting at this point is that something unusual is taking place and that we need to remain vigilant, particularly now. Our enemies are watching how we navigate the upheaval we’ve endured and the challenges we face as we try to regain some semblance of normalcy.”

  “Your words are not dissimilar to those uttered by Ishan and his supporters,” Rhaast said. Then, her expression softened. “However, I suspect you are not considering preemptive strikes against our enemies.”

  Despite the serious nature of their conversation, Picard could not help the small chuckle that escaped his lips. “I wasn’t planning on it just yet.”

  Rhaast crossed her arms and regarded him in silence for what Picard estimated was almost an entire minute before she said, “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re up to something, Jean-Luc.” She nodded toward the cargo processing bay. “All of this is a cover, isn’t it? What are you trying to do? Find some clue that Ishan or someone loyal to him has been somehow corrupted? Are you looking for some kind of threat?”

  “I’m also looking for friends, Joris,” Picard replied.

  “Well, you know you have one. The question now is: How many more do you think you will need?”

  Picard sighed. “I don’t know, but one’s a start.”

  Fifteen

  Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth

  Reports, memorandums, maintenance logs. Personnel and materiel requests. Intelligence and security briefings. All of it lay scattered before him, each piece waiting for his tired eyes and—he imagined—increasingly addled brain to give it his undivided attention. Looking at the array of administrative flotsam cluttering the top of his desk, Riker released a tired sigh, which was punctuated by the now-dreaded tone of his computer workstation alerting him that a new message had been added to his queue. He glanced to the station’s display screen, noting that it was not a single message that had just arrived, but thirteen.

  No wonder admirals are always so grumpy.

  Riker did not even know how the backlog had grown so large in such a short amount of time. It was as though the messages and padds provided to him by his aide, Lieutenant Ssura, multiplied whenever he dared to step outside his office. Admiral Akaar had wasted no time redirecting to Riker’s office the constant stream of correspondence, for which the newly minted admiral had been directed to read, absorb, and recommend action. Riker’s first order of business was to put to work three junior officers who formed his administrative staff, ordering them to prioritize everything. He was most interested in intelligence and security matters, of course, but he also wanted quick looks at anything pertaining to Starfleet personnel and ship matters. The triage operation helped to reduce the data overload he had experienced during those first few days in his new role, but even the culling process still left him with a virtual mountain of reading. The situation only worsened when he spent any appreciable time away from his office. His recent trips to the Titan—working in secret with his ship’s senior officers to decipher the covert communications channel and encrypted messages discovered by Akaar and belonging to Galif jav Velk—all had provided opportunities for his workload to suffer exponential increases.

  As though mocking him, his workstation beeped, announcing the arrival of another half dozen messages. Riker pictured the computer terminal catching the rays of the morning sun as they filtered through his window toward San Francisco Bay.

  Relax, Admiral, he cautioned himself. Remember why you’re here.

  In addition to helping him complete a crash course in the current status of nearly every active starship in the fleet, reviewing the regular barrage of reports also afforded Riker an opportunity to search for patterns and other trends that might indicate something untoward taking place. Though he suspected that President Ishan or a member of his inner circle already had someone within the halls of Starfleet Command seeing to it that no truly sensitive materials made it to this office, Riker was hoping that the sheer volume of information might allow something to slip through. There was also the possibility that he might discover who, if anyone, might be censoring the material delivered to him and perhaps even find another link to Ishan. Riker wondered if that latter goal might be too ambitious, given the interim president’s demonstrated talent for covering his tracks and casting suspicion onto other parties. It was doubtful anything truly damaging would cross his desk, but Riker had nothing to lose by looking, anyway.

  The door chime sounded, followed by Lieutenant Ssura’s voice filtering through the intercom system. “Admiral Riker? Apologies for the interruption, sir, but you have an urgent call from Admiral Akaar.”

  Frowning, Riker had only a moment to consider what Akaar might want or need, when the still-open communications channel erupted with several new voices.

  “Remain at your desk, Lieutenant,” said an unidentified male, followed by another voice issuing similar instructions to what Riker surmised were the other members of his staff occupying his suite’s outer offices. Then his own doors parted, and a pair of uniformed officers bearing the rank and insignia of the Federation Security Agency’s presidential protection detail entered the room. A Bajoran female and a Vulcan male, they said nothing as they moved into the office.

  “What the hell is this?” Riker asked, rising from his chair.

  The female Bajoran, on her way toward the door at the rear of the room that led to the office’s private lavatory, stopped and glared at Riker. “Standard security sweep, Admiral.”

  “Standard for what?” New movement from the doorway made Riker turn to see Ishan Anjar, his dark, full-length Bajoran robes flowing behind him as he entered the room. His long, fast strides carried him across the office to stand before Riker’s desk in just a few steps. His expression was flat, though Riker saw irritation and perhaps even suspicion in the eyes of the president pro tem. Given how they had left their last meeting, Riker knew he should not be surprised by Ishan’s confrontational demeanor.

  “Mister President,” Riker said, straightening his posture. “I wasn’t aware that you’d be in San Francisco today, sir.” He had last seen Ishan mere days earlier, in the president’s office in Paris, with Riker pressing him about his hawkish stance toward the Typhon Pact. To say that the meeting had not gone well was, Riker decided, something of an understatement. He schooled his features, offering his best poker face as Ishan fixed him with an accusatory glare. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “You can tell me why the Enterprise is not en route to the Neutral Zone to commence its patrol rotation. Admiral Akaar informed me that you changed its assignment. I want to know why.”

  I guess this is what Akaar wanted to talk about.

  Feigning confusion, Riker replied, “I don’t understand, Mister President. As I reported to Admiral Akaar, I redirected Captain Picard to Starbase Three Ten in order to take on supplies and other equipment for the agricultural colony on Acheron. It’s not too far off the Enterprise’s scheduled route to the border, and it’s one of the closest and fastest ships in the sector.”

  He resisted the impulse to ask whether the president really had received his information from Admiral Akaar or instead had come to possess it than
ks to other, less savory means. It had taken his people aboard the Titan little time to determine that Riker’s last subspace conversation with Captain Picard had been monitored. Despite detecting the intrusion and being able to warn Riker, his team so far had been unable to locate the source of the infiltration, though he had confirmed the interception had taken place only after the discussion was under way for several minutes. Because of this, Riker was confident that nothing damaging had been overheard, but he still had opted to take greater care as to how he would continue to pass information to Picard and other trusted allies from this point forward.

  Ishan made no attempt to hide his dissatisfaction and its accompanying disbelief of Riker’s explanation. “It’s my understanding that another ship had already been given that assignment. Why the change?”

  Rather than further annoy the president by asking him how or why he even should care about such mundane details, Riker instead replied, “The Enterprise is also large enough to transport some of the heavier equipment the colony needs. The colony’s had additional equipment failures due to some extreme weather events.” He shrugged. “Apparently, spring monsoon season is something you have to experience to truly appreciate.” Reaching to his desk, he retrieved the padd he knew contained a record of the reports and other information he had compiled regarding the situation, and he held it up for Ishan to see. “Admiral Akaar approved my recommendations, and I issued Picard modified orders.” When the president did not offer an immediate response, Riker decided to press, just a bit. “The captain said he’d be able to accommodate the revised timetable and the extra stops, and I’ve already contacted Sutherland to inform her captain that the Enterprise will be a day or so late relieving them.”

  “That’s not Picard’s decision to make,” Ishan snapped.

  “He didn’t make the call, Mister President; I did.”

  The president stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “It wasn’t your decision, either.”