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

by George III, David R.

  “That’s what we believe their plan is,” Akaar confirmed.

  “Do we have any notion when they might make this attempt?” Picard asked.

  “No,” Akaar said, “but a Romulan warbird, the Vetruvis, is presently unaccounted for, and its commander is a suspected conspirator in one of the other attempts to acquire slipstream.”

  None of that sounded good to Sisko, but he also worried about the nature of the solution the admiral would propose. “So what are your orders, sir?” he asked.

  “Our primary aim must be to prevent the Typhon Pact from acquiring slipstream,” Akaar said. “At the moment, it remains by far our best deterrent. In a couple of years, as Starfleet completes its recovery from the Borg invasion, that will likely no longer be the case. For right now, though, we need to keep it out of the Pact’s hands. That means that we must either find a method of preventing them from anchoring their wormhole to the Bajoran wormhole or, if necessary, ensuring that they cannot acquire the equipment they need from the Dominion.”

  “My recent contact with the Founders was friendly,” Sisko said, “but they also made it quite clear that they did not want contact with anybody outside the Dominion, including the Federation. I suspect we would find it virtually impossible to negotiate any sort of agreement with them about their equipment, and even warning them of the possibility of another attempted theft might not go over well.”

  “All of that may work to our benefit, Captain,” Akaar said, “since the Dominion will clearly be averse to dealing with the Typhon Pact. But the Pact was successful in stealing the equipment they needed once, and although they evidently had the element of surprise then, we still cannot discount the possibility that they will succeed again.”

  “Agreed,” Picard said.

  “My choice, though, is not to have to rely on the Dominion for anything,” Akaar said, “which means that we need to take care of this ourselves if we can. Finding a way to fortify the Bajoran wormhole, to make it impossible for the Pact to anchor their wormhole to it, would be the ideal solution.”

  “We can have the scientists who were stationed at Deep Space Nine and who have studied the wormhole take a look at that, Admiral,” Sisko said, “but from my own experience, if such a solution is even possible, it’s unlikely to be developed any time soon.”

  “Another alternative would be to find a way to disrupt the Pact’s wormhole once it has been anchored,” Akaar said. “It might be as simple as firing a phaser blast or a quantum torpedo into it.”

  “With all due respect, Admiral,” Sisko said, “we have no idea how firing weapons within the wormhole will affect the aliens who reside there. And in attempting to disrupt the Pact’s wormhole, we could end up affecting the Bajoran wormhole.” Sisko had some very strong feelings about the Prophets, some of them certainly not positive, but he did not wish to see their existence endangered.

  “Captain Sisko, I already know the answer to this, but I have to ask,” Akaar said. “Is there any prospect of getting assistance from the aliens within the wormhole?”

  “No, Admiral,” Sisko said. “Not as far as I know.”

  “Well, as I said before, I’d rather take care of this situation ourselves anyway, rather than relying on somebody else,” Akaar said. “Captain Sisko, because of your long experience with the wormhole, as well as with the Dominion, I’m placing you in charge of this mission. You’ve got five starships out there at Bajor. Use them as you see fit, but under no circumstances are you to leave the Bajoran system and the Alpha Quadrant terminus of the wormhole undefended.”

  “Understood, sir,” Sisko said.

  “Keep me informed. Akaar out.”

  The admiral signed off, leaving Sisko’s display showing the visage of Captain Picard. “So what do you think our first action should be, Captain?” Picard asked.

  “I think I’d like to take a look at the wormhole,” Sisko said. “Make sure that it hasn’t been compromised yet.”

  “I think that would be the prudent course,” Picard said. “Once we do that, perhaps we can station one of our ships in the Gamma Quadrant to make continuous checks for cloaked vessels emerging from the wormhole.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Sisko said, “although if the Pact sends a stronger force, it could leave a single Starfleet vessel vulnerable.”

  “It is a thorny situation,” Picard said.

  “Let’s do a recon first,” Sisko said. “Then we’ll go from there.”

  “Understood,” Picard said.

  “Please brief the other captains on what the admiral had to say.”

  “At once,” Picard said.

  “Thank you, Captain. Sisko out.”

  Even before the display went blank, Sisko rose and headed for the Defiant bridge. As he exited the ready room and crossed the main portside corridor, he wondered about the Prophets. Would an attempt to anchor another wormhole to theirs put them at risk? Would they be able to prevent such a thing from occurring, or combat it if it did? He didn’t know. He had never been able to answer many questions about the Prophets, and it had been a long time since he’d been able to answer any at all.

  The door to the bridge opened before him. Inside, the crew waited at their stations. Sisko had lost Lieutenant Tenmei to an understandable leave of absence, and Ensign th’Shant to an arrest for an unfathomable crime. The first officer, Wheeler Stinson, had taken over at the conn, and Zivan Slaine, a Cardassian officer, at tactical.

  “Commander Stinson,” Sisko said. “Take us into the wormhole.”

  Transitus

  The anticipation of success filled Denison Morad when he heard Lieutenant Reval’s report.

  “We are approaching the Idran system,” she’d announced an instant earlier from her station on the port side of the Vetruvis bridge.

  Morad stood beside Commander Kozik, who sat in the command chair with a satisfied look on his face. The Gamma Quadrant terminus of the wormhole, Morad knew, opened into the Idran system, which put the Romulan vessel and its valuable cargo only moments away from the fulfillment of their mission. When he thought about the odds he had overcome to make his achievement possible, Morad felt a powerful pride. His triumph provided a perfect example of Cardassian superiority, the very reason that had compelled him to embark on his long journey. The True Way may have had to utilize the assets of others to achieve their victory, but they had done so as leaders.

  “Commander,” Reval said, “sensors are picking up another vessel entering the system.”

  Morad felt a flutter of unease at the unwelcome news.

  “Identify,” Kozik said. “Is it Starfleet?”

  “Scanning now,” Reval said. Morad glanced over to the sensor console. As Reval operated her controls, the pale glow of the panel reflected across her features. “It’s not Starfleet,” she finally said. “It’s Jem’Hadar, and they’re headed for the wormhole.”

  Morad turned back to Kozik in time to see his jaw clench. “It’s probably the ship transmitting the message,” the Romulan commander said.

  Almost as soon as the warbird had departed Bronis II with the slipstream-related equipment, Centurion Rentin, the ship’s communications officer, had intercepted a message that had originated in the Dominion, and that had been intended to inform the Federation of the Typhon Pact’s theft. Kozik had tasked Rentin with jamming the transmission.

  “Commander, I can confirm that the Jem’Hadar ship is the source of the message,” Rentin said. “Even now, its crew is continuing to transmit.”

  The executive officer, Subcommander Analest, looked up from where she crewed the ship’s weapons and defensive systems. “Will we reach the wormhole before the Jem’Hadar do?” she asked. Morad wondered the same thing, knowing that the success of the mission might depend on the answer.

  “Calculating,” Reval said, again working her controls. When she peered over at Kozik, Morad knew what she would say even before she uttered the single word: “No.”

  “Commander,” Rentin said, “once the
Jem’Hadar vessel passes us, I’ll no longer be able to block their transmission.”

  The news unsettled Morad, but he attempted to maintain his confidence. He reasoned that, even if the message reached the Bajoran system before Vetruvis made it into the wormhole, it seemed unlikely that any Starfleet crews stationed there would have time enough to react. He thought that the greater concern came from the Jem’Hadar vessel and what it might do once it reached the wormhole.

  Commander Kozik looked to his first officer. “Analest?” he said, clearly soliciting her opinion.

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” said the subcommander.

  “I agree,” Kozik said.

  At once, Analest acted on the commander’s implied order. “Lieutenant Natrel, give me an attack vector,” she told the pilot. “We need to stay ahead of the Jem’Hadar vessel and move in fast.” Morad watched as Analest’s hands flew across her console. “We’ll drop the cloak as late as possible on our attack run, and hit them hard. I’ll target engines and communications.”

  “The Federation’s communications relay is on the edge of the system,” reported Rentin. “Once we strike the Jem’Hadar vessel, it would be a simple matter to destroy the relay as well.” Morad saw Kozik nod to Analest, who told the pilot to prepare for such a maneuver.

  “Bringing us about,” said Natrel.

  “On-screen,” ordered Kozik.

  On the main viewer, the image shifted, and the Jem’Hadar fighter appeared. Morad could see that Vetruvis would come in from below and strike the ship’s glowing purple underbelly. At the sensor station, Reval began counting down the distance between the two ships. Morad found himself holding his breath, and he forced himself to breathe as normally as he could.

  “Now,” Reval said. The dim green lighting on the bridge brightened, which Morad knew signified to the crew that the warbird no longer flew under cloak. At the same time, he saw a disruptor barrage pound into the Jem’Hadar vessel, accompanied by a fusillade of plasma torpedoes. The enemy vessel’s shields flared brightly beneath the onslaught, which continued until Vetruvis soared past. As it did, the ship quaked.

  “Polaron blasts,” announced Reval. “Shields down to ninety-three percent, but otherwise a minimal effect.”

  “Adjusting course to the communications relay,” said Natrel.

  Morad continued to watch the viewer, and he saw a vague shape appear in the center of the screen, the object barely visible. It grew larger as Vetruvis approached, but before the Cardassian could make out any detail, disruptors seared through space in front of the ship. The relay exploded in a fiery flash, its destruction confirmed by Analest.

  “Status of the Jem’Hadar ship?” Kozik asked, looking for the answer that Morad also wanted to know.

  “Considerably damaged,” Reval said. “Their communications are down, their shields are below fifty percent, and their warp engines appear to be off line.”

  “They won’t need warp speed to reach the wormhole,” Kozik noted. “Are their sublight engines still operational?”

  “Scanning,” Reval said. “They are, Commander, and the ship is still headed for the wormhole.”

  “Stop them,” Kozik ordered.

  Morad kept his gaze on the main screen as the starscape swam across it. The Jem’Hadar vessel hove into view, and Vetruvis headed directly for it. Morad saw a flash of light an instant before the Romulan warbird shook violently. His hand flew out to the arm of the command chair in order to brace himself and keep from falling.

  “Direct hit with polaron cannon,” Reval called out over the clamor. “Shields down to seventy-nine percent.”

  On the viewer, bright green streaks of disruptor fire leaped forth from Vetruvis and slammed into the Jem’Hadar vessel. Plasma torpedoes provided a staccato accompaniment. The enemy vessel’s shields flared again and again, and then a jet of atmosphere burst into space from its wounded form. “Their shields are down to thirty-one percent,” Reval said as Vetruvis swept past the fighter. “Their impulse engines are off line and their hull has been breached.”

  “Well done,” Kozik said. “Cloak us and take us to the wormhole.”

  Morad waited for the lighting to dim, the visual signal to the crew that their ship once more traveled invisibly through space. But the illumination didn’t change. Morad peered about the bridge, as though he could distinguish the problem with just a glance.

  “Commander,” Analest said, “the cloak is down.”

  Concern rose immediately in Morad’s mind, but Kozik quickly dismissed the failure of the ship’s cloaking device. “It doesn’t matter,” the commander said. “Take us into the wormhole.”

  Analest peered up from the weapons and defense console and over at the pilot. “Natrel, best possible speed to the wormhole,” she said. “Take us home.”

  On the viewer, Morad saw the field of stars reorient once more as the ship’s pilot pointed Vetruvis onto its new heading—onto its original heading. The encounter with the Jem’Hadar vessel had momentarily shaken the Cardassian, but he suddenly felt a renewed sense of assurance as they began the last major leg of their journey. He kept his gaze on the viewscreen.

  When the brilliant blue whorl of light appeared, Morad silently rejoiced as Vetruvis dived into its star-bright center.

  Sisko sat in the command chair of Defiant, his eyes locked on the main viewer. Before the ship, the Bajoran wormhole reached through subspace toward the Gamma Quadrant. Great blue streamers of energy rippled as they always had, and the familiar white rings edging the perimeter flowed past. Raindrop-like concentric circles dappled the inner surface of the artificial tunnel, lending an additional sense of movement to the ship’s surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  But then, in the distance, Sisko spotted a fearsome red glow. The hue marked a departure from the norm within the wormhole, the palette of which the captain had through the years come to know well. Sisko felt a hollow sensation grow in the pit of his stomach. Even at a distance, even unidentified, the irregularity seemed like a violation. “What the hell?” Sisko said, though he already knew what the crew would find. He stood up, as though doing so would afford him a better view.

  “I’m getting confused readings,” said Lieutenant Commander Candlewood from the sensor station. “Some excessively high proton counts, but not uniformly. It scans as a rent in the fabric of the wormhole.”

  “Commander Stinson, slow us down,” Sisko said. “Bring us to a stop in front of it. I want to get a good look.” In truth, the captain would have preferred to avert his gaze from what struck him as a defilement of the Celestial Temple.

  “Aye, sir,” replied Stinson.

  On the viewscreen, as Defiant neared it, the scarlet spot resolved into a blemish on the side of the wormhole. As the ship drew closer, though, Sisko discerned the area’s edges, and realized that the color came not from the circumference of the Bajoran wormhole, but from the walls of what had been attached to it.

  “I’m seeing the attributes of a wormhole within the opening,” Candlewood said, “but there’s also some variability.”

  The rim of the aperture did not appear smooth, Sisko saw, but ragged. The coupling also appeared to affect some of the Bajoran wormhole’s regular characteristics. Around the region of intersection, the normally graceful motion of the energy streamers became irregular and disjointed. A trio of the outer white circles had wrinkled.

  As Defiant came to a halt before the opening, the ship bucked. “Steady,” Sisko said.

  “I’m encountering some gravimetric disturbances, Captain,” Stinson said.

  “It scans almost like a tidal force,” explained Candlewood. “There’s an ebb and flow of space-time through the opening.” The science officer worked the sensors, obviously attempting to puzzle out the unusual readings. “It’s almost as though the new wormhole is trying to tear itself free.” Sisko imagined a whip with its tip fixed, but the rest of its length still in motion.

  “Is there any way to help that process
along?” Sisko asked. “To make it tear away?”

  “Possibly,” Candlewood said, “but we’re going to need to collect detailed readings and take some time to analyze them. Even if we can figure out a means of dislodging it, there’s the question of how that would impact the Bajoran wormhole. It could cause its structural integrity to fail around the opening, which could result in a cascade collapse.”

  Sisko could not help but think of the Prophets, and wonder how such an event would affect them. Could they even survive if the Celestial Temple fell in on itself? “Gather all the information you need for an analysis,” he told Candlewood. “Lieutenant Aleco, open a channel to the Enterprise.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Aleco from where he sat at the communications console.

  Sisko set his hands on his hips and regarded the bright red abnormality. It filled him with revulsion. It looks like a scar, he thought. No, not a scar, because the Bajoran wormhole hasn’t healed . . . it’s a wound . . . a mutilation. To the man whom many still considered the Emissary of the Prophets, the attached wormhole felt like an abuse . . . even an atrocity.

  “Sir, I can’t raise the Enterprise or any of the other ships,” Aleco said. “The communications relay must be down.” Starfleet’s continuous comlink that ran from the Gamma Quadrant into the Alpha Quadrant provided the only means of transmitting messages through, or from within, the Bajoran wormhole.

  “We can’t leave this site unguarded,” Sisko said, more to himself than to the crew. Since the Typhon Pact had constructed their artificial wormhole in a way that provided them access to the Gamma Quadrant, they might already have sent ships on their way to the Dominion. And if the communications relay had gone down, Sisko could easily envision its destruction at the hands of the Pact—which would confirm that at least one of their vessels had already navigated through the two wormholes. If so, the captain could not allow any of those ships back through.

  Stepping forward, the captain leaned in beside Stinson at the integrated conn and ops station. “Commander, would it be possible to position the Defiant within the intersection in order to form a blockade?”