Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  She consulted the schedule displayed upon the computer terminal set into the center of her desk, angled so that she could read it without having to lean over it. “Are the plans for the reception dinner still going forward?”

  Ch’Birane nodded. “Yes, Presider. Commander th’Hadik is working with the staff to ensure all security provisions are met, and in a matter as unobtrusive as possible for our guests. Given that Starfleet will also be represented, the commander is advocating several additional measures be put into place.”

  “I trust th’Hadik’s judgment,” sh’Thalis replied. “Speaking of which, I understand that the Enterprise captain, Picard, is something of an aficionado when it comes to Earth wines as well as a few made on other planets. Please have something selected for presentation as—”

  The rest of her sentence was cut off by the piercing shriek of an alarm siren. Sh’Thalis flinched at the unexpected sound, rising from her chair at the same time ch’Birane moved toward her. No sooner did he place himself between her and the door to her office than the door slid open, revealing a pair of agents from her security detail, th’Perene and ch’Mahlaht. Both agents entered the room with weapons drawn, ch’Mahlaht standing in the doorway and keeping his attention focused on the corridor beyond as th’Perene stepped into the room.

  “We’re sorry for the interruption, Presider,” th’Perene said, his voice tense as he called out over the sound of the klaxon, “but we have an intrusion alarm.”

  “What?” sh’Thalis asked. “Where?”

  Ignoring her query, the agent turned and gestured to ch’Mahlaht, who then stepped into the office, allowing the door to close. He reached for the control pad set into the wall and entered a string of commands. The colored panel on the keypad changed from blue to orange, indicating that the door was now locked and impossible to open from the outside. The sound of metal against metal caught sh’Thalis’s attention, and she turned to the window in time to see heavy protective shutters lowering over the transparasteel pane, blocking her view of the courtyard and the surrounding city. In response to the loss of natural light, the illumination in her office increased automatically.

  Th’Perene reached to his belt and retrieved a communications device, lifting the unit to his mouth. “This is th’Perene. The presider is secure.”

  “Acknowledged,” replied a voice through the device’s speaker, one sh’Thalis recognized as belonging to Commander th’Hadik. “Other teams have taken up position outside the presider’s office. Our initial report counts two intruders on the grounds, and we’re still securing the rest of the compound. Stand by and await further instructions.”

  “Understood,” th’Perene replied before severing the connection and returning the communications unit to his belt. Turning to face sh’Thalis, he said, “I apologize for the disruption, Presider.”

  Drawing a deep breath, sh’Thalis nodded before turning to ch’Birane, whose expression had turned to one of worry. She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It will be fine, Loqnara, though I suppose this means we’re not going outside today.”

  Shar stepped from the lift, emerging into the sunlight. Raising his face skyward, he smiled as he breathed the fresh air. The temperature was mild, and he felt a slight breeze. Only a few small clouds accented the otherwise clear blue sky. He had hoped being outside would soothe him, but any fleeting relief he might have felt dissolved as he turned his attention to the object he now held, and which had been waiting for him upon his arrival earlier this morning.

  The locket seemed to weigh heavily in his hand, all the more so for what it contained. It was a shapla, a traditional Andorian betrothal symbol, which he found upon opening to contain a lock of dark hair, its color and texture making it obvious that it could not have come from any Andorian. It had been intertwined with a similar segment of thicker, stark-white hair. Any lingering doubt as to the symbol’s meaning was erased by the small paper note he had found tucked inside the locket, with a single word written by his own hand: Someday.

  How long had it been since he had last seen Prynn Tenmei? He pondered the question as he walked the path that ran parallel to the perimeter wall encircling the parliamentary compound’s courtyard. His last contact with Prynn had been just prior to her departing Andor and after his decision to remain with his bondgroup and undertake the shelthreth mating ritual. It had been Shar’s original intention to return to Deep Space 9 following the birth of the bondgroup’s child, but circumstances saw to it that he stayed, continuing to assist Dr. sh’Veileth with her research when it became apparent that the Yrythny ova protocol was not the solution to Andor’s ongoing reproductive crisis. Despite that desire to contribute to work that might save his people, Shar still thought of Prynn often.

  Why did you not contact her?

  The question burned in Shar’s mind, harassing him for an answer he did not possess. Though his bondgroup had dissolved for a time following the birth of their first child, Thiarelata ch’Vazdi, a decision eventually was reached to make a second attempt at procreation. Shar had at first resisted the notion, electing instead to return to Starfleet, but his bondmates made the choice to join him at his new posting on Starbase 714.

  Then the Borg came, and took away Thia, Anichent, and Dizhei, along with the child they had created together.

  Finding a bench woven from strands of thick, fibrous vines that had been placed before one of the gardens situated around the courtyard, Shar sat and listened to the tranquil sounds of the small waterfall that fed the garden’s reflecting pool from an underground spring. It served only as a momentary distraction before his attention once more was drawn to the box in his hand. Though the months immediately following the Borg invasion had been unforgiving as he returned to Andor and devoted his energies to helping with relief efforts, why had he not contacted Prynn? He had not even sent her a message to inform her of his decision to remain with his bondgroup. Was he frightened at the prospect of seeing her again? For that, Shar had no answer. Of course, Prynn had seen fit not to contact him, either, but he knew that was for different reasons. Their parting had been very upsetting for her, and at the time, Shar was certain that any renewed communication would serve only to deepen any feelings of sadness that had gripped her.

  Now, however, things were different. A year had passed, and while Shar still grieved the loss of his bondgroup and their child, other feelings were beginning to make themselves known. Loneliness, desire, yearning.

  For Prynn. Any concerns that she might not feel the same way seemed to dissolve in the face of the shapla in his hand. When might they finally meet again? Shar smiled at the memory of the small note he had placed inside the locket. Someday.

  The serenity of the courtyard was shattered by the shrill tones of what Shar recognized as an intrusion alarm. Muscles tensing, Shar rose from the bench, looking for the source of the alert. At the far end of the compound, he was able to see several figures, all wearing the dark uniforms of Homeworld Security, running down various paths and around the courtyard’s trees and gardens. Had someone attempted to breach one of the compound’s security gates?

  Something scraped against the stone wall to his left, and Shar turned in time to see a figure dropping from the top of the wall and down behind a row of tall hedges near the garden’s outer edge.

  “Hey!” he yelled, his eyes widening in shock as an Andorian emerged from the hedges. Dressed in some kind of woven, dark-brown single-piece garment, the intruder halted at the sight of Shar. They both froze, standing on the stone-tiled path running parallel to the wall as their eyes locked, each trying to read the intent of the other.

  Reaching up to slap his combadge, Shar was able to call out, “Ch’Thane to security! Intruder alert! Quadrant three,” before the Andorian drew a knife from a pocket along his right thigh and charged forward.

  “Lieutenant ch’Thane!” a voice erupted from his communicator. “What’s your status? Lieutenant?” Shar ignored the question, concentrating instead on his
opponent. Light reflected off the curved blade in the intruder’s hand, and Shar backpedaled, giving himself room to prepare for the attack as the other Andorian closed the distance. Shar could tell by the way his opponent wielded the weapon that he had no real experience with knife fighting, but that did not mean he could not still inflict injury if given the chance.

  So, don’t give him that chance.

  With a warbling cry Shar assumed was meant to startle him, the Andorian raised his knife hand as he lunged forward. Shar set his feet, waiting for the exact moment when his opponent would be the most vulnerable. When the Andorian was close enough, Shar stepped into the attack, his hand rising to block the intruder’s blade arm on the downward swing. Drilling his right fist into the Andorian’s torso and just beneath his raised arm, Shar heard the satisfying grunt of shock and pain. He pressed his attack, not giving the intruder any opportunity to recover or react. Grasping the assailant’s knife arm, Shar twisted it down and away before driving it up and behind the other Andorian’s back. He bent the wrist until his opponent cried and loosened his grip on the knife. The blade fell to the ground and Shar kicked it away before tightening his hold on the Andorian. He drove him down to the ground, jamming his knee into the small of the Andorian’s back and resting on him with his full weight. Only then did he realize that his opponent had to outweigh him by a minimum of two dozen kilos.

  I guess those close-quarters combat classes weren’t a waste of time, after all.

  “Lieutenant ch’Thane!” shouted the voice from his combadge. He was about to say something when a shadow fell across the tiles of the walkway in front of him. Jerking his head to the left, he saw another Andorian running at him. Shar started pulling himself to his feet, releasing his prisoner and trying to get his hands up and ready for any kind of defense, but by then it was too late.

  The Andorian hit him at full speed, tackling him while he was still rising to his feet. Shar shouted in pain as their bodies collided just before he slammed against the ground, his head striking one of the large tiles forming the walkway. Stars exploded in his vision and he lashed out blindly, hands connecting with his new attacker’s head. Twisting, pushing, and pulling with all his remaining strength, he wormed his way out from beneath the other Andorian, continuing to strike at him with both hands. Then something hit him in the side of his head and he felt his body go limp as he collapsed to the grass.

  Get up! Get up!

  His mind screamed the words and he struggled to push himself to his hands and knees, but his limbs would not cooperate. Tiny daggers jabbed at his skull. Through blurred vision he saw both Andorians scrambling to their feet, and Shar was gripped by fear and helplessness. With a growl of frustration he forced himself to one knee, unwilling to face his attackers while floundering in the grass like a wounded animal.

  Then a high-pitched whine pierced the air, making him wince as twin beams of angry red energy passed over his head to strike his opponents. For an instant, both Andorians were enveloped by undulating crimson cloaks before they staggered and fell unmoving to the ground. Shar stared at them for a handful of seconds, waiting for them to rise to their feet or for their bodies to twitch.

  Satisfied that they were staying where they were, Shar promptly followed suit, sinking back to the grass. Above him, the sky twirled and stretched, dancing in his pain-racked vision. His stomach lurched and he felt bile rise in his throat.

  From somewhere behind him, he heard the sounds of running footsteps, and a moment later a head, big and blue as it whirled before his eyes, peered down at him.

  “Lieutenant ch’Thane?” a voice asked, distant and hollow. “Remain still.” The new arrival pulled away from him, shouting something Shar could not understand.

  Another Andorian appeared in his vision, kneeling near his left side, and Shar heard a mild electronic warbling next to his ear.

  “Lieutenant,” a new voice said, “can you hear me? I am Specialist ch’Gelosine. You were stunned by the blow to your head, but you’ve suffered no serious damage. I’m going to give you something to help with the pain.”

  Shar heard a hiss of compressed air, accompanied by a pressure on the left side of his neck, and a moment later the pain in his head began to diminish. The world stopped spinning before him, and the sensation of nausea began to pass.

  “How do you feel?” someone asked, and Shar turned his head to see Commander th’Hadik kneeling beside him. The security leader’s expression was one of concern.

  Coughing as the medic on his left side helped him to a sitting position, Shar replied, “Like somebody landed on me with a shuttlecraft.” He winced as residual pain stabbed at his temples, and when he reached for his head his fingers touched something wet.

  “It’s not serious,” ch’Gelosine said, reaching toward him, and Shar noted the familiar smell of antiseptic solution as the medic dabbed at the side of his head with a treatment wipe from his field aid kit. “He had a metal band sewn into his glove. The cut’s not that deep. It will only take a moment to treat with a dermal regenerator.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?” th’Hadik asked.

  Shaking his head, Shar replied, “I don’t know. I was taking a break from my work and came outside to get some fresh air.” He waved to where the two intruders now were standing, their hands locked into security cuffs as members of the commander’s detail looked through the various items found in their possession. “I guess they jumped over the wall? Are there more of them?”

  “No,” the commander said. “At least, we haven’t found any more. We’re still searching the mansion and the rest of the compound.”

  Shar pulled himself to his feet, an action he regretted as a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. Ch’Gelosine reached out to steady him, and Shar nodded in appreciation. “What do you think they were doing?” he asked.

  “We don’t know yet,” th’Hadick replied. “They weren’t carrying anything more than a knife, so far as weapons are concerned. No explosives or firearms, and no identification or anything else of use, for that matter.” He paused as though contemplating a notion he did not like, and then said, “They couldn’t possibly think they could just climb over the wall and get across the courtyard to something or someone of value. Either they’re idiots, or perhaps they were deliberately testing our responses to an intrusion alarm.”

  With the conference just days away, were potential enemies already probing the compound for weaknesses? What else might they be planning? “You don’t believe they were idiots, do you?” Shar asked.

  Th’Hadik released a long, slow sigh, looking over his shoulder at the prisoners, who were still being questioned by members of the commander’s security team. When he turned back to Shar, the expression on his face was one of resignation.

  “What I believe is that this is just the beginning.”

  8

  She was tired, she was hungry, and the idea of a shower and bed was beginning to take a firm hold on her, but Beverly Crusher ignored it. There was still too much to do.

  Sitting with René at the dining table in their quarters, Beverly divided her attention between her son in his highchair to her left, and the computer interface resting on the table itself. Seeing all the padds and reports scattered atop the table as she watched René eat his supper, Beverly was struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu. How long had it been since she had last found herself in this position, setting aside her work as she fed young Wesley? Thirty years?

  Thirty-four, my dear doctor.

  Not for the first time, Beverly smiled at how even the simplest of interactions with René spurred a memory of doing something similar with her firstborn son. Likewise, it never failed to make her wonder where Wesley might be at that moment. Having become a Traveler—one of a race of beings possessing the ability to move about time and space at will—his visits had become increasingly infrequent over the years as his abilities evolved. He had returned in order to attend his mother’s wedding to Jean-Luc Picard, and he also had arrived sh
ortly after the birth of his new baby brother. Beverly treasured those as well as Wesley’s other visits, irregular and brief though they were. Though she understood on an intellectual level what he had become and the path he had chosen, and that he had grown into not simply a fine man but also so much more, Wesley was still her son; her baby. On those rare occasions when he came home to her, she was able to put aside at least some of the sorrow she sometimes felt at not having him in her life.

  “You’re not going to leave me, are you?” she asked, reaching out to caress René’s cheek. “And if you do, would you promise me that you’ll do something a bit more normal with your life? Something that lets you come home more often than once every couple of years?” In response to her questions, the child gurgled something unintelligible as he smiled around a mouthful of mushed carrots.

  Good enough for now. Sighing, she reached for the glass of water she had all but forgotten amid the mess littering the dining table. As she brought the glass to her lips, she heard the distinctive pneumatic hiss of the doors parting behind her and turned as Jean-Luc entered their quarters. Upon seeing her, his face warmed into a smile.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he crossed the room toward her. “After spending most of the day with some of our guests, I was getting caught up on the message traffic from Starfleet Command. Have you eaten?”

  Beverly nodded. “I had to feed René, anyway.” Indicating the work spread across the table before her with a wave, she added, “And I wanted to get back to this, but I’ll probably wait until we put him down for the night.”