Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  As they watched, the map dissolved into a maelstrom of static before the image faded altogether, leaving behind a dark screen.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” La Forge said. “Can your security measures be overridden?”

  “Only by someone with access to our computer network,” ch’Perine replied, “but it’s encrypted and requires specific authorization and decryption keys.”

  La Forge nodded toward the console. “Somebody’s got it. Can you lock out any other point of access to the system from here?”

  “Yes,” ch’Perine said. “I can do that now.”

  As the Andorian worked, an alarm sounded in the operations center, followed by a male voice speaking in a droll, monotonous cadence. “Attention. Unauthorized computer system access, high clearance memory. Intrusion countermeasures activated. Terminate control mode. Activate matrix storage.”

  “What is that?” La Forge asked.

  His hands playing over different sections of the console, ch’Perine replied, “The system has activated an emergency core dump to secondary off-site storage. That’s standard procedure in the event of a system breach, prior to a complete shutdown and the transfer of all system-control protocols to the backup operations center.” He stopped as the image on another monitor changed. “Commander, look.”

  La Forge felt his stomach lurch as he watched status indicators on the main control board shift from blue to harsh crimson. Energy levels were beginning to rise, and warning gauges were flashing alert messages.

  “It’s an overload in progress,” ch’Perine said. “Someone has severed the power-distribution network and deactivated the balancing and regulator protocols. The temperature inside the storage cells is rising. If this is allowed to continue, the result will be catastrophic.” He pointed to another status monitor. “We have less than three minutes now. Once it reaches critical levels, the process can’t be reversed.”

  Stepping closer to the console, La Forge studied the banks of controls, indicators, and monitors. “Can’t we stop it?”

  “Not in the time available,” ch’Perine replied, before releasing a hiss of frustration between gritted teeth. “The emergency discharge circuits are off-line. They’ve been locked out! I do not understand how that’s even possible. Someone on the outside should not be able to access our system, let alone do this.”

  La Forge grunted. “My bet is that they had help from someone on the inside.” He was about to suggest possible courses of action when his combadge beeped.

  “Granados to Commander La Forge!”

  “La Forge here,” the engineer replied, hearing the anxious tone in the ensign’s voice.

  Static crackled through the communications frequency before Granados said, “Sir, are you seeing this overload? We’re reading it on the control monitors here.”

  As if to accentuate the point, the computer system chose that moment to announce, “Attention. System overload in progress. Evacuate the facility immediately. This is not a drill.”

  “We know!” La Forge shouted. “Granados, where are you now? Is the rest of the team with you?”

  Granados replied, “Affirmative sir. We’re in the secondary control room on level two. All hands accounted for.”

  “Okay, sit tight, I’m calling for evac,” the engineer said before tapping his communicator again. “La Forge to Enterprise! Lock on to everyone in this facility and prepare to beam them out of here on my command.”

  “Commander,” replied another voice, this one belonging to Worf, “coordinates have been relayed to transporter control. What is your situation?”

  Moving around ch’Perine to examine another bank of status indicators, La Forge replied, “Somebody’s accessed the power plant’s main computer system and started an overload. We’ve got about two minutes before the whole place goes up. Get somebody on tracking the source of the breach!” To ch’Perine, he said, “Kilamji, we need to go. Now!”

  From his combadge, Worf’s voice said, “Coordinates plotted, Commander. We are ready to transport on your order. According to our scans, detonation will occur in approximately one hundred seconds.”

  The Andorian uttered a cry of rage before slamming both fists on the console. “There’s nothing I can do!”

  “Then we’re out of here,” La Forge said. “Enterprise, beam us up!” He was aware of the column of energy coalescing around him and the tingle washing over his body, which was over almost as soon as it began. Then the operations center was gone, replaced by one of the Enterprise transporter rooms. Behind the transporter console, Lieutenant Attico stared back at him with wide eyes and a nervous expression.

  “Check with the other transporter rooms,” La Forge said as he stepped down from the pad. “Is everyone out of there?”

  Looking down at one of the console’s displays, Attico nodded. “Yes, Commander. Our people are accounted for, and the rest of the Andorian factory workers are coming up now.”

  “La Forge to bridge,” the engineer said, his voice command automatically activating the ship’s internal communications system. “Worf, are you monitoring the power plant?”

  “Affirmative,” the first officer replied. “The overload is continuing to build. Estimated time to detonation is . . . standing by.”

  Stand by? What the hell is he talking about? “Worf,” La Forge said, confused. “What’s going on?”

  Several seconds passed before the Klingon replied, “Commander, the overload has been aborted. According to our scans, the power plant’s energy levels are lowering, with the excess being discharged through emergency circuits.”

  “That’s impossible!” ch’Perine snapped, and La Forge turned to see him stepping off the transporter pad. “Those systems were locked out!”

  “He’s right, Worf,” La Forge said. “Those circuits were deactivated by whoever accessed the system and started the overload.”

  The first officer said, “We have no explanation. From what we can tell . . .” There was another pause before Worf added, “Commander, we’re receiving a message from someone claiming to speak for the Treishya. The source of the signal is being masked.”

  “What?” La Forge could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Worf, what are they saying?”

  “Stand by,” Worf replied. “We’re routing the transmission to you.”

  A tone sounded over the link before a new voice said, “We are the Treishya, the guardians of Andor, assuming that sacred trust on behalf of a government unwilling to do all that is necessary to protect our people and their identity. For too long we have allowed ourselves to be led by those weaker than us, who do not share the same values we hold dear, and who choose of their own volition to insert themselves into matters which are not their concern and which they can never understand. Outworlders, our message to you is simple: We do not want you here. Leave us, and do not return. If you choose to stay, then you do so as uninvited and unwelcome intruders.”

  “Are they serious?” La Forge asked, staring in disbelief at ch’Perine.

  “We did not ask for your assistance,” the voice continued, “and we will survive without it. Further, the Treishya calls on the children of this world to impede the efforts of any outworlder to further defile our planet, through any passive or active means at their disposal.”

  After a moment, Worf’s voice returned. “That’s the entire message. We’re attempting to trace the source of it, as well as the power plant’s computer-system breach, but we aren’t having much success. I am contacting Captain Picard, along with all Enterprise and Starfleet personnel, to be on the alert.”

  “The captain’s down there?” La Forge asked.

  There was yet another pause before Worf replied, and when he did, the engineer heard the tension in his friend’s voice.

  “Yes.”

  22

  Columns of ice, hundreds of meters in diameter and spaced as far apart, rose from the depths of the cavern to tower high overhead. His eyes tracing the ascent of the mammoth pillars, Picar
d studied how they expanded as they melded with the curved ceiling far above him, wondering if the vast chamber was a natural formation or the result of deliberate action at some unknown point in Andor’s mysterious, unrecorded history.

  “This is simply incredible,” he said, his voice but a whisper that still seemed to echo off the surrounding ice. Standing on a ledge carved out of the wall leading down from the cavern’s entrance, Picard enjoyed an unobstructed view of the portion of the underground city that had so far been excavated. He had been anticipating this moment since seeing those first images on Professor ch’Galoniq’s monitor back at the base camp, but even the quality and beauty of those pictures paled in comparison to standing here, beholding the subterranean Aenar city with his own eyes.

  Standing next to him, Lieutenant McClowan replied, “Forgive me for going with the obvious turn of phrase, sir, but what you see here is quite literally the tip of the iceberg.”

  “The lieutenant is right,” said ch’Galoniq, standing to Picard’s left. “According to the sensor data we’ve collected, more than ninety percent of the city is still buried. We’ve tunneled into different areas of the cavern, and everything we’ve found so far is perfectly preserved within the ice.”

  Picard nodded in amazement as he beheld the sight before him. By his estimate, the cavern’s concave ceiling was perhaps a hundred meters above the floor. Rising out of that floor and encircling each of the more than two dozen columns scattered throughout the chamber were structures created via artificial means. “I’ve seen images of the Aenar city discovered in the Northern Wastes in the early twenty-second century, and there are obvious similarities in design.” To his practiced eye, however, the city before him lacked much of the artistic flair that had characterized the wondrous subterranean metropolis believed to have been home to the last surviving members of the Aenar race.

  “We’re currently operating under the theory that the Aenar had not always been blind,” ch’Galoniq said, “but rather their apparent genetic disposition toward blindness occurred as a consequence of generations spent living underground.” He gestured toward the city. “How might someone who could not see create something of such beauty? By our best estimates, this find predates that city by almost one thousand years. Definitely preindustrial by any standard measure, but as you can see, that did not appear to be a hindrance. Most of what we’ve found suggests the builders here were working with more conventional materials, rather than the composites that comprised much of the structures to the north.” He pointed to one of the closer columns and the massive edifice encircling much of it. “Foundations and other support structures are embedded deep into the spires, anchoring the surrounding construction, which actually accounts for perhaps forty percent of the building’s total habitable space. The rest is carved into the column itself.”

  Picard tried to envision the interior of the artificial construct, drawing on what he knew of ancient as well as modern Andorian architectural techniques. “It’s a fascinating parallel to Vulcan engineering,” he said, “substituting ice for rock to achieve similar results.”

  Chuckling, ch’Galoniq offered a wide, tooth-filled smile. “And considering the rather tumultuous history my people share with Vulcans, you can just imagine how such comparisons might trouble some of the more disagreeable members of Andorian society.”

  “Indeed,” Picard replied, nodding in understanding and unable to suppress a small grin. Vulcan and Andor, Earth’s long-standing interstellar allies, had spent centuries embroiled in bitter conflict. With Earth’s help, they had set aside their differences in order to join humanity as part of the original Coalition, which had ultimately evolved into the United Federation of Planets. Still, Picard held no illusions that segments of each society still retained some form of animosity toward the other.

  “It looks almost as if it could be inhabited,” McClowan said, shaking her head in wonder.

  Ch’Galoniq replied, “The quality of preservation is astounding, even for this region. Other finds we’ve made this far north usually have suffered damage from cave-ins, seismic or volcanic events, and so on. This site, however, appears to have been spared those sorts of misfortunes, which is ironic, of course. If not for the Borg attack, it might have been years before we discovered this on our own. I suppose on that count, we actually owe the Borg a debt of gratitude.”

  A number of responses flashed in Picard’s mind, but the captain chose against offering any of them aloud. Instead, he asked, “Have you been able to find any indications as to what might’ve happened here? Where the population might have gone?”

  The professor shook his head. “Nothing as yet. There’s still much of the city to explore, so perhaps there are clues yet to be found. We’ve dispatched messages and other information to the Science Institute, requesting research into the historical archives, but so far we have received no reply.” He shook his head, casting his gaze to the snow and ice at his feet. “There is much that remains unknown about the Aenar, even after all this time, and so much we likely will never know.”

  “And yet,” Picard said, “still so much to learn. I envy you, Professor. Not only is this a remarkable find, but it’s also a window into a period of your world’s history that’s remained closed for far too long. Rather than dwell on what you likely won’t find, I wish you the best of luck with the discoveries you surely will make here.”

  Smiling, ch’Galoniq nodded. “Thank you, Captain. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget the rewards my work can bring me, if I would only allow it.”

  Interesting choice of words, Picard mused. He had spent a significant portion of the past year pondering his current duties and wondering if he might be better suited either to take some other assignment or simply retire altogether. From his talks with Beverly, either at the start or conclusion of what more often than not had been very long days, he knew that he likely had failed to take away the proper level of appreciation for what he and his crew had accomplished as worlds across the Federation continued their rebuilding efforts. Though he might desire to spend his time and efforts on other pursuits, he knew that for the time being, he was where he needed to be. There remained much to do, but there also was much to be proud of, and with Professor ch’Galoniq’s innocent comment, Picard realized he should probably remind himself of such things from time to time.

  “I don’t suppose I could convince you to extend your stay, Captain?” the professor asked him. “Though the odds of discovering anything of note today are remote at best, one never knows what tomorrow might bring.”

  Picard shook his head, forming a response, when his communicator badge chirped.

  “Enterprise to Captain Picard,” said the voice of Commander Worf, and there was no mistaking the tension lacing even those few words from the first officer.

  Frowning, the captain reached up to tap the badge where it was affixed to a patch on his Starfleet-issue parka. “Picard here. Go ahead, Number One.”

  “Captain, there has been an incident with one of our away teams,” Worf replied. “Commander La Forge and his engineering detail were attacked while working at a power-generation facility. Members of the Treishya have claimed responsibility for the action, during which they at least threatened to destroy the facility. We were forced to evacuate the team and all planet personnel to the ship.”

  Startled by this news, Picard asked, “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, sir. The facility appears to have been the primary target, though mostly as a means of forcing an evacuation. However, they broadcast a message stating their intentions to interfere with the activities of any non-Andorian civilians or Starfleet personnel. I have already issued orders for all Enterprise personnel to return to the ship, and I—” An audible snapping sound belched from the combadge.

  “Mr. Worf?” Picard called out before tapping the combadge once more. “Picard to Enterprise.” When no one answered, the captain repeated the attempt and achieved the same result. Turning to ch’Galoniq, he asked, “Professor, are y
ou employing any equipment that might interfere with communications?”

  The Andorian shook his head. “None of our equipment should have any effect like that.”

  A feeling of unease beginning to grip him, Picard turned toward the passageway leading back to the surface. “Something’s not right here,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They were nearly to the tunnel opening, the bright blue sky of late afternoon beaming through the aperture and reflecting off the ice, when Picard heard the distinctive sounds of energy weapons exchanging fire: Starfleet phasers and Andorian disruptors. Gesturing for the trio to halt their advance, the captain reached into a pocket of his parka and extracted his own phaser, verifying that it was set to stun. A glance over his shoulder told him that McClowan was mimicking his movements.

  “What’s going on?” ch’Galoniq asked, his light blue complexion paling in worry. “We’re under attack?”

  Picard nodded, splitting his attention between the Andorian and the weapons fire being exchanged somewhere outside the tunnel. “It would seem so, Professor.” He considered what Worf had managed to tell him before their communication was interrupted. “If the information my first officer received is correct, the Treishya is launching an active campaign against any non-Andorians.”

  “That’s outrageous!” ch’Galoniq said, all but spitting out the words. “They have no right to interfere with your peaceful efforts to help us, particularly if we’ve asked for your assistance!”

  Standing behind him, McClowan replied, “The Treishya see it differently, Professor.”

  For his part, Picard was irritated with himself. After the earlier disruption experienced by Worf, Lieutenant Choudhury, and her security team at the conference site, should something like this escalation have been foreseen? Perhaps, he granted, but that concession was of little help at the moment.

  The sound of someone shouting carried down the passageway just before a shadow moved across the mouth of the tunnel. Picard turned toward it, extending his arm and aiming his phaser just as a figure stepped into view less than ten meters away. He recognized the white hair and antennae of an Andorian at the same time as he registered the disruptor rifle the new arrival brandished. The intruder saw him, too, and started bringing up the muzzle of his weapon as soon as his eyes locked with Picard’s.