Star Trek: Typhon Pact: The Struggle Within

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Still, pulling off a complex gambit like this one was tricky. It had been a delicate balance, finding a leader for the female resistance who would be fanatical or embittered enough to be willing to employ violent methods against the state, yet rational enough not to alienate a hitherto nonviolent movement whose members were primarily concerned with the safety of their children and the stability of their community. It had taken some judicious assassinations here and there to leave Matron Dirin as the most viable surviving candidate to lead the movement, and some carefully planted hints of scandal to ensure that Velet, the most popular alternate candidate, would not pose a serious threat to Dirin’s victory—while not completely destroying her reputation, because her intelligence, passion, and skill were useful tools. Here, Dezinor may have miscalculated somewhat, for being second-in-command had kept Velet closer to the rank and file of the movement, winning their respect through her words and actions, while Dirin had largely remained cooped up with Dezinor, making plans. Luckily, Dirin’s ambition had motivated her to undermine Velet’s authority as much as she could, without Dezinor having to lift a finger.

  But now, Velet had been in that storage room with the prisoners for a substantial span of time, and the number of other resistance members joining her had been on the rise. Dezinor cursed herself for her oversight in not bugging that room. Her monitors in the main chamber could pick up conversation from within, but could not decipher it. But it was clear that the voice doing most of the speaking was male.

  Dezinor summoned Dirin into her chamber and called her attention to the fact. “Go,” she said. “Find out what Velet is up to.” The matron needed no further persuasion.

  But once Dirin entered the storage room, what began as a heated exchange of two voices was soon quelled as more female voices spoke in mollifying tones . . . and then the male voice joined in as well. Over the ensuing moments, the voices grew more urgent and cajoling, while the voice she recognized as Dirin’s became more uncertain.

  But when Dirin came into camera view again and strode toward Dezinor’s chamber, her expression was resolute. Dezinor rose fluidly to her feet as the matron threw open the door.

  “Dezinor . . . we need to talk.”

  • • •

  Picard had no sooner entered sickbay than Ronzel and Endar crowded around him. “Well?” Ronzel demanded. “Have you finally decided to act and help us crush this rebellion?”

  “There will be no need for that,” Picard said, smiling as he stepped aside and let Jono enter the room.

  “My son!” Endar cried, pulling the younger man into an embrace. Picard felt a surge of warmth at the sight of the reunion, reminding him of his own reunion with Beverly mere minutes ago. He had wanted her to be here too, but she had rushed to their quarters to be with René, a choice he could not help but agree with. “Are you well?” Endar went on. “How did you get free?”

  “The females released us,” Jono told his father, taking in Ronzel as well. “Once Doctor Crusher and I persuaded them that they were being used by the Tzenkethi.”

  “Used?” Ronzel repeated. “You mean to overthrow the state, become their puppets.”

  “No,” Jono said. “They have no wish to overthrow the state.” He chuckled. “They find men’s work as far beneath their dignity as we find theirs. I think we have forgotten that. All they want is for their voices to be heard, for us to stop usurping control over matters that should be their responsibility.”

  “That makes no sense,” Ronzel said. “If that were all they desired, then why would the Tzenkethi help them?”

  “Because they were the bait,” answered Picard. “The Tzenkethi were setting them up as sacrificial victims. A Tzenkethi agent maneuvered their more militant members into leadership positions, goaded them to more violent tactics to coincide with our visit. Your son, Ambassador, and my wife were specifically targeted for abduction in order to impel us to rash action. Their poison attack on you was merely the setup for the abduction. It ensured that Jono would remain part of the negotiations and that Doctor Crusher would be present for their next attack.”

  “But to what end?” the ambassador asked, one arm still around Jono’s shoulders.

  “They know,” Picard told him and Ronzel, “that the Federation is weakened. We have just lost one of our founding members. They know that we are desperate to avoid any further setbacks, that we would feel compelled to take whatever action was necessary to ensure our alliance with you did not fail. They wanted to goad us into a situation where we would compromise our own principles for the sake of political expediency.”

  “Compromise your principles? How?” Ronzel challenged. “By helping to restore peace and order? Is that not what you stand for?”

  Jono gave the answer. “Not when it comes at the expense of individual rights. The Typhon Pact would have denounced the move, saying the Federation was using military force to crush a populist movement standing up against an oppressive regime.” Ronzel scoffed, but Jono added, “And they would not have been wrong.” Picard was glad Jono had said it. He would have said the same himself, but the diplomatic consequences would have been grave. “I have spoken with their leaders,” Jono continued. “Well . . . their new leaders. The matron the Tzenkethi used as their dupe has agreed to step down and accept the consequences of her actions, provided that we enter into negotiations with them in good faith. I told their new leader, Matron Velet, that I would encourage you to accept, Commander Ronzel. I have heard their wishes, and there is nothing in them we cannot reasonably grant—not if we are truly men, truly dedicated to keeping Talar safe and strong.”

  “I would listen to him if I were you, Commander,” Picard said. “In our anger and fear, we almost made a terrible mistake. The Tzenkethi exploited our fears to make us both compromise our principles: the Talarians’ dedication to treating their females with chivalry and honor, and the Federation’s dedication to the right of free speech and dissent. Had we succumbed to their ploy and used Starfleet force to crack down on a movement that sought only to protect its rights, then we would have proven the Federation to be the hypocrites that the Typhon Pact insists we are. The propaganda victory would have been theirs—and our own defeat would have been something far more profound than loss of face.”

  Ronzel pondered their words. “I will consider this. Jono, come. Tell me what you have learned of their goals, their demands.”

  As the commander-in-chief and the ambassador’s aide moved aside to confer, Endar came closer to Picard. “Tell me one thing, Captain. Had you decided whether to intervene to rescue your mate and my son?”

  Picard gave a sheepish smile. “I had a team on full alert, ready to beam down the minute we got a sensor lock. I knew the political risks, the ethical quandaries . . . but this was family.”

  Endar nodded. “Then I am satisfied. Your motives were pure.” He sighed. “But your admirals who authorized you to act . . . they only saw the politics.”

  “I fear so,” Picard said with a sigh. “In their defense, that is their job. But it has brought them to the point of moral compromise before, perhaps too often in recent years.”

  “And they were as aware of the compromise as you, Picard.”

  “Yes.”

  Endar took his time before speaking. “The Federation would have used us as pawns in their great game, just as the Pact tried to do.” Picard could not honestly refute it, so he said nothing. “I trust you, Captain, but I do not think Talar can trust the Federation at this time. Not until they learn to listen to men like you. For now, I think it is best that we turn our attention to putting our own house in order. I will recommend to Commander Ronzel that we decline membership in the Khitomer Alliance.”

  Picard let out a slow breath, absorbing his words. “I regret that choice, Ambassador. But I understand it, and the Federation will respect it.”

  “We will remember,” Endar assured him. “Had you chosen to intervene now, I think probably it would have made the Talarian people fear you more in the long
run. Perhaps by leaving us to solve our own problems today, you have laid the foundation for a stronger, more equal relationship between our peoples in the future.”

  Endar extended a gloved hand, and he and Picard clasped each other’s forearms firmly. “Thank you, Ambassador. Now I think I should leave you to be with your son.”

  Endar smiled. “Go, Picard. Go be with your son . . . and his mother.”

  7

  JANALWA

  STARDATE 59920.1

  The Niamlar Massacre sent ripples of shock through the Holy Order of the Kinshaya. Outrage toward the Episcopate and the Breen had sparked civil unrest throughout the worlds of the Order, and the fiats of the church were no longer sufficient to quell dissent. The Matriarchs issued public statements reasserting the divine infallibility of the Pontifex. But a movement within the priestly government, led by Vicar General Tepesor of Janalwa, was pushing for a reformation, openly questioning whether the current regime’s interpretation of divine will had become overzealous. The Vicar General had openly defied the Episcopate by ordering the Inquisitors to halt persecution of heterodox Kinshaya, releasing Yeffir from prison, and offering to participate in negotiating an orderly transition to a more populist government.

  Pontifex Ykredna and her entrenched Matriarchs and Patriarchs promised to resist any such efforts, and some of Nagrom’s militants seemed ready to attempt a coup if they didn’t get results quickly. But the Romulans, Gorn, and Tzenkethi had issued statements condemning the massacre, and though the Tholians remained noncommittal on that point, they joined the others in emphatically asserting the importance of internal cooperation and stability within the Typhon Pact. Reading between the lines, Jasminder Choudhury recognized that the Pontifex would be under considerable diplomatic and economic pressure from her allies to step down so as not to further undermine the legitimacy of the Pact. As for the Breen, they merely claimed that Ghoc Reyd was a loose cannon who had gone beyond his authority in ordering the massacre, and left him to the mercies of the Kinshaya judicial system. Soon thereafter, it was reported that Reyd had somehow self-immolated in his cell, leaving only ashes and fragments of armor behind.

  “Are you sure you must go?” Vranien asked Jasminder Choudhury—“Del’oda”—as she and T’Ryssa Chen packed their belongings. “There is still much work to do, assisting in the transition.”

  “And you will be a great example to them, Teacher. But I have found what I sought, thanks to you. Now I must follow my own path again.” Her eyes strayed to T’Ryssa, who packed with haste and unwonted silence. “And I fear my friend has endured more than I had hoped for when I brought her here. Best for her that she leave it behind.”

  Vranien studied her. “I sense that you will not remain committed to the way of nonviolence.”

  “Whenever I can, I shall. That has always been my calling. But there are foes who cannot be swayed by reason and compassion. And not everyone is as willing to sacrifice as you and yours are. Someone must protect them.”

  “One must follow one’s conscience,” Vranien conceded, “wherever it may lead. I suppose if force must be used, it is well that it be at the hands of one with peace and mercy in her heart.” Vranien moved in closer and spoke in her ear. “Even deception may sometimes be wielded in service to a greater truth. Please give my compliments to whoever sculpted your ears. And my thanks to your superiors for their wise restraint in sending one such as you.”

  With that, the tattooed Romulan elder departed, leaving Jasminder speechless—and smiling.

  U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

  STARDATE 59927.6

  Picard was there to greet them in the transporter room when they met the Enterprise at Benecia. “Lieutenant Choudhury. Lieutenant Chen. Welcome back, both of you.” He peered at the top of Jasminder’s head. “That’s a new look for you.”

  She rubbed the short hair emerging from her otherwise unadorned scalp. “Don’t worry, sir, it won’t last long. I’m using a follicular enhancer—it should be back to normal length in a few weeks.”

  The captain furrowed his brow, but chose to defer his curiosity. He no doubt assumed that shaving her head had been a requirement of whatever spiritual exercise she had undertaken, a matter she might prefer to keep private. In fact, that wasn’t far from the truth.

  “I got a haircut too, sir,” T’Ryssa piped up. “Just not as much. I have my limits.”

  “I’m gratified to learn that. And I must say, it’s refreshing to see you actually looking well-groomed. Any chance it’s a permanent adjustment?”

  “Don’t push your luck. Sir.”

  Picard chuckled. “Oh, I missed you—though I can’t imagine why.”

  The captain accompanied them into the corridor, somehow ending up carrying Trys’s rather heavy duffel bag for her and looking uncertain how it had happened. Jasminder smiled to herself. Although Picard was perhaps the only person in Starfleet whose authority T’Ryssa genuinely respected, he in turn let her get away with more than he would allow from almost anyone else—within limits. Jasminder was glad to see that the contact specialist’s recent experiences hadn’t affected her effervescent spirit too badly.

  “So,” Picard said, “I hope you both found what you were looking for on your retreat.”

  “I did, sir,” Jasminder told him. “I feel like myself again, and I’m ready to serve.”

  “Grand. And you, T’Ryssa?”

  The younger lieutenant fidgeted. “Not so much. But it was . . . meaningful.”

  He studied her. “If you want to talk about it . . .”

  “No! Sir. It’s personal.” She gave him a small smile. “But thanks for asking, Captain.”

  In the turbolift, Picard broke the awkward silence by saying, “Well, I trust the past couple of weeks were quieter for you than for us. We could have used you both on Talar.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jasminder said. “But I hear Doctor Crusher managed very well on her own.”

  Picard beamed with pride. “Indeed she did. And while the loss of Talar as a potential ally is a setback, at least there is new cause for hope. I trust you’ve heard the news about the Kinshaya.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jasminder said before Trys could put her foot in her mouth.

  “It’s remarkable,” the captain went on as they exited the lift. “We had no idea there even was such popular unrest among the Kinshaya. And now, suddenly, a dictatorial, militant regime that seemed completely entrenched has been brought down in weeks by a peaceful revolution. And all signs are pointing to the creation of an inclusive, politically moderate coalition to replace it.”

  “Which would tip the balance of power in the Typhon Pact to the moderates,” T’Ryssa said, managing to keep most of the smugness from her voice.

  “Indeed—particularly after the embarrassment the Breen have suffered. I doubt their voice will carry much weight in the Pact for a while.”

  “I have . . . sources,” Jasminder replied, “who tell me there have even been uprisings among dissidents within the Breen Confederacy, inspired by the Kinshaya’s example.”

  “Well, I wish them well,” Picard said. “Though the Breen regime is likely to be a far tougher nut to crack. I doubt they have the compassion to be swayed by nonviolence.”

  “No one ever said nonviolence was easy,” T’Ryssa whispered.

  Picard stared, but she said no more. “Well, if nothing more,” the captain went on as they arrived at T’Ryssa’s quarters, “at least the Pact is likely to be too preoccupied with internal matters to cause the Federation much trouble for a while. That’s something to be grateful for. And with luck, it may lead to a Pact that can truly be reasoned with—that stands for the well-being of its own members rather than merely opposition to the Federation. And to think,” he went on with a wistful look, “they achieved it with no intervention of any kind from us. It’s humbling to contemplate.”

  Trys hastened to carry her bag into her quarters so Picard wouldn’t see her involuntary grin. “Yes, sir,” Jasminder said. “It truly i
s.”

  A call from engineering summoned Picard away, and Jasminder followed T’Ryssa inside. “Don’t look so smug,” she said once she’d secured the room. “He wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t us that made this happen. We just helped them achieve what they chose to do on their own.”

  “I know, I know. It’s like they teach us in Prime Directive 101: A cultural change doesn’t really take hold unless it comes from within.”

  Jasminder smiled. “Nor does a personal one.”

  “That’s what worries me.” T’Ryssa sank down into a chair, and Jasminder could see just how much of her good humor had been a brave front for Picard’s benefit. “Jazz . . . what we saw . . . I can’t stop seeing it. I mean, I saw horrors when the Borg invaded, but it was at a distance, and we were fighting back, and . . .” Jasminder simply stayed quiet and let her sort through it. “That sense of peace and certainty I felt there in Rashtag, it’s gone now, but the screams are still there. Can you help me? Teach me to meditate, try to get the screams out of my head?”

  Jasminder came over and clasped her shoulder. “They will always be there. What I can try to do is help you make peace with them.”

  T’Ryssa’s combadge signalled, and she answered. “Lieutenant,” came Taurik’s voice, “I wished to welcome you back, though matters in engineering do not permit me to greet you personally at this time. Perhaps we could meet for lunch in the Riding Club following my shift?”

  “Umm, thanks, Taurik, but . . . rain check, okay? Or sandstorm check, or whatever Vulcans take. I’m just . . . exhausted after the trip, and . . .”

  “Understood. I shall wait until you inform me that the . . . sandstorm has passed. Taurik out.”

  Jasminder chuckled. “You know,” she began after a moment, “Vulcans are quite the masters of meditation themselves. Given that your neurology is half Vulcan, you may find their methods more effective for you than what I can offer.” She held T’Ryssa’s gaze. “And Vulcans are also very good at keeping secrets. Something to think about.”