by David Mack
Data—whose human appearance and civilian clothes still caused Worf a moment of cognitive dissonance—grinned at the sight of his former shipmates. “Captain! Worf! Geordi!” He got up from his chair, shook the captain’s hand, clasped Worf’s forearm and slapped his shoulder, then hugged La Forge. “It is good to see all of you. Thank you for coming.”
“Nothing could have kept us away,” Picard said. His smile faded as the reason for the visit weighed upon him. “Data, we don’t have much time. Are you aware of all that’s happened pertaining to your arrest?”
The android nodded. “Yes, sir. It seems I am considered a suspect in the murder of the SI section chief, Commander Tohm. As I lack a clear alibi for the period in question, I am unsure how I will verify my innocence in this matter.”
La Forge raised a hand to interject, “One thing at a time, Data. What’re you doing here?”
“I have been looking for clues that will lead me to Emil Vaslovik. Commander Tohm helped me access the records of the Bank of Orion to verify some of my suspicions.”
The captain looked confused. “Was that why you tried to gain access to the bank?”
“I did no such thing, sir.”
His assertion sparked worried glances among the three Enterprise officers. Worf decided to cut to the heart of the matter. “If it was not you who tried to enter the bank . . . could it have been another Soong-type android?”
“That would seem to be the most reasonable conclusion,” Data said. “Are Captain Bateson and his crew aware of the android factory we discovered sixty-eight days ago?”
“Not yet,” Worf said. “That incident was classified as top secret by Starfleet Command.”
The news did not seem to trouble Data. “Still, when it is made available to the JAG office, that should make it possible to secure my release.”
Picard’s mien turned grim. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Mister Data. We still lack evidence that any of those androids are present on Orion. And there is the additional complication of the severity of the breach at the bank.” Noting Data’s lack of understanding, the captain continued. “The reason Starfleet is involved in the investigation is that President Bacco is conducting a private summit inside that institution.”
Data nodded at a curious angle. “That would account for their exaggerated response.”
La Forge stepped around Worf to clear his line of sight to Data. “Is it possible the Breen have figured out how to program some of the androids they removed from the factory?”
“I do not think that is likely.” Data wore a look of stern thought. “None of the software they had at the factory would have enabled them to activate and program a positronic brain.” Looking up at Picard, he added, “They were not even close, sir.”
More pragmatic concerns nagged at Worf. “However they have been activated, we need to track them down. Is there any way we can find them before they act again?”
“Its energy emissions seemed to have been camouflaged,” La Forge said. “I’d guess they probably have access to sensor-spoofing hardware and software, which would mean they could make these things show up to sensors as whatever they want—or as nothing at all.”
The speculation seemed to give Data an idea. “You might be able to detect short-range fluctuations in electron potentials caused by the androids’ positronic brains.”
La Forge shrugged. “If their sensor blinds are good enough, we might not even be able to read that. But it’s still worth a try.” He looked at Picard. “I’ll have Taurik work something up.”
“Very good.” The captain fixed his worried stare on Data. “What concerns me, Mister Data, is your legal predicament. Have you provided your defense counsel with any account of your whereabouts during the hours in which Commander Tohm was murdered?”
Data nodded. “Yes, sir. Unfortunately, the dearth of public surveillance technology on Orion has made it all but impossible to confirm my alibi.”
Picard frowned. “I admit that in principle I find their devotion to individual privacy commendable. The notion of a state monitoring its people’s every action troubles me. Unfortunately, in this instance, audiovisual records of the public transit system, or of routine electronic commercial transactions, might save you from a lifetime in prison.”
“The irony of my situation is not lost on me, sir.”
The captain laid his hand on Data’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Data. I give you my word: the Enterprise and its crew will not rest until you are free.” He looked at Worf. “Number One: Do whatever it takes to confirm Mister Data’s alibi. That’s an order.”
It was a directive Worf was eager to carry out. “Aye, sir.”
• • •
Basking in dry heat and feasting on raw meat, for the moment Imperator Sozzerozs had no cause for complaint. Say what you will about the Orions, they understand hospitality.
He and his retinue lounged in the private suite the bank’s staff had prepared for them. To accommodate the particular needs and preferences of Gorn physiology, all of the suites’ regular furnishings and embellishments had been replaced with appointments suited to the archosaurs. Its walls had been removed, creating an open floor plan that satisfied the Gorn’s preference for clear lines of sight. Organically curved slabs of volcanic rock were spread out, giving Sozzerozs and each member of his delegation his own territory in which to repose beneath the ruddy glow of heat lamps that simulated the radiation of their native star. Steam baths were never more than a few strides away, and even the artwork had been tailored to their aesthetics. The spacious chamber was decorated with sculptures carved from a type of obsidian that remained cold even when exposed to extreme temperatures, and to which had been applied electrically conductive filaments that created bright thermal patterns visible to the Gorn’s infrared visual receptors.
The only part of the suite that wasn’t bathed in magnificent warmth was the buffet, which had been larded with the most remarkable assortment of raw meats Sozzerozs had ever seen. Mammalian meats, poultry, fish, Chelonian delicacies, even a smorgasbord of small live prey—it was a banquet that made clear the Orions took the time to learn about their guests and spared no expense to please them and make them comfortable.
Which meant, naturally, that his chief adviser Togor had to find some way to spoil it.
“I have the full report of this morning’s disturbance, Majesty.”
Bowing to the demands of his office, Sozzerozs put aside his Sybaritic indulgences and gave his attention to the wazir. “What happened?”
“A failed attempt to breach the secure perimeter. Four persons appear to have been involved, but the Orions are unable to specify the perpetrators’ species or genders.” He held out a glossy black data tablet for Sozzerozs to look at. “The first one to strike the bank’s force field was incapacitated. His accomplices carried him away during their retreat.”
Sozzerozs slid off his basking rock. “And this matters to us because . . . ?” He plodded across the rough sandstone floor to the buffet. Togor followed him.
“The bank’s sensors detected strange energy readings when the first intruder hit the force field. We’ve not yet identified those readings, but since this morning, the Starfleet personnel on the planet have maintained a state of high alert. They also executed a rapid deployment into the capital’s starport this morning. Witnesses to the incident say a human man was arrested, but the Orions and the Federation refuse to identify him, or reveal their charges against him.”
The imperator loomed over the buffet table, savoring the wide selection of raw victuals. His adviser remained half a step behind him, watching his every movement with intense focus. “Why should we be concerned about what appears to be a strictly internal Federation matter?”
“Because, within hours of the man’s arrest, the Federation vessel Enterprise arrived in orbit, and its captain has been granted a private audience with President Bacco.”
The bad news whipped the imperator about-face. “The Enterprise is here?”
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“Yes, Majesty.”
Anxiety drove Sozzerozs to grind his fangs. “Could their arrival cause Bacco to cancel the summit? The Federation has tried to avoid attracting the attention of the rest of the Pact.”
Togor reacted with a pensive tilt of his long head. “They might withdraw, but I doubt it. Their efforts to shift the Pact’s focus away from Orion has been done at our request. Most likely, they will seek to gauge our reaction to the Enterprise’s presence, and then act accordingly.”
“Good.” Sozzerozs speared a handful of bright red meat on his talons, shoved it into his maw, and chomped hungrily. Bits and flecks of half-masticated flesh leaped from his gullet, peppering the gritty floor and Togor’s silken tunic. “When they sound us out, make sure they know we remain committed to the summit. And just to maintain appearances, make some kind of formal objection to the presence of the Enterprise. We can’t let on that it doesn’t matter.”
Togor raked up a shredded mess of raw fish on his own jet claws. “I understand, sire.” He shoveled the delicate fillets into his mouth, where they all but disintegrated as soon as he started to chew. “What shall I tell Thot Tran when Domo Brex demands an update?”
“Tell the Breen nothing more than you absolutely have to. It’s bad enough that we let them bully us into this scheme of theirs. I won’t have us leaping to do their bidding every time they deign to ring some metaphorical chime.”
“As you command, Majesty.” He picked idly at the glistening cuts of poultry. “Should I ask for an estimate of how much longer we are expected to prolong this charade?”
Sozzerozs swallowed a deep growl of irritation. “A waste of time.”
The wazir bowed his head and backed away. “Understood, Majesty.”
Alone again, Sozzerozs chose to relish the moment while he could. He stepped down into one of the steam baths and submerged up to his neck. The flow of hot vapor under and around his scales was deeply soothing, a desperately needed relief. There had been as much truth as falsehood in the stories he and his courtiers had spun for Bacco and her aides, but the one great omission was the only fact that really mattered: the summit was just for show.
Neither he nor his advisers knew the true ultimate objective of the Breen. All that Brex and Thot Tran had shared was that these talks were a key element in a cooperative intelligence mission that would benefit all members of the Pact, and the Gorn’s only directives were to make the secret conference drag on for as long as possible, and to ensure the Federation did everything in its power to “distract” the Typhon Pact, for the safety of the Gorn, out of deference to “the dire political risk” they claimed to be taking by engaging in such negotiations. Meanwhile, in star systems scattered across the quadrant, the Breen and Tzenkethi would play their parts, pretending to be ensorcelled by Starfleet’s comical attempts at misdirection.
The imperator suspected the Breen were overreaching in a futile effort to prove themselves the Romulans’ equals in the arts of subterfuge, but that wasn’t what vexed him. The itch beneath his scales was the fact that he was now playing a starring role in this farce—and he had no idea how it was supposed to end.
• • •
Dodging and shouldering through a crowded sidewalk in Kinarvon, one of Orion’s major cities, the Enterprise’s chief of security looked grouchy and uncomfortable in civilian garb. “This is ridiculous,” Šmrhová said. “I feel like a character in a holodeck program.”
La Forge felt bad for her; he was enjoying his break from the constraints of the uniform. “Lighten up, Aneta. We’re supposed to be incognito.”
“Sure we are. Two humans on Orion, and one of us has cybernetic eyes.”
He shot an offended glare her way. “What? I’m wearing dark glasses.”
“Yeah, at night.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s not suspicious. No, sir.”
Noting the street sign overhead, he nudged her to the right. “Turn here.” They rounded the corner onto an avenue busy with road traffic and pedestrians, and blazing with neon light from store signs whose reflections shimmered across wet pavement. La Forge plucked a miniaturized padd from his overcoat pocket and stole a look at its screen. He tilted his chin up toward their destination. “That’s the place up there, on the left.” He spotted a break in the traffic and darted across the street with Šmrhová right alongside him. They slowed when they reached the far sidewalk and stopped to size up the shop they’d come to find. He peeked through the front window and saw shelves and display cases packed with high-tech gadgets, spare parts, and precision tools of various origins—Federation, Klingon, Romulan, Ferengi, and many more. The engineer smiled. “Yeah, this looks like the kind of place Data would shop.”
“Great. Let’s hope its owner is more helpful than the transit workers we questioned.” She lifted her hands as he stink-eyed her. “I’m just saying, we’ve retraced every step Data said he made last night, and so far no one remembers seeing him.”
La Forge sighed in exasperation. “What did you expect? We’re dealing with Orions.”
“That’s my point. It’s like these people have a genetic predisposition not to remember anything—conversations, romantic trysts, contracts, murders. How can the whole damned species have amnesia, Geordi?” She plunged her hands inside her trench coat’s pockets and stewed beneath a few stray locks of her sable hair. “We’re trying to save a man’s life, and all these people care about is not getting involved. They make me sick.”
She wasn’t wrong, and he knew it. Persuading Orions to meddle in one another’s affairs, or to involve themselves in the troubles of offworlders, was one of the most difficult tasks known to social engineering. But for Data’s sake, they had to find a way.
He sidled up to her. “Look, this is the last place on Data’s list. We didn’t come this far just to quit. Whatever happens, let’s just go in there and get this over with.”
“Fine.” She turned and led him through the shop’s front door. Inside, they tried to act casual, as if they were just random customers browsing the store’s wares, but the sinewy, bald Orion man behind the counter challenged them in an angry, nasal voice. “What do you want?”
Hoping to disarm him with kindness, La Forge grinned. “Hi, there.”
“Don’t ‘hi’ me. You want something or not?”
Šmrhová posed herself seductively against the sales counter and gave the owner a come-hither stare and a salacious but coy half smile. “No need to be so rude, Mister . . . ?”
He tried to hold on to his blustering bad mood, but it melted away as he looked into the comely brunette’s dark brown eyes. “. . . Jasser.”
She batted her eyelashes and bit her pouting lower lip. “Well, Mister Jasser, there is something we want.” She took her own micropadd from her pocket and held it toward Jasser. On the device’s screen was an image of Data as he currently appeared. “This man says he was here for over an hour last night, buying a number of computer parts. My friend here has the list.”
Taking his cue, La Forge held out his micropadd, on which was displayed a list Data had compiled from memory, detailing every item he had purchased at the shop, how much he had paid for each one, and how long he had been there.
Šmrhová waited for Jasser to take note of the list, then she continued. “We’re trying to help him verify his story, and we’d be very grateful if you could check your records and confirm these purchases, and the time they occurred.”
Jasser looked away from her, shook his head, and backed up half a step. “No, sorry. I don’t remember anyone like that.”
La Forge pointed at the interface panel for a retail-service computer. “Could you just check? If he was here when he said he was, it’d be a big—”
“No, no. I’d remember a big sale like that. You must have the wrong place.”
“I’m quite sure we don’t,” La Forge said. On a hunch, he glanced up and around, using his eyes’ full-spectrum sensitivity to look for telltale energy flow patterns and electromagnetic disturbances. He
found them: in the corners, behind the counter, and overhead in the center of the shop. Pointing at the hot spots he knew had been camouflaged with decorative mirrors—or, in the case of the one directly overhead, disguised as a smoke and fire detector—he said to Jasser, “You have this whole place wired for surveillance. To prevent shoplifters, right?”
The Orion stammered. “I . . . I don’t know what . . . what you’re—”
“Spare me,” La Forge said. “I know that recording your customers is considered a major breach of privacy. Not quite illegal, but definitely unpopular, am I right? If anyone ever found out about those six little cameras . . .” He let the implied threat linger between them.
“Please! You wouldn’t!” The man turned his imploring gaze from La Forge to Šmrhová and back again. “Don’t do this, I beg of you. My reputation would be ruined.”
An evil smile possessed Šmrhová’s face. “No one ever needs to know, Mister Jasser. All we want is a copy of the sales receipt, and the vid footage that proves our friend was here.”
Jasser looked as if they were prodding him with a firebrand. “You don’t know what you ask! The moment they get used as evidence in any court on Orion, I’ll be blacklisted!”
“They’ll never be seen by another Orion,” La Forge said. “This isn’t for a local criminal matter, it’s for a Starfleet military tribunal.”
A weight of concern was lifted from Jasser’s shoulders, and his face brightened. “Starfleet? A military hearing?”
Šmrhová nodded. “That’s right. Completely confidential, and not subject to review by the Orion authorities. Plus, if your security records show our friend was here, you’ll help prove him innocent of a serious crime, and scuttle a major military investigation.”
Now the man beamed with delight. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I will sell you a copy of my security video for one hundred thousand Federation credits.”
La Forge tried not to act flabbergasted, but his jaw fell open. “Excuse me?”