“I’ll come with you.”
Virox’s insistence made the headache bloom inside Troi’s skull. She jerked her head back as the House leader went toward the door. “Aviana, wait. You will not be…”
Why not? Virox whirled around. I was kidnapped and impersonated. Three of our most revered treasures were stolen. Images flashed through Troi’s head: of the Romulan, of Aviana Virox in her ship, of the Enshrined Disk sitting in a place of honor. Each image made the pain in Troi’s head pulse.
“It isn’t safe,” Troi said. “We don’t know what’s down there.”
Virox drew herself up, her expression stern and haughty. Troi could already sense that there wasn’t anything she could say that would make Virox change her mind; the firmness of her decision radiated off her.
“I demand satisfaction,” she said in her raspy, disused voice. She stared at Troi, daring her to protest.
“You can’t be serious,” Troi said.
Oh, I am.
“You can’t do anything to the Romulan,” Troi said. “You’ll be in violation of—”
Virox laughed, audibly, and telepathically Troi could feel the mocking edge to it. I don’t mean literal satisfaction! This isn’t one of our old myths! Virox strode forward and stopped a few paces away from Troi. But I will be there when she’s captured by Starfleet.
Virox was twice the age of her mother. Every Betazoid woman was a matriarch, and Virox was the head of a House. And when they had lived as long as Virox had, they weren’t used to hearing no.
“Very well,” Troi said. “But you’ll have to convince Lieutenant Worf.”
* * *
“You would like to accompany the away team?” Worf looked down at Virox in bafflement.
Virox nodded, her expression fierce.
Worf turned to Troi, who was standing behind the House head. “Commander, do you think this is a good idea?”
“No,” Troi said.
Worf made a rattling, irritated noise in the back of his throat.
“Please, Lieutenant,” Virox rasped. “The Enshrined Disk has been kept by my family for generations. I have dishonored them.”
Worf’s expression flickered, and Troi felt something in him shift. “It was not your fault that the treasures were stolen,” he said.
“But it was!” A quaver worked its way into Virox’s voice. For someone who supposedly only communicated nonverbally, she certainly was adept at it. “Please, Worf—”
“Lieutenant,” Worf interrupted.
Virox pressed out a smile. Was that impatience Troi detected? Worf was clearly impatient; the bridge crew was awaiting his orders and he was in the ready room with a Betazoid House leader making demands. This impatience could only belong to Aviana Virox. It was subtle, quiet, but there.
Troi wondered if Virox was trying to repress it, and failing. Why was it so important to her that she come along? To put herself in danger? Honor wasn’t a driving force for Betazoids.
“Lieutenant Worf,” Virox said. “Please. I would like—” Her voice cracked. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I’m so unused to speaking—”
Worf’s expression softened.
“But I have dishonored my family—”
Worf held up one hand. “You can come with us.”
Troi realized that Virox was more savvy than she let on.
“You will stay close to Commander Troi,” Worf said sternly. “And we will beam you up at the first sign of trouble.”
Virox’s annoyance rippled through her. She thought to Troi, He doesn’t mean that.
“He does.”
“Bridge to Lieutenant Worf,” Szczepinski said. “The ship is in orbit, but there’s no sign of her on board.”
“Understood.” Worf nodded at Virox. “Madam,” he said. “You will stay with Commander Troi when we are on the surface.” Then he swept out of the ready room. Troi moved to follow him, but Virox’s voice snagged in her.
Why isn’t she on board? Virox asked sharply—back to the role of Betazoid matriarch. Did you follow the wrong ship to the wrong planet?
“Of course not,” Troi said. “Come. We’ll be beaming down soon.”
They left the ready room. Troi took her seat on the bridge. Virox followed, keeping her thoughts to herself, much to Troi’s relief.
The emotions on the bridge were running high. Worf studied the main viewscreen, which showed Thuvetha’s ship in orbit of Issaw II.
“Is she the only Romulan on the planet?” Worf asked.
“No, sir, she’s not the only Romulan on the surface,” Ensign Lara reported from the security station.
“How many?” Worf asked.
“One hundred and sixty-eight,” Lara said.
She’s not here! insisted Virox.
“What about the treasures?” Troi asked. “We know their signatures. They’re all unique.”
Worf gave Troi a hint of a smile. They worked well together.
“Ensign,” Worf ordered Lara.
“I’ve got them. They’re all together, but are behind some sort of transport dampener. We won’t be able to beam them up.”
“As expected,” Worf said. “At least they’re all together. Let’s go.”
Troi looked over at Virox, who wore an expression of fierce determination, her eyes blazing. Her concern about the treasures was genuine.
They followed Worf down to the transporter room. The rest of the away team—Bombardo, Divan, and Sral—was waiting.
Troi reached out to Virox, but she couldn’t get through. Virox was locked up tight. It was a strange reaction from a Betazoid.
“Energize,” Worf said.
* * *
They were standing in the middle of a thick, damp forest, trees zooming up to dizzying heights. Thick, woody vines draped over the leafy underbrush.
There’s no path, Virox said.
There usually isn’t, Troi said.
Ensign Sral held up his tricorder. “This way.”
“Phasers on stun.” Worf flicked his gaze around the greenery. “This forest provides the perfect cover for an ambush.”
Troi took a deep breath and pulled out her phaser, which Virox eyed with envy. Shouldn’t I have one?
“No,” Troi said calmly, and then she stepped in front of Virox. Sral and Bombardo were on point. Worf was one step behind them. Troi and Virox were followed by Divan, who was bringing up the rear. Troi kept her guard up, reaching out for any emotions.
The forest pressed in around them, stickers clinging to their uniforms as they wove through the thick underbrush. The air was cool and damp, and a clammy sweat beaded up on Troi’s brow. She squeezed her phaser in her slick palm.
Sral stopped, lifting one fist. Troi grabbed Virox’s arm as she tried to push past and got a blast of annoyance.
“We’re close,” Sral murmured. “I’m picking up life-forms. Forty-seven.”
Worf peered down at his tricorder. “Inside a structure,” he muttered.
“We’re near the Essar ruins,” Divan said. “Whoever it is probably adopted them as a base of operations.”
I knew it was some kind of Romulan plot! Virox said.
We don’t know that, Troi thought back.
The away team moved forward. Worf pushed back the underbrush by hand, taking point. Troi kept her eyes on her charge.
They crept along, keeping quiet. Their footsteps were drowned out by the constant rustling of the trees, but a single broken branch could echo for klicks.
Troi felt a surge of emotion from Worf—surprise, concern.
He caught Sral’s eye and nodded.
They all pushed through the final tangle of underbrush. Distant movement of something flashed through the trees, along with patches of blue sky. Worf was crouched behind a particularly wide tree; the root system, jutting out of the earth, was almost as tall as he was.
He glanced back and made a quick come here gesture. Troi turned to Virox. Stay here!
She’s here. Virox’s eyes flashed. The Romulan. I
can feel her.
Troi grabbed Virox’s arm and tugged downward; Virox’s annoyance washed over her. But she did crouch down behind the tree’s roots. The House leader moved slowly with practiced ease.
She’s done this before, Troi realized with a jolt as Virox squatted silently alongside Worf. She hid it in her thoughts, but there was no denying how comfortable she was creeping through the woods.
Virox threw an unreadable look back at Troi as she joined her. Troi forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Virox could keep her secrets.
At first, all she saw were the Essar ruins: massive stone structures that had been built by the beings who inhabited this system millennia ago. They once reached higher than the trees, but now all that was left of them were one- and two-story structures of polished boulders thick with moss.
But then a slick hoverbike zipped by.
It’s her, said Virox.
Troi looked over at her. “How did you—”
I told you, I can sense her.
“Scans show the rider is a Romulan female,” whispered Sral.
The hoverbike turned sharply, kicking up a cloud of dust. Shouts of protest came from a trio of Ferengi who were perched along a bench carved out of the ruins. The rider slammed to a stop, hopped off, and jeered back at them from underneath her helmet.
The rider threw something at the others and then stomped off through the grass.
She stopped in front of another piece of the ruin. Troi leaned closer, trying to read the Ferengi writing across the top half of the stone.
“Can you see what they’re doing?” Worf whispered to her.
“No,” she whispered back.
With a hiss, a door slid open, revealing a pair of Ferengi with loops of blue electric whips hanging from their belts. They patted down the rider and all three disappeared into the stone.
“Pull back,” Worf whispered, stepping away from the roots.
What! cried Virox. What is he doing? That was her, and they’re just Ferengi. Surely we can—
Troi gave her a sharp look. “No,” she snapped.
Virox’s eyes narrowed, but she withdrew with the others. They walked for a few moments, ensuring distance between them and the Ferengi at the ruins.
Worf turned to his team. “Are there any records of a Ferengi settlement on Issaw II?”
Divan was checking his tricorder. “No, sir. But we are in unclaimed space, so it’s possible.”
“Why didn’t we pick up this place on our scanners?” Worf asked Sral.
“It read as natural ruins. Low-power sensors blockers,” Sral said. “Best guess.”
“In all likelihood, it’s some kind of criminal enterprise,” Bombardo said.
Virox sent out a surge of agreement. “Yes,” she said hoarsely.
The others looked at her with surprise.
She cleared her throat. “The writing above the door.” She thought to Troi, How do you do this all day? “It says, ‘Property of Bryt the Baron. Trespassers shot.’ ”
“You can read Ferengi?” Worf asked.
“I wasn’t always a House leader,” Virox said sweetly.
“What were you?” Troi asked.
Virox ignored the question. Tell the others I can’t speak aloud much more. It hurts my throat.
“I’m running Bryt the Baron,” Divan said.
Virox smiled knowingly. Troi felt the smugness roll over her.
“He’s wanted on Ferenginar,” Divan said, “although it doesn’t say for what.”
“Probably for repaying a debt,” Worf muttered.
“Worf!” Troi suppressed a laugh.
“Regardless,” Worf said, “this Bryt the Baron isn’t in the ruins alone. And that rider, whoever she is, didn’t get inside easily. We need to develop a plan before acting.”
Virox sent over a surge of wordless protest as Worf put in the request for extraction.
You didn’t answer my question, Troi said. And you clearly know what you’re doing out here. More than you’re letting on.
The transporter beam shimmered around them, and Troi had the sense of Virox laughing.
24
“We’re just going to have to ride it out,” Riker said. “The captain knows our situation. I’m sure we can manage for a few days.”
Crusher, Riker, and Data were sitting in the second lab, away from the others, considering their options.
“It appears we have no other choice,” Data said. “However—”
The lights flickered.
“Not again,” Crusher said.
The windowless room was plunged into darkness. All she could see was the vague outline of Will and Data. She pushed herself up and felt her way toward the door, brushing her hands along the surface of the lab equipment. The path was narrow, and she knocked her knee up against something that let out a loud metallic clang upon impact.
“Data,” she asked, “can you pry the door open?”
“Of course.”
She squeezed herself up against the table so he could step past her. If the pattern held, another technological malfunction was next.
With a harsh, metallic grinding, the door opened and thin light spilled into the lab. Even though it had only been a minute, the air from the corridor seemed fresher, cleaner. Crusher knew it was her imagination.
“How are you?” she said softly to Data.
“I am fine.” They walked side by side down the corridor, Riker behind them. “However, before we see the others—” He stopped, a few paces from the entrance into the common room. Crusher could hear Rikkilä and Talma through the wall. Rikkilä moaned, “We are never going to finish this.”
“What’s even the point?” grumbled Talma.
“I know—”
Crusher agreed with the Bolian, although she also understood why Riker had told them to get back to the lab when the power came back up. Maybe there was something they’d missed.
“Data?” Riker asked.
“Commander, it is likely I will experience another failure,” Data said. “As they seem to follow with the failures of the technology in the station.”
“You’re not just technology, Data,” Crusher said.
“I appreciate that, Doctor,” Data told her. “However, I may begin to experience a disruption. And when I do, I would like you to examine me in any way you see fit.”
Crusher took a deep breath, not sure how to respond.
“Examine you? What do you mean, exactly?” Riker pressed him.
“I am offering myself,” he said, “as a test subject. Unlike the other pieces of technology, I have a more robust communication system. It is my hope—”
His words garbled and turned to a hissing, rhythmic static.
“Will, it’s starting—”
“—source of the problem.” He paused, looked at the others. “Oh. I see. It—”
More static.
“Data,” Crusher asked, “can you understand me? Nod your head yes or no.”
He nodded.
Well, that was something.
“Data, I’m not an engineer. I’m not the best choice.”
He opened his mouth and a burst of static spilled out, then sharpened into words: “—my best interests. I trust you.”
Crusher smiled in spite of herself.
More static. “Assistance?”
Crusher put her hand on Data’s shoulder. “Data”—she glanced back at Riker—“I know Malisson doesn’t have a lot of experience with cybernetics, but I’ll need all the help I can get.”
He nodded.
“As for the rest of the team,” Riker said, “we need to focus on preserving power. If this keeps happening—” He gestured up at the darkened lights. “We need a plan.”
“Doctor, what do you need?”
“I’ll need light.” Crusher looked at Data, who stood quietly, listening. The previous attacks had been the same. He could understand what was happening; it was just communication that was difficult. Crusher filed that observa
tion away. “I think the sleeping quarters is our best option for now.” Other than the common room, the sleeping quarters was the only space with windows.
Crusher watched as Riker turned the corner into the common room. She turned back to Data. “Are you ready?”
He nodded.
Together, they walked to the other end of the corridor, past the common room where Riker was handing out orders. Malisson darted out. “Doctor, you need me?”
Data turned and tried to speak. This time the static sounded more like wind, low and keening.
“Whoa.” Malisson jerked back. “Okay. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but—”
“Anything we can learn,” Crusher said, “I’ll consider a success.”
The sleeping quarters were dim without any power. And silent. There was a stillness to the station when the power was off. She wondered if the station computer believed the assignment was complete, and it was time to dissolve the structure.
Crusher shoved the thought aside. The power failures had never lasted long.
Data and Malisson were both staring at her expectantly.
Crusher took a deep breath. She was a doctor, and she had a patient.
“Data, if you could have a seat on one of the unused beds.”
He nodded and perched on the edge of a bed that was shoved up against a wall. For a moment Crusher studied him, frowning.
“Let’s start with the basics.”
Data tried to speak again, but there was more of that howling wind noise, rising and falling the way the static had. She shook her head at him, and he stopped, peering up at her.
“That sound he’s making,” she said to Malisson. “What does it sound like to you?”
Malisson frowned. “White noise?” She shook her head. “No. It’s—honestly, it reminds me of Bluster Beach.”
“The beach where all this started?”
“Yeah.” Malisson pushed her hands through her hair. “Crazy, I know. But the wind down there—” She asked Data, “Commander, can you say anything?”
Data tried, but the sound of the wind swirled through the dim room, dancing over the rows of empty beds. Crusher’s skin prickled.
“Keep talking,” Crusher said to Data. She closed her eyes, listening. Earlier his words had dissolved into static, into true white noise, chaotic and harsh. But there had been a rhythm to it, a rising and falling like Crusher was hearing now.
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