Miracle Workers

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  The Androssi overseer touched his ear with one hand. “Engineering.”

  “Engineering.” It was one of the workers; Engine Master Claris would not be on duty for another hour.

  “This is the overseer. The overdrive is not performing at maximum efficiency. Please check the eldrak consumption rates. It will be repaired in one hour.”

  “Yes, my overseer, it will,” the worker said without hesitation or surprise. After all, he was the overseer. If he said it would be fixed in an hour, then it would be done. That was the way of things. If the worker somehow failed to bring the overdrive back to proper efficiency within that time frame, Biron would instruct Claris to have the worker disposed of and replaced.

  Within five minutes Biron had removed his sleeping clothes and put on his overseer’s jumpsuit, tied his waist-length hair back, and put in the five nose rings that symbolized his position. This last he did in front of a small mirror; the reflection that gazed back at him was of a male Androssi with light sepia skin, slightly wavy golden hair with a full brown beard, and an unusually bulky build for one of his kind. The latter was due more to his weakness for anprat, a particularly fattening delicacy from the homeworld.

  As he prepared himself, he went over the day’s schedule in his head, and also thought of a better way to integrate the new weapons systems they had obtained with Cardassian technology.

  He left his quarters—which were the same size as every other cabin on the ship—and went to the flight deck. Sub-Overseer Howwi stood up upon Biron’s entrance, as did the other four workers. They remained standing until Biron took his place at the front left seat of the rectangular deck.

  Biron turned his head slightly to look at the darker-skinned Howwi in the seat to his right. The sub-overseer had trimmed his golden beard down to almost the skin, an affectation that Biron had never understood. Such attention to irrelevancies tended to interfere with the work. Still, Howwi had proven to be competent at his job, and perhaps he would learn the uselessness of trying to groom himself as if he were a member of the Elite. Like Biron, Howwi was of the officer class—which meant, if nothing else, that he was entitled to eye contact when Biron spoke to him.

  “Have we heard from the client?”

  Howwi blinked his eyes four times. “Negative. We will receive a communication via subspace within the hour.”

  “No more specific time than that?”

  “Negative. The client is . . . elusive with regards to punctuality, as usual.”

  Biron sighed. He entered the idea he had earlier into the ship’s vast database.

  “Overseer,” one of the workers said.

  “Speak,” Biron said without looking back. Those of the worker class were only worthy to be spoken to on duty-related issues, and then only when given leave.

  “The security on the Cardassian station has been breached.”

  “Specifics?”

  “The triovar field around the fusion core has been activated and the panshar has been disabled.”

  Frowning, Biron turned to Howwi. “Starfleet?”

  “Possibly. They have proven to be most resourceful.”

  Again, Biron sighed. This was all the client’s fault. Biron had not wanted to leave the Cardassian station, but the client had insisted on this face-to-face meeting, and also insisted it take place here in the Vlugta system. It left the Cardassian station exposed to other salvagers.

  But the client needed to be kept happy, in this particular case. This client was providing the upgraded holo-emitters that Biron’s sponsor among the Elite had been wanting for so long. As with every member of the officer class, Biron’s sole purpose was to provide technology for the ship’s Elite sponsors. He had been particularly skilled at doing so for his sponsor—it had led to his quick promotion to overseer. In fact, Biron had achieved that rank faster than anyone in recorded memory, mainly because he knew how to properly exploit the clients. In this case, it was best to give in to the client’s peculiar whims.

  However, now the security on the target had been breached.

  “Set navigational course 44491,” he said without looking up. “Set FTL at 7.2. Send a subspace communication to the client. Message to read: ‘Must investigate security breach on target. Will reschedule rendezvous when difficulty is solved.’ ” He did not give the orders to anyone specific—he knew that someone would carry them out. If they did not, he would simply dispose of the four flight deck workers and bring in replacements.

  Not that he expected that. His successes meant that the workers on his ship were particularly efficient. Sure enough, his status board indicated that all his orders were carried out with dispatch. The viewscreen showed the visual distortion of space brought about by the implementation of the faster-than-light drive. At 7.2 x 10 9 times the speed of light, they would arrive at the Cardassian station in under an hour.

  “With respect, Overseer,” Howwi said, “the client will not like this.”

  Biron looked at Howwi. “The client will like losing the station even less. If it truly is Starfleet, we cannot risk letting them run loose.”

  Howwi scratched his nose at the spot where, once he was promoted to full overseer, his fifth nose ring would go. “Might it be possible that the da Vinci is the ship we will face?”

  “To speculate would be unproductive.” Biron considered. “However, I would certainly welcome a chance to face them again.” The defeat at Maeglin still grated on Biron. He had not failed often in his career.

  “Overseer,” said a different worker.

  “Speak.”

  “Receiving telemetry from the triovar field now.”

  “Report.”

  “It has detected and interfered with the communication badge signals from nine members of the crew of the Starfleet vessel U.S.S. da Vinci, registry NCC-81623: Kieran Duffy, Domenica Corsi, Fabian Stevens, 110, P8 Blue, Vance Hawkins, Stephen Drew, Andrea Lipinski, and Frnats. It no longer detects those signals, however.”

  “Perhaps they left,” Howwi said.

  “Or perhaps they discovered the interference and adjusted their communication badges accordingly,” Biron said. “Adjust FTL to 9.5.”

  That would bring them to the Cardassian station in fifteen minutes. To go faster would risk damage to the engines, which Biron was not willing to do. As it was, he was disappointed in his emotional response to the presence of the da Vinci. Such thoughts of revenge were inefficient.

  But he wanted to get back at the humans David Gold and Sonya Gomez and the rest of their crew for the humiliation on Maeglin. The fact that he would get to do so while continuing to service the client that would get his sponsor the holo-emitters simply made it more efficient to do so.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Fabian Stevens stared at the Androssi field that was now surrounding the fusion core. He had spent the last several months trying not to think about their last encounter with the Androssi—it had been Commander Gomez’s first mission on the da Vinci, and more than once he had been convinced it was going to be her last.

  As if it wasn’t bad enough that they might have to deal with that Androssi overseer Biron again at any minute, there was also the fact that each second that they couldn’t get at the fusion core was another second that DS9 was in serious danger. Stevens still had plenty of friends on the station, and he was seriously worried about them right now.

  Then there was Corsi. Each time that damn brown ball shot at her, Stevens’s heart skipped a beat. Focus, Fabe, focus. Remember what Bart said—don’t let this distract you.

  Looking over at that hard face—such a contrast from the peaceful woman who was sleeping next to him this morning—he knew that there was no chance of anything developing between them. Leaving aside any other considerations, he doubted that Domenica would allow herself to get involved in such an inappropriate dalliance.

  Not “Domenica.” She’s Corsi. Or Core-Breach. Just keep it professional.

  He heard the familiar sound of a transporter—in fact, Ste
vens could tell just from the level of noise that it was four people materializing—and turned to see Nog, Eddy, Friesner, and Robins appear on the catwalk. Nog had three pattern enhancers, which he wasted no time in placing in a triangle, with one point at Lipinski’s twitching form, the other two around the heap that Hawkins and Frnats had fallen into on the opposite side of the catwalk.

  Robins, meanwhile, started distributing new combadges to everyone. Stevens had to admire the thoroughness of Biron and his people, despite himself—that had proven a remarkably effective tactic. If Nog hadn’t been here, we might’ve had serious problems. They probably still would have been able to get the casualties off-station, using the da Vinci’s shuttlecraft, but who knew what other security was floating around here?

  After the three guards dematerialized, Nog said, “Can someone please explain to me what it is, precisely, that we are up against?”

  “Simple,” Duffy said. “The Androssi. They first showed up in the Demilitarized Zone a few years back, trying to convince the Maquis to accept their help.”

  “Help?”

  Duffy sighed. “In a lot of ways, the Androssi are like the S.C.E.—they offer to fix technical problems. The difference is, they always have a price.”

  Nog seemed confused. “What’s wrong with that?”

  Stevens grinned. Once a Ferengi . . .

  “There tends to be a big difference,” Duffy said, “between what they ask for and what they actually take. They’ve also been known to cause the problem in order to come in and solve it. Most of the places they claim to have helped out are usually worse off than when they started—mainly because what they ask for is technology. They’re constantly looking for new tech.”

  “What about adjusting existing technology?” Nog asked.

  Stevens frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Nog walked over to a console. “When I got here, I picked up some strange readings.” He started entering commands into the console. “Look at this.”

  Stevens and Duffy both walked up to join the young Ferengi at the console. That’s Lieutenant Young Ferengi to you, Fabe, he admonished himself. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around Nog as an officer—hell, it had taken him a while to get used to the idea of Quark’s nephew as a cadet. . . .

  Looking at the console, Stevens saw that Nog had called up the station specs and put them alongside an internal scan of the station.

  Duffy spoke before Stevens could. “They’ve made modifications.”

  Corsi stepped forward. “What kind of modifications?”

  “Not sure,” Duffy said. “The Androssi use dimensional shifts in their technology. It’s why their stuff will sometimes not be visible until you interact with it.”

  “Okay, here’s a question,” Corsi said. “Let’s say they’ve modified the station. Do we have any reason to stop them?”

  Nog whirled on her. “We need the fusion core.”

  “So the hell what? I remind you, Lieutenant, that we’re on an unclaimed station in unclaimed space.”

  “Overseer Biron and his people are still wanted on Maeglin after what they pulled,” Duffy said.

  “That’s assuming that this really is the work of Biron, which we don’t know. Besides, we don’t have the authority to act on behalf of the Maeglin government, and it doesn’t change the fact that this station is in free space. They have as much a right to it as we do.”

  Stepping forward, Nog said, “We’re not just abandoning the station to these people! We have to have that fusion core.”

  Corsi looked at Duffy. “Commander?”

  Well, that’s impressive, Stevens thought, she’s actually passing the buck to Duff. But then, Corsi always deferred to whoever was in charge, once she got her complaint in. Normally that was Gomez or Gold, but with the commander off on Sarindar, that left Duff in charge—just, he remembered, like it was against the Tholians.

  “I’m with Nog here, Corsi. You’re right, the Androssi have as much right to the station as we do—but we have just as much a right to try to dismantle their net. Besides, we really do need this fusion core.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Duffy?” The hesitant voice belonged to Soloman.

  “Talk to me, Soloman.”

  “I have done a preliminary investigation of the Androssi security device. As far as I can determine, the Androssi have upgraded their technology from the last time we encountered them. I do not believe that I can interface with their technology as 111 and I attempted the last time.”

  Stevens sighed. He had expected something like this—and honestly, he was grateful. Soloman had been through enough since 111 died on that big ship at Blossom IV. His and 111’s attempt to interface with Androssi computers on Maeglin almost didn’t work—he doubted that Soloman could handle it on his own now without his partner.

  Duffy nodded. “Okay. Take a look at the station computer, see if you can figure out what they’ve done to it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stevens thought about that incident on Blossom IV—the Beast, they’d nicknamed that massive ship that had fought the Enterprise to a standstill and whose uninvited insectoid inhabitants had killed 111. It had been a near thing that they weren’t all decapitated by those things.

  P8 Blue then skittered over on all eights. “I have an idea, sir.”

  “Good, we could use one,” Duffy said dryly. “The field was disrupted with a level-4, low-frequency phaser blast. The problem is, we can’t just fire on it without risking hitting the core once it’s disrupted.”

  “We know all that, Pattie.”

  Then something occurred to Stevens, and he went back to the console.

  “Right,” Pattie said, “but what I’m thinking is that we can set up one of the rifles to emit a pulse at that level and frequency that would dissipate on impact no matter what.”

  “It’s certainly worth a shot—if you’ll pardon the pun,” Duffy added with a smile.

  “That’s it!” Stevens cried.

  “What is it, Fabe?” Duffy asked.

  “I was trying to figure out why these modifications look so familiar. The Androssi have added their own wrinkle to this stuff, but it looks like the same kind of tech that we found on the Beast.”

  “The Beast?” Nog asked.

  “An alien ship the Enterprise came across,” Duffy said quickly. “We crawled around its guts before we had to blow it up. It was huge, about a thousand times the size of a Sovereign-class ship—more like a planet. Had some pretty nasty weaponry, too, as I recall.”

  Pattie was looking at another console. “I think you’re right, Stevens,” she said. “Once you compensate for the dimensional shift the Androssi always use, the match is pretty close.”

  “Great, so the Androssi came across a Beast of their own,” Duffy said with a sigh.

  “Maybe it was even the same one,” Stevens said, “and they just copied the tech.”

  Nog let out a small noise, then said, “It doesn’t matter! We need to find a way to get around it!”

  The Ferengi seemed particularly anxious. Stevens remembered that the kid was always a bit high-strung. Then again, with Rom as his father and Quark as his uncle, he could hardly be otherwise. And he’s not a “kid,” he’s a lieutenant.

  “Easy, Nog,” he said aloud, “we’ll find a way through it.”

  Pattie had gone back to modifying Eddy’s phaser rifle. The security guard, in turn, was pacing the catwalk with a hand phaser.

  Stevens, meanwhile, started doing a more detailed scan of the modifications. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he was able to ask the computer the right questions—even this somewhat more limited Cardassian computer. It had been a couple of years since he had to deal with the eccentricities of Cardassian systems, and he hadn’t missed it all that much.

  “Modifications are done,” Pattie said, clambering up onto her hind legs while hefting the phaser. She handed it to Eddy. “Would you like to do the honors, Claire?”

  Eddy smiled. “Happy t
o do it.”

  Okay, Stevens thought as he ran through the scan, the parts up on the pylons are in the same spot as where we put the weapons upgrades on DS9. No, wait, the ones on the lower pylons are different. Weird. But it looks like—

  Oh boy.

  Eddy fired her phaser at the fusion core—or, more accurately, at the mesh surrounding it. Stevens noted that it looked like the Defiant’s pulse weapons rather than the standard beam one got from a handheld phaser. It did, however, seem to have the desired effect—the mesh surrounding the fusion core disrupted and then disappeared, but the beam did not continue through to damage the core.

  “Yes!” Nog cried, pumping his fist.

  “Good work, Pattie,” Duffy said with a grin.

  “Uh, Duff?” Stevens said, hating to dampen everyone’s enthusiasm with what he just figured out.

  “Yeah, Fabe?” “I think I know what they’ve done here. I’d kinda like you and Soloman to check it over, though.”

  Duffy went to the console to examine his findings. Soloman was still communing directly with the main computer in that weird way Bynars did. By the time he came out of his trance, Duffy was finished.

  “I’d like to state for the record that this really, really sucks,” Duffy said. He tapped his combadge. “Duffy to Gold.”

  “Go ahead, Commander.”

  “I’ve got good news and bad news, sir.”

  “Give me the good news.”

  “We’ve broken through the field around the fusion core, so now we can get at it.”

  “Good.”

  Duffy let out a very long breath. “The bad news is that the Androssi appear to have salvaged some tech from the same people who built the Beast. Based on what we’ve been able to determine, assuming that our reading of the Beast equipment is accurate, and without being a hundred percent sure how it works exactly—”

  “Spit it out, Duffy!”

  Duffy took a breath.

  “The Androssi are turning Empok Nor into the mother of all mobile weapons platforms.”

  CHAPTER