Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  “Why can’t Starfleet ever send us to a starbase that’s constructed on an actual planet?” asked Leonard McCoy. The ship’s chief medical officer, positioned to Kirk’s left, leaned against the curved red railing separating the command well from the bridge’s perimeter stations. As was his habit, the doctor affected his normal manner of looking as though he preferred any location to the one he presently occupied.

  From where he sat at the science console along the bridge’s starboard side, Commander Spock swiveled his chair to regard McCoy. “Starbase 24 is one of Starfleet’s most advanced facilities, Doctor. It offers services and amenities lacking at other stations and ports of call. Despite its remote location, it remains one of the most requested assignments for personnel tasked with starbase duty.”

  “Does it have fresh air?” countered McCoy. “Green grass? Tall trees with thick branches and lots of shade you can use when you want a nap on a nice spring day?”

  The first officer’s initial response was to cock his right eyebrow, which he then followed with, “The station features an expansive arboretum and botanical garden.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place,” replied Sulu.

  Seated at the navigator’s station to the helm officer’s right, Ensign Pavel Chekov replied, “I’ve been reading the latest reports on planned upgrades for all Sierra-class stations. They’re due for complete overhauls over the next three years.” As was often the case, the young Russian’s thick accent seemed to become more pronounced as he warmed to his chosen topic of discussion. “Among the listed upgrades are terrestrial enclosures similar to those found on Watchtower-class starbases.”

  “Engineered green spaces.” McCoy shook his head, his mock frown almost making Kirk chuckle. “Still no substitute for the real thing.”

  “On that we can agree, Doctor.” Spock rose from his chair, his Vulcan demeanor never wavering as he approached the bridge railing. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Studies have shown that the benefits of exposure to moderate amounts of genuine sunlight are far more beneficial than lamps or other artificial sources.”

  McCoy released a dramatic sigh. “Yes, Spock. That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  Whatever retort Spock may have offered was interrupted by Uhura, who turned in her seat. In her left ear she held a Feinberger receiver, which allowed her to rapidly filter the numerous requests channeled through the Enterprise’s communications system.

  “Captain, we’re receiving instructions from the dock master. We are cleared for entry.”

  “And not a moment too soon, Lieutenant.” To his helmsman, Kirk said, “Mister Sulu, were you planning to let docking control bring us in, or do you prefer to do the honors yourself?” The lieutenant did not need to turn in his seat for his smile to be apparent.

  “I was about to request permission to conduct a manual docking, sir. I don’t get to practice that often.”

  “Just don’t run into anything,” offered McCoy in a mildly teasing tone. “I don’t want to spend my shore leave tending to bumps and bruises because you forgot how to park.”

  Now Sulu did turn, his grin wide. “I’ll do my best, Doctor.”

  The lieutenant had only just begun making the first of what Kirk knew would be several maneuvering adjustments needed to align the Enterprise for entry into the starbase’s cavernous docking bay when Uhura once more swung her seat away from her console.

  “Captain, we’re being hailed by the station. It’s on a priority channel for you, sir. Also? It’s scrambled.”

  Frowning as he exchanged glances with Spock, Kirk asked, “Priority and scrambled? From the commodore?” The last message received from Starbase 24’s commanding officer, Christina Peterman, was an invitation for Kirk and his senior officers to dine with the commodore after the Enterprise was secure in the docking bay. Nothing about that required the employment of scrambled, encoded communications traffic.

  “I can confirm it’s coming from the station, sir,” replied Uhura, “but not whether it’s coming from Commodore Peterman.”

  “Put it through, Lieutenant.” There was a momentary lag as the communications officer accepted the incoming hail and applied the appropriate decryption protocols. That done, the image on the main viewscreen shifted from Starbase 24 to the withered visage of an elderly human male of Asian descent. Short black and gray hair framed a thin, wrinkled face dominated by a thin mouth, high cheekbones, and a pair of piercing blue eyes Kirk knew from experience missed absolutely nothing.

  “Admiral Nogura?” Rising from his command chair, Kirk moved around Sulu to stand before the helm and navigation stations. He squared himself before the viewscreen as he nodded in greeting to his superior officer. “This is quite the surprise.”

  Heihachiro Nogura sat in a high-backed leather chair, his forearms resting atop a nondescript, standard Starfleet-issue gray desk. Behind him was an equally unimpressive, drab gray wall, which featured no accoutrements whatsoever. He seemed to have aged just since the last time Kirk had seen him months earlier, or perhaps he was simply tired. His gold uniform tunic appeared to be hanging from his already slight frame, and Kirk wondered how long it had been since the admiral last slept.

  But why is he here?

  “Captain Kirk,” said Nogura, his voice low and all business. “Under other circumstances, it’d be good to see you and the Enterprise. You know how I like to keep tabs on your activities.”

  While the admiral was known for his occasional flirtations with quiet, even deadpan humor, Kirk sensed none of that now. Choosing to ignore the remark, he asked, “I didn’t realize you’d be waiting for us here, sir.”

  “That was the idea. I don’t like advertising my comings and goings, especially this close to Klingon space. So far as the Empire and everyone except a very small group of people are concerned, I’m on Earth, or maybe Deneva. I forget which of my cover itineraries they’re using this week.” Apparently deciding that too much time was being wasted on this discussion, Nogura waved a hand toward the screen. “Your first officer and crew can handle the Enterprise’s docking, Captain. Your communications officer should be receiving transporter coordinates. Have yourself beamed to that location immediately. Nogura out.”

  No sooner did the admiral’s visage disappear from the screen, replaced with an image of the now much closer Starbase 24 as the Enterprise continued its docking approach, than Kirk heard a telltale beep from behind him.

  “Coordinates received, Captain,” reported Uhura, her features a mask of confusion. “They correspond to a personal transporter pad located on the station’s command level.”

  Moving away from the bridge railing to stand next to Kirk’s chair, McCoy said, “What in blazes was that all about?”

  It was Spock who replied, “Admiral Nogura’s presence indicates a matter of some importance and requiring prompt attention.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Kirk. “Uhura, route those coordinates to the transporter room and notify them I’m on my way. Mister Spock, you have the conn.” He waved to the viewscreen and the starbase depicted on it. “Continue docking maneuver, but no one goes ashore until I find out what’s going on.”

  The first officer nodded. “Acknowledged.”

  Leaving his colleagues behind on the bridge, Kirk stepped into the turbolift and directed it to the transporter room. As the car descended, he could not help thinking that no matter the other reasons and consequences involving Nogura’s presence, so far as his ship and crew were concerned, one thing was certain.

  Shore leave was liable to be short. Very, very short.

  Four

  Just as he suspected based on the initial conversation with Nogura, the office in which Kirk now found himself was a drab, boring affair. The deck, bulkheads, and overhead were painted the same uniform shade of standard gray that was a hallmark of Starfleet facilities. Nothing was affixed to any of the walls, with only a single set of red doors and a large viewscreen set into the bulkhead to Kirk’s right serving t
o break up the monotony. The only other items holding any interest were the desk and chair he had already seen, and the man to which they currently played host. Facing the desk sat two light blue, armless chairs with black leather backrests, which represented the rest of the room’s meager furnishings. The only item on the desk was a standard computer interface monitor. It was obvious that Nogura had no intention of staying here any longer than absolutely necessary.

  “Admiral,” said Kirk, stepping down from the two-person transporter pad and crossing the office toward Nogura. “This is something of a surprise.”

  Without standing, the elder man replied, “The story of my life, Captain. Have a seat.” He waited until Kirk settled into one of the chairs before adding, “You’re aware Starfleet keeps me rather busy, overseeing a number of operations and other initiatives.”

  Kirk shifted in the chair in a vain attempt to get comfortable before resigning to himself that such an effort was futile. “From what I understand, sir, that’s a bit of an understatement.”

  Based on his own previous interactions with the admiral along with a healthy dose of rumors and gossip, Kirk knew Nogura’s portfolio as a senior admiral and one of the command hierarchy’s foremost tacticians was among the most active and comprehensive in all of Starfleet. His duties included a number of mandates and tasks that kept him busy both on Earth and at various locations throughout Federation space. Many if not most of his assignments and even his movements were classified as closely guarded secrets. Given the often volatile relations between the Federation and the Klingon Empire over the past two decades, which had experienced no small number of flare-ups and brief brushes with open warfare, Nogura was designated by Starfleet as one of its most vital assets. Regulations prohibited him from even being in the same room with any of a short list of senior flag officers operating under similar mandates. He rarely remained in one place for any appreciable length of time, and only then in response to very atypical circumstances.

  “It is an understatement,” said Nogura. “I was being polite. The real version is that I’m busy. Damned busy, over a lot of things most people will never know about, starship captains included. That said, there are those occasions when I need to read someone in to a sensitive operation because I require their help, and I’ve decided they’re the best person for the job. Congratulations, Kirk. This time, you’re the lucky winner.”

  Unable to contain a small, knowing smile, Kirk replied, “I had a feeling, sir.”

  Relaxing into his chair, Nogura rested his hands in his lap and regarded the captain for a long moment before saying, “You’ve had some experience with Klingon agents working within Federation space, medically and cosmetically altered to appear human.” It was a statement, not a question, which made perfect sense. Given his oversight of all matters pertaining to the Klingons, Nogura would know about even the smallest encounter between any Starfleet personnel and representatives of the Empire.

  “A few times, sir. The most recent encounter—that I know of, anyway—was during that incident with the Klingons at Deep Space Station K-7. Arne Darvin, assistant to Nilz Baris, the Federation undersecretary of agriculture who was overseeing a pet project involving Sherman’s Planet, the ownership of which was disputed by the Federation and the Klingons. Darvin was surgically altered to appear human and sent to sabotage the Federation’s colonization efforts in a bid to seize control. He was unsuccessful.”

  Nogura nodded. “The grain. And the tribbles. The less said about that, the better.”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  His right hand having moved from his lap, Nogura began using his fingers to tap on the arm of his chair. “Here’s the more important question, and one I’m sure you’ve pondered at least once: How long do you suppose Darvin was operating undercover?”

  “So far as I know, that information is classified, sir. However, given the level of trust Baris placed in him, I’d have to say quite a while. Several months at least.”

  “Eighteen months.”

  Kirk felt his jaw slacken. “That long?”

  “While you’re thinking about that, think about this: We suspect there have been similar agents working undercover within Starfleet, the Federation government, and any number of other places for far longer. Years, Kirk. It’s not a new idea, of course.”

  “I’ve read a few official reports, and heard a lot more stories.” Rumors abounded, going back decades, of Klingon operatives disguised as humans or members of other Federation races, working in secret to gather information for their superiors or to influence events and actions within the borders of their sworn enemy. Some of the stories seemed far-fetched, but after the incident at the K-7 station, Kirk received an intelligence briefing that convinced him that there was more fact than fiction surrounding what he had previously heard. Espionage was not at all an original concept, and it made perfect sense that interstellar adversaries would carry out some of the same sorts of covert actions against the Federation as nation-states conducted against one another on Earth from the dawn of its civilization.

  Nogura said, “Even though it’s obviously not common knowledge, it probably won’t come as a shock to you that we’ve been doing the same thing. Not nearly as long, mind you, but long enough to achieve tangible results.”

  Stories about such activities also were plentiful, Kirk knew, but far less circulated at least in anything approaching official circles. Indeed, Nogura’s admission was the first time he had heard a confirmation of the practice.

  “You’re saying that humans are altered—”

  The admiral raised a hand, cutting off the rest of Kirk’s reply. “Most of the agents are human, but there are a couple of Vulcans, one native of Alpha Centauri B, and three Rigelians in the mix. It was determined that those three species present the least problems with the alteration procedure. Yes, they’re subjected to surgery to reconfigure not just their appearance but there’s also some rearranging of internal organs. Nothing too fancy, but enough to fool most Klingon scanners. Thankfully, their technology isn’t as advanced as ours, but there’s still an obvious risk of exposure. Each agent is also given a suite of subdermal implants that help disguise their bio readings on sensors. They show up as Klingon on routine scans. The cover won’t survive intense or protracted scrutiny, but the idea is for such agents to avoid situations that might bring them that sort of unwanted attention.”

  “It still has to be pretty dangerous,” said Kirk.

  Nodding, the admiral replied, “Absolutely, but we and they take every possible precaution to maintain their cover. Their missions generally involve inserting themselves as low-level personnel within the Klingon military and government. Primarily, they gather information, analyze it, and forward on anything relevant to their handlers, which in most cases is me. The communication is strictly one-way and conducted at their discretion, so it’s not unusual to go months or longer without hearing from an asset on the ground.”

  “Months, or longer.” Shifting in his seat, Kirk considered the implications. “How long has this been going on?”

  Nogura leaned forward, resting his forearms atop the barren desk. “About six years since our first agents were sent in. One was extracted a year or so after that, and two were never heard from again. So far as we’ve been able to ascertain, they avoided exposure and capture. Other assets we had within the Empire’s borders were able to confirm that much, so the most likely explanation is that they… took it upon themselves to make certain they weren’t caught. It’s not something we explicitly taught or ordered them to do, but every agent who went through the training program understood that the consequences of capture would be devastating, not just for them but for the entire Federation.”

  Nodding in sober agreement, Kirk cleared his throat. “Has any agent been exposed?”

  “Not yet,” replied Nogura. He rose from his chair and moved out from behind his desk, crossing to the large viewscreen set into the office’s far wall. “And that’s where you come in.” Reaching fo
r the keypad mounted next to the screen, the admiral tapped a control. The screen flared to life, depicting an image with which Kirk was familiar: a map of space highlighted by the border separating Federation and Klingon territory.

  “Eight days ago, we received a coded emergency message from one of our teams working deep undercover within the Empire.” Nogura turned from the screen. “And when I say deep, I mean as deep as it gets: Qo’noS.”

  The Klingon homeworld? The heart of the Empire?

  Kirk was astounded by the sheer audacity of sending spies to the center of the Federation’s fiercest enemy. While not in a state of war, the two powers had endured a strained relationship for more than a decade since the last major confrontation. What had threatened to explode into open conflict was stopped only by the machinations of the mysterious Organians, the highly advanced, extremely powerful race of noncorporeal life-forms who viewed humanoids with thinly veiled contempt. Using the staggering powers at their command, they brought both Starfleet and Klingon fleets to an utter standstill, stopping the threat of open hostilities and issuing an ultimatum that further actions in this vein would not be tolerated. This none too subtle threat left both adversaries with little more to do than stare at one another across the gulf of space separating their respective territories. Instead, each side plotted, maneuvered, and attempted to outthink the other, searching for any advantage or opportunity to exploit while at the same time avoiding rebuke from the Organians, who for their part remained frustratingly silent, but neither the Federation nor the Empire appeared willing to test the mysterious and otherwise reclusive race’s resolve.

  One wonders what they might think of this.

  “How long have they been there?” asked Kirk.

  Nogura tapped another control and the map zoomed in to focus on the star system that was home to Qo’noS. “Just over three years, working behind the scenes within the strategic-planning branches of both the central government and the military. Everything they do is meant to be subtle if not completely unnoticeable. They gradually augmented their intelligence-gathering mission over time by gaining trust and moving deeper into those organizations. We’re talking about sowing disinformation about Starfleet movements and misdirecting the deployment of Klingon military assets in ways that end up benefiting us. They’ve even managed to interfere with certain areas of technological advancement so far as the weapons and defenses of the latest designs of Klingon warships.”