Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  What the hell? The question rang in Konya’s ears even as the answer presented itself with startling clarity. “Somebody may have targeted them deliberately. There might be a network infiltration. Notify Commander La Forge,” he said, returning his attention to the unsecured entrance to the Parliament Andoria main building, and the two Enterprise security officers who now served as the only barrier preventing entry. Konya suddenly felt vulnerable out here in the building’s wide, high-ceilinged main corridor, which stretched to either side of him and curved behind him, encircling the Enclave chamber at the heart of the structure. Eyeing the set of six computer monitors set into the portable security workstation, he took note of the status reports being generated by checkpoints throughout the building. So far, the situation inside appeared to be under control.

  Well, let’s just see what we can do about that.

  Konya turned at the sound of running feet and saw a detachment of Andorian security officers jogging down the hall toward one of the chamber entrances. He had seen the reports of things beginning to get out of hand within the meeting hall, as well as Choudhury’s status update directing additional personnel there. Conspicuously absent on any of the computer screens was anything relating to what had happened to the intricate force-field protection grid Commander La Forge and his team of engineers had established.

  “Th’Hadik to Lieutenant Konya,” said the voice of the parliament’s security detail commander. “We have intruders on the grounds, heading toward your position.”

  “Did everybody just take the day off around here, or what?” Konya snapped, letting a bit of his own irritation vent with the words. To Mars, he said, “Get us some help.” Drawing a breath to calm himself, he tapped his combadge. “Konya here. Acknowledged, Commander.” He was about to ask if any of the intruders might be armed when he heard the unmistakable report of disruptor fire, but not from outside. Turning toward the sound of the weapon, he saw a member of the Andorian security detail dropping to the corridor’s polished floor.

  “How the hell are they inside already?” Konya shouted, drawing his phaser from the holster at his waist. Tapping his combadge again, he called out, “Konya to Choudhury! We’ve got intruders inside the building!” He indicated for Mars to stay on station as he moved down the corridor, extending his weapon arm and letting his phaser lead the way.

  There was a pause before the Enterprise security chief replied, “All stations have reported no breaches.”

  “Then somebody’s asleep on the job,” Konya hissed as he rounded the bend in the corridor, coming to a halt at the scene before him. The prone form of an Andorian security guard lay on the floor near the wall. A quick inspection revealed that the guard’s disruptor pistol was still in its holster.

  “Lieutenant Choudhury,” he said into his combadge. “We’ve got an armed intruder in quadrant four, heading toward three.”

  “The inhibitor systems are still active,” the security chief replied. “The only ones with live weapons should be our people and the Andorian security teams.”

  Resuming his jog up the corridor, Konya replied, “I’ll be sure to ask him about it when I catch up to him.” He came to another bend in the passageway in time to see an Andorian running away from him. The runner was wearing dark clothing, and it took Konya an extra second to realize it was the uniform of one of the Homeworld Security details.

  Son of a . . .

  “You!” he shouted, and the Andorian stopped running. He turned to face Konya, his left hand coming up and wielding a disruptor pistol, which he fired without hesitation.

  “Konya! Answer me, damn it!”

  Choudhury heard the report of weapons fire coming through her combadge as she jogged down the passageway toward a ramp at the end of the hall. There followed what to her ears sounded like Rennan Konya grunting in shock and pain. Then she heard nothing.

  Tapping her communicator, she said, “Choudhury to command post. Scramble react teams to all stations.”

  “Acknowledged,” replied the voice of Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen, a member of her command post staff. “It’s getting crazy outside, Lieutenant. Some of the checkpoints are reporting that people are climbing over each other to get through the gates.”

  “What the hell set them off?”

  Cruzen replied, “We’re still trying to figure that out.”

  Reaching the spiral ramp, which had been reserved for use by the security details and was therefore off-limits to conference attendees and civilian spectators, Choudhury sprinted to the ground level. Her first sight upon emerging from the Enclave chamber’s main concourse was that of dozens of Andorians running across the courtyard lawn beyond the large bay windows forming the ground level’s outer wall. She also saw figures wearing the uniforms of Enterprise personnel as well as Homeworld Security. Voices carried through the thick transparasteel—shouts she could not understand, along with commands to halt or to cease some activity or another.

  Louder voices came to her from elsewhere in the corridor, and Choudhury turned to see a pair of Enterprise security officers taking into custody a trio of Andorians dressed in civilian garb. The three intruders were facing the wall, their hands behind their heads as the security guards applied wrist restraints. In this part of the complex, at least, some semblance of order seemed to be returning.

  Tapping her combadge, she said, “Choudhury to Davila. Are Captain Picard and the others secure?”

  “Affirmative, Lieutenant,” Davila replied. “We’re at the emergency rally point on level two.”

  Level two? Why the hell had the captain not been transported back to the Enterprise, as outlined in the conference security protocol? As soon as she asked herself the question, she rebuked herself for posing it in the first place. Regulations, security protocols, or even the wrath of Commander Worf would not force Picard to retreat to the safety of the ship while members of his crew were in danger. As infuriating as that might be from the perspective of someone charged with ensuring the captain’s safety, Choudhury could not help the admiration she felt toward the man. In all likelihood, Picard had consented to being taken to the rally point solely for the purpose of obtaining a weapon for himself.

  “Understood,” she said, resigning herself to the inevitable. “Wait there for further instructions. Choudhury to command post, I need sitreps from all stations.”

  “La Forge here,” replied the voice of the Enterprise’s chief engineer. “We’re recycling the entire force-field grid. It should be online within sixty seconds.”

  Happy to hear that news, Choudhury said, “Any idea what caused the outage, Commander?”

  “One thing at a time, Lieutenant. La Forge out.”

  “We don’t have time for one thing at a damned time,” she said as the connection went dead. Touching her combadge again, she said, “Choudhury to command post, where are my sitreps?”

  “I’m sorting through them now,” Cruzen replied. “We’re starting to get condition-green reports from stations around the building. Some stations are reporting civilian casualties, Lieutenant.”

  Through gritted teeth, Choudhury hissed one of the more vile yet audibly satisfying Klingon oaths she had goaded Worf into teaching her. Second only to the safety of all attendees, avoiding casualties had been a priority for the concert even with the specter of protests and possible attack by the more aggressive activist groups hanging over her head. “Acknowledged,” she replied, shaking her head in anger and dismay.

  No sooner did that link sever than another was established, this time by Commander th’Hadik. “Lieutenant Choudhury, the situation in the exterior compound is being brought under control,” reported the Homeworld Security commander. “We have teams at all exterior entrances, and those citizens who managed to enter the grounds are being detained.”

  Nodding in satisfaction, Choudhury replied, “Excellent news, Commander. We’re still mopping up inside, but I think we’ve just about got a handle on it.”

  “Lieutenant!”

  Choud
hury flinched at the loud voice echoing in the passageway at the same instant something moved in her peripheral vision, and she turned in time to see a lone Andorian coming around a bend in the corridor, a satchel slung over his left shoulder. Her eyes caught the disruptor in his left hand at the same instant the Andorian saw her. He moved with surprising speed, raising his weapon to aim at her. Choudhury was faster, her arm snapping up as her thumb pressed the phaser’s firing stud. Brilliant orange energy leaped from the weapon, crossing the empty space and striking the Andorian in the chest. The intruder staggered back a step before stumbling over his own feet and falling against the nearby wall, where he slid unconscious to the floor.

  Running footsteps came up from behind her, and she turned to see one of the security officers, Lieutenant Austin Braddock, approaching with his phaser aimed at the fallen Andorian.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his gaze never leaving the stunned intruder.

  Choudhury shrugged. “I’ve been better,” she said as she stepped forward and confiscated the Andorian’s weapon. “What about you? Everything secure?”

  “Affirmative,” Braddock replied. “I also got word that Lieutenant Konya’s okay. He was just stunned.”

  Relieved to hear that, Choudhury scowled as she regarded the Andorian’s disruptor. “This is standard Homeworld Security issue. How the hell did he get his hands on one?” The weapons-inhibitor systems installed by Commander La Forge and his engineering team had been programmed so that only Starfleet phasers and Andorian sidearms issued to authorized security personnel were functional within the parliament complex. The only way someone else should be in possession of an operational weapon was if he or she had taken it from one of the security guards.

  There’s a happy thought.

  She nodded toward the three Andorians that Braddock’s partner, Ensign Jeffrey Moffett, still watched over with his phaser rifle. “What about them?”

  “They came in from the street,” Braddock said, “taking advantage of the commotion outside to run around like idiots.”

  Reaching for the satchel still slung over the unconscious Andorian’s shoulder, Choudhury opened the bag and examined its contents. Inside was a portable computer interface. It was still active, and Choudhury turned it so that she could examine its display. When she saw the screen’s contents her eyes widened in surprise.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Braddock frowned. “What is it?”

  She held out the computer for him to see. “It’s a schematic of the force-field grid. Somehow, this clown got into our network.” Might this Andorian be the one responsible for the network’s failure?

  “You’re saying he hacked us?” Braddock asked, his eyes widening in surprise. “Someone can do that so easily?”

  “They’re not supposed to be able to,” Choudhury replied, “but it’s not impossible, especially if you know what you’re doing.”

  Or, you had help.

  The unwelcome thought did nothing to improve Choudhury’s mood.

  “Well,” she said, releasing an exasperated sigh, “I sure hope things get more exciting around here real soon. I’m starting to get bored.”

  30

  Seated behind his desk and taking in the flurry of information streaming across multiple newsnet broadcasts, Eklanir th’Gahryn found himself plagued by mixed emotions. Should he feel satisfied at what had been accomplished, or disappointed at the lengths he had to go to to ensure that his message—and that of the Treishya—was heard?

  “They’ve announced three deaths and dozens of injuries,” said Biatamar th’Rusni from where he stood next to a large computer display set into the wall of th’Gahryn’s private chamber. “Several of those are critical, and early reports are that at least two of the injured may not survive the night.”

  Shaking his head, th’Gahryn leaned forward in his chair and reached for the almost-forgotten cup of tea sitting next to a report th’Rusni had brought to him. “That is unfortunate, though if the end result is the parliament and the Federation heeding our demands, then the sacrifice made by those individuals will not have been wasted.” Sipping his tea, he reflected on what had transpired, wondering what could have been done to prevent the loss of innocent life. From the moment he and his advisors had begun planning Treishya actions against the conference, th’Gahryn’s single, unwavering order had been to avoid civilian casualties, knowing that any such injuries or deaths that could be attributed to the group would serve only to undermine its message and purpose. Despite that, th’Gahryn knew that such a goal, though noble, was unrealistic. That did not diminish his desire to see to it that such regrettable incidents were minimized, if not altogether avoided.

  People die in war, he reminded himself, and it is a war that you’re waging.

  “The conference protests are beginning to elicit reactions across the world,” th’Rusni said. “More gatherings are taking place in other cities, both supporting and objecting to the continued Federation assistance. The genetic-enhancement issue is the primary focus for many of these assemblages, but the incidents at the conference are fueling calls for the presider to deport all Starfleet personnel and even all outworlders.”

  Th’Gahryn also had seen those reports, several of which had been provided by a small number of news organizations that had long been accused of slanting their news with a notable bias toward staunch Visionist party views. Of course, other outlets were offering contrary perspectives more in line with values and positions held by those claiming allegiance with the Progressives. The truth, th’Gahryn knew, was often found somewhere between the cacophony being produced by extremist factions from both parties, and was just as likely to be ignored in an atmosphere of media sensationalism.

  “Law-enforcement agencies in several of the larger cities are reporting personnel shortages,” th’Rusni continued, “with their forces being overtaxed as they’re called upon to keep such protests from escalating.”

  At this, th’Gahryn nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. See, Biatamar? It’s as I told you. We enjoy a growing level of approval from the populace. Now that we’ve taken our message to the public, those who share our vision are rallying to our cause.” Even better than the reactions of the civilian populace was the fact that they were being elicited without the need to expose actual members of the Treishya. A handful of agents, used judiciously, had been more than sufficient to engender such support, and momentum soon would take over, with more and more citizens voicing their opposition to the government’s actions. That, th’Gahryn knew, would be the right time for the Treishya to make an even larger, bolder statement, which the parliament, the Andorian people, and perhaps even the Federation itself would not be able to ignore.

  In time, he reminded himself. In time.

  “Have there been any reports from the presider’s office?” he asked.

  Th’Rusni replied, “One of our contacts inside parliament reports that she’s meeting with her security commander as well as the Starfleet captain to discuss canceling the conference.”

  “I sincerely doubt it will be that easy,” th’Gahryn replied. “Sh’Thalis may be inexperienced, but she’s certainly not a coward. She has remained steadfast in her beliefs to this point, and the events of the day, while certainly tragic on a personal level, are likely insufficient to force such a change of heart.” Rising from his desk, he released a tired sigh. “No, Biatamar, there is still much work to do.”

  Moving away from the computer display, th’Rusni said, “I’m also receiving reports that Homeworld Security has taken at least two of our people into custody, including our agent who infiltrated Starfleet’s computer network.”

  “That was expected,” th’Gahryn replied. “Based on what we know of the security detail’s deployment plan, anyone inside the complex was likely to be captured.”

  “I don’t understand,” th’Rusni said. “It will take them only a short time to discover what he did, after which they’ll reconfigure their protocols to prevent a recurren
ce of that breach.”

  Th’Gahryn nodded, offering a small smile. “Yes, exactly.” Seeing the perplexed look on his advisor’s face, he added, “Remember what I told you about patience, Biatamar, and the need to study and learn from your adversary before engaging them in direct confrontation. We have sufficient support within the government and even the military to pursue our agenda, but we are still outnumbered by those who would stand against us. Therefore, we must be deliberate in our actions so as to avoid revealing our true presence among our enemy. Let Starfleet and Homeworld Security and even the presider’s personal protection staff scramble to address or prevent external threats to their security. Their efforts will ultimately prove futile, as the true danger already lurks among them.”

  Picard watched Presider sh’Thalis pace the length of her office, noting and understanding the frustration and anguish that was evident on her face. It was easy to empathize with the emotional turmoil she had to be enduring, given that he felt much the same way himself.

  “When did she die?” sh’Thalis asked, referring to the latest civilian casualty—the fourth, from the small riot at the conference—which the newsnet broadcasts were now confirming.

  Standing in front of sh’Thalis’s desk, her assistant, Loqnara ch’Birane, replied, “Just a few moments ago, Presider. According to the report I received, she was trampled when a group of protesters charged one of the compound’s open perimeter gates. What’s not being reported is that she was a zhen, and in the final stages of her pregnancy. I’ve already contacted the hospital, and it seems the pregnancy was a normal one, proceeding without complications. However, surgeons were unable to save the unborn child.”

  A wave of sadness washed over Picard as he considered the tragic loss. Despite the obstacles before them, this bondgroup had managed to cultivate a child, only to have it and its bondmother torn from them in a senseless act of violence, and for what purpose? None that Picard could fathom. For a moment, he was unable to keep his thoughts from turning to young René, safe with his mother aboard the Enterprise. What would his life be if circumstances or fate were—suddenly and without mercy—to take them from him? It was a cold, empty existence Picard did not want to contemplate.