Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  Since beginning his assignment, Mi’zhan had received no such contact. Things might well have continued in that fashion until his alter ego’s tour of duty with the Endeavour ended and he was sent to another ship or station. Then Captain Khatami received her mysterious orders taking them well away from the Taurus Reach to this odd region of space near the Klingon border. The captain and the rest of the ship’s senior staff had remained silent on the issue, offering only the barest of insights into their new mission. This was enough to pique Mi’zhan’s interest, but his efforts to learn more faced many obstacles, if he was to avoid drawing attention.

  Once he learned of the surgically altered spies and their escape from the homeworld, he realized the magnitude of what Starfleet had accomplished against the Empire. The agents could not be allowed to return to Federation space, and the information stolen from Qo’noS must be prevented from being used against the Empire’s interests. He had no idea how to go about doing any of that, and then the Endeavour had its ill-fated encounter with the Klingon battle cruiser followed by their landing on this cursed asteroid. What was he supposed to do in the wake of that? His attempt to neutralize the ship’s impulse engines had only been half successful, placing the crew on guard at the thought of a saboteur in their midst. There would likely be no second chances in that arena, and he had varying success with smaller acts of disruption. Setting one of the sensor buoys to attract attention had not worked, but disabling the phaser cannons deployed outside the ship had reaped some minor benefits. Of course, now the Endeavour’s crew was fully aware of the enemy lurking among them who had killed four of their shipmates.

  Irritated at the simple thought of reliving the events of the past days, Mi’zhan wiped the communications hub’s onboard memory. Now there would be no record of any direct access to this interface. That completed, he paused, reviewing the steps he had taken to conceal his activities. So far as he could remember, he had taken care of everything.

  Had his effort been of worth? The signal was a play of desperation in the wake of his partial successes and failures that threatened to expose him. However, if the Federation was using surgically altered agents to infiltrate the Empire, this was something that needed immediate exposure. He was now angry with himself that his message had not included more information about the spies themselves and their true identities. Given the burst transmission’s limited parameters, Mi’zhan was forced to economize the information he sent. He could only hope the matter would be given its due attention once the proper people were informed and could take action.

  Assuming they received his message, of course. Mi’zhan did not even know whom he might be summoning with the message. It was believed Klingon ships might be operating in the area, for reasons as yet unknown. Were they working in league with the Orions responsible for the ground assault on Endeavour? There was no way to know such things. Not yet, at least.

  Making his way back through the network of conduits and crawlways, Mi’zhan was sure to check the immediate surroundings before emerging from the Jefferies tube. After verifying he had not been observed, he moved at an unhurried pace down the dimly lit corridor.

  At his approach, the doors to the impulse control room parted to reveal the cramped workspace buzzing with activity. The engineering staff, faced with keeping a crippled starship functional until rescue arrived, had received little time for rest since the crash. Their situation was only compounded by the setbacks Mi’zhan gave them. For a brief moment, he wondered how they might react if they were to learn the truth about him.

  He stood to one side of the room, considering his next course of action and how he might best deal with the lingering threat of the two remaining agents. What else could he do here? Given the crew’s heightened state of alert and even paranoia, further acts of sabotage were likely not an option. He would need to be more creative, and he was deciding just how to go about doing that when he was interrupted by someone walking toward him.

  Maintain your bearing, he thought.

  Mi’zhan recognized the new arrival as Master Chief Petty Officer Christine Rideout, a human female and one of the ship’s engineers. She was not an officer but instead an enlisted Starfleet specialist. Like him she wore a green jumpsuit, and her dark hair was cut short enough that the back of her neck was exposed.

  “Have you seen Commander Yataro?” she asked as she walked closer to him. “We’re not yet done with the final diagnostics on the port impulse engine and want to review what we’ve got so far.”

  “No,” replied Mi’zhan, known to the Endeavour’s crew as Lieutenant Ivan Tomkins, “I haven’t seen him.”

  Thirty-two

  Entering the hangar bay at a run, Le’tal saw it had turned into a swarm of activity. She winced at the level of noise permeating the vast chamber. How could such an immense room be so loud? Shouted orders, calls for assistance, or warnings about things she did not understand filtered through a cacophony of sounds produced by moving heavy equipment she could not identify across the deck to the pair of scout ships that now sat at the room’s center. Klingons wearing uniforms or maintenance coveralls, all of them members of the outpost’s security garrison, moved between the ships and various adjacent rooms as well as supply, equipment, or weapons lockers. While her lack of military experience saw to it she could not identify all of the tasks currently underway, she still knew enough to recognize battle preparations when she saw them.

  She paused at the bay’s open entryway, its heavy pressurized hatch open as work continued, searching among the numerous faces. It took her a moment to find Mak’dav, the military garrison’s second-in-command, standing near one of the scout ships, talking to four other officers. Like most Klingons, the lieutenant was tall and muscular, with a gold sash hanging across his broad chest. He seemed ready to burst from his uniform at the slightest provocation, and Le’tal harbored no doubts he would be a fierce opponent in a fight.

  Each of the subordinates nodded in utter solemnity in response to Mak’dav’s instructions, which she could not hear. When they turned and headed toward different destinations around the hangar bay, Le’tal noted the Klingon courier, D’khad, standing to one side in his impeccable uniform as Mak’dav issued his orders and set his people to their tasks.

  “Lieutenant!”

  She had to shout if she hoped to be heard over the din, and her voice carried enough for both Mak’dav and D’khad to turn in her direction. While the courier’s face was impassive, the lieutenant’s features were more than enough to communicate he was less than interested in talking to her just now.

  “Where is Commander Karamaq?” she asked.

  “Doctor.” His one-word greeting was low and terse. “The commander is out with one of the scout ships currently on patrol. He chose to investigate the reports of the crashed Federation ship for himself, and he left me in charge to continue with our preparations.” He emphasized his reply by gesturing at the hangar bay around them. “As you can see, we are quite busy just now.”

  “Busy doing what?” Le’tal glanced to D’khad, who said nothing, before refocusing her attention on Mak’dav. “Are you preparing to attack that Starfleet ship?”

  The lieutenant grunted, exchanging knowing looks with D’khad. “Of course. You heard the message we received. That vessel carries aboard it a threat to the Empire. It is our duty to do everything in our power to see that threat neutralized. Commander Karamaq’s orders were to prepare for such action.”

  “I understand your perspective, Lieutenant, but there are other concerns at stake here. This installation, for example. Its security and secrecy are my responsibility.”

  Mak’dav glowered at her. “The security of this facility has always been Commander Karamaq’s purview, Doctor. When he is not here, that responsibility falls to me. It is the only reason our garrison is here in the first place. We provide the blanket under which you sleep, content in the knowledge that you are protected from those who might wish to see your efforts exposed and thwarted for the advan
tage of our enemies. The actions we are preparing to take will see to that continued secrecy and security.”

  Not even bothering to hide her contempt, Le’tal leveled an accusatory finger at the commander. “This is not the time for a battle of egos, Lieutenant. You know of what I speak. If you launch an attack against the Starfleet ship—a vessel incapable of defending itself to any reasonable degree—you risk leaving us vulnerable to attack from other parties. I remind you the Enterprise is still out there. It stands to reason they detected the same message we did.” She turned to her right so her finger now pointed at D’khad. “Just as it is very likely they are aware of the message you sent. You violated every security protocol we have. Indeed, you have not given consideration to any of our procedures since your arrival.”

  “My foremost priority is the apprehension of the spies,” D’khad replied. “I have made no secret of this, and the simple fact is my priorities outweigh yours, Doctor. As for the Enterprise, it will be dealt with in due course.”

  Now Le’tal simply laughed. “Dealt with?” She pointed toward the center of the hangar bay before turning her attention back to Mak’dav. “Did we not already try that? Was the result not two vessels in need of repair? No insult intended to you or your garrison, Lieutenant, but the Enterprise is far too formidable for your scout ships to challenge it. I understand and respect you feel an obligation to act, but it is senseless to waste personnel and resources on a battle you know you cannot win. The life of a single soldier pledged to serve the Empire no matter the cost is too valuable to waste on such folly.”

  “You know nothing of service to the Empire.” A growl of contempt punctuated Mak’dav’s reply. “And I have neither the time nor the desire to explain it to one such as yourself. Mind your research and your experiments, Doctor. That is where your value lies, but always remember your value is determined by what glory it brings to all Klingon people. Your work here is a kindness granted by those you disdain.”

  Le’tal glared at him. “Feel free to use that reasoning when we are all held to account for whatever security breach compromises this facility and allows all of our work to fall into enemy hands.” She redirected her ire to D’khad. “Or is preventing that not a foremost priority? Have the spies acquired such damaging information that we have no other recourse but to take leave of our senses? You sent a message to your superiors, did you not? Are reinforcements better suited to confronting the Enterprise not on the way?”

  “I have not yet received a response to my message,” D’khad replied. “However, I know from the briefing I received prior to my traveling here that the nearest Klingon base is more than a day distant at maximum speeds. This does not account for other vessels that may be operating in the area, but I do not have access to that information. In the absence of other orders or direction, I am empowered to act.” He gestured to Mak’dav. “So we act. The garrison’s four scout vessels should at least be able to serve as a distraction and a nuisance to the Enterprise, providing more time for reinforcements to arrive.”

  “Commander Karamaq is likely already en route to the coordinates provided by our mysterious benefactor,” Mak’dav said, before pointing to the ships parked on the hangar deck. “These two will join him presently. The time to strike is now. Perhaps one of the spies reconsidered the idiocy of betraying the Empire and is attempting to make amends.” He scowled. “We are happy to use their information before seeing to it they pay for their crimes against the Klingon people.”

  “Or the Empire has a spy of its own aboard the Starfleet ship,” Le’tal replied. “That would make sense, would it not? We spy on the Federation and have for many years, so it stands to reason they would do the same to us. I would wager leaders from both sides are keenly aware of such activities, and they justify it as the price of vigilance. If we all know we spy on one another, then what is now so urgent that we throw aside all caution?”

  Mak’dav replied, “As you say, Doctor: the price of vigilance.”

  To her, it all sounded just so useless. “Why such haste? If what you seek is so important, can it not wait for a proper attack force in order to ensure victory? Your recklessness invites danger. What could be worth such a price?”

  His expression now one of unmasked scorn, D’khad shook his head. “My dear Doctor, you simply have no idea.”

  * * *

  While the First City held many charms, there were none greater to Kesh than the courtyard of his own home. He occupied the lone chair positioned on the small veranda, a tankard of bloodwine nestled between clasped hands resting in his lap. His boots rested on the parapet of the fire pit set just below ground at the center of the stone terrace. The fire was little more than glowing embers at this point, presenting no impediment to his night vision and affording him his favorite view.

  Situated on the outskirts of the Old Quarter, his house did not look inward toward the city with all of its lights and distractions. Instead, the Kannaga Mountains to the north dominated his view. It was in those mountains that he had come of age, hunting mIl’oDmey with his father and grandfather. One of those formidable saber bears was his first kill, and its hide still adorned one wall of his study inside the house. That room like the rest of his home was filled with all manner of similar trophies and other mementos, but as he grew older Kesh found he held increasingly less need to collect such things. Family heirlooms and gifts from his children or close friends were to be treasured. On the other hand, reminders of past accomplishments, first as a soldier of the Empire and later a representative of its government, held less sway with him as the years marched ever onward.

  Instead, something as simple as the opportunity for quiet, reflective moments was what now brought him satisfaction.

  After purchasing the property years earlier in the wake of his wife’s death, he had overseen every detail of the house’s construction, ensuring that trees or terrain obscured his view of the city or even other nearby homes in all directions save one. It was his desire when he returned here to separate himself from the demands of his office to the maximum possible extent. He naturally was not completely insulated from those stresses. Technology and a cadre of assistants saw to it the work of the Klingon people was never far from his thoughts, but this was still his refuge, a sanctuary to which he could retreat and—for a time, at least—put aside the stresses of duty to which he had committed his life.

  The sounds of footsteps behind him told Kesh that time was over.

  “Chancellor, I apologize for the intrusion. You have a visitor.”

  Shifting in his chair, Kesh looked over his shoulder to see one of his aides, Duvoq, standing at the edge of the terrace, just outside of the entrance to the house. Next to him was Novek. The grizzled older Klingon regarded him with a somber expression. Meanwhile, Duvoq looked anxious at being forced to interrupt his chancellor even for what must surely be something of importance for his closest friend to come calling at this late hour.

  “It is all right, Duvoq,” Kesh said, rising from the chair. “You know Novek needs no invitation to enter my home.” He held up his tankard. “Bring more bloodwine.”

  Despite the seriousness of whatever had brought him here, Novek still managed a wry grin. “But no chair?”

  The remark prompted a small laugh from Kesh, who in turn gestured again to his aide. “And a chair for my feeble old friend.”

  Novek waited for Duvoq to disappear into the house before turning his full attention to Kesh. “I bring most unpleasant news, Chancellor. Imperial Intelligence has discovered disturbing new information about the spies.”

  Eyeing his tankard, Kesh drained its remaining contents before releasing an exasperated sigh. “Do we yet know the extent of the information they stole?”

  “No. That is still being determined, and I fear the process of knowing all details will be quite time-consuming.” Novek paused, looking back toward the house as if to confirm his next words could not be overheard. When he spoke again, it was in an even more hushed tone.

&n
bsp; “They were not Klingons, Chancellor. The spies were in fact humans. Agents of Starfleet Intelligence surgically altered to appear Klingon.”

  Kesh felt his muscles tighten in involuntary anger as he processed this revelation.

  “Are you certain?”

  “This information comes from the Intelligence director himself.” Novek began pacing the terrace’s perimeter. “He stresses he came to know this thanks to a resource he has within the Starfleet hierarchy. My attempts to gain more information about that resource were rebuffed, citing ‘security concerns,’ but he assures me the report is genuine and accurate.”

  That Imperial Intelligence had been using covert operatives of its own within the Federation and Starfleet was not a secret. The existence of such tactics, in use for years, had already been exposed on at least two occasions of which Kesh was aware. He also understood that, for obvious reasons, the identities of such agents remained closely guarded secrets for all but those few individuals with direct need for such information. Not even he knew the names of those working clandestinely behind enemy lines, and the Intelligence director was duty bound to safeguard—even from him—their identities at all costs. That Starfleet might employ similar stratagems made perfect sense. Knowing this did little to assuage his irritation at how easily these three agents had infiltrated so many sensitive elements of the Klingon government and military. That they had been here for years, working undetected, only further fueled his anger.

  What else had they done? Acts of sabotage? One of the agents was in a position to influence military policy and even resource procurement. Had they used that access to somehow undermine something critical like weapons development or ship construction? Each of the Empire’s technological advancements for the past decade, many of them still experimental and not yet ready to deploy, could be exposed. While he did not expect the Federation to launch any kind of offensive against the Empire, any tactical advantage imperial forces hoped to enjoy with the new generation of warships might still be irrevocably affected. Plans for expansion and conquest would all have to be reexamined in the face of this mess. Some might be scuttled altogether, and even as the Empire drew up new strategies, fear that the Federation was already in a position to counter them would always be present. No matter what else the spies might have accomplished, that overarching specter of uncertainty would likely be their lasting impact.