Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  Doing his best to present an outward appearance of calm, Shar nevertheless felt the twinges of anxiety playing at his stomach. Though he had considered and rehearsed the remarks he would be making in the next few moments, he had never felt comfortable speaking before any gathering of people. The notion of talking to the hundreds now seated before him had almost been enough to send him running in terror from the parliament complex, but he knew he could not refuse Presider sh’Thalis’s request to address the conference.

  If I can only do so without vomiting, it will be a grand day.

  Despite himself, Shar could not help glancing to his right to where Captain Picard sat, unmoving as though cast from marble. His expression was composed, and he gave no indication that he was seated at the forefront of such a historic gathering. How was he able to remain so calm and appear as though he was perfectly at ease being the focus of such attention?

  Sh’Thalis continued, “As you all know, we currently face the gravest crisis ever to affect our world, dwarfing even the devastation and tragic loss of life inflicted upon us by the Borg. Indeed, we face our very mortality as a species. Fate and biology have conspired against us to create the issues faced by bondgroups across our planet, who seek only to nurture the next generations who will assume caring for our civilization and all it represents.”

  She stepped away from the podium and moved to stand at the edge of the stage, her flowing white robes giving her a majestic air as she addressed her audience. “However, science and—dare I say it—faith may well provide us with solutions to the problems we face. I am aware that such courses of action are not without controversy; that they trouble a significant portion of our population, who worry about irreparable harm being wrought against the very essence that makes the Andorian people such a unique species in our galaxy.” Her remarks elicited a chorus of murmurs and even some applause, which she acknowledged with a smile and a formal nod.

  “I am not insensitive to such concerns,” sh’Thalis continued, “but with the very future of our people at stake, it is my sworn duty to take whatever actions I deem appropriate and in our best interests. Much of the apprehension I’ve encountered seems born from uncertainty about the unknown, or perhaps a simple lack of understanding over what so many talented people are trying to accomplish on our behalf. There is also, quite frankly, no small amount of deliberate misinformation being spread, for the sole purpose of instilling fear among our people, playing on our fragile emotional state in the wake of all we have already endured. There are those who advocate an isolationist policy with respect to the crisis we face, choosing to ignore or even actively refuse the aid offered to us by our interstellar friends and neighbors. I find this unsettling, and nothing less than a monumental disservice to the Andorian people.” When the applause came this time, it was louder and more enthusiastic, and accompanied by cheers.

  Sh’Thalis turned to smile at Shar, holding his gaze for an extra moment before beginning to pace the length of the dais, making eye contact with people all across the audience. “I could spend the better part of the day standing here and speaking to you on this topic,” she said, “but I am woefully unqualified to do so in anything resembling an intelligent fashion. For that, I have enlisted the participation and expertise of some of the Federation’s leading scientific minds, including a few notable representatives of the Andorian people. One in particular is someone of whom I am quite proud; someone who has taken the talents with which he was blessed and channeled them toward a life of service. Not simply to the Federation Starfleet, but in this time of need he also has devoted his gifts and passion to his homeworld. Gentlebeings, allow me the honor of introducing you to Lieutenant Thirishar ch’Thane.”

  The mixture of applause and cheers was tempered by more rumbling from different areas of the audience. Shar tried to ignore it as he rose from his seat and made his way across the dais to the podium.

  Doesn’t sound like everyone here is happy to see you.

  Forcing away the errant thought, Shar nodded to the presider as she moved to meet him at the podium. She offered him a reassuring smile before stepping toward her seat at the back of the stage. Shar cleared his throat as he peered out at the audience, which now aimed their attention at him.

  “Good afternoon. Whereas Presider sh’Thalis is happy to tell you that she is not qualified to discuss various aspects of the science behind what I and others have been asked to do on behalf of Andor, I am equally ill suited to talk to you about politics. I’m a scientist, dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and its use for the betterment of the societies I represent.”

  He paused, gauging the audience reaction to his words, for which there was a mixture of approval and dissent. “Yes, that’s right: societies. Andor is my home, and I’ve always felt a deep love and respect for it, as well as its people. I also wear the uniform of a Starfleet officer, and I have sworn an oath to uphold Starfleet’s principles and defend its citizens even at the cost of my own life. I’ve been fortunate that my duties these past few years have allowed me to serve both of these allegiances, and it is that work which brings us here today.

  “Much has been made of the research of my former mentor, Dr. sh’Veileth. She was vilified by some members of the media, as well as political and religious leaders. What was lost amid the controversy that sprang up around her work was that she was a dedicated servant of Andor, working tirelessly to address the issues that threaten us all. She pursued answers to those issues until the day she—like so many others—died at the hands of the Borg.

  “Much also was made about the Yrythny ova, the genetic material I brought back from the Gamma Quadrant. There are those among us who believe that—despite the obvious benefits we stood to enjoy from using that material to address our physiological problems—we somehow were destroying the Andorian race. Such statements are perpetrated by those who hold their own agendas, rather than the welfare of our people, as their primary concern.” The blunt statement elicited a range of reactions, from even greater applause to several shouts of disapproval. Facing the rear of the chamber, Shar was able to see several of the Enterprise security guards as well as members of the presider’s protection detail scanning the crowd, searching for anyone who might be considering doing more than voicing their discontent. No one so much as rose from their seat, and Shar was thankful for the generally civil—if passionate—atmosphere permeating the room.

  “As you are no doubt aware,” he continued, “the Yrythny protocol developed by Dr. sh’Veileth did not prove useful. Indeed, many of the bondgroups who volunteered to be test subjects suffered miscarriages, and most of those offspring that survived pregnancy suffered a wide range of birth defects.”

  From the audience, an Andorian thaan chose that moment to stand, leveling an accusatory finger at Shar. “My bondgroup was one of those experiments!” he shouted, his voice carrying with utter clarity across the room. “Our child died less than halfway through the pregnancy!” The thaan’s outburst prompted renewed mutters from all around the audience, with several more spectators offering a wide range of hand gestures as they shouted at him.

  “There will be order!”

  The voice echoed through the chamber. Looking to his left, Shar saw Presider sh’Thalis standing at the podium, glaring at the audience with an expression that left no confusion as to who was in charge.

  “This is not a street protest,” the presider said. “These proceedings will be conducted with a proper decorum. If you are unable to abide such protocol, you will be escorted from the premises.” She did not wait for acknowledgment, but instead simply looked to Shar and nodded for him to continue.

  Turning his attention back to the audience, Shar studied the face of the thaan who had spoken with such conviction. He did not see anger in the Andorian’s face; rather, he realized that behind the thaan’s eyes, pain and loss lurked, consuming him from within.

  “I deeply regret the tragedy you’ve endured,” Shar said, keeping his attention focused on the thaan, “
just as I regret the loss of even one child, which might be prevented if we can learn to harness the knowledge in our grasp for the betterment of our people. To do otherwise is an act of fear and ignorance that is at best immoral and, at worst, criminal.”

  Now the reaction was even more polarized, with thunderous applause competing against even more animated displays of displeasure. When he had first composed his remarks, Shar was aware that some of what he might say likely would engender the effects he now was seeing. Though he had considered tempering his words, it was while reading over them just before coming onstage that he realized he did not care what sort of reactions he might provoke. With the fate of his civilization at stake, the time for watching one’s words in order to avoid offending someone was long past. Now a line had to be drawn in the sand, separating for all time those who wanted to aid in the search for a solution, and those who wished to hinder it.

  It should, Shar thought, make for an interesting few days.

  28

  From where he stood next to the oversized viewscreen mounted to the front wall of the president’s office, Admiral Akaar watched the expression on Nanietta Bacco’s face turn to confusion. Leaning forward in her chair, she clasped her hands together as she rested her forearms atop her desk, her attention focused on the screen and Akaar himself. Deep lines creased her face, and the skin beneath her eyes was puffy. Her hair, already gray, had turned completely white in the years since she had taken office. She nevertheless projected an air of dignity, confidence, and awareness that belied her age and the strain under which she had been operating for far too long.

  But above and beyond all of that, she looked tired.

  “The Gariman Sector?” she asked, frowning.

  Akaar gestured to the screen’s displayed image, which depicted a two-dimensional, computer-generated representation of a star chart. “We call it the Gariman Sector, mostly out of a desire to reduce or deflect the history surrounding that region.” At the center of the map was a wedge of territory expanding outward from Federation space, flanked on one side by the Klingon Empire, and on the other by regions claimed by the Tholian Assembly. “But I’m fairly certain almost everyone in the galaxy knows we’re referring to the Taurus Reach.”

  As Akaar expected, Bacco’s features did not brighten with recognition, not at first. Then, as she studied the map, her brow furrowed as she recalled what she knew of the region. “That business with the Tholians a hundred years ago. Them, and the ancient race that once enslaved them. The Shedai?” Reaching for the coffee cup sitting in a saucer near her right hand, she asked, “Leonard, what’s this all about?”

  Stepping away from the screen and moving toward her desk, Akaar said, “The Taurus Reach was the focal point of a top-secret research, exploratory, and development effort unlike anything that’s come before or since. The operation was conducted under some of the highest, most tightly controlled security measures ever utilized by Starfleet. An entire aboveboard exploration-and-colonization program was employed in that region for the sole purpose of providing cover for the clandestine missions being conducted there.”

  Bacco nodded. “I know the basics, I suppose. I’m old, Leonard, but not that old. It was long before my time.” She smiled. “Just barely before yours, too, as I recall.”

  “Indeed,” Akaar replied. “Many aspects of Operation Vanguard remain classified. Much of the official record has been altered so as to put forth the notion that our presence there was to search for signs of advanced weaponry or other technology that we thought shouldn’t fall into the hands of our enemies. In reality, the entire mission was centered on a single discovery made in 2263: evidence of an astonishingly complex, artificially developed strand of DNA, millions of times more convoluted than anything encountered before or since. And I’m not talking simply about molecules intended to create life. This DNA contained within it the raw data needed to construct a civilization. Not just cities, Madam President, but entire worlds, and the life-forms to populate them.”

  “Yeah,” Bacco said, still frowning as she cradled the coffee cup in both hands before her chest, “that wasn’t in the reports I’ve read. You’re talking about a blueprint or schematic of some kind? Created by the Shedai?”

  Akaar replied, “That’s right. They’d supposedly been dead for thousands of years, but that didn’t stop them from giving us no small amount of trouble back in the 2260s.” Shrugging, he added, “Of course, that was as much our fault as anyone else’s, since we’re the ones who woke them up and made them angry.”

  Now Bacco was nodding as she leaned back in her chair. “I remember some of this now. They weren’t dead, just in hibernation for millennia?”

  “Yes, Madam President,” Akaar replied. “They once ruled the Gariman Sector, commanding technology on a scale that makes our most advanced weapons and starships look like clubs and stone knives by comparison. By all accounts, they were quite content to remain in hibernation until such time as conditions were ripe for them to emerge from seclusion, perhaps even to reassert whatever authority they felt they had over that area of space. Our entry into the region disturbed them, and they weren’t too happy about that.”

  Waving away the rest of the dissertation, Bacco said, “I’ve read that much. Not one of Starfleet’s or the Federation’s finest hours, I’m afraid.” Akaar knew her feelings on this, of course. They had spent a long night discussing the matter following a meeting with Tezrene, the Tholian ambassador, shortly after the formation of the Typhon Pact. During that meeting, the diplomat had reminded Bacco that “the crimes of the Taurus Reach have not been forgotten.” After that conversation, the president had requested all available data on the events that had transpired there more than a century earlier.

  What she and Akaar now knew was that the information they had reviewed a year ago was but the tip of the iceberg representing the cache of knowledge Starfleet harbored about the Taurus Reach, the Shedai, and the staggering technology they once had commanded. More disturbing than that, Akaar knew, was realizing that the knowledge they currently possessed was perhaps but merely a fraction of the ancient civilization’s history and potential, which still lay beyond their grasp even after all this time.

  Bacco indicated the viewscreen with a wave of her hand. “What does any of this have to do with why you’re here?”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Akaar replied, “While the Shedai and our encounters with them are public knowledge to anyone who’s read a history book, much of the information we’ve obtained about their technology and capabilities, particularly their so-called meta-genome, is shrouded in secrecy. Likewise, the official project files from the Starfleet effort to acquire and understand Shedai technology are still classified. Someone has—inadvertently, it seems—attempted to access information relating to the meta-genome.” Wasting little time, Akaar explained the nature of the query submitted by the Enterprise’s chief medical officer, and the alerts it had triggered at the Starfleet Archives facility at Aldrin City.

  “I don’t see the immediate problem,” Bacco said after a moment. “We’ve filtered the data being returned to the Enterprise, and redacted the information deemed beyond the scope of Dr. Crusher’s request. She never needs to know what was flagged, right?” Akaar had no chance to reply before the president’s features softened and she nodded. “Wait. I just realized what I’m missing. You’re worried about how or why she made such an inquiry in the first place?”

  “To a point, Madam President,” Akaar replied. “I don’t for a moment believe that Dr. Crusher is attempting any action deemed to be against our security or best interests. She’s simply exploring and exhausting all avenues with respect to the research she’s conducting with Professor zh’Thiin. I’m not even certain I’m worried about the professor, whose reputation is exemplary. However, given the nature of the request, particularly some of the parameters and formulae Dr. Crusher included to help narrow the search effort, I have to wonder how she came across some of the information she must h
ave used to reach conclusions or at least make educated guesses about what to look for next.”

  “Dr. Crusher’s a smart woman, Leonard,” Bacco replied, “and one of Starfleet’s leading medical minds. She’s been conducting research like this for decades, and she did two tours as the head of Starfleet Medical.”

  Nodding, Akaar said, “A position for which she was eminently qualified. Again, Madam President, I’m not taking issue with Dr. Crusher’s professionalism, integrity, or even her loyalty. What I’m saying is that she has in some way obtained access to data that, if only obliquely, has connections to information Starfleet and the Federation buried more than a century ago, because they believed it carried the potential to inflict more harm than good, particularly if it were to fall into the hands of our enemies.”

  “But it’s been more than a hundred years, Leonard,” Bacco countered. “There’s no one left to remember any of this. If anything, unlocking those files, and doing it in a controlled manner, might give us access to information we might use to gain back some of the ground we lost to the Borg.”

  Akaar frowned. “That’s a noble sentiment, Madam President, but we both know there is knowledge that’s best left untapped because of the trouble—perhaps even evil—it represents. While our limited understanding of the Shedai technology has given us some improvements in the medical and other scientific fields, it also gave birth to Project Genesis. It’s too late to put that particular genie back in its bottle, but that doesn’t mean we open all the other bottles to see what else might come spilling out.”