“They are all subspace communications facilities,” Dygan said. “Listening posts, comm boosters, and early warning sensors. I believe the intention is to leave the affected powers deaf and blind to future attacks.”
Picard nodded. “And to sow confusion.” The captain looked at the engineer. “What is it, Mr. La Forge?” He knew when Geordi had an idea he was working on.
La Forge frowned. “Captain, some of the targets are only connected tangentially with communications. They’re not logistical. They’re purely scientific in purpose. They’re pointed outward.”
“But they could be used for logistical purposes. Brightman-Laird was going to assist us. Disabling it certainly harmed our mission,” Picard said.
The engineer countered, “That’s just it, Captain. Since we were going to be the first to explore the region Brightman-Laird was focused on, nobody should have known the array had a role in helping us.”
Worf’s eyes narrowed. “Riker would have known.”
“Yes—but that’s not what I was going for,” La Forge explained. “It means that whoever is doing this isn’t discriminating between different kinds of communications systems. They’re going after all of them—including ones where the communicating is all one-way.”
Dygan scratched his chin. “It isn’t a selective strike at the senses.”
“I think I see what you’re getting at, Mister La Forge.” Picard studied the projection. “Computer, add an overlay to this map depicting all deep-space listening posts of a scientific nature.”
A beep followed, and an instant later several holographic stations appeared, glowing golden.
“What is the largest intact one in the region closest to where Aventine was last reported?”
Another beep—and they saw it, shining brighter than the other virtual stations.
“That’s it,” Picard said, turning. “We’re going there. Number One, with me.”
“Aye, Captain,” Worf said, brightening.
Picard walked livelier, too. He didn’t know whom, if anyone, they would encounter—but having a destination felt marvelous.
Eighteen
WARBIRD D’VARIAN
ROMULAN NEUTRAL ZONE
“It’s the end of—of whatever this is,” Nerla said in the Tal Shiar agent’s former office. She had lost her once-radiant glow, having nearly surrendered to nervous exhaustion—and to the flask in her hand, which she’d found in the agent’s desk. She’d taken to carrying it around. “They’re not going to go any further with you, Bret. Subcommander Quarlis is terrified.”
“So what else is new?” asked Bretorius as he checked the crystal-clear cables running from the back of the computer. They snaked underneath Nerla’s chair and out the door.
She took a drink of whatever was in the container. “It was one thing when you ordered them to take out the Federation and Klingon spy stations. They were sure you were acting on secret orders you’d received from Romulus. And they were all—” She corrected herself. “And we were all amazed at the tactics you prescribed against the Klingons. If you’d been that kind of leader as a captain, you’d have gone further.”
“Continue.”
She stared at the flask. “Once the communications links back home started dropping out, Quarlis started to balk. Her senior staff—they’re all on edge. And your new orders to strike a Gorn array aren’t going anywhere. They doubt your authority. And maybe your sanity.”
Romulans. Bretorius sighed. Aboard a Federation or Klingon starship, a leader might get his way—crushing doubts with persuasion and violence, respectively. Not the case in the Imperial Fleet, where suspicion was part of the normal diet. “You have explained to them that I have information the Gorn are about to betray us all? That their station in the Neutral Zone will be used to coordinate an attack on us by the Khitomer allies?”
“I’ve explained it. They’re going home—and the praetor is going to purge us both.” She took another healthy swig and wiped her face. “Will they just kill us, or will we go to a labor camp?”
“Neither,” Bretorius said, finishing his work and rising. “Come.”
Reluctantly, Nerla pulled herself out of her seat and followed him. In the hallway, he grabbed her arm to prevent her from tripping over the cabling, which stretched off into the cellblock. Between that and the replicators, he had all he needed to control his own destiny. “Are you ready for me to play my trump?”
“Your what?”
“It relates to an ancient Earth game of skill and chance.”
She leered at him drunkenly. “Since when do you know anything about ancient anything?”
He chuckled. “You will learn to respect me, Nerla, and probably sooner than you imagine. But to get to that moment, I need you to do something. Go to the entrance of the brig and seal the door.”
She chortled. “With us inside? That’ll save time.”
“I want you to activate the force field. You will not want for food or a place to stay while here with me. And you can sleep in any cell you want, except for Commander Yalok’s.” He pointed back in the direction of the Tal Shiar agent’s office. “I’ll call for you if I need anything.”
“Lovely,” she said, casting the now empty flask to the deck. “All right, Senator. I guess if I’m turning myself in, I’d rather be in here and the torturers out there.” She ambled off.
AVENTINE
CORVUS BEACON
“Let’s get ready to power down the ship now,” Dax ordered. “The full smash, as soon as we leave warp.”
Belowdecks, Leishman would be doing as they’d discussed. Aventine would leave warp—and as soon as they saw whether Laplace was there, she would take the slipstream drive offline and begin shutting down the impulse engines. Only life support would be left on.
Ezri Dax looked around to her alpha-shift bridge crew, ready to handle anything. “Do not hail the Beacon. We’re going to shuttle over and explain in person.” It had been decided that was preferable to using the transporters, on the remote chance some of the code associated with Takedown could ride along. It seemed incredibly unlikely—but given how they still knew nothing about the thing, it wasn’t worth it.
“This is it,” Bowers said, grasping his armrests as he saw the countdown to the destination ticking down. “You’ve been fun, Aventine. Hope they can fix you up.”
At the tactical station, Kedair looked around. “Where’s the admiral?”
Dax thought it was just as well he was where he was. “We’re coming up on it. Stand by!”
The mainviewer showed the warp effect ending. Their destination was unmistakably ahead. The Corvus Beacon was far larger than any they’d visited on their campaign of destruction. It was just as well Riker had never ordered them to a place like this, an expansive field of alternating metal polygons, stretching off into the distance; it would have taken a good while to put it out of commission. Thankfully, it was already out of commission. And just as they had hoped, a Saber-class engineering vessel was in orbit.
“That’s Laplace,” she said. “Full stop. Leishman, go!”
“Going.”
Dax looked at Bowers, a little nervous. The nightmare she’d had the night before was banal and predictable: the ship had not stopped on her command.
“We’re not stopping,” Bowers said.
“Impulse drive remains active,” the Bolian flight controller said, nearly shouting. “Controls non-responsive.”
“Ah, hell,” Bowers said.
Dax agreed. “Engineering, what have you got?”
“Security force fields have activated, sealing the area. Aventine thinks we’ve had a hull breach in engineering. We can’t shut her down!”
“Ah, hell,” Dax repeated. Laplace and the beacon were growing on the viewscreen. There was only one thing to do—if the ship would let them. “Open a channel to Laplace!”
“If we open a channel to them,” Helkara said, looking over his shoulder, “we could be putting them at risk for infection if Takedown
is in our systems.”
“It’s a chance we have to take. They’ve almost certainly got repair crews working on the beacon. Hail them!”
A moment later, Laplace’s Tellarite captain appeared on the viewscreen, seated beside her Bajoran first officer. Dax started speaking immediately. “This is Captain Ezri Dax of the Federation Starship Aventine. All personnel aboard the beacon need to abandon immediately!”
Laplace’s captain appeared stunned. “What’s going on?” Kwelm asked. “Captain Dax, there have been no reports of any problems aboard the—”
“Just do it!” There was no time to explain about Takedown, or anything else. “We’ve lost control of our weapons!”
“Captain, we are no longer transmitting,” Mirren said. “We stopped before your last sentence.”
Dax looked back in aggravation. “But we can still see and hear them.”
“And they can see us—I think. But our audio is not reaching them. All our other messaging systems have just shut down.”
What now? Dax wondered in consternation. Write a note?
She’d assumed Laplace’s crew would react to her initial warning, at least. She hadn’t expected they would comply with no questions asked—but neither had she imagined they would stop and hold a staff meeting to consider it. The Trill listened to the audio feed with impatience as the officers on Laplace discussed the problem. And while Dax was relieved finally to hear Captain Kwelm give an evacuation order, her jaw dropped when she heard it was to be an orderly exit—aboard a shuttlecraft. “There’s no time for all that!” she called. But no one on Laplace could hear her.
Kwelm started to question Dax. The Trill stopped listening and looked around at her crew. They were all working diligently, trying to wrest control back of Aventine. But they weren’t getting anywhere. Dax was ready to begin beaming people off the array herself, if Aventine’s transporters would—
“Do what Captain Dax says!” called a voice over the communications system.
Dax looked up, astonished.
“Laplace, this is Admiral Riker aboard Aventine! This is a matter of Federation security. All personnel aboard the Corvus Beacon must beam back to Laplace immediately!”
Dax’s brow furrowed. “He’s able to talk?”
Lieutenant Mirren called from the ops station. “Admiral Riker has executed a priority override of Aventine’s communications system.”
“How—?”
It took several moments for Dax to process that information. In that time, she could still see and hear events on Laplace on the viewscreen. The Tellarite captain was squirming, struggling to get her engineering team off the Corvus Beacon. But they weren’t going fast enough. Not for the force now controlling her ship.
Riker raised his voice. “Hang the data! We’ve told you, there’s no time to explain. The threat’s already here!”
Dax saw the Tellarite captain on-screen flailing, trying to buy time—even as she heard the low hum of Aventine stopping. “But we don’t understand,” Kwelm pleaded. “If you’d just—”
“Too late,” Riker’s voice said. “You were warned.”
Kedair called out, frantic. “Captain, our shields are being raised!”
In a flash brighter than the phaser fire now erupting from Aventine’s forward banks, Dax realized that Riker was right. The threat was already here.
And it wore an admiral’s insignia.
Nineteen
PRESENT DAY
It had happened. It was happening. Aventine, under the command of Rear Admiral William Thomas Riker, was destroying the Corvus Beacon, one incalculably expensive module at a time.
And here—wherever here was—William Riker was watching it happen, as seen from the simulated bridge of Laplace. The old man who’d called himself Simus had started the holographic re-creation again, but had set it to play out slowly, so Riker could see every volley striking the station. And every pained, panicked expression that appeared on the faces of Laplace’s crew of engineers.
“Moment by moment?” Riker said, incredulous. “Pretty sadistic, showing it to me this way.”
“Sadistic?” Simus repeated. He mused for a moment. “Admiral, how would you describe the actual acts we’re witnessing? Acts that you committed?”
“You have no right to know what I feel,” Riker said, defiant. “Not when you haven’t told me who you represent—or where we are.”
“I told you, the people I—”
“This is no Starfleet board of inquiry, though I certainly deserve one. I know what those are like,” Riker said.
Simus nodded. “It is not.”
“Now, we’re getting somewhere. What is it, then?” He counted on his fingers. “I first attacked the Kinshaya and the Breen—I know you aren’t speaking for them. And you don’t have the ears for a Ferengi.”
Simus said nothing.
“So what are you, then? A freelance judge, an inquisitor? What’s the point showing me this?” Riker’s ire rose.
But if Simus noticed, he didn’t respond. Instead, the old man hobbled past the holographic Tellarite captain. Her Bajoran executive officer had just risen from his seat to study the tactical display at this point in the slow-motion playback of history. Simus took the opportunity to plop down in the officer’s chair. “I thought he would never get up,” Simus said, setting aside his cane. “All this standing around is tiresome.”
Riker wanted to be angry—but it was hard to remain so as the elder man made himself at home in the artificial surroundings. Whoever he was, Simus had a placid nature that seemed to dispel strong emotions. “You’re pretty relaxed, to be lounging around in the middle of an interstellar incident.”
“And you were fairly relaxed in causing one,” Simus said. He gestured to the screen. “I have a question. You tried to give the crew of Laplace time to evacuate their people—even though it delayed you from your objective. Why did you do that?”
Riker stared as if he’d just been asked why he had two feet. “There were innocent people on the station.”
“You also saw that Aventine ran a scan for life signs on the Ferengi array, making sure it was evacuated before destroying it. The reason for this?”
“I told you,” Riker said, losing patience. “I had to.”
“Ah,” Simus said. “Just like you had to attack the beacon, and the others?”
The admiral frowned and looked away. “That’s different.”
“How so?”
Riker fixed his eyes on the darkest corner of the room. He felt as if it were coming toward him, ready to swallow him up. He exhaled and reached for his forehead.
“Headache?” Simus asked.
“Yes.”
He turned back to see the old man peering at him, his head tilted sideways. “Earlier, you didn’t recognize Laplace and the beacon,” Simus said. “It wasn’t until you saw yourself that you knew them. Isn’t that right?”
Riker cast half a glance up at the main viewscreen, which was more than enough. “I’ve just been so tired—like I’m all used up.” He looked warily back at Simus, his suspicion suddenly renewed. “Was I drugged? Is that why I feel this way—why the memories are coming back so slowly?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’re a big help,” Riker said. “Is there someone here who can give me some answers?”
A trace of a grin came across Simus’s face. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“What? Where?”
“Here,” Simus said, touching a control on his wrist—and an instant later, the figures in the room began moving again at normal speed. The holographic crew dashed around Laplace’s bridge as Aventine resumed its pummeling of the Corvus Beacon, having switched to photon torpedoes.
Laplace was no match for Aventine, and while Riker could imagine a number of tactics that the engineering ship might use to mitigate the damage, it would mean the destruction of the ship and death for the crew.
Simus saw Laplace’s first officer returning to his appointed chair
. “I suppose I’d better get up,” the old man said, reluctantly rising. The Bajoran sat in the seat Simus vacated and began punching buttons on the armrest.
“We can’t establish communications with Starfleet over this,” the Bajoran said. “Something’s wrong with the subspace network.”
Another Aventine torpedo hit the beacon, and then a proximity alarm sounded. “Arrival from warp,” Laplace’s tactical officer yelled. “A hundred thousand kilometers and coming this way fast!”
“Who?” Pushed to the edge of her wits, Captain Kwelm looked about in anguish. “Is there someone here who can give me some answers?”
Simus looked at Riker—whose eyes widened at hearing the line he’d said earlier. They went even wider when he heard the next voice. “This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise,” came the announcement over the ship’s communications system. “Aventine, you are ordered to stand down immediately. I repeat, stand down immediately, or we will fire!”
Riker felt his mouth go dry. “I guess I should watch this.”
Simus nodded. “I would.”
STAGE TWO:
SHOWDOWN
* * *
“Better a city ruined than a city lost.”
—Cosimo de’ Medici
Twenty
EARLIER ABOARD THE ENTERPRISE
CORVUS BEACON
“Captain, Aventine is not responding,” Lieutenant Šmrhová said.
“Continue hailing,” Picard ordered from his command chair. “Lieutenant Faur, put us between Aventine and the beacon.”
“Aye, Captain,” Joanna Faur said from the flight controller’s station. “Eighty thousand kilometers and closing.”
Picard watched unhappily at the scene magnified and depicted on the Enterprise bridge’s viewscreen. His team had prepared several different action plans, contingent on who was waiting at the Corvus Beacon. It could well have been D’varian or no one. While Picard had considered finding Aventine there among the possibilities, actually seeing it firing on a Federation installation was chilling. Several segments of the beacon were ablaze, while a much smaller Starfleet engineering vessel sat nearby, unresponsive.
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