Takedown

by John Jackson Miller

  Fortune and the Cytherians had given Senator Bretorius a chance to stand out. He would never go back to being a face in the crowd ever again.

  Forty

  U.S.S. AVENTINE

  EN ROUTE TO THE FAR EMBASSY

  Dax had attended many entertainments in her many lives, but this had been a bravura performance to match them all. She had watched and listened to the drama, which Riker had patched through to the main viewscreen on the bridge; she had been amazed to see the other summit representatives in their new guises as galaxy conquerors. And she had waited until the last vessel went to warp before engaging the slipstream drive. Aventine would follow the same course as the renegades—and if all went well, it would arrive before they did.

  Riker had concocted the entire plan in that second of silence back at Adelphous when they’d been debating what to do. When she’d learned of it, it had stunned her with its simplicity. Riker had realized that Adelphous existed on a direct path—at least, so far as the curious curvature of warp space was concerned—between the Far Embassy and the Kalpaius System, where he was to meet the others. Faking a signal from the Far Embassy was a simple matter of bringing a portion of the Adelphous Array back online in order to send a subspace broadcast.

  It could not be done while Riker was present at Adelphous; that would have violated the letter of his instructions from the Cytherians, who expected the site to be defunct when he left it. It had fallen to Leishman, serving with Enterprise’s crew while La Forge was aboard Aventine, to get the array operational. They would need to establish a two-way message with the group at Kalpaius at the exact moment Riker had instructed: two minutes after he was scheduled to arrive.

  That was the technical part—and it had gone off perfectly, thanks to Aventine’s talented chief engineer.

  The next portion, which had required Picard as well to stay behind, was more of a gamble. It was also a daring bit of deceit, requiring some acting. Some captains might have been hard to sell on the notion, but Picard had quickly seen how the idea of a flood of rival supergeniuses, all on the side of the Federation, would work on the wayward diplomats. He’d caught the thrust of that part of Riker’s plan without the admiral having to verbalize it. Dax figured it was good to have colleagues who thought alike, no matter how different their brains were.

  The rest had been a matter for Enterprise’s holodeck. Holograms of the Cytherian interlink chair were easy enough to construct; it had taken Riker less than a second to send across a design for a nonworking version. The decision to use Worf and Dygan in the deception told the listeners that the Federation had not only used the power of the Far Embassy, but would do it again and again. And the fact that the three men were of different species would certainly play on the fears of several of the Summit of Eight members. Here was the Federation, ready to accelerate the evolution of themselves and their allies.

  Now Enterprise was hurtling at top speed toward the Far Embassy, as was Aventine. Even with the slipstream drive, Picard would arrive first, but Riker had still more things to prepare in the meantime. Dax was looking at one, a high-tech gadget laid out on the worktable Riker had generated in holodeck one.

  “What is it?” she asked Geordi La Forge. He was on a stool, hunched over and staring intently at the small device he was working on.

  La Forge looked up at her and smiled. “It’s something that shouldn’t exist.”

  Over in his chair, Riker spoke. “WE GOT THE SEVEN TO FOLLOW US BACK TO THE FAR EMBASSY, BUT THAT’S JUST THE FIRST PART. AT A MINIMUM, WE CAN TRY TO CONTAIN THEM THERE. BUT MY HOPE IS THAT WE CAN REVERSE THE PROCESS WHILE THEY’RE ALL IN THE AREA.”

  “The admiral thinks he can make that happen if he goes back inside the Far Embassy station—but we can’t detach him from the interlink chair. So we need something else.” La Forge gingerly lifted the colorful blinking device he was working on. “I can barely believe this—but he’s shown me how to build a mobile holoemitter.”

  Dax gawked. The mobile emitter was a piece of future technology obtained by Starship Voyager’s Emergency Medical Hologram. It permitted a holographic program to exist without holoprojectors, compact in a device that could be worn by a virtual person. It should’ve been impossible, given what they knew of the science. “I thought that was one of a kind,” she said.

  “That’s right,” La Forge said, bringing it before his shining eyes. “Fabian Stevens of the Corps of Engineers did a molecule-by-molecule replication of the original, but couldn’t get it to work. I’d been meaning to try building one myself—I’d gotten the schematics from the Project Voyager files—but I never got around to it.”

  “GEORDI, YOU NEED TO CHECK INTERFACE 208,” Riker said. “IT’S ONE MILLIJOULE TOO HIGH.”

  La Forge set the device back onto the workstation surface and waved a tool over it. “You’re right. But I don’t think I can adjust this one. It’s too small.”

  In a flash of light, the holographic doppelganger of Riker appeared on the other side of the table. “Not a problem.” Politely, he edged past Dax to take the instrument from La Forge.

  “KEEP AN EYE ON THIS FOR ME,” the holographic figure said in unison with the seated Riker. La Forge watched closely as holo-Riker made a series of incredibly minute adjustments.

  La Forge checked the work. “Looks good.” Holo-Riker set down the tool and walked to the real Riker’s side.

  “I COULDN’T JUST REPLICATE IT, BECAUSE THE EMITTER HAS TO USE REAL MATTER,” Riker said. “ANYTHING I WOULD GENERATE HERE WOULD LOSE COHESION AS SOON AS IT LEFT.”

  Dax nodded. That was basic holoscience.

  “It’s amazing,” La Forge said, peering at the emitter. “I can see the microscopic level on which we’re working, but I’d never be able to do anything this precise.”

  “DON’T SELL YOURSELF SHORT, GEORDI,” Riker said. “I COULDN’T DO THIS WITHOUT YOU.”

  Dax’s eyes narrowed. “Admiral, how does this help you?”

  The holo-Riker waved to her. “THE MOBILE EMITTER CAN’T CONTAIN MY INTELLECT,” the admiral’s disembodied voice said. “BUT MY DOUBLE WILL BE ABLE TO FUNCTION—AND AS LONG AS I HAVE A SUBSPACE LINK TO THE EMITTER, MY HOLOGRAPHIC COUNTERPART CAN ACT FOR ME.”

  Dax nodded. “Envoy of an envoy.”

  “MY LIFE IS ONE BIG RECURSION CHAIN.” The holo-Riker vanished. “THAT’S GOOD WORK, GEORDI. I THINK WE CAN TAKE A BREAK NOW.”

  La Forge smiled and rose from the stool. “I have to admit, Will—I never thought we’d be collaborating like this.”

  “YOU AND ME BOTH.”

  The engineer turned and looked back at the seated Riker. “We’re going to get you out of there as soon as we can—I promise. But I can’t deny I’d love to know what you know.” He bowed his head gently, turned, and left.

  Alone with Riker, Dax faced him and straightened. “We’re making best time to the Paulson Nebula,” she said, “though you already know that.” She shook her head. The whole situation was bizarre, and it felt foolish to deny it. “I guess I could have made my report from my ready room.”

  “I THOUGHT WE SHOULD DISCUSS WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN ONCE WE ARRIVE.”

  “Fine.” It didn’t make sense why they had to do that here, either.

  “AND THERE WAS SOMETHING ELSE,” Riker said. “I KNOW I EXPLAINED MYSELF BEFORE—BUT I REALLY WAS HOPING YOU WOULD ACCEPT MY APOLOGY. YOU AND YOUR CREW.”

  Dax looked off to the side and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “CAPTAIN?”

  “Sorry—”

  “DON’T BE. I’M THE ONE APOLOGIZING.”

  “I don’t know how to react. A starship’s never apologized to me before.” She looked directly at him. “No ship of mine has ever needed to apologize before.”

  “HOW ABOUT A SUPERIOR OFFICER?”

  “They’ve let me down a few times. And even thrown me in the brig.” She paced past the interlink chair and looked at the tapestry the bear had chewed on. “Intellectually, I understand everything that’s happened here—and I k
now you weren’t responsible. But it still happened to Aventine.”

  “IT HAPPENED TO ME, TOO.”

  “And I’m not denying that.” She looked back. “Listen. You’re a lot smarter than I am, Admiral. But I’m a lot older.”

  “AGREED.”

  “I’ve disappointed people in my life. Sometimes it was my fault, sometimes it wasn’t. But that didn’t matter. They were disappointed. And I’ve had to work to get them back.” She stepped back in front of him. “And that really is the only way. You can’t fix the past, but you can try to make things better in the future—by doing things like you’re doing now. That won’t work with everybody. There are people I lost that I can never make amends to. But the only way you’re going to have a hope of getting yourself back is by staying alive, by continuing to fight.”

  “THAT’S MY PLAN.”

  “Good.” Her expression softened. “Now, you were going to tell me your plan for when we get there?”

  “ACTUALLY, IT’S YOURS . . .”

  Forty-one

  D’VARIAN

  EN ROUTE TO THE FAR EMBASSY

  In his earlier life, Bretorius had never dealt well with anxiety. His stomach had a tendency to try to crawl up his throat whenever he had too long to brood about an upcoming event. He’d led the Romulan Senate in sessions missed because he was off being sick in the restroom.

  Now, when even a minute was an eternity to Bretorius, he had spent the last several hours thinking on the encounter that lay ahead. And while the Cytherians’ influence had greatly increased his confidence, their handiwork had brought him problems of a different sort. He was no longer worried about the unknown; he could easily think through any possible scenario, finding a solution that benefited him. But there, also, lay the quandary. He could imagine so many possibilities that it had become difficult to focus.

  The Terrans had a figure of myth, Prometheus, who had sought the knowledge of gods and earned only hardship. Writing of him, an Earth statesman-turned-poet had said too much knowledge had caused misery. Typical human response, Bretorius thought. As a people, they were reluctant to grasp the opportunities before them, the same way they hid behind their Prime Directive so as to avoid the appearance and responsibilities of kingship. Romulans weren’t like that. Yes, there were a multitude of factors in play and he was having trouble figuring out what his best course was. But Bretorius far preferred knowing about them to not knowing. It was why the future would belong to him and the Romulans.

  He would make sure of that.

  The others were heading to either capture or destroy the Far Embassy. They had left without coordinating, left without deciding which approach they would take. They would certainly succeed at either, so long as Enterprise was the only Starfleet vessel there with a Cytherian-elevated captain aboard.

  But it did make a difference, Bretorius now saw, which thing they did. Once Picard was bested, Bretorius could easily see a battle breaking out between his partners. The Klingon and the Tholian were likely to want the Far Embassy destroyed, to prevent members of any other races from being elevated by the Cytherians; the Tzenkethi was likely to want to see it preserved, for use by her own people. The Ferengi would want to keep it around just to charge admission. It was a mess—and considering all the angles had taxed even his mind.

  The answer had dawned on him. He had to be in a position to thrive whichever result happened. And that meant he needed help.

  Fortunately, he already had it. “You understand the danger I’m in,” he said, looking through the metalwork of the Taibak Indoctrinator at Nerla. “If the Far Embassy is manufacturing masterminds, I will no longer be unique.”

  Nerla yawned in her chair, clearly exhausted by the recent days. “No longer unique. Right. So that’s why you want to destroy it.”

  “I might, and I might not,” Bretorius said. “If Picard is telling the truth, the Embassy is able to provide mental advancement without the conditioning—without the compulsions that I am under. If there is a way to remove these handicaps from myself, I want to know.”

  “So fly over when we get there,” she said. She pointed backward with her thumb. “You said you can get out of this contraption if you want. Just beam yourself down to a shuttle and fly over.”

  Bretorius sighed. A pretty fool, but a fool. “If I leave D’varian, I will lose command of the ship. I will need an agent, just as the Cytherians made agents out of the other diplomats and me.” His eyes focused on her. “I need you to board the Far Embassy.”

  “No!” she blurted. Then she laughed. “You want them to transform me, too?” She shook her head. “I told you, I’m not interested in marrying you. You don’t need to turn me into—into whatever you are.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that. I don’t want anyone else transformed at all. And that’s why I would send you over—in case Picard has other people inside. You would be armed. You could stop any further use of the facility from inside, while D’varian prevents anyone else from boarding.” He paused. “Once it is secured, you would be my eyes—and I would pry loose any remaining secrets the place holds.”

  Nerla leaned back in her chair, the backside of her head rolling against the headrest. “Bret, Bret—this is crazy. I’ve not your one-woman army.”

  “You’ve had military training.”

  “Six weekends a year ten years ago!”

  “I believe in you, Nerla. And there’s no one else I can send.” That much was obvious just from the pounding that still echoed through the walls of the ship. Instead of quieting D’varian’s occupants, the sudden transport of so many of the crew off the ship had radicalized the rest. Bretorius had announced across the ship that the missing people had been beamed to a safe location, but his surveillance showed that almost everyone assumed he’d transported the others into the void of space. He wasn’t in any danger from the crew—not while the deck still had defenses—but he couldn’t expect any help from them, either.

  And even Nerla’s aid was in jeopardy. “What happens if I go in and the Klingons or whoever tries to blow the station up?”

  “I’ll prevent that. I’ll be outside with the ship, remember?” He appealed to her as best he could from inside the restraints of the Indoctrinator. “You have to do it, Nerla. Or everything until now could be for nothing.”

  She let out a deep breath. “It was for nothing, Bret. You’re just too smart now to see it.” She stood and looked to the exit. “This whole thing has gotten too crazy. I’ve got to go.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve ruined me so I can’t go home. Just let me off somewhere.”

  Bretorius looked up at her and sighed. It was a shame—but he had planned for this, too.

  “Very well. There should be a severance package.” His eyes darted to the door. “Step across the hall. Something in the replicator should be ready for you.”

  Nerla looked at him, puzzled, before wandering outside.

  A few moments later, she returned, her gaze fixed on the shiny thing in her hands. It was a breastplate necklace, with a ruby eye set in a golden medallion, suspended from a thick loop of the same metallic material.

  “It would have been appropriate for the consort of an ancient king—or a modern one,” Bretorius said. “I had intended to give it to you on our betrothal—but since that’s off, you might as well have it.”

  Nerla turned the precious gift over in her hands. “It looks like gold-pressed latinum. But that can’t be replicated!”

  Bretorius grinned widely. “You did say I was smart.”

  Nerla looked at him in wonderment—and then back at the necklace. “Bret, if you can do things like this, why bother stealing starships?” She shook her head. “Even now, you never think this stuff through.”

  “Don’t be so sure. You see, it’s a much more valuable gift than you think. It has a secret. If you try it on, you’ll find your body temperature will unlock a compartment set behind the jewel. Inside is the elusive replicator formula for lat
inum that you think doesn’t exist. It does exist—now—and it is yours, for services rendered.”

  Nerla gawked. “And I don’t have to board the Far Embassy?”

  “You said no. So, no.”

  Mesmerized, Nerla pulled the ends of the band behind her neck and fastened them. She adjusted the fit for a moment and lifted up the medallion to look at it in the light.

  Then she frowned. “It’s suctioned to my neck,” she said, pulling at it. “The chain.”

  “Ah,” he said. “That’s so the injector can have access to your external carotid artery.”

  “Injector!”

  “Yes. For the fast-acting poison secreted inside the band. If you choose not to do as I ask, you will die.”

  “Stop joking!”

  “I’m quite serious.”

  Nerla stared at him, stunned.

  Then she punched him in the nose, causing his head to smack against the restraints of the Indoctrinator. “You are such an ass!”

  Nose bleeding, Bretorius snuffled—and grew enraged. “I wouldn’t do that again, Nerla. The injector might go off by accident. And if it didn’t, I would cause it to.”

  She stared at him—and drew back.

  “The stakes are too high, Nerla. You will do as I’ve asked—and you’ll carry me with you, as there’s a short-range subspace transceiver and camera in the medallion. Do as I ask and there’s no reason you should be in any danger from anyone inside the Far Embassy—or from me.”

  Angry with herself, Nerla let out a pained groan. “I bet this isn’t gold-pressed latinum, either.”

  “Of course not. I can’t change the laws of nature,” he said. “Though perhaps I’ll work on that next, after this is over. But first things first.”

  Forty-two