The Oppressor's Wrong

by Phaedra M. Weldon

  Star Trek: The Next Generation™: Slings and Arrows

  Book 1: A Sea of Troubles by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

  Book 2: The Oppressor’s Wrong by Phaedra M. Weldon

  COMING SOON:

  Book 3: The Insolence of Office by William Leisner

  Book 4: That Sleep of Death by Terri Osborne

  Book 5: A Weary Life by Robert Greenberger

  Book 6: Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment by Keith R.A. DeCandido

  Pocket Books

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

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  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.

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  First Pocket Books eBook edition November 2007

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  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5013-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-5013-5

  eISBN : 978-14-16554-1-03

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my dad, Leonard C. Weldon, Jr., and to his wife, Delois A. Weldon, for giving me my first typewriter and telling me to never stop dreaming

  PROLOGUE

  Deus ex Machina

  He moved quickly to the back room of his quarters. With a glance to the door behind him as it shut, he bent on one knee and carefully reached beneath the bed, tugging at the small twelve-by-twelve silver case positioned just out of sight.

  Once it was free from its hiding place, he sat on the edge of the bed, opened the case, and stared at the blank, black glossy surface of the upright side. With two touches to the horizontal black surface, he watched as the inner side illuminated his face as well as the room in a soft, turquoise light.

  “Receiving,” came the voice from the silver box. There was no image to accompany it—even the voice that filtered through the small speakers was masked, coded, and dispersed.

  He cleared his throat, aware that his own face was visible. “Tactical liaison nine-twenty-three reporting in.”

  “Take that face off,” came the quick retort—his superior’s irritation still evident through the disruption.

  And if he was irritated before the conversation even began, that could only mean things were not going as planned.

  He did as he was told, the shimmer of his transformation reflected in the glossy black of the case’s interior. He faced the tiny camera naked now, without the protection of another’s identity.

  “Better,” came the voice.

  He nodded but already knew there was something else. “I gather from your request for contact that there could be a problem, sir?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.” The reply was terse. “Things are progressing here as planned—even with the occasional setback that comes with the insurrection of terror.”

  He took in a deep breath and waited for his orders. He had other duties to perform; appearances needed to be kept up lest his present mark notice any suspicious behavior.

  “We’re going to need to step up the timetable as of today. I’m not sure about the exact time and date, but it will be soon. I’ll need you to double-check to make sure everything is ready.” The voice paused. “How is the admiral behaving? Does he suspect?”

  It was time for honesty, no matter how painful. “I think he suspects something. Commander Snowden is doing all he can to soothe the admiral’s fears.” He looked away, hoping his superior couldn’t see his eyes, wouldn’t see the doubt lodged there.

  “But the admiral isn’t buying it?”

  He looked back to the camera eye. “No, sir.”

  “Then I’m afraid he’ll have to be eliminated.”

  He paused. “Killing was never part of this assignment.”

  “Assignments change,” the voice said. “Just do what you’re best at. I’ll arrange for the proper follow-up—Snowden will be there when you need him.”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded and reached out to disconnect.

  “Oh, and one more thing.”

  He stopped and looked at the pulsing glow. “Yes?”

  “Make sure it looks authentic—I want nothing to go wrong. In fact—” There was a long pause, and he was afraid he’d lost connection. Then, “Use the Enterprise. I’ve made arrangements for her to be docking there in a few days—hopefully to stay for a while. I’d rather have Picard out of the way just now, and preoccupied.”

  “Sir—I should use the Enterprise? A starship?”

  “You heard me. Is there a problem? Are you not capable of handling a starship?”

  He looked down at his hands. Hands he didn’t recognize. “Yes,” he said with conviction. “I can handle a starship.”

  “Good. Keep me informed. Out.”

  The glow eased back. The glossy black pane returned.

  He closed the case and sat alone in his quarters. He didn’t need to confirm or guess at what his superior wanted.

  There was no question the death his superior wanted would be the most dramatic. But to involve a starship, and not just any ship within the Federation fleet.

  The flagship.

  A new Sovereign-class ship, equipped with the latest technology.

  He gave a deep sigh, seeing now an even greater problem. With his eyes closed, he returned his face to what was most familiar before stowing the case and leaving his quarters, unaware that his plans, as well as those of his superiors, were about to fall apart.

  CHAPTER 1

  To Take Arms

  Humans, Bolians, Tellarites, Trills, Vulcans, and Romulans moved about the crowded room, laughing, talking—many in deep conversation—on this day on which the Federation hoped to begin talks of a working alliance with the Romulan Star Empire.

  That is, until the conference center exploded, killing twenty-seven people.

  He stood in the center, watching the silver carafe to his left. It was situated between a Romulan man and a human woman who talked with bright smiles and shaking hands, unaware they wouldn’t live another second. The trigger was set, the bomb initiated, the explosion little more than a white hot light—

  —a white hot light—

  —a white hot light—

  “Computer,” said a tired voice in the brightness. “End program.”

  The image dissolved around him, revealing the black walls, ceiling, and floor of a small, three-by-three holosuite located on the upper deck of Quark’s, on the Federation station Deep Space 9. Of the suites Quark owned, this one was supposed to be his best. Yet the simulation hiccupped in different places, repeatedly.

  Lieutenant Pádraig Daniels ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair as he tried to stifle his outrage and frustration with the holosuite. He felt like screaming.

  But Lieutenant Commander Var chim Travec spoke first. Da
niels stood back and sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that the admiral hadn’t sent the Tellarite along with Mr. t’Saiga and him. It was bad enough that the piglike Travec and the doglike t’Saiga could barely exchange three words without snarling at each other—hadn’t Leyton even bothered to read that Tellarites ate the canines on their world?

  Daniels was there because he was Starfleet security and he had a working knowledge of explosives, but he had suspected more than once that his true purpose was to keep the other two from killing each other.

  “Inexcusable,” boomed Travec. He stood with his stout chest thrust forward, his hooflike hands behind his back. “This is intolerable. How can Starfleet even allow this incompetent fool to run such shoddy equipment on board one of its stations?”

  To his left stood two humans, a Bajoran, and a belligerent Ferengi.

  “This obviously isn’t my fault,” Quark said as he glared at Travec. “This holosuite was working perfectly until Lieutenant Daniels and his dog-eared assistant commandeered its use for their”—he held up the index finger and middle finger of each hand to make quotations—“investigation.”

  “Quark,” began Major Kira, in temporary command of DS9. The station’s commanding officer, Captain Benjamin Sisko, as well as the station’s head of security, Constable Odo, were on Earth while Sisko took over as acting head of Starfleet Security.

  “Major, this suite was working perfectly the other week when Dr. Bashir and the chief used it.” He looked over at one of the humans. “Right, Chief?”

  Chief Miles O’Brien, head of operations for Deep Space 9, crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, it was a bit dodgy now and then. Julian and I nearly fell out of our planes—they were practically see-through.”

  “That’s a lie.” Quark held up a finger at the chief.

  “Incompetent,” Travec said again.

  “Gentlemen,” Captain Jean-Luc Picard said in a stern but tolerant voice. “Please. I can understand Mr. Daniels’s frustration. I myself would like very much to see this simulation finished as well.”

  “Well, Captain,” O’Brien said. “The truth is, Quark’s suites are in bad need of repair, but with the bombing on Earth, and our being on high alert, my people have been swamped with work.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my suite.”

  “It is inferior,” Travec said, and turned his back on Quark. “Captain Picard, I would like to formally request the use of one of the Enterprise holodecks so that my people can continue their work during the journey to Starbase 375.”

  Daniels turned quickly around when Travec made the suggestion. He’d wanted to ask that very thing but wasn’t sure how to approach Captain Picard. After all, he was merely one of Starfleet’s few bomb experts on loan from the Department of Planetary Operations and not a member of the crew.

  One of six security officers in the DPO, Daniels happened to be the only one with explosives training under his belt—something he’d picked up on his homeworld of the Canopus Planet. After his team identified the bomb’s initiator as the same substance found in the Changeling key discovered by Odo, Admiral Leyton had assigned all six of them to inspect several Starfleet installations to check for possible bombs.

  He’d also assigned each of them an officer in charge to assure they received cooperation. And though sometimes Travec was helpful—as he was at this moment—Daniels still wanted to shoot him out an airlock.

  Daniels and his assistant, t—Saiga, had already visited three facilities in a single week. Deep Space 9 was the fourth, with Starbase 375 to be the last before debriefing.

  “Sir, it would be much appreciated.” Daniels glanced at O’Brien. “I do have my own equipment, as well as a series of protocols, and it wouldn’t interfere with the running of the ship.”

  O’Brien spoke up. “Daniels’s application uses the sensor array—taking in data and crunching it into a viable resource to detect possible Dominion bombs.” He pursed his lips. “T’Saiga calls it his own difference engine—when it works. I’d be more than happy to install it, maybe even borrow a bit of that matrix in stellar cartography.”

  Picard smiled at his former transporter chief. “I’m sure you would—and since Mr. La Forge has been a bit busy with the repair work after our altercation in the Pentara Nebula”—he took in a deep sigh—“then I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your heading up the project.”

  “I’d love to, and I have a few engineers that need a little more to do.”

  “I’ll inform Mr. La Forge that Lieutenant Daniels and Mister—” He frowned.

  “T’Saiga,” Daniels said quickly, making sure to pronounce the ’t” sound before “Sigh-gah.” “Though we mostly call him Sage. He’s Fijorian, working with Starfleet on a trial liaison basis.”

  “Enlisted,” Travec said in a moderately low voice, and with the inflection of someone saying something they’d rather not.

  “Mr. Travec.” Picard looked at the Tellarite. “I work with men and women every day who are good at their jobs, whether they are commissioned or not. And while you are aboard my ship, I expect you to treat them with the respect they are due. Is that clear?”

  Daniels’s jaw dropped, and he wished Sage had been in the suite, just to see and hear Travec being dressed down.

  The Tellarite opened his mouth, then closed it, his snout moving up and down. He nodded curtly to Picard. “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good.” Picard looked back to O’Brien. “About how long will the installation take?”

  “Oh, about a day.”

  “A day?”

  “Maybe two?”

  Picard arched an eyebrow at the chief. “You have one day. I don’t want to delay our arrival at Starbase 375 any more then we have to.”

  O’Brien smiled. “Aye, Captain. I’ll put two of my best engineers on it.”

  “Riker to Picard.”

  “Go ahead, Number One.”

  “Priority-one subspace message.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Picard and Major Kira turned to leave, but Quark blocked their way, his hands raised. “Now wait just a minute. Who’s going to fix my suite? I’ve got customers lined up to rent it.”

  “Sorry, Quark,” O’Brien said. “Duty calls. I’ll get someone on it as soon as I can. Just put in a work request like everyone else.” He reached out and patted the Ferengi’s shoulder. “Maybe next year.”

  * * *

  Captain Jean-Luc Picard nodded at the image of Captain Benjamin Sisko peering at him from the monitor in his ready room on board the Enterprise-E. “It’s good to see you, Captain. Though I am curious to know why you covered your ID tag in the message.”

  “Security purposes, more of the changes Admiral Leyton wanted to make.”

  “I would ask you how things are going at Starfleet Headquarters since the Antwerp bombing, but your expression tells me not as well as I’d hoped. You’re worried.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sisko nodded. “I am. Even with all of our increased security measures, there’s always this nagging fear in the back of my mind that it’s not enough. That the Changelings are just sitting out there—waiting—laughing at us.” He sighed and shook his head, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Though I’m not sure which I’m more worried about—the Changeling threat or my father. Jake and I have been here three weeks and we’ve only been to New Orleans once. I plan on beaming over there tomorrow morning for breakfast. If my father will have me.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand the new demands put on your time. But where has Jake been?”

  “He’s visiting friends in Switzerland—checking out the school there.” Sisko smiled. “I’m not sure if he’s really interested or was afraid his grandpa would put him back in the kitchen chopping vegetables.”

  Both captains shared a small, tense laugh. The conversation was awkward, to say the least. Leaving aside the current situation, Picard couldn’t forget that, as Locutus of Borg, he had, at the command of the Borg Collective, attacked thirty-nin
e ships at Wolf 359, a battle that claimed the life of Sisko’s wife, Jennifer, on board the U.S.S. Saratoga. When they first met aboard the Enterprise-D, Sisko had blamed Picard for that tragedy, and while the younger man had moved past that, the tragedy still hung between them.

  Not that the current situation helped matters. Picard could sense the tension throughout the station, as well as on his ship. It would be some time before the crew recovered completely from its own Changeling infiltration.

  But they had won that battle, only to be faced with the news that the Antwerp Conference—a diplomatic meeting between the Federation and the Romulan Empire—had been bombed by the Dominion. The catastrophe had prompted Admiral Leyton to name Captain Sisko acting head of Starfleet Security. Sisko and the admiral together had convinced President Jaresh-Inyo to agree to a systematic increase in Starfleet security measures. The phaser sweeps and mandatory blood screens of all Starfleet officers and their families, along with the required upgrade in weapons and sensors for priority starships, acted as a constant reminder that the Dominion had reached Earth.

  “Did you read Daniels’s report?” Sisko finally asked.

  “Yes, I did.” Picard narrowed his eyes. “And I am curious to know who it was that assigned Commander Travec to head up this team.”

  “Leyton.” Sisko smiled. “I’m not sure he was aware of the animosity between Fijorians and Tellarites. And in the end it shouldn’t matter. Both of them are good at their jobs, as is Daniels.”

  Picard glanced at a padd on his desk. “The trip to Starbase 375 should prove to be interesting. And as you already know, the station received a clean bill of health. There are no Dominion bombs—or at least, none of their components—on board Deep Space 9.” Picard picked up the padd. “Though Daniels did find trace elements of nitrilin. That’s a very rare and unstable substance.”

  Sisko nodded, though his expression softened. “There was a small explosion in Garak’s shop last year—the bomber used nitrilin. I’m not thrilled to know it was one of the components used in Antwerp.”

  “It appears Lieutenant Daniels’s forensic methods have proven accurate.” Picard set the padd back on his desk and adjusted his uniform jacket. It had been a long day—from the early morning docking to assigning the rotation of leave on board the station for their twenty-four-hour stay. He was ready for a bit of relaxation himself.