A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  “What’s it doing?” the captain asked.

  “Captain,” Data said, “the program is working to bypass the protective measures Lieutenant Vale deployed to secure various shipboard systems.”

  “He’s right,” Vale said from the tactical station. “I’m registering simultaneous assaults on fourteen separate systems, including environmental control, communications, the warp propulsion oversight systems, and even central computer operations itself.”

  “Can’t you stop the program?” Troi asked. “Or purge it from the computer?”

  “No, Counselor,” the android replied. “It is designed to self-replicate as many times as necessary in order to complete its instructions.”

  Vale said, “This thing is corrupting other software as it worms through the system. We’ll have to restore several subsystems from protected backups when all this is done.”

  “How long before it breaks through the lockouts?” Picard asked.

  “I am endeavoring to ascertain that now, sir.”

  Feeling even his legendary self-control beginning to falter, Picard silently cursed this latest obstacle thrown into their path by the rogue Satarran operative. Even a last ditch action borne of desperation in the waning seconds before his inevitable capture had been enough to cause them strife.

  “Captain,” Vale said a moment later, “Commander Data has stopped the infiltration of the environmental systems.”

  There was a collective sigh of relief at the lieutenant’s announcement. At least the crew would not have to worry about suffocating or having to cope with any other radical changes the Satarran’s sabotage might have inflicted upon them.

  From the intercom, Data said, “Captain, I believe I have circumvented the program’s attempt to take control of central computer operations.”

  “Whatever he did,” Riker said as he stepped aside and allowed two of Vale’s security officers to take the stunned Satarran agent into custody, “it doesn’t look as though he did a good job of it.”

  “Small favors, Number One,” Picard said, his brow furrowing in concentration as he regarded the unconscious operative.

  Noting his captain’s expression, Riker asked, “Something wrong, sir?”

  Picard said nothing for a moment as he watched Vale’s team remove the operative from the bridge. Despite the apparent ease with which Data was handling whatever the Satarran had inflicted upon the Enterprise’s computer system, the agent’s modifications were still requiring a great deal of attention in order to remove its influence.

  The Satarran had been working feverishly up to the point that Data’s hypersonic signal had incapacitated him. Had his actions truly been a final frantic attempt to inflict chaos on the ship and the crew?

  “Our friend and his companions were quite effective at infiltrating the computer system and maintaining their secrecy,” Picard said as his gaze came to rest on the engineering station where the Satarran impersonating Lieutenant Pauls had sat. “I find it hard to believe that even when faced with imminent capture, he would suddenly take leave of his training and abilities.”

  The thoughts were a jumble in his mind, and the captain fought to bring order to them. What was he saying? That the Satarran had deliberately set up problems that his crew could solve with only moderate effort? Why?

  Then the questions were pushed aside, and the only thing Picard saw was the answer.

  To direct our attention elsewhere.

  “Mr. Data,” he said suddenly, “what systems are not yet secure from the program’s effects?”

  The android’s reply was immediate. “Warp drive, weapons, communications, deflector shield control, sensor….”

  “Communications,” the captain interrupted. “That’s it. Data, concentrate your efforts there.”

  Instead of a response from Data, Picard instead heard another alert tone from the tactical station. Turning to Vale, he asked, “What now?”

  Her expression a mask of frustration, the lieutenant said, “The program’s broken through the security lockout on the comm system, sir.” Tapping controls on her console, after several seconds she shook her head. “The instant it broke through it opened a channel and sent a burst transmission.”

  “Where?” Troi asked.

  Picard already knew the answer. “The colony.”

  Vale nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Are we far enough away that the radiation field could disrupt the signal?” Troi asked, stepping closer to Picard.

  The security chief entered another string of commands to her station. “It looks like the radiation did degrade the transmission, but I’m not sure it was enough to totally garble the message.”

  “Which means that Lorakin probably knows we captured his agents,” Riker said.

  Picard nodded in agreement. If that were the case, how long would it take for Lorakin to carry out his threat and detonate the explosives dispersed throughout the Dokaalan central habitat?

  Another tone sounded from Vale’s console, and after a moment she looked up and added, “Captain, the attacks on the other subsystems have stopped. It’s as if the program just quit working.”

  “Of course,” Picard said, his voice barely a whisper. The Satarran’s use of misdirection had been an elegantly simple tactic, launching the simultaneous attacks on the ship’s various critical systems and occupying Data just long enough to accomplish his true goal of alerting his superior to Picard’s actions.

  Turning back to face the viewscreen, he said, “Helm, increase speed to full impulse.” He saw the young woman’s shoulders tense up as she heard the order, and understood her pang of anxiety. Maneuvering through the asteroid field at such speed was a difficult, and dangerous, proposition, perhaps even for Data.

  Her reaction was momentary, though, passing almost as quickly as it had appeared before Perim’s hands began to move over her console. “Full impulse. Aye, sir.”

  Apparently noting the lieutenant’s possible unease with what had been asked of her, Riker stepped down into the command well and tapped the ensign seated at the ops station on the shoulder. “Let me take over for a bit, Mr. Basore,” he said, and the younger officer vacated the chair so he could sit down. “This could get tricky,” he offered to Perim, casting a supportive smile in her direction. “I’ll keep an eye on the navigational sensors, and you just get us there. Deal?”

  “Deal, sir,” Perim replied, keeping her attention focused on her instruments, but Picard saw the Trill officer sitting a bit straighter in her chair as she continued to work.

  “Time to arrival?” Picard asked.

  Not looking up from her station, Perim replied, “Two minutes, twelve seconds, sir.”

  The captain turned to Vale. “Any indication of detonations on the asteroid?”

  Consulting her sensor displays, the lieutenant said, “No, sir.”

  Did that mean that Lorakin had not received the message sent by the agent now in Enterprise custody? Picard considered that wishful thinking. Regardless, he knew there was nothing he could do about the Satarran leader, not from out here. Therefore, the only course of action remaining to him was to carry out his plan to seize the colony and wrest it from the grip of the Satarrans.

  That, and hope his luck held out just a bit longer.

  Lorakin was worried.

  He did not allow his anxiety to show, of course, not to his subordinates or to any of the sixteen Dokaalan currently occupying the chambers of the Zahanzei Council. To them he presented the outward appearance of a leader in total control, an image that was necessary given their current situation.

  “What have you done with Hjatyn?” asked one of the colonists, a member of the staff who had been working in the command center when Lorakin ordered the room secured. “And how long are you going to defile his image?”

  Pacing the room slowly, hands clasped behind his back, Lorakin regarded the faces of the Dokaalan staring back at him, including the colonist who had just challenged him, and understood their confusion and their cont
empt. He still maintained his persona of Hjatyn, which was no doubt upsetting to the colonists now that they realized he was not their beloved leader.

  The first minister was respected by all of Dokaalan society, he reminded himself. For them to see Hjatyn’s image portrayed by someone who was treating them as Lorakin and the other Satarrans were had to be upsetting, of not outright offensive to the Dokaalan gathered here.

  “Until I have need to appear as something else,” Lorakin replied, allowing his expression to harden as he glared at the outspoken Dokaalan. “That will most likely occur at the same moment I decide that I no longer have any reason to keep you alive.”

  The obvious warning had the desired effect of cowing the colonist, and he returned to his place among his companions. Lorakin maintained his menacing expression until his pacing caused him to reverse direction and proceed back across the room, not even looking over at the rest of the Dokaalan as he walked past them.

  In truth, he had no desire to kill any of these people, just as he had regretted every person who had been killed in order to protect the secrecy of what he and his team were doing here. Since the Satarrans had arrived here several years ago and begun insinuating themselves into Dokaalan society, Lorakin had issued strict instructions to avoid killing anyone unless failing to do so threatened to reveal their presence here. With a joint colony of tens of thousands of people in which to blend, he had not seen the need for murder without such dire conditions to justify the action. His order had been broken a handful of times, and even though the reasons had been legitimate and had saved their operation from being exposed, Lorakin still regretted what circumstances had forced upon him.

  And what about now? Their efforts to take control of the Dokaalan’s terraforming of Ijuuka had been uncovered, and would surely be hampered once the balance of the Dokaalan population learned how they had been manipulated and used and how everything a large segment of their society had worked toward for generations had been taken from them. The reformation of the planet had not progressed to a point where Dokaalan involvement was no longer needed, but Lorakin did not see how that assistance could be assured without some sort of threat held over their heads. It therefore fell to him to decide the fate of an entire society.

  That was assuming Picard allowed him to do so, of course.

  The human captain had left far too easily for Lorakin’s comfort. Based on the reputation Picard had garnered, it made no sense for him to so readily accept defeat, which was why Lorakin had taken the precaution of dispatching escort ships to make sure the starship left the Dokaalan system. There were also several independent operatives still hiding among the vessel’s crew, with orders to act in defense of the mission here should Picard decide to return to the colony. Lorakin believed the captain would make that decision, and when that happened the agents’ mission would be to ensure the Enterprise’s destruction.

  “How long are you going to keep us here?”

  The question startled him from his reverie, but Lorakin was able to retain his composure before turning back to the collection of Dokaalan. He saw that it was Minister Myjerol who had stepped forward to speak this time. Lorakin remembered from previous encounters that the council member usually had a tendency to be soft-spoken, but that did not seem to be the case now. He appeared to carry himself with a newfound confidence. Lorakin suspected that the sudden change in the minister’s personality was due in no small part to the fact that with the removal of Hjatyn, Nidan, and Creij, he was now the senior member of the Zahanzei Council.

  “Are you required to be elsewhere?” the Satarran asked, maintaining a neutral expression as he spoke. To his credit, Myjerol did not waver, did not even blink in response to the blunt query.

  “You have taken us hostage,” he said, “and used us as leverage to force Captain Picard and his vessel away. This, after your uncounted cycles of using us for your own ends. How much longer is this to go on?”

  “As long as it is necessary,” Lorakin replied, allowing the warning to creep back into his voice once more.

  Myjerol shook his head. “No. It will go on no longer. There are far more of us than there are of you, and we will resist you with all of our strength.”

  The minister’s words were already having an effect on the other colonists, Lorakin noted. Even his own men, Daeniq and five other Satarrans all projecting the appearance of various Dokaalan, were beginning to look to him for direction. If allowed to continue, Myjerol could very well incite a small riot here in the council chambers. The Dokaalan would almost certainly all die in the attempt, of course, but possibly not before one or more of Lorakin’s own people were injured or killed.

  He had to regain total control of this situation, now.

  Making a show of drawing the disruptor from the holster at his waist, he said, “I do not need to kill very many of you, Minister. A few well-publicized executions should be enough to keep the rest of your people in line.”

  Incredulously, Myjerol countered, “I can see the uncertainty in your eyes.” He shook his head. “You do not want to kill me.”

  Lorakin raised the disruptor and leveled it at the Dokaalan’s chest. “Do not test me,” he said, but to his own shock, he heard his voice quaver as he spoke.

  He was distracted by the sound of the doors to the command center opening. Turning to look in that direction, Lorakin saw Daeniq, still impersonating the Dokaalan security minister, Nidan, enter the room. There was no mistaking the look of concern on his friend’s face.

  “Lorakin,” he said, holding up his communications device, “we have just received an incoming transmission. It was badly distorted and took several moments to decipher, but our technicians were able to filter out most of the interference so that we might decode it.”

  He tapped a control on the device, and Lorakin heard a momentary burst of static followed by a shrill alert tone. Then he heard an alternating series of low and high beats. It was an easily recognizable pattern, mostly due to the fact that it was Daeniq who had created it. His eyes widened in shock as the signal repeated itself over and over again.

  Uttering a particularly vulgar Satarran profanity, Lorakin looked to his friend. “Our agents on the Enterprise have failed.” Daeniq had created the encoded signal to have but a single meaning: the ship was on its way back here.

  What had happened? Had all of the operatives covertly dispatched to the Starfleet vessel been captured? That was the most likely scenario, given the alert he had just received. That it had been sent at all meant that whoever had sent it was most likely dead or in custody.

  As for Picard, what was his plan?

  Lorakin’s thoughts were interrupted as he felt the deck plating shudder beneath his feet. The vibrations translated to the bulkheads and even to the pieces of decorative artwork hanging on the walls, which quivered noticeably.

  “What was that?” Daeniq asked just as another tremor shook the room, only this time the sensation was more pronounced.

  Before he could answer, the doors leading to the command center burst open and Geliu ran into the room, still posing as Science Minister Creij. There was no mistaking the look of worry clouding her features.

  “All systems in the control room have just gone inoperative,” she said. “Everything is being jammed.”

  “It’s the Enterprise,” Daeniq said. “We are under attack!”

  The room trembled yet again. This time Lorakin reached out as he felt the deck plating sway beneath his boots. “Not on the colony,” he said as he righted himself, “but on the explosives we set.” Reaching for his communications device, he activated the unit.

  “What are you doing?” Geliu asked.

  Lorakin shook his head. “Telling Picard about the mistake he has just made.” He pressed the com unit’s transmit key and was rewarded by a burst of static. Frowning, he attempted to establish a connection again and received the same response. “Communications are also jammed,” he said as another tremor rattled the room.

  Commotion f
rom behind him made Lorakin turn to see the Dokaalan colonists growing restless and even panicked as the room continued to shake around them. Several of his subordinates had already drawn their weapons and were moving to retain order in the council chamber as Daeniq crossed the floor to meet him.

  “They will be coming,” he said, pulling his own disruptor from its holster.

  Lorakin nodded in grim agreement. Whatever Picard had done, he had done it well. The Satarran leader could feel his jaw clenching at the realization that he had grossly underestimated the captain, not only the man’s abilities but also his determination.

  “Perhaps we should consider surrendering,” Geliu offered.

  Anger flared in Lorakin’s vision at the sound of the words. He could not simply give up, not now. Too many people were depending on him and his team to accomplish what they had been sent here to do. Nothing less than total success was an acceptable option.

  “No,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Prepare our people, Daeniq,” he said. “We are not finished yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  THOUGH THEY MAY HAVE THOUGHT themselves capable of repelling a boarding party, it was obvious to Riker that the Satarrans were no match for fifty trained Enterprise security personnel.

  “This is Lieutenant Vale,” he heard over his combadge as he proceeded down an empty corridor leading from the airlock he and his five-person away team had passed through after departing their shuttlecraft. “Encountering minimal resistance. One enemy down, another is retreating. We’ve suffered no casualties and are proceeding in.”

  “Acknowledged,” the first officer said, keeping his phaser rifle and his own attention directed toward searching for threats within the passageway ahead of him. The security teams had entered the colony at six different points, with only three of them encountering immediate resistance from the Satarrans. Unlike Vale, Riker and his team had seen no one since entering the colony. “They may be pulling back for a last stand. Be careful.”