Takedown

by John Jackson Miller

  “Could Riker have created his own bridge crew to help him run the ship? We’re seeing a lot of decisions being made at once,” Dax asked.

  Leishman thought for a moment. “It’s possible. Holodeck characters act out running bridges all the time. But they wouldn’t have been able to invent the method to connect their fake bridge to Aventine. An outside party would have been required—if such a thing was even possible.” It was clear that Leishman still didn’t think it was.

  “That means Riker brought people on board with him.” Dax bit her lip, trying to remember. “Sam, he was beamed directly to the holodeck from Titan. Was he alone?”

  “Yes,” Bowers said, looking up.

  “Could others have transported over then, that we didn’t know about?”

  He shook his head. “No. No way.”

  Putting her phaser away, Kedair frowned. She took a breath before asking, “What about our crew?”

  Dax looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  The security chief gestured matter-of-factly. “Maybe he didn’t have to bring anyone across. The ship’s already crawling with engineers.”

  Leishman’s temper flared. “What are you saying, Kedair? That one of my team is helping Riker?”

  “You’ve got a huge crew down there,” Kedair said, violet eyes piercing. “People are coming in and out all the time to work on that drive of yours. Maybe he planted people here ahead of time.”

  “My team’s loyal and by-the-book, Lieutenant. I keep a good eye on everybody.”

  “Do you? Like the little guy we nabbed for messing with the replicators?” Kedair’s eyes narrowed. “Is anyone missing on your team?”

  “I can’t exactly take a head count right now.” Leishman stuck her finger at Kedair’s pointed chin. “And if your people could get us onto the same floor with Riker, we wouldn’t have this problem!”

  “Enough.” The captain was smaller than either woman—and yet both of them shrank back at her presence. “We are not going to argue our way out of this. Finger pointing is useless.”

  “Dunsels,” Bowers said. “An entire crew of dunsels.” An old Starfleet term, it referred to parts unnecessary for running a starship. He opened a crate, apparently looking for anything that could be useful.

  Dax watched him as he stared into one. “Find something?”

  “Boatswain’s whistles,” Bowers replied, lifting two handfuls of the small handheld musical instruments. “Two hundred of them. Replicator gone wild?”

  The three women erupted in laughter.

  “Hey,” Leishman said, “at least we’ve finally found a communications method that’s not on the grid.”

  The tension having broken, Dax began to pace the small area. “Instead of trying to take our ship back from pirates, we need to be the pirates taking the ship. That means we should accept Riker’s control of the ship as a given. We should look at whatever functions that the main computer can’t do for the ship. The engineering mission is finding what we can get control of—and taking it. The security mission is protecting the engineers while they try.”

  Leishman and Kedair both nodded, first to Dax, and then apologetically to each other. “Maybe something with the shuttles,” Leishman said. “We won’t be at warp forever.”

  “We’ll get you in there,” Kedair said.

  Dax nodded. “Good luck.” Harmony restored, Leishman and Kedair exited the room.

  “And what’s the command mission?” Bowers asked, getting up. “Figuring out why Riker’s doing all this?”

  Dax looked off into the corner, which was still smoking from Leishman’s phaser fire. “That’s a problem for Starfleet—and they’re on the scent now, if Enterprise is out there. That makes us the inside team. We have to find a way to communicate with her—or whatever ship is out there.”

  “What if it’s the Klingons?”

  Dax looked back at him. “I know the Klingons. They’re not big on talking.”

  Twenty-two

  ENTERPRISE

  Picard sat in Enterprise’s ready room, lost in contemplation as the stars blurred by outside the tall rectangular viewport. They had identified the destination Aventine—and now Enterprise—was heading toward: No’Var Outpost, a Klingon watchstation near the Romulan border. While most communications stations were situated in open space, the Klingons had sacrificed efficiency for security, hiding their outpost in an asteroid field. Worf had assured Picard the location was heavily armed. The Klingons would almost certainly be on their guard after all the chaos of the past few days.

  The door chimed. “Come.”

  Dygan appeared in the doorway. “I think I’ve found something, Captain.”

  “Come in, Glinn.”

  The Cardassian walked to the chair across from Picard’s desk and indicated a need to access the captain’s computer. “May I?”

  “Please.”

  Dygan turned the screen so both could see and called up an image on the monitor. Riker was speaking, before a black background.

  Picard recognized it. “It’s from our conversation at the Corvus Beacon.”

  “Pardon me, Captain, but it isn’t. It’s a holographic re-creation of Admiral Riker, based on recent imagery of him.” Dygan entered a command, and the image split into two Rikers. “This is the Riker from our conversation. Our technicians have marked a number of tags, as they call them—extremely subtle indicators worked into the figure’s design that establish that both of these Rikers are holographically generated.”

  Picard sat forward abruptly. “You’re saying it might not be Admiral Riker who’s responsible for this?”

  “That’s one possibility,” Dygan said. “All this evidence confirms is that a hologram spoke to us. It would take no effort to have one appear in this manner, speaking across subspace channels, and it would appear like any other shipboard passenger.”

  Picard didn’t have to be convinced of that. The holographic Moriarty had appeared on the viewscreen of Enterprise-D, many years earlier, speaking from the holodeck as if he were speaking from another starship. His spirits rose. “So someone wants us to think that’s Will Riker?”

  Dygan put up his hands in a plea for caution. “Again, it’s just a possibility, Captain. Yes, the speaker was an imposter. But we don’t know who he was speaking for. And whoever it is has evidently gotten the complete cooperation of Aventine’s crew in this. I find it hard to see how a holographic character—even a holographic admiral—could command a crew to commit acts such as we’ve seen.” He paused. “Not a Starfleet crew.”

  Picard’s heart sank a little as he followed the logic.

  Dygan watched Picard’s expression. “Now, I’m sure there’s another explanation. This evidence could easily absolve the admiral, at least—”

  Picard stood. “There’s no need to backtrack, Glinn. Thank you for remaining objective. It’s why I wanted you on this.”

  Dygan rose and bowed. “We’ll be at No’Var Outpost in ten minutes, sir. We may have another chance to find out more, then.”

  “Ask Hegol Den to join us on the bridge. If Riker—er, the Riker character reappears, I’d like our counselor to weigh in on what he has to say. Even if the person on-screen is a facsimile, he’s speaking for someone.”

  “Right away, sir.” Dygan quickly exited.

  As the door closed behind the Cardassian, Picard felt more conflicted than before. The holographic Riker appearing on-screen might well mean that the real Riker was blameless. But it also might mean that his friend and protégé was being held against his will, on Aventine or elsewhere. That, sadly, seemed the most logical answer. And that raised so many other questions. Had there been a takeover of Aventine—or worse, a mutiny?

  Picard shook his head and walked across to the replicator. There might just be enough time for a cup of tea before Enterprise arrived, and there certainly wouldn’t be time later. He hoped it would clear his thoughts and help him focus on his strategy for the upcoming—

  “Incorrect strategy, Capt
ain.”

  Picard recalled the line from the encounter. It rang in his ears as he stirred the cup. Riker had said it, or the holo-Riker, or whoever he was. It was an error on the part of whoever had programmed it, Picard thought: that odd phrasing. “Incorrect strategy, Captain.” It didn’t sound like Riker at all. It sounded, in fact . . .

  . . . like himself. It was something Picard had said years earlier.

  Or rather, that Locutus had said.

  When the Borg assimilated Picard long ago, the Collective had taken control of his body and mind, giving him a new identity: Locutus of Borg. Riker, then a commander on Enterprise-D, had attempted to sever the Borg’s hold over Picard—and the assimilated captain had told him that it was a futile gesture.

  “Incorrect strategy, Number One. To risk your ship and crew to retrieve only one man . . .”

  Picard remembered saying that—just as he remembered his every statement and action from that painful time. Others might want to forget such memories. He had been forced to do some very bad things; the assimilated Picard had helped the Borg devastate a Starfleet force at Wolf 357. It was not his fault. He had only found peace after the Caeliar transformation.

  But he had said the words. How would anyone impersonating Riker have known that phrase? And why would they use it now?

  He was about to discard it from his thoughts as a coincidence when the light shifted in his ready room. Looking back at the port, he confirmed the Enterprise had dropped out of warp. His badge chirped the second he put down his teacup.

  “Picard.”

  It was Worf. “Captain, we have arrived at No’Var Outpost. There is an engagement under way—and Aventine is in it.”

  Before Worf finished his sentence, Picard was on the bridge, beholding it for himself. The outpost was a mammoth communications station in space, its arrays shielded by massive black cannons. Two Klingon Vor’cha-class cruisers blazed away with disruptors as they chased the Aventine through the surrounding asteroid field.

  “Put us at Red Alert.” Jean-Luc Picard almost hoped it was Will Riker running the ship, for Aventine’s sake. He couldn’t see how anyone else might expect to survive.

  Twenty-three

  If rage were radiation, Picard thought General Kersh would have set off every warning alarm in the sector. The dark-skinned Klingon woman aboard the No’Var Outpost bared her jagged teeth as she railed against Aventine, the Khitomer Accords, and all things Federation.

  That included Captain Picard. “I should have known you would be involved,” she declared, clenching her gloved fist. “Troubles follow you everywhere!”

  I followed them, this time, he wanted to say—but he decided silence was the wiser course. Enterprise’s appearance at the edge of the asteroid-strewn region had resulted in one positive effect: Aventine had withdrawn. The Starfleet vessel was trying to work its way around to another vector of approach, but the Vor’cha cruisers in pursuit were leaving it few openings. The outpost itself was firing like mad, trying to get lucky despite the long range; Picard could see Kersh was in a war room, surrounded by eager gunners. So far, they were mostly striking asteroids. Picard thought the Klingon cruisers were in more danger of being hit than Aventine was.

  “Are you here to join this cowardly attack?” Kersh called over her shoulder to her gunners. “Lock disruptors on Enterprise. Stand by.”

  “That is not necessary,” Picard said. “We are here to help.”

  “Then start firing!” Her gravelly voice took on a sneering tone. “Or won’t you attack your own ship?”

  “We will, if necessary. But we need to coordinate our attacks, General, else we might accidentally strike each other—”

  “Where have you been? Friends and foes alike have been striking at each other all week!” She turned to her gunners. “Bah! Fire on them both—and let Kahless decide who’s in the right!”

  Worf, who had been out of the Klingon’s view, stepped up to Picard’s side. “Kersh!”

  The general’s dark eyes widened with recognition.

  “You were attached to me as military liaison when I was ambassador,” Worf said, a snarl in his voice. “You would dare threaten me now?”

  “Hold,” she ordered. Her tone turned more respectful. “qaleghqa’neS, Worf son of Mogh. Welcome to our little war.”

  “Listen to us, Kersh daughter of Dakh—or the war will grow larger!”

  Picard breathed a sigh of relief as the general calmed. He was glad to let his first officer handle the situation. Worf looked to the captain, who nodded assent for him to continue to speak for Enterprise.

  Hearing from Faur that Aventine was racing around the far side of the debris zone, Picard spoke up. “General Kersh, we read life signs aboard Aventine but do not know who is in control. We want to disable the vessel, not destroy her.”

  Fire flared in Kersh’s eyes. “If your Starfleeters cannot free themselves, they are not worthy of consideration. The same for the crews of any of the rogue ships that have been attacking. Even,” she said with obvious distaste, “our own.”

  “Have Klingon vessels been involved?”

  “The fool General Charlak has shamed herself by striking another of our outposts,” she said. “There is a cloud upon the stars. Madness has taken hold.”

  “Charlak was a loose cannon even before,” Worf said. “She lacks the discipline of a true warrior. She should not have been a threatening opponent.”

  “You pick at the wound, Worf.” Kersh shook her head, disbelieving. “The defenders who faced Charlak described a terror, a dagger slicing through space. She cut through all our defenses, destroying a communications system and departing, without even doing her victims the decency of killing them.” She looked up. “I had moved my command to No’Var, hoping she would come here. Instead, it’s your Aventine—but its captain seems to have the same talent. In a better ship,” she added, grudgingly.

  Worf was incredulous. “Charlak never had such skills. She is no Riker.”

  Picard had heard enough. “General, with your cooperation, we will engage Aventine. She is a Starfleet vessel and will face our justice. Will you listen if we discover something that will end this thing?”

  Kersh paused to think for a moment—and then gave a Klingon salute. “Qa’pla,” she said and vanished from the screen.

  “Place us astride any possible approaches Aventine may take toward the outpost. Keep them guessing,” Picard said as he and Worf retook their seats.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  The task would test Faur’s skills at conn sorely, but at least they had Kersh’s guarantee that they wouldn’t get struck from behind as they weaved their way through the obstacle course of asteroids. The Klingons had employed years of engineering to make the region look as it did, the captain surmised; this was an asteroid-field-by-tractor-beam, specifically designed to stop invaders. Yet Aventine was trying hard to run whatever gaps it could find.

  “Aventine is hailing us,” Šmrhová said, surprised.

  Picard was too. Aventine seemed busy at the moment. Casting a glance over to Hegol Den, the Bajoran counselor seated to his left, Picard nodded. “On-screen.”

  Riker appeared, again before the same black background. His hands were out of the frame, but he gave no appearance of operating anything. “Captain, if you’re not here to help, withdraw. You’re putting Enterprise’s crew at risk.”

  “I am surprised that you care,” Picard responded icily. “Given the jeopardy you are placing Aventine’s crew in—”

  “They’re in no danger. I can assure you of that.”

  Picard looked to Worf. Their eyes met, saying the same thing: That means the crew is still aboard.

  The captain chose his next words carefully. “I . . . don’t know what value your assurance has. I’m not sure with whom I’m speaking. I see and hear Admiral William Riker—but I know I’m interacting with a hologram.”

  A little grin crossed Riker’s face. “Don’t confuse expediency with deception.”

&n
bsp; “A pretty aphorism. What does it mean?”

  “Do we have to go through the motions, to establish my bona fides?” Riker asked. “Fine. The day we first met, Jean-Luc, you asked a favor of me. You asked that I not allow you—”

  “Yes, yes,” Picard said, gesturing for the figure on the screen to stop. Years earlier, worried about running a starship with families aboard, Picard had asked Riker to make sure the captain didn’t make an ass of himself whenever children were around. Riker smiled as he recognized that Picard had remembered the moment.

  That settled it for Picard. Clearly, whoever was behind the Riker hologram had access to Riker’s memories somehow. “Let’s not play this game when lives are at stake.”

  “It’ll be over soon. I’ll be going once this station is offline.”

  “You have to stop this—”

  “You can keep following me, if you want. I’m sure you will, in fact. Watch where I go next.”

  Picard called on all his resolve. “You’ll have to go through Enterprise.”

  “I didn’t mean now. Watch where I go after I’m finished here. You may learn something.”

  The captain was still puzzling over that when the communication ended. Aventine was already making its play. Braking suddenly such that the Klingon ships sailed past, Aventine looped and lanced through an opening in the asteroid field aft of Enterprise’s position. “Phasers, now. Fire to disable!”

  Enterprise’s weaponry opened up, even as Faur brought the ship around to get a better angle. Aventine’s aspect changed suddenly, weaving between bolts from its fellow Starfleet vessel and the Klingon outpost it was racing toward.

  “I’ve never seen anyone react so fast,” Faur said.

  Picard hadn’t either. As a captain, he’d always strived for the ideal: a crew that worked hand in glove with the ship, reading and responding to surrounding conditions with little time wasted. Aventine’s movements were at once immediately responsive—and yet somehow graceful, making a three-million-metric-ton piece of equipment into a living creature, soaring the spaceways.