Chapter 10
Expanded Horizons
Milky Way - Alpha Quadrant - Earth
Captain Kirk's keen eyes swept the sixty-foot screen inside Astrolab 3. The galactic 3D topographical map expanded further and further out until all one-hundred thousand lightyears stretched from corner to corner. Picard stood beside him, with Spock and Data seated at the control panel ahead. Outlines of Alpha Quadrant territories shown clearly at the bottom left quarter of the galaxy, the Gorn, Tholians, Breen, Romulans, Klingon, Ferengi, Cardassians and a few others were prominently marked.
One must understand the daunting scale of it all, to fully grasp the complexity of the analysis before the men.
Marked in the middle of the top left quarter of the galaxy lay the exit point of the Bajoran wormhole in the Gamma Quadrant, now known or at least claimed as Dominion space. The opposite end of the wormhole is located on the Federation border in the Alpha Quadrant; this distance would take more than seven decades by conventional travel, accomplished in only minutes through the wormhole.
Interlaced throughout the galactic map blinked millions of stars and planets, with unknown billions yet to be discovered. All possible diplomatic, backroom, pirate, merchant, and military connections overlaid with religion, culture, currency and much more. All displayed by either dotted lines or shaded areas. The entire map resembled a collage of random color, instead of anything resembling an actionable dataset.
Before the four arrived in Astrolab 3, Kirk explained to Picard the details and circumstance surrounding Cienna's memory; both agreeing the information could be vital and recommended she debrief Starfleet command immediately. Security officers had been called, and she was escorted, not under guard but as a precaution to the Admirals wing on the other side of the building. Security protocols remained on maximum and medic teams accompanied by armed guard administered blood screening tests throughout the Academy and Headquarters. No person could go unchecked; no assumptions could be made. Starfleet Command was determined to find any shapeshifting aliens they could only assume roamed about. 'John' had been escorted back to security detachment 'B' where Lieutenant Worf hastily finished a last minute self-defense course to new security recruits.
The fleet, including both Enterprises in orbit, prepared to disburse within a few hours, giving precious time for both captains to pour over some vital information.
Rubbing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief, Kirk started,
"I don't believe Starfleet officers planted that bomb, either they were coerced, or it was not them."
"Agreed..." letting out a sigh, Picard continued, "...proving it to the Cardassians will be difficult. I can't imagine them taking our word for it. No man or woman in Starfleet would commit mass murder, perhaps they were mind controlled. The problem is, we do not know the truth."
"We need to warn them, we need to tell them about those shapeshifters running around, could it be… yes, maybe one of those things..."
"Our diplomats are hard at work I am sure," said Picard. His eyes darting across the display, there is so much here, and even more to be discovered. Starfleet has cataloged less than one percent of the total galaxy; it is simply too big for our relatively slow propulsion. "Data, can you overlay any known probe locations along the same timeline as the spatial disturbances?" Data punched in a few commands, and a few sporadic red dots appeared.
Cienna told the captains she felt confident that the probes are not her masters, and so the long and drawn out analysis continued for their origin and purpose.
"They do seem to have been present, but not in all cases," said Spock, looking up at the giant screen.
"There is no discernible pattern," added Data. The Android and Vulcan continued to overlay a nearly endless array of information, removing some and adding others. Merchant routes, fleet deployments, planet populations, territories, orbit distances, magnetic field density, gravity concentration per sector, and the list went on. The probes seemed to follow no pattern,
But perhaps a purpose thought the Vulcan.
"It does appear, that these probes care not for any particular instance, they follow no particular path or time," said Spock, now standing beside Kirk, both looking up at the screen, "It does however indicate one thing, that these probes or rather, those who send them wish to learn everything about everything. Their emphasis seems no more towards us than it is to the Cardassians, Romulans, or even the spatial anomalies. They wish to know everything that there is to know. We successfully disabled one, but their distribution pattern may change going forward. I must also point out, we do not know the probes whereabouts throughout the galaxy, only portions of the Alpha Quadrant, a small fraction of the whole."
Data chimed in,
"There is no pattern relative to Dominion ship movements, or diplomatic engagement. In addition, the technology recovered from the disabled probe," nodding towards Kirk, "as well as others pieces recovered throughout Federation territory does not match any known Dominion technology. It is therefore reasonable to conclude they are not of Dominion origin,"
"Where are we getting all the probe coordinates?" asked Picard,
"Fourteen percent through fleet or Federation member world sensors, sixty-seven percent through diplomatic channels, and the remaining nineteen percent through various back channels related to merchants or Starfleet Intelligence."
"So in other words, we are unable to verify if these probes locations are real," said Kirk firmly.
Data's eyes fluttered while analyzing the remark,
"Captain Kirk, are you suggesting that there are errors in data delivery from other Alpha Quadrant inhabitants?"
"No...but there could be factions that are withholding information. There are upwards of one-hundred and fifty thousand probe sightings, thousands more per week. These things are raining down upon us. Nonstop. Someone, somewhere, is going to figure it out. Look in the Gamma Quadrant for instances, eighty thousand sightings, where are we getting that information from?"
"Only one percent is provided by Federation ships. We are unable to collect data since the policy change by the Dominion regarding our exploration of their space. We are relying on their sensor logs which Ambassador Weyoun provided."
"I see. Our ships never traveled more than a few hundred light years from the exit, that quadrant is billions of cubic light years...," Kirk trailed off and turned his head to his first officer, "Spock, we need to get into the Gamma Quadrant...we need to investigate. Have Scotty-"
"Captain Kirk," Picard said sternly, "I need a word in private," both men moved towards the corner, "with all due respect, may I remind you that you are eighty years out of place, and your ship needs to be retrofitted. Even if you were given orders to explore the Gamma Quadrant, there is a Dominion blockade in effect. There is no evidence that there is foul play through our diplomatic channels, and these probes can be originating from anywhere in the galaxy. The Gamma Quadrant probe information we recorded is months old. But we obtained new data, provided by the Dominion; you cannot just unilaterally decide they are liars." Picard's face remained stone cold, he did not want to confront Kirk in this manner, but the rumors and legends of the legendary captain's brashness seemed to be true. He is brash, jumps to conclusions, and if memory serves, finds himself creating political quagmires that usually didn't arise until years later. Being a student of history, Picard knew the smallest mistake could cause tidal waves years later.
Kirk mulled the speech over, there is some truth to what he is saying, there is no evidence, just suspicion...but we can't just sit here, we need to act, we need to push,
"Those shapeshifters could be everywhere, in every city...on every planet,"
"We do not know that. Yes, we need to be careful, yes we need to take precautions, but we cannot jump to conclusions. We do not know if they are connected with what happened on Cardassia." Kirk started to protest but Picard raised his hand to allow himself to continue, "but it is not unreasonable to investigate. I have been promised by both Admiral Ross and Paris that our best people are on this."
"Gentlemen," said Spock interrupting the tension, "I do not mean to eavesdrop, but Captain Picard is correct, we discuss assumptions, not facts. We are missing vast amounts of information, in the Delta and Beta Quadrants for example. However, we also possess enormous amounts of information on other scenarios that are unfolding, and there is much we can do with the current level of information. First and foremost, a moment ago Starfleet Medical announced the DNA samples analyzed from the two dead shapeshifters precisely match those of Odo, the present head of security upon Deep Space 9. It appears, based on records, that the home planet of his species is unknown; therefore their political affiliations are unknown. We are aware of their infiltration, but we do not know why."
"And, this Odo?" Kirk seemed skeptical,
"He passed all Starfleet security requirements, there is no reason to suspect him of any wrongdoing," reported Data before continuing, "I analyzed all possible information available to us. There are currently eight hundred and forty-seven correlated occurrences. Without further information, I cannot differentiate between meaningful correlation and random chance."
Kirk began pacing, considering all the options, assumptions, and priorities. Not all threats are the same… is everything related? Is Cienna tied to the Shapeshifters? She says not… I believe her. Turning towards the men, Jim voiced his reasoning aloud.
"You know what Cienna said...those things she calls her masters, they can manipulate time, they can move through dimensions and create weapons that we can't even think of...and those creatures from another dimension that John talks about, what are they? Did they send him to Phobos somehow? From where? Now tell me gentlemen, what are our priorities?"
Spock stood with his hands behind his back, showing no sign of emotion. Accustomed to the irrational thought processes of humans, he often dismissed their wildly dramatic concerns in favor of logic; but even he admitted the priority changed based on what level of assumed risk these 'masters' and undimensioned creatures presented.
We can't let our imaginations get the best of us, thought Picard before entering into his closing remarks regarding strategy,
"I think we can all agree, that we are in a grave situation, the political climate is rife with unintended consequences, the smallest misstep could push either side over the edge. I think we need to be mindful of the fact, that this situation is fluid. Cienna alluded to far-ranging dangers, but they seem removed from our present situation. There may come a time when our rational will need to shift, and priorities change, but right now our minds must be here in the present. It is not for us to decide on how the Federation uses its resources, we can only help analyze the situation and report our findings." This back and forth continued for several minutes before being interrupted by a communicator, "Picard here,"
Admiral Ross's voice came over the communicator,
"Jean-Luc. You are to depart as soon as possible to Deep Space 9 to meet a delegation from Cardassia and the Dominion. The Klingons will be joining you as well, push your engines to the limit, time is something we do not have, Ross out."
Picard offered a stiff hand to his fellow captain,
"Captain Kirk, let us keep each other informed of whatever truths we can find, we are all in this together, no matter what century we are from," Kirk returned the warm smile and handshake before Picard and Data exited Astrolab 3.
"If I may say, Captain,"
"Oh, I know you would Spock,"
"To craft the correct course of action, with an overwhelming amount of information, we require, even more information."
"More?" asked Kirk with a sly grin,
"I am merely stating a fact."
Kirk flipped open his communicator,
"Bones,"
"McCoy here,"
"Get back to the Enterprise; there is work to do."
Spock raised an eyebrow,
"I assume we are leaving orbit?"
"We need another perspective. We need to go visit our old friends, the Metrons."
Security Detachment 'B' - Starfleet Command - Earth
"Listen carefully," barked Worf to the eleven security personnel standing along the edge of a padded mat. "Computer, begin program four." On the mat, eight 'people' of various Alpha Quadrant races shimmered to life, motionless, waiting in a prone position. "Your task is to subdue these computer programs; I have adjusted the parameters myself to make them seem more real. They will resist. I have been authorized to remove the safety protocols, it will be very...difficult." A young ensign raised his hand, "Yes?"
"Sir, are we not to stun them with phasers?" Worf could not hide his smirk,
"No. There will be times that you will not have access to your weapons." The group of rookies inched onto the mat, each eyeing the opponents carefully, one program held a small baton, another a club.
"Computer...begin!"
The programs sprang to life, three rushing the smallest rookie of the class. Ensign Smoon went tumbling to the ground within the first second, with three computer figures piling onto him. Four security personnel moved to assist but got swarmed by kicking and scratching 'Ferengi.' The wildness of the programs caught the rookie class off guard. They were accustomed to well-practiced instructors, harsh but fair sparring sessions, and relatively predictable attacks. This situation felt entirely different; being the first time Worf taught a class at the Academy; and from how things were turning out so far, perhaps the last time.
A loud snap rang out from an elbow joint of one of the programs, dislocated by Lieutenant Cohmun while he attempted to toss the 'Romulan' to the ground. Even though the programs were nothing more than rapidly rearranged molecules, their body mechanics mimicked the real thing - blood, spit, bad breath, dislocations, breaks, saliva, sweat, everything. Worf allowed the insanity to continue for another thirty seconds before halting the exercise. The programs disappeared, and each officer pulled themselves to their feet. Scratches covered more than half the cadet faces, with three receiving bloody noses. Ensign Smoon fared the worst, four of his teeth lay on the mat.
Worf chuckled as he walked among the injured ensigns, looking each of them over from top to bottom.
"Scrapes and bruises... a few injuries. This is what is to be expected on a Starship while fulfilling your security duties."
In the corner of his eye, he noted a civilian sitting in the corner, the person's gaze not breaking contact with the Klingon for even a second. Worf noticed him earlier, but up until this point could not have been bothered, there is something about him… The deadness and blackness of the man's eyes apparent even from across the room. Over the next fifteen minutes and several more drills, Worf found himself locking eyes with the person instead of watching his class. The man's broken face, trampled and reconstructed a thousand times, painted a stark picture. He is a warrior...
"Computer, discontinue program," Worf's curiosity peaking, "Can I help you?"
"No…" No elaboration, or small talk, just the exhausted sound of a man long remiss. But the shared gaze did not break, both Klingon and soldier locking eyes. One, a bubbling pool of honor and aggression, the other, endless Doom and insufferable agony.
"Do you have anything to add for this session? You look like you have seen some combat."
Lifeless eyes scanned each cadet,
"Wrong tactics," came the dry reply.
Worf's eyes expanded to the size of saucers. If a stare could kill, Worf would obliterate the man where he sat, but fortunately, a dirty look is all that was delivered. Worf knew the guest to be 'John,' having been briefed on the situation. Starfleet security required 'John' stay in the security wing, not as a prisoner, but as a precaution.
"I can assure you, our tactics are correct," Worf continued to ignore his class; this 'John' stood on the cusp of dishonoring him, it is I who instruct the class. Their failure is mine!.
"They need to learn to kill..."
"That, is not the Starfleet way," said Worf turning his back on 'John' and returning to his class.
"To kill is to live, to subdue is to die," cautioned 'John,' not backing down.
Yeeesssss! Teach them! Teach them to kill, teach them new ways to murder!
John winced in pain before his neural-regressor temporarily shut the voices out. The assembled rookies could hardly believe it, looking on in amazement, no one had ever spoken to Worf in such a manner.
"Show me," demanded Worf. His blood now boiling; it's time for this human to be taught a lesson.
'John' pressed against his knees and slowly stood, the weight of a million battles joining him with every step. Showing no fear or concern, he made his way towards the edge of the mat, the shadows along the floor slithering behind.
Worf eyed him from head to toe, looking for signs of weakness or vulnerability, his Klingon instincts on high alert. He is a warrior…
"Computer, run program three point one."
'John' cut him off,
"No,"
"So you do not wish to test your theory?" Asked Worf, almost triumphantly.
"The other one, the same as they had."
"That is designed for class combat, do not be foolish!" Worf scoffed and asked a security officer to escort 'John' to another room but stopped his request when the Marine stepped fully onto the mat, his cold gaze unbending, unyielding.
"Class, you are to remain on the sideline. Computer…" Worf's eyes blazed with anger, his every instinct shouting at him to challenge 'John' here and now. How dare he dishonor me! "...program four." The eight holograms once again appeared in the prone position. John raised one of his hands and studied it, flexing and relaxing, feeling every fiber, every muscle.
Insanity, mayhem, all are one in 'John.'
"Computer, begin!"
Feel our pleasure! We are in you, with you, part of you.
The closest program rushed forward but made it no more than a few paces, a fist as hard as iron exploded through the back side of its holographic skull. The 'Romulan' did not have time to hit the ground before 'John' sprang ahead with a vicious attack on the 'human' program which started moving towards him. Yeeeeeess! Teach them! Slash and tear! Throats, eyes, ligaments, joints, none were spared. Each torn apart or ripped from their sockets in a sickening display of brutality the likes of which no cadet would ever see again. One rookie rushed off to the corner to vomit, soon to be joined by another; gruesome, being too light a word to describe the unfolding events.
'John' waded through the group effortlessly, a loud, sickening pop coming as an arm detached from a program. Virtual blood, indistinguishable from the real thing flowed down the soldier's face and neck, none his own, only victims soaking his clothing. Through us you can save her, through the gate, we are limitless, endless, when the time is near, you will know. Eyes as sharp as diamonds spotted his next target,
CRACK!
The skull of the 'Ferengi' caved inward under the tremendous blow, only three remained now. Blood, teeth, appendages, and intestine smeared the blue padded exercise mat. Still, the slaughter continued.
Across the building, Kinnison watched the incredible event through Worf's eyes.
This man cannot be human...
The medical tests showed human DNA and traits, but Kinnison did not believe it. There must be more. The Lensman extended his mind into 'John's' expecting to see more of the same, a tortured man, only this time, new visions came. The Lensman convulsed and brought his hand to his mouth. What in all the heavens... If insanity could be described with words it would be printed here. Is this his mind?..yes..wait...are there others in here? His probing thoughts steered downward, down deep into the abyss of consciousness rarely explored, and yet what Kinnison saw he could not comprehend, even his tremendous brain hopelessly floundered in the unknown. What Kinnison did not know, and perhaps would never know is that THEY could not be seen by mortals. Even those beings men call gods could not see them, just their influence on humanity could potentially be understood. This is what he saw now, deep in the mind of 'John'... Shapeless things, what horrible things, in the forest, between the spaces, between things...my...god. Images flashed past. ... A small town on Earth... Dunwich? 'Mad Arab' Abdul Alhazred…pyramids...the book, the Necronomicon... Kinnison recognized some images from Earth's past, hundreds, maybe thousands of years. But which Earth? He could not be sure. He pushed deeper still. Where are these images coming from? Then without warning, they disappeared.
Back in Security Detachment 'B', the last program met its fate. The 'female' Cardassian slumped to the floor, both arms ripped clean off.
"You must have Klingon blood!" bellowed Worf as he rushed forward to engage,
'John's' neck snapped around to focus on his new attacker, blood dripping down his face and the souls of a thousand dead sucking Worf in. Lights flickered and the cadets backed against the walls as a chill descended on each of them. The air cooled, madness came.
"STOP! Computer end program!" shouted Captain Picard who entered the room a moment ago with Data by his side. Worf stopped mid-stride, and 'John' spun around to face them. The programs disappeared, as well as the blood and guts flowing down the mat. "Lieutenant Worf," hissed Picard, "you are to report to the Enterprise immediately, please see Commander Riker in the briefing room. As for your class, I suggest you dismiss them to Medical down the hall." The captain in all his years never saw such carnage, the holographic pile of bodies made his stomach turn even in the brief second he had seen them. Data calculated how this happened; by his estimates, the energy required to inflict such damage should not be possible for a human or Klingon. The team of rookie security guards limped past. Worf stopped in front of Picard.
"Captain, I-"
"You had better be giving me an explanation."
"Aye sir," Worf looked back over his shoulder and waited for 'John' to be escorted out of the room and into another part of the building. "I was instructing the class, and he," indicating with his head, "suggested an alternative technique."
"What I saw, is unacceptable for a Starfleet Officer. We are not trained to slaughter." Worf puffed out his chest and about to protest but then relented,
"Aye, permission to report for duty?"
"Granted."