by Gene DeWeese
Data held out a marker for Riker to see: neutral gray, less than a centimeter in diameter. “Their purpose was not to invade or attack, Commander. Their sole purpose was to distribute objects similar to this as widely as possible.”
“This? What is it? We found something similar implanted in the skulls of the defectors. They said they were for disciplinary purposes.”
“Those may have been, but they were also assassination devices. They were almost certainly the cause of death of the so-called defectors, whom the Directorate killed in order to confirm their story and divert attention from their real purpose. Those devices, however, were not the same as these. The only similarity, I suspect, is that both types contain, for want of a better term, markers. They are similar to our comm units in that they allow the Directorate to lock on to them and transfer objects or personnel from their world to this and vice versa, to wherever the markers are located. The purported defectors planted the first ones, and the ‘invaders’ then used those first ones to come and plant more.”
“So that’s—” Riker grimaced. “There could be thousands of them. Those ‘invaders’ were everywhere. But what are they planning? Another even bigger ‘invasion’? Bombs?”
“No,” Data said, “an invasion could be easily countered, and explosives would damage the Enterprise, which they would prefer not to do. The Directorate plans to transfer great quantities of a deadly, fast-acting gas into all parts of the Enterprise simultaneously, killing everyone on board but leaving the ship intact.”
“Field-effect suits—” Riker began, but Data cut him off.
“Neither field-effect suits nor breathing masks would be effective. Like the Plague on Krantin, the gas will materialize everywhere at once, including inside any protective devices, even within the lungs.”
Abruptly, Riker turned to the shuttle’s comm sys tem and opened a channel to the Enterprise. Worf responded immediately.
“Lieutenant,” Riker said, launching into a quick reprise of the essentials of what Data had told him, ending with instructions to institute an all-out search for the markers. “The objects in question are roughly circular, approximately—”
“There is no need to describe them, Commander,” Worf broke in. “I have one here. The invader who reached the bridge apparently dropped several before you brought him down. I will assign all personnel to the search.”
“Get to it,” Riker said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” As he had been speaking, the shuttlecraft had reoriented itself, and now it zoomed upward. “Now,” he said, turning again to Data, “where are Deanna and the captain? And Koralus?”
“They are safe in the other Krantin for the moment, waiting to be brought through. But first I must speak with Dr. Crusher.”
Suppressing the impulse to ask if they were ill or injured, Riker instead got the shuttlecraft patched through to sickbay and nodded to Data.
“Dr. Crusher, this is Lieutenant Commander Data. Do you have a supply of CZ-fourteen available?”
“A small amount,” she said, a puzzled frown evident in her voice, “but why do you—”
“Please, Doctor,” Data broke in uncharacteristically, “I will explain in a moment. I need a hypospray with at least enough CZ-fourteen to administer to Zalkan, who will almost certainly not survive the transfer from his world to this without it.”
“I don’t understand either, Doctor,” Riker said when Crusher hesitated, “but you know Data well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask for something unless it was essential. Just have it ready by the time we arrive, which will be in approximately three minutes.”
In those three minutes, Data raced through his explanation of the plan Picard and Zalkan had arrived at, concluding, as he exited the turbolift on Deck 12, “The captain feels the risk is justified in light of the almost certain consequences to both worlds if we attempt to flee instead of accepting that risk.”
“Particularly since this Plague soup we’re embedded in might not let us get out of range in time anyway,” Riker said as the doors closed, cutting off any further words.
When Data reached sickbay, Beverly Crusher was on her hands and knees searching the floor of her office for markers. All nurses and medical technicians were doing the same in other areas, particularly the area around the biobeds the defectors had occupied during their examinations. When Data entered, she looked up with an uncharacteristic scowl, took a hypospray from her pocket, and handed it to him.
“You understand that this could kill even a healthy person in a matter of hours, Data,” she said severely. “And even if Zalkan survives, the long-term treatment will be useless.”
“I understand, Doctor. Zalkan understands as well. He feels it is the only rational course open to him, and the captain has come to agree with him.”
“I see,” she said in a tone indicating that she didn’t see at all. “Very well. It’s out of my hands.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Now please, stand back. I must return.”
“To that other world?”
He nodded, taking one of the markers and placing it on the floor of her office. “Do not allow that one to be disturbed, Doctor. I will need it to return with Zalkan and the others. And stand well clear of it until then.”
With that, he took the return marker in his hand and, as soon as Dr. Crusher had turned away and started for the door to resume her search, squeezed it solidly between thumb and forefinger.
Chapter Twenty-two
PICARD WINCED in spite of himself as Data, even before the flash of his return had faded from the retinas of the watchers, knelt on the cold concrete floor and pressed the hypospray to Zalkan’s arm. The scientist opened his eyes at the touch, managed a weak smile to Data, then an even weaker nod.
Data triggered the hypospray.
For a moment, there was no reaction, and Picard found himself leaning forward, searching the man’s face for he knew not what. A hint that, now that it was too late, the scientist regretted his decision? Picard grimaced, wondering if he would allow himself any regrets if his own decision turned out to be wrong and in the last moment of his life he realized that the Enterprise would not saved but lost with all hands.
Zalkan stiffened, a slight moan escaping his lips. Then he shivered, not quite writhing, and Denbahr, her hand trembling, softly stroked his forehead. Troi knelt down opposite Data and laid her own hand lightly on Denbahr’s.
Abruptly, the scientist went rigid, his teeth gritting, his head pressing harshly backward against Denbahr’s legs, and Koralus, standing tensely next to Picard, seemed to wince in sympathy with his almost-grandson.
Just as abruptly, Zalkan went limp, and Denbahr gasped his name, as if afraid that he had died.
But his eyes opened then, and he smiled, a fleeting but normal smile despite the emaciated face.
And he sat up, stayed that way for a moment, as if to let his head clear, or perhaps just to savor the simple fact of the movement, then got to his feet with only a slight lurch.
“Come,” he said, his face now grim as he moved toward the clear area in front of the active console, “we may already be too late.”
Data caught Zalkan’s arms and steadied him as the flash of the transfer faded and the scientist lurched and almost fell to the floor of Dr. Crusher’s office. Fending off Crusher’s efforts to subject Zalkan to a quick scan with her medical tricorder, Data guided him into the corridor.
“Knowing I have two minutes more or two minutes less is unimportant,” Zalkan said over his shoulder as he seemed to regain his strength, “and taking the time to gain that knowledge would only deprive me of yet another minute of useful life.”
In the corridor, two of Dr. Crusher’s medical assistants were on their knees, looking for the tiny markers. A dozen meters down the corridor past the turbolift, near where an engineering ensign was doing the same, a transporter field shimmered into existence. Data’s enhanced vision could distinguish a pile of a half-dozen markers surrounding a comm unit for an instant before the enti
re pile vanished. A second later, he knew, the pile would materialize with dozens of others on one of the cargo transporter pads where, as rapidly as the comm units could be pulled from the pile, they would be dispatched into space.
In the turbolift with Zalkan, Data silently and repeatedly reviewed the plans that had been developed literally a world away. Repeatedly, he came to the same conclusion: Under the circumstances, there was no way he could think to improve them. All reasonable eventualities were covered, and the probable result in all cases was the capture or destruction of the Directorate leadership and the survival of Jalkor. Unfortunately, the Enterprise and her crew fared less well in some scenarios.
But everything was being done that could be done. Every available crew member was involved in the search for the markers. The Enterprise had already moved into a higher orbit, high enough to put the planet below out of danger. Six crew members were in a shuttlecraft, standing off a thousand kilometers, maintaining a constant link with Starfleet.
In the most optimistic scenario, in which Zalkan had the time to give the computer a complete picture of all the possible ships the Directorate leadership might arrive in, the Enterprise crew would begin evacuating to the surface of Krantin the instant his work was completed. Every available shuttlecraft, including those normally used only for cargo, would be used, taking them to a spot safely away from Jalkor, where there would have been a small but unacceptable risk that their arrival would be noted and somehow passed on to the Directorate, thereby accelerating its schedule. Those still on board awaiting evacuation would continue the search-and- transport operation until transportation became available. With a great deal of luck, either all the markers would be found and disposed of or everyone but Data would be evacuated before the gas came.
In either case, Data, unaffected by the gas, would remain on the bridge. He would be there, waiting, when the Directorate leaders came through an hour later, by which time the reverse binary gas would have developed into its harmless component parts, allowing them to board safely. Then he would see if Strankor had been right. The man had assured him that the entire Directorate leadership would come through, and Troi had indicated that he was telling the truth. They would all come through because not a single one of them would trust any of the others to board such a valuable prize as the Enterprise without him. Their fear of treachery—a thoroughly justified fear, apparently—was too great for them to do anything but board it together. Then, when the number of ships matched the number of Directorate leaders that Strankor had indicated, Data would direct the computer to target the precise locations that Zalkan had specified in each ship. Finally, when they were within range, dozens of pinpoint, millisecond bursts of highest-intensity phaser fire would, theoretically, disable the jump circuits of every Directorate ship. Unlike the much longer bursts that would be required to destroy the ships, the millisecond disabling pulses could all be fired before any of the ships had a chance to react. And keeping them all from returning to that other Krantin was essential. If even one escaped, the Directorate would continue, and nothing the Enterprise could do could stop them from snatching the dilithium and destroying Jalkor.
The second scenario was less optimistic. If Zalkan was able to finish his work but evacuation was not completed in time, Data would still be waiting for the Directorate ships when they came through, but an indeterminate number of his fellow crew members would have been killed by the gas.
In the third scenario, the gas came before Zalkan was finished, and everyone but the six in the shuttlecraft would die. Without Zalkan’s information, Data would not be able to simply disable the Directorate ships. He would have to destroy them. And the only sure way to do that was to wait until they drew close and the leaders began to board the Enterprise. Data would then override all the safety devices and programs and breach the containment field of an antimatter storage pod. The Enterprise and any ship within twenty kilometers would be vaporized. The six in the shuttlecraft standing off a thousand kilometers would report the demise of the Enterprise to Starfleet and wait for the arrival of another ship.
The turbolift door hissed open on the bridge, bringing Data’s mind instantly back to the immediate present. At the science stations stood a pair of specialists in the design, construction, and history of impulse-drive ships; the station screens were blank and waiting for Zalkan’s input. Seemingly fully recovered despite a flush that had begun to suffuse his features, the scientist strode rapidly to the stations at the rear of the bridge. Speaking rapidly even before he reached them, he began, essentially, to re-create on the screens and in the computer memory the half-dozen ships that he had helped design more than twenty years before, the ships which, according to Strankor, the Directorate leadership still used.
Barely a minute into his task, the turbolift doors opened again and Picard emerged alone.
“Counselor Troi, Technician Denbahr, and Kora lus,” Picard answered Riker’s unspoken question, “have joined the search for the markers.”
Riker nodded as he surrendered the captain’s chair and quickly brought Picard up to date. “I’ll join the search as well,” he concluded, hurrying toward the turbolift. By the time he reached it, an area assignment by the computer was issuing from his comm unit. As the turbolift door opened, he almost tripped over an ensign on the floor on his hands and knees searching for the chip’s faint signature.
For another few seconds Data continued to watch the first ship growing in detail and complexity on the science station screen. Abruptly he turned away. There was no need for him to watch the ships take shape. The computer was absorbing it all, and when the time came—if the time came—that he needed the information, it would be there for him. He could be more useful now in the search.
He was halfway to the turbolift when he heard Geordi’s voice: “Commander, I’m getting nowhere on this. I can probably accomplish more if I join the search.”
“Commander Riker has joined the search himself, Geordi,” Picard said. “You’re referring to the blocking field? Will said you had proven it to be at least as dangerous as you originally feared.”
“Captain? Yes, the blocking field. And unless my computer models are way off, ten minutes’ continuous use would almost certainly be fatal even to someone in perfect health. Even one or two minutes would produce noticeable and permanent effects. The only way this thing would be of any use is if you had a damned good idea of when the gas was coming. Then I could switch it on at the last second, but as it is, we can’t use it without killing everyone on board, but if we don’t use it—”
“Geordi,” Data broke in. Listening to Geordi had somehow prompted an unexpected idea to emerge from the positronic storehouse that was the android’s mind. To a human, it would have seemed like a sudden inspiration. To Data, it was only logic, a matter of making an association between two separate bits of information. “How much advance warning do you need?” he asked.
“Data? Approximately a second more than the sensors will give us.”
“An additional three seconds, then, would be sufficient?”
“You mean five seconds total? That would do it easily, Data. But when we were being invaded, I tried everything I could think of to boost the sensors or speed them up, but nothing helped. The first inkling the sensors have of an upcoming jump is just under two seconds. I’ve even consolidated all the functions into the master systems-display panels down here in Engineering in order to cut out the lag time between the controls and the generator and between both of those and the deflector array. But no matter what I do, the generator takes almost half a second too long to reach full strength and get the energy into the deflector array. By the time the deflector array projects the field in and around the Enterprise, it’s too late. Whatever was being sent is already here.”
“Thank you, Geordi,” Data said as he turned to Picard. “Captain, I suggest we locate Counselor Troi and tell her to meet me in my quarters immediately. And send someone to Ensign Thompson’s quarters as well.”
Picard, despite having no idea what Data was up to, agreed to the plan before the turbolift doors closed behind the android.
Chapter Twenty-three
“DATA, I CAN’T BELIEVE we’re actually going to do this.” Commander Geordi La Forge stood on one side of the reconfigured master systems display in the middle of Engineering, his VISOR focused on the sensor readouts that would indicate the beginnings of an energy surge. With some internal rerouting of signals, he had tweaked another millisecond or two off the blocking field buildup time, but it was still essentially half a second too slow. “Talk about your lowtech solutions . . .”
“It will work, Geordi,” Data said, his eyes on the dual image on the display screen that angled up out of the tabletop station. In the left image, Ensign Curtis was shaking her head despairingly.
“It’s not happening, Data,” she said.
“Do not concern yourself, Ensign. Yours is a backup function, in the event that Counselor Troi fails, which is not likely.”
On the other half of the screen, Troi’s eyes were closed as she concentrated. Uncharacteristic beads of sweat had appeared on her brow in the last minute.
Finally, she looked up. “Ready, Data,” she said, though her subdued voice lacked some of its usual conviction.
“Geordi, make the transfer,” Data said, positioning his fingers barely a millimeter above the control surface of the panel before him.
Geordi, shaking his head, tapped in the commands that disconnected the sensor-activated trigger and substituted the control a millimeter below Data’s fingers.
For nearly a minute there was only silence. Then Geordi, his VISOR still focused on the display screens, said, “If this doesn’t work, Data, don’t blame yourself. It at least has a chance, which is more than I can say for anything I’ve managed to come up with.”