Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  “You may be right,” said Nogura. “Klingon pride might also explain that, but only to a point. If there’s a Klingon presence in this region, then it’s something we know nothing about. That makes a suspicious old man like me very curious. They’d definitely want to avoid us learning whatever it is they’re doing here, so our presence is likely quite an irritant.”

  Snorting in disapproval, McCoy replied, “Meaning we haven’t seen the last of them.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it,” said the admiral.

  “Of greater concern is how this new development impacts Captain Kirk and his team.” Spock turned the command chair to face Nogura. “Under normal circumstances, Admiral, I would attempt to make contact with the captain.”

  Nogura nodded. “Unfortunately, the circumstances are very much not normal, Mister Spock.” He sighed. “For now, I’m afraid we have no choice but to continue observing the communications protocols for this mission. We need to wait until Captain Kirk or the Endeavour makes contact with us.”

  “But what if the Klingons have already found Jim and the others?” asked McCoy. “While we’re sneaking around out here with all of this cloak-and-dagger business, they could be in real trouble.” His disdain for the necessities of various Starfleet rules and regulations was evident on frequent occasion, though most of the time he at least attempted to observe decorum. In situations like these, however, the doctor could be counted upon to give voice to his thoughts and feelings with little regard for the chain of command.

  Nogura eyed McCoy. “I sympathize with your frustrations, Doctor, but for the security of the mission and everyone involved, this is the way it has to be. At least for now.”

  Though he said nothing, Spock also understood McCoy’s anxiety about the present situation, even if he might disagree with his friend’s methods of expressing himself. He shared the doctor’s worry. His captain and friend along with Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu were out there, somewhere, doing their best to play a role while undertaking an already risky mission. They were now in even greater danger than they might know.

  There was absolutely nothing Spock could do to help them.

  Seventeen

  Many Klingons aspired to be warriors. Le’tal was not among them.

  There were of course many females serving in the Klingon Defense Force, but it had never been her calling. As a child, she endured her three brothers and their tireless daydreaming and fantasizing about one day becoming soldiers of the Empire. She never blamed them for such things, as they were understandable outgrowths of wishing to hew to the tradition of service observed by her family for generations. In her youth, her father was the embodiment of that call to duty, so it made sense his sons would want to follow his example.

  Le’tal recalled the fear she felt at the prospect of informing her father about her desires and intentions, along with his initial disappointment when she voiced her decision to enter the engineering field. Joy quickly replaced that uncertainty as he told her service to the Empire came in many forms. The talents and aptitude she displayed during her formative schooling period would afford her options not available to her brothers, each of them capable young Klingons with the potential to distinguish themselves as warriors.

  “Perhaps your destiny lies along a different path,” he had said to her. Always far wiser than he tended to reveal to others, he confessed to knowing she might one day make such a choice. Rather than disapproving, he commended her not just for her choices but the conviction with which she made and held to them. “We must each feed the fire that burns first within our own hearts. Do that, and you will honor your family and the Empire.”

  I wonder what Father would think of where feeding that fire has brought me.

  As a youth applying herself to her studies, Le’tal had no way to know someone from the military or intelligence apparatus would find her. Indeed, it was not until her formal education neared its completion that a Klingon female approached her, telling her about all the ways she, a young scientist, could contribute to the Empire’s security and its ability to push back against its enemies. While Le’tal had no interest in developing weapons, she soon realized there were other ways her training and natural talents could be brought to bear.

  Her reverie was broken by the sound of the chime announcing that someone now stood outside the door to her quarters. Sitting at her desk, she glanced at the chronometer displayed in the corner of one of the three computer terminals dominating her cluttered workspace. It was well after the conclusion of her normal duty shift. Momentary concern was alleviated when she checked another of the computer interfaces and saw no alerts or other urgent advisories waited for her attention. The disruption-field generators were continuing to operate within expected parameters, as Le’tal was detailing in her latest status report.

  So, what is this about?

  Swiveling her chair so she faced the door, she called out, “Enter.” In response, the heavy, reinforced pressure hatch slid aside to reveal No’Khal, her longtime colleague and perhaps her closest friend, standing in the entryway. Short and burly, he nevertheless could be very intimidating when he wanted to make that impression. That was something Le’tal had learned when he was her teacher. Despite being relieved from his work shift, he had not yet changed from the loose-fitting jumpsuit worn by each of the team’s twenty members. She knew that in short order, her friend would revert to his preferred ensemble of a heavy woven robe and sandals for his feet. Whatever else he wore—or chose not to wear—beneath the robe was a topic of much spirited conversation among their colleagues.

  “Good evening, Le’tal,” he said, waiting until she gestured for him to step into the room. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

  Le’tal smiled. “You? Never.”

  Though the nature of their work saw to it that she and the other members of her team became a small, tight-knit community, the friendship she shared with No’Khal long preceded their current assignment. Older than her—perhaps the same age as her father when she was an adolescent—No’Khal and she first met while she was still a systems engineer student and he a teacher at the technical school where she studied. He was an accomplished computer systems expert before transferring to academia, and may have been content to remain in that scholarly role until Le’tal came calling with an opportunity to work with her on a new project.

  How long ago was that, now? She almost laughed at the question to herself. It seems like a lifetime.

  Entering her quarters and allowing the door to close behind him, No’Khal made a show of inspecting the room. “I see your housekeeping prowess has progressed not at all since your days as my pupil.” He smiled, dulling the sting out of the gentle verbal jab.

  As was the case with the rest of the outpost, which in reality was little more than a collection of a dozen prefabricated modules of varying sizes sitting atop a larger structure built into the body of an asteroid, her quarters were stark and utilitarian. The cramped room was filled to overflowing with all manner of personal belongings as well as items she used in her work. Clothes hung on the backs of chairs or were piled on a corner table, or were simply discarded where she dropped them on the floor. The small kitchen nook near the door might as well be labeled a quarantine zone. Computer equipment was scattered on shelves along the far wall as well as a cabinet near the door leading to her sleeping area. Strewn about were components in various stages of assembly, along with parts that might well be orphaned forever from whatever piece of machinery they had originated within. Data cartridges containing everything from status reports to journal entries to technical specifications and computer software code were stacked wherever there was a place for them atop most of the compartment’s horizontal surfaces. Though the outpost’s main computer was more than capable of generating whatever schematics or other data she required to further her work, Le’tal preferred physical copies of such products. The better for scratching and scribbling notes, thoughts, and ideas as they came to her during those frenzied moments late a
t night when she found herself unable to sleep.

  “I once read something written by a human,” she said, quick to defend her living habits, “that disorganized people tend to be among the most intelligent. A famous human scientist who lived centuries ago on Earth once said, ‘If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?’ I have always found it amusing to contemplate this question.”

  Now No’Khal laughed. “If you are any indication, those Earthers were quite correct indeed.”

  Pushing herself away from her desk, Le’tal rose from her chair. “Are you really here to remind me how slovenly I am?”

  “I learned long ago that is a lost cause.” He gestured toward the door. “I seek sustenance, and decided to come draw you out of your cave so you might dine like a proper Klingon, rather than subsist on the dreck that is those ration packs you seem to enjoy beyond all reason.” He paused, then added, “All right, even the best this facility has to offer does not approach a civilized Klingon feast, but it is the best we can do under the circumstances. Join me. A meal is better when shared with friends.” He always talked this way, like a character out of literature, when he labored to make any kind of point, and Le’tal could not help grinning in response.

  “I was going to eat later,” she replied, nodding toward her desk. “I have work.” While she confessed to relying upon the prepackaged meals rather than the outpost’s admittedly versatile food synthesizer units, it was less a function of taste than of simple convenience. She preferred to work late into the evening and therefore always kept a selection of the rations in her quarters. In truth, the menu options they afforded were limited, but they served their primary purpose.

  No’Khal snorted. “You work too much, my former student. The grand plans of the Klingon Empire can wait until your belly is full and you have benefited from actual rest.” His smile broadened. “I am told we are opening one of our precious kegs of bloodwine tonight.”

  “Now that is a convincing argument. Lead the way.” With a final look at her trio of computer monitors, Le’tal decided that, yes, her work could wait a little longer on this evening. Perhaps she might eschew it entirely and instead spend that time attempting to correct what No’Khal called her “sleep deficit.” A meal with her friend and perhaps a single portion of bloodwine before falling into deep slumber was sounding better with each passing moment.

  She was just following No’Khal out of her quarters when one of her computers emitted an annoying tone she immediately recognized: an alert of an incoming communication. Shaking her head, Le’tal released a small sigh of resignation.

  “Unless it is Kahless himself,” said No’Khal, “returning as foretold, ignore it.”

  Le’tal grunted. “If only that were an option.” Part of her duties as project leader at this remote, hidden facility was to monitor and respond to any communication. Given the security under which she and her team worked, transmissions of any sort to or from the outpost were rare and normally occurred only when they fell within a very strict set of parameters. Messages to family or loved ones were forbidden, and even the status reports for her superiors at Imperial Intelligence were sent via encrypted burst transmission at irregular intervals. She was the sole keeper of the schedule for dispatching and receiving of such missives.

  A status update from the communications system told her the message was encrypted in such a manner that Le’tal knew the point of origin. “The Orion,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at No’Khal before keying commands to her computer terminal. A moment later, the strings of data streaming across one screen were replaced by an image of D’zinn, the alluring female who was her point of contact for the Orions with whom the outpost had a “business arrangement.” Tall and lithe, she wore her dark hair piled atop her head, and she was dressed in a form-fitting black jumpsuit rather than some of the more exotic clothing choices for which her people were known.

  “D’zinn, this is an unscheduled communication,” she said, her tone one of warning.

  For her part, the Orion had never seemed intimidated, either by Le’tal or the commander of the outpost’s small military contingent. Such was the case now as she replied, “I would not contact you without good reason, Le’tal. Rest assured, I have information you may find useful, if not concerning.”

  Le’tal listened as D’zinn detailed her encounter with the civilian transport, and her suspicions about the small, innocuous-looking craft. The presence of the Federation starship at the asteroid field’s outer boundary was an expected development, as was their search for an explanation into the loss of the other Starfleet ship. Klingon Intelligence had likewise demanded information about the destroyed battle cruiser. The outpost’s military garrison commander, Karamaq, was in the midst of conducting his investigation, and Le’tal was content to let him obsess over such things. The Federation ship, on the other hand, demanded her attention.

  “This transport,” she said. “You believe it is working with the Enterprise?”

  D’zinn scowled. “I have no evidence of this, but the timing of the transport’s presence with the Enterprise in such proximity seems rather convenient. Further, its pilot seemed far more skilled than a simple civilian.” She recounted how the Dreamline had bested her own vessel during their previous engagement. “I would wager he possessed some kind of Starfleet or other military training.”

  “But why would they do this?” asked No’Khal, stepping closer to the computer terminal. “Why such subterfuge for what should be a straightforward search? Even if they hope to find survivors, that would not be cause for acting in this way.”

  “Perhaps they suspect something.” It was obvious, the more Le’tal considered it. Was it possible the crew of the lost starship had somehow communicated information regarding what caused their vessel’s mishap? Had the ship’s sensors detected something about the disruption-field technology?

  No’Khal said, “Unless Imperial Intelligence has seen fit to brief them, even the High Council is unaware of our presence here. If Starfleet has discovered us, the repercussions could be quite severe. All our work, everything we have accomplished, will be for nothing.”

  Of this, Le’tal was well aware. From the moment she first learned of this new initiative sponsored by the Empire’s intelligence bureau, she was intrigued by the possibilities. Disabling a vessel rather than damaging or destroying it allowed for numerous opportunities to study and exploit an enemy’s technology. Learning Starfleet’s protected techniques for combating and defeating Klingon weapons and defenses was also of great value.

  As explained to her, the disruption-field generator she was to design and create was not without precedent. A more limited, even primitive version of this concept had been field tested by imperial warships not long ago. While results varied, it was decided that iteration of the device was too costly in terms of ship’s power requirements at the expense of other vital systems. She found it amusing to learn the Enterprise was actually one of the vessels targeted with that version of the technology, and here it was now. Le’tal had to wonder if fate or some form of supernatural influence saw to it this particular vessel continued finding its way into such situations.

  By comparison, the disruption generators developed by her and her team were far more efficient. Though deployed here within the asteroid field, the ultimate goal was to make the emitters practical enough that they could be installed aboard any class of ship in the Klingon Defense Force. The results recorded to this point were favorable, but Le’tal knew more testing was required, both in the emitters’ current configuration as placed on various asteroids within the Ivratis field and, eventually, aboard the small squadron of military vessels assigned to the outpost. While he largely observed the present phase of experiments, Karamaq was anxious to see the system tested in ship-based scenarios.

  All in good time, Commander.

  To date, her team’s work with the new technology had proceeded with much success and little in the way of problems.
The only true issue encountered so far was the unexpected presence of the Federation starship and the Klingon battle cruiser and the field’s unfortunate impact on both vessels. Le’tal remained convinced neither she nor her people were at fault, and she was including that along with the official logs in her report. She would not allow her work or that of her colleagues to be blamed for circumstances beyond their control.

  “D’zinn,” she said, “where is this transport?”

  The Orion seemed to hesitate, as though she preferred not to answer. Drawing herself up, she replied, “If it is what its pilot claims and held to its original course, it would likely be clear of the asteroid field by now, on its way to whatever destination awaits it.”

  “And if it is a ruse,” said No’Khal, “then it is certainly still somewhere in the field.”

  Le’tal nodded. “Exactly.” To D’zinn, she said, “Alert your other ships. Your new priority is a thorough search for this transport. If it is out there, I want it captured.”

  “That will take some time,” said the Orion.

  “Not too much. Remember, if the Federation discovers what we are doing here, your involvement will not go overlooked.” In truth, Le’tal did not care about the Orions. Let D’zinn and her people flail about searching for this other ship. Their activities would continue to conceal the outpost’s presence, but if this mysterious ship was part of some larger Starfleet operation, life for Le’tal and her people here might soon get very complicated.

  “Find that ship, D’zinn,” she warned. “Quickly.”

  Eighteen

  Khatami loved the warmth of the sun on her face. Lying back on the blanket in the open meadow, she looked up toward the brilliant blue Deneva sky. It was a perfect day. How long had it been since she had enjoyed a slice of peace and quiet like this? Too long, which was almost always the answer. She could stay here forever. All she needed were her husband, Kenji, and their daughter, Parveen.