Chapter 12 – ... And Let Slip the Dogs of War
Harry glared at Tom and the two security officers as they materialized in the Flyer, covered in sweat, dust and insect bites. Despite the fact that evening had fallen, the still air had offered little relief from the heat of the day; their uniforms were evidence of the fact that even twenty-fourth century fabrics and hygiene products were no match for certain climates. Harry wrinkled his nose in olfactory disapproval. Protocol, he unilaterally decided, went out the window the moment his superior officer started to smell like the guy he played hockey with on the holodeck.
"You know, you and Seven kvetched and complained for days when Chakotay delayed the Flyer's departure from that spatial anomaly and almost got you guys killed," he said a little testily as Tom passed him on the way to the tactical console. "Guess some lessons register better than others, eh."
Tom looked up at him sharply. "That delay was over a hunk of scrap metal, however much sentimental value it might have had. This was about helping out sick people, Harry - big difference, in my book."
"You have a duty to the ship, too. Just in case you forgot. Sir." Lieutenant and Commander stared at each other for a few seconds, Tom for once feeling tempted to pull rank and putting his best friend in his place for his insubordinate tone. But fairness told him that would not be quite right, and he let out a soft breath instead.
"Yes, fine, you made your point. Maybe I did screw up, Hippocratic oath or no. Guilty as charged. Playing the hero as usual, I was. Fine. I'm sorry, okay, and I'll do penance later. Now let's move on. Report."
O'Reilly had been following the exchange with a mix of interest and sheer awe at the Lieutenant's gall in addressing his superior officer – best friend or not. The response threw him as well: in his experience, commanding officers didn't usually admit mistakes. Probably more of that strange ex-Voyager dynamic he kept hearing about. Interesting to see it in action, though.
He shifted his gaze to his XO, wordlessly seeking permission to take off. "Not quite yet, Marc. Let's get a plan together first. We're still cloaked so should be okay for the moment. Harry, that report please." The last was said with a bit of an edge; enough was enough.
"Jorak reported two de-cloaked Romulan war birds flying search patterns in the outer atmosphere. They must have figured out that the Enterprise was hiding inside the grid while you were … busy down there, and are checking if we're still there. Riker figures they're showing themselves because they are just trying to flush the Enterprise out, and don't intend to attack her outright. Show of force and posturing, rather than tactical maneuvers. The Enterprise is playing possum - for now."
"Why don't the Romulans just take the cloaking grid offline?" O'Reilly asked, not unreasonably. "They'd spot her in five seconds."
"Yes they would, but at the price of exposing their hidden little world to public viewing," Tom replied. "And they may have their reasons for keeping the charade alive for a while longer, too, even if they know we've reported it back to Starfleet. Remember Andoria? Part of inter-planetary politics is to be able to pretend that nothing has happened, that everything is just ducky. Besides, from what I know of the Romulans, they'll need to phone home for a decision at that level. Their fleet commanders have tactical authority, but strategic command is run from home base. And the decision to cloak this world smells of political involvement, so taking the cloak down would be political as well. No, I don't think they'll do that anytime soon."
"But maybe the planet isn't run by the Empire at all," Harry remarked, as his fingers tapped numerous controls in an effort to determine whether they could locate the Romulan ships. He seemed somewhat mollified by Tom's admission of fault, and was completely focused on his task now. "Isn't their secret service sort of … independent?"
"The Tal Shiar? They lost a lot of credibility when they pretty well completely failed to twig to Praetor Shinzon and his Reman revolution. Will … the Captain said some of them even supported the guy. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if there aren't any former Tal Shiar inside that little facility I just visited; one of the Ulaks is full of Romulans and the lesser Remans; the info I got was those guys were dissidents of some sort. Anyway, even if the Tal Shiar started the joint, I doubt they run it now; there's no way Talar was one of them. Guy's pure minion, not one of the Chosen."
They spent a few minutes in silence as Harry searched with his sensors, and Tom tinkered with the tactical station. "Well, I can't find any evidence of war birds from down here. The cloaking grid stops the sensors from looking past it." Harry slammed his flat hands on his console in frustration. "Now what?"
Tom had been chewing his lower lip, while O'Reilly and Celim looked at him expectantly for instructions and Harry's fingers danced across the Ops console. Ayala, in turn, had been wiping the dust off the phaser rifles to ready them for action, in case of unwelcome visitors.
"Well, they can't know for sure that the Enterprise is still here. She could have just left the Flyer behind to engineer the Great Escape. So let's give them that as a starting point, and hopefully draw their attention off the Enterprise. Once she goes to warp, she'll be out of the Neutral Zone in a couple hours and I doubt they'll chase her into Federation space. Besides, Henley can outrun anything; she's had enough practice outflying Borg cubes and other nasty things."
The pilot and Celim stared at him in mild disbelief; Harry and Ayala, by contrast, exchanged a brief look, shrugged and nodded. They'd seen and done worse, and with a bigger ship than the highly mobile Flyer.
"You up for a spot of fancy flying, Marc?" Tom asked O'Reilly with a slightly regretful grin. Time to put his own money where his mouth had been with the Captain, and let the pilot do the job he had once considered his own by divine right. Then again … "I'll do some backseat driving, if you don't mind?"
O'Reilly licked his lips in a gesture that could have been nervousness, but which Tom chose to interpret as anticipation, and nodded with grim determination. "Yes, sir."
"All right, take off, cloak intact for now. We still have secure comms, Har?" Harry nodded his affirmation.
"Paris to Enterprise. Captain, I understand certain guests arrived early and you're still under wraps. If you concur, we'll try and draw them off. We'll stay cloaked for a bit, but will surface once we're above the grid. Then we'll try and provoke them a little, hopefully make them think we're all that's left and that you're gone already. The second we know we have their full attention, you take off for Federation space. When you're at warp, we re-cloak and head out of the Neutral Zone on a different course. Do you agree?"
Tom could practically hear Riker and Jorak exchange looks on the bridge, and come to the same wordless, shrugged conclusion: that this was as good a plan as any, even if it lacked a certain … panache.
"A bit old-fashioned, Tom, but we'll give it a try."
"Captain, take it from me - old-fashioned is the new unorthodox. People have gotten so fancy with their pre-set Greek-alphabet-soup evasive maneuvers, they don't expect the basics anymore, let alone some inspired improvisation," Tom replied with a grin. "Paris out."
O'Reilly, to Tom's satisfaction – and not a little envy - managed to glide the Flyer into and through the cloaking network neatly and without incident. Harry deactivated the shuttle's own cloaking device just as it came out of the grid system. The Romulan ships were easy enough to spot, their energy signatures sufficiently strong to be readable even through the grid as the Enterprise had found.
The shuttle emerged from its cloak right behind one of the two massive war birds; they were flying almost sight-by-side, one slightly behind the other, in a position that Tom recognized as more of a 'watch-me-watch-you' pose than an attack formation. Nonetheless, at the emergence of the Flyer behind them, the two ships broke formation immediately and wheeled around.
"Paris to Enterprise, we have their attention - go."
"Acknowledged. See you on the other side. We'll send coordinates for the rendezvous point. Good luck, Flyer One."
Time to play. "Harry, open hailing frequencies to the Romulans. Let's have some fun. No screen. I don't want them to see the inside of this cabin."
Tom schooled his voice into something like Voyager's EMH at his most superciliously indignant, almost eliciting a giggle from his best friend. "Romulan war birds, this is the Starfleet shuttle Flyer One, Commander Tom Paris speaking. I wish to register my supreme displeasure at the fact that the Romulan Empire has been holding four Starfleet officers hostage. I have taken them safely aboard my shuttle, but I do demand an explanation. What have you to say for yourselves?"
He motioned to O'Reilly to go to maximum impulse; no point going to warp until the Enterprise had. At least his claim to have the escaped prisoners onboard the shuttle could be 'verified' on some level, if the Romulans checked the number of human life signs aboard.
A Romulan voice came over the comm system. "Your presence here is in violation of the Treaty of Algeron. Prepare to be boarded, or else destroyed."
"Oh, I don't think so. First of all, you're not supposed to be here yourselves. But more importantly, if you destroy this shuttle, my Dad will be very angry with you. He's a Very Important Man in Starfleet and will make your life a living hell. Trust me on this." Harry snorted, and O'Reilly gave a slightly scandalized look over his shoulder.
Tom gave the throat-cutting gesture to mute the comms system, and said to Ayala, "Mike, vent some plasma, nice big cloud to gum up their impulse drive for a couple seconds. Marc, loop up and get behind them, then head off at a hundred-and-twenty degrees."
When the cloud had been released, he motioned Harry to reopen the comm link, audio only. "Sorry about that. But you should really rethink the diet you feed your prisoners down there. Indigestion is a terrible thing."
An increasingly annoyed voice responded. "Starfleet vessel, you have ten seconds to …" a hissed exchange in what Tom recognized as very colloquial Romulan followed, before the comm cut out.
"I think they spotted the Enterprise. Marc, get in front of them. Now."
For the next two or three minutes, Lieutenant Marc O'Reilly, at the direction of his XO who was standing behind him, gripping the back of the pilot's seat, managed to dance the Flyer through evasive maneuvers he had only recently carried out in sims on the holodeck, and none of which came with a Greek letter attached. He darted in and around the Romulan ships, which appeared to be under instructions not to fire their disruptors; an ostensible peace was apparently still good for something, and only phaser fire was directed at the Flyer.
But just as clearly, the Romulans had little compunction to ram the shuttle in order to get it out of their way, in their pursuit of what they must now know to be the bigger prize - even if they may not as yet to be sure what they would do with the Enterprise should they catch again, there was no telling when the Romulans' orders might change.
One of the two war birds peeled off, but the turn cost it valuable seconds – enough time, Tom hoped, to enable the Enterprise to establish a stable warp field. He might have been able to go to warp in the Flyer within close proximity to a space station and another space ship, but a Galaxy class vessel required considerably more maneuvering room before it could safely do so. The Flyer's job was to provide that space.
"Commander. They're charging their main weapons arrays."
Shit. Sooner than expected.
"Do not return fire. We're not here to start a war, even if they're losing patience. Harry, set shield phasing to oscillate between theta and omicron bands; Picard believes that works to deflect disruptors, so let's give it a try. Evasive maneuvers … oh hell, Marc, just get out of the way in whatever manner you see fit. Show them what the Flyer can do in the hands of a pro."
Finally, the word came from the Enterprise. "War bird's on our tail and charging up, but we're ready to go to warp. Thank you, Flyer. On my mark …" The Captain cut the comm as the ship winked out of regular space.
Tom nodded in response to O'Reilly's questioning look, and the Flyer looped over the remaining war bird, making as if to attack its rear but then banking off, taking advantage of its greater maneuverability to disappear behind the cloaked moon. "Now." Five more seconds at maximum impulse, and the screen showed the spatial distortions signaling the jump to warp speed.
Tom clapped O'Reilly on the shoulder. "Nice flying, Marc. Set course for our rendezvous point."
…..
The Flyer had been at warp for nearly an hour when Harry Kim looked up from his console. "Tom … Commander? There's another warp signature just ahead of us. Headed for Federation space, like we are, but on a slightly different trajectory."
"Not the Enterprise then?"
"No, definitely not. Smaller." Harry made a few adjustments to his instruments, and whistled softly. "It's a Flyer-model shuttle. Not a Starfleet signature though." He looked up from his console, straight at Tom. "We may have found the infamous Ares, on her way home. Wherever that is."
Tom cursed under his breath. "Lifesigns?"
"Five. Two human, three Cardassian." It was Ayala's turn to make an editorial comment, which he did by way of a contemptuous grunt.
O'Reilly turned around from the conn. "I can extrapolate their course and match it, sir. I assume we'd like to know where they're going and follow them?"
Tom nodded. "Yes, absolutely, for now. Harry, can you give us a subspace link to the Enterprise? Since I find myself, as Counselor Troi would probably put it, 'emotionally invested' in certain issues, I want to phone home for a quick judgment check and, hopefully, some authorization codes."
The link established, Tom cleared his throat. "Paris to Enterprise. Captain, we believe we may have located the Ares, on its return to Federation space. Request permission to interdict and question those aboard." Harry's eyes flew up at the request, and Ayala stilled at the tactical console.
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Riker's eyes widened, and he exchanged glances with Jorak at Tactical. The mysterious ship was within reach? This was almost too good to be true. Harry Kim had reported on the situation the away team had found in the settlement camp across the bay while he and O'Reilly had waited for their return. Even without the full debrief, the Captain was convinced that there were things that clearly warranted further investigation, in particular the by now very clear evidence of complicity from within the Federation. This ship might just carry the answers.
He stared thoughtfully at the screen. But interdiction?
"Don't we need something like a suspicion of contraband aboard to stop a private vessel in peace time?" He looked to Jorak for confirmation; the man was a walking manual on the rules of permissible interspace interception and the use of force. Jorak nodded, but his brow furrowed in concentration. Riker could practically see a list of potential regulations scrolling down behind his retinas.
Tom had clearly given the matter some thought already. "How about 'hot pursuit following suspected participation in criminal activity'? Things like unlawful confinement, forcible displacement of a civilian population, war crimes, crimes against humanity should qualify, no? Jorak?"
"In Federation space, we would require direct evidence of involvement, Commander, not a mere suspicion, to justify application of the hot pursuit paradigm. In other words, you would have to have witnessed the vessel in question committing a crime. But based on your present coordinates I believe you are still in the Neutral Zone?"
A quick verification by O'Reilly, and a nod from the conn. "Yes, that's correct, Jorak. Then again, so are they – and isn't just being in the Neutral Zone without justification an offence?"
"Yes, indeed, Commander, it is." Jorak turned to Riker. "It should also be noted, Captain, that matters such as interdiction and arrest, or any action taken during arrest, are not subject to Federation jurisdiction until the Flyer crosses back into Federation space."
Legal carte blanche? Tom Paris draw a sharp breath at that, carefully suppressing an anticipatory grin that would have bordered on the feral, had he allowed it to spread across his face.
The Captain, for his part, muttered something unintelligible as the images and reports of the last two days dripped into his mind like fuel onto a carefully banked fire.
Razor wire and force fields, made by an unknown company in the Federation. The desiccated shells of four Starfleet officers, what remained of the senior staff of the USS Hiroshima, now quartered below and awaiting treatment by the ship's counselor for the mental devastation wrought by a decade spent in hell. Nearly five thousand people, ripped from their homes and dumped on an inhospitable world, exposed to hunger and disease, for reasons he could almost grasp but needed more information about before being certain.
Will Riker could only imagine what his Number One saw at this moment – the man who had been behind the wire and inside the mud huts of the displacement camp, and who had touched the despair, the hopelessness and the rage of those left on Mokan to rot far more intimately than he could fathom.
Then there was his … alter ego, Thomas Riker. His genetic twin, inadvertently created by a transporter accident on Nervala IV, nearly eighteen years ago now. Hearing from Harry Kim that Thomas - whom he had thought to be in a Cardassian labour camp and hence, he assumed, beyond the reach of the parole the other ex-Maquis members had been granted - was on Mokan had shaken Will to the core.
Thomas Riker was … what? What Will Rikerwould have – had? – become, after spending eight years on his own in a prison of isolation and loneliness, before rejoining 'civilization' only to witness the atrocities against civilians in the demilitarized zone? After seeing that illegal fleet being constructed by the Cardassians, intended to wreak yet more Obsidian horrors on colonists trapped between their love for their homes and the politics of corruption and expediency?
Will could not count the number of times he had quietly asked himself whether that conviction, seemingly so right at the time - especially after Thomas had impersonated him to achieve his goals – had been proper and lawful, in retrospect. Given what had since been learned about the background of the treaty between the Cardassian Union and the Federation Council, how could he possibly maintain the all-too-easy condemnation of his … twin that had protected him for eight long years from examining certain questions too closely?
Were he and Thomas not two sides of the same coin, shaped by differing circumstances? One face, seen twice – one bathed in the gleaming lights of a starship's bridge, the other in shadow, as if reflected in the shards of a universe fractured by dark and unforgiving forces?
And if that was so, what did William owe Thomas, if not discovery of the truth, in whatever way possible? Answers – early answers, obtained well before official inquiries, diplomatic representations, reprobations, denials and negotiations could reasonably be expected to yield but a carefully filtered version of the truth?
His eyes locked into the dark and understanding ones of his mate beside him. Deanna Troi nodded only once, almost imperceptibly. She had felt his turmoil over the last two hours, when word of Thomas' presence had spread; lived her own. She had made a choice of her own, long ago now, but there were debts to be paid to the past. Two words whispered in Will's mind, both confirmation and declaration of support: Yes, Imzadi.
Captain William Thomas Riker came to a decision then, and to hell with what should be. Whoever was pulling the strings in this game had chosen the Neutral Zone as their stage; let them live with the consequences of that choice.
"Flyer One, you are authorized to carry out pursuit, interdiction and questioning of potential suspects. You are further authorized to use such force as may be necessary and appropriate to the circumstances in order to carry out this task. Field command authorization Riker Lambda Three-Four-Seven."
On the Flyer, Tom Paris let out a slow breath and clenched his fist slightly, his nails digging into his palm as he did so. He had gotten his code.
"Acknowledged and understood. We'll report back as soon as we have something to say. In the meantime, O'Reilly will transmit the contents of a PADD with witness testimony I recorded on Mokan. Just in case. Paris out."
On the bridge of the Enterprise, Will Riker had seen that small, triumphant gesture of his First Officer's, as well as the predatory grin spreading on Lieutenant Mike Ayala's face in the background, and Harry Kim's slow and thoughtful nod. He sank back into his chair, let out a slow breath and stroked his beard, silently wondering what he had just unleashed.
…..
"So here's the plan. I was thinking of mixing up the crews a little, with the help of your talent at warp transport, Harry – we grab the three Cardassians and stick them behind a nice solid, soundproof force field on the Flyer. Then Marc and Celim can essentially ignore them while they fly back to the ship. At the same time, you and Mike and I beam over to the Ares. We'll fly her to the rendezvous point, hoping to have a nice and polite chat with the human passengers in the meantime."
Harry swallowed down the comment he really wanted to make, and said simply, "You're nuts, you know that. We have no idea who these people are, how well they're armed… I mean the Cardassians will be relatively easy; we won't let weapons through the transport and stick them behind a force field, as you say. But for all we know, we're beaming into a nest of rabid, well-armed serial killers on that ship."
"Yeah," Tom admitted. "I probably am nuts, and based on what I've seen, 'serial killers' is probably not too far off. But at least this isn't a Borg cube. I mean, there are degrees of insanity when it comes to this sort of thing, and on the Janeway scale of tactical initiatives this one barely registers."
Harry rolled his eyes, pursed his lips for a bit. "Fine, I'm in. I have to say, I'd like to know what's going on as badly as you do." And I finally get to play, he wanted to add, but didn't.
Tom clapped his best friend on the shoulder. "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Buster."
It did not take Harry Kim long to configure the Flyer's transporter to something he called the 'Montgomery Scott equation' – a set-up that would permit simultaneous multiple transports, to and from two separate targets moving at warp.
Kamil Celim and Mike Ayala both had their weapons at the ready, the one for incoming 'guests', the other for whatever they might face on the ship that may or may not be the mysterious Ares. The Flyer's aft section was cut off by a Level 10 force field to hold the three Cardassians.
Phaser in hand, Tom nodded to O'Reilly to initiate transport.