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

by Dayton Ward

  “Excuse me, Captain,” said a new voice, and Picard and the chief engineer turned to see Taurik standing nearby. The Vulcan looked to La Forge. “Commander, we are ready to commence the initiation sequence.”

  “Outstanding,” La Forge said. “Let’s get it going.” To Picard, he said, “Almost there, sir.”

  Picard replied, “Make it so, Commander.” He was moving so that he could watch the start-up procedures without being in the way, when his communicator badge chirped.

  “Bridge to Captain Picard,” said the voice of Commander Worf.

  “Go ahead, Number One.”

  The first officer said, “We are receiving an incoming subspace transmission from Admiral Riker for you. It is encrypted under voiceprint authorization, sir.”

  “Very good,” Picard replied. “Route it to Commander La Forge’s office in engineering, Mister Worf.”

  Making his way to the workspace reserved for the chief engineer, Picard slid into the chair behind the narrow, angled desk and activated the computer interface terminal there. “Computer, enable secure encryption protocol for incoming communication. Authorization Picard Alpha Omega Three Nine Five Five.”

  “Secure link established,” replied the feminine voice of the Enterprise’s main computer. “Oversight procedures initiated. No external monitoring sources detected.”

  The image on the desktop monitor shifted to show the visage of William Riker, who looked as though he had not slept since the last time he and Picard had spoken. His uniform and general appearance were as polished as ever, but there was no hiding the dark circles beneath the admiral’s eyes. Even his smile—forced as it was—hinted at his fatigue despite his best efforts at hiding it.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc,” Riker said. “For all our sakes, we should keep this short.”

  “Indeed,” Picard replied. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

  “You can say that again. First off, you need to know that another ship is on its way to Jevalan. Ishan or someone on his senior staff has a contact inside Starfleet Command who’s willing to do his bidding. This person rerouted the U.S.S. Tonawanda from its patrol route to the Doltiri system. We think we know who that is, but I’m not ready to start yelling names over subspace just yet. We’re still trying to find the orders or something official detailing what the Tonawanda’s captain, S’hirethal Verauk, is supposed to do when she gets there, but so far we’re coming up dry.”

  “Someone within Starfleet Command redirected the Tonawanda? Without Akaar’s knowledge or authorization?”

  Riker sighed. “Exactly. I’ve got people helping me look into this, but so far as we can tell, the orders cut for Captain Verauk are top secret, including for her to run silent until such time as she accomplishes her mission, whatever the hell that’s supposed to be.”

  Picard searched his memory. “I’m not familiar with Captain Verauk. What can you tell me about her?”

  “She was first officer of the Rochambeau during the Borg invasion and was among that group of commanders who received accelerated promotions to captain to help replace the ones we lost. She’s been aboard the Tonawanda for two years. By all accounts, she’s a capable officer, but her fitness reports indicate she’s pretty outspoken, particularly when it comes to Starfleet’s role in protecting Federation interests.” Riker paused, leaning closer to the visual pickup. “She’s from Acamar Three, Jean-Luc. She lost her husband and seven children when the Borg destroyed it.”

  “Oh, my,” Picard said, sadness welling up within him. Acamar III had been one of the first worlds eradicated by the Borg during what ultimately had been their most brutal—and final—attack on the Federation four years earlier. Though some few inhabitants of that world had managed to evacuate, thanks in large part to an all-but-futile defensive stand made by Starfleet vessels, the bulk of the Acamarian people had been lost during the brief yet tragic battle.

  “Are you saying she’s become more aggressive in her stance on such matters?”

  Riker replied, “No more than anyone else who suffered such a loss, I suppose. Still, she’s on record as stating that Starfleet needs to become more proactive in response to possible threats, be it from the Typhon Pact or anyone else who might come looking for a fight. With the right motivation, she’s just the kind of up-and-coming officer who might respond to somebody like Ishan.” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to say she’s corrupt or anything like that, but if Ishan’s stirring up people to take more hawkish positions when it comes to Federation defense, someone like Verauk could fit the profile of a supporter, unwitting or otherwise.”

  “She may not even be aware of the real reason she’s being sent to Jevalan,” Picard said. “Will, if someone within Starfleet Command is undermining Admiral Akaar’s authority to issue orders like this, there’s no predicting the damage they might do.” Such a person, handing out secret orders and instructing the recipients of those directives to maintain a strict compartmentalization, might have no idea they were being manipulated for an ignoble agenda. “Whoever’s doing this, they need to be found.”

  “We’re working on it,” Riker replied, “and we’re pretty sure we know who it is, but they know how to cover their tracks. Somebody high up has to be giving them support and cover. If we could contact the Tonawanda, this would be easy.”

  Picard considered that. “Perhaps. On the other hand, it’s possible Captain Verauk is operating under orders that prevent her from divulging the identities of anyone issuing her orders, as part of that same security envelope.”

  “Thinking about that just makes my head hurt.” Riker tapped his desk for a moment, then said, “Speaking of covering tracks, we haven’t found anything on the two agents you have in your brig. DNA and retinal scans came back with no match. Whoever they are, they’re like ghosts so far as Starfleet is concerned.”

  “That’s impossible,” Picard snapped, refusing to believe the report. “Someone somewhere knows who these people are and who they work for.”

  “Agreed, but special-operations personnel operate in a completely different realm than the rest of us. Information is strictly need-to-know. Agent identities are kept secret as much for their own protection as anything else. Even Akaar doesn’t have access to that information without approval from the Council’s oversight committee, and he can’t get that so long as Ishan is running the show.”

  Before Picard could say anything else, Riker frowned, reaching toward something off screen. “Captain, I think we’re getting some interference on this frequency.”

  Stiffening at the code phrase they had agreed to use when any attempt at eavesdropping was detected, Picard offered his prepared response, “The problem may be on our end.” He reached for the desktop monitor and tapped an onscreen icon, which the computer had been programmed to provide during any communication he might have with Riker. In response, the image on the monitor became inundated with static. “Commander La Forge informed me earlier that our communications array was affected by our close pass of the Drazen Nebula. He has a crew looking into it now, but he warned me there may be problems. We should be . . .” His sentence was interrupted by the sudden disappearance of Riker’s image, which was replaced by the Federation seal and the message SIGNAL FAILURE. COMMUNICATION TERMINATED.

  Another spy, attempting to track his movements. Picard felt his ire rising at the thought of someone within Ishan’s inner circle and perhaps even within the halls of Starfleet Command stalking him in this manner, along with dispatching another vessel to Jevalan and whatever else they might be doing. Were Riker or Akaar in danger? That possibility could not be discounted, Picard knew, even though there was nothing he could do about it. Riker would continue his investigation, and the admiral already had given Picard enough to worry about.

  He recalled what he could remember about the Tonawanda, a Nebula-class starship that had been in service for nearly three decades. The Enterprise was a superior vessel in most respects, and it held a defini
te advantage so far as weapons and defenses. Even as he considered such things, Picard felt a knot of worry forming in his gut. Was it possible he might have to face off against a fellow Starfleet captain?

  Not if I can help it.

  The lights in La Forge’s office flickered for the briefest of moments, followed by a low, resonating hum beginning to emanate from the main engineering chamber. Looking up from the desktop monitor, Picard peered through the office’s bay window to see that the warp core had flared to life, the reinforced column enclosing the matter-antimatter reactor now pulsing with energy. From where he stood at one of the workstations positioned next to the warp core, La Forge turned and offered a thumbs-up gesture to Picard.

  “Inject reactants,” the chief engineer said to Taurik, who was manning the console and controlling the core’s initiation procedures. “And that should do it.” Moving away from the workstation, he approached the office. “Captain, we’re up and running again. Full warp power at your command.”

  Rising from the chair, Picard stepped from the office. “Excellent, Mister La Forge. Inform Commander Worf of ship’s status and to continue on course for Jevalan at maximum warp.” As the engineer turned to that task, Picard took another look at the warp core, which now radiated the raw, harnessed fury contained within. He already could feel the renewed life reverberating through the deck beneath his feet as his ship once more exuded power and purpose.

  His first instinct was to attempt contacting Beverly and apprise her of the Tonawanda’s looming arrival, but the threat of their communications being intercepted gave him pause. If any message to Jevalan was picked up by unwanted listeners, it might increase the threat to Beverly and the rest of the away team. So far as he knew, Ishan only suspected what he and the Enterprise were doing; the interim president still had no actionable proof, and Picard wanted to hold on to that advantage for as long as possible.

  This, Picard knew, left him for the moment with but a single course of action.

  Waiting.

  Twenty-eight

  Federation Security Agency Detention Facility—Location Classified

  Torture was unnecessary, Galif jav Velk decided as he contemplated his evening meal. Continuing to feed him in this manner would suffice.

  “What is this slop?” he asked, his voice echoing off the undecorated metal walls that formed three sides of his prison cell. “I’ve seen finer cuisine offered at a waste-reclamation center.”

  His comments earned him a smile from Lieutenant Eric Cone, the officer manning the control console outside the cell. A force-field barrier separated Velk from the human, who at the moment was reclining in a chair with his feet resting on the console. Cone wore a dark gray uniform possessing rank and branch insignia that identified him as a member of the special security detachment utilized by the president as well as the Federation Council.

  “We’ve routed the disposal lines to the galley,” said the lieutenant, not bothering to shift his eyes from whatever he was watching on one of the console’s monitors, which Velk could not see.

  Forcing a mocking laugh, the Tellarite shook his head. “Your humor astounds me, human. I see Federation Security is continuing to recruit the best and brightest to fill out its ranks. Let me guess: Your unequaled wit made you overqualified to join Starfleet?”

  His gaze unwavering, the security officer replied, “Says the person on the wrong side of the force field. Are you still hungry? I can have them send you a second serving.”

  Grunting in irritation, Velk pushed away the unsavory meal, directing the plate and its accompanying tray into the replicator slot from which it had come. Unlike the devices used by those who did not find themselves incarcerated, the cell’s replicator was programmed to deliver only those meals and other items as directed by the security staff. Though Velk was granted the ability to choose from a menu of foods compatible with Tellarite tastes and dietary requirements, the computer’s preparation of his selection left much to be desired. Since the beginning of his confinement, he had lodged several complaints about the quality of the meals, but those grievances along with all the others had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Things could be worse, you know,” Cone said. “You’re still breathing, after all. There’s apparently a long list of people who’d like to remedy that.”

  Velk opted not to rise to the officer’s baiting, choosing instead to move from the compact table and stool that were mounted on the cell’s left wall to the unimpressive cot extending from the rear bulkhead. With an audible sigh, he rolled himself into the bunk and once more was greeted by the ceiling tiles above his head. The tiles featured a grid pattern, and he resisted the urge to begin counting the tiny squares on the section directly above him.

  “I don’t suppose I could have something to read?” he asked, already knowing the answer he would receive.

  “Sorry, sir, but you know our orders specifically forbid any reading materials or access to a computer terminal, even for recreational purposes.”

  “Of course they do,” Velk said, shaking his head in disgust. The new orders regarding the nature of his imprisonment had been in effect for the past three days, if his count of the meals he had consumed since his arrival at this detention facility was to be trusted. He had been moved to this new location following an extended stay at a high-security center located in Paris. As for his new accommodations, though Velk did not recognize this detention facility, he suspected that it, like the man sitting before him, also belonged to the special protective detail. This meant that he could be anywhere on Earth, assuming he even still was on the planet. Such information had been kept from him since the moment he had been arrested in his own office. How long ago had that happened? Velk had long since lost track of time, another direct and intended result of the treatment he had received from his jailers.

  What a long, ignominious fall from grace it had been, from his position as perhaps the most powerful individual in the Federation to this, a nondescript occupant of an equally bland prison cell. As chief of staff to the leader of the United Federation of Planets—admittedly a temporary position, at least until the coming elections made a final decision as to the fate of Ishan Anjar, the current president pro tempore—Velk had been in a position to affect any number of policy issues. Following Nanietta Bacco’s assassination and his installation as interim president, Ishan had given Velk wide latitude to affect the kind of change the interim president believed was necessary in order to return the Federation and Starfleet to a position of prominence and even dominance in the Alpha and Beta quadrants. Recent events had done much to undermine that place of distinction, and it was Ishan’s singular goal to see to it that damage was repaired while warning anyone who might challenge the Federation that these notions were, at best, foolhardy.

  Such statements needed to be made, particularly now, with the Federation still recovering from the staggering damage inflicted by the Borg four years earlier. Starfleet was continuing to recruit and train new personnel and had largely replaced or rebuilt starships lost in the battle. Still, total strength remained at pre-invasion levels, and many of the officers now commanding ships and starbases had been promoted to fill the numerous vacancies resulting from the immense loss of life. A significant number of those people lacked proper command experience, though several of them had acquired battlefield wisdom as a consequence of being on the “front lines” during the invasion. Far too many young officers had been forced to grow up in rapid fashion in order to meet Starfleet’s immediate and ongoing needs.

  On Earth and other planets that had survived the onslaught, civilian government leaders continued to struggle with the harsh reality imposed by costly wars, first with the Dominion and then the Borg, as well as the persistent challenges being meted out by the Typhon Pact. The upstart coalition had proven on numerous occasions that it was intent on taking advantage of the Federation’s weakened state. Velk was certain it was only a matter of time before the Pact initiated some kind of large-scale offensive against the
ir interstellar rivals. After all that had come before—worlds destroyed or severely damaged to the point that they no longer could sustain life, entire civilizations extinguished—the Federation Council still had managed to convince itself that with sufficient time, an accord could be reached, allowing both powers to exist in harmony with each other.

  Velk knew it was folly, just as it always had been, and his wife and children had paid for that naiveté with their lives.

  While the council acknowledged the distinct possibility of more direct action being necessary should the Pact decide to escalate the existing tensions, only a few brave members seemed to possess the fortitude even to give voice to such thoughts. President Bacco, a charismatic and effective leader in peacetime, had found her limits tested during the Borg invasion. Despite some strong talk with Typhon Pact representatives in the early going, she had appeared reluctant to commit Starfleet forces to any prolonged action once it became clear—to Velk and other likeminded individuals, at least—that the Pact had no real interest in peaceful coexistence.

  For the security and well-being of the Federation, a change in leadership was required. Despite an interest in politics that had caused him to change careers after a lengthy span of time spent in the private sector, Velk never had harbored any aspirations of holding political office. Instead, he preferred to act in a support and advisory capacity and had found particular satisfaction working for elected officials who not only inspired their constituents, but who also pushed through bureaucracy and complacency in order to solve real issues by all necessary means.