Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice

by James Swallow

  Atia gave him a sideways look but didn’t say anything.

  Darrah sighed and put down his fork. “I think it’s safe to say we’re all somewhat surprised by this turn of events. But we’re in the middle of an ongoing crisis here. A major terrorist attack was just successfully perpetrated against the Federation. . . .”

  “And now your man is in charge,” said Maslan.

  The Bajoran eyed him. “Ishan Anjar is certainly not my man.” He shook his head, returning to the point at hand. “What I mean is, after the assassination, you can’t blame Starfleet for being cautious.”

  “Agreed,” said Kader. “But then again, Seth does raise a valid concern. That whole diversion to Jaros II? And now we’re going off the route again to some uncharted system? I’d like to know what it all means.”

  “My point exactly,” insisted Maslan, spearing a piece of celery and crunching down on it.

  “Captain’s prerogative,” countered Darrah. “She doesn’t have to tell us anything if she doesn’t want to.”

  Kader shrugged. “Not exactly a good command style, though. I mean, if Lionheart has been co-opted into some high-security mission, how does keeping the bridge crew in the dark help?”

  Darrah glanced at the engineer. “Has it occurred to you, Basoos, that we might be outside the loop because it’s safer that way?”

  “Oh, great,” said the woman dryly. “That makes me feel much better.”

  “I don’t have anything against Vale,” Maslan went on, his lip curling. “But I still don’t like it.”

  “What you like counts little,” Atia said at last as she was cutting at her food. “Fall to purpose. Assumptions breed mistakes.”

  “With respect, Commander,” said the science officer. “Any senior officer who deliberately withholds important information from their senior staff has to be up to something. And if we’re potentially going in harm’s way, with a captain who we don’t know and can’t anticipate, that’s a recipe for disaster. I’ll do my duty; we all will. But as Hayn said, the situation is serious right now, and . . .” Maslan suddenly noticed that everyone else at his table had gone very quiet. “And she’s standing right behind me, isn’t she?”

  “Is this seat taken?” asked Vale, dropping down next to the first officer, depositing her lunch tray before her. She looked around at all of them, with a fixed smile. “So. What’s good?”

  “Try the hasperat,” said Darrah, pointing with his fork. “It’s tasty.”

  “Um. Captain Vale.” Maslan tried and failed to find the right words. “I, um—” His combadge chirped and the science officer swatted at it, thankful for the interruption. “Maslan!”

  “Seth, it’s Alex. Got an incoming personal message for you. Thought you’d like to know.”

  “Great.” He stood up quickly. “I’ll take that in my quarters. . . .”

  “Saved by the bell?” Vale said quietly.

  Maslan took a swift exit, and in the awkward silence that followed, Kader and Darrah also made their excuses and stepped away. After a moment, Vale looked up and found Atia watching her.

  “Apologies,” said the commander. “It is just . . . your predecessor was of more conventional manner.”

  “I’m sure you’ll adjust,” Vale replied.

  * * *

  Within a couple of hours, the assault operation on IN-748 was officially concluded, and Active Four was recalled to the Snipe. The bodies of the sentries killed in the engagement—the one shot down by Kincade, another ended in hand-to-hand combat with Ashur, and two more lost in a firefight by the shuttle—were in a stasis compartment. The four prisoners, Onar Throk among them, were being held in one of the freighter’s other loading bays. What Nog had thought were just cargo container pods were revealed to be portable cells, each big enough for a single humanoid, each sealed off from the others so their targets could not communicate while in their confinement.

  Zero-Zero and One-One had transported down to the surface to help the Ferengi pull the computer core from the disabled shuttlecraft while Sahde and Tom scoured the Orion wreck for any materials or equipment used by the targets. Once they had all they could recover, it had been another painful jaunt back via the folded-space transporters to the ship. Now Iota Nadir was just a fading memory, and the Snipe was heading back toward the Federation core worlds at warp speed. The mood among the Active Four team was muted and wary.

  Khob had insisted on taking Tuvok back to the Snipe’s small sickbay to check him over, along with Ashur, who had come off worse for wear in a knife-fight with a Cardassian twice his size.

  The Zeon came wandering into the main cargo bay where the rest of the group was assembled, his arm swathed in bandages. He was sweaty and pallid, and with a jaundiced eye he surveyed the piles of gear gathered up from the planet below. “What’s the point of all this?” He kicked at a pile of salvaged ration packs. “We found them; mission accomplished. Must we sift through their trash as well?” Ashur found Kincade, who stood nearby examining a tricorder. “We’re done. I for one would like my . . . remuneration as promised and to be on my way.” He looked for Tom Riker and the Bynars, seeking agreement from the other mercenaries. “Don’t you feel the same?”

  It was Sahde who finally said what they all were thinking. “I don’t think this is over yet, Ashur.”

  Tuvok entered the compartment, and Nog saw that he was still moving a little stiffly, although the color had returned to his tawny features. “Commander . . .”

  The Vulcan nodded. “Mister Nog. Have any of the prisoners spoken?”

  Kincade answered first. “Not a word. I suppose that’s to be expected.”

  “Really?” Tom shot her a look. “Because nothing about what we encountered down there was what I expected.”

  “I don’t recall any promises made that this mission would be straightforward,” she replied, frowning. Nog couldn’t tell if it was Tom’s challenge or the matter itself that was vexing her.

  “Tom Riker’s point—”

  “Is well made.” The two Bynars spoke in a quick-fire chorus. “Assassin suspect was—”

  “First thought to be Bajoran.”

  “That was revealed to be—”

  “Falsehood. Tzenkethi suspected instead.”

  Sahde was nodding. “I thought the Cardassians were supposed to be the allies of the Federation.” She glanced at Nog and Tuvok. “Now it seems like they were part of a plot to kill your president?” The Elloran gave an expansive shrug. “Or am I misunderstanding something?”

  Nog picked up a Cardassian padd and offered it up. “This contains manifesto documents and propaganda materials for an isolationist group called the True Way. I know them of old, from Bajor. They blame the Federation for all of Cardassia’s ills. They’re not shy about planting bombs or killing anyone they deem deserving of it.”

  “Which would make them the perfect cat’s-paw for the Tzenkethi,” grated Ashur. He spat on the deck. “Must we seek out their paymasters now? I took on this task with a deal to find the killers of the Bacco woman. We’ve done that.”

  “Perhaps the Tzenkethi and the Typhon Pact were never part of this conspiracy,” said Tuvok, without weight. He let the statement lay for a moment before he continued. “They have claimed their innocence in this matter. They may be truthful.”

  Sahde gave a bitter laugh. “You’ve obviously never met a Tzenkethi or a Breen or any one of their Pact collaborators, Tuvok. If you had, you’d know they’re nothing more than a clutch of backstabbers and liars.” Nog heard the venom in her tone and wondered what might have happened in the Elloran’s past to make her have such hatred for the Typhon Pact.

  “I don’t think the rest of the Federation would be as willing as you are to give them the benefit of the doubt,” said Kincade, stepping closer to the Vulcan. “Back on the planet, that one you captured, Throk . . . he had you cold. I could have taken him out, but you blocked my shot. Why?”

  “If Throk was now dead, what would we have?” Tuvok replied.
/>
  “One less murderer in the galaxy,” said Sahde.

  Kincade was watching Tuvok carefully. “Justice?”

  “That wouldn’t be justice,” said Nog, the words coming to him almost before he was aware of it. “That would be revenge.”

  Ashur snorted with derision. “A moral homily from a Ferengi? Your ancestors would be ashamed.”

  Nog met the other man’s gaze. “My ancestors also came up with the Eighty-eighth Rule of Acquisition: ‘Vengeance will cost you everything.’ ”

  A double beep sounded, and Kincade frowned, drawing a communicator from her belt. “What is it, Ixxen?”

  “A holomessage packet has just come in for you on the hyperchannel,” said the Bolian.

  “Pipe it down to the holocomm rig in my quarters.” She glanced at Tuvok. “I’ll be back in a moment. In the meantime, try to keep the political debate to a minimum, Commander.” The woman strode out of the compartment and down the corridor to the crew cabins.

  “This Throk . . .” began Tom. “Nog, you said he was on DS9 when Bacco was killed. So are we saying that it was his finger on the trigger?”

  “That would seem likely,” said Tuvok. “But more evidence is required for complete certainty.”

  “Just so we’re clear about this, then . . .” Tom shook his head as he thought it through and then pointed toward the aft. “At the end of that corridor, we currently have the most-wanted being in the Federation as our prisoner.”

  “How much do you think—”

  “He is worth?” The Bynars asked the question to the group, but no one replied.

  “What’s going to happen when Starfleet rolls out a line of Cardassian faces in front of the Federation Council and the galaxy at large?” Sahde ran a hand over the length of her bone crest. “I think it will be quite ugly, don’t you? That fine new treaty with the Union will turn to ashes overnight.”

  “All the more reason to have killed the lot of them down in that junkyard.” Ashur flinched as he moved, pulling on his wound. “Kincade should have listened when I told her to blast it from orbit with a torpedo barrage.”

  From out of nowhere, Nog heard a shift in the Snipe’s engine note and exchanged a look with Tuvok. “Commander . . . I think the ship is altering course.” He was certain of it; the freighter’s warp drives were accelerating.

  Kincade strode back into the compartment. A flicker of concern on her features vanished as she met their gazes. “All right, all of you, listen up. Now that we’ve completed the first part of the mission, we’re moving to the second phase.”

  “Second phase?” echoed Ashur. “I don’t recall anything about that in your recruitment speech, Colonel!”

  “As I recall, you were more than happy to accept my offer to get you away from the Chalnoth bounty hunters on your tail.” She shut him down with a hard stare. “So don’t push your luck, Ashur.” Kincade drew herself up and scanned the room, taking them in. “Next stage after isolating the targets is to secure them for interrogation. We need to know every aspect of the attack they planned, who they were working for, how they did it, everything. The chief of staff has amended our previous orders. We’re not returning to Earth just yet. I’ve ordered Lieutenant Ixxen to put us on a new heading.”

  “For what reason?” Tuvok watched her carefully. “What is our destination?”

  “Velk’s security staff feel the situation on Earth is too sensitive right now. So we’re diverting to a secondary deployment site. Nydak II, a planet in the Archanis Sector.”

  Nog’s eyes widened. “The Nydak system is over the border. In Klingon space.”

  “That won’t be an issue,” said Kincade. “Snipe and Active Four are to remain on operational standby for the time being.”

  “For how long?” demanded Ashur.

  “Until we get what we need,” replied the colonel.

  Ten

  He felt uncomfortable sitting in the chair at the head of the briefing-room table, and Riker let that energy propel him to his feet. “I need options,” he told the others, crossing to the windows. On the other side of the transparent aluminum, the iron-colored arms of McKinley Station reached down over the Titan’s hull, holding it in place over the turning globe of Earth beneath.

  There was a reluctance in the air that he found disquieting. As captain, Riker had always allowed himself to be open to any suggestion from any one of his officers. He fostered that to better make use of his crew’s skills, but here and now it seemed that no one wanted to be the first to take the next step down the path opening up before them.

  He saw them behind him, reflected in the ports, each of them sharing glances, weighing their thoughts but still keeping their own counsel. Ranul Keru wore an expression of grim determination while Melora Pazlar remained deeply troubled. At the far end of the table, Torvig’s hands knit over a padd, his head bowed and his large eyes averted. Riker had ordered Y’lira Modan to remain with and monitor the holographic “Messenger” down in the laboratory compartment, and now he wondered if she would have been any more ready to speak up, had the Selenean been here.

  In that silence, Riker again felt the weight of the burden he was carrying, the same burden he had passed to everyone else brought into his circle of trust. The pressure had not lessened in the act—if anything, Riker knew it more keenly now. Each person he called upon to help him was one more measure on the scale, one more career he was risking above and beyond his own. He thought about the Titan’s officers, beings like his chief engineer Xin Ra-Havreii or the ship’s senior medical officer Shenti Yisec Eres Ree. . . . After all the trials and challenges they had faced as crewmates in the past few years, it was not an exaggeration to say Riker trusted them implicitly and that he valued their advice beyond all others’. But did he have the right to drag even more of his colleagues into this conspiracy?

  Part of him wondered if it was fear. Am I afraid that they would talk me out of this course of action? No. It wasn’t that at all. . . . If I ask of Ree or Xin or any of the others, I know they’ll offer their help. But can I really put more of my people at risk?

  Riker’s true fear was of what would come if he ultimately failed in this. His career in Starfleet would be extinguished like a snuffed candle, perhaps those of Deanna and Christine as well. His first, best destiny taken from him, and criminal charges laid at his feet.

  It wouldn’t just be his head on the block; his wife and executive officer would suffer, and he would drag the others down with him, taint the name of Titan and her crew for decades to come. They would speak of him in the same sentence as men like Erik Pressman, Robert Leyton, and Lance Cartwright, and his officers would pay a high price. Riker shook his head slightly. No. For now, we keep the circle close. And if the worst comes, I’ll take the full onus upon myself.

  At last, Keru cleared his throat. “Admiral, at this point we have to consider the most expedient alternative. Remember, that program down there is just a copy of an intercepted signal. We caught it on its way somewhere else, and whomever it was actually sent to has probably conversed with the original by now. Whatever data the Messenger has is losing value with every passing moment we sit here and discuss it.”

  “I’m aware of that, Lieutenant Commander,” said Riker. “What do you propose we do about it?”

  “Back in the lab, I said that we’ve accidentally got ourselves a prisoner. I suggest we treat it as such, sir. We conduct an interrogation.”

  “The Messenger will not respond as an organic life-form would,” said Torvig. “You could no more cross-examine it than you could question a replicator.”

  “By their very nature, holoprograms have a baseline degree of sentience,” Melora broke in. “Something that has been a debated issue for several years now. Are we actually suggesting we use forcible coercion against an intelligent construct?”

  “We don’t know how smart it is,” Keru replied. “And I’m not talking about torture, Melora.”

  “Really?” The Elaysian turned her hard gaze on the
Trill. “Because I think you are, Ranul. Torvig is right when he says that simply questioning the Messenger won’t work. It’s not going to slip up and accidentally admit something like a person might; it won’t respond to threats or to rewards. So that means the only way to get to what it knows is through invasive means.”

  “That could be attempted,” said Torvig, and Riker saw his ears fold back against his head, reflecting his bleak tone. “We could aggressively decompile the program. Break it apart, effectively. There is a strong chance a lot of core data would be lost, however, even under the best of circumstances. I believe the Messenger would attempt to self-delete before we could complete a full brute-force decryption.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Keru. “It hesitated when it spoke about deletion. I think it must be programmed with some kind of self-preservation instinct. We could use that against it.”

  “Am I the only one who has a problem with this?” Melora’s eyes narrowed. “Just for a second, Ranul, pretend you’re talking about an organic being instead of a holographic construct. Now think about what you’re suggesting. It’s not only a violation of the law, but of ethical conduct.”

  “It’s a hard choice,” admitted the Trill. “But if there’s misuse of power taking place at the heart of the Federation, then we have a duty to expose it. We have to find out if that’s the case or if this is all a misjudgment. . . . We can’t ignore the possibility. And to do all that may require us to agree to things we might not be comfortable with, to cross a line—”

  “To cross another line,” Riker broke in, the words coming up from nowhere. He shook his head, and suddenly he felt tired. “If I look over my shoulder, what am I going to see? One compromise after another. Orders disobeyed. Secrets kept. Choices made.” He turned away from the port to look at his friends and colleagues, wishing that Deanna was there to offer him some kind of solace. “I don’t like where this is leading me . . . where this is leading us.”