by David Mack
“You’re telling me.” He sighed. “I have a dozen more tests to run on the body, but I doubt we’ll find much we don’t already know. The real key to this thing is that jumble of crap it used to call a brain. Problem is, I have no idea how to start deconstructing this mess.”
His complaint seemed to spark an idea in Data. “In that case, Geordi, we need to find someone on the ship who can. Who else has clearance to study this body?”
La Forge shrugged. “No one except you, me, Doctor Crusher, and Lieutenant Šmrhová.”
“Then we need to speak to Captain Picard, and ask him to declassify this technology for study, or elevate the security clearances of all Enterprise science and engineering personnel to whatever level is necessary to permit their assistance. I think our analysis will benefit from a synthesis of opinions by experts in a variety of scientific and engineering disciplines.”
The suggestion made La Forge want to laugh; it sounded simple, yet he knew that it would likely be a nightmare once Starfleet Command’s bureaucracy got involved. “Just one problem with that plan, Data: the admiralty will never approve it. It makes too much sense.”
Data seemed undeterred. “True. Fortunately, I believe we are currently in the president’s good graces—and the last time I checked, she outranked the admiralty.”
“I didn’t remember you being this devious.” He grinned and slapped Data’s shoulder. “I like it.” With a sideways nod toward the door, he added, “All right. Let’s go talk to the captain.”
• • •
Morning arrived in Ki Baratan, the capital of Romulus, with red skies and sultry heat. A thick haze blanketed the city, shielding it from the blazing eye of the sun even as it smothered the people with its muggy embrace. Pedestrians and venders had begun to pack the streets, and great crowds had already thronged the city’s ocean beaches, eager to take advantage of high tide.
Looking down upon the teeming masses from her private office atop the Hall of State, Praetor Gell Kamemor wished she could lose herself among them. If only it were so simple. She pivoted away from the window to face her visitor, Chairwoman Tesitera Levat of the Tal Shiar, whose news had filled her heart with icy wrath. “Do we know who was behind the attack?”
“Not yet, Praetor.” Levat was decades younger than Kamemor, but one would not have thought so, seeing them together. Whereas the praetor still had a proud countenance, a lean physique, and lustrous raven hair untouched by time’s graying hand, the new leader of the state’s intelligence apparatus looked ravaged: thick around the middle, her face creased with worry lines, and her close-cropped, ash-gray hair frosted with white above her ears.
Kamemor looked out the window, but her thoughts were even further away. “Why is Sozzerozs meeting with Bacco in the first place? Do we know the meeting’s agenda?”
Levat folded her hands behind her back. “It’s not yet clear. We learned of the summit only a few hours ago, and the reports have been . . . contradictory. Our source on Earth says the Gorn approached the Federation to talk rapprochement; our source on Gornar says the summit’s a sham, but to what end remains currently unknown.”
“Feints and deceptions aren’t the Gorn’s style. Could they be in league with someone?”
The intelligence chief nodded. “Possibly.”
“This couldn’t have happened at a worse time, Tes. After all we’ve done to achieve détente with the Federation, something like this could put us on a path to war.”
“It’s fortunate, then, that the shooter missed her targets.”
That choice of words turned Kamemor’s head. “Targets? Plural?”
A cautious half nod. “So it seems. Our source says the assassin could’ve been aiming at either Bacco or Sozzerozs—or maybe both of them.”
The more she learned, the less she understood what had happened. “Who stands to gain from their murders? More important, how did they turn Bacco’s own chief of staff against her?”
Levat grimaced with uncertainty. “Who benefits? Hard to say. As to how she was turned, I’m trying to verify a report that suggests Piñiero was framed.” She cleared her throat. “There are unconfirmed accounts that an android replicant of Piñiero was captured by Starfleet.”
“An android?” The news from Orion strained credulity more with each new revelation. Kamemor walked to her desk. “Who’s capable of fielding that kind of technology?”
Levat approached the desk as Kamemor sat down. “To be honest, no one we know of. But the two powers that are closest would be the Federation and the Breen Confederacy.”
“The Federation I can understand. They backed Soong’s early work, and they had that android in Starfleet for all those years. But how do the Breen figure into this?”
The Tal Shiar chairwoman gestured at Kamemor’s desktop computer interface. “We found new intelligence that suggests the Breen have ramped up their research into cybernetics.” She waited until Kamemor called up the file and then recounted its highlights as the praetor skimmed its details. “They’ve been sourcing components on the black market, and there’s chatter on the back channels about Starfleet destroying a factory the Borg built for mass-producing Soong-type androids, on a planet near Breen space. If that’s true, and the Breen found it first, they might have acquired any number of prototypes, and done who knows what with them.”
Kamemor reclined and steepled her fingers. “Assume the rumors from Orion are true. Further assume that the Breen built the android replicant of Piñiero. What are they up to?”
Levat pressed the side of her fist against her upper lip while she considered her answer. “They might have used the Gorn as bait to lure the Federation to the table, so that they could make an attempt on Bacco’s life in a setting of their choosing.”
“Using the Gorn would make sense,” Kamemor said, “given the past goodwill between them and the Federation.”
A nod. “It also explains why Starfleet made a point of drawing our attention to the Enterprise’s activities in the Azeban system: they hoped to distract us from the Orion summit.”
“I still don’t see why the Breen would go to this much effort to assassinate Bacco—or Sozzerozs, for that matter. If they’d killed the president, we’d have had no choice but to disavow them to avoid being dragged into their war. I imagine the Tholians and the Tzenkethi would support them, but I doubt the Kinshaya would. As for the Gorn, they might sit it out just to prove themselves innocent of the whole mess. They’re brutes, but they have a semblance of honor, and I doubt they’d appreciate being tarred as liars just to protect the Breen.”
The chairwoman looked worried. “An all too plausible scenario, Praetor—one that could have shattered the Pact. Had the shooter killed the imperator, the Gorn might well have declared war—though upon whom, it’s difficult to say. If they knew in advance of the assassination plot, they’d blame the Breen. If they didn’t, they’d almost certainly blame the Federation—after which point they’d refuse to consider any evidence to the contrary.” Her anxious frown became a blank stare of shock. “It seems we have providence alone to thank for the fact that we didn’t awaken this morning to find ourselves at war.”
“A less than comforting thought.” Kamemor sat forward, propped her elbows on the desktop, and folded her left hand over the right. “The question, then, is what to do next.”
“Our options are limited,” Levat said. “Although we suspect the Breen are manipulating events on Orion, we have no proof of that. Even if we did, it would be politically dangerous to meddle in their foreign affairs. If, as you said, we need to be able to disavow them in a worst-case scenario, it’s to our advantage to keep our distance, literally and figuratively.”
It was cautious, sensible advice. Perhaps too cautious. “What if we acquired proof?”
Taken aback, she asked, “Are you directing me to obtain such proof?”
“I’m asking you to evaluate how such evidence would affect our options.”
Levat had the wary affect of one who suspecte
d she was being led into a trap. “My advice would remain the same: stay out of the fray.”
“Very well. For the time being, we shall.” A deep breath became a sigh of frustration. “But if the Breen force me to choose between endorsing their crimes and salvaging the goodwill I’ve earned from the Federation, then Domo Brex is going to be very disappointed.”
• • •
Thot Tran listened as a midnight wind howled outside the triple-layered windows of the circular audience chamber, obscuring Breen’s glaciated landscape with the winter storm’s relentless onslaught. Hail pounded the chamber’s reinforced dome with a constant but irregular percussion.
He reveled in nature’s furious voice, all but unknown to the masses populating the Breen capital of Ansirranana. The common folk lived their lives deep beneath the arctic sea, sheltered from the harsh touch of the elements and the prying eyes of outworlders. Relatively few ever qualified for starship service; fewer still ascended high enough in the ranks of the Breen armed or civil services to merit a visit to this chamber for an audience with the domo.
Tonight, Tran had been granted the privilege of standing at the right hand of Domo Brex while he heard the protests of the senior thotaru, who had united in opposition to Tran’s bold move to secure the Confederacy’s future. I can’t blame them for being afraid, he decided. Most of them have held the rank of thot far longer than I have. And now I’m poised to surpass them all and pave the way for my future as the next domo.
The room’s guest entrance opened, revealing a curved turbolift car spacious enough to hold up to ten persons at a time. Tonight it held only four—the highest-ranking officers of the Breen military, the elder warlords of the thotaru: Thot Vog, commander of the fleet; Thot Saav, commander of all terrestrial forces; Thot Naaz, who had been Tran’s predecessor in charge of the Special Research Division before he was promoted to take command of the recently militarized Breen Intelligence Directorate; and Thot Pran, the supreme commander of the Breen military, second in authority only to the domo himself. The quartet strode out of the lift two by two, with Pran and Naaz in front, Vog and Saav behind. They marched in formation across the great inlaid emblem of the Confederacy to stand at attention before Brex, who stood behind a lectern on a tiered podium that occupied a quarter of the chamber’s floor.
“Welcome,” Brex said. The four thots answered him with wordless salutes. “Speak.”
Invoking the perquisite of rank, Pran was first. He stepped forward and pointed at Tran. “This one has overstepped his bounds, Domo. He has arrogated power he hasn’t earned, and dared to command forces not under his authority.”
“I gave him that authority.” Brex pointed at Naaz. “You.”
Pran stepped back as the commander of the intelligence services stepped forward. “Thot Tran’s mission profile was poorly considered, Domo. If it is allowed to proceed, it will squander precious intelligence assets that have taken years to develop.”
The domo gestured at Tran but kept his snout pointed at Naaz. “Tran apprised me of the costs before he began. I weighed them against the potential rewards and judged the risk worthwhile. Do you believe my decision to have been made in error?”
Naaz bowed his head. “With the greatest respect and deference, Domo . . . yes. Even if Tran’s mission unfolds precisely as intended, and all his objectives are achieved, it will come at the cost of a major Intelligence Directorate program on which we’ve spent more than three years and one-point-eight billion sakto. By any reasonable measure, even his victory will be a failure.”
Brex looked at Tran, then back at Naaz. “I’m prepared to answer to the Congress for my decision to authorize his operation. In my estimation, the sacrifice of a purely experimental program within our foreign intelligence service is more than offset by the long-term strategic gains we stand to enjoy. So, while I acknowledge your protest, I overrule it.” He waved Naaz back into the ranks and pointed at Vog. “You.”
The fleet commander sidestepped clear of Pran, then stepped forward to address Brex. “Domo, my arm of the military stands to gain the most from Thot Tran’s mission, but after reviewing its particulars, I must concur with my peers. The scale of Tran’s scheme alone is the single best argument against it. Based on intelligence reports from Thot Naaz, there’s no indication the Federation is even aware of the breach—which means there is no call for such an urgent and costly action to exploit it. I respect Thot Tran’s objective, but in this case, I think a more patient approach to the matter would lead to success at a far lesser cost.”
The domo leaned forward, a posture of clear menace. “If we had the luxury of time, I might be inclined to agree with you, Vog. But circumstances have weighed against us. The loss of the slipstream prototype at Salavat, and the corruption of our archived backups of the drive schematics, left us at a tactical disadvantage versus the Federation. Their fleet was diminished by the Borg invasion, but they’re rebuilding quickly, and launching a new slipstream-capable ship every month. We need something to level the playing field, a technology to keep them in check.” He dismissed Vog by pointing at Saav. “Speak.”
Saav stepped around Naaz and snapped back to attention. “Domo, let me affirm my support for all that my peers have said regarding Operation Zelazo. All I have to add is this: speaking as the one whose forces are most directly at risk executing this ill-conceived plan on foreign soil, I respectfully ask that you abort the mission before it goes any further.”
“It’s too late for that,” Brex said. The sudden shifts in the quartet’s postures betrayed their surprise and dismay—and filled Tran with profound satisfaction at their expense. The domo continued, “On my orders, the recovery ship has been deployed to the primary target, and it’s past the point of no return. The assets are in position, and our forces are committed. All that remains now is to give the Federation exactly what it wants—and then we’ll take what’s ours.”
20
Two hours earlier, La Forge had thought of the Enterprise’s main science laboratory as spacious. Now, packed with most of the ship’s science specialists and a handful of engineers whose areas of expertise included computers, software, robotics, or cybernetics, the lab felt cramped and crowded. Excited voices talked over one another as geologists traded theories with computer scientists, xenologists compared notes with theoretical physicists, and Lieutenant Dina Elfiki moved through the room like a whirling dervish, trying to wrangle the chaos into order.
La Forge and Data stood back near the room’s entrance and observed. The engineer leaned against a bulkhead, arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Data, who had always seemed so stiff when he tried to act nonchalant, now stood next to La Forge with his hands tucked casually into his pants pockets, his head at an angle, and a wry smile on his face. He nudged La Forge with his elbow. “Told you it would work.”
“Let’s not go counting our chickens, Data. It hasn’t worked yet.”
“Give it time.” He pulled his right hand free and encompassed the room with a sweeping gesture. “This is the way to solve problems, Geordi. Let brilliant minds come at it from every angle, with no rules and nothing too strange to be considered.”
The offbeat statement compelled La Forge to shoot a dubious look at his best friend. “That sounds like something your father would’ve said.”
Data thought it over, and conceded the point with a shrug-nod. “I suppose it does. In many ways, I feel closer to my father now than I ever did in my first life. Perhaps the fact that I now carry his memories inside me leads me to emulate his attitudes and echo his sentiments.”
Ignoring the hubbub in the room, La Forge gave all his attention to Data. “Is that how you’re drawing the line between who you were and who you are? ‘First life’ and ‘second life’?”
“It seems appropriate,” Data said. “Because my prior self was destroyed, his original continuity of consciousness ceased to exist. Mine is therefore unique and separate, and by virtue of sequentiality, second. As distinctions
go, this one seems far from trivial.”
Debating philosophy, ontology, or semantics with Data inevitably gave La Forge either a headache or a prolonged bout of depression, but he pressed on. “Okay. So, what if sometime in the future, you decide to upgrade to another body? One with better programming, engineering, materials, whatever. Would you have to think of that as your third life?”
“Not necessarily. Now that I understand the process, I believe that I could, if I wished, transfer my consciousness into a new body without an interruption of awareness. My mind would travel between forms while remaining sensate. In such an event, the move to a new body would be merely an event within the continuity of my second life, not a new existence.”
There were half a dozen follow-up questions La Forge wanted to ask, but he was interrupted by Elfiki’s manic exclamation from across the lab: “I think we’ve got something!”
La Forge pointed at Data. “To be continued.” Then he and Data started dodging through the cluster of personnel on their way to Elfiki. The scientists and engineers backed up to make room for them as they joined the lieutenant at the workbench, upon which lay the partially disassembled android. “All right, Dina. Talk to me.”
The lithe Egyptian woman brushed a lock of her dark brown hair behind one ear, and she gestured around the room at other officers as she named them. “Lieutenant Newitz found that the composition of the glass inside the android’s head was an exact match for the synthetic obsidian Tholians manufacture for their starships. Lieutenant Anders from Xenology pointed out that the specific density of the glass matches that used in the Tholians’ thoughtwave transmitters.” She picked up a padd and used it to call up scans and simulation graphics on the large display screen behind her. “In some of the glass samples, Lieutenant Talenda detected an unusual fluctuation in the subquantum membrane, suggesting a possible quantum entanglement, which Anders says is consistent with current theories regarding the operational principle behind thoughtwave transmission. But what’s really fascinating is the relay that connected the obsidian to the body’s control circuits. According to Ensign Lamar, it bridges three distinct technologies. At one end it communicates with the obsidian transceiver, so that interface is Tholian. The core of the relay consists of Romulan components. And the other end has been reverse-engineered to pass buffered signals to and from a Soong-type android’s proprioceptive controls and sensory matrix.”