Agents of Influence

by Dayton Ward

  Kirk said, “The Klingons aren’t the Orions. If they’ve been told about the agents, then when they come, it won’t be because they’re hoping to score whatever they can sell on the black market.”

  “They’ll do whatever it takes to destroy the ship,” Khatami replied.

  Stano added, “It’s not just us. The Orions are sitting ducks outside.”

  As part of the containment protocols Kirk suggested and put in place by Lieutenant Brax, all of the Orions taken into custody following their assault had been placed into one of five emergency shelters, erected outside the Endeavour on the asteroid’s surface. A pair of security officers was posted outside each of the shelters. To ensure none of the Orions entertained any foolhardy notions of escape, Brax had ordered all of them to surrender their environmental suits. All of that equipment was placed outside the shelters in case it was needed while remaining effectively out of reach for any of the prisoners.

  “We can’t risk bringing them inside,” Khatami said. “There’s too much going on without having to guard fifty loose cannons. We could disable their transports and transfer the Orions to them.” She gritted her teeth in obvious frustration. “They’d still be vulnerable out there.”

  “What about the deflector shields?” Kirk asked. “Any chance we can use them? Extend them to protect the Orions, too?”

  “On the ground?” Watson grimaced. “Has that even been tried before?”

  Stano said, “Not with a starship. At least, not that I can remember. Then again, most starships aren’t supposed to be on the ground in the first place. Even if it worked, one impulse engine’s not enough to hold off any kind of prolonged attack.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to be that long,” Kirk said. “We just need to buy time. Spock and Nogura know from the severed communication something must be wrong here. They’ll come for us. We only need to hang on long enough for them to find us.” Not for the first time since his arrival aboard the stricken Endeavour, he longed for the technical prowess of Montgomery Scott. If anyone could conjure a means of putting his unconventional plan into action, it was the Enterprise’s chief engineer. Kirk suspected Commander Yataro possessed similar skill, but his gut told him the Lirin, along with David Horst, was dead.

  And we still have to deal with that, on top of everything else, he reminded himself.

  Binnix eyed him with open skepticism. “I’ve only known you a short time, Captain, but I think that look on your face tells me you’re about to suggest something crazy. I feel like I should start praying.”

  “It wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Kirk replied.

  Right now, he would take all the help they could find.

  Thirty-four

  This was his chance.

  Mi’zhan knew these were precious moments, not to be wasted. The impulse deck was awash with activity as the Endeavour’s engineering staff carried out frantic preparations for the approaching Klingon vessels. Most of the personnel were focused on their duties. It should be easy for him to add a little chaos to what was already a recipe for uncertainty and fear. Better still, it appeared he might well be able to carry out his hastily formulated plan in plain sight, with no one being the wiser. If everything went according to his intentions, by the time anyone suspected something was wrong and Lieutenant Ivan Tomkins was the saboteur in their midst, it would be too late and the approaching Klingons would take care of the rest.

  “Lieutenant Tomkins, all readings show the port impulse engine is operating at one hundred percent capacity.”

  The report came from Master Chief Petty Officer Christine Rideout, the Endeavour’s senior enlisted engineer, who was working at a console to his right. Like most human females, she was of slender, athletic build. Unlike several of her engineering counterparts aboard the ship, she preferred a green jumpsuit garment similar to his, rather than the red Starfleet tunic and black trousers normally worn by those assigned to a starship’s operations division. Mi’zhan could not recall ever seeing her wear the skirt variant of the uniform, which he had always found impractical for those in the engineering department.

  “Thank you, Master Chief,” he said, remembering to use the informal mode of addressing her by her rank.

  “We’ll have to keep an eye on these power levels,” Rideout replied. “Especially when we kick in the shields.”

  “Agreed.”

  Like Mi’zhan, Rideout was one of the more recent additions to the Endeavour crew, coming aboard during that period when Starfleet assigned several replacements for crew members killed during that still-classified mission in the Taurus Reach earlier in the year. A review of her personnel record informed Mi’zhan she had previously served as the chief engineer of the U.S.S. Huang Zhong, a smaller Archer-class scout ship with a crew of fourteen. That ship had suffered its own bout of misfortune but Rideout along with most of its crew survived. Rather than seek a comparable billet on a similar vessel, she instead opted to serve as a subordinate to Commander Yataro aboard the Endeavour. The chief engineer and his staff had taken an early liking to her, impressed with her skills as well as her mastery of the easy, often inane human banter Mi’zhan loathed.

  Her attention still focused on the streams of diagnostic data scrolling across all four of her console’s status monitors, Rideout said, “Hold on. Two of the shield generators are showing temperature spikes in their flow regulators.” She muttered something Mi’zhan could not hear but assumed was a form of human obscenity, for which the master chief had repeatedly demonstrated unusual proficiency.

  There could also be no denying Rideout’s technical acumen. Together, she and Mi’zhan had determined the best possible configuration for bringing what remained of the Endeavour’s deflector shield generators back online. Without its warp engines for power, the wounded starship’s only hope resided in its single remaining impulse engine, which had been repaired thanks to the ingenuity of Commander Yataro, Rideout, and even Mi’zhan. He was not sure the hasty repairs and reconfigurations of the compromised systems would work. Yataro would be the one to make such assessments, and he was most decidedly unavailable. While Captain Khatami dispatched members of the ship’s crew to search for the missing engineer, it fell to the rest of Yataro’s department to finalize preparations for what everyone believed was the coming skirmish with Klingons.

  Let it be so. The thought warmed Mi’zhan’s heart.

  Rideout said, “We’re going to have to make manual adjustments all through this.” She released an audible sigh that clearly signaled her growing frustration. “We are way past whatever cushion the original engineers laid in when they wrote the specs for this stuff.”

  Her stress along with those of her crewmates was palpable as they hurried through their various tasks. They could not know Mi’zhan had only contributed to their growing anxiety with his second burst message to whoever might be out there listening. Another transmission so soon after the first, coupled with the crew’s inability to find Yataro and Horst, only heightened their fear and uncertainty. There was a risk to repeating this action, especially now that Captain Khatami and her people were suspicious of anything that might smack of the turncoat taking action against them. Further, finding a communications hub that could avoid scrutiny even in the short term was its own challenge.

  Mi’zhan realized there were areas of the ship now cordoned off for use by the crew, but which he could access via Jefferies tubes or other crawlways. It had taken some effort, but he made his way to a maintenance shaft near deck two, just beneath the ship’s main bridge. After sending his signal, he had programmed a personal communicator to establish a remote link with that hub, bypassing the access-control logs that had complicated his earlier attempt to make outside contact. If necessary, he could use the communicator to send another message. It was a ploy that would not evade discovery for very long, but that was not necessary. If Klingon ships were on the way, then his job would be simple.

  All he had to do was make sure the Endeavour could not raise whatever remained
of her deflector shields.

  “We’ve patched this thing together with spare parts and no small amount of luck,” Mi’zhan said, playing up his Ivan Tomkins persona. “I’m amazed it hasn’t blown already.”

  It was but the latest issue they had tackled just in the past several minutes. The precarious state of many of the Endeavour’s onboard systems continued to provide challenges, which only worsened as the ship’s power reserves were taxed to their limit. It was difficult enough to keep more than four hundred people alive inside the hulk of what had once been a powerful space vessel. Making that same wreck sturdy enough to withstand a possible attack was something else entirely. Mi’zhan’s anxiety was amplified by the fact that by simply doing nothing, he might well achieve his end goal. However, the lack of action could be enough to expose him before his simple yet effective strategy came to fruition.

  Unfortunately, his first attempt to sow fear among the Endeavour failed. He had hoped sabotaging the ship’s port impulse engine would create enough confusion to allow him an opportunity to inflict further damage to a critical system such as life-support. The suspicious nature of the incident was detected far sooner than he anticipated, as was Captain Khatami’s predictable tightening of security around such vulnerable areas. This forced Mi’zhan to become more creative.

  It pained him, having to work alongside his fellow crew members and pretend to be one of them. While he had accepted that as an integral part of his mission while undergoing training, his intended role was that of observer. His instructions on this were quite clear: take no action that might risk exposing his identity or activities. What could not have been anticipated was the situation in which he now found himself. Here he was, alone and in a position to contain or neutralize a very real threat to the Empire. The stakes were significant. Only he now possessed the opportunity to take direct action.

  “Hang on.” Mi’zhan offered a bit of manufactured irritation, releasing a long sigh. “Something’s wrong with this console.” Playing up his exasperation at this new problem, which in reality was entirely fabricated, he dropped to one knee and removed an access panel from underneath the console. Now he was able to access the circuitry and rows of transtators that controlled the flow of energy within the distribution network. This particular bank was dedicated to the impulse engine’s control systems as well as its array of vital oversight processes and charged with routing power from the engines to systems across the ship—or what remained of the ship. Each transtator was the size of a thumbnail, sequenced in varying numbers depending on the level of energy being regulated. They were designed to work in tandem while balancing power-flow requirements, and the loss of even a single transtator from a series was enough to introduce performance issues in the affected system.

  Rideout moved to kneel beside him, trying to get a look under the console. “What’s up?”

  “One of the transtators looks to be burned out.” Mi’zhan reached into a pocket of his jumpsuit and retrieved a multipurpose macrotool. “Can you get a replacement?”

  “On it.” Rideout pushed herself to her feet and crossed to a nearby equipment locker.

  Her attention was away from him, and it would take her but a moment to pull a replacement transtator. Mi’zhan had to act now if he was going to do what needed to be done. A quick glance around the room told him none of the other engineers were looking in his direction. They were too engrossed in their own duties to notice one more technician with his hands full of innards from one more console. Reaching into the access panel, he positioned the macrotool not over one of the transtators but instead before one of the power flow regulators. He thumbed the tool’s activation switch and the device’s tip pulsed with energy.

  The communicator nestled within one of his jumpsuit’s other pockets chose that moment to beep. Someone was attempting to contact it. Now?

  “Here you go, Lieutenant.” It was Rideout, coming back from the equipment locker and carrying a new transtator. She held out her hand, offering him the component.

  Ignoring her and the communicator, Mi’zhan kept his attention focused on the flow regulator. He needed just two seconds.

  “Lieutenant Tomkins!”

  The voice echoed across the impulse deck, and despite himself he flinched in response. Jerking his head toward the source he saw Captain Khatami standing at the entrance, flanked by Lieutenant Brax and the human woman from the Enterprise, Uhura. The security chief was holding a phaser, while Uhura wielded a tricorder pointed at him. All around the room, the other engineers halted in their tracks, turning to see what was going on.

  They know.

  “Step away from the console, Lieutenant,” Khatami said. “Do it now.” Her voice was firm and her expression was cold and hard. Anger burned in her eyes.

  A sudden jolt of panic coursed through Mi’zhan. They knew! Somehow they had discovered him. What had he done wrong?

  It doesn’t matter, you fool. Act! Now!

  His thumb moved over the macrotool’s power setting, increasing it to maximum at the same time he swept it across the inside of the workstation’s access panel. The results were immediate as the tool’s energy beam sliced through the flow regulator. Feedback from the stressed component washed across the bank of transtators, overloading them and causing the entire console to go dark. Alarms rang all around the impulse deck and engineers reacted as their training had taught them. Near the door, Khatami and Brax sidestepped to avoid being caught in the rush as crew members moved to consoles and emergency stations.

  It was all Mi’zhan needed.

  Dropping the macrotool, he pulled the compact type-1 phaser from the pocket along his right thigh. It was up and aiming at Khatami just as another of the Endeavour engineers moved past her. She looked back in his direction and her eyes widened in shock just as he pressed the weapon’s firing stud.

  Khatami lurched out of the line of fire, pulled to her right by Brax as the phaser beam passed through the space she had occupied heartbeats earlier. The security chief dragged her with him, his Edoan physiology allowing him to use his three legs to scramble past the row of consoles in search of cover. Uhura and everyone else in the vicinity clambered away, offering Mi’zhan an avenue of escape through the open doorway, but there was no point to that anymore. With nowhere to go and no place to hide, he knew his mission was over. Though he had already partially succeeded in his plan to leave the wrecked starship, there was still one more thing he could do.

  Pivoting on his heel, he turned to see the access conduit leading to the capacitance cell for the Endeavour’s port impulse engine was open. The energy storage component had just recently been tested as part of the overall repair of the engine. His earlier sabotage efforts had failed to destroy it, but Mi’zhan had one more opportunity. Destroying the cell now would cause a feedback pulse with sufficient power to cripple the engine, forcing Khatami and her crew to survive on battery power before the approaching Klingon ships finished destroying the Endeavour.

  He raised his phaser and aimed it at the open conduit before he felt cool energy wash over him. His vision was blinded by bright blue light as every muscle in his body tensed. Then light and color fell away to darkness.

  Thirty-five

  “Mister Spock. We’ve got them.”

  Ensign Chekov’s voice seemed to raise an octave as he turned from the science station, and there was no mistaking his satisfied expression. There was a time when Spock might have sought to instruct the young officer on how to better hold his emotions in check, especially while serving on the bridge. On the other hand, Chekov’s exuberance was an indelible aspect of his character. This was something Spock first noted upon the ensign’s arrival aboard the Enterprise. The observation continued while guiding him through a broad range of training aimed at expanding his knowledge and skills beyond what he already possessed as a navigator. Chekov had demonstrated an early aptitude and initiative toward learning the duties of a science officer as well as showing an interest in the functions of starship secur
ity. While junior officers were expected to master a host of skills in various areas, Pavel Chekov strove to exceed even those demanding requirements.

  Therefore, Spock was inclined to allow him an occasional well-earned lapse of decorum.

  Swiveling the command chair to face the science station, he nodded in approval. “Excellent work, Mister Chekov. Route those coordinates to the helm. Mister Scott, have you detected any sign of disruption-field generators?”

  Seated at the engineering station next to the turbolift, the chief engineer turned in his chair. “Not yet, sir. On the other hand, if any are deployed near the outpost itself, I’d expect it to be positioned in such a manner that it could be used without interfering with the base itself.”

  The combined efforts of Scott and Lieutenant Palmer had taken away much of the difficulty in finding the facility the Klingons had to be using from within the Ivratis asteroid field to control their experimental technology. Using the disruption-field generator retrieved earlier, and after studying its onboard communications system, Scott was able to access its logs and the frequencies used by the device to receive commands from the Klingon outpost, which included coordinates and time stamps from the point of origin. While Spock knew the location would not be exact owing to the movement of asteroids within the field, it was enough to extrapolate probable intersection points for the Enterprise to follow.

  From where he stood near the bridge’s main viewscreen, Admiral Nogura asked, “Can we see it, Ensign?”

  Chekov nodded. “Yes, Admiral.”

  The main screen shifted so that a single immense asteroid was now centered in the image. Oblong in shape, the rock was a collection of deep crevasses and jagged peaks, as though it was but a piece broken away from something far larger.

  Nogura stepped closer to the screen. “What’s our current distance?”