She looked at the big security officer. “You return fire?”
Englehorn’s shoulders drooped a little. “It’s all in fun—usually.”
“But it’s hardly fair when they’ve got the brig and the power to arrest,” Riordan said.
Englehorn looked back in at the cell. “Hey, how fair was you programming the ship’s computer to wake me in the middle of the night with a rendition of Mahler’s fourth symphony?”
“It was the fifth, you lunkhead.”
“Silence!” Dax raised her voice. She shook her head. Aventine had been idle for several days, running checks on the slipstream drive. Was that why this stunt had gotten out of control?
Some people needed more to do, she thought. Well, she could provide that.
“This is your lucky day, Ensign,” she said. “We’re heading to pick up Admiral Riker from Titan—and I want Aventine completely shipshape. You’re going to make sure that every running light on the ship’s hull is working properly.”
Riordan blinked. “Me? I’m a computer technician, not a maintenance guy.”
“It’s a computer issue. When we tangled with that Andorian ship, the Tuonetar, we must have taken a hit to one of the subsystems somewhere. Now when we activate the starboard running lights, a handful of the portside lights flicker for a few milliseconds.”
“And vice versa?”
“No,” Dax said, dragging out the syllable as if there were some great mystery to it. “That’s what’s strange. I’ll need you to take every light offline at the local EPS to see what’s going on.”
Riordan’s eyes narrowed as he considered the task. “There’ve got to be dozens of nodes to check.” Then, thinking of something else, he shivered visibly. “I’m not going to have to walk outside on the hull, am I, Captain?”
Recognizing sheer terror when she saw it, Dax quickly spoke up. “Do the ones you can get to from inside. We’ll have the rest checked out in spacedock.”
Riordan sagged. “Crawling around in all those Jefferies tubes . . .”
“You seem to have plenty of energy.” She gestured for Englehorn to release his prisoner. “It’s got to be more interesting than being in here, right?”
Englehorn deactivated the force field. “Our cells are roomier than some of those conduits.” He patted his broad chest. “Which is why I’m in security and not engineering.”
“Reason one of a series,” Riordan said, glaring at the guard. Again, too late, he appeared to realize he was mouthing off to a superior officer before the captain. “I guess I’d better get started.”
“Dismissed,” Dax said. She shook her head as the ensign walked swiftly out of the brig.
Englehorn smirked as Riordan vanished. “There isn’t anything wrong with the running lights, is there, Captain?”
“He’ll think twice before going to such extremes.” She looked around at the empty cells. “My job here is done.”
The towering man nodded. “Captain, permission to speak freely. You’re a good egg.”
“I’m not sure how to take that,” she said.
“You’ve been coming down here every day for two weeks. This is a brig—it’s not like making the rounds visiting the folks in sickbay.”
“Seven hundred forty-seven people on my ship,” she said, turning toward the exit. Dax patted the frame of the brig door as she walked out. “I’ll see you tomorrow—if you’ve got any more takers.”
Outside, Dax stood waiting before the turbolift and looked back at the entrance to the brig. Englehorn was right. She’d been visiting the brig more often lately—and increasingly, she’d been finding ways to commute whatever sentences had been imposed. She didn’t need a visit with Susan Hyatt, the ship’s chief counselor, to know why. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been held in a penitentiary on Jaros II, after she’d defied orders and interfered on behalf of the Andorian people—and her friend and former lover, Julian Bashir, who was trying to save them from a medical crisis that threatened the entire species.
The orders Dax had defied were extralegal, the result of a scandal in Federation administration that had since been uprooted, and she’d been given her command back. But while she and those who served under her had received commendations for their actions, Dax still didn’t feel wholly vindicated.
It wasn’t that the imprisonment was that bad. It was less than a moment in the existence of Dax, the centuries-old symbiont living inside the Trill named Ezri: compared with some of that being’s past experiences while inhabiting previous Trill hosts, her time in prison was a holiday. No, the problem was that defying orders, even for a good cause, had a way of marking an officer within Starfleet as a certain type.
A century ago, James T. Kirk had set the standard for defiance, stealing—and then losing—Starship Enterprise in order to help a friend. Today, he was regarded as one of Starfleet’s greatest heroes. But Kirk had always drawn upon a seemingly immeasurable reserve of luck, and it wasn’t right to expect other mere mortals to match his results. Just because one person could fly close to the sun and emerge safely on the other side, that didn’t mean Starfleet wanted all its other captains defying orders.
So she’d caught a chilly vibe from several fellow captains since leaving incarceration. Oh, nobody had been openly rude to her—she wouldn’t expect that in Starfleet, where keeping decorum ranked just beneath exploration as its reason for existing. But it was that exact code that Dax had offended by going off on her own, and now whenever she was in the presence of other captains, they invariably spoke more about their own advancement prospects, not acknowledging that she might not have any. Ezri Tigan had been a counselor; Ezri Dax was excellent at hearing what people weren’t saying. As far as they were concerned, commendations might be all that she’d ever be in line for.
That was fine if you were Jean-Luc Picard, another occasional rebel who sought no further promotion in the service. He existed to captain Enterprise. But the symbiont that lived inside Ezri had lived all sorts of different lives through its hosts. And she and it had decided—for they thought with the same mind—that this life would be the one devoted to seeing just how far a Dax could go within Starfleet. It was deflating to think this could be it.
Their mission to fetch Admiral Riker was a simple shuttle detail. But maybe Riker’s visit was a good omen. He’d been present during at least one of the occasions when Picard had found it necessary to step beyond Starfleet’s strict orders, saving the Earth from being destroyed by the Borg, and it hadn’t harmed his career in the least. True, Riker hadn’t been in command, as Dax was during her “incident.” The Enterprise-E’s feat was Kirk-level astonishing. And fair or not, saving the Andorians wasn’t quite saving the Earth and everyone on it. But maybe he might have a word of advice for someone whose career had stalled.
She wondered for a moment if the turbolift car had stalled, too, when she realized she’d never summoned it. Distracted again. When she did call, it arrived instantly. Stepping inside, she hadn’t asked for a destination yet when her communicator badge chirped. She toggled it. “Dax.”
“Captain, we’ve reached the rendezvous point.” It was Sam Bowers, her first officer. “Titan is preparing to beam Admiral Riker to us.”
“How many staff?”
“Just him.”
That bodes well, she thought. A lot of admirals tasked with diplomatic duty loved traveling with entourages, assistants that couldn’t help but get underfoot. Riker was evidently not of that sort. “Meet me in the transporter room, Commander.”
She was about to click her badge when Bowers spoke again. “Stand by, Captain.” A moment later, he continued, sounding puzzled. “Admiral Riker has requested that he be beamed directly to holodeck one.”
Ezri blinked, baffled as well. “Do it.” She clicked her badge twice and ordered the turbolift onward. Riker might be a nice guy, she thought, but he’s still an admiral, and admirals are a strange breed.
Eight
Commander Sam Bowers met Dax in the hallway. “Rike
r’s already on the holodeck,” the brown-skinned man said. He shook his shaved head, knowingly. “This is going to be another one of those trips, isn’t it?”
“Another one of what trips?” She walked fast to keep up with the taller officer’s pace.
“You know. Another flight of the U.S.S. Peculiar.”
Dax stifled a laugh. Aventine was built as a proof-of-concept experimental vehicle, and its capabilities had made it the perfect choice for many challenging missions. But its speed had also resulted in it being called upon to ferry admirals and Federation mucky-mucks—and even the odd banjo-playing professor. Without fail, every one had left the vessel as a figure of shipboard legend—and not in a good way.
The Federation administrator who made them turn around and go back to a starbase because he had forgotten to feed his fish. The Bolian envoy who was convinced that warp travel using the slipstream drive was somehow feeding negative emotional energy into his quarters, causing him and his spouses to argue more. The very senior admiral who had eschewed using an antigravity chair, insisting instead that the transporters beam him from room to room. These episodes had made the crew wary of high-ranking passengers.
This time, Dax was sure, the concern wasn’t necessary. “We know Riker well enough to say you’re all wet,” she said, rounding a corner with Bowers. “He’s perfectly normal.”
“Oh, I know. For exec officers like me, he’s the gold standard. And we both saw him in action as a captain—he’s a tower of power.” Bowers chuckled, gesturing to his insignia. “But that extra little rectangle around the pips has a way of making folks . . . entertaining.”
Approaching the double doors of holodeck one, they quickly composed themselves. As if on cue, the doors opened, and Admiral Riker stepped out to greet them. His hair was a little grayer since she’d seen him last, and he hadn’t shaved. Dax figured he’d had to leave in a hurry.
But his expression was warm. “Captain Dax.” He offered his hand, surprising Dax a little.
She shook it. “Welcome to Aventine, Admiral.”
“Commander Bowers.”
“Glad to have you aboard, sir,” Bowers said, shaking the admiral’s hand vigorously. Dax had always sensed a little hero worship of Riker on her first officer’s part after Bowers had met him during the Borg Invasion. Bowers would soon see that Admiral Riker was just the same as Captain Riker had been.
Riker studied them both. “I appreciate the help you were able to provide us at Zellman’s Find. Starfleet needed Titan elsewhere.”
“Glad to lend a hand,” Dax said. “Although it sounds as if all the action went with you that time. I’m just glad we were in position to be of service—and to help you now.”
They stood for a moment, just long enough for Dax to feel uncomfortable. Unable to keep from remarking on it any longer, she looked over Riker’s shoulder. “Did you have luggage? It’s not every day we beam our guests to a holodeck.”
Riker looked at her for a second—and then laughed. “I guess not. Here, come in.”
They stepped through the portal and beheld what appeared to be a tastefully appointed apartment—a sitting room with a small kitchen to one side and a doorway leading to a bedroom. The main area had a large desk with a computer terminal and an antique faux-leather chair behind it. Plants and Betazoid art objects sat on shelves near the walls, and a case for a trumpet and a music stand could be seen off in a corner.
Dax looked around the room—and then back out through the holodeck arch, just to remind herself that she was not in Aventine’s VIP quarters.
Riker seemed amused at his guests’ expressions. “It’s my living quarters and personal office from Titan.” He walked the carpeted floor, playing the role of a happy host showing off.
Bowers gave Dax a knowing look. Perfectly normal?
Dax did a double-take. “I’m sorry, Admiral—I don’t quite understand. We have office space and quarters here on Aventine.”
“And I’m sure they’re wonderful—just like all the other guest quarters I’ve seen in Starfleet.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, some of them aren’t so wonderful. But this is all about efficiency. I don’t have to spend any time here remembering where things go—and I’m able to have a workstation like I’m accustomed to.” He gestured to the chair. “One thing you learn as you get older: the secret to a happy work life is finding a desk chair you can live with. And as an admiral, you spend a lot of time on your keister.”
Dax looked around and laughed. “I suppose the only thing that’s missing is your wife and child?”
Riker chuckled. “Deanna has a definite aversion to being depicted in other people’s holographic illusions.”
Dax walked farther inside and touched the back of one of the chairs across from the desk. It was an interesting idea, for sure. “If you’ve got your own program, why not? Only your wardrobe would need to be real.”
Riker snapped his fingers, remembering. “Well, there is something else.” He pointed to the terminal on the desk. “I’ll need this patched into Aventine’s main computer core so I can do my work—and I’ll also need a secure communications link routed here. I need to consult with Starfleet right away.”
“Right away, Admiral.” Dax touched her badge and issued the order to Mikaela Leishman, her chief engineer. If the lieutenant found the requests unusual, she didn’t say so. Short moments later, they heard a ping from Riker’s terminal. He walked to it and sat down.
The admiral looked impressed. “I’m up and running.”
Dax was pleased. “You won’t have access to the ship’s tactical and propulsion systems from here.”
“Naturally.” Riker nodded, looking up and around. “The checks in your holodeck systems probably came from the task force I was part of years ago. We didn’t want any more fictional Victorian villains running away with the show.” He patted the terminal and rose. “Good work, all of you.”
“This is pretty nice,” Bowers said, still marveling at the room. “Is it accurate?”
“Huh?” Riker looked around. “It’s close enough, I guess. I don’t think I got Deanna’s objets d’art just right.”
“You’d better delete the program when you go,” Dax said. “I’m not sure I want our crewmembers staging any holodeck fantasies in admirals’ chambers.”
“You mean they don’t already?” Riker flashed a winning smile. They laughed. He nodded to the arch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in like I said.”
Dax and Bowers nodded, turned, and left. The interlocking doors closed behind them.
“Well, there goes a holodeck,” Bowers said, walking up the hall.
“I think we can forego some rest and relaxation,” Dax said, “to give the admiral a place to work.”
Bowers grinned. “Put another way, you’re willing to go without, if it means not having an admiral—even a perfectly normal one—hanging over your shoulder, watching every move you make.”
“Sam, I’ve told you, Will Riker will be fine. He’s a straight shooter. He’s not one of the eccentrics.”
Bowers slapped the side of the wall. “I knew there was something I was going to ask about. Did you let that little guy out of the brig?”
Dax blinked. “Ensign Riordan?”
“I saw him on my way over here. He’s loose.”
“Yeah, I gave him a detail so he could work it off.”
Bowers clicked his tongue. “I throw the kid in the brig, you let him out. We’re going to get a reputation as a bunch of softies, Captain.”
“These people are just bored,” she said. “I don’t want people’s records being ruined.” She didn’t want to say that there might be more to her leniency, and to his credit, if Bowers suspected otherwise, he didn’t say anything.
“Well, I don’t know that chauffeuring Admiral Riker is going to create a lot of extra work,” he said, grinning. “That’s a man who knows how to pack.”
Her badge chirped. It was Riker. “New orders, Captain.”
“
Already?” Dax looked behind her. They had just left him five minutes earlier. “What’s the—”
“Cancel the trip to Earth. Hold station here until I send new coordinates.”
Dax’s eyes widened. “Where, sir?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll be in secure conference for the next hour—I’ll send the destination down when I have it.”
“Hold station.” She looked at Bowers, whose face showed concern. She spoke to the air. “Is there a problem, Admiral?”
He didn’t mince words. “Yes, there’s a problem. I want to meet with senior staff as soon as I’m able to. I’ll explain everything then.”
Dax was quick to answer. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Sorry for the change in plans. Riker out.”
The Trill captain double-clicked her badge. “Now what?”
Bowers looked at her, flummoxed. “Things go from happy to hectic in a heartbeat, don’t they?”
Dax nodded. That, she would agree with him on.
ROMULAN WARBIRD D’VARIAN
EN ROUTE TO ROMULAN SPACE
Bretorius had lived many years on D’deridex-class warbirds, and in all that time, he had never really figured out his way around. Seen from the outside, the ship had two winglike sections connected at the tips, mounted behind a large talon-shaped command section—the warbird’s beak. But that was the vessel’s only nod to symmetry; the interior was something else entirely. It was almost as if the structural engineers had tried to capture the byzantine nature of the Romulan society in how they arranged things. Just like life on Romulus, success aboard ship favored those who had been around, who knew where things were, who could think in more than two dimensions. The new recruit got lost because the new recruit was supposed to get lost.
Even as commander of D’varian, Bretorius had never found his way to the Ter’ak Pen—the colloquial name for the most secure holding facility onboard. Bretorius’s D’varian had never captured an important enemy needing its sophisticated interrogation devices; it had never held any prisoner requiring its heavy-duty disruptor-proof walls to hold. But he had unerringly made his way there to confront Commander Yalok.
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