Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  The captain fired first.

  Hot orange energy belched from his phaser, striking the Andorian in the chest and sending him tumbling to the ground outside the tunnel. There was an instantaneous reaction from somewhere outside, and Picard heard several voices shouting out in alarm. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing with his free hand to turn and head back down the passage.

  “Where are we going?” asked ch’Galoniq, his tone one of protest though he allowed McClowan to guide him by the arm.

  Holding his position as McClowan and the burly Andorian began jogging back the way they had come, Picard replied, “Whoever it is, they know we’re in here. We need cover.” Another shadow darkened the tunnel opening, and Picard saw another Andorian, dressed like the first intruder in a dark brown leather shirt and leggings. He also wielded a disruptor rifle, which he fired down the passage without truly aiming. Picard threw himself against the wall to his left as blue energy struck the ceiling. Chunks of ice tumbled to the floor and the captain raised his free arm to protect his head as he returned fire. This Andorian had better reflexes than his compatriot and avoided being hit, ducking out of view.

  Picard spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see McClowan and ch’Galoniq had cleared the tunnel. Turning his attention back to the tunnel opening, muscles tensing in anticipation, he dropped to one knee, crouching close to the floor. He was ready when the Andorian emerged from cover on the opposite side of the aperture, doing his best to catch the captain off guard. From this distance, Picard was able to adjust his aim and fire before his opponent could target him, and when he fired this time the phaser burst caught the Andorian in the left shoulder, spinning him up and away from the tunnel entrance.

  Not waiting for anyone else to follow, Picard scrambled to his feet and sprinted back down the tunnel. He sensed someone at his back as he emerged into the larger chamber and dove to his right, out of the line of fire—just before another disruptor burst sliced the air where he had been. Phaser fire from his left echoed in the cave, and Picard rolled onto his side in time to see McClowan kneeling against the opposite wall, aiming her weapon up the tunnel. Behind her, ch’Galoniq plugged his ears with his fingers as the lieutenant fired twice more in rapid succession before looking across to Picard.

  “There’re at least three of them up at the entrance,” she said, then ducked back against the wall as a storm of disruptor energy howled down the passage. “I think they’re pretty mad at us, sir. Why hasn’t the Enterprise tried to beam us up yet?”

  Checking the power setting on his phaser, Picard replied, “Whoever cut off our communications must be using some kind of jamming field to prevent the ship’s sensors from locking onto us.” This, of course, begged the question: If this was the Treishya, how were they being supported? Who was providing the logistical assistance? Someone in the Andorian government or military? It was a sobering thought, Picard decided.

  Another disruptor blast chewed into the tunnel wall near Picard’s head, spraying him with icy shrapnel. One large chunk of debris caught him in the shoulder, and though his parka absorbed much of the impact it was still enough to knock the captain off balance. His knee gave way from beneath him and he dropped to the ground in a disjointed heap. It was not until he tried to roll back onto his feet that he realized he had lost his grip on his phaser, the weapon skipping across the ice, well out of reach.

  “Captain!” McClowan shouted, rising from her crouch as though preparing to move toward him.

  Picard waved her off. “Stay there. Protect the professor!” The echoes of weapons fire and heavy footsteps clamoring down the tunnel were growing louder with every heartbeat, and he turned to look for his phaser just as McClowan fired again. There was no way to reach the weapon before their attackers were on them, he realized. At the same instant he heard another disruptor burst echoing in the passageway, followed by a grunt of pain and surprise from McClowan. Turning, Picard saw the lieutenant reaching for her leg, stumbling away from the wall and falling to the ground. He had no time even to shout her name before the first Andorian emerged from the tunnel, the muzzle of his disruptor rifle aimed at McClowan.

  “No!”

  The cry of rage that spat from Picard’s lips was enough to startle the Andorian and he flinched, halting his determined stride as he turned toward the sound of the voice. By then Picard was on him, running into him at full speed and sending them both crashing into the nearby wall. The captain followed his attack with an elbow to the Andorian’s face, feeling something shift or break beneath the force of the strike. His opponent loosened his grip on his disruptor and Picard grabbed at it with one hand, but the Andorian’s strength was formidable. He required almost no effort to leverage Picard off balance, his other arm rising above his head as though readying to deliver a killing blow.

  Then the familiar and quite welcome whine of a Starfleet phaser erupted from the tunnel behind the Andorian, and his body jerked. His expression went slack as he collapsed to the ground, nearly dragging Picard with him. The captain managed to disentangle himself from the now-unconscious Andorian and let his attacker fall to the ice, just as he heard more footsteps in the tunnel.

  “Captain?” asked Ensign Ereshtarri sh’Anbi as she stepped into view, wearing a Starfleet parka and holding her own phaser so that its muzzle pointed skyward. “Are you all right?”

  Picard released a pent-up sigh of relief before lowering his weapon and gesturing to where McClowan still lay unconscious. “The lieutenant needs medical assistance.” Hearing new footfalls in the tunnel, he turned to see Lieutenant Choudhury and a security team, all wearing parkas, emerge into the chamber. “Good to see you, Lieutenant,” he offered, reaching over to rub the elbow he had used against the Andorian.

  I really am getting entirely too old for this sort of nonsense.

  Nodding in greeting, Choudhury said, “Glad you’re okay, sir.” She gestured to one of her security people and directed him to see to McClowan and ch’Galoniq before returning her attention to Picard. “Sorry for the delay in getting to you, Captain. Our sensors were blocked by some kind of localized jamming device. Lieutenant Konya’s tracking it down now and should have it disabled in no time.”

  “Excellent,” Picard said, turning as sh’Anbi moved toward him, holding out the phaser he had dropped during the firefight. “What happened up there?”

  Choudhury returned her phaser to a pocket of her parka before replying, “About a dozen infiltrators stormed the base camp. Their weapons were set to stun, thankfully, so there were no casualties. Once my team and I got down here, it didn’t take long for us to secure the site. From what we can tell, they hiked up the same trail you took to get here.” She paused, regarding Picard with a raised eyebrow that would have made any Vulcan proud. “Speaking of that, sir, you do know the transporters are working? When our sensors aren’t being jammed, that is? You don’t really have to go traipsing up and down these mountains.”

  “Indeed, Lieutenant,” the captain replied, grinning. “Duly noted for future reference.”

  The security chief pointed to the unconscious Andorian behind Picard. “Counting him, we have all twelve in custody. I’m guessing Homeworld Security will want to talk to them.”

  “I’d imagine so,” Picard replied. “Though I’ll want you involved with any interrogations.”

  “Aye, sir,” Choudhury said, “and there’s something you should know. We were able to capture one of the Andorians topside without disabling him. The only thing he said was that more attacks like this would be coming.”

  Picard sighed in quiet acceptance. Of course they would.

  23

  Worf hated doing nothing.

  On an intellectual level, he was aware that he wasn’t actually doing nothing. As first officer, he knew it was his responsibility to direct the actions of others, often waiting for subordinates to bring him information upon which he could base decisions. After his lengthy service to Starfleet, he thought he might eventually have found a way to suppres
s his innate desire to be doing something, anything, other than sitting in the captain’s chair at the center of the Enterprise bridge, presenting the outward appearance of calm and control. He always had admired the air of authority and unyielding demeanor affected by those who had commanded him—Benjamin Sisko, Martok, and, of course, Jean-Luc Picard—all while struggling to emulate it. Even his years spent as a diplomat, a profession that by definition required the ability to present the façade of utter patience and bearing, had only softened his distaste for such inactivity. For a younger officer, such periods could always be filled with some task or, barring that, some form of drill or other training that formed a large portion of a security detachment’s schedule aboard a starship. Now, however, as second in command with the captain off the ship, Worf’s focus was here, on the bridge, waiting.

  “Ensign Balidemaj,” he snapped. When the young officer turned from the tactical station, her eyes wide with uncertainty, Worf realized the summons had come off with greater severity than he had intended. Pausing, he composed himself and made a point to lower his voice and soften its tone. “Ensign, do have anything new to report?”

  Abigail Balidemaj shook her head. “No, sir. All our attempts to track the source of the transmissions have failed. Whoever they are, they definitely know what they’re doing.”

  In truth, Worf had anticipated that exact response from the ensign, who would not have waited to be asked before providing any worthwhile updates to his progress. Balidemaj and every other member of the Enterprise’s crew were aware of their duties and carried them out with unparalleled efficiency. Worf, like Captain Picard, had never expected anything less in that regard.

  Therefore, Commander, the Klingon chided himself, be at ease.

  Sitting idle was difficult enough when nothing of apparent consequence was happening. Doing so while others performed any number of tasks vital to the security not only of the ship but also the forthcoming conference was all but impossible. Beneath the veneer he forced himself to affect in the presence of the bridge crew, Worf seethed. His captain and chief engineer as well as several other valued members of the Enterprise’s crew had been in harm’s way while he remained safe aboard the ship. That the incidents had occurred on the surface of one of the Federation’s founding member worlds only served to further gall him. Worf would rather channel that energy into something useful, instead of sitting here and taking out his mounting irritation on the officers around him.

  Even the prospect of utilizing his churning emotions to conduct interrogations of those attackers currently held in custody by Andorian Homeworld Security was unavailable to him. That duty fell to Jasminder Choudhury, and though he harbored no doubts that the ship’s security chief could handle that task with aplomb, it did not dilute his desire to yell at someone deserving of his wrath. Resigning himself to the situation, Worf made a mental note to increase the level of difficulty for his evening calisthenics regimen. If he could not face a real enemy across a table, then he would settle for a holographic adversary on a computer-generated battlefield, and vent his frustrations upon it.

  “Commander Worf,” Balidemaj called out from her station, “I’m picking up another broadcast being transmitted across the planetary network. It’s visual this time, but I think it’s them again, sir.”

  Rising from the captain’s chair, the first officer nodded. “Play back from the beginning, on-screen.”

  A moment later, the image on the bridge’s main viewscreen shifted from a view of Andor from high orbit to that of a figure shrouded in darkness. The silhouette—obviously Andorian, judging by the presence of antennae atop his or her head—was a flat black form rendered against a light blue background, and it took Worf a moment to realize that the backdrop featured symbols he recognized as Andorian in origin, accompanied by groupings of Andorii text. For a moment, Worf wondered if the image was being computer generated.

  “See if you can enhance the image,” he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. “I want to see his face.”

  “Greetings, people of Andor,” the figure said, with a voice that sounded as though it was being processed through some kind of audio-filtering software, obviously intended to disguise the speaker’s gender. “I speak to you again on behalf of the Treishya, your protectors during this time of great uncertainty. Many of you have doubtless heard of our attempts to convince outworlders to take their leave of this planet. Likewise, I harbor no illusions that our government will report these incidents as nothing less than violent attacks against innocent victims. If you believe as I do, that our duly-elected leaders are little more than puppets controlled by their Federation masters, then discount anything they might choose to say.”

  “Wow,” said Lieutenant Elfiki from where she sat at one of the science stations against the bridge’s port bulkhead. “Talk about stretching facts to fit a point of view.”

  “As I speak to you,” the shadowy figure continued, “your government, with the able assistance of the Starfleet vessel currently orbiting our world, is marshaling every available resource to track me and my followers. Were they to find me, should I believe that I will be afforded due process under the law? Or, is it a wiser course to presume that I will be treated as a terrorist; a threat to the security of the Andorian people?”

  “You appear to be nothing more than a coward to me,” Worf said, his voice low and menacing as he folded his arms across his chest. Glancing to Balidemaj, he asked, “Ensign, can you track the transmission?”

  The young Indian woman shook her head. “I’m trying, sir, but the signal’s being bounced around different hubs throughout the entire worldwide data network. There’s no easy way to sort it out.”

  As though able to hear their conversation, the figure on-screen said, “To the Starfleet ship in orbit above us: Don’t bother trying to trace the source of this broadcast. Your time and efforts would be better spent recalling your people from the surface. We urge you to do so in peace, for we have no desire to harm anyone, but do not question or underestimate our resolve. We will no longer tolerate outsiders wishing to interfere in our affairs.” For the first time, the silhouette moved, an arm rising into the picture to aim a closed fist and pointed finger at the visual pickup. “Too much of our cultural identity and purity has already been tainted or lost by such intrusion, despite grand Federation protestations about observing and respecting the sovereignty of its individual member worlds. I have devoted my entire life to the defense of this planet and its people against all manner of threats, and I stand ready to do so again, even if that threat comes from those who once dared to call themselves our ally.”

  “What about filtering the image?” Worf asked.

  At the science station, Elfiki replied, “No good, sir. Whatever processor they’re using to render the video portion of the broadcast, it’s designed to thwart any attempts at deconstruction for identification purposes. Whoever these people are, they have some pretty sophisticated toys at their disposal.”

  On the screen, the figure said, “We do not believe our demands are unreasonable. On the contrary, we simply ask that Starfleet and—by extension—our own government uphold what is believed to be one of the fundamental principles upon which the Federation was founded, that being a civilization’s right to self-determination.” The speaker paused, and when he or she continued, it was with a lower, almost conversational tone. “Of course, the Federation in recent times has allied itself with parties who do not value such tenets. Indeed, the ship in orbit is currently commanded by a Klingon. He represents a people whose history is rife with conquest rather than cooperation, let alone a belief in individual liberties and societal free will, at least so far as it extends to anyone they deem weaker than themselves. The very notion that such a people would honor that which we hold dear is laughable, and yet the Enterprise’s esteemed captain sees fit to leave one of Starfleet’s most powerful vessels in the hands

  of a soldier from a race of invaders, all while he parades the

  most
powerful member of our government before us like a pet on a leash.”

  “How can anyone be so stupid as to believe any of this?” asked Lieutenant Joanna Faur from where she sat at the conn station.

  “Don’t discount the power of passionate rhetoric,” Elfiki said, shaking her head in wonderment. “And don’t think there aren’t people down there who aren’t eating up every word of this.”

  Faur looked over her shoulder at the science officer. “Anyone who’s spent five minutes in a children’s history class should be able to see what this guy’s trying to do.”

  “At ease,” Worf said, keeping his voice low. “I’m not nearly as concerned about his nonsensical blathering as I am about his apparent knowledge of the captain’s movements, to say nothing of being aware of who’s been left in command while he’s off the ship.” Though he was forced to admit that the speaker’s comments about the Klingon people caught him by surprise, he gave the remarks no credence. He was well aware of the legacy of the Klingon Empire as forged from centuries’ worth of battle, and required no history lesson from someone who possessed not even the courage to show his face.

  “It is time for you to act, citizens of Andor!” When the figure moved again, this time it was to lean closer until his filtered, opaque visage all but filled the screen. The voice was louder now, the words laced with churning rage. “Do you wish to have your future decided by outworlders, or would you rather face the destiny you choose for yourself? Yes, the Federation may well offer us life, but what kind of life can it be, if what they offer changes us from that which we’ve been since the dawn of our civilization? And what will be the price for this gift they so magnanimously see fit to bestow upon us? Are you prepared to bear that cost? If so, then you doom our people to eventual extinction as surely as the crises our people now face, except that in the case of the former, you do so at the expense of everything our ancestors forged from the very depths of the world beneath your feet. If not, then stand ready, for the day of reckoning is fast approaching.”