Star Trek: Typhon Pact - 13 - The Fall: Peaceable Kingdoms

by Dayton Ward

  “I’ve been detailed to Starfleet Operations under Admiral Akaar, Mister President,” Riker said. “One of the responsibilities I’ve been given is monitoring the status of all deployed Starfleet vessels and effectively allocating them as necessary to respond to whatever situations or crises might arise.”

  “Your responsibilities are whatever I tell you they are, Admiral,” Ishan countered, a hint of menace creeping into his voice, and it was obvious to Riker that the president had not put behind him their last meeting. “Starfleet answers to the properly elected civilian authority. Do not ever forget that. Some of your predecessors had difficulty with the concept.”

  Riker, keeping his tone level and his expression flat, replied, “Yes, sir. The properly elected civilian authority.” The verbal jab, delivered as it was without inflection, took an extra moment to assert itself, at which time he saw the barest flash of fury in Ishan’s eyes. To the Bajoran’s credit, he almost succeeded in maintaining his composure, but Riker saw the all-but-imperceptible tell as Ishan’s jaw clenched just the slighted bit.

  I hope for your sake that you don’t play poker, Mister President. So far as Riker was concerned, Ishan had overplayed his hand, coming here asking after the Enterprise. In addition to setting a poor precedent with respect to presidential protocol, it also was a poor tactical move, revealing his unusual and even obsessive interest in the starship’s whereabouts. Was he that worried about Jean-Luc Picard? For the captain’s own protection as well as his own, Riker had not pressed his friend for details regarding this odd mission Beverly Crusher had undertaken and for which Riker had constructed such an elaborate ruse to help cover her movements. Picard had provided no clues, and during their last communication Riker had gotten the sense that even the captain was operating somewhat in the dark while Crusher was off the ship. Officially, she was en route to Deep Space 9, and Riker knew the time limit on that deception was running out.

  To his surprise, Ishan smiled, though it was by no means an expression of warmth. “Don’t get me wrong, Admiral; I appreciate and even admire initiative. It’s a hallmark of any good officer, and I know from experience that taking charge of a situation instead of waiting for orders to come down the chain of command sometimes is the only way to get desired or even necessary results.” The smile faded. “The secret to success with such tactics is knowing when and where to employ them and when it’s better to utilize restraint.”

  Now it was Riker’s turn to smile. “Thankfully, I’ve had good teachers.”

  “Yes, you have.” Ishan glanced toward the padd Riker still held. “When is the Enterprise scheduled to depart Starbase Three Ten?”

  “According to the last report I received, within six hours. They should be at Acheron eleven hours after that.”

  The Bajoran released a small sigh. “Very well.” He paused, and Riker hoped Ishan might ask about Beverly Crusher, if for no other reason than to reveal that he also was monitoring that situation with excessive interest. Instead, he said, “Keep Admiral Akaar informed.”

  With that he turned and headed for the doors, exiting the room with the same purposeful strides that had brought him to Riker. His protection detail waited until he had gone before taking a final look around the office as they made their own retreat. Riker moved not the slightest muscle until the doors slid closed, once more leaving him alone. Only then did he release a pent-up sigh.

  He knows something.

  There was no way to surmise what information Ishan possessed, but there could be no doubt that his network of informants and other accomplices had been hard at work. Not for the first time, Riker had to wonder if the president somehow had managed to recruit or insert a spy aboard the Enterprise, or if he had been shrewd enough to have someone track Crusher’s runabout. If that was the case, then he likely knew the itinerary taking her to Deep Space 9 was at best a diversion and at worst outright deception on Riker’s part. And what about the Enterprise and Crusher? Were they in danger? How much longer would Ishan entertain whatever game he was playing, and at what point would he relieve Riker—and Akaar, for that matter—of duty?

  Riker suspected it would be sooner, rather than later.

  Whatever the hell you’re doing, Beverly, I hope you do it fast.

  Sixteen

  Jevalan, Doltiri System

  “I wonder what Jean-Luc would think about this.”

  Navigating a narrow path that had been carved out of the dark, unforgiving soil, Beverly Crusher walked alongside Ilona Daret as they descended into the vast shallow pit that had become the former Tabata labor camp’s most prominent feature. The crater, no more than a few meters below ground level at its deepest point, had consumed the camp’s center, bordered by huge sections of destroyed buildings and other debris, all of which contrasted with the vegetation that had begun reclaiming the savagely altered landscape.

  “I only recently remembered that he is an archaeologist,” Daret said as he and Crusher walked past one of several small canvas shelters scattered around the work site. He waved to a female Bajoran, smudges of dirt on her face and grunge covering her clothing, sitting in the shade the tarpaulin provided. She was working at a portable computer resting atop a field table, and she offered a tired smile as Crusher and Daret passed her. At this point in the late morning, the area was alive with activity. Daret nodded greetings to Bajorans and other Cardassians, some of whom Crusher recognized from breakfast at the camp dining facility. In addition to the forensic scientists working about the site, there also were several engineers and other heavy-machine operators guiding loaders and other excavation equipment to move great chunks of earth and wreckage. A series of air cleaners that had been deployed around the crater’s perimeter helped to clear away the worst of the dust and dirt kicked up by the heavy earth-moving equipment.

  “It’s been a passion of his for as long as I’ve known him,” Crusher said. “He’s spent years studying ancient or extinct civilizations. It appeals to his meticulous nature, I think. He can spend hours immersed in books or documents or studying artifacts and writing his own papers and journals about whatever it is he’s found. He has volumes of notes he’s kept, going back to his childhood.” She shook her head. “Sometimes, I think he missed his life’s true path, and at least one of his professors thought the same thing.”

  Crusher sighed. Not for the first time, she had considered trying to convince her husband that he might be better suited to such a life, now that there was René to consider. The idea of following Jean-Luc from planet to planet and bearing witness as he instilled in their son an appreciation for history and other cultures, free from the confines of starship corridors, artificial gravity, recycled air, and replicated food, held a definite allure. But, she knew that commanding a starship—commanding the Enterprise—still was something that called to him. That he excelled at it was immaterial, at least to her; instead, it was the supreme dedication he brought to the duties and people entrusted to his care that drove him, she knew, just as she was certain it would take an extraordinary set of circumstances to remove Jean-Luc Picard from the bridge of that ship.

  It was just one of the many things Crusher loved about him.

  A familiar face stepped around a group of workers standing near another shelter, and she smiled as Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen walked toward them. Her brunette hair was tucked beneath a drab brown cap, and she wore a black jacket over a rumpled tan jumpsuit. Crusher figured the security officer could pass for one of the expedition members with no difficulty.

  “Doctors,” Cruzen said, raising her right hand and tapping the brim of her cap as though offering an informal salute.

  Nodding in greeting, Crusher asked, “Where are Lieutenant Konya and Tom?”

  Cruzen gestured past them, toward the expedition camp. “Mister Riker suggested that a casual stroll through the landing area might be a good idea. They’re checking out the other ships, looking to see if anything sticks out.” She paused for a moment. “I swear, just looking at him is weird. He l
ooks so much like Admiral Riker, but they’re so different in so many ways.”

  “I was unaware that Admiral Riker had a twin sibling,” Daret said.

  “He’s not a twin,” Crusher replied as the trio resumed walking through the work site. “And calling him a ‘clone’ really isn’t accurate, either. However, Tom Riker is an exact duplicate of William Riker, created by a very bizarre transporter accident more than twenty years ago.” She remembered the shock she had felt upon first meeting Will Riker’s “twin brother” after the Enterprise-D’s visit to Nervala IV. Riker at the time was a lieutenant assigned to the U.S.S. Potemkin, which had been dispatched to the planet to evacuate the Starfleet science team posted there. The last to be beamed back to the Potemkin, Riker’s transporter beam was affected by the planet’s odd atmospheric distortion fields, resulting in a perfect replication of his transporter pattern and the creation of a second William Riker, identical in every conceivable way. This duplicate, unknown to the Potemkin’s crew, remained marooned for eight years on Nervala IV until the Enterprise had arrived to carry out a data-retrieval mission. His existence came as a shock to everyone, but none more so than Will Riker. Following his rescue, the uncanny doppelganger had elected to start using his and Will’s shared middle name, Thomas.

  Time and fate had not been kind to the other Riker, however, with him opting to join the Maquis resistance movement, taking on both the Federation and the Cardassian Union in opposition to the policies that had ceded colony worlds to the Cardassians in the wake of the conflict that had ended nearly two decades ago. His actions against Cardassian military interests ultimately had seen him taken into custody and sentenced to life in prison on the labor camp world of Lazon II.

  Though it was believed he had died on that planet during the Dominion War, rumors of sightings had filtered to the Enterprise in the years before William Riker’s promotion to captain and his assignment as commanding officer of the Titan. Crusher had believed Tom dead right up until the moment he appeared in Daret’s lab, after which he had updated her and the others about his status as an unofficial field operative for Starfleet Intelligence, and the odd circumstances that had seen him recruited for the covert-operations team sent to find Nanietta Bacco’s assassins. He, along with Commander Tuvok and Lieutenant Commander Nog, nearly had died during that mission; they were deemed collateral damage in a bid to cover up President Ishan and his chief of staff’s involvement in Bacco’s murder.

  Following that mission, Tom had dropped out of sight for a short while, during which he had been attempting to gather information for his “brother,” Will. The nature of that information was something Tom was not sharing, at least for the moment, citing a desire to insulate Crusher and her team from any repercussions should his activities draw the wrong kind of attention. Now he was here, having arrived aboard the civilian transport that had made planetfall the previous day, and he had spent the ensuing hours reconnoitering the camp and the associated dig site. Blending in with the mechanics and other technical personnel at the landing port had proven a simple exercise for someone with his background in covert actions.

  “It’s certainly an amazing story,” Daret said after Crusher explained the incredible incident, as well as Tom Riker’s difficult years following an aborted attempt to resume his Starfleet career. “I must admit that he certainly gives me pause. I still don’t understand how he was able to defeat the locks on my home and laboratory.”

  “He’s picked up a few tricks here and there,” Cruzen said, “thanks in large part to the ‘friends’ he made when he was with the Maquis. Still, Admiral Riker vouches for him, and that’s good enough for me.” Pausing, the lieutenant glanced around the work site. “Where are we going?”

  Daret waved at some indistinct point farther along the path. “I received a message this morning from one of the teams working an area we just uncovered. They have found both Cardassian and Bajoran remains, and one of my Bajoran counterparts always notifies me when such a find is made.”

  “Doctor Daret,” Cruzen said, “I know the recovery effort has been under way for more than a couple of years now. How long did it take to dig out all of this?”

  “Several months,” the Cardassian replied. “It’s a painstaking process, as we’re taking great care not to damage or destroy any remains we might find during the excavation.” He gestured toward the middle of the pit. “This portion of the camp suffered a direct hit during the final assault,” Daret said. “The barrage leveled every building, and estimates at the time counted more than three hundred casualties. The overwhelming majority of which are Bajoran, of course.”

  Crusher asked, “What about the Olanda camp?”

  “We will head there tomorrow,” Daret said. “The team working that site is much smaller, as we believe most of the remains have been recovered from there. It was the first camp we began excavating, and the devastation inflicted during the withdrawal was much more severe, with a greater number of casualties.” He stopped walking, and when Crusher turned to him she saw that his expression had turned to one of sadness.

  Noticing her attention, he cleared his throat. “I am sorry. I was just . . . thinking.” He paused, reaching up to wipe the corners of his eyes. “The Olanda camp is where the majority of those Bajorans with families were interred. Many of those killed during the final assault were children.” He released a long, slow breath. “I am not proud of many things perpetrated by my people—against the Bajorans or anyone else—and that certainly was a most shameful act.”

  Crusher reached out and placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s because of people like you that there’s hope for us all to somehow get past all of this.”

  “I want to believe that’s possible,” Daret said. After a moment, he straightened his posture. “While we may not be able to change the past, we can work for a better future, yes?”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” Cruzen replied.

  With Daret once more leading the way, he along with Crusher and Cruzen followed the walking path toward the pit’s far end. Three more of the temporary shelters also stood here, though their field tables and other equipment were unattended. A large earth-moving vehicle sat near a mound of soil that was littered with displaced vegetation as well as chunks of metal and other building materials. Beyond the pile was what looked to be the entrance to a partially cleared tunnel.

  “This is one of the entry points for this section of the mine,” Daret remarked as they drew closer. “As I recall, most of the work had shifted to a point a few kilometers from here, so this passage was used mostly as a transfer point for workers and equipment, due to its proximity to the camp.”

  “Pretty damned creepy, if you ask me,” Cruzen said.

  Pointing toward the entrance, Crusher asked, “The prisoners walked underground from the camp to the work area?”

  “Most of the tunnels are wide enough that large numbers of workers could be moved on foot in rapid fashion. It also reduced the ability of anyone attempting any sort of insurrection or other distraction.” Daret released a disapproving grunt. “One of the common threats against the workers was that they would be sealed inside the tunnels if they attempted rebellion: buried alive. Such a situation was made worse by the minerals impeding sensor scans belowground. The mineral ore at the lower levels is so dense that scans cannot penetrate.”

  “Charming,” Cruzen said.

  From the dark mouth of the tunnel, a male, dark-haired Bajoran appeared, dressed in clothing similar to that worn by other members of the expedition. Upon seeing Daret, Crusher, and Cruzen, he began waving in frantic fashion.

  “Doctor Daret? Please, we need your help! There’s been an accident!”

  Without thinking, Crusher started toward the tunnel, Daret jogging alongside while Cruzen followed. They crossed the expanse of cleared soil toward the Bajoran, who was dividing his attention between them and the tunnel. “What happened?”

  “We were working in the new section,” the Bajoran said.
“There was a collapse, and one of our team members was caught by falling dirt and debris. We were able to free him, but he’s unconscious, and we cannot revive him. I think he may have a head injury.”

  “Is he bleeding?” Crusher asked.

  “No,” the Bajoran replied before turning to lead them toward the tunnel, with Daret following close behind them as they moved past the mine’s entrance. Crusher noted the dim illumination here, provided by a series of field lights suspended on a thick, insulated cable that had been fastened with steel bolts driven into the rock wall on both sides of the passageway. Though it was a narrow path leading from the mouth of the tunnel, she saw that it began to widen within just a few meters, opening into a larger chamber. The ceiling here was higher, and a series of brighter work lights suspended from metal stands were arrayed around the cavern. Several smaller tunnels appeared to branch out from the chamber, leading in different directions farther underground. At each of the tunnel openings was a sign bolted to the rock and featuring text inscribed in Cardassian, Bajoran, and Federation Standard, indicating distance and direction to some other areas of the vast subterranean mine.

  “This way,” the Bajoran said, gesturing for them to follow him as he ran to the left tunnel opening.

  Cruzen called out, “Is there any emergency medical equipment in here?”

  “Another of our team members has an emergency medical kit,” the Bajoran replied, glancing over his shoulder, “and there are larger kits and stretchers at emergency stations throughout the work site.”

  Daret said, “Those are sufficient for light injuries, but we’ll need to get him back to the aid station. Have you summoned help from them?”

  “I lost my communicator during the cave-in.”

  Looking past the Bajoran, Crusher saw another, smaller chamber, its stone walls also illuminated by the same type of work lights. Their guide stepped through the short, narrow passage and into the larger area with Daret trailing close behind. She heard movement from the cave and caught glimpses of what she thought might be someone sitting or lying on the ground ahead of them.