Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  “‘Unexpected yet controversial,’” Beverly Crusher echoed. “That’s an understatement and a half.”

  Watching the report on the viewscreen in Presider sh’Thalis’s office, Picard simply nodded. The newsnet broadcasts had been offering some variation of the report without respite since Ambassador Nreskene’s message to Andor, three days ago. Presider sh’Thalis had spent much of the ensuing time in closed-door meetings not only with Professor zh’Thiin but also with the other members of parliament, no doubt receiving updated status reports about the escalating instances of civil unrest as well as contingency plans for dealing with the constantly evolving situation. Though the presider had not said as much aloud, Picard was left with the distinct impression that his presence, or that of anyone else who was not an Andorian, was not welcome in the parliamentary chamber.

  “Did you watch the earlier report?” Beverly asked after a moment. “It seems Presider sh’Thalis has at least one person on her staff with a big mouth.”

  Picard nodded. “Yes. I believe ‘unnamed sources’ is the correct term.” According to those sources, Presider sh’Thalis had been in almost constant discussions with parliament about the Tholian ambassador’s startling revelations and their potential impact on Andorian society, to say nothing of the possible damage to Andor’s relationship with the Federation.

  Looking away from the viewscreen, Beverly asked, “Is it true the presider’s getting pressured to expel Federation diplomatic staffs?”

  “Not just them,” Picard replied, “but all Starfleet and Federation personnel. There have even been a few calls to order all non-Andorians from the planet at once.” Concerned for the safety of anyone affected by such demands, the captain already had ordered Worf to contact all Federation and Starfleet offices with instructions for anyone who wished to be evacuated to the Enterprise. More difficult would be informing non-Andorian civilians about that offer, but at last report, Worf and Choudhury were already working on a means to accomplish that task.

  Beverly regarded him with a quizzical expression. “Do you think she’ll give in to those demands?”

  “She’s resisted them to this point,” Picard said. Indeed, sh’Thalis had expressed to Picard her regret at having to entertain the suggestions at all. Despite whatever understandable desire she might have to vent anger and betrayal at Picard as the face of the Federation and Starfleet in closest proximity, she had elected not to focus on placing blame or pointing fingers and had instead concentrated on determining the next correct course of action. However, Picard knew that she faced a vocal opposition in the parliament. Several of the representatives had made public their shock and displeasure stemming from the Tholian’s message. The newsnet broadcasts were using clips from those interviews to maximum advantage, flooding the airwaves with ceaseless discussion and theorizing on the subject while waiting for the presider to make any kind of official announcement.

  Turning from the viewscreen, Picard moved to stand before the massive curved window at the front of the office. Looking across the compound, he was able to see a large crowd assembled in the street outside the complex’s main gate. Even through the thick transparasteel, he still could hear the faint shouts, horns, and other noisemakers coming from the crowd. There were far too many people to count, but Picard estimated that the gathering numbered at least two hundred. As had happened during earlier such gatherings, some of the participants held up placards with words and phrases rendered in Andorii as well as Federation Standard. Unlike past demonstrations, there were far more signs printed with anti-Federation slogans than those voicing support.

  “It’s interesting how quickly opinions and stances can change,” Beverly said after a moment. “When we first arrived here, the point of contention was whether to allow genetic manipulation at all. Now, the argument seems to be focusing on why the Federation didn’t help their friends, the Andorians, to do precisely what so many people didn’t want done in the first place.”

  Drawing a deep breath in a vain attempt to relax, Picard replied, “Ambassador Nreskene did a masterful job framing the discussion in that manner. I have to say, his approach was almost Romulan. It would seem the Tholians are benefiting from their association with the Empire.” He clasped his hands behind his back, continuing to study the scene beyond the perimeter gate.

  “For a year we hear almost nothing from the Tholians,” he said, “and now this. At least we know they’ve been busy.” Relations between the Federation and the Tholian Assembly had all but disintegrated in the aftermath of the Borg invasion. The Tholians, angered over President Bacco’s strong-arm tactics during her attempt to pull together a combined force to stand against the Borg, became one of the founding member states of the Typhon Pact. While the Pact’s other major stakeholders—the Romulan Empire, the Breen, Gorn, Kinshaya and Tzenkethi—had all been involved in activities that had garnered the Federation’s notice during the past year, the Tholians had largely remained quiet. Had they been biding their time?

  “They’re obviously playing some kind of angle,” Beverly said, beginning to pace the office, “but what? Are they trying to get the Federation to bicker among itself? Why?”

  Picard shrugged. “By causing internal strife, they might draw our attention away from something they consider to be of greater importance.” Whatever that might be, he could not guess. Territorial expansion? While the Tholians had always been keen to extend their borders whenever the opportunity presented itself, their habit had been to do so away from Federation space. Boundary disputes were rare, owing as much to Federation diplomatic policies aimed at giving the Tholians a wide berth as to the mysterious race’s hesitation to expand into areas where a dispute with the Federation might arise. At least, that was the status quo until a year ago. Since then, the Tholian’s motives were known only to the Tholians.

  And they’re certainly not talking. At least, not to us.

  All attempts by the Enterprise and Andor’s own orbital space control to contact the Tholian courier vessel in the wake of the ambassador’s message had been met with silence, even after the ship had settled into a geosynchronous orbit above the capital city of Lor’Vela. It had mimicked the Enterprise’s orbital path for the better part of a day before abruptly and without announcement departing the system, continuing the tradition of inscrutability that so characterized the Tholian Assembly.

  The door to the presider’s office opened and Picard and Beverly turned to see Professor zh’Thiin enter. She looked tired, the captain thought, her hair not quite so neat, her clothes a touch rumpled. Her antennae drooped. It was obvious that the past few days had also taken their toll on her.

  “Captain Picard. Dr. Crusher,” she said, stopping just inside the room as the doors closed behind her. “I’d hoped to find you here.”

  Offering a formal nod, Picard said, “What may we do for you, Professor?”

  “It’s what I can do for you, Captain,” zh’Thiin replied. “I wish to apologize. I know that sounds so inadequate, but I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you it’s offered with all sincerity.” She paused, casting her gaze toward the floor. “I never imagined something like this would happen. I simply wanted to help my people.”

  Gesturing for zh’Thiin to join them in the sitting area near the front window of the presider’s office, Picard asked, “Professor, how did you come into possession of the research materials you were given?”

  “I never had contact with any Tholian,” zh’Thiin said, shaking her head as she took one of the proffered seats and folded her hands in her lap. “I was contacted more than a year ago by a Gallamite named Eronaq Sintay. At least, that’s the name he used. He told me that a client he represented had taken an interest in the situation here on Andor, and that they held information they believed might be of use to those of us in the scientific community researching genetic therapies.”

  “And you had no idea this Sintay’s client was Tholian?” Beverly asked.

  Zh’Thiin shook her head. “No. Sintay s
aid that his client wished to remain anonymous, and that maintaining that secrecy was a condition of our ‘partnership.’ He told me he’d been instructed to provide me with a sample of the information that I could study, and that if I wasn’t interested in continuing the relationship, that would be the end of it. However, once I saw what they had given me, there was simply no way I could ignore whatever else they might have.”

  “The meta-genome,” Picard said, his words low and soft.

  “I suppose that’s right,” the professor replied, “but I had no way of knowing that.”

  Picard was able to sympathize. Though he was aware of Operation Vanguard and other forays into the Taurus Reach more than a century ago, much of that effort remained classified to this day. Included among those closely guarded secrets was information on the meta-genome itself. From what Picard had read, even the limited level of understanding into the complex strand of artificial DNA that had been achieved by Federation scientists had been sufficient to later guide the development of what would come to be known as Project Genesis. That awesome process, in which matter could be rearranged at the molecular level in order to transform lifeless planets and moons into thriving habitable worlds, had caused its fair share of trouble on more than one occasion in the century since its development. As impressive and even awe-inspiring as Genesis had been, Picard realized with a shudder that it represented the merest fraction of the power once commanded by the Shedai, the blueprints for which had been encoded into the meta-genome. All that was required was for someone to find a key to open the lock protecting that knowledge from those who might use it for reprehensible purposes.

  “We know the Tholians have been in possession of this information since the time of the original Vanguard missions,” Picard said, “and that for reasons known only to them, they did nothing to further their understanding of its potential for decades after the operation concluded. Why now?”

  Beverly countered, “We don’t know for sure that they did nothing. It could just be that they lacked the technology to help them understand what they had.”

  “While that might once have been possible,” Picard said. “I don’t believe that’s the case now. I think there are at least some Tholians who know precisely what that meta-genome represents, even if they lack the technical expertise to do anything with that knowledge. Of course, that begs the question as to why we didn’t make more progress with our own understanding of the meta-genome even after all this time.” Pausing, he shrugged. “I suppose some of that could be attributed to the information being kept hidden for so many years.”

  “That doesn’t explain the Tholians,” Beverly said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t they supposed to hate everybody?”

  Looking to his wife, Picard offered a small, humorless smile before turning to zh’Thiin. “Perhaps they didn’t even need to know its precise potential. After all, why waste time with that sort of knowledge gathering when another party is already working on something in a similar—though far more primitive—vein.”

  “Enter you, Professor,” Beverly added. “The Tholians essentially got you to do the difficult work.”

  Wringing her hands in her lap, zh’Thiin asked, “But why help us at all? Are they not part of an alliance that stands at odds with the Federation?”

  “To be honest,” Picard replied, “we’re not entirely sure. While some members of the Typhon Pact have made quite clear their animosity toward the Federation, a few parties have taken a more composed, deliberate approach.” As for the Tholians, for now they seemed content simply to have the Andorians angry with the Federation.

  That much was working, at any rate.

  “This is unbelievable,” Crusher said after a moment. “Considering everything the Federation and Starfleet Command have given to the professor and other scientists working on the reproductive problem, why hold this back? It’s not as though they couldn’t redact unnecessary yet still-classified information before sending it here.”

  It was a question Picard had asked himself more than once during the past three days, particularly of Admiral Akaar himself. As the Starfleet Commander had explained it, “simple preservation” fueled that original decision. To reveal such knowledge now, while the Federation continued its struggles to rebuild as possible enemies lurked about, was too dangerous. The second reason Akaar had provided was the one Picard found the most saddening, especially now that one had the virtue of observing the decision in hindsight. With so much of the wondrous artificial DNA’s true potential still shrouded in mystery, someone had thought that the odds of Andor benefiting from the classified information did not outweigh the risks incurred should that knowledge fall into the wrong hands. Given the success zh’Thiin had been able to achieve with even the limited information she had been provided, such paranoia hardly seemed justified.

  “What will happen now?” zh’Thiin asked, and Picard heard the despair in her voice. “Don’t misunderstand me, Captain; I don’t blame you for the actions of your government, but what might my people’s situation be if the Federation had offered information about the meta-genome a century ago, or even a decade? Where would we stand as a civilization?”

  For that, Picard had no answer. The simple fact of the matter was that the effects of the Tholian ambassador’s message were continuing to fuel an underlying current of resentment and betrayal among the populace. In the days since Nreskene’s broadcast, many people were coming to view the Federation’s actions as willful withholding of assistance despite its potential usefulness to Andor.

  In truth, Picard could not blame them.

  And where do we go from here?

  34

  Turning his face upward, Eklanir th’Gahryn closed his eyes and relished the soothing rays of the late-afternoon sun. If not for the pressing matters at hand, he would remain here until the last of the daylight faded, only to stay and watch the city around him come alive in a celebration of nightfall.

  There should be laws against being indoors on a day like today.

  Whenever circumstances and opportunity permitted, th’Gahryn retreated to the sanctuary he had created on the roof of the building that housed his private residence as well as the informal base of operations for the Treishya cell in Lor’Vela. The building, constructed atop a plateau on the outskirts of the city, was taller than those around it and as such received unobstructed sunlight for most of the day. Th’Gahryn had used that to his advantage, installing a solar-energy collector array as well as cultivating a lawn and garden to include an elka tree to provide a modest amount of shade. The garden also sported a gazebo along with a pair of benches and a stone table with metal chairs. From here, th’Gahryn enjoyed a spectacular view of the city, and he was high enough that the cacophony of Lor’Vela street life was little more than a faint buzz. This was where he often came to read, eat a quiet meal, or simply sit and watch the teeming hive of activity that was the new Andorian capital. Would that he could be allowed to partake of those treasured pastimes on a wondrous day like this.

  “Eklanir.”

  So much for that notion, th’Gahryn mused, turning toward the voice and seeing Biatamar th’Rusni standing near the lift vestibule at the center of the roof. His advisor held a data reader in his hands, and his features were clouded with concern.

  “What is it, Biatamar?” th’Gahryn called out, stepping away from the gazebo and making his way across the roof toward the lift.

  Th’Rusni held up his reader. “Parliament remains in closed sessions. Our contact inside informs me that those representatives who support us are making little progress convincing Presider sh’Thalis to expel Federation and Starfleet personnel.”

  Smiling at the report as he approached the lift, th’Gahryn shook his head. “She is uncompromising in her beliefs, and for that I will extend her my sincere admiration. It cannot be easy, attempting to govern during a time of such turmoil.”

  Fate, it seemed, had blessed him with a wonderful gift, in the form of the Tholian ambassador and
the incredible message he had delivered three days earlier. The newsnet broadcasts had done nothing since that moment but regurgitate the Tholian’s startling revelations, in many cases inadvertently or deliberately misconstruing several points in order to slant the story so as to better fit within an outlet’s particular political bias. The results had fueled the fires of discontent seizing hold among the populace. Calls for the eviction of not only Federation and Starfleet representatives but all non-Andorians were on the rise. Denouncements from members of parliament representing the Visionist party were dominating the broadcasts, competing and in many cases winning out against contrary public statements distributed by their Progressive counterparts. Th’Gahryn did not see how Presider sh’Thalis, pilloried in the public eye, the media, and even within her own administration, could withstand that sort of mounting coercion for any appreciable length of time.

  Stepping past th’Rusni, he made his way toward the lift. The doors parted at his approach and he stepped into the car, pressing the control for the lift to return him to his office. “I am confident when I say we have more than a few acquaintances within parliament who will agree that the time for the presider’s commendable yet misguided nobility is at an end. Do we have endorsement for our plan?”

  “No one has spoken for the record, of course,” th’Rusni replied, “but I gather from the updates I’m receiving that certain parties would not object if we were to take matters into our own hands in decisive fashion.”

  Th’Gahryn considered his advisor’s words, listening in silence to the hum of the lift as it descended into the bowels of the building. The next step in demonstrating the Treishya’s resolve, whether the result was success or failure, very much hinged upon the sanction of several members of parliament, who through various means had espoused views and positions very much in keeping with the activist movement th’Gahryn had forged almost with his own hands. Once he and his people set into motion their next act of protest, there would be no retreating from the attention their actions would engender. In one bold strike, the Treishya would advance from being just a group of concerned, dissatisfied citizens slightly more vocal than their rival factions to the focus of global attention by every law-enforcement and intelligence agency on the planet. The foremost question requiring an answer was whether those organizations would be governed by friends or enemies in the government. Would the Treishya be hailed as heroes, or shunned as terrorists? If all went according to plan, the actions undertaken today by th’Gahryn and his people would reward him with several allies enjoying new positions of power.