by David Mack
Halting his efforts at adjusting his disguise, he said, “Really. Tell me.”
“Because you had to leave Kukalaka behind.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bashir said, overcompensating to mask his surprise that she was correct. Much as it pained him to admit it, he missed his stuffed bear, a keepsake of his childhood. He had owned the now-threadbare plush toy nearly all his life, and over the decades he had stitched or patched nearly every square centimeter of its fuzzy body. Most of the time it occupied a place of honor on the desk in his quarters, but sometimes after a rough day he still took comfort from clutching Kukalaka under one arm while he slept.
Despite his best effort to act aloof, he sighed. His helmet’s vocoder translated the sound as a staticky crackling. “Okay, maybe it’s a little true.” His shoulders sagged as he looked at Sarina. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Crazy? No. Adorably broken, maybe—but not crazy.”
“Oh, good,” he said, climbing into his bunk. “Imagine my relief.”
Dax looked up as Lieutenant Mirren reported, “The Breen ship has recovered the escape pod, Captain.” The operations officer swiveled her chair to face Dax. “They’ve resumed their previous course and are en route to Salavat at warp six.”
Looking over her shoulder at Kedair, Dax asked, “Has the Breen patrol ship made any long-range subspace transmissions since picking up the pod?”
Kedair shook her head. “No, sir. They seem to have resumed radio silence.”
Bowers leaned toward Dax and said sotto voce, “That’s a good sign.”
“Maybe,” Dax said. “At the very least, it’s not an obviously bad sign, and for now that’s good enough.” Had the crew of the patrol ship recognized Bashir and Sarina as impostors, they likely would already have contacted their command base to request further orders or arrange for the transfer of their prisoners.
Dax thumbed a switch on her chair’s armrest and activated her log recorder. “Captain’s Log, supplemental. Have observed a skirmish between two unidentified vessels: a Breen privateer and an Orion corsair. Both ships appear to have been destroyed in the conflict. Only one escape pod, from the Breen vessel, appears to have weathered the battle. The pod was recovered inside Breen space by a Breen military patrol. No further data is available at this time.” She switched off the recorder and uploaded the file to Kedair’s console. “Lieutenant, compile today’s logs and send a batch transmission back to Starfleet Command.”
“Aye, sir,” Kedair said, playing her part in their well-rehearsed mission plan. Signal traffic within the Federation was always being monitored by its rivals, just as, in return, the Federation used passive listening stations to eavesdrop on its interstellar neighbors. Suspecting that her log would be intercepted, Dax made it as innocuous as possible while ensuring that the admiralty and the Federation’s leaders would understand its hidden meaning regarding their espionage mission.
After a few moments’ work, Kedair looked up from her console. “Batch transmission away, Captain.” Dax nodded in acknowledgment, and work on the bridge resumed its normal, quiet rhythm.
Only minutes later, however, a worried murmur from the ops station caught Dax’s attention. Bowers was hovering over Mirren as the two of them argued in tense whispers. Curious, Dax got up and joined them. “What’s up?”
Mirren deflected the question with a pointed glance at Bowers, who replied, “It looks like a sensor ghost, Captain. Probably just a gravitational-lensing effect caused by our proximity to the Black Cluster.”
“That’s one explanation,” Dax said. She turned her gaze toward Mirren. “Something tells me you have a different hypothesis. Let’s hear it.”
Calling up a series of enhanced sensor graphs on her console, Mirren said, “I think it might be evidence of a cloaked ship shadowing our movements.”
Dax asked, “Klingon or Romulan?”
“Based on the gravitational artifacts, I’d say Romulan, sir. Most likely a side effect of the artificial singularity a warbird would use as its main power source.”
“Send your analysis to Kedair and Helkara,” Dax said. “I want them to have a look at this before we start drawing conclusions.” As Mirren sent her data to the security chief and sciences specialist, Dax walked back to confer with Kedair and Helkara, who had already begun their own analyses. “Thoughts?”
Kedair looked up. “It’s not conclusive.”
“But it’s definitely not good,” Helkara said, punctuating his opinion with a frown. “Stellar phenomena can produce gravitational effects like these, and they can also emit these sorts of particles—but few stars do both. And the odds of a singularity as small as this one surviving in nature without evaporating or rapidly swelling in size are astronomical.” He shook his head. “I’d lay odds that we’ve got a Romulan warbird on our tail.”
Dax and Bowers traded worried looks. Returning to the command chair, Dax said, “Kedair, Helkara, review our sensor logs. Start with the most recent and work your way back. I need to know where and when we picked up this shadow.”
Helkara and Kedair nodded and set themselves to the task. Bowers sidled over to Dax and muttered, “If that warbird saw us stage the fight between the privateer and the corsair, our agents’ cover story is blown.”
“In which case,” Dax said, “we’ll have to decide whether to cut and run or find a way to neutralize that warbird without starting a war.”
Telegraphing his doubt with raised eyebrows, Bowers replied, “Easier said than done, sir. Warbirds don’t usually fly solo. If we see one, there are probably two more waiting in the wings. And it’s not that I don’t have faith in our ship and crew, but I don’t think even we would last long against three warbirds.”
“Calm down, Sam,” Dax said. “Anticipate problems, but don’t feel like you need to invent them. Right now we have one warbird to cope with. Focus on that and worry about its possible wingmen later.”
“One crisis at a time, eh?”
“Precisely. Now hop to it. I need those sensor analyses on the double.”
“Aye, Captain.” Bowers busied himself by looming alternately over the shoulders of Kedair or Helkara, keeping watch over their backward search through the ship’s sensor archives. Minutes later, Bowers returned, flanked by Kedair and Helkara. “We’ve got something,” Bowers said.
Helkara said, “The first sign of that ‘sensor echo’ occurred five minutes before the Breen patrol ship entered weapons range.”
“We suspect that a Romulan warbird, or maybe something smaller, is acting as an advance scout for the Breen patrol ship,” Kedair said. “They probably scan ahead and try to prevent their allies from blundering into an ambush.”
Dax nodded. “Smart tactic. I’ll have to remember that.”
“The good news,” Bowers said, “is that based on Kedair’s projections of the cloaked ship’s most likely flight path and velocity, it would’ve been too far away to detect our ruse during the staged battle.”
“Good,” Dax said. “Chalk that up as a lucky break, then.” She walked toward the helm as she continued. “Unfortunately, now that we have a shadow, it’ll probably stick with us. And that’s going to be a problem.” She looked over Tharp’s shoulder at his console. “Lieutenant, call up a star chart that shows this and all adjacent sectors.”
“Aye, sir,” Tharp said as he obeyed Dax’s command.
The starmap appeared on Tharp’s console, and Dax studied it for a moment while a scheme took shape in her imagination. “Adjust our patrol route.” She pointed at a destination along their path. “Skirt closer to the Koliba system. Put us within half a light-year of its outer comet ring by the day after tomorrow.”
Tharp looked nervous as he glanced up at Dax. “Are you sure, sir? Koliba’s a major port for the Breen fleet.”
“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant. The Breen built a port there because the Black Cluster practically surrounds that system, making it almost impossible for us to spy on it without showing oursel
ves right on their doorstep.”
Bowers asked, “You mean, like we’re about to do?”
“Exactly as we’re about to do,” Dax said. “Lonnoc, tell Starfleet Command about this change to our flight plan. And be sure to use Encryption Protocol India Seven Kilo White.”
Kedair wore a confused expression. “Are you sure, Captain? The latest update from Starfleet recommends using Victor One Delta Red.”
“You have your orders, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Dax settled back into her chair as her crew set to work on the course change. Bowers returned to her side, his persona of calm masking his dire concern. “You know that cruising that close to their port is like daring them to come and get us.”
“I know,” Dax said. “Now let’s see how badly they want us.”
9
President Bacco could tell that Councillor Bera chim Gleer of Tellar, in a rare display of respect for the office of the Federation presidency, was struggling not to raise his voice as he protested, “This is an unconscionable display of executive arrogance, and one unbecoming the president of the Federation!”
“I know you feel strongly about this, Councillor,” Bacco said, “and it really does warm my heart to see you and Councillor T’Latrek on the same side of an issue for a change, but insulting me won’t change my mind about vetoing this bill.”
Bacco’s statement was met by a surge of overlapping protests from three of the four members of the Federation Security Council who were gathered on the other side of her desk: Gleer, of course, as well as Kellerasana zh’Faila of Andor, and Tomorok of the Rigel Colonies. Sitting beside them in solidarity and also in silence was T’Latrek of Vulcan. The hubbub ended when T’Latrek lifted her hand and said, in a cool and measured tone, “If you veto our bill, Madam President, I will introduce a motion to overturn your veto.”
“And I will second that motion,” said zh’Faila.
“As will I,” Gleer added.
Folding her hands atop her desk, Bacco leaned forward and smiled. “I would expect nothing less, Councillors. But before you cross the Rubicon on this issue, I think it’s only fair to warn you—you don’t have the votes to overturn my veto.”
Tomorok replied, “Oh, but we do, Madam President, I assure you.”
“Are you sure? I hope you’re not counting on Betazed’s vote.” Though it would have been impolitic to admit it, Bacco took great satisfaction in watching her visitors’ facial expressions shift in the span of a breath from righteous certitude to shocked dismay. “Yes, I had a long talk with Cort Enaren about the need to extend the Starfleet Operational Security Act for another ten years. I also had a lovely chat with Councillor Krim, so I wouldn’t tally Bajor’s vote in your column just yet, either. And I think you’ll find that Councillor Beltane is a proponent of strong national defense—and of robust counterintelligence programs.”
Gleer sprang to his feet. He shook with impotent fury. “This is a disgrace, Madam President, and an affront to an open society! If I have to, I will take to the floor of the council and fight this bill with my every breath!”
“I’m sure you will,” Bacco said. “Heaven knows I’ve seen you do it before.”
“This isn’t over, Madam President! I’m—”
The Tellarite’s tirade was cut short by the buzzing of Bacco’s desk intercom, followed by the dry baritone of her elderly Vulcan assistant, Sivak. “Forgive the interruption, Madam President, but Admiral Nechayev and Chief of Staff Piñiero need to meet with you on urgent business.”
Bless his heart and his pointy little ears, Bacco thought, grateful for any excuse to end her verbal wrestling match with her four visitors. “Very well, Sivak. Please show them in.” She switched off the intercom and met the dubious stares of her guests. “Councillors, I apologize for this abrupt ending to our discussion, but I need to ask you all to step out, please.”
The four councillors were silent as they walked to the door, which slid open ahead of them. Gleer was the last one out, and he paused in the doorway and looked back. As the Tellarite opened his mouth to speak, Bacco said, “I know, Gleer—this isn’t over. Good luck with your veto. Now get out.” He scowled and stormed away. A moment later, Esperanza Piñiero strode in, followed by Admiral Alynna Nechayev. The two women were like night and day—Piñiero an olive-skinned brunette and Nechayev a pale blonde.
Skipping any pleasantries, Nechayev said, “We’ve just heard from Captain Dax on the Aventine. Our two agents have been successfully inserted into Breen space and are on their way to Salavat. Unfortunately, we have a new situation developing with the Breen.”
Bacco replied, “A new situation? For Pete’s sake, Admiral, we haven’t even finished dealing with the current situation.” Collecting herself, she continued. “Sum it up for me: What’s gone wrong this time?”
“Dax’s ship is being tracked by a cloaked Romulan warbird that’s working with the Breen military,” Nechayev said. “If the Aventine can’t shake off its Romulan shadow, it might prevent the extraction of our agents.”
Piñiero asked, “How does Dax plan to deal with this?”
“She’s taking her ship deeper into the sector between the Breen Confederacy and the Black Cluster,” Nechayev said.
“Whoa,” said Piñiero. “Isn’t that a bit risky? That’ll put her within less than a light-year of the Koliba system.”
Nechayev nodded. “Yes, ma’am. If I understand Captain Dax’s intentions, I’d say she’s trying to goad the Typhon Pact into a fight. Personally, I doubt the Breen will cross their border, even with this kind of provocation—but if the Romulans are involved, that’s another matter. And if it goes wrong, there’ll be major political fallout.” With a look of mild contrition, the admiral added, “Just thought you’d want a heads-up, Madam President.”
“First the security bill, now this. You Starfleet types just love to make my job more difficult, don’t you?”
“All part of the service, ma’am.”
“I’m sure it is. Thank you, Admiral, dismissed. Esperanza, get Safranski in here, and make it fast. If Dax flushes our diplomatic ties with the Typhon Pact down the crapper, our secretary of the exterior deserves to know why.”
10
The door of Bashir and Sarina’s quarters unlocked with a soft clunk and slid open. Chot Jin leaned in and said, “We have reached Salavat. Follow me to your shuttle.” He stepped back and pivoted just enough to block the corridor and make it clear in which direction he intended for them to walk.
Bashir clambered down from the top bunk. His back ached, and he winced at his own body odor, which had built up inside his suit. Breathing shallowly did nothing to make the stink less offensive, but it reduced the quantity of bad breath that he was adding to the problem with each exhalation.
Sarina slid her legs off her bunk. She seemed enviably limber and energetic to Bashir, whose limbs were stiff from his uncomfortable nap. He let her exit first, and then he followed, with Jin close behind, giving directions. Bashir’s fascination with the fleeting glimpses he stole of the Breen ship’s biomechanoid technology made it difficult for him to pay attention to Jin. Distracted by the alien ship’s living technologies, Bashir missed a turn.
Jin’s hand clamped down on the doctor’s shoulder.
“That is a classified area,” Jin said. “Do not deviate from my directions again.” He shoved Bashir back into motion behind Sarina. Forcing himself to tune out the ship’s captivating details, Bashir focused on Jin’s instructions and Sarina’s back. A few turns later, they entered the ship’s hangar bay, where, as promised, a shuttle awaited them.
Jin escorted them to the shuttle’s open starboard hatch. “This vessel will take you to the main spaceport,” he said. “There you will debark.” He held up a fist in front of his chest and closed his open hand over it. “Night and silence protect you.”
Hoping that the Jack Pack’s analyses of Breen idioms and customs had been accurate, Bashir mimicked Jin’s gesture and re
plied, “May darkness bring you fortune.” He bowed slightly and waited. Jin reciprocated the gesture, turned, and walked away, the obligations of courtesy apparently fulfilled. Sarina stood at Bashir’s shoulder, and they were quiet for a moment as they watched Jin leave. Then Bashir keyed his secure comm and said, “We should get on the shuttle.”
“Right,” Sarina replied, and they stepped through the hatchway. As soon as they were aboard, the pilot sealed the hatch and initiated the liftoff procedure. Bashir and Sarina were the craft’s only passengers. Outside the cockpit’s windshield, the dark gray hull of the hangar’s interior gave way to black space speckled with stars. Sarina pretended to ignore Bashir as she said, “Looks like someone wanted us off that ship in a hurry.”
“Good to know the Breen are as paranoid with one another as they are with outsiders,” Bashir replied. “At least now we know it’s not personal.”
The journey to the planet’s surface was brief. From orbit, Salavat looked like a gray ball of rock cloaked in lighter-gray ice. Closer to the surface, as the shuttle neared the spaceport, Bashir looked out across the desolate landscape and realized this world lived up to its first impression. Bleak plains of broken stone were blanketed with ice and slush and scoured by curtains of wind-driven rain. “For a colony world,” Bashir said to Sarina, “it doesn’t show much in the way of development.” He nodded at the speck of a spaceport growing larger outside the cockpit’s windshield. “If that’s the center of town, don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”
They suspended their conversation as the shuttle descended to a landing pad. It touched down with barely any sensation of contact, and the starboard hatch lifted open, admitting a spray of rain on a howling gale. The pilot looked back at Bashir and Sarina and said, “Get out.” They scrambled through the hatchway and out into the storm. Trudging against a stiff and shrill headwind, Bashir noted that the spaceport amounted to little more than a few large, ramshackle buildings ringed by landing pads. A few other shuttlecraft were arriving, and several more stood on different pads, awaiting passengers.