Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation)

by George III, David R.

  “We’ve had him transferred to the Enterprise,” Abrik said, “where he’s been placed under arrest.”

  “Has anybody spoken with him?” Bacco asked.

  “Captain Picard’s security chief spoke with him briefly,” Nechayev said. “She described Tomalak as ‘talkative, but not forthcoming.’ The captain is awaiting word from Starfleet Command on how to proceed.”

  “And Starfleet Command awaits word from Federation Security and the Federation president,” Akaar said.

  “What is your recommendation, Admiral?” Bacco asked.

  “Let Picard take a run at Tomalak before they turn him over to Federation Security,” Akaar said. “The Enterprise crew has experience in such matters, as well as some history in dealing specifically with Tomalak, who spent many years in the Imperial Fleet.”

  “Jas?” Bacco asked, soliciting his advice.

  “I agree with the admiral,” Abrik said, “with the proviso that Tomalak should be remanded to Federation Security within a few days . . . a week at most.”

  Bacco looked back to Akaar, who nodded his accord.

  “All right,” Bacco said. She turned to her chief of staff. “So where are we?”

  Piñiero dragged a finger across her padd, then said, “The first action needed is to assess the possibility of a Dominion attack.”

  “We’ve got four starships in the Bajoran system right now,” Nechayev said. “We can have one of the crews make a recon run into the Gamma Quadrant.”

  “Send the Defiant,” Akaar said.

  “Yes, sir,” said Nechayev. “I should also point out that we probably want to demand that all of the civilian Typhon Pact ships return immediately to the Alpha Quadrant through the wormhole and then vacate Federation space. We may even want to send escorts for them to ensure compliance.”

  “We should also recall all civilian Khitomer Accords ships from the Typhon Expanse,” added Safranski.

  “Agreed,” Bacco said. “Admiral, whether or not we have any immediate need to fear the Dominion, I don’t want to antagonize them, so let’s not send more than a ship or two to bring back any Typhon Pact vessels.”

  Akaar nodded.

  To Secretary of the Exterior Safranski, Bacco said, “For Khitomer Accords ships in the Typhon Expanse, contact Iliop.” The Berellian served the Federation as its secretary of transportation. “Have him handle the recall. Tell him that I’ll contact Castellan Garan and Grand Nagus Rom to make sure he doesn’t run into any issues with the Cardassian and Ferengi crews. And if he pushes back at all, tell him he should be grateful that the Klingons chose not to allow any of their vessels into the Expanse.”

  “Yes, Madam President,” said Safranski.

  “I think we also need to fortify our presence in the Bajoran system by assigning a number of starships there,” Akaar said. “Essentially, we need to replace the security that Deep Space Nine afforded.”

  “That makes sense for the short term,” Bacco said. “I’ve already spoken briefly with Bajor’s First Minister, and I’ll be contacting her again to keep her apprised of our response to events. I know that she’ll be looking down the road for a more permanent solution than simply a few starships, which would bolster security but wouldn’t replace the other functions of a space station at such a strategically and commercially important location. I’ll be addressing the Federation Council in closed session later today, so I’ll broach the subject of constructing a new facility at the mouth of the wormhole. You should discuss the matter with your admirals as well.”

  “I also recommend that we strengthen our presence on our borders with the Typhon Pact powers,” said Jas Abrik. “Not so much as to provoke a violent response, but enough to let them know that we’ve got our eyes on them. They’ve already committed acts of war. I know you’ve made it clear that’s not what you want, ma’am—that’s not what any of us want—but we have to let the Pact know that we are prepared for it, that we will brook no further actions. With the Cardassians and the Ferengi on board, we have enough matériel to increase our strength at the borders without weakening ourselves elsewhere.”

  “Admiral?” Bacco asked Akaar.

  “It’ll be a balancing act,” he said, “but we can do it. We should also increase patrols specifically searching for cloaked ships. Once you’ve spoken to the castellan and the grand nagus, I’ll contact Central Command and the Treasury Guard.”

  “Very good,” Bacco said. Perhaps paradoxically, having concrete actions to take provided an effective means of combating her exhaustion. “More than anything, I think we need to find out why the Typhon Pact did what they did. Whether they were trying to forge an alliance with the Dominion, or to erect a framework for their propaganda, or to bring something back from the Gamma Quadrant, we need to know. And we’ll start with Tomalak.” She stood up, and everybody in the room followed her lead. Looking across at Akaar, she said, “Admiral, I want to speak with Captain Picard and Captain Sisko, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stay.” Then, peering around the table, she said, “The rest of you may leave. We’ll meet again soon.”

  A chorus of Thank you, Madam Presidents went up in the room. Jas Abrik and Safranski exited together. As Admiral Nechayev spoke quietly with Akaar, Bacco turned to her chief of staff. “What do you think, Esperanza?”

  “I think there are definitely those in the Typhon Pact who see the Federation as a threat, and who therefore counsel taking up arms against us,” Piñiero said. “And I think you’re correct that the Romulans are pushing that agenda.”

  Though her chief of staff agreed with her, Bacco found the validation unsettling. “I trusted her,” she said.

  “She seemed genuine at the summit,” said Piñiero, plainly understanding that the president spoke about Gell Kamemor. “And nothing we knew of in her personal or professional history suggested otherwise.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Bacco said, remembering back to the briefing materials she’d received eighteen months earlier, when the Romulan Senate had appointed Kamemor to the praetorship. “As an ambassador around the beginning of the century, she delivered the Treaty of Algeron and effectively imposed it on the Federation and the Klingon Empire, which essentially ended the hopes for the trilateral peace they’d been negotiating for months.”

  “But if you look at some of the other writings about those events, Kamemor had some admirers,” Piñiero said. “The Federation ambassador at the time firmly believed that she opposed the contents of the treaty, the new Romulan policy of isolationism, and the termination of the peace talks. And in Captain Harriman’s memoir, he said the same thing, but he went even further; he called Ambassador Kamemor a true patriot, which he defined as somebody who worked for the betterment of their people, no matter how difficult or unpopular such a stand might be within the Empire.”

  “But that’s just it,” Bacco said. “She didn’t fight the treaty or the cessation of negotiations.”

  “Not in front of the Federation and the Klingons, she didn’t,” Piñiero said. “But Ambassador Endara and Captain Harriman both seemed to think that she did oppose it within the Empire.”

  Bacco shrugged. “Well, maybe she was reasonable and sought peace back then,” she said, “but maybe absolute power does corrupt absolutely.”

  “I see that every day, ma’am,” Piñiero said, a devilish glint in her eye.

  “Believe me, if I had absolute power, I wouldn’t be here,” Bacco said. “I’d be back on Cestus Three, in the middle of a hundred-hectare estate outside Prairieview, where nobody would bother me, and all I’d have to do would be to catch a Pike City Pioneers game when they came to town.”

  “As if you wouldn’t miss the glamour of the presidency,” Piñiero said.

  Bacco laughed. It felt good, even given everything with which she had to contend—or perhaps because of that.

  Across the room, Admiral Nechayev finished consulting with Akaar, and she headed for the door. Before exiting, she turned to Bacco and said, “Thank you, Madam President.”
Then she left.

  Bacco circled the conference table and joined Akaar below the Monet painting. “Admiral,” she said, craning her neck to look up at him, “I want to talk to Captain Sisko about the wormhole, just in case we do have an issue with the Dominion. We should see how feasible he thinks it would be to close it from our end, whether that means negotiating with the aliens inside it or finding some technological solution.

  “I also want to talk to Captain Picard about his crew’s interrogation of Tomalak. We should tell him all of our suspicions and hypotheses.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Akaar said. He waited for Bacco to take a chair, then sat down beside her. Opposite them, on the wall that had been behind the president during the meeting, hung a large viewscreen. Bacco nodded to Piñiero, who had taken a different seat at the table, off to the side. The chief of staff reached for a set of communications controls in front of her.

  “Zachary,” she said, “President Bacco and Admiral Akaar want to speak with Captain Benjamin Sisko aboard the U.S.S. Robinson.”

  “Right away,” came the immediate reply. Zachary Manzanillo assisted the chief of staff, and had done so ever since Piñiero had resigned from Starfleet and joined Bacco’s staff during her time as governor of Cestus III. A moment later, the viewer activated, and the emblem of the United Federation of Planets—a pair of stylized wheat stalks cradling a blue and white field of stars—appeared in its center. As always, the president marveled at the complex communications technology that had been installed in many places throughout the Federation, and that allowed her to speak in real time with people located all over the quadrant. Sometimes, it would be necessary to maneuver ships into place to boost the comm signal, but the real-time network continued to expand.

  After a moment, the UFP emblem vanished, replaced by the face of an olive-skinned man with wavy black hair and dark eyes. Bacco had spoken with Captain Sisko before, during the schism in the Romulan Empire, and so she knew that she had not reached him. She noted that the man wore three solid pips on the crimson neck of his uniform, making him a commander.

  “Admiral Akaar,” the man said. “I’m Commander Anxo Rogeiro. I’m Captain Sisko’s first officer.”

  “Commander,” Akaar said, and in the single word, Bacco thought he sounded more than a little displeased. “I’m sure that you recognize President Bacco.”

  Rogeiro’s gaze shifted from the admiral to the president, and then his eyes widened in what must have been an involuntary reflex. “Madam President,” he said hurriedly, noticeably flustered, though he quickly reigned in his reaction. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Commander,” Bacco acknowledged.

  “Perhaps you can explain to me, Mister Rogeiro,” Akaar said in a serious tone, “why an eyes-only message for Captain Sisko has been answered by his first officer.” As a rule, all communications Bacco made to specific Starfleet officers carried an encoding designating them exclusively for that officer.

  “My apologies, Admiral,” Rogeiro said, “but Captain Sisko is currently in sickbay and unavailable. At the moment, I’m in command of the Robinson.”

  “Was Captain Sisko injured during the attack?” Bacco asked, then realized that the answer seemed self-evident.

  “The captain was . . . hurt, yes,” Rogeiro said. Bacco took note of both the commander’s hesitation and the careful phrasing of his response. “As I said, I’m in temporary command of the ship, so if I can help you—”

  “Commander,” Akaar said, “the president and I expressly need to speak with Captain Sisko. Have him contact me the moment he’s able.”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Rogeiro said.

  “Akaar out.” Piñiero touched a control, and the image of Commander Rogeiro aboard the Robinson vanished, replaced once more by the Federation seal. Turning to Bacco, the admiral said, “With your permission, Madam President, I can speak with Captain Sisko as soon as he’s available, and get you the answers you need.”

  “That will be fine,” Bacco said. “Shall we contact Captain Picard then?” But even as Piñiero worked to have a channel opened to the Enterprise, the Federation president thought about Benjamin Sisko, and wondered about the manner in which Commander Rogeiro had replied to her question about the captain. Though she could not say what, something seemed wrong.

  3

  Ben Sisko’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at the overhead, but he did not immediately recognize his surroundings. He felt disoriented. He’d just been dreaming, he remembered that, something light and comfortable. Rebecca running around the moba trees . . . giggling and waving her arms . . . jumping into piles of leaves.

  Sisko watched her from the porch. As he leaned on the railing, he called out to her. Except that the house in Kendra Province had no railing, he knew that. But of course it didn’t matter. In the dream, his hands rested on a railing, on their porch, at their house. And as Rebecca ran and threw herself down on the ground and rolled around, she laughed, a high-pitched squeal that resonated with the joy of a six-year-old.

  She’s so happy, Kasidy whispered into Sisko’s ear, and he glanced sidelong at his beautiful wife. He reached an arm out and sent it around her waist, drawing her close. I love you, she told him, her breath warm in his ear.

  I love you, he said, never more certain of anything in his life.

  As Sisko lay on his back, reliving the images and emotions that sleep had brought, the sounds of the ship began to seep into his reverie. He could feel the soft thrum of the impulse drive, heard somewhere not too distant the occasional tones of equipment being operated, and became aware of subdued voices, the words spoken too indistinct to distinguish. Above him, the overhead looked the same as on every ship he’d ever served—Livingston, Okinawa, Saratoga—though not like the distinctly Cardassian architecture on Deep Space 9.

  Deep Space Nine, Sisko thought. In the next instant, he saw the inner core of the station erupting in a series of explosions, saw the habitat and docking rings blown apart, broken into pieces. Kasidy, he thought, and then the image of Xhosa recurred to him—Xhosa, sliced in two by the whiplike action of the Tzenkethi marauder, and then blowing up.

  “Kasidy,” Sisko said, so quietly that he could barely hear himself. “Rebecca.” His voice cracked, more whimper than whisper. He felt hollow, as though the very essence of him had drained from his body, leaving behind an empty shell.

  Still on his back, Sisko turned his head and looked to the right. He saw a bio-bed beside him, and two more beyond that, each of them filled with a member of his crew. On the other side of sickbay, a nurse studied the medical readouts on the display above a crewman’s head. Sisko waited for her to leave, then dragged his legs over the side of his own bio-bed and slowly sat up. He paused there, not wanting to make himself dizzy by rising too quickly, then pushed himself to his feet.

  “Captain Sisko,” said a voice. Sisko looked over and saw Doctor Kosciuszko padding over to him. With his auburn, shoulder-length hair pulled back from his face and his smooth features, Robinson’s chief medical officer appeared years younger than Sisko, though the captain actually knew the opposite to be true. Kosciuszko stopped directly in front of him, placed a hand on the captain’s upper arm, and gently applied pressure. Sisko had no choice but to sit back down on the edge of the bio-bed. “Let’s take a look at you,” Kosciuszko said.

  “I’m fine, Doctor,” Sisko said, but even he could hear the strange, impassive sound of his voice.

  “Captain,” Kosciuszko started, but then he lowered his voice and spoke less like a physician and more like a friend. “Ben,” he went on, “you’ve suffered a considerable shock. You need to take it easy.”

  “What I need, Doctor,” Sisko began strongly, but then he didn’t finish his sentence. Because I don’t know what I need, he thought. Or I do know what I need, but I can’t have it.

  “Ben,” said Kosciuszko, persisting in his personal approach, “you’ve been under sedation, so you may be feeling a little off. But you should know that a
ll the enemy starships in the Bajoran system have been destroyed, and we’ve been engaged in rescue operations.”

  “Rescue?” Sisko said, feeling a flicker of hope.

  “A number of sections from Deep Space Nine’s rings remained intact after the station’s destruction,” the doctor explained, “and emergency bulkheads allowed hundreds to survive.”

  “From Deep Space Nine’s rings,” Sisko repeated numbly, understanding that Kosciuszko had spoken very specifically, omitting the possibility of crews on ships in the system surviving the attack.

  “Yes. There were no escape pods,” Kosciuszko said. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

  Sisko said nothing. What could he say? In addition to ignoring the will of the Prophets and causing so much pain and suffering to the people he loved, he had left his wife and child. He had hoped in doing so to spare them, but they had paid the price of his hubris anyway. In the end, not only had he lost them, but he had thrown away the last two and a half years of their lives. The last two and a half years of my life. He could have stayed with them, could have shared all that time, could have spent those days showing them how much he loved them.

  “Ben, I don’t want to return you to duty anytime soon,” Kosciuszko said, “but I need to tell you that Commander Rogeiro’s been down here a couple of times. When you’re ready, Admiral Akaar wants to speak with you.”

  Sisko nodded.

  “I want you to lie back so I can check your readings,” Kosciuszko said. “You’re probably hungry too, so afterward, we can bring you something to eat.”

  The captain allowed Kosciuszko to guide him back down onto his back. As the doctor turned to examine the readings on the medical scanner at the head of the bio-bed, Sisko closed his eyes. In his memory, he saw Rebecca: in the moments after her birth, when he walked into the Shikina Monastery to find Kasidy holding her; in their home in Kendra, watching her crawl for the first time; and later, on their trip back to Earth to visit Sisko’s father, seeing her manage to take a few halting steps. He recalled hearing her first word, which had sounded satisfyingly to him like Da-da, but that he and Kasidy later realized had been Ada, the initial syllables of Adarak, the nearby town.