Текст книги "Declassified "

Автор книги: David Mack

Соавторы: Marco Palmieri,Dayton Ward
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

13

Ambassador Jetanien had never liked waiting, despite the knowledge that waiting—and being able to make others wait—was a time-honored weapon in any diplomat’s arsenal. He employed it himself on frequent occasions, using it as a means of informing other parties that he was in control of a given situation, and that events would evolve and progress according to his agenda and desires.

He was rather less enamored of the practice when it was utilized against him.

Holding his hands together before him, Jetanien tapped his long fingers in rhythmic fashion as he waited for the image on his desktop computer monitor to show him something else besides a spinning crimson dodecahedron superimposed upon a black background. He had been staring at it for no less than five minutes, and was sensing his patience beginning to wane.

One has to wonder if this species’ apparent obsession with punctuality is a ruse.

Jetanien was almost ready to declare this venture a wasted exercise and terminate the connection when the image on the monitor shifted from stark, unmoving black to a sea of roiling blue. At the center of the image now stood an angular, crystalline silhouette, its crimson hue all but leaping through the screen. Boring into Jetanien was a pair of triangular pink eyes, the sole features on the face of the Tholian now staring at him from across dozens of light-years of interstellar space.

“I am Sesrene,”the Tholian said, “special diplomatic envoy representing the Tholian Assembly. You are Ambassador Jetanien?”

Jetanien nodded. “Indeed I am, Ambassador. It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. As you no doubt are aware, the Federation has for some time now been attempting to engage your government in the interests of cooperation and peace.”

“You do this even as you seek to encroach upon our territory?”Sesrene asked. “Do not think we are unaware of your aggressive expansion into the region flanking our borders. This does not seem to us to be the acts of supposed allies.”

Well versed in Tholian xenophobia, Jetanien considered Sesrene’s words before replying, “Ambassador, the Federation has always demonstrated, through word and deed, restraint and respect when attempting to expand or simply explore beyond its borders. We view the sovereign claims of any civilization to be inviolable. Our surveys into the Taurus Reach are limited to worlds which harbor no indigenous populations or which are not otherwise known to have been claimed by another power. It is not the Federation with which your government needs to be concerned, sir, but rather the Klingon Empire.”

On the screen, the Tholian appeared to lean closer, as though intrigued by the statement. “We know of some efforts by the Kling-ons to invade the sector of space you call the Taurus Reach, but according to our latest reports, their attempts to this point have been rather limited.”

Seeing his opening, Jetanien said, “That appears to be changing, Ambassador. Indeed, the Klingon Empire has recently laid claim to a mineral-rich world in the Traelus system, which is very close to Tholian territory. It is but one of several such systems the Klingons are planning to conquer. Unlike the Federation, they are unconcerned with the welfare of anyone who might already be living there. Such people will simply become subjects of the Empire. This may expand to include allies of the Tholian Assembly.”

“We will never allow such heinous acts,”Sesrene warned, though the tone of his voice even as filtered through the translation software running in parallel with the subspace communications relay still betrayed surprise at what Jetanien had reported. “Any form of military buildup in the Traelus system would provide a point from which to launch an offensive campaign into our territory. We cannot allow that to go unchallenged.”

“I am sympathetic to your concerns, Ambassador,” Jetanien replied. Sensing the Tholian’s skepticism, he raised a hand and added, “A Klingon invasion of your territory presents a problem for us, as well, as the Federation wants no part of the conflict which surely would result, and in which we would likely find ourselves trapped. While it’s too late for us with respect to the Traelus system, we obviously would like to avoid such an incident being repeated.” What he of course did not say was that he was still angry at the fact that his failure to detect the spy working on his staff, Anna Sandesjo, had allowed her to inform her Klingon handlers about Starfleet’s interests in Traelus II, if not the reasons behind wanting to subject the planet to further scrutiny. There was nothing to be done about that, Jetanien knew, though he might well be capable of turning at least part of the situation to his advantage.

“What are you suggesting?”Sesrene asked.

Adjusting himself to a more comfortable position atop his glenget, a backless chair constructed to support a Chelon’s physique, Jetanien said, “That we work together, Ambassador, against our common adversary. Though our diplomats are locked in seemingly unending negotiations with their Klingon counterparts, anyone with any experience in interstellar politics knows that the Empire is simply using such talks to provide cover as they mobilize for their next armed confrontation. It is their way, and always has been. What you and I have is an opportunity to perhaps serve both our peoples and enable them to be ready when the Klingons finally choose to strike.”

Sesrene seemed to consider that for a moment before responding, “For this to be of any use to us, we would need access to information which currently lies beyond our grasp, such as data on Klingon ship movements and targets for conquest. Are you in a position to provide such information?”

“Officially?” Jetanien asked. “No, but as we both know, there are occasions where diplomacy must be conducted in the shadows in order to succeed.” It would not be difficult to obtain such intelligence data, he decided, particularly given his current role as one of Commodore Reyes’s only on-site advisers with respect to Operation Vanguard. Getting that information to Sesrene or the ambassador’s duly appointed representative might prove more challenging. Still, if the Tholians could be informed as to the location and activities of Klingon assets within the Taurus Reach—in particular when such assets posed a threat to Tholian security, as was the case with a possible Klingon base in the Traelus system—that might go a long way toward keeping their attention occupied on matters away from some of the more sensitive missions Starfleet ships would soon be undertaking elsewhere within the region. It was impossible to know how much time such a ploy might buy the Federation as it continued its own investigations into the Taurus Reach.

Likewise,Jetanien reminded himself, you cannot predict whether what you propose might have other, costlier consequences.

As always, there were risks to be considered, but to Jetanien, such overtures on his part might be a step toward leveling the playing field so far as the Tholians and the Klingons were concerned. His actions today could help his efforts toward eventually bringing both parties as well as the Federation to some form of negotiations, which he foresaw taking place right here on Vanguard under his own guidance. If all worked according to his plan, he might well succeed in forging a lasting agreement between the three powers.

If his plan failed, he might well be responsible for embroiling the Federation in a massive, two-front war.

So, let us not fail, then.

“Allowing our respective peoples to become mired in conflict requires no effort or risk on our part, Ambassador,” Jetanien said. “However, I suspect you feel as I do and that you and I, given the roles we’ve chosen for ourselves, consider it our responsibility to help our leaders find a better way to resolve our differences. Surely, by working together we can present our governments with alternatives far more attractive than that of going to war with one another.”

Sesrene paused, perhaps to consider Jetanien’s words, before replying, “You have given me much to consider, Ambassador. We will contact you shortly with our decision.”Before Jetanien could offer any kind of response, the Tholian’s visage disappeared and was replaced by the image of the rotating polyhedron, before that too faded as the computer screen deactivated.

He sat motionless for several moments, reviewing the conversation that had just taken place. There could be no doubt that the Tholian ambassador would examine Jetanien’s offer from every possible angle. This would almost certainly include how to exploit such information so that it perhaps even turned the Federation and the Klingons upon one another, leaving the Tholians to collect whatever remained. Would they even be interested, given their demonstrated lack of desire toward anything within the Taurus Reach? That remained to be seen, but it was not something with which Jetanien could be concerned, at least for the moment. Embarking on the course of action he was envisioning was fraught with its own problems, not the least of which was how Anna Sandesjo fit into the equation.

Not just Sandesjo,he reminded himself, but T’Prynn, as well.

Based on his own observations as well as those of a few trusted assistants, Jetanien was certain that T’Prynn must now know that Sandesjo was a spy. Unsubstantiated accounts alleged that the two women had engaged in at least one clandestine romantic liaison. If that was true, and given what Jetanien knew of Vulcan telepathic abilities, he saw no means by which T’Prynn could have avoided learning Sandesjo’s true identity. Therefore, if she did know, then why had she not yet elected to inform Commodore Reyes? Was it possible that the Vulcan was pursuing some other agenda, and that Sandesjo somehow fit into that scheme? Perhaps T’Prynn was a spy herself, and was now considering a means of manipulating Sandesjo for her own ends.

Interesting.

Though he had considered taking this information to Reyes himself, Jetanien had opted against such action. Keeping Sandesjo in place and providing what she thought was valuable intelligence data to her superiors might prove useful, at least for now, as he continued with his own plans, or until such time as he could find a more overt way of turning her presence here to his advantage. Perhaps T’Prynn had similar thoughts, in which case she certainly had a head start on Jetanien. He decided he also would wait and observe that developing situation, in the hope that there might be something there for him to gain, as well.

And what of Sandesjo herself? Jetanien had of course given considerable thought as to what she might be planning. Were she to somehow gain the trust and confidence of the station’s intelligence officer, it could only help to further her mission here. Would T’Prynn see through such a ploy? If she did not, what sort of damage might that cause? And if she indeed was a spy, in what way might T’Prynn use this knowledge, and who stood to benefit from her actions?

These, Jetanien decided, were problems for tomorrow, as this day already had seen its share. If even the smallest fraction of the potential represented by Operation Vanguard came to fruition, there would be all manner of new questions to answer and challenges to overcome, and much work to be done.

Much work, indeed, for all of us.

HARD NEWS

Kevin Dilmore

For Colleen, for whom a dedication is long overdue;

and for Dan, Larry, Deborah, Jane, and Paul—Star Trek

journalists without equal.

HISTORIAN’S NOTE

The events of this story take place in 2266, one week after the publication of Tim Pennington’s accounts of the disappearance of the Jinoteur system and the actions of Commodore Diego Reyes on Gamma Tauri IV ( Star Trek Vanguard: Reap the Whirlwind).

THE TAURUS REACH

2266

1

“Biological perversions. That’swhat they have going on down there.”

Admittedly, I had been half listening to the Starfleet ensign at that particular point in our conversation, which was discourteous if nothing else given that he had paid for the round of drinks sitting before us. The young man had his urgent whisper to thank for snapping me back to attention. Evidently, he had reached the salient point toward which he had been steering for the twenty minutes or so that we had been there.

“Right, um, perversion,” I said. “Now, you’re not talking about unnatural monsters with a taste for human flesh or something, are you?”

The ensign’s look soured a bit. “I’m not sure you’re taking me very seriously, Mister Pennington.”

“It’s Tim, please,” I said, and smiled, hoping a little familiarity might soothe his offense. “And I apologize if I’m coming across as disinterested. Remember, it’s my role to be the skeptic here. I need to dig into this story, poke holes in it. As a reporter, I’m the advocate for all the Federation News Service readers who might have a harder time swallowing all of this than I.”

Wrinkles smoothed from his brow as he appeared to mull my words. In a moment, he nodded affirmatively. I guess he bought it—or at least enough of it to continue talking. “Like I was saying, the word is that somewhere in the lower decks, in a place that is so secret it doesn’t show up on the station’s schematics, is a research laboratory that houses specimens from across the Federation and outside it, too.”

“Okay, but consider it from my side, Ensiiign . . .” I drew out his rank long enough to fire whatever neurons in my brain would enable me to come up with his name. Damn me for messing it now.

“Um, Saura?”

“Of course, Saura. Sorry, mate,” I said, cursing myself silently. Regardless of whether I found the young man’s story credible to this point, I certainly could not rule out his offering up at least one fact or idea I’d not yet considered in this latest hunt for news. But there is no quicker way of closing up a source than to scarcely recall his identity in the middle of an interview. He appeared to shrug it aside, so I continued. “On the surface of things, it’s no surprise to anyone that Vanguard has research facilities on board. It’s the largest Federation presence in this sector. When you’re this far out from the center of civilization, it’s bound to have everything they can pack inside its hull.”

And pack the hull of Starbase 47 they did. At nearly one thousand meters tall and more than eight hundred meters wide, the place was more spaceport than Starfleet facility, housing a crew larger than five starships and half again as many private citizens—including me. Vanguard came complete with civilian residences, terrestrial green space, shopping and recreation centers, restaurants and bars such as Tom Walker’s, the one in which we sat. The station even housed hotel accommodations for deep-space passersby. Not that many people toured the Taurus Reach for the thrill of it all, but still, this was no mere way station for simply refueling and restocking a ship out of necessity. That said, I had been here more than a year, now, and there were plenty of places on Vanguard I certainly still had not seen. Secret research lab? I would not rule that out in the least.

“And you know as well as I do, Ensign, that the publicly available schematics of Starfleet facilities and equipment contain plenty of sensitive areas blacked out for security reasons. Even I can appreciate the boundary between the public’s right to know and the security of the Federation.”

“I’m a Starfleet officer, Mister Pennington,” he said. “I’m not arguing that aspect of it at all.”

“Fair enough,” I said before taking another sip of my drink. Just then, I caught the eye of an approaching server, a young and round-faced brunette I had seen here before only recently, and waved her off from interrupting us. Had I been here alone, I might have knocked back a pair of whiskeys by now. As I had simply doubled Ensign Saura’s request for some sort of foul-tasting fermented cider, a move to help instill a little camaraderie with him from the get-go, I continued to nurse the one I had rather than subject myself to more of it. And at that point, I was not going to buy us a second round, either. “So, what you’re suggesting is that it’s not the secrecy of the lab itself that alarms you, but what is happening inside it.”

“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward to me again. “From what I hear, our scientists are conducting genetic experiments on all sorts of species down there. Animals from Earth, creatures of all shapes and sizes from any number of worlds, and more.”

“What do you mean by more?”

“It’s not just animals that are being tested and experimented on,” Saura said. “It’s other races—sentient beings.”

“What?”

“That’s what I heard. There’s even a Tholian captive down there, being held against its will and having who knows what done to it by our scientists.”

The thought soured my mouth even worse than did my cider drink. In my time aboard Vanguard, there had been a number of aspects of Starfleet’s mission that I had learned on my own, and others of which I had been made aware by station personnel, including by the now-former commanding officer of the station, Commodore Diego Reyes. I knew full well the lengths that Reyes would go to fulfill Starfleet’s mission in the Taurus Reach, despite my not being privy to just precisely what that mission might fully involve. But I also knew Reyes well enough—at least I imagined so—that I believed he would not condone any such secretive inhumane actions on his watch. This was a man who just days before had all but given up his command, his career, his freedom itself not to hide but to reveal unflinching details about his role in Starfleet’s operations in this sector. Reyes not only allowed me to report on the fate of Jinoteur IV, a planet that inexplicably blinked out of existence entirely, he authorized the release of my own video from an alien city on that planet that may have been home to the Shedai, an ancient race of super-beings unlike any we have before seen. And if that were not enough, he chose me as his confessor for his decision to decimate the planet of Gamma Tauri IV, sacrificing every living thing on its entire surface in order to protect the quadrant, maybe the galaxy, from those very beings. As someone so willing to stop himself from being burdened by harbored knowledge, he did not seem the type to exploit another being without mercy. A tortured soul such as his seemed unlikely to create another, even complicitly.

“That’s a very serious allegation you’re making, Ensign,” I said. “It’s certainly not one that would be taken lightly. Do you have any evidence of this happening beyond your tapping into the rumor mill?”

“No,” he said. “I figured getting that was your job.”

“I’m a reporter, not a human-rights investigator.”

“But these aren’t humans I’m talking about!”

I responded to his elevated tone by taking another sip from my cider, hoping that my calm might encourage him to dial back any rising sense of urgency. “What I mean, to be clear, is that I remain on the station at the will and pleasure of Starfleet administrators. I could attempt to investigate the kind of offense you’re describing, but the number of avenues I might take to even begin such an investigation is limited. If you’re this concerned, might I direct you to the station’s consular offices of the Federation Embassy. Ask for Ambassabor Jetanien. He’s the one who, well, who looks like a turtle.”

“There’s that tone again, Mister Pennington,” Saura said. “The one that makes me think you aren’t that interested in my tip after all.”

“It’s not a matter of interest, Ensign. Your story is plenty interesting. It’s a matter of credibility.” As soon as the last word came from my mouth, the young man’s eyes widened and he made a move to scoot away from our table. “The credibility of the information,not of you. If you would indulge me a moment, let me play the role of my editor and tell you how she might respond when I come to her with this tip of yours. First, she might ask what your source might be.”

“Well, I don’t want to name names. Let’s just say that I’ve heard it around and from more than one person.”

“Right. We’ll deem that ‘unsubstantiated’ then. So, at this point she might turn her attention to you. To what division are you assigned?”

“I’m a communications specialist.”

“And how long have you been stationed at Vanguard?”

“Well, I’ve been here for the duration.” Saura’s tone and expression did not seem to mark his service milestone with pleasure.

“The duration being . . . that you have been assigned here since the station opened.”

“And before that,” he clarified. “I was attached to the station to help build its communications array.”

“Excellent. Then you must be very proud of your service record and of your accomplishments here.”

“You could say proud . . .” Saura’s voice trailed off.

So I picked it back up. “Buuut, you’re ready for a different challenge, shall we say.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you’ve been out here a long time.”

“I’ve made no secret about wanting to rotate off the station,” Saura said. “I put in for transfer over a year ago.”

“More than a year ago?” I unconsciously corrected his grammar, then sipped at my drink again. “And yet, here you remain.”

“Evidently.”

“So, if you’ve got no love left for the station, and you can’t get a move on, no matter who or how you ask for it, there’s always the hope that Vanguard gets put out of business.”

“Pardon?” Saura narrowed his eyes. “Space stations don’t get put out of business.”

“But one might get repurposed should a primary mission change,” I said, leaning forward. “Equipment would get changed out, crew assignments would shuffle. All of that isn’t hard to imagine as a result of a turn of public sentiment against a station’s purported goal. There isn’t a story that would kick up disapproval and distrust of activities at Starbase 47 faster than allegations of inhumanity against sentients sanctioned by Starfleet Command. And on the heels of the Jinoteur incident, too.”

Saura sat up in his seat and spoke crisply. “That’s not at all what got this talk started.”

“Sure would be a clean ticket home, right, Ensign? I mean, if everyonehad to go.”

“You’ve twisted my words completely out of context, Mister Pennington,” Saura said, and stood from the table.

“I twisted no words, sir,” I said. “I merely speculated one path my editor might take to substantiate your information. Or not.”

Saura left, but not before saying over his shoulder, “I should have expected as much from the press.”

“Cheers,” I offered back, hoisting my half-full glass of the nasty brew in his direction but not following it with a quaff. Not that I was totally unappreciative of his time. It was simply that “tips” such as Ensign Saura’s were becoming the norm since the day I broke the news about Jinoteur and Gamma Tauri IV and the Shedai and Reyes—and the whole bloody mess. Whether I was walking through Stars Landing and the other civilian areas of the station or between Starfleet offices within its central command tower, a great many more eyes were turned to me as I passed by these days. Not that I became some sort of instant celebrity aboard Vanguard. I had been on the station long enough that my face was recognizable to those who paid any attention to FNS newsfeeds. But this time, my reports of activities aboard Vanguard broke big, leading news reports of the day practically across the Federation. Now, many of my station mates were sure they carried the one bit of information I would need to reveal even more wrongly kept secrets or uncover the next group of corrupt Federation officials or whatever perceived injustices they might harbor. They wanted to spill, and it was my job to listen to them all. Better that than to risk pushing aside any information that might actually be newsworthy—particularly in my editors’ eyes if not mine. They were as keenly interested in the next big news to come out of Vanguard as its denizens were.

So I was no longer simply a reporter. No, I was a muckraker– a lovely, little centuries-old sobriquet we get saddled with whenever one of our stories brings down someone in power, whether in politics, private enterprise, or, in this case, Starfleet. In the wake of my story, Commodore Reyes was relieved of command and arrested outside his own office—hell, the man called me ahead of time so I could come see it transpire myself. And why not? Had I delivered a phaser blast rather than a news story, I would have watched him fall just as ignobly. I owed it to him to pay witness to the results of my actions.

We might not have fully realized it back when we conversed in my emptied apartment merely a week ago, but for Reyes and me, our worlds changed forever in those moments: mine after choosing to publish and his after choosing to permit me. The question that continued to dog me from the moment he was taken into custody was . . . why? Why did Starfleet respond so quickly and harshly against Reyes? Why did Reyes seem not to care what happened to him as a result? Why would even a single detail of information offered by my reporting be capable of compromising any aspect of Starfleet’s operations from Vanguard? Reyes let me report what I saw, knowing full well what I knew as I was writing it: no matter what I said, or showed, about my experiences on Jinoteur, no one out there would have the first clue what to make of the Shedai, their capabilities, any of it. Even I scarcely understood what the hell happened—and I lived through it.

A pair of beeps from my pocketed data device shook me loose from my thoughts. I checked the soft glow of its readout to find a text notification of a pending subspace communication from my FNS editors, and I had just enough time to rid my system of what cider it had processed and make my way to a public comm station to catch it.

So, why tell everyone, Commodore Reyes? Hell, why not?