Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust

by David R. George III

  “I want to get word to San Francisco as soon as possible, then,” Ro said. Starfleet Headquarters called the Earth city home and housed the commander in chief’s office.

  “You can contact Comm Station Eta Three,” Sisko said. “They’ll be able to boost a signal and line up starships along the way to Earth for a real-time conversation.”

  “I’ve locked down the station, though, and that includes a communications blackout,” Ro said. “I’d rather not lift that, even for something this important. I want to contain the news of what’s happened, and also prevent Enkar and any possible conspirators from being able to contact anybody not on Deep Space Nine.”

  “And so you want me to contact Admiral Akaar from the Robinson,” Sisko said.

  “I’d appreciate it, Captain. Deep Space Nine is my responsibility, but you’re the ranking officer here. I think the news should come from you.”

  “And as the commander of Deep Space Nine,” Sisko said, “you need to remain here.”

  “I do,” Ro said. “I don’t want to leave the starbase for even a second until we can be absolutely sure that we have all the perpetrators of this monstrous act in custody.”

  “I understand, and I’m perfectly willing to contact the admiral,” Sisko said. “But you’re going to have another problem on your hands. Once they learn about President Bacco, all of the political leaders on the starbase are going to want to leave immediately.”

  “I know,” Ro said. “Their protection details will certainly argue that they’re not safe on the starbase.”

  “The leaders will also want to distance themselves from the assassination as quickly as they can,” Sisko said. Employing the word assassination for the first time felt surreal to him. Not just surreal, but unreal. “That’ll probably be particularly true of the Gorn imperator and the Romulan praetor, who’ll be concerned about their people being blamed for the crime.”

  “You’re right,” Ro said. “That just means we have to make sure we’ve arrested the right culprit or culprits as soon as possible.”

  “All right,” Sisko said. “So if you’ve locked down the station, how do I get to the Robinson?”

  “I’ll escort you to the hatch,” Ro said. “I hope you understand that your crew and your wife and daughter will need to remain on Deep Space Nine for right now.”

  “I do,” Sisko said. “But I’ll want to return to the station to be with Kasidy and Rebecca.”

  “How long will it take you to contact Admiral Akaar?”

  “That depends on how long it takes for Eta Three to set up the real-time connection,” Sisko said.

  “When you’re ready to come back to the starbase, enable the Robinson’s navigational beacon,” Ro suggested. “I’ll have my crew watch for it, then I’ll meet you ten minutes later at the hatch.”

  Sisko agreed, and Ro thanked him for his assistance. They left the surgeon’s prep room together and headed toward Robinson. Once aboard, Sisko would have a conversation with Starfleet’s commander in chief that he absolutely did not want to have.

  • • •

  L. J. Akaar awoke to an unwelcome sound, but not one unfamiliar to him: the high-pitched squawk that roused him immediately from sleep signaled an incoming transmission designated highest priority. Starfleet’s commander in chief bounded from bed, his massive form shaking the floor of his Cow Hollow villa. “Signal off,” he barked, his deep, resonant voice still gravelly from his slumber. The piercing tone ceased.

  On his way across the room, Akaar grabbed his black robe from where he’d draped it across an easy chair and threw the garment on. He reached the sitting area of his bedroom almost at a run. “Companel on,” he said, standing before the device. He noted the time: zero three thirty-seven hours.

  The screen of the companel winked to life displaying the Starfleet Headquarters emblem. “Admiral Leonard James Akaar, security clearance theta-omicron six-nine-two-nine-three L-E-N four,” he said, reciting that month’s identification cipher, which, combined with his voiceprint, would allow him access to coded Starfleet channels. The display blinked again, and the image of the petite, long-haired Commander Talin Aslanyan appeared. Akaar could see through the transparent wall behind her that she sat in her secure office within the primary communications center at Starfleet. “Go ahead, Commander.”

  “Admiral Akaar,” Aslanyan said, dispensing with formalities, “we are receiving a red one transmission from Captain Benjamin Sisko aboard the U.S.S. Robinson, priority one.” The signal that had pulled the admiral from sleep had indicated the importance of the incoming message, and priority one confirmed that. The designation red one, though, gave him greater cause for concern; it indicated that Captain Sisko had enjoined some combination of comm stations, starbases, and starships between Deep Space 9 and Earth to ensure that he could speak with Akaar in real time. Only the most serious situations warranted such measures.

  “Route it to me here,” Akaar ordered. He did not need to tell Commander Aslanyan to scramble the transmission; such high-priority messages demanded encryption from source to destination.

  “Routing the transmission to your home, Admiral,” Aslanyan said.

  “Akaar out.” He waited for only a second before the image of the commander vanished, replaced by that of Captain Sisko—who looked grave. “Captain,” Akaar said.

  “Admiral,” Sisko said. “I’m contacting you from the Robinson. We’re presently docked at Deep Space Nine.” Through the port over the captain’s shoulder, Akaar thought he could actually make out a rounded section of the starbase hull. “We’re here for the dedication ceremony.”

  So are Dax and the Aventine, Akaar thought. Along with President Bacco and more politicians than anybody should ever be subjected to at one time. Akaar maintained a close working relationship with the Federation president—and a personal respect and fondness for her—but he’d joked with her recently that she’d shown more courage in convening half a dozen other heads of state with her on DS9 than he had when he’d commanded Wyoming during the last Federation-Tzenkethi war. “I’m aware of the Robinson’s movements,” he told the captain.

  “The dedication ceremony was held a few hours ago,” Sisko said. Akaar could tell from the increasing tension in the captain’s features that he neared the purpose of his message. “While President Bacco was speaking, she was shot with a projectile weapon.”

  Damn! Akaar could only hope that the Federation president hadn’t been hurt too badly and that she hadn’t been attacked by some element in either the Gorn or Romulan delegations. Bacco had invited the imperator and the praetor to the dedication for the express purpose of furthering détente, not to provide a catalyst for an act of war.

  “What is the president’s condition?” Akaar asked. Even if they didn’t have to contend with a new threat to the fragile peace they’d established with the Typhon Pact, the admiral knew that Aventine had been scheduled to ferry Bacco to Cardassia from Deep Space 9 for important talks—and to show solidarity with Castellan Garan in the face of some anti-Federation sentiment within the Union. If the president required any significant recovery time, the chief of Starfleet operations would need to adjust starship assignments, and the Federation Council would likely want to send another representative to Cardassia.

  “Admiral,” Sisko said, “I’m afraid that President Bacco is dead.”

  All at once, Akaar’s pulse pumped loudly in his ears, as though his heart might beat right out of his chest. “What?!” He took a step backward, away from the companel, as though Sisko had assaulted him with his words. Akaar’s foot struck the front of an easy chair. He did not even attempt to keep his balance, but allowed himself to fold into the piece of furniture.

  Nan, he thought. Dead.

  Akaar couldn’t believe it—didn’t want to believe it. He and President Bacco had always worked well together, even when they hadn’t agreed. Perhaps especially when we didn’t agree. That ability had always impressed him about her. And although they didn’t attend the th
eater together or sit across a three-dimensional chessboard from each other—when had either of them had the time?—Akaar still felt that they had something more than a professional relationship. A friendship, to be sure, but he actually thought of her in some ways as a mother figure to him—a feeling he’d never shared with anybody, and which seemed ridiculous, considering that he was a quarter of a century her senior. Akaar had been close to his own mother—she’d been a heroic individual in his eyes—and her death had left an emptiness in his life. And while nobody else could ever fill that void, Nanietta Bacco had helped make it smaller.

  The admiral realized that his attention had wandered from Captain Sisko, who had stopped speaking. If the captain had said anything after delivering his unwelcome news, Akaar hadn’t heard it. At that moment, he didn’t want to hear anything else—he didn’t want to move or even really think, but he knew that he suddenly had a great deal to accomplish in a very short amount of time.

  Climbing back to his feet, Akaar said, “Captain, tell me precisely what happened.”

  “I was present in Deep Space Nine’s theater at the time, but I was a witness only to the effect, not the cause,” Sisko said. “Captain Ro has taken a Bajoran national into custody. The available evidence, which appears to be strong, indicates that she acted alone, firing on President Bacco from the control booth at the back of the theater.” For a long time, Akaar had held a low opinion of Ro Laren, and he’d even voted against reinstating her in Starfleet when Bajor had been admitted to the Federation. In the years since, however, it had pleased him to be proven wrong about her. “Captain Ro has locked down the starbase and is continuing to investigate. She’s also implemented a communications blackout to ensure that news of what happened doesn’t leak out from Deep Space Nine, but comes directly from the Federation government. The blackout is also why I’m contacting you from the Robinson.”

  Akaar took in all of the information and processed it as he determined his next courses of action. “What about the heads of state?” he asked.

  “At the moment, they’re locked down too,” Sisko said. “Captain Ro has them guarded by their own protection details, as well as by Deep Space Nine security.”

  That won’t stand for long, Akaar thought. If neither the Gorn nor the Romulan contingents had anything to do with the assassination—and he certainly hoped they hadn’t—the Federation would face a thorny diplomatic situation by restricting their movements, particularly at a time when they could legitimately argue that they feared for their own safety. Akaar would need to talk with Ro about that, but first he’d have to provide her a reason to end the communications blackout.

  Another thought occurred to Akaar. “You said a Bajoran did this?”

  “That seems to be the case,” Sisko said. “It was First Minister Asarem’s chief of staff.”

  None of that made much sense to Akaar. But when do such crimes ever make sense to rational people? The involvement of a member of the first minister’s own staff, though, would add another complication, but he had to set that aside for the moment. The Federation had been robbed of its leader, and that could not be permitted to endure for any length of time.

  “Captain, I will notify you aboard the Robinson as soon as the news has been released to the public,” Akaar said. “At that time, you will have Captain Ro contact me. For now, keep the direct line of real-time communication open between Robinson and Earth, on my authority.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, Admiral,” Sisko said. “Except that I’m very sorry.”

  Akaar could see the captain fighting back his emotions. He knew how Sisko felt—how all the people of the Federation would once they learned the news. “I’m sorry too, Captain,” the admiral said quietly. He paused, until all that he had to do could wait no more. “Akaar out.”

  The Starfleet Headquarters insignia once more showed on the companel. “Admiral Akaar to Commander Aslanyan.” The image of the communications officer reappeared.

  “Commander Aslanyan here,” she said. “How can I assist you, Admiral?”

  “Connect me with Jas Abrik,” Akaar said. “Priority one.” Abrik, a former Starfleet admiral, had served as the Federation security advisor since President Bacco took office six years earlier. “Employ our highest encryption protocol. While I’m speaking with him, make arrangements for me to be beamed to Starfleet Headquarters, and then directly to the Palais.” The personal transporter installed in the admiral’s home had a limited range, allowing him to transport to safety during an emergency, but it would not reach all the way to the Palais de la Concorde in Paris. Moreover, transport into both Starfleet Headquarters and the Palais required secure procedures.

  “Right away, Admiral,” Aslanyan said.

  Akaar would inform Abrik of what had happened. The security advisor would request an immediate closed-door meeting with the Federation Council, which they would grant, and Abrik and Akaar would brief them on events. The councillors would then be obligated to select one among their number to serve as president pro tempore. After that, the Council would announce both President Bacco’s death and the swearing in of the president pro tem.

  They’ll go with Agreho, Akaar thought. Or Ishan—although, under the circumstances, that could prove problematic, he realized. Given the amount of influence they wielded within the Federation Council and the force of their personalities, those two seemed the likeliest selections.

  As Akaar waited for the communications officer to connect him with Jas Abrik, he again checked the time: zero three forty-eight hours. Eleven minutes ago, as far as I knew, the galaxy was a different place, he thought. A better place.

  Sixteen

  Keev set her gloved hands behind the large chunk of rock and hauled back, straining against its weight. She felt perspiration forming on her skin. As she struggled to move the irregularly shaped block, she let out a frustrated cry, which echoed loudly in the close quarters of the cavern.

  Despite the hard labor of digging through the rubble of the tunnel collapse, it felt good to be working toward resuming the mission of the gild. It had been two months since their sabotage of the exploratory mining operation had succeeded in taking down the derrick, the drill, and the drive. The Aleira had remained on site the following day, examining the damage and presumably attempting to determine its cause. Over time, the gild had wisely weakened other portions of the work site, and so soft soil abounded. The Aleira had departed the next day, and they’d returned just once since then, lugging away the salvageable machinery. Finally, ten days after their last appearance, Veralla had given the go-ahead to begin excavating the cave.

  Since Renet had come back from the tragic journey he’d taken with poor Synder Nogar, the gild had freed no more slaves from Joradell. Synder’s death had been difficult for them, but they had been fortunate not to lose Renet or either of the escaped Bajora whom the two men had delivered to freedom via their long trip around the mountains. Veralla made the decision—fully supported by every member of the gild—to wait until they had cleared their path through the caverns to resume transporting newly unbound slaves.

  With one more effort, Keev pulled at the mass of stone. It tilted toward her, and she nimbly sidestepped it as it tumbled down onto the wide piece of thick bark she’d set on the ground. As she took a moment to catch her breath, she regarded the mound of earth and rock that still obstructed the cave. It reached from wall to wall and from floor to roof—or at least to the space where the roof once had been. They didn’t know how far back the blockage reached, but they had to that point removed a great deal of rubble. Using improvised sledges made from large sheets of strong, rugged bark they’d sliced from huge trees, they towed the debris they collected back along the tunnel, offloading it bit by bit along the sides.

  They had accomplished more than that, though. Keev turned and regarded the structural reinforcement that had been installed in the cave. For forty paces or so, columns lined the walls, standing per
haps six or seven paces apart. Support beams reached from the top of one column to the next, and joists sat atop those beams across the width of the tunnel.

  In the stark white light thrown by beacons set at different locations within the cave, Keev smiled. It pleased her—it pleased everybody in the gild—to have made so much progress toward restoring them to their purpose. They worked hard each day, by twos and fours, to dig out from the cave-in. The wearing manual labor left them all exhausted, but also satisfied.

  But Keev also smiled to cover her unease. Once the members of the gild had begun clearing away the rubble, Veralla had insisted that they needed to protect themselves against the weakened structure of the cavern. While the others worked at digging through the debris, he set himself the task of securing resources to buttress the cave walls and roof. Every few days, he made several trips with a couple of the gild members—usually the Cawlders, but sometimes Jennica and Renet—to bring back columns, beams, and joists.

  Keev herself had helped carry the building materials into the cavern. Under Veralla’s supervision, she and the others placed the columns along the recovered lengths of the tunnel, hoisted the support beams atop them, set the joists in place atop those. They bound everything together with tools that Veralla provided and explained how to use, and that Keev did not recognize or even understand. Almost revolver-like in shape, the devices emitted colored beams of light, with one surface showing strings of ever-changing letters and numbers.

  When she’d questioned Veralla about the nature of the tools, he would say only that they were required for their purposes, and clearly they helped them accomplish their goals. When she asked about the origin of the tools, he would claim only that he acquired them because of their need for them. Keev mentioned her curiosity to the others, but other than Altek, nobody seemed especially interested. It apparently sated her fellow gild members to know that everything Veralla supplied worked as he said it would. They trusted him completely.