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

by Dayton Ward

  “You see it, too.” Still holding the broken picture frame in his hand, Daret placed it on the desk, angling it so that the photograph it contained could be studied alongside its digital counterpart. On the screen, the area behind Daret and Raal depicted a section of the exhumed labor camp ruins with debris and equipment scattered across the swath of upended soil. As for the picture in the frame, it depicted the two scientists in the identical pose, but in the distance behind them at the bottom of the crater’s opposite side, a small dark opening was visible.

  Pointing to that section of the photograph, Daret said, “That is the entrance to the temple. It’s visible in other images, but not in any of the ones featuring us.” He reached up to tap the monitor, and a series of images from the dig site began to display in sequence, with each image remaining on screen for several seconds before advancing to the next picture. When a photograph without Daret or Raal presented itself, Daret paused the playback. “See?”

  Tom grunted. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Yeah,” Crusher said, staring at both images. “Ilona, can you tell if any of these images have been copied from here?”

  “So far as I’m able to determine, nothing was copied.” Daret turned from the desk to face Crusher and Tom. “That’s it, isn’t it? The message Mosara left me.”

  “Why else would he alter that image?” Crusher asked.

  Daret studied the smaller picture in its broken frame. “Now that I see the two versions side by side, it seems so simple and obvious.”

  “Sometimes simple and obvious is just what’s needed,” Tom countered, “particularly when you’re trying to be sneaky. There’s a good chance whoever’s after you missed that completely. What’s the condition of the area where you found the temple?”

  “After cataloging its contents and verifying that no remains were there,” Daret said, “Mosara and I saw to it that the area was sealed off. The Bajoran government has expressed its desire that the site be protected, at least until such time as a final disposition is determined for the camps and any plans for historical markers or other monuments are finalized.”

  “Is it being guarded?” Crusher asked.

  “There seemed to be no need. Everyone here is treating the entire excavation with utmost care. None of us would intentionally damage or destroy anything we found here.”

  “Can’t bet on that anymore,” Tom said. “Still, it’s not an obvious place for anyone to look if they’re not familiar with your routines, or who hasn’t read any of Doctor Raal’s notes. Whoever’s after you is probably keeping a low profile for the moment, waiting for us to make the next move.”

  “What is our next move?” Crusher asked. She gestured to the images. “We can’t just lead whoever’s watching us to the dig site.”

  “No,” Tom replied. “We’re going to have to flush them out.”

  Footsteps behind them made them turn to see Konya standing in the doorway, his expression grave. “I think we may have a problem. I didn’t get the hourly advisory message I programmed to be sent from the Dordogne’s onboard computer, and I can’t reach it with my communicator.” He sighed. “I think our friends may either have taken control of the runabout or just destroyed it.”

  “Is there any way to verify that?” Crusher asked, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Not without making contact with the computer or trying to locate it with some other sensor array or getting up to it.”

  “The administration building over at the docking facility would have the necessary sensor equipment to let you track your vessel,” Daret said, “assuming you could provide it with the necessary information to work around whatever security protocols you had established for your ship.”

  “Okay,” Tom said, “Konya and I will work on that, but to be honest, I was expecting them to take care of the runabout by now. We’ll just have to find another way to get to the Olanda camp.”

  “What about our friends?” Crusher asked. “The ones you want us to flush out? They still have their own ship.”

  Tom smiled. “Not for long.”

  Twenty

  U.S.S. Titan

  Standing in the middle of the holodeck, Will Riker waited as the Titan’s temporary captain, Commander Christine Vale, tapped a series of commands on the control panel set into the archway at the chamber’s entrance. A string of beeps emanated from the panel, after which Vale turned to Riker, who was standing at the center of the room with Commander Tuvok, Ensign Torvig Bu-kar-nguv, and the holographically generated mechanical form of the Sentry artificial intelligence, White-Blue.

  “Security protocols are in place, Admiral. The room is completely isolated from the rest of the ship’s onboard systems.”

  Riker nodded in approval. The secure holodeck chamber already had proven its usefulness in the weeks since he had ordered its creation, wanting a protected area in which he could talk freely with members of the Titan’s senior staff without having to worry about someone attempting to monitor his conversations. Having such meetings at his office on Earth was out of the question, and even most areas aboard ship were vulnerable to eavesdroppers if one possessed the requisite skills, equipment, and opportunity. And while he was loath even to consider the notion, Riker could not rule out the possibility of President Ishan, Velk, or one of their supporters having managed to recruit as a spy a member of his crew.

  “All right, then,” Riker said, exchanging glances with each of his three companions. “You said you had something for me?”

  Vale replied, “Indeed we do, sir. Commander Tuvok and Mister Torvig have been busy these past several days, and we’ve had a few breakthroughs.”

  Nearly three weeks previously, Riker had come to this small, trusted group of officers and given them a special mission: monitor a top-secret, heavily encrypted subspace communications array that had been designed for the sending and receiving of encoded message traffic in such a manner as to not be detectable by conventional tracking systems. Special equipment—some of it fashioned by Ensign Torvig by cannibalizing components from disparate shipboard systems and perhaps a few caches of scrap parts about Riker wished to possess no knowledge—coupled with a complex suite of software written by the Titan’s cryptolinguist, Ensign Y’lira Modan, to target the decompiling and translating of the intensely packed and scrambled data streams had been used to crack the classified channel. This effort eventually had led them to the secret orders as well as personnel and resource reassignments made by President Ishan’s chief of staff, Galif jav Velk.

  All in a day’s work, I suppose.

  “You’ve got a line on whoever Ishan’s been talking to behind the scenes?” Following Velk’s arrest, Riker had directed his team to continue their efforts to monitor and decode any further secret communications, in the hopes of finding some concrete link between Ishan and those who perpetrated Bacco’s assassination.

  Vale replied, “We think so.” She gestured to Torvig, and the diminutive Choblik began tapping the padd he held in one of the cybernetic arms extending from his torso. Before them, a ball of energy coalesced into existence, the effect similar to that of a transporter beam. The sphere grew and stretched until it acquired the shape of a humanoid’s head and shoulders, and seconds after that, the holographic projection solidified to depict a human male with dark hair slicked back and away from his face. A long, narrow nose was flanked by dark blue eyes that seemed to bore through Riker, and a small, thin mouth accented a pointed chin. Though only the man’s upper torso was visible, it was still enough to show that he wore a Starfleet flag officer’s uniform with a rear admiral’s rank insignia affixed to his high collar.

  “I know him. Admiral Declan Schlosser. He’s one of the deputy chiefs at Starfleet Security.” Riker studied the holomodel. Though he only had encountered the admiral perhaps twice in the short span of time since his own promotion, he decided that the holomatrix had done a fantastic job of capturing Schlosser’s severe, almost pained expression.

&n
bsp; Thank God I don’t have to work for him.

  Tuvok said, “He also has been receiving direct instructions from President Ishan and—before he was arrested—Galif jav Velk.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I/We are,” replied White-Blue. “President Ishan and Admiral Schlosser have taken extraordinary steps to limit and encrypt their communications. I/We were able to interface with the software used to manifest the encryption and establish that Schlosser has been contacted by the president’s office on three occasions in the past five days.”

  Tuvok added, “There were other instances in the weeks prior to Velk’s arrest, during which we believe it was he who was communicating with the admiral. Those interactions were scrambled, of course, and our deciphering efforts so far have yielded nothing.”

  Riker crossed his arms. “Ishan kept records of these conversations?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Torvig replied, “though his copies of the records are on a secure server within the Palais de la Concorde that is not connected to the larger Starfleet or Federation government–restricted data network.”

  “No luck getting in there, I’m guessing,” Riker said.

  White-Blue replied, “Not to this point, Admiral, but our efforts continue.” The product of a merging by Torvig between its own software and that of a holographic program designed for secure communications and employed by Galif jav Velk, the Sentry’s original AI had evolved before Riker’s eyes, becoming an amalgam of both entities’ core processes. The true potential of this integration was still being explored, but so far it appeared to be reaping all manner of dividends.

  “However,” Torvig said, “Admiral Schlosser also kept records of his exchanges, with President Ishan as well as Velk. We can access those, but they are encrypted.”

  “One more thing on the To-Do List,” Vale remarked.

  “No kidding,” Riker said. “Schlosser might be a lot of things, but he’s definitely no fool. Ensign, can you at least get dates and times for the exchanges?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Choblik replied. “We are cross-checking them against all personnel transfers, starship reassignments, and other resource allocation directives for the previous ninety days. So far, we have traced communications to the starships Bastogne, da Vinci, and Tonawanda.”

  Vale added, “This is our guy, sir. We need a bit more time to connect all the dots, but this has to be him.”

  Stroking his beard as he listened to his officers’ reports, Riker asked, “What about the captains of these ships? Are they working for Ishan or just following orders?”

  “At this time,” Tuvok replied, “we have no reason to suspect that the captains of these vessels are or were knowingly colluding with President Ishan or Velk. We will verify this, of course, as part of our continuing investigation.”

  “What about Velk?” Riker asked, his gaze still locked on the computer-generated representation of Admiral Schlosser. “Has there been any chatter about him?”

  White-Blue said, “I/We have not yet found anything. The notable lack of such communication suggests extraordinary measures are being taken to ensure no connection exists between Velk and the president.”

  “Makes sense,” Vale said. “Ishan can’t afford any perceptions of impropriety; not now, after he gave that big speech about Velk confessing everything and surrendering to him. The best thing the president can do right now is to keep as far away from Velk as he can get until the Federation Council convenes their board of inquiry.”

  Turning from where he was standing next to the hologram, Tuvok clasped his hands behind his back. “It is logical to assume that President Ishan will take whatever action he feels is appropriate to ensure that inquiry never takes place. Indeed, it is possible that Velk already is dead.”

  “Maybe,” Riker replied. He had been considering this possibility since before his meeting with Admiral Akaar on the grounds of Starfleet Academy. “However, we know that Velk was turned over to Federation Security after he surrendered himself to Ishan. Federation News Service reports show him being taken into custody and removed from the president’s office. Assuming none of that was faked, it means that Velk is in a secure holding facility awaiting the council’s decision. If Ishan tries to move on him, somebody’s going to know about it.” He shrugged. “That might buy us some time, but not much. Torvig, you and White-Blue keep following that thread, wherever it goes.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “What do we do about Admiral Schlosser, sir?” asked Vale.

  “For now? We just keep an eye on him.” Riker’s first thought was to confront the other admiral head-on, using the information his people had collected as a means of leveraging answers and cooperation. He had decided that the smarter course was to allow the admiral to continue unimpeded, in the hopes that he—or Ishan, or another of his supporters—would make a mistake. “Keep tracking all of his communications, with a priority on finding Velk and any orders he might be sending off to other starships. I want to know where he’s sending them and why.”

  “There is an additional item of interest, Admiral,” Tuvok said. “Another string of communications using the subspace array—though not from Admiral Schlosser or President Ishan’s office—to someone on Cardassia Prime. We do not yet know the nature of the messages that were sent, but we have been able to identify the target: Rakan Urkar.”

  Riker, his attention once more focused on Schlosser’s holoimage, snapped his head to glare at the Titan’s second officer. “Urkar? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Vulcan replied, his eyes narrowing. “Are you familiar with him?”

  “Only his name,” Riker said. “My brother, Tom, sent me a list of True Way members he’d acquired from one of his underground contacts, all of whom seemed to disappear in the weeks leading up to President Bacco’s murder.” He eyed Tuvok. “You and Nog met some of them.”

  Tuvok’s right eyebrow arched. “Indeed.”

  The admiral recalled the list of names Thomas Riker had given him soon after departing the Titan at Delta Leonis and making contact with one of his “associates” there. “Yeah, but one or two of them, like Urkar, are still unaccounted for.”

  “Assuming President Ishan is the one responsible for initiating the communication, this may well constitute a tangible link between him and those who carried out President Bacco’s assassination.”

  Riker looked to Torvig. “Have you found anything indicating that?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  Damn, Riker thought. So close. “If you’re right, then we’ve got our smoking gun.” Still, something seemed wrong. “But if it is true, that seems like a stupid move for him to make. Why would he do something like that, after playing it smart and safe to this point? Something doesn’t make sense here.”

  Before anyone could answer, White-Blue turned once again to face Riker. “Admiral, I/We are decrypting a directive sent by Admiral Schlosser to the U.S.S. Tonawanda. Vessel redirected from colony support mission . . . and ordered to proceed with all due haste to the Doltiri system.”

  Once more, Riker was caught off guard. “The Doltiri system? Jevalan? When?”

  Consulting his padd, Torvig replied, “The order was issued just two days ago, Admiral. Does that planet have some significance to you, sir?”

  With the exception of Deanna, Riker had not shared with anyone his knowledge of Beverly Crusher’s secret mission to Jevalan, as he had been unwilling to chance any undesired parties learning of the doctor’s whereabouts. How had Ishan or someone working for him learned of Crusher’s activities? Had she been followed from the Enterprise? Considering the lengths Ishan was willing to go to in order to protect his secrets, nothing he might do seemed too far-fetched, so far as Riker was concerned.

  “It does mean something, Ensign,” he said after a moment, “and I’ll explain all of that shortly.” He turned to Vale. “I need a secure communications link to Captain Picard on the Enterprise, right now.”

  Twenty-one

  U.S.S. En
terprise

  Stepping out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, Picard took in the image displayed on the main viewscreen, getting his first look at the Andorian freighter Cereshta. The image was less than ideal, with signs of interference or other disruption visible as the picture wavered or was inundated with static every few seconds. He noted how it listed to starboard, its bow oriented down and away, and its engine ports facing the Enterprise. Like other classes of Andorian military and civilian vessels, the freighter was long and narrow, its warp nacelles mounted on support struts to either side of its primary hull. The struts themselves had been constructed so as to carry additional cargo pods, and Picard saw that the vessel had two such sections. No running lights or other signs of energy output were evident. Picard’s first thought was that the vessel had to have been abandoned. In the distance, the brilliant red-purple haze of the Drazen Nebula contrasted against the utter blackness of open space.

  “Report, Number One.”

  Worf, occupying the captain’s chair at the center of the bridge when Picard arrived, already had risen from his seat. “We have closed to just outside transporter range and are maintaining yellow alert with our deflector shields up.” He nodded toward the screen. “The nebula is interfering somewhat with our scans, but so far we are able to compensate.”

  Turning from the engineering station at the rear of the bridge, the second officer said, “Sensor scans are showing that their warp core’s sustained serious damage. Shields and other safety protocols look to be holding, but I don’t like it, Captain.”

  Picard made his way to the command well and moved to stand in front of his chair before glancing over to his chief of security, Lieutenant Aneta Šmrhová. “Any luck hailing them?”

  From where she stood at the tactical console to Picard’s left, Šmrhová said, “We’re received no response, sir, or any indication that our message is being received. Life signs are faint and indeterminate, perhaps due to environment suits or something else they’re wearing to protect themselves.” Pausing a moment to consult her console, she shook her head. “I’m picking up two life signs, but I’m not even able to confirm that they’re Andorian.”