The ambassador gasped. “You really expect us to allow two battleships to enter our realm? That we will allow armed landing parties on our worlds? That’s… I will never be able to get that past the Council of the Spheres.”
Kromm growled menacingly but Rozhenko gestured for him to back off.
“Do you follow the news from the Klingon Empire, Ambassador?” Rozhenko asked. “Because if you don’t, I suggest you start doing so. The Klingon High Council has been very agitated since the attack on Tika IV. Some have suggested a full-scale invasion of the Lembatta Cluster in order to end this threat to the empire. These voices have become increasingly louder. Some ships are already waiting only a few light-years outside Federation space, ready to strike. If we are forbidden from continuing our investigation within your borders, nothing will be able to keep that war fleet away from the cluster. So I have to beg you to cooperate, Ambassador. Prove that you have nothing to hide, and that you are genuinely interested in keeping the peace in the quadrant.”
Spock added, “Should we indeed find extremists on your worlds, then this will not lead to a condemnation of the entire Renao nation. All we will do—in cooperation with your people—is avert further danger and bring the offenders to justice. We will not occupy the cluster, and as soon as the crisis has been resolved, we will withdraw all personnel from the Home Spheres. On this you have my word and that of the Federation Council.”
Ambassador ak Genos exchanged a silent glance with his deputy. The other man nodded slightly, although his face showed an expression as if he had just been forced to eat live gagh.
The ambassador held out his arms in a gesture of resignation, lowering his eyes. “I acknowledge the special circumstances, and will ensure that the council accepts your demands. Expect your entry clearance shortly.”
“Please ensure that the bureaucratic barriers will be quickly overcome,” Rozhenko said. “The sooner we can give our governments a situation report from within the cluster, the easier the voices of reason will find it to prevail in this precarious situation.”
Ak Genos’s lips were a tight thin line when he nodded. “I understand. It will not take long. Now, if you will excuse me, I must begin the process.”
Spock tilted his head. “Farewell, Ambassador. And thank you for your cooperation. I hope when we meet again it will be under more pleasant circumstances.”
* * *
Upon their return to the ship, Adams found yet another priority message from Akaar at Starfleet Command. This time the news was even worse: there had been an attack on the fleet base at Cestus III. The base and six Starfleet vessels had been destroyed, with thousands of lives lost, including civilians on the planet.
“The most frustrating thing is,” Akaar said with a sepulchral voice, “that we would not have been able to prevent this attack, even if we had received your preliminary report regarding Starbase 91 earlier. These new Romulan cloaking devices are extremely difficult to penetrate without a specialized sensor array.”
“The S.C.E. should get on that ASAP,” Adams muttered, referring to the Starfleet Corps of Engineers.
“Even so, the warp sensor grid on the system’s periphery didn’t trigger an alarm. The attackers must have dropped out of warp well outside of the system, in the same manner as Romulan ships did back during the Earth-Romulan War. Small ships approached their targets at sublight speed, thus deceiving the warp sensor grids that the Vulcans had provided for the coalition. But that should be impossible today. The detection grids reach deep into empty space, so an approach with sublight speed should take weeks in order to remain undetectable. If that’s the case, then the terrorists have planned these attacks very far in advance.” Akaar sighed. “We’re deploying ships to the Gorn border to ease the burden. Additionally, we will unfold a network of patrols around the Lembatta Cluster. This doesn’t alter your mission, Captain, I merely wish to inform you that you can count on rapid assistance, should it be necessary. In addition, the Klingons have been put on high alert. They’re amassing a fleet on their side of the border at Korinar. For now, they’ve promised to remain on their side of the border until they are called for help, but the more time passes, the less likely that they will stand by.”
The admiral leaned forward, his voice almost pleading. “Please hurry with your investigation, Dick. The mood here is rapidly getting worse. Akaar out.” The Capellan’s image disappeared and was replaced by the Federation’s seal.
Adams stared at the monitor on his desk with a grim face. “I’m doing my best, Leonard.”
He sincerely hoped it would be enough.
22
NOVEMBER 12, 2385
Ki Baratan, Romulus
The city center of Ki Baratan was the political heart of the entire Romulan Star Empire. It beat every day with all its might. Between dusk and dawn the venerable old buildings made of stone, the modern office palaces, and the lush, well-groomed parks were bustling. But the air didn’t smell of the fustiness of century-old conferences, strict protocols, or the evil spirit of some of the active senate members. Instead, it smelled of the nearby Apnex Sea, of vastness and opportunities.
Thokal liked this smell. Climbing the broad stone stairs to the Admiral Valdore Building’s entrance, he also pondered that he was growing too old for these games. The retired data analyst panted before he’d even walked up half of the stairs. The cold wind gusting against him as if it intended to blow him away didn’t make his undertaking any easier, either.
The Valdore was located on the outskirts of the government district. The rectangular building boasted eight floors, wide windows, high columns, and an impressive mosaic made of colorful glass, gold, and flat stones with patterns above the entrance that measured almost five meters in diameter. The mosaic depicted the emblem of the Star Empire, a proud warbird with its wide wings spread, clutching the twin worlds Romulus and Remus in its talons. Thokal had always considered this image both elating and depressing.
Atop the stone stairs was a small courtyard, lined with larger-than-life statues of famous senators. Numerous hidden cameras and just as many heavily armed uhlans, who were anything but hidden, safeguarded the yard. At the far end, next to the wide entrance gate that was flanked by two uhlans, the gatekeeper of the Valdore—a living anachronism from pre-technological times long gone—waited for him at his checkpoint.
“What can I do for you?” asked the young Romulan when Thokal arrived. He didn’t sound as if he really cared for an answer.
Thokal rested both hands on the small sill outside the checkpoint window while he struggled to catch his breath. The long walk from the transit station, the relentless gusts of wind, and the stairs all took their toll on him, much more than he had expected.
The young man at the checkpoint became impatient. “Do you have an appointment or a permit?” he urged brusquely. “I don’t have all day, you know!”
“Me… neither.” Thokal was still breathing heavily. Leaning forward, he placed his wrinkled face in front of the small scanner of the identification console to the right of the window. “Identification for access,” he ordered the device.
The scanner reacted immediately. Blue light shone on the face of the old Romulan, scanning and taking in every pore, ever little facial hair on his face. Shortly after, the scan was finished. Thokal stood up, waiting for a moment.
“You’re not in the system,” the young gatekeeper said in a bored tone. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uhm, not quite.”
Thokal’s thoughts raced. Today of all days! The old analyst had been expecting one of the subroutines in the security network to detect the program he’d inserted to give him access to the building some day. But why did today have to be that day?
“I’m sorry, but under the circumstances I can’t let you pass. This building is not open to unauthorized individuals. If you could leave the premises, please…”
Three government employees left the building with brisk steps, crossing the yard. One of the well-dressed
men looked at Thokal quizzically, which made the old Romulan hesitate briefly. But then they passed him and were descending the stairs.
“I said, you should leave the premises,” the gatekeeper repeated, slightly louder this time. With his index finger he pointed in the direction where the three officials were heading. “Understood?”
“My apologies,” Thokal mumbled as he turned on his heel, rushing after the three men as fast as his legs permitted. The men had already a considerable lead, and they had almost reached the bottom of the stairs. He had to try, though.
“Maldaro?” he shouted. “Maldaro, is that you?”
The three stopped. Confused, they turned around.
Even without his Tal Shiar background, Thokal would have been able to read the recognition in the face of the official on the left side. Maldaro was of medium age and fairly muscular. He carried a datapad tucked under his right arm, and he seemed to be in the hurry, just like his companions.
“Maldaro.” Thokal smiled at him almost genuinely. “What a wonderful coincidence to meet you. Would you have a moment for me?”
The younger man’s expression could hardly conceal the skepticism. He nodded, nonetheless. “You go ahead,” he said to his two colleagues. “I’ll catch up with you at the transporter station.” The two men headed off, both looking rather confused.
Maldaro took out the datapad before clasping his hands behind his back. Reluctantly, he glared at Thokal. “What do you want, Thokal? And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were sitting somewhere in the park feeding the vermin!”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know what I want,” Thokal answered, panting. In the meantime, he had also reached the bottom of the stairs. Again, he needed a moment to recover his breath. “And what I’m doing here could mean the end of your career if anyone found a reason to link you to me.”
Maldaro squinted. “In that case, I’d better call security.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Thokal whispered as Maldaro raised his hand to beckon an uhlan. “Unless…”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence. Maldaro’s face revealed that the younger ministry official had understood him perfectly well.
Maldaro looked around frantically but the terrible weather had fortunately chased away any possible unwanted listeners.
“What do you want, old man?” he snarled, lowering his hand. “And more to the point… what do you want from me?”
“I’m calling in my favor,” Thokal answered.
“You did that ages ago. With interest.”
Thokal tilted his head slightly. “Oh, really?” he feigned ignorance. “I should know that, don’t you think?”
“Thokal, I can’t…”
“Oh yes, you can. And you will, Maldaro. Otherwise, I will not only forget the favors you did me in the past, I’ll also forget that I promised to keep quiet. Do you want your family to see those recordings?”
Maldaro winced, as if he’d been hit. “You said you’d destroy them! Thokal, you promised me!”
The old man squinted in feigned astonishment. “I did? Well, that would have been pretty foolish of me, don’t you agree? Such wonderful leverage is worth more than money—especially since you never know when you might need it again.”
Silence. Maldaro was quite obviously seething, but he didn’t do anything.
Cornering a man like that here on Romulus—especially in Ki Baratan’s government quarter—could easily end your life. But Thokal knew Maldaro: despite his impressive figure he was a coward and far too gutless to order a murder, let alone commit one.
The old agent left the young official to stew for a few more seconds. Finally, he nodded. “So?”
“I’m listening,” Maldaro growled and his broad shoulders sagged.
Thokal explained briefly what he expected. And with every word, the color drained a little more from Maldaro’s face.
* * *
Basically, it was the same everywhere in the government district, thought Thokal, grinning to himself. You just needed to know the right people, and all doors would open for you. Not to mention that you could claim any back office you wanted.
The old data analyst had been sitting in this small room on the third floor of the Valdore for three hours now, and hadn’t been disturbed yet, just like Maldaro had promised. During this time he had actually managed to hack into the central computer of the military logistics department—a feat he hadn’t been able to accomplish from his cellar back in Chalandru.
It’s good to know people in high places, thought the old Romulan. And even better that I still have leverage against them.
Thokal’s Tal Shiar education had been decades ago but he’d never forgotten one phrase his teachers had used: In order to reach a goal, all means were allowed.
Satisfied, he watched columns of data scrolling past on his monitor. Now and then, he would save some of the data on an isolinear rod that he had brought along for the purpose. This particular model was undetectable to the scanners at the building’s exit. Most of the time, though, he just let the computer do its work. And he waited.
After another half an hour, he found something. Quickly Thokal stopped the data stream. Frowning, he skeptically stared at the monitor display. Those details surely weren’t right. Or were they?
He had found inventory sheets from five years earlier, a time when the Romulan Star Empire had been riddled with chaos. The rebel Shinzon—a clone of Starfleet captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S. Enterprise-E—had killed the entire senate here in Ki Baratan, and then was killed himself, laying the foundation for a civil war the likes of which this empire had never seen before. Two independent factions had emerged from the power vacuum that Shinzon had left behind: the suddenly shrunken and weakened Star Empire, and the new Imperial Romulan State, led by Commander Donatra. The latter had conquered several agriculturally important worlds with strength in numbers and by sheer force, effectively depriving the Star Empire of essential food suppliers. Without the humanitarian help of galactic neighbors such as the Federation, Romulus’s population would certainly have starved.
A lot had happened since those days. The Imperial State no longer existed, and unity had been restored. The senate had been re-filled, and the praetorship was in the hands of the moderate Gell Kamemor.
Not all questions raised during that chaotic era of schism had been answered, though. In fact, not all of them had been asked. Questions like: “Why do these inventory lists contain discrepancies?”
Thokal rubbed his chin as he always did when he sensed a discovery. He compared the listings of ordnance just before the fall of the Imperial State with the files listing the military equipment that had been reintegrated into the Romulan Star Empire. He saw gaps, not very obvious ones, but they existed nonetheless.
There was a handful of Scorpion attack fighters missing. And several freight units of trilithium for military usage.
All of this material had been stationed in bases on Achernar Prime, Thokal realized, and then they simply vanished without a trace.
At least the files created that impression. Obviously, that fact had gone unnoticed during the excitement of domestic reunification. One discrepancy more or less in the files—who cared when the Romulan family was reunited?
Or had anyone deliberately taken precautions to prevent these facts from surfacing? If so… who? And for what reason?
Thokal didn’t know what exactly he had uncovered. But a lifetime of analyzing intelligence data told him that this was a discovery of some magnitude. Especially since Spock specifically wanted to know if Romulus had provided the Renao with military equipment, including specifically Scorpion fighters.
“It would almost appear they have, old friend,” Thokal mumbled in the empty room. He saved the classified files of the Romulan Defense Ministry on his isolinear rod, before stashing it in his pocket. “But I need to be certain.”
23
NOVEMBER 12, 2385
U.S.S. Prometheus, en route to
Onferin
When Captain Adams entered the cargo hold on deck nine, he was met with sheer chaos.
An area on the left side of the room had been cleared the day before, so Science Officer Mendon and his team of engineers and scientists had enough room to study the remains of the Scorpion spacecraft and the debris of Starbase 91, which had been transferred here from the shuttlebay. Now he saw all the finds scattered all over the deck. A handful of officers in blue or gold uniforms walked among the debris, some with tricorders, and others with padds in their hands. Next to the multitude of charred components stood a mobile computer console. Three small displays showed various analyses that Adams couldn’t make heads nor tails of.
“Ah, Captain.” Mendon walked toward Adams. “I’m glad you could come right away.”
“You said it was urgent.”
“That it is. And most of all, it’s enlightening. If you’d like to follow me?”
Without waiting for a response, the Benzite headed toward the mobile workstation and its displays. The cargo bay’s lighting reflected off his moist and shiny bald head.
Adams knew his science officer’s enthusiasm for his work, and didn’t need a second invitation. He gave Mendon’s team a friendly nod and joined the Benzite, trying to focus on his officer and not on what he was studying. The debris triggered memories of his niece, and he knew that he mustn’t allow them to distract him if he wanted to finish this mission efficiently and expediently.
“I’m listening, Mr. Mendon,” said the captain.
“You see this, sir?” The Benzite pointed to one of the displays. Adams saw an endless column of numbers and terms. Mendon pointed at a second display where a simulation of a Scorpion attack fighter slowly revolved around its axis. “And here? Isn’t that unbelievable?”
“Definitely,” said Adams. “And if I had brought Commander Kirk along, I might have a clue what you’re talking about. Could you possibly convey your report in Federation Standard instead of gestures? With as few technical terms as possible?”
The Benzite looked up. Taken aback, he squinted and took a deep breath from his respirator. “Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Captain. I probably went ahead of myself, which isn’t useful at all. Let me rephrase this into what you consider to be simple terms: this Scorpion attack fighter does not originate from Romulus. In fact, I daresay that this attack fighter has never been within the Star Empire’s borders.”
Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire Page 19
