A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  Riker looked to Troi, whose own expression was one of surprise. “He’s sincere in his proposal,” she said.

  “Yes,” Kalsha said, “let your Betazoid counselor be the arbiter here if you are unsure. What I tell you will be true.”

  It was an effort for Riker not to cross his arms, stroke his chin, or offer any other physical sign that the Satarran had caught him off guard. This was not at all what he had expected from the captured spy. Kalsha had offered an open, honest dialogue? Riker’s gut told him not to squander it.

  “It seems,” he said a moment later, “that neither of us has anything to lose by that.”

  Kalsha nodded in apparent approval. “Excellent. So, let us talk.”

  “I presume,” Riker said, “that you are aware we found Ensign Liryn where you left him?” Much to his relief, the Bajoran security officer had been found unconscious but otherwise unharmed inside a Jefferies tube on deck fourteen.

  Kalsha sighed heavily at the question. “Of course I am, otherwise I would not be here. Come now, you can do better than that.”

  Feeling his jaw tighten, Riker forced himself to wait an extra beat before responding. Poker face, he reminded himself. Still, he found it easier to sidestep the verbal jab than he had a minute earlier. Obviously, the Satarran was still trying to assert some kind of control over the conversation, even if he had pledged honesty in his answers. “Should we hold out any hope for finding Lieutenant Diix as well?”

  He knew the answer as soon as Kalsha’s eyes dropped to look at a point on the floor of the cell. He remained that way for a few seconds before slowly shaking his head. “Regrettably,” he said, “the Andorian is dead, and I was forced to dispose of his body. For that I sincerely apologize.”

  “You say that as if his life somehow mattered to you,” Riker said, annoyance once again beginning to lace his speech.

  Anger flashed in the Satarran’s eyes. “It did matter to me. I am not a murderer.”

  “Forgive me if I think your declaration rings a little hollow,” Riker snapped. “By my count, you’ve killed two of my people.”

  “Commander,” Troi said, her tone one of caution. Though he did not visibly acknowledge her, Riker forced himself to ratchet his emotions down a notch, knowing she would sense the change, or at least the attempt.

  “By my count, it could have been many more,” Kalsha replied, his own voice laced with apparent irritation. He paused, perhaps to collect himself, once more stroking his left forearm before continuing.

  What’s with that, anyway? For a moment, Riker thought the Satarran might have concealed something beneath his skin, a weapon or communications device of some kind, but he just as quickly dismissed the idea. After all, the prisoner had been thoroughly searched and scanned before being confined to his cell.

  “Despite what you may think of me,” Kalsha continued, “I do not kill without purpose or reason. I spared the Bajoran man and the human woman before him. Had my mission been to kill all of you, I would have.”

  “Are you saying your mission doesn’t involve killing us?” Troi asked.

  The Satarran turned his head to regard the counselor. “That was not my original mission, no.” Riker noted how the irritation that had clouded Kalsha’s features only a moment ago now seemed replaced with what he might recognize as resignation on the face of a human. “My primary target was the android.”

  “Disable Data?” Riker asked. “Why?” When no answer seemed to be forthcoming after several seconds, he pressed, “Is that beyond the bounds of our agreement?”

  “It should seem obvious to you by now,” Kalsha replied. “The android was the one member of your crew who stood the greatest chance of uncovering our operations here. With him neutralized, the threat of discovery was drastically diminished.”

  “You plotted to kill him,” Riker said. “That would seem to go against your supposed credo of sparing life whenever possible.”

  The Satarran shrugged. “Unlike you, I do not view the android as anything other than what it is: a machine. To me, it was a tool to be used and discarded, and nothing more.”

  Bracing at the stark admission, Riker leaned forward, his voice taking on a hint of menace. “Data’s my friend.”

  “I meant no insult, Commander,” Kalsha said, the cadence and tenor of his voice unchanged. “Understand that our level of technology is far behind yours in a number of areas, particularly with regards to artificial life-forms. We have not yet had the opportunity to fully appreciate the potential that a…that an individual such as Commander Data represents.”

  Nice save, Riker mused. “Fair enough,” he said, allowing a bit of warning to remain in his voice as he spoke the words. “Speaking of technology, let’s talk about that suit of yours. Our engineers are having a field day looking it over.”

  In actuality, La Forge had already reported that there was nothing about the garment which came close to rivaling anything created by Federation science. Only the way in which its network of sensors, holographic emitters, and dampening fields worked together to provide the wearer with the ideal camouflage and ability to mimic nearly any humanoid life-form offered any real interest to the engineer.

  Still, it provided a nice way to keep the questioning on track.

  “It serves its purpose,” Kalsha said. Apparently realizing that the fingers of his right hand had been playing across his left arm, he abruptly ceased the motion. It took Riker several seconds to understand the significance of what he had been witnessing since entering the detention cell.

  That’s where the control pad was.

  The Satarran, no doubt an experienced undercover operative, had probably grown to rely heavily on the metallic exoskeleton and its chameleon-like qualities in the course of carrying out his various assignments. More than likely, the garment had protected him on countless occasions, perhaps even the single thing that had saved his life in some of those situations. For all intents and purposes, it might as well be a second skin for him.

  Kalsha smiled again. “I do miss the shroud. It is often an indispensable tool in my line of work.” Indicating his left arm, he added, “It is also possible that I’ve grown to rely on it too much. Perhaps that is a sign that I have been pursuing my chosen profession for too long.”

  “They even found the concealed burst transmitter that was activated when the suit was removed from you,” Riker said. “What was the purpose of that?”

  Kalsha shrugged. “The transmission notifies my superiors that I’ve been captured. Rest assured that I am considered expendable, Commander. They will make no effort to rescue me.”

  Glancing to Troi, who after a moment nodded confirmation that the Satarran was being truthful, Riker allowed himself a small smile of his own. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said, wondering how far he might be able to push Kalsha’s apparent sense of charity in that regard. “With that in mind, I do have some more questions for you. First, how many more of your people are aboard this ship?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The quick answer actually made Riker blink twice before he caught himself and reestablished his bearing. “Excuse me?”

  “We operate individually, Commander,” Kalsha said. “I was sent here alone to carry out my assignment. If others have been dispatched, it is without my knowledge.”

  Riker looked to Troi, who seemed to be struggling with her own thoughts yet again. “I’m sensing no deception,” she said. “The answers he’s given to this point are truthful, so far as I can determine.”

  The question, he knew, was whether the Satarran was actually being honest, or if he simply possessed enough experience and savvy to thwart even her abilities.

  “Fine,” he said after a moment. He turned back to Kalsha. “We already know that you accessed our computer and altered several of the security protocols, deactivated internal sensors and so on. What else have you done?”

  “What was required of me, Commander,” Kalsha replied, his expression returning to one of unreadable detach
ment.

  Was it Riker’s imagination, or had the Satarran’s words actually carried a hint of resignation?

  I think this interview just became a lot more difficult.

  Chapter Twenty

  PICARD FELT HIS UNEASE growing with every moment he listened to Riker’s report of the interrogation.

  “And you’re sure he’s telling the truth?” he asked as he studied the padd his first officer had given him, which contained the entire transcript of the interview with the captured Satarran.

  “Deanna is,” Riker replied. “At least, she’s fairly certain. After the interview, she said that she had a difficult time reading Kalsha’s emotions. It required more effort from her than is usual with most humanoids. She said trying to read him was almost as bad as dealing with a Ferengi.”

  “Interesting,” the captain said. “That would go a long way toward explaining the apparent confusion she experienced during our earlier run in with some of the Dokaalan leadership, assuming those individuals were Satarrans in disguise.” He also realized that if the counselor was having trouble reading the emotional state of their adversaries, that might not bode well during any future encounters.

  Riker nodded. “That’s basically what she said. As for Kalsha, he didn’t volunteer a damned thing, but according to her, he didn’t lie about anything we asked him, either. We had to pursue lines of questioning if we wanted the complete answer to any particular subject. He’s a professional, all right.”

  “Honest, yet evasive. No doubt an experienced field agent.” He dropped the padd onto the pile of other such devices and swiveled his chair away from his desk. “And he’s probably correct that his superiors are aware that we’ve captured him. Given what we know of his people’s tactics in situations like this, it’s probably safe to assume that he’ll be left to his own devices.”

  When the Enterprise crew had captured a Satarran spy operating among them more than a decade ago, they had been surprised to learn that the lone alien had been working completely alone, with no support personnel or facilities anywhere in a position to assist him. Even after his capture, the Satarran government had failed even to acknowledge the spy’s existence.

  “What I wonder about now,” the captain continued, “is just how informed he is of the current situation taking place off the ship. We know from our previous encounter that compartmented security is standard procedure for Satarran intelligence operatives.”

  “Well, he’s got handlers who sent him here,” Riker said, “and they’ve been busy. They’ve been here for years, working behind the scenes to commandeer the Dokaalan’s terraforming project. That includes at least a few of the incidents on some of their mining outposts.” Sighing in evident frustration, he added, “He didn’t give specifics, of course, but the general scheme is one intended to manipulate the Dokaalan into supporting the terraforming project on Ijuuka, through fear if necessary.”

  “Yet he gave no indication of how many of his people were among the Dokaalan?” Picard asked.

  Riker shook his head. “He said he didn’t know the exact number, but I think it’s a safe bet that they’ve worked their way into positions of power throughout the colony.”

  The captain was forced to agree. If what Commander La Forge and Lieutenant Taurik had experienced on Ijuuka was any indication, at least a handful of those tasked with overseeing the atmospheric processing centers had been replaced with Satarrans.

  “For their plan to be successful in the long term,” he said, “it stands to reason that they have at least one person on the leadership council.” In fact, Picard was now convinced that Science Minister Creij had to be a plant, using her role to ensure that Data’s plan to accelerate the atmospheric conversion process on Ijuuka benefited the Satarrans’ needs rather than those of the Dokaalan.

  He had no proof to back up that suspicion, of course, but it made perfect sense, serving to illustrate just how far the Satarrans had infiltrated Dokaalan society. Replacing the colony’s leading scientific mind would be a logical maneuver, allowing the interlopers to control nearly every aspect of the planetary reformation process, which had ultimately included covert operations aboard the Enterprise.

  “What I want to know,” Riker said, “is how they got here, and how they’ve been able to worm their way so far into these people’s lives and do so much damage.” He shook his head. “It’s almost too incredible to believe.”

  Picard was not so sure. Though their level of technology was known to be inferior to that of the Federation in many areas, the Satarrans’ ability to compensate for such shortcomings with ingenuity and even guile was well known. The Enterprise had been introduced to that adroitness years ago, demonstrated by one lone operative’s relatively effortless ability to access the ship’s computer, to say nothing of how he had nearly succeeded in brainwashing the entire crew into all but annihilating the Satarrans’ sworn enemy, the Lysians.

  Now, Picard faced the threat that more of the undercover agents were aboard his ship, moving about in stealth and possibly preparing for…what? Sabotage? Murder? There was no way of knowing, even after Riker’s lengthy questioning of Kalsha.

  And what of the Dokaalan themselves? Were any of them being influenced even more so than by the Satarrans’ shadowy operations behind the scenes? So far, there had been no evidence that the Dokaalan had been exploited with the same strange technology the Satarrans had used to suppress the memories of the Enterprise crew during that first encounter more than a decade ago, but Picard was unwilling to entirely rule out such a possibility.

  Moving away from that disturbing line of thinking, he asked, “What is the progress of the computer cleanup?”

  “The techs are still working through the operating system and the bulk of the data storage banks,” Riker replied. “They had planned to simply purge the primary computer cores and reload everything from protected archives, but they found signs that Kalsha had infiltrated those areas along with the backup core, too. We can’t be sure of anything until a thorough sweep is completed.”

  It was one thing to be worried about insurgents running about the ship and causing all manner of trouble, Picard knew, but to fear the ship itself? Almost nothing pertaining to the operation of the Enterprise’s myriad onboard systems occurred without the influence or even notice of the marvelous feat of engineering that was the main computer. If Kalsha or another as yet undiscovered Satarran agent had subverted it for their own ends, then the safety of the ship and the entire crew was at risk.

  “Have Mr. Data assist the computer division,” Picard ordered. “Make it his priority to support them until the situation is resolved.”

  Riker nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  The captain stopped short of assigning his second officer to take over the department for the duration of the current situation. Such a move would usurp the department head’s authority in the eyes of that officer’s subordinates. Even tasking a member of the senior staff to play a supporting role was a delicate balancing act of leadership, but there was no arguing Data’s specific talents in this regard. If anyone could root out whatever tricks, traps, or pitfalls that lurked within the computer, it was him.

  The tone for the ship’s intercom beeped for attention, followed by the voice of Counselor Troi. “Bridge to Captain Picard. Sensors are detecting weapons fire at the Dokaalan colony, sir.”

  There was barely enough time for captain and first officer to exchange shocked expressions at the report before Picard bolted from behind his desk. “On my way,” he said, the reply coming as the doors to his ready room parted and allowed him and Riker to step onto the bridge.

  “Report,” he ordered as he moved to stand between the conn and ops stations, taking in the image of the mammoth asteroid and its network of habitation modules centered on the main viewer.

  “It just started, sir,” Troi said as she vacated the center seat in deference to Picard. “Particle-beam signatures from different types of weapons.”

  “Where?” Picard asked.<
br />
  From where she stood at the tactical console, Lieutenant Vale said, “Most of the readings are originating near the colony’s central command center and the council chambers, sir.”

  “Some kind of uprising?” Riker asked as he settled into his own seat and activated the status monitor positioned near his right hand. “Colonists rioting against the council?”

  Picard considered the possibility. First Minister Hjatyn had expressed concern that segments of the populace were discontent with the terraforming initiative. Many considered it a hazardous and wasteful use of the limited resources the colonies relied upon to ensure their survival within the makeshift environments they had fashioned for themselves among the asteroids.

  No, he decided.

  “This has to be the Satarrans,” he said, “but why the sudden change in tactics now?” Certainly the insurgents had to know by now that there was little left for Picard and his crew to learn about their operations here, and were probably now wondering when the Enterprise would take action against them.

  “You’re thinking we forced their hand, aren’t you?” Riker said, as if reading his captain’s thoughts.

  Nodding, Picard replied, “Indeed I do, Number One.”

  To his right, Vale looked up from her station. “Captain, we’re receiving an incoming distress call from the colony.”

  “On screen,” the captain ordered, and the image on the main viewer shifted to that of a distressed-looking Dokaalan dressed in the robes worn by members of the Zahanzei Council. Picard could not remember his name, but he realized that he had encountered this particular man during the first meeting with the council only a few days earlier. Fear was evident in the Dokaalan’s maroon eyes as he stared out from the screen.

  “Captain Picard!” he cried. “Minister Nidan is leading a revolt. Our own people are turning against us! We need your help!”

  “Nidan,” Riker said.

  Picard felt his jaw tighten. “The perfect choice for the Satarrans to replace.”

  “It would explain the feelings of suspicion and anxiety I sensed in him,” Troi said.