Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation)

by George III, David R.

  Industrial lighting panels two-thirds of the way up on the walls shined brightly enough to provide more illumination than the Overne sun. Around the periphery at the far side of the structure, huge complexes of machinery sat inert. They looked to Sisko like automated predators lying in wait; he could imagine them thundering to life and devouring anybody who made the mistake of wandering too near.

  But closer to Sisko, near the center of the great building and all around where he stood, absence marked his surroundings. The lighter color of the concrete floor across long stretches pointed to machinery once there, but now gone. Remnants of connections reached out from the walls and up from the floor, as though the place had striven to hold on to the equipment that had ultimately been taken.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” Sisko told Odo. “Not just because of what it could mean for the Federation, but because it is a violation of your sovereignty and your security. But it won’t happen again. Starfleet is guarding the entrance to the wormhole with multiple starships; the Typhon Pact will not be back.”

  “That’s good to know,” Odo said.

  Sisko heard two sets of footsteps behind him, but one of them had a strange cadence that sounded wrong; instead of a two-part rhythm—heel-toe, heel-toe—three beats defined the steps—heel-middle-toe, heel-middle-toe. The captain turned to see Vannis escorting a being that belonged to a species the captain had never before seen. They had entered through an open doorway in the wall nearest Sisko, beyond which he could see the pale gray light of the overcast Overne day.

  Sisko waited with Odo as Vannis and the being approached. A golden fur covered the being’s visible, basically humanoid body, though a complicated-looking piece of clothing covered its torso. At least a head taller than the captain, it possessed legs that moved in a manner Sisko had trouble making sense of, until he realized that the joint that approximated a human knee could bend in both directions, forward and backward, and did so as the being walked. Each leg intersected with a foot not at its heel, but in the center, which explained the three-way tempo of its steps: first heel–middle–second heel. Sisko saw that it also had two arms on one side of its body, and two on the other. Likewise, it had two pairs of eyes on its round head. Sisko saw nothing he could identify as ears, nose, or mouth. The one being almost looked like two standing back-to-back, sharing a set of legs.

  “Founder,” Vannis said as she and the being reached the group, “this is Vildish Senra-Nesk. When this particular installation is in production, he works as its supervisor.”

  “All right,” Odo said. “Can you tell us the purpose of the equipment that was stolen?” He pointed around to where machinery had obviously been removed.

  Senra-Nesk looked at Odo without saying anything. Then he swiveled his head on his neck to look at the Changeling with his other set of eyes. It fascinated Sisko to see one pair of eyes colored yellow, the other blue.

  “Founder, my apologies,” Vannis said. “Our translators have problems with the Overne language. If I may assist?”

  “Go ahead,” Odo told her.

  Vannis opened her mouth and emitted a series of noises ranging from clicks and snaps, to chirps and twitters, to hums and drones. It sounded nothing like a language to Sisko. That the Vorta could even speak in such a fashion impressed him.

  Senra-Nesk stared—with his blue eyes—at Vannis. When she finished, he clicked and chirped and hummed in response, though Sisko could not tell from where on his body the sounds emanated. “Senra-Nesk says that the machinery utilized to manufacture structural integrity field generators and deflector generators has been taken. The corresponding equipment used in full-scale testing of those systems has been removed as well.”

  Odo looked from Vannis to Sisko. “Does that mean anything to you, Captain?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. He looked around at the empty spaces where the missing machinery once stood, then padded away from Odo and Vannis and Senra-Nesk. The Typhon Pact had clearly had an important purpose in making their way into the Dominion and stealing what they had. Odo had explained that the Romulans had abducted Laas and then faced down a Jem’Hadar squadron in order to acquire what they sought, which meant they hadn’t been averse to taking considerable risks. They’d also demonstrated that at Deep Space 9, where they’d chanced all-out war to bring the purloined gear back to their people.

  Sisko turned and made his way back to Odo and the others. “You may be unaware of this,” he told the Changeling, “but over the last few years, Starfleet has outfitted some of its vessels with a new type of technology called quantum slipstream drive. It allows a starship to travel at significantly increased effective velocities.”

  Odo arched an eyebrow at Sisko with a knowing expression. “And the Breen and the Romulans and their allies have taken exception to the Federation employing such an advanced engine system.”

  “Yes,” Sisko said. “That’s true, even though we’ve only installed the new drive on a small number of starships.”

  “So what?” Odo said. “Your enemies can’t know with certainty how many ships you’ve reconfigured with this slipstream. And from the way you describe it—‘significantly increased effective velocities’—it sounds as though they have reason to fear that the Federation could use it to great tactical advantage.”

  “I think that’s probably true,” Sisko admitted.

  “So are you saying that what they’ve stolen from here might allow them to match that technology?” Odo asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sisko said. “But I think it’s a possibility.”

  “Then I’m not sure what the problem is,” Odo said. “You have the technology, so why shouldn’t they? I’m not saying that they had a right to steal it from the Dominion or anybody else, but if this Typhon Pact feels that there’s an imbalance in the relative might of their alliance and that of the Khitomer Accords, why wouldn’t they want to even that out?”

  “That’s one thing in theory,” Sisko said. “It’s another in practice. We know that we will never use the quantum slipstream drive, or any other technology, to strike first at our enemies. We can’t be as sure of the Breen and the Romulans and the Tzenkethi.”

  “What about the Klingons?” Odo said. “Or the Cardassians? Will they be as disinclined as the Federation to commencing such an attack? And what of the Federation itself? Leadership changes. New people can bring new ideas—even bad ideas.”

  “Starfleet hasn’t provided the slipstream drive to any of its allies,” Sisko said. “Odo, I didn’t come here to debate this with you. Some of what you say may be right, but you know the Federation. You know who we are as a people. You fought by our side against your own people. That has to say something about how you feel about us, about our motives, about our hearts.”

  “It’s not your hearts I’m concerned about,” Odo said. “It’s your trigger fingers.”

  Sisko sighed heavily. He felt frustrated and angry and sad—and even resigned to the fact that Odo had a valid perspective. “All I know is that I am trying to avoid another war,” he said. “I think maybe you’ve helped me do that.”

  “I’m not sure how.”

  “Knowing that the Founders have not allied with the Typhon Pact will keep the Federation from militarizing more, which could go a long way to preventing the outbreak of hostilities. Knowing that the Typhon Pact might once again be trying to obtain the ability to produce slipstream drive could help us in negotiating with them. And it absolutely will help us in understanding them.”

  “I hope so,” Odo said. “The Dominion has closed its borders specifically so we can take an inventory of who we are—not just the Founders, but all of us.” He looked first to Vannis, and then to Senra-Nesk. “We are striving to find a way to survive together in peace and harmony.” He peered around the building. “That’s why this place and so many others like it are no longer in operation. We have enough starships and weaponry to protect the Dominion, and we employ them to do so, mostly at the borders these days. If we’re not goi
ng to expand, if we’re not going to battle others, we have no need to continue assembling the tools of war.”

  “I can appreciate that,” Sisko said. “I genuinely hope that the Dominion finds itself, and is able to achieve your vision for it.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Odo said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “No,” Sisko said. “But thank you for what you have done.” He looked in turn at Vannis and Senra-Nesk, and thanked both of them as well. Vannis translated his words for the Overne. Then the captain started toward the open door. Once outside, beyond the sensor scattering field of the building, he would be able to transport up to Defiant and head back to the Federation.

  When he had almost reached the door, Odo called after him. “Captain, please tell Nerys . . . just tell her that I asked after her.”

  “I will.”

  “I wish you luck, Captain.”

  “Good luck to you, Odo,” Sisko said. “When you’re ready . . . when the Founders are ready . . . we’d welcome another opportunity to get to know them, and for them to get to know us, as friends.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Sisko left the building and walked out into the cloudy afternoon on Overne III. Several dozen meters from the building, he activated his combadge. “Sisko to Defiant.”

  “Defiant. Stinson here, sir.”

  “Beam me up, Commander,” Sisko said. “As soon as I’m aboard, head us back to the wormhole and take us to maximum warp.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sisko turned to peer up at the enormous manufacturing plant, which had once been used in the construction of Dominion starships. An instant later, a hum enveloped the captain, and the building faded from his view.

  16

  When Gell Kamemor entered the audience chamber from her office, she saw that Fleet Admiral Devix had already been escorted inside. Proconsul Ventel stood with him across the room, between a pair of tall pillars, their backs to her as they apparently studied one of the many pieces of traditional art adorning the space. Uhlans Preget and T’Lesk stood beside the closed entry doors, ready to protect the praetor.

  Kamemor crossed the chamber quietly, her soft-soled footwear making little noise on the gleaming black floor. Before she drew too near the men without making her presence known—an impoliteness she would not permit herself—she said, “Gentlemen, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  Both Devix and Ventel turned toward Kamemor and greeted her as she arrived in front of them. Anlikar looked as though he’d aged a decade over the past twenty or so days. Although his hair had begun graying in his youth and had completely lost its color before he’d lived his first full century, his face seemed more deeply lined than ever. Kamemor understood that the demands of their jobs had begun weighing heavily on him. It had been relatively easy, less than a hundred days into her praetorship, for the two of them eventually to discount the attack on the Federation’s Utopia Planitia Shipyards as an isolated rogue incident, as a holdover action planned by her predecessor and carried out by a zealot already in place to do so. With Tal’Aura dead and Commander Marius—the man who had taken his Romulan warbird to Utopia Planitia—in a military prison, such an episode seemed unlikely to recur.

  But what had taken place not even two dozen days earlier could not as readily be dismissed. Their realization that the chairwoman of the Tal Shiar had been involved in the recent rogue action had shocked them. Although numerous heads of the elite intelligence agency had earned deserved reputations for hardness, cunning, and treachery, they had always performed in service to the praetor. The women and men who led the Tal Shiar had typically achieved their ultimate goal; few ever aspired to any other role in government, and none had ever been subsequently elevated to the praetorship.

  For his part, Admiral Devix appeared even older, but then he’d already made it beyond his sesquicentennial. Yet Devix did not carry his age in the color of his hair—still black—or in the creases of his face—still relatively unlined for so mature a man—but in his eyes. His gaze looked like that of a man who had seen too many defeats, and who knew that, as his losses mounted, his time passed. In the last half-decade, he had suffered ignominies too great for even his vaunted, oft-decorated career to overcome. There had been the coup by Shinzon, Reman independence, and the schism wrought by Donatra, and though many others shared far more blame for those events than Devix, he had been the man standing at the head of the Imperial Fleet. During Kamemor’s tenure as praetor, the two rogue military actions threatened to undermine her government, even as she had begun to draw more support in the Senate and among the people. Even though Kamemor believed that nobody in the admiral’s position could have prevented almost any of the failures over which he had presided, she needed to demonstrate her strength. In truth, though she considered Devix a loyalist, a true patriot, and a man not given to battle for battle’s sake, she wanted somebody more vigorous as fleet admiral, with an unblemished record on which to begin leading the Romulan military.

  But the praetor had not called the admiral to her chamber; earlier that morning, he had requested an audience. “What is it that I can do for you today?” she asked.

  While Ventel had been sure that Devix would withdraw the resignation she had demanded of him, or appeal her decision to replace him, Kamemor had disagreed. The admiral did not have just as much pride as most Romulans; in her opinion, he had more—more pride and less arrogance, a rare combination in the Empire. He might not have chosen to step down had the praetor not insisted he do so, but since that determination had been made, the proud Devix wanted to ensure that a worthy successor be named to his post. Kamemor assumed that he had asked for a meeting to further discuss that.

  “Would you care for some tea while we talk?” she asked the admiral, pointing to a small table off to the side, on which a tea service sat.

  “Thank you, no, Praetor,” Devix said. “I did not come for discussion, but to inform you of an issue of great concern.”

  “That sounds rather ominous,” Kamemor said.

  “It may not be,” Devix said. “Under normal circumstances, I would categorize it as likely a temporary situation, at worst a loss or perhaps even a tragedy, but given what has happened recently, I am alarmed to think it could be something far greater than all of that.”

  Kamemor could see that the admiral’s visit cost him. Whatever he had to tell her, he did not want to; he would, though, because his duty demanded it. “Please tell me what is troubling you, Admiral.”

  “One of our warbirds has failed to report.”

  A chill ran through Kamemor. “Is that unusual?” she wanted to know. She already understood where her questions would lead, but she had to ask them.

  “It’s not uncommon,” Devix said. “Ships encounter interstellar phenomena that interfere with communications, commanders order subspace silence when belligerents are near, ships remain cloaked for lengthy periods of time while on patrol . . .”

  “And starships can be destroyed,” Ventel suggested. “Either accidentally or at the hands of an aggressor.”

  “That is sometimes the case,” Devix said.

  “But none of the legitimate reasons for the disappearance of this particular warbird satisfy you,” Kamemor said, more statement than question.

  “No, Praetor,” said the admiral.

  “Tell me why.”

  “The warbird in question, the Vetruvis, was part of a detachment included in a military exchange with the Tzenkethi,” the admiral said. “Even with that assignment, its crew made regular daily reports to the Imperial Fleet. Three days ago, we stopped receiving those reports.”

  “Did you contact the Tzenkethi?” Ventel asked. Kamemor felt sure that Devix had done everything he possibly could to locate the missing starship. Had he not, he would not have stood in the praetor’s audience chamber, admitting to another possible failure under his leadership.

  “We did contact the Coalition,” Devix said. “Their military claims that
the Vetruvis never arrived as part of the exchange.”

  “Do you believe them?” Ventel asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kamemor said before the admiral could respond. “If the Tzenkethi are being truthful, then the reports from the Vetruvis have either been fabricated or are themselves lies. And if the Tzenkethi are lying, then we have an additional problem, possibly one much bigger than the crew of a single ship conducting another rogue action—which is of course the concern that drove you to come here today, Admiral, is it not?”

  “Yes, Praetor,” Devix said. “After the attack on the Federation space station, and keeping in mind what happened at Utopia Planitia, that is precisely my concern.”

  “If the Tzenkethi are lying, we must learn why,” Kamemor said. “It could be something unfortunate, but in the end forgivable, such as the accidental loss of our ship in their territory, under their aegis. But it could also be that they support whatever rogue action the Vetruvis crew might be undertaking.”

  “Where was the warbird at last contact?” Ventel asked.

  “Near Lamemda,” Devix said. “It’s a star on the border of Tzenkethi space, on the edge of the Badlands.”

  “The Badlands,” Ventel said. “Then not far from the Cardassian Union.”

  “Which means not far from Bajor and the wormhole,” Kamemor said.

  “You can understand my concern,” said the admiral.

  “Yes,” Kamemor said. “You were right to come to me with this, and I’m grateful for it.”

  “There’s more, Praetor,” Devix said. “The commander of the Vetruvis is Kozik.”

  “Should I know that name?” Kamemor asked.

  “During the unauthorized action at Utopia Planitia by Commander Marius aboard the Dekkona, Centurion Kozik served as the ship’s tactical officer. Later, when the Dekkona crew engaged the Federation vessel Aventine near Breen space, he had been promoted to executive officer, though he still held the rank of centurion. After we removed Marius from the ship, we distributed the crew throughout the Fleet. Promoted to subcommander, Kozik served as second-in-command aboard Vetruvis until fifteen days ago, when his commanding officer suffered a fatal brain aneurysm on the bridge.”