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

by Dayton Ward

  “Their shields are down thirty-six percent,” Šmrhová reported. “They’re trying to maneuver to a new firing position.”

  “Maintain evasive course,” Worf ordered. “Prepare to fire.”

  “Wait!” Šmrhová almost shouted, and when Picard turned to her, he saw the disbelief in her eyes. “They’re . . . they’re powering down their weapons. They’re dropping their shields!”

  Picard frowned. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir, and the jamming field is gone, too.” A moment later Picard heard another alert tone from her console, and the security chief said, “We’re being hailed.”

  “On screen.” Picard turned back to the viewscreen, steeling himself for a tense verbal confrontation with Captain Verauk, but instead of an Acamarian female, the image on the screen shifted from the Tonawanda to depict a large Rigellian Chelon male. The greenish tinge of his skin and the pale brown of his oversized proboscis contrasted with the maroon and black of his Starfleet tunic, which was stretched across his broad frame.

  “Captain Picard, I am Commander Latanun, first officer of the Tonawanda. Captain Verauk has been relieved of duty, and I have taken command of this vessel. Our weapons and defenses are deactivated, and I would appreciate it if you would show us the same courtesy.”

  Wary of deception, Picard said, “Forgive me, Commander, but can you at least explain to me what this is all about and what you’re doing here?”

  Latanun replied, “I am not yet informed as to the details of our mission, sir. Captain Verauk claimed to be operating under top-secret orders issued to her from the highest echelons of Starfleet Command. I have not yet had the opportunity to review those orders, but rest assured I will do so at my earliest opportunity. For now, you have my word that no aggressive action will be taken against your vessel, and you are free to transport your personnel to or from the surface.”

  After directing Šmrhová to place all weapons on standby, Picard returned his attention to the Rigellian officer. “Commander, are you saying your captain ordered your ship to this system without telling you why?”

  “That is correct, sir. She claimed that her orders and accompanying security concerns prevented her from informing us about details of our mission. Only after our arrival were we notified about the instructions she received to take into custody a Cardassian physician, Ilona Daret, along with any Starfleet officers who may be aiding him.”

  Glancing to Worf, who seemed just as skeptical as he was, Picard asked, “What made you decide to defy your captain’s orders?”

  The commander did not hesitate. “Because, in my judgment, nothing in those orders justifies firing on another Starfleet vessel.” He paused, nodding as though reassuring himself. “Because those orders were wrong, sir.”

  Thirty-six

  Jevalan, Doltiri System

  Crusher winced as the agent landed another blow to the side of Tom Riker’s face. Tom already had been struck once, but the second strike was harder, almost knocking Tom off his feet.

  “That’s for killing one of my men,” Barrows hissed before rearing back and swinging his other fist, this one connecting with Tom’s jaw. “And that’s for killing another of my men.” Tom’s knees buckled, but he was held up by another of Barrows’s agents.

  The agent had made the assumption that Tom, who was older than Konya and Cruzen, must be the group’s leader and had ignored Konya’s protests to the contrary. The two security officers were being held at phaser-point by another agent, while a third stood near Crusher as she knelt over Daret, who had been moved by Konya and Cruzen from the perch to the cavern floor. The remaining member of Barrows’s team was moving around the cavern, waving a tricorder. While all of that was going on, Crusher had managed to stop his bleeding and seal the stab wound, but Daret had suffered tremendous blood loss and had slipped into shock. Stabilizing his condition was proving to be a challenge beyond the limited abilities of her medical kit, though she had managed to sedate him with a synthetic general tranquilizer that was compatible with a variety of humanoid species, but she was running out of time and options. Daret needed to be transported to the camp’s medical clinic if he was to have any real chance at survival.

  Stepping closer, Barrows gripped Tom by his hair and jerked his head so that their eyes met. “I’ll ask you again. Where are the Cardie’s files?” The agents already had searched the away team and found nothing, owing to Tom and Konya’s decision to hide Daret’s evidence and data in a secure location elsewhere in the mine. The copies of the data he and Crusher had made also had been stashed, but the remains of the real Ishan Anjar and other forensic evidence was—for the moment, at least—safe.

  When Tom did not answer, Barrows slapped him across the face, grunting in irritation. “I don’t have time for this, and I’m tired of being stuck like rats down here. Tell me what I want to know, now.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom replied, spitting blood on the ground between their feet.

  “You’re really going to make me go through with this?” Barrows drew from a scabbard beneath his jacket what Crusher recognized as a field knife, with a serrated edge and a blackened blade. “Why not save us all some trouble?”

  “You can kill me,” Tom replied, “but I still won’t know what you want.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Barrows said. He gestured toward Crusher and the others. “I’m not even going to kill them. Not yet, at least. You know that’s not how this works. Maybe you don’t care what I do to you, but I’m betting you’ll feel different once I start in on one of them. Which one first?”

  “Over here!”

  Everyone turned at the sound of the other agent’s voice to see the man standing near a piece of discarded mining equipment Crusher did not recognize. It was wheeled, most of its paneling had rusted or corroded, and like everything else here, it was covered with a thick layer of dust. The man was pointing to a metal box mounted to the vehicle’s rear panel. “I think I found something. They tried to hide it by filling the thing with rocks. I almost missed it even with my tricorder.”

  Crusher and Tom exchanged glances. The mineral ore had almost succeeded in concealing what Konya had hidden there.

  Almost.

  The man began fumbling with the box’s lid, at which point Barrows threw up his free hand and shouted, “Wait!”

  He was too late, as the instant the lid lifted just the slightest bit, a loud pop echoed across the cavern. The box lid flew open, propelled by rocks and whatever else Konya and Tom had stuffed into the container. Pummeled by the blast of debris, the other man was thrown backward, his body twisting as it arced through the air before dropping to the ground several meters from the vehicle. He did not move.

  Tom was reacting even as the blast’s echo rolled across the chamber, thrusting an elbow up and into the chin of the agent guarding him. The man staggered back, his free hand reaching for his face, but Tom ignored him and instead lunged forward to tackle Barrows. Both men went tumbling to the ground, each twisting and scrambling to roll atop the other.

  The man Tom had first attacked moved forward, extending his arm and trying to aim his phaser, but Konya and Cruzen now were taking action as well. Konya turned and kicked at the man nearest them, knocking away the man’s phaser. Leaving him to take care of that threat, Cruzen charged the man closing in on Tom and Barrows, lowering her shoulder and driving them both to the ground. The man rolled onto his side and was already trying to regain his feet, but Cruzen was faster, dropping him with a swinging kick to his face.

  Crusher caught movement to her left and saw the man guarding her and Daret stepping forward, his attention torn between the impromptu melee and his own prisoners, and that delay was all Crusher needed to grab the hypo spray lying on the ground next to her knee and jam it against the man’s thigh. She pressed the control to activate the device and injected the hypo’s remaining doses of tranquilizer, and the effects were immediate. The agent staggered, his phaser falling from his
hand as he reached out with both arms to steady himself, before falling unconscious to the ground.

  Almost as good as a phaser.

  Looking up, Crusher was in time to see Konya grappling with his opponent. The security officer dodged and weaved against a flurry of punches, finally maneuvering behind the agent and landing a blow to the back of the man’s head. Reeling from the attack, the agent turned in an attempt to defend himself, but then Konya was on him, gripping his opponent’s arm and levering him across his hip to slam him to the rocky floor. He delivered a final punch to the man’s face, and the agent’s body went limp.

  “Tom!” Crusher shouted, turning to see Tom rolling away from Barrows and both men pulling themselves to their feet. Hampered by the beating he had endured moments earlier, Tom was slower than his rival, but he still managed to block the agent’s knife arm as Barrows brought in the blade to strike. Tom twisted his body and lashed out another elbow, driving it into Barrows’s face. The agent’s knees buckled as Tom repeated the attack, wresting the knife from the other man’s hand. A third strike was needed before Barrows stumbled and fell back to the ground, groaning and muttering in pain as he reached for his broken, bloody nose.

  Konya and Cruzen, having retrieved weapons from each of the agents, now were covering them as Crusher moved to Tom.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, noting the swelling in his face.

  Nodding, Tom attempted a small smile, and Crusher saw the blood staining his teeth. “I’ve been better.” He gestured to where Daret still lay on the ground behind her. “How’s he?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Crusher said, turning and moving to kneel beside her friend. Daret remained unconscious thanks to the tranquilizer, but the larger problem remained. “We need to get him to the surface.”

  Before she could say anything else, she was interrupted by the sound of a familiar high-pitched whine, and she and Tom turned to see six columns of white, cascading light appear at the far end of the cavern. The transporter beams solidified into the forms of Commander Worf and five security officers, all of them brandishing phaser rifles.

  “Doctor Crusher!” Worf waved as he caught sight of her, and the six new arrivals began making their way toward them across the chamber.

  “Well, that’s some fine timing, if you ask me,” Cruzen said, unable to suppress a tired smile.

  “Damned fine,” Crusher said, kneeling once more beside Daret and placing her hand on her friend’s chest. “Hang on a little longer, Ilona,” she said, knowing he could not hear her. “You can’t leave me. Not now, when there’s still so much to do.”

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Entering the sickbay’s patient recovery area, Picard was greeted first by the sight of Thomas Riker. The upper portion of his bed had been raised so that he could sit up, and he was engaged in something displayed on a padd he held. He looked up at Picard’s approach and when he smiled, Picard of course saw Will Riker.

  Damn, but I’ll never get used to that.

  “Captain,” Tom said, extending his hand as Picard approached. “Good to see you again. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for getting us out of there.”

  Taking the proffered hand and shaking it, Picard replied, “It is I who owe you my thanks, Mister Riker, for protecting my people. I’m in your debt.”

  “Not a chance, sir. There’s nothing Will wouldn’t do for you, and there’s not a damned thing I wouldn’t do for him.” Tom reached up to gingerly touch his jaw, which Picard knew had been bruised and bloodied as a consequence of his ordeal on the planet’s surface. “That said, I’m happy to accept any kind of alcoholic beverage that’s not out of a replicator.”

  Chuckling, Picard nodded. “Consider it done, assuming your doctor agrees.” He turned as Beverly Crusher entered the room and made her way to the bed where Ilona Daret lay. The Cardassian was unconscious, his head elevated, and he did not react as Beverly moved to stand beside his bed.

  “What’s his prognosis, Doctor?” Picard asked.

  Beverly tapped a control on the monitor positioned behind Daret’s head. “He’ll recover, but I’m keeping him sedated for now. He suffered such traumatic blood loss that I’m surprised he didn’t have a stroke. Considering his age, he’s very lucky.”

  “It’s that Cardassian constitution, Doctor,” Tom said, swinging his feet from his own bed and standing up. “One thing I know about them is that they’re tough.” He nodded to Daret. “Your friend especially so, in more ways than one.”

  Turning from the bed, Beverly asked, “Have you had a chance to review the materials we brought back?”

  “Indeed I have,” Picard replied. He had been stunned by the revelations contained in the data and other forensic evidence collected by Ilona Daret and Raal Mosara. “It’s astounding that the president was able to perpetrate such a hoax for so long.”

  “It’s not as though he set out to become the president,” Tom countered. “Remember, his concerns at the time were just staying alive and later fading into the background once the Occupation ended and the Bajorans started working to put their world back together. Everything else probably just spiraled out of control from there.”

  “You’d think he’d just want to live the rest of his life as quietly as possible,” Beverly said.

  “It was not his nature,” Picard said. “Despite his penchant for placing his own self-interest above those of others, he still wanted to affect change. His tenure with the Bajoran provisional government is proof enough of that, even though one could argue that even that decision ultimately was self-serving, as it aided him to further conceal his true identity. He collaborated with the Cardassians on Jevalan, yes, but he also carried out attacks for the resistance and helped put into motion the actions that eventually caused the Cardassians to withdraw from that planet. That does not forgive his crimes, of course, but it does offer insight into his character, and his ego.”

  “It’s the same now,” Beverly said. “When you get to the heart of it, Ishan wants what’s best for the Federation, though his outlook and approach are flawed. He’s after safety and security, but he’s willing to sacrifice principles for results now as well.”

  Picard sighed. “Safety, security, and strength. Peace and power.”

  And a kingdom to rule?

  “So, what happens next?” Tom asked. “The trouble you’re about to cause is pretty serious, Captain. Bringing forth evidence to remove a sitting president? You’re going to make history of one sort or another, sir.”

  “And I’ve had rather enough of that,” Picard said. This business with President Ishan—or Baras Rodirya, as he should be called—had brought into focus everything he had come to detest about where duty and obligation had seen fit to take him. None of this, no matter how necessary it might be, was why he had joined Starfleet, and all of it had done nothing but poison his soul. Something had to change.

  It will, he promised himself, and damned soon.

  “The evidence Daret and Raal collected,” Beverly said. “Is it enough for the Federation attorney general to make a case?”

  “Their evidence, along with our two guests down in the brig and other information Admiral Riker and his people have managed to obtain, should prove more than sufficient,” Picard said. “Still, it won’t be an easy fight, but if I know the attorney general as well as I think I do, then she’s more than up for it.”

  Thirty-seven

  Paris, Earth

  Enjoying a precious few moments of privacy in the well-appointed anteroom that was adjacent to the Federation Council chambers and set aside for his private use, Ishan Anjar stood at the large window overlooking the bustling city below him. In the weeks since he had taken office, he had found the small, personal ritual to be quite therapeutic. Like meditation, looking out at the vista—itself a mixture of modern and antiquated buildings and other structures bearing testimony to the ageless city’s distinguished history—helped Ishan to focus his mind and his emotions.

  Speaking before
the council, as he was scheduled to do in just a few minutes, always was a taxing experience. He did not fear speaking before an audience, but he already had grown weary of the constant debates and endless discussion required by any interaction with the council. Charged with acting on behalf of trillions of citizens scattered across hundreds of worlds, it seemed to Ishan that obtaining consensus for any but the most banal of issues was difficult if not impossible. He understood and appreciated the need to ensure that every world received equal attention and representation, but there were times when he would prefer to cast aside all of the trappings and pomp and circumstance and just get on with doing the things that needed to be done.

  Democracy, he mused. Perhaps the Cardassians were right all along.

  He also was concerned with the status of the mission to Jevalan. Ishan had heard nothing from his team on the planet’s surface or from Captain Verauk of the Tonawanda. The matter should have been concluded, by Ishan’s estimate. Could something have gone wrong? Had some other issue presented itself? Or, were Verauk and Barrows simply maintaining their communications blackout until all of the details had been addressed? They both were seasoned professionals, after all.

  On the desk behind him, Ishan heard the tone of the intercom, followed by the voice of his assistant, Syliri Alvora.

  “Mister President? It’s time, sir.”

  Accompanied by members of his personal protection detail, the walk from his private room to the council chambers was the same dull, uninspired affair Ishan already loathed. The time wasted on such frivolous distractions would be better utilized on actual work, but he had come to accept that “showing the flag,” as the humans called it, was necessary and even desirable on occasion. The tall, wide doors—wood, and both emblazoned with an etching of the Federation seal—parted at his approach, and he entered the chamber as every member of the council rose to his or her feet.