Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  D’zinn seethed at the report. Whoever the pilot of that transport was, he had obviously upgraded his vessel’s systems beyond even what her own ship’s sensors had been able to detect. That meant he either was someone with much to hide from the likes of Starfleet or other law-enforcement entities, or else he was Starfleet, as she had earlier suspected. At the moment, she had insufficient evidence to bolster her theory, but there was no denying the transport pilot possessed exceptional skill. His maneuvering within the asteroid field far outmatched that of her own pilot, suggesting someone with specialized training or else raised in an environment where such talents were cultivated as a means of surviving in, for example, the unforgiving realm of independent merchants, privateers, and even pirates such as herself and her crew.

  “Where is the other ship?” she snapped, stalking around the command deck’s perimeter and studying the various station monitors and status displays for herself.

  Netal said, “They are moving away.” He stopped near the sensor station where Melac once more hovered over the controls. “Their course indicates an escape route deeper into the asteroid field; likely an attempt to evade our sensors.”

  While it was possible the pilot was simply acting out of self-preservation and taking advantage of the Vekal Piltari’s current predicament to make a dash for possible safety, D’zinn remained unconvinced.

  “A pirate or someone looking to save their skins would have seized the initiative and finished us,” she said. “But someone trained to apply moral standards even in a combat situation, such as a Starfleet officer, would not do such a thing.”

  Netal frowned. “Would Starfleet officers not also offer to render assistance?”

  “In many circumstances, yes.” She had heard about such things regarding encounters between Starfleet vessels facing off against enemy ships. In addition to showing mercy after winning a battle instead of destroying their adversaries, many Starfleet captains were notorious for extending offers of aid; everything from medical treatment of casualties to repairs so a crippled ship’s crew did not die from lack of power or atmosphere. It was, D’zinn supposed, a noble attitude and well in keeping with vaunted Federation morals, but it also made their people naive and subject to exploitation. Better to finish off an enemy and be done with them, rather than help them regain their footing and provide an opening to betray you.

  “You still believe they are Starfleet,” asked Netal. “Working with the Enterprise in some manner?”

  “I do not know.” D’zinn paused before the command deck’s central viewscreen, taking a moment to study the asteroid field displayed there. Something about this entire affair felt wrong to her. She had hoped to get a look at the Dreamline’s pilot and passengers and perhaps compare their likenesses to her ship’s database of known, prominent figures within Starfleet and the Federation government. Someone like James Kirk, for example, would be in the computer files. The transport’s odd communications issues prevented her from doing that, which only deepened her suspicions. Such a tactic, employed deliberately, was the perfect means of obscuring one’s true identity.

  “What I do know is that I am no longer comfortable keeping this information to ourselves.” It was not that she feared her Klingon benefactors, but there was no denying their ability to make life difficult not just for her but the entire Orion Syndicate and its efforts to exploit this region. The better course, she knew, was to make every attempt to further the odd partnership struck between her superiors and the Klingon scientists.

  She turned from the viewscreen to face her second-in-command. “Netal, I think we need to break communications silence and alert our Klingon friends. It is well past time they were informed about this.”

  Sixteen

  On those occasions when Captain Kirk was off the ship and he was left in command, Spock tended to avoid sitting in the bridge’s command chair unless circumstances warranted it. For emergency or combat situations, logic dictated he occupy the one position that served as a focal point for the other officers manning stations around him. Simply seeing the person in command at the hub of activity, beyond the human requirement for emotional stability during such times, also was vital for the effective communication of status updates and other important information. This more than anything else guided the design of a starship’s bridge with its captain at the center. More than once during times of distress, and while he would never give Doctor McCoy the satisfaction of knowing such a thing, Spock himself had taken a measure of comfort from the presence of James Kirk in that chair.

  This did not mean he experienced anxiety when the captain was absent, as was now the case. With Kirk as well as Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu engaged in their covert reconnaissance of the asteroid field, and despite his own disciplined control of his emotional reactions, Spock still harbored reasonable concern for his shipmates’ safety. That was mitigated by knowing the Enterprise and its crew stood ready to assist them at a moment’s notice. The captain chose to undertake risks such as this precisely because he held confidence in Spock and his crew to provide that support.

  Bolstered by that knowledge, Spock felt free leaving the command chair vacant for the time being while concentrating on his various duties. Walking a slow circuit around the bridge’s upper deck stations, he entered instructions into a logcomp, a handheld computational device that allowed him to remotely access the Enterprise’s computer banks. While he could and did often spend hours at the science station immersed in his work, he found that infrequent intervals spent away from the console allowed his mind to consider calculations and other matters requiring extensive thought. Spock had observed this behavior in colleagues throughout his tenure in Starfleet, and after experimentation came to realize the exercise did have its benefits.

  Something else I would prefer Doctor McCoy not know, he thought with a hint of amusement he dared not reveal.

  As if summoned, the Enterprise’s chief medical officer arrived via the turbolift, exiting the car at the back of the bridge. As was his habit, McCoy took a moment to quickly assess the officers at their stations. Once he seemed satisfied with what he saw, the doctor made his way to where Spock stood near the main viewscreen.

  “Hello, Spock.”

  His pacing having brought him to the front of the bridge, Spock paused his work with the logcomp and regarded McCoy. “Doctor, do you require assistance?”

  Shaking his head, McCoy replied, “No. I was just making my rounds.”

  Spock knew the doctor preferred to spend as much time outside of the ship’s sickbay as was practical given his duties. Instead, he opted for what he called “a hands-on approach” to interacting with the rest of the crew, seeking them out at their assigned duty stations or the messes, lounges, and recreation spaces. For him, medical files and scheduled visits merely supplemented these more personal interactions as a means of knowing and being more aware of the crew’s general physical and mental health. His wanderings about the ship inevitably brought him to the bridge, where Spock knew he took the opportunity to check on the well-being of the ship’s captain and first officer without being obvious about his motives. While Spock initially had little use for the doctor’s method of staying abreast of the crew’s condition, he soon realized McCoy found the practice efficient. It was therefore logical to avoid impeding that process and support it whenever possible.

  “Any news from Jim and the others?” asked the doctor.

  Spock replied, “In keeping with the mission profile, we have received no communications from the Dreamline since its departure. If all remains as scheduled, I expect a short, encrypted burst transmission relayed to us in one hour and nineteen minutes.”

  “I’ve never been comfortable with sneaking around,” said McCoy, making no effort to hide his evident irritation. “Jim’s no spy, and neither are Uhura and Sulu. Starfleet should’ve sent someone who knows how to do this kind of thing. Or, at least let us bring along someone like that.”

  Though the doctor raised a valid point, Spock kn
ew other factors were in play. “The secrecy surrounding the agents embedded on the Klingon homeworld is such that only a very limited number of people are even aware of their activities. Admiral Nogura has elected to keep that group very small, doubtless to protect not only the agents’ identities but also the program’s very existence.”

  McCoy nodded as he crossed his arms. “That makes sense, I suppose. We already know they can plant their own spies within the Federation, and maybe even aboard Starfleet ships and starbases.” He blew out his breath. “I don’t even like thinking about that.”

  “It is a most unpleasant prospect, but it is for that reason among others that the admiral has taken this course of action. It therefore falls to us to see this mission through to a successful completion.”

  Turning, Spock regarded the main viewscreen. Dozens of asteroids were visible, many of them appearing large and imposing despite the distance separating them from the Enterprise. The starship’s current course kept it at the Ivratis field’s outer boundary while it conducted its search and survey mission.

  “I take it our sensors haven’t had any luck finding anything yet, either,” said McCoy.

  Spock replied, “Neither sensors nor communications have turned up anything out of the ordinary. Even with the search grid devised by Lieutenant Uhura to reduce the area we believe needs to be examined, a sizable portion of the asteroid field remains. This also assumes that the lieutenant’s calculations are correct.” He held up the logcomp. “However, using the same information provided by Captain Khatami, I performed my own computations and produced similar results. Indeed, Lieutenant Uhura’s findings may well prove more accurate than mine.”

  That was enough to evoke a grin from the doctor. “I’ll bet that hurt to say.”

  “Not at all. The lieutenant is a skilled officer and her expertise in this regard is superior to my own. It is logical to presume her knowledge would provide her a distinct advantage.”

  “Spock,” said McCoy, “you never cease to amaze me.”

  Now sensing his colleague had launched yet another in their ongoing series of gentle verbal sparring matches, Spock replied, “As I have never set out to amaze you in any fashion, I am content to view this as a fortunate byproduct of my efforts.”

  The doctor’s chuckle was interrupted by the sound of an alert klaxon wailing across the bridge. The alarm indicator mounted along the forward edge of the bridge’s helm and navigation console began flashing.

  “Report,” said Spock, moving from the viewscreen and stepping down into the bridge’s command well. Making his way around the navigator’s station, he took his place in the center seat and placed the logcomp on the chair’s left armrest.

  Ensign Chekov, who now monitored the science station while Spock was in command, turned from the console to regard the first officer.

  “Sensors have detected the approach of another ship, Mister Spock,” said the young officer, his thick Russian accent wrapping around every word. “It is a Klingon scout-class vessel, sir. Their shields are up and their weapons are active, but in a standby mode.”

  “Where in blazes did they come from?” asked McCoy, who was walking around the bridge’s upper deck until he could stand behind and just to the left of the command chair.

  “Our shields activated the moment sensors detected them, sir,” added Lieutenant Naomi Rahda, a young, dark-haired woman of Indian descent and another of the Enterprise’s helm officers. Normally assigned to gamma shift, she also was one of the first called upon to substitute for Lieutenant Sulu when he was away from the ship. “Shall I activate our weapons?”

  Spock pondered the notion before asking, “Mister Chekov, is the Klingon ship on an intercept course?”

  “Yes, but they do not appear to be aggressive.” The ensign was now bent over the science station’s hooded sensor viewer. “Their course change and current speed do not indicate an attack posture.”

  “Hold on activating weapons, Lieutenant Rahda,” said Spock.

  Behind him, the turbolift doors opened to reveal Admiral Nogura. As with his previous visits, he directed the officers on duty to maintain their posts. Rather than descending into the command well to join Spock, the admiral instead took up a position next to the communications station.

  “I take it we have company?” he asked.

  Spock nodded. “Affirmative, sir. A Klingon scout ship has taken an interest in our activities.”

  “Well, we knew to expect that,” said Nogura.

  At the communications station and acting in Lieutenant Uhura’s stead, Lieutenant Elizabeth Palmer called out, “Mister Spock, we’re being hailed by the Klingon ship.” Spock turned to face her, noting that she had shifted in her chair toward him.

  “Patch them through, Lieutenant.”

  The asteroid field as depicted on the main viewscreen dissolved into the image of a swarthy-looking Klingon male sitting in a high-backed chair at the center of a cramped, dimly lit bridge. Spock noted only two other Klingons standing at background stations, but the image quality was such that making out any details was next to impossible. This, he knew, was almost certainly by design. As for the Klingon dominating the screen, his skin was dark, almost olive in appearance, and his face and head were framed by short black hair cut in such a way that it formed a point at the center of his forehead. His features were complemented by a thin mustache and goatee. The gold sash he wore slung from his left shoulder and across his chest bore what Spock recognized as the rank insignia of a ship’s commander, along with a pair of other decorations denoting awards. Interestingly, he smiled as he stared out from the viewscreen.

  “Federation vessel, identify yourselves and state your reasons for being in this area.”

  Glancing to Nogura, who nodded for him to proceed, Spock returned his gaze to the screen. “I am Spock, commanding the Federation Starship Enterprise. Commander, this region is known to both our governments as free space open to all traffic. Our presence here defies no treaty or other agreement between our peoples. However, in the interests of avoiding confrontation, I can inform you we are currently engaged in a search operation to locate another Starfleet vessel that has gone missing. I assure you our intentions here do not extend beyond that effort.”

  “I do not need to be lectured by a Vulcan about the intricacies of treaty agreements and border understandings.” Still, the Klingon seemed to consider this for several seconds before adding, “A rescue mission, you say?”

  Not convinced the Klingon’s use of the term rescue rather than search was an innocent slip, Spock replied, “According to the ship’s disaster recorder buoy, it suffered a catastrophic failure in its warp engines and exploded. We are here to ascertain whether there might be any wreckage worth salvaging.” Then, after waiting a deliberate moment, he said, “The buoy also contained a record of an encounter with a Klingon warship. The exact circumstances of that encounter or the reasons behind it are also a matter of concern, but if there is a Klingon vessel in need of assistance, I offer that aid, in the hopes of avoiding any further unfortunate incidents.” Though no one else on the bridge likely heard it, Spock’s Vulcan hearing detected the almost inaudible grunt of satisfaction escaping Nogura’s lips.

  As Spock expected, the commander bristled, both at the implication of something untoward involving another Klingon ship, and being caught off guard at having it mentioned. There could be no denying the fact of the other vessel operating in the region. His expression had already given away his knowledge of that matter.

  “I am aware of the warship that went missing in this area,” he said with obvious irritation. “We have been tasked to search for it or anything or anyone that remains of it. Your assistance is not required.” He placed his right hand against his chair’s armrest, propping himself as he leaned closer to the screen. “And you would be advised to keep your distance, Vulcan, so we might avoid any of those incidents that worry you so.”

  Spock regarded him in silence for precisely five seconds before replying,
“Understood, Commander, just as I presume you will not disturb any wreckage or other remains of our vessel. I would regret an interstellar diplomatic incident resulting from our inability to work or even communicate with each other.” The comment earned him another nearly silent murmur of approval from Admiral Nogura.

  The Klingon commander harbored no such feelings. “Keep your distance, Vulcan. You have been warned.” He did not wait for a response but instead severed the connection and his image disappeared, replaced by the view of the Ivratis asteroid field.

  “Charming fellow,” said McCoy from where he still stood just to Spock’s left. “We should invite him to dinner.”

  From the science station, Chekov said, “They’re moving off, Mister Spock. Sensors show them backtracking along their original approach vector.”

  “Maintain scans, Mister Chekov, for as long as you’re able.”

  Behind him, Nogura said, “Nicely played, Commander.” He stepped closer to the red railing separating him from the command chair. “We can be sure they know about the Endeavour. What we don’t know is if they know why the Endeavour was here in the first place.”

  “Mister Spock,” said Chekov, who had pushed away from his station and now also stood at the railing. “Our scans of the Klingon ship noted something I find odd. According to our readings, that vessel’s warp drive has not been used recently. Further, its hull shows signs that it has experienced long-term exposure to the radiation permeating the asteroid field. We’re talking weeks at least, sir.”

  “Weeks?” McCoy frowned. “That would mean the Klingons have been up to something out here for a while, since long before the Endeavour happened along.”

  Spock replied, “That is a logical assumption, Doctor. It also would explain the Klingon commander’s reluctance to share information or accept our offer of assistance.”