Star Trek: 24th Century Crossover - 018 - Section 31 - Disavowed

by David Mack

  Saavik searched the Founder’s face for a reaction, only to find the Changeling’s mask utterly devoid of expression. “Do you understand my meaning, Madam Founder?”

  “Indeed.” The Founder’s mood turned pensive. “It was a most chilling demonstration. Such a weapon, if delivered with the speed and precision demonstrated by your jaunt ships, could obliterate every world in the Dominion so swiftly that by the time we knew we were under attack, the war would be over.”

  “I should also add that the Genesis Device represents the beginning of our arsenal, not its end. We’ve been developing far more devastating technologies for over a century.” She squatted, picked up the miniature projector, and pocketed it as she stood. “With that in mind, are you now ready to discuss a compromise regarding Doctor Bashir’s extradition?”

  “No.”

  Saavik did a double take. “Excuse me?”

  “There will be no compromise.”

  “You would continue to push us toward war, even knowing we can destroy you?”

  The Founder’s countenance was serene. “Principles betrayed are worthless. A civilization that lacks the courage of its convictions, even in the face of certain annihilation and oblivion, does not deserve to live.” In the space of a breath, her blank visage turned doleful. “We had hoped that your Commonwealth would share our commitment to the rule of law.”

  “The Commonwealth is a civilization of laws, Madam Founder. But it is also much greater than that. The law needs to be more than an arbitrary and inflexible code. It represents a blueprint for the social contract between a government and its people—and the spirit of that contract is just as important as its letter.”

  “Perhaps. But without respect for the law’s letter, its spirit has no agency in the world.” She touched a panel on the bulkhead and opened the door. As soon as the portal slid aside, Taran’atar entered and looked at the Founder, who gave him new orders. “Take Director Saavik back to the transporter room and see that she is returned safely to her point of origin on Bajor.”

  “Yes, Founder.”

  Saavik paused at the doorway and looked back. “Is your wrath toward Doctor Bashir worth risking the survival of your civilization?”

  “Is exempting him from responsibility for his actions worth committing genocide?”

  Both questions were left unanswered as Saavik made her exit, troubled as much by the implications of the Founder’s moral calculus as she was by her own.

  Twenty-three

  “I thought our circumstances couldn’t get any worse. Once again, I am proved in error.” Thot Trom and his command team had reconvened ahead of schedule to assess the rapidly changing tactical scenario that confronted them. “How many is that now?”

  First Officer Crin manipulated the holographic image above the briefing room’s plotting table to magnify the details of the two opposing fleets. “Over a hundred Jem’Hadar warships and twenty-four Commonwealth jaunt ships.”

  Rem added, “All sitting in front of the wormhole at high alert. A perfect blockade.”

  “What’s impressive,” Karn added, “is that the jaunt ships are outnumbered nearly five to one, but they repelled the Jem’Hadar advance on Bajor and pushed it all the way back here.” The tactical officer triggered a time-compressed playback of the Dominion ships’ retreat and regrouping. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Jem’Hadar attack group react that way to anything.”

  “All of which underscores why we were sent here to capture one of those ships.” Trom reset the hologram to show the fleets’ current deployments. “However, thanks to this standoff, our plan to lure the Dominion ships away from the wormhole has gone from outrageously difficult to practically impossible.” He looked around the table. “Any new ideas?”

  The first to speak was Rem. “What if we modify a torpedo for passive deployment? We could release it inert while we stay cloaked. Then we maneuver clear. After a preset delay, the torpedo activates and locks on to the nearest ship in the blockade.”

  “To what end?”

  “Sir?”

  “What would that accomplish?”

  Rem nodded at the projection. “We fire the first shot. They fire the rest and blow each other to bits. When they’re done, we cruise through the wormhole at our leisure.”

  “An interesting theory, Rem. But what if the Dominion emerges victorious? Our job is to capture a jaunt ship, not scoop up the fractured debris of one. Who else has a plan?”

  Solt lifted his snout. “I have some ideas, but I’m not sure how feasible they are.”

  “As long as they don’t involve goading the Jem’Hadar into blowing up our target, you can speak freely.”

  The chief engineer took control of the projection above the table. Detailed schematics of two complex machines appeared and rotated slowly in opposite directions, side by side. “The first challenge we need to address is how to get aboard a jaunt ship. We don’t want to risk a direct attack, and without the energy dampener, we have no way of disabling their shields—which means we can’t use transporters for the boarding phase of the assault.” He pointed at the schematic closer to him. “I dug up some old plans for a dimensional shifter and—”

  Trom interrupted, “A what?”

  “A folded-space transport system. Some variants were called inverters.”

  “Stop,” Rem said. “I’ve read about these things. They damage organic tissue.”

  Doctor Nev cut in, “Only gradually, over the course of several exposures to the inverter’s energy field. A single use will cause some tissue damage, but nothing that can’t be managed.”

  “More important,” Solt continued, “folded-space transport can bypass shields, force fields, and any other surprises those jaunt ships have locked inside them. We can even use it without dropping the cloak—which means we can stage a true sneak attack.”

  Trom was satisfied that the benefits outweighed the risks. “All right. Can you build one?”

  “Maybe. My team is replicating the component parts. Unfortunately, the schematics we have all rely on mutually exclusive systems for directing the transport coordinates, and because they were all stolen from other powers’ research facilities, we have the specs for the hardware but not the software. Still, I think there’s a good chance we can reverse-engineer it.”

  “How good a chance?”

  “Exponentially better than our odds of surviving a direct attack on a jaunt ship.”

  “Carry on, then.” Trom pointed at the second holographic schematic hovering above the plotting table. “What is this?”

  “The second part of my plan,” Solt said. “Getting onto a jaunt ship is one thing. Getting it home is another. At this point, I think we need to accept that trying to slip past the blockade to the Bajoran wormhole isn’t going to work.” He deactivated the image of the dimensional shifter and enlarged the remaining design to fill the empty space. “This is a miniaturized version of the rift generator Thot Tran built on Ikkuna Station.”

  It was Trom’s duty to ask, “Where did you get that?”

  “I took the liberty of accessing his lab’s computers and downloading his research before we deployed. It occurred to me that we might find ourselves in a predicament such as this, and I thought it best to take appropriate precautions.”

  “When we get home, Solt, I’m putting you in for a commendation and a bump in pay grade.” With a wave of his hand, he added, “Continue.”

  “From what I’ve seen of the jaunt ship’s wormhole propulsion system, I think it might be possible to modify it with some of the components from the Ikkuna rift generator. Balancing the flow of energy in a jury-rigged system will be dangerous—but if we’re successful, we’ll be able to use a jaunt ship’s own propulsion system to breach the dimensional barrier to go home.”

  Trom’s imagination reeled at the possibilities raised by such a leap in technology. Not only would he and his team be able to deliver their superiors’ most sought after prize, they would be improving it in the process—an
d extending the reach of the Breen Confederacy farther than anyone had ever dared to dream possible. “How long do you need?”

  Solt shrugged. “Not sure. We can probably turn our transport platforms into dimensional shifters in about a day. As for upgrading the jaunt ships’ wormhole drives, we can make the parts in about twenty hours. But I can’t be sure how long it’ll take to integrate them once we’re aboard a ship. Might be a matter of minutes, might take all day.”

  “We won’t have that much time after we’re aboard. Do whatever you can to minimize the refit time. We won’t be able to buy you more than an hour, at best.”

  “Noted.”

  “Crin, task anyone with a Level Five or higher tech rating to assist Solt’s team on the dimensional shifters. Rem, take point on that project, get it done. Solt, I want you and your best engineers working on the wormhole drive modifications.” Trom straightened and switched off the holographic projector. “Men, this might be our last shot. Make it count.”

  * * *

  There was so much to do, so many places to be, so many egos to appease. The Commonwealth was teetering upon the precipice of war over a matter of principle and the life of one man. All Saavik wanted was to find some way to craft a compromise, but she found herself snared between the immovable fanaticism of the Dominion and the fragile idealism of the fledgling interstellar power she and her colleagues in Memory Omega had midwifed.

  Now, instead of addressing the myriad issues already at hand, she found herself answering the summons of a stranger.

  Two guards, a male Tellarite and a female Trill, stood watch outside a suite of guest quarters on the Enterprise. Although Saavik wore no uniform, both security officers recognized her; neither challenged her as she approached. She asked them in her most polite manner, “Unlock the door, please.” The Trill pressed her hand to the biometric sensor beside the door, which sighed open. “Thank you,” Saavik said as she walked inside.

  Cole was alone, seated in an armchair upholstered with gray microfiber. The dark-haired human set down the padd from which he had been reading and stood. “Director Saavik. Thank you for coming. I hadn’t expected you so soon.”

  Saavik stepped away from the door’s proximity sensor, allowing the portal to close. She regarded him with cool reserve. “What do you want, Mister Cole?”

  “A chance to talk.” He beckoned her toward the sofa perpendicular to his chair. “Please.”

  She kept her eyes focused on his. “My time is limited.”

  “Of course. But still, have a seat. We needn’t be so formal.”

  As if to set an example, he relaxed back into the armchair and crossed one leg over the other. His change of situation suddenly made Saavik’s pose seem needlessly confrontational. She crossed the small room to the sofa and sat down. “What do you need to discuss?”

  “The guards on my door, for starters. I know that Doctor Bashir needs to be kept under watch until his legal status is resolved, but I was led to understand the rest of my team and I were here as guests—not as prisoners.”

  “An unfortunate consequence of our confrontation with the Dominion armada. Under normal conditions, you and your people could have been granted limited access to nonclassified areas of the ship. But with the fleet on combat alert, all privileges are rescinded.”

  “Ah.” Cole stroked his stubbled chin. “It’s good to see you’re taking the Dominion threat seriously. They’re far more dangerous than you might realize.”

  “Is that so?”

  A grave nod underscored the import of his words. “In my universe, the Dominion were a threat second only to the Borg. My people waged a war against them that cost millions of lives. Entire worlds were laid waste. To be frank, they nearly beat us. The only reason the Federation finally came out on top was a few lucky breaks right near the end.”

  She studied his face for microexpressions that might betray an attempt at mendacity or evasion. “That sounds like an exaggeration, Mister Cole. Surely, luck can’t have been the only thing that decided the war’s outcome.”

  A grimace and dubious tilt of his head. “Not the only thing, no. But an important one.”

  He was a gifted liar, Saavik decided, one practiced in the art of deception. It was almost as if he believed his own prevarications. “Why tell me this?”

  “Because it looks to me like you’re on the verge of war with the Dominion.”

  “And you think my people need your advice?”

  A faux-humble shrug. “I doubt it could hurt. The organization I work for amassed a significant amount of actionable intel against the Dominion in our universe. I know not everything is exactly the same on this side as it is back home, but I’d be willing to bet our intel could give you options you might not have considered. Alternatives to glassing all their planets with your stacks of Genesis torpedoes.”

  How did he know about— She halted her speculation. Cole was a covert intelligence agent. It was possible—even probable—that the entity he served had some means of monitoring events in this universe and of intercepting messages, such as Omega’s warning to the Alliance.

  “Let us presume, Mister Cole, that the information you offer is of value to my people. Why would it be in your interest to share it?”

  “For the same reason it was in our interest to cross the dimensional barrier to stop the Breen commandos from capturing one of your ships.” He sat forward, folded his hands together, and rested his arms on his thighs. “It’s in the best interest of the Federation to know that it has a stable and nonhostile power calling the shots on this side of the barrier. We don’t want someone like the Breen or the Dominion getting hold of the kind of technology you people possess.”

  Saavik’s suspicion manifested in the form of an elegantly raised gray eyebrow. “In that case, Mister Cole, one might wonder how your organization feels about the fact that my people possess this technology. Is it even possible for you and your masters to trust someone else?”

  “We trust everyone. We just like to verify that our trust isn’t being abused.”

  “Sensible.”

  “We like to think so.”

  She admired his restraint. It was obvious that he had omitted a crucial detail from the conversation, but he appeared content to wait for her to broach the topic.

  “Let’s cut to the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you want in exchange for this allegedly valuable information about the Dominion?”

  “My team and I would like to be moved out of your impending war zone, to safer ground.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as wherever it is that you go when you’re not brokering peace treaties.”

  He wants access to Memory Omega. To the headquarters, Omega Prime.

  She shook her head. “There are numerous neutral worlds where—”

  “We’d still be vulnerable in a place like that. Especially since Captain Picard and his friends on the ShiKahr don’t seem to be in any hurry to give us back our ship. But even if we were back on the Królik, we’d be at a distinct disadvantage in this universe.”

  “What disadvantage?”

  He gestured at his confining quarters. “We’d still be pilgrims in a strange cosmos. What’s the preferred euphemism? ‘Stateless actors’? As long as we remain out in the open, we’re people without citizenship. No matter where we go in this universe, we’re legally nonpeople.”

  “I assure you, that is not the case within the Commonwealth. We welcome those dispossessed from other states. All who seek refuge here are protected under the law.”

  Cole frowned. “I’d like to trust you, but for the sake of my team, I can’t take that chance. What if I sweeten the deal? My organization has all kinds of intel on the Breen, not to mention detailed files on the Delta Quadrant. If you’d be willing to bring me and my team to safe ground, we’d share all of it.”

  “Tempting. But I think you and your team are better situated here on the Enterprise.”

  “Is that the last word? Is there anybody I can
talk with other than you?”

  She stood. “If you like, I can ask my peers if they wish to consider your proposal.”

  He got up as well. “Please do.” He offered her his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  Reluctantly, she shook his hand, but only for a moment. Then she let go and stepped back. “I will let you know what the board decides. Good day, Mister Cole.”

  He watched her as she left the room. She had no doubt that he was, by training and by nature, contemplating all the means by which he might escape, as well as those by which he might take her life. Knowing this did not trouble her, for one simple reason.

  She had already decided how Cole was going to die.

  * * *

  Precision and attention to detail were essential traits in effective Jem’Hadar soldiers. Taran’atar made certain to arrive in the strategy room of Battleship 774 several minutes before the appointed hour. As not just the First but also the most senior Honored Elder, he was obliged to serve as an exemplar for his men. He had summoned his four chief lieutenants to join him there at the top of the day’s seventeenth hour, as measured by the ship’s chronometer.

  Half a minute before the top of the hour, the door to the strategy room slid open, and his men entered in descending order of rank: Second Ankan’igar, Third Keltan’iklan, Fourth Morgul’itan, and Fifth Golgan’adar. Aboard their own vessels, among their own regiments, they each held the title of First; here, however, aboard the Founder’s command ship, in Taran’atar’s presence, they reverted to subordinate ranks in deference to his venerable status.

  Just after they had taken their places in a line before Taran’atar, the chronometer changed over, marking the top of the hour.