“In principle, I agree with you, Commander,” Adams replied. “But no. We’ll stay together. Our team spirit is our strength. Besides, I have no intention to turn this into a suicide mission. We couldn’t afford that considering the situation in the Lembatta Cluster. I know that we’re advancing into the unknown here—literally where no one has gone before. But we have precautionary measures in place. And the Prometheus is a good ship with an excellent crew. If we encounter a problem, we will overcome it—or we will withdraw.”
“Aye, sir.” Roaas nodded.
“All right.” Adams looked at everyone. “That’ll be all. You’ve got your tasks. Now let’s find this White Guardian.”
Solar-jumper Coumatha, Theris system
“Dammit!” Lieutenant Mika Niskanen from the U.S.S. Venture hit his fist against the brown casing of the station where he stood. “This coding drives me nuts.”
The two Bynars who were on the solar-jumper’s bridge with him stopped their work, turning around to face him. They were specialists from the Bougainville who had come over to the captured ship of the Purifying Flame in order to crack the encoded computer system.
“Could we…”
“…be of assistance?” asked 01001010 and 01010100.
“Not if you don’t know any bigwigs inside the Cardassian government. Why did these guys have to buy encrypting routines off the Obsidian Order? Obtaining override codes for Klingon programs would have been much easier.”
The bald humanoids with the small bodies came from the planet Bynaus in the Beta Magellan system. They turned their pale lilac faces towards each other and briefly communicated in their native tongue that sounded like twittering. Niskanen knew that they could transmit enormous data quantities within a very short time that way, and he wondered whether they were seriously discussing his remark that had been meant as a joke.
His question was answered when they faced him again.
“We are…”
“…sorry, but we are not…”
“…able to oblige,” the two Bynars replied, obviously concerned. Their voices had a slightly metallic sound, which kept reminding Niskanen that these fragile beings had cybernetic implants and were half computers themselves.
“That’s okay, I didn’t expect you to.” He sighed, staring at the small monitor where endless lines of code were displayed. Niskanen considered himself the best computer specialist aboard the Venture—that was the reason why he was working here alongside the two Bynars from the Bougainville. But these program routines made him despair. The Renao may be backward in our eyes, he thought, but you have to hand it to them—they only purchase top quality stuff for their terrorism campaign.
“Perhaps you should…”
“…talk to your captain,” 01001010 and 01010100 said.
“Why?” Niskanen asked. “So he can talk to Admiral Gepta, who can speak with Admiral Akaar to inform President zh’Tarash so she can ask Castellan Garak? You don’t seriously believe that that will achieve anything, do you? Besides, it’ll take forever. Not to mention the fact that it would ruin my reputation as a code wizard.” He grinned warily at the inseparable pair. “You know, I come from a small village in the north of Finland on Earth. In Nuorgam, a man doesn’t have anything but his salmon during the summer, alcohol in the winter and his good reputation for the months in between. Starfleet will only serve this synthehol crap, and the replicated salmon tastes terrible. So there’s only one thing left for me, if you know what I mean.”
Again, the two Bynars had a quick quacking exchange.
“We regret that…”
“…your career depends on…”
“…this task. We’re doing…”
“…our best to…”
“…circumvent the encryption.”
“Thank you.” Niskanen put his hands on his hips, thinking and staring at the monitor. “Maybe our approach is all wrong.” He glanced at the two Bynars. “Has anyone searched the captain’s cabin yet?”
The two looked at each other, confused.
“No, not that we…”
“…know of. Why?”
The lieutenant licked his lips. “This is completely new territory for the Renao. The encrypting routines from the Obsidian Order demand very long password sequences. If I was a country bumpkin who didn’t know anything about all this technology, I’d jot things down and hide them somewhere.” The more he thought about it, the more logical his assumption sounded. He nodded. “Okay, you two carry on working here. I’m going to take a peek underneath the mattress in the captain’s bunk.”
“As you…”
“…wish.”
The two focused on their work as Niskanen left the bridge, following the narrow corridor of the Renao solar-jumper. The captain’s quarters were close to the command center, as they generally were in cargo space vessels.
The cabin was very small. The bunk was mounted on the wall across the room. Next to it was a locker that was also built into the wall. A sink, a small metal table, and a chair completed the spartan furnishings. The bed was neatly made, the sink was clean, and he couldn’t see any clothes or private belongings lying about. Either the captain had been an extremely tidy person, or he hadn’t spent a single night in this room.
First, Niskanen lifted the pillow and the duvet, discarding them without care. He also lifted the mattress, pulling off the sheets. Nothing. He looked underneath both the table and the chair, but there weren’t any pieces of paper or padds glued to them.
Next, he turned to the locker. Inside hung a few coveralls and a holster containing an outdated projectile pistol, while a padd and a codex book lay on a shelf. Quickly, Niskanen checked the clothes pockets, before searching the coveralls for secret seams or something hidden between layers of fabric. He didn’t find anything.
Ignoring the pistol, he took the padd and the book, and sat down at the table. The padd was made on Andor, and Niskanen had no problem overriding the password. Once he had done so, he programmed a small search routine to find anything that looked even remotely Cardassian. While the program ran, he turned to the book. It was written in a foreign language and lettering, and it seemed to be ancient. Maybe it was some kind of heirloom.
Niskanen shook the book but no piece of paper dropped out. He flicked through the pages, but there weren’t any obvious markings. He noticed that the book jacket wasn’t attached to the cover and removed it. A piece of paper the size of his palm fluttered towards the floor. Excited, he bent down, picking it up. Much to his disappointment, he didn’t find any scribblings. It was the photograph of a Renao woman, smiling into the camera with glowing eyes. Somehow, she looked familiar to him. Had she been one of the dead bodies earlier? It didn’t really matter. He placed the photo on the table.
That concluded his search of easy hiding places. Now, things became more difficult. Niskanen got up, glancing at the walls. Could there be a secret compartment anywhere—be it only a slot between two of the metal wall panels?
“Come on, Captain. You don’t know anything about Cardassian software. You must have left a hint of the code sequence somewhere.”
He thoroughly searched the walls, knocking at the panels looking for hollow spaces, peeking into gaps with the small handheld light that dangled on his tool belt. Nothing. This was infuriating.
Suddenly, the search routine came back with a pinging noise. “Last chance saloon,” Niskanen mumbled. He picked up the padd. no matches found.
With an annoyed growl, he threw the padd across the room. It hit the wall, ricocheted off, and fell to the floor. The plastic cover on the back snapped off and slid away, and Niskanen saw a small data disc that was stuck inside.
“Well, hello there, and what do we have here?” Crouching, he picked up the back cover, and removed the disc. Quickly, he grabbed the padd again, reactivating it. Lucky for him, Andorian technology was robust. The device hadn’t sustained any damage except the missing cover on the back.
Cautiously, Niskanen inserted the data disc
into the appropriate slot on the bottom of the device. Please don’t let this be a collection of soppy poems that he wrote to the woman in the picture, he pleaded silently.
The data disc contained just one file. The padd couldn’t read it, but when he took a closer look at the data structure, his heartbeat increased. “Cardassian code,” he whispered.
Hectically ejecting the disc, he dropped the padd and ran back to the bridge.
“I found something,” he announced to the two Bynars.
They curiously turned around to face him.
“And would you…”
“…care to…”
“…let us know…”
“…what it is?” 01001010 and 01010100 inquired.
Niskanen inserted the data disc into an appropriate slot at his station. He opened the file that he had found. The Obsidian Order’s lilac and gray emblem and the silhouette of a menacingly cloaked figure appeared on the small screen. Finally, status reports of unlocking memory banks appeared.
“The key, my friends,” Mika Niskanen said, and a broad grin appeared on his face. “I found the key.”
19
TIME: UNKNOWN
Location: unknown
A flicker, followed by a crackling noise. Finally, an image—a close-up: a Renao man looking straight down the camera. He is the same man who has sent messages before, when he stood in front of the seemingly endless rows of black shimmering Scorpion replicas. Now he’s in some manner of briefing room, a map of the galaxy on the wall behind him. Someone has ripped it in half, and one half is dangling.
“Your small victories are irrelevant,” he says to his invisible audience. “Forcing us to give up our base on Calidhu and capturing our solar-jumper changes nothing. We have other bases, and we have other solar-jumpers. You won’t stop us! You will never stop us! Because our mission to restore the Harmony of Spheres in the galaxy is sacred. And we’re prepared to give everything, sacrifice everything. Are you as well?”
He leans forward, and his face, distorted with fury, fills the entire picture. His eyes glow with the fires of madness.
“Are you really ready for this fight? Think about it, long and hard. If you’re smart, you will withdraw back to your home spheres. Give up your colonies—these boils on the face of formerly pure worlds—and scrap your spaceships that cut through spheres like knives. Cease your mocking of the natural order of things.”
Slowly, he shakes his head, and the corners of his mouth turn contemptuously downward.
“I feel pity for you, for your inability to recognize the Harmony of Spheres. I despise you for your desire to explore and conquer ever new worlds. And I hate you for your arrogance that makes you believe you’re doing it for the good of the galaxy. I swear, there will be no peace and no mercy for as long as your sacrilege continues. We will fight. We will be victorious. And for you, there will only be death.”
NOVEMBER 29, 2385
U.S.S. Venture, Theris system
“They’re scared,” said Admiral Gepta.
Captain Henderson stared incredulously at the admiral, who stood at the center of the Venture bridge after the Purifying Flame’s latest hate message played on the viewscreen. “With all due respect, sir, he seems fairly determined to me.”
The Chelon turned to face Henderson. “He’s doing his best to appear that way, yes. But I see that naked fear in his eyes. We’re getting closer to the Purifying Flame, and they’re beginning to flail like a cornered animal.”
Henderson wondered whether Gepta really understood what Captain Adams and the Prometheus had uncovered on Iad. If the fanatics of the Purifying Flame had been influenced by this entity, they were unable to feel fear. They would be dominated by hatred and pure lust for violence, and that was all the captain had seen in the eyes of this madman. But he knew better than to argue with Gepta about that. In one respect he agreed with the admiral, though: the fanatics were cornered, and they were starting to flail. He was quite concerned about that prospect. If the Purifying Flame really did have several solar-jumpers at their disposal, they could cause immense damage before their movement could be quashed. Henderson hadn’t forgotten the armada of menacing fighters that had been lined up in the background of the last message. These cloaked fighters with their deadly cargo must be prevented from leaving the Lembatta Cluster and reaching the adjacent systems.
Grimly, Henderson stared at the bridge screen where the Renao’s furious visage had been frozen. “Switch that off, Mr. Loos,” he said to the ops officer.
“Aye, sir.”
The fanatic disappeared and was replaced by an image of the Theris system’s sun. The small solar-jumper that had been captured by the Klingons hovered above the blazing gas globe. Commander Koxx had left with his ships.
The president of the Federation had given them permission to patrol around the cluster. The Bougainville had also left. Only the Venture waited for all investigations of the alien spaceship to be completed. At the same time, she guarded the system just in case the Purifying Flame were to come looking for their people.
“I’ll be in my quarters,” said Admiral Gepta, striding toward the turbolift. “Call me if there’s any new trouble brewing.”
“Of course, sir,” Henderson replied, walking to his command chair and sitting down. He could have retired as well but First Officer Di Monti was in the engine room with Commander T’Eama to discuss possible countermeasures against the cloaked fighters of the Purifying Flame. Besides, these days Henderson enjoyed the few moments when he was permitted to be master of his own ship. Gepta stalked the bridge far too often, seizing the reins.
He asked a yeoman for a padd with the latest status reports when Loos spoke up. “Captain, Lieutenant Niskanen is hailing us. Audio only.”
Henderson straightened. “Open channel.”
“Venture, this is Niskanen,” the computer specialist’s voice came from the comm system.
“We can hear you, Lieutenant,” Henderson said. “What’s up?”
“Captain, I’ve got good news. I managed to crack the encryption code. We have read all data from the on-board computer. According to the log, the ship spent a considerable amount of time in the Shaool system, which we have listed as LC-6.”
Henderson gazed at the Saurian woman at flight control questioningly. “Isn’t there an inhabited world, Commander Makzia?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “LC-6-VI, called Yssab by the locals.”
“Yssab…” Henderson repeated slowly. “Sounds as if we’ve got a lead.” He raised his voice. “Good work, Lieutenant. Copy all data and return with your team to the Venture.”
“Aye, sir. Niskanen out.”
Henderson looked straight ahead. “Mr. Loos, hail the Bortas. We need to inform Captain Kromm.” The captain didn’t particularly like being dependent on the Klingon to pursue the lead. Captain Adams’s reports described the Bortas shipmaster as stubborn and hungry for glory, and willing to put his own interests before those of the mission. But the Prometheus was on the other side of the Alpha Quadrant right now.
They were negotiating with the government on Onferin about accepting a replacement Starfleet ship, but if they managed it at all, it would be the Bougainville, as she was a science vessel, underlining the peaceful character of the Federation’s politics. But the Renao were concerned that a third or a fourth ship would follow soon. The two fleets that had tightened the circle around the cluster made the deciding bodies in Auroun very nervous. Henderson couldn’t blame them.
“I’ve got Captain Kromm, sir,” said Loos.
The captain nodded. “On screen.”
One second later the young Klingon commander appeared. He sat on his throne-like chair with spread legs, his arms casually resting on the sides. His eyes glinted irritably. “What do you want?” he said by way of greeting.
“To help you, Captain,” Henderson said with a smile.
“Help from Starfleet. How very exciting.” The Klingon actually rolled his eyes as he spoke.
> Henderson was tempted to terminate the connection there and then. Kromm was even worse than Adams had described him. The mission, he reminded himself. Remember the mission. “We have analyzed the data from the computer aboard the captured solar-jumper. All evidence points to the fact that they operated from Yssab, one of the Renao colonies in the cluster.”
Kromm sat up straight at that. “Yssab… Interesting. Our investigation in the Bharatrum system has stalled. We shall follow up this lead. Well done, Captain.” He lifted his chin a little, nodding tersely at Henderson. “Anything else?”
“We received a threatening message. Did you see it?”
Kromm growled affirmatively.
“Then I don’t have to tell you how worried everyone here is. We need to find these fanatics and fast.”
“I do not require you to remind me of that, Henderson. I’m still here fighting for the safety of both our nations, the Empire and your Federation. It’s Adams who disappeared on a fruitless errand.”
Henderson had no intention of getting involved in that discussion. He had read Adams’s report and knew what he hoped to achieve with his trip to the Taurus Dark Cloud. Henderson couldn’t say that he would have decided to do the same, but that was none of Kromm’s business.
“We appreciate your effort, Captain,” he said instead. “Good luck. Venture out.”
Kromm disappeared from the bridge screen and was replaced by the Theris system’s primary star.
Loos turned around to face Henderson. “Captain, the transporter room reports that all personnel have been beamed over from the Renao ship.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” The solar-jumper had served its purpose. The dead had been retrieved and were waiting for their transport to the Renao embassy on Lembatta Prime. All relevant technologies had been stored in the Venture’s cargo holds.
Henderson touched a button on his armrest, activating the intercom. “Henderson to Admiral Gepta.”
“Go ahead,” the Chelon’s voice said.
“Admiral, we’re done with the solar-jumper. What should we do with it? Do you want us to take in tow back to Lembatta Prime?”
Star Trek Prometheus - in the Heart of Chaos Page 20
