Star Trek: Typhon Pact 04 - Paths of Disharmony

by Dayton Ward

  The lift eased to a stop and th’Gahryn barely waited for the doors to open before he exited the car and entered his expansive private chamber. Moving with a deliberate stride, he crossed the room and stood before the workstation built into the wall before his desk. The arrangement was an elaborate amalgam of communications and computer equipment, much of it fabricated to th’Gahryn’s personal and exacting specifications. In particular, the comm system had been fashioned with several purposes in mind, not the least of which was being able to transmit and receive messages and hold secure dialogue with other Treishya cell leaders without worry of being traced.

  “How much time do our people require before they are ready to implement the plan?” th’Gahryn asked. As he did so, he glanced at the chronometer display on one of the workstation monitors. It would be dark soon, which would be ideal for covert action.

  Th’Rusni replied, “Five hours.”

  Nodding in approval, th’Gahryn said, “Alert them to begin their preparations immediately. We shall commence operations in six hours.” By then, he knew, it would be well into late evening. Though the parliament’s security contingent would doubtless be on the alert, by that point fatigue and monotony would have begun to take hold. A bored sentry was an inattentive sentry, not that stealth would be a requirement for the plan th’Gahryn had devised. On the contrary, he intended the Treishya’s forthcoming actions to provide a bold statement.

  As th’Rusni turned and headed for the door to carry out his instructions, th’Gahryn recalled the multi-part encryption key he had created for accessing the system and which he shared with no one. Keying a set of instructions to the workstation’s manual interface rewarded him with one of the computer monitors flaring to life. The blank screen was replaced with text informing him that the frequency was being established, which th’Gahryn knew would take at least a moment or two as the party he was trying to contact would need that time to establish secure communications on their end. After an appropriate interval, the text was supplanted by a video image of another Andorian, this one dressed in semiformal robes of the sort common to mid-level government employees.

  “Threlas,” he said by way of greeting. “I hope you’re well.”

  On the monitor, Threlas ch’Lhren nodded. “Indeed I am, my friend. I hope the same can be said of you.” An information technology specialist working within the labyrinthine government bureaucracy, ch’Lhren was one of th’Gahryn’s closest friends as well as one of the Treishya’s first members, recruited by th’Gahryn himself. “What can I do for you, Eklanir?”

  “The time for action has come,” th’Gahryn replied, “and we have need for your particular talents. I trust you’re ready?”

  Ch’Lhren nodded, though th’Gahryn noted that he did so only after pausing, his eyes leaving the video pickup as though verifying that no one was in proximity to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I can be ready, yes. Everything is in place and only awaits the proper instructions.”

  Satisfied, th’Gahryn paused, giving one final consideration to what he was about to do. Once begun, there would be no turning back.

  So be it.

  “Very well, then, my friend,” th’Gahryn said, already feeling the weight of his decision beginning to press down upon him. “Let us proceed.”

  The turbolift doors parted and Worf stepped onto the bridge, taking in the scene of subdued yet focused activity before him. It was well into beta shift—a few short hours before the start of gamma shift, actually, and he noted the familiar faces of several of the officers who, like him, had already been on duty during the previous rotation. With Lieutenants Choudhury and Konya off the ship, Ensign Balidemaj had taken on their alpha-shift bridge responsibilities and, as she had earlier in the day, was currently manning the tactical station.

  “Commander,” said Lieutenant Commander Havers, rising from the captain’s chair after noticing Worf’s arrival. “What brings you to the bridge?”

  Worf held up his hand to indicate that the beta-shift watch officer should keep his seat. “I was just on my way to my quarters.” He paused, then added, “To be honest, I’ve always been restless whenever the captain is off the ship.” Such feelings of anxiety had plagued him from his earliest days as an ensign, and only deepened upon his transfer to the previous Enterprise under Captain Picard’s command. From the ship’s very first encounter with danger, Worf had always balked at the notion of the captain placing himself in harm’s way while he and other subordinates remained safe. As he advanced both in rank and responsibility, eventually succeeding his late friend and colleague Natasha Yar as the ship’s security chief, his commitment to the safety of the entire crew, Picard in particular, grew ever stronger. Now that he served as the Enterprise’s first officer, protecting the captain was one of his primary responsibilities.

  And yet here he was, safe aboard the ship while Picard tended to matters down on the planet’s surface. The very thought burned in his stomach like the fires of the Kri’stak Volcano.

  “I’m sure Lieutenant Choudhury has the situation well in hand,” Havers said. “Between our people and the Andorians, there’s a small army down there.”

  Unsatisfied with that observation, Worf began to pace a slow circuit around the bridge’s perimeter. “Do not discount the possibility of anyone among the Homeworld Security brigade or even Presider sh’Thalis’s own protection detail taking exception to the continued presence of Starfleet personnel or just non-Andorians in general on Andor,” he said, his attention divided between Havers and the various workstations he walked past. “There may even be members of the Treishya or one of the other anti-Federation groups among their ranks.” No one fitting that description had yet been found, but avoiding discovery was the hallmark of any well-trained covert operative. That was just one more reason for Worf to feel anxious about the current situation, and he would continue to feel that sensation until Captain Picard was back aboard ship and the Enterprise was on its way to its next assignment.

  “I shall be in my quarters should you require me,” he said as he completed the circuit, returning his attention to Havers.

  The watch officer nodded. “Understood, sir. I . . .”

  He paused as lights all suddenly flickered and several of the workstations around the bridge wavered or blinked, as though somehow losing their power connections. Then Worf heard a noticeable stuttering in the ubiquitous hum of the ship’s engines reverberating through the bulkheads.

  “What is that?” he asked, his gaze drifting over the confused, even concerned expressions of the bridge crew.

  From where she sat at the ops station, Ensign Jill Rosado did not look up from her console as she said, “I’m registering power fluctuations across the ship.”

  At tactical, Balidemaj said, “Sir, we received an incoming burst transmission just before the power interruption. Somebody was attempting to contact us from the surface.”

  Worf looked to Havers, who tapped his combadge. “Bridge to engineering. What’s going on with the ship’s power?”

  There was a pause before the voice of Lieutenant Commander Taurik replied, “Engineering. Taurik speaking, Commander. We are experiencing a ship-wide interruption in power-routing systems. The cause is as yet unknown, but we are performing diagnostics.”

  A moment later, everything on the bridge went dark, and Worf heard the sounds of computer consoles and other control stations powering down. He felt a fleeting disorientation as his eyes adjusted to the sudden absence of light, but within seconds secondary illumination was activating across the bridge. Looking from station to station, he saw that consoles were already returning to life. Confusion clouded the faces of everyone around him.

  “Bridge,” Taurik said. “We have lost all main power. Backup systems are online.”

  “What is the cause, Mr. Taurik?” Worf asked, feeling his annoyance beginning to rise.

  The Vulcan engineer replied, “I do not yet know, Commander. We are continuing our investigation.”

  At ops
, Rosado said, “Sir, I’m locked out of all primary systems, including weapons and defenses. They’ve all been taken off-line, or else security protocols have been enabled and are preventing me from gaining access.”

  Frowning at the report, Worf asked, “How is that possible?”

  Rosado shook her head. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible, at least not without command authorization.”

  Worf stepped down into the command well and moved to stand behind Rosado. “Computer,” he called out, “remove security-lockouts on primary systems and resume normal operations.”

  “Unable to comply,” replied the computer.

  Now struggling with the urge to vent his rapidly intensifying irritation, Worf said, “Computer, override all previous security lockout instructions and restore normal functions. Authorization Worf three seven gamma echo.”

  “Unable to comply,” the computer repeated.

  Frustration now was being replaced with simple anger. Clenching his fists at his sides, Worf snapped, “Engineering! The main computer is not responding to command authorization directives.”

  “We are experiencing similar difficulties here, as well, Commander,” Taurik replied. “I have already alerted computer operations to the problem.”

  “What the hell is going on?” asked Havers, still standing in front of the captain’s chair. “What about that communication just before all this started? Could that have been some kind of attack?”

  “Our systems are designed to withstand such infiltrations,” Worf replied.

  From the tactical station, Balidemaj said, “Commander, we’re receiving an incoming message. It appears to be coming from the surface, but I’m unable to pinpoint a source.”

  That only added to Worf’s mounting confusion. “You can’t locate the signal’s point of origin?”

  The tactical officer shook her head. “No, sir. It’s being routed through the global satellite network. Whoever’s hailing us, it looks like they don’t want to be found, and they definitely seem to know what they’re doing.”

  “On-screen, Lieutenant,” Worf said, “but continue your efforts to track the signal’s source.”

  The image on the main viewer of Andor from orbit shifted to display an Andorian that Worf did not recognize. He looked to be of middle age—at least, so far as the first officer could tell with respect to Andorian physiology. His stark-white hair was cut close to his skull, and his visage was marked by deep lines in his forehead, along his cheekbones, and around his mouth.

  “This is Commander Worf, first officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise.” Stepping around the ops station, he approached the viewer and glared at the image displayed upon it. “What is the purpose of your communication?”

  The Andorian smiled, though it was the sort of expression that to Worf implied insincerity and even arrogance. “My purpose, Commander Worf, is to tell you to take your ship away from my planet, and not to return.”

  At once galled and yet impressed by the Andorian’s bluntness, Worf said, “And who are you to be making such demands?”

  “I am the one currently holding your ship hostage,” the Andorian replied. “My name is Eklanir th’Gahryn, leader of the Treishya. We have given you ample opportunity to leave in peace, and you have ignored our requests. Therefore, I have been compelled to undertake more aggressive action.”

  Forcing himself to remain still, Worf clasped his hands behind his back. “From what I have observed, you are a coward, content to lurk in the shadows and hide your face while you send others to do your bidding.”

  Th’Gahryn smiled again. “I thought you might say something like that. Knowing how much a Klingon respects an enemy who will face him, I thought revealing my true identity would convince you that I’m sincere about what I’m saying, even if you disagree with my position.” He paused, shrugging. “Not that I require your affirmation. You will remove your starship from planetary orbit and depart Andorian space. Failure to do so is ill advised.”

  Worf exchanged disbelieving looks with Havers before returning his attention to the screen. “Even if I were to agree, my captain and several members of my crew are still on the planet’s surface. I will not leave without them.”

  “They will be dealt with, Commander,” th’Gahryn said. “As we speak, I have dispatched teams to collect them, after which they will be handled accordingly.”

  There was no mistaking such an obvious threat. Struggling to keep his mounting rage in check, Worf glowered at his adversary. “Any hostile action you take against any member of this crew, or any Starfleet officer, is a criminal offense.” For a brief moment, he almost wished the Enterprise was a Klingon ship, manned by a Klingon crew. At least then, the options for dealing with such an overbearing, dishonorable opponent would be far more fulfilling.

  “Commander,” th’Gahryn said, “I’ve just threatened a Federation starship and its crew. In comparison, any action I might take against your captain would be rather restrained. Your concern should be those under your immediate command. Leave now, or I will destroy your vessel.” He looked away for a moment as though consulting someone or something off-screen.

  From just behind him, Worf heard Rosado say, “Commander, primary antimatter-containment systems have just gone off-line!”

  Incredulous, Worf turned and glared at the ops officer. “What?”

  Rosado offered a frantic nod. “Backup systems are deactivating, too.”

  Stepping forward so that he could have a better look at the ensign’s console, Havers said, “If we lose those . . .” The words trailed off.

  On the viewscreen, th’Gahryn completed Havers’s report. “If your redundant safety features are removed, your ship will self-destruct.”

  “Worf to engineering,” the first officer growled. “Status report!”

  Despite Taurik’s Vulcan heritage, Worf still heard the first signs of strain in the assistant engineer’s voice as he replied, “Commander, the main computer has just issued instructions for a complete shutdown of all antimatter-containment systems with the exception of one fail-safe protocol. We are unable to countermand or override the process.”

  Returning his attention to the viewer, Worf glowered at th’Gahryn. “What have you done to my ship?” How was any of this even possible?

  “I control its main computer,” th’Gahryn said. “Now, I believe we were discussing your imminent departure.”

  Havers said, “We could evacuate.”

  “That would prove problematic, I think,” th’Gahryn replied.

  Rosado said, “He’s right, sir. Transporters are off-line and all shuttlebays have been locked out and depressurized.”

  “What about the escape pods?” Havers asked.

  “Control systems have been locked down and encrypted,” the ops officer replied. “It could take a week to descramble the codes, but manual control should still be available.”

  Despite his responsibility to see to the crew’s safety, Worf did not view the escape pods as a palatable option. Abandoning the ship was itself a dishonorable act, but compounding that action by setting off in small, defenseless craft that may well have been affected by whatever scheme th’Gahryn had already perpetrated against the Enterprise did not seem at all prudent.

  Shaking her head, Rosado sighed in mounting exasperation. “How the hell did he manage all of this?”

  “Commander,” called out Balidemaj from the tactical station. “I’ve still got sensors, and I’m picking up two vessels on an intercept course from the other side of the planet.” She paused, apparently gathering more information, before adding, “They appear to be civilian freighters, sir, but sensors are picking up military-grade weapons and shields.”

  “The benefits of having supporters and sympathizers within Homeworld Security,” th’Gahryn countered. “They are to be your escort from our system, Commander. I suggest taking no hostile action against them. In your vessel’s diminished capacity, it wouldn’t fare well in any serious confrontation.” Leaning closer so tha
t his weathered visage all but filled the screen, the Andorian’s expression turned hard. “If you do not leave orbit and set a course away from Andor immediately, I will destroy your ship with my entire world watching. Decide, Commander. Now.”

  Seething at his apparent helplessness, Worf clenched his jaw so as to avoid howling at his adversary. “Commander Havers, take us out of orbit. Set a course for Starbase 7. Contact Captain Picard and alert him as to our current status.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Commander,” th’Gahryn said. “Rest assured, we shall communicate your message to him in short order. Thank you for your cooperation.” The insufferable petaQ even had the audacity to smile just before the transmission ended.

  Worf ignored the questioning stares of the bridge crew, turning from the viewscreen. Commander Havers regarded him, his own features clouded by uncertainty.

  “What do we do now, sir?” he asked.

  As much as it infuriated him to have to admit as much, Worf knew there was nothing to do except comply with th’Gahryn’s demands and worry about the captain and the rest of the crew still on the surface.

  35

  Picard stood in the main foyer outside the meeting chamber of the Parliament Andoria, regarding himself in the reflection of one of the windows overlooking the courtyard surrounding the building. His dress uniform was immaculate, though he noted the puffiness around his eyes. It had been a long day, he reminded himself. Though local time here in the capital city was early evening, Picard’s internal clock was still in tune with shipboard time aboard the Enterprise, which at last check was coming up on 2330 hours. Gamma shift, which presided over the starship during its equivalent of the “wee hours,” would soon be starting, greeting the onset of a brand-new day.