Section 31 - Disavowed

by David Mack

  Sakonna activated the dematerialization sequence on a five-second delay and hurried onto the platform. She positioned herself beneath an energizer coil and stood still as the world around her blanched to pure white and filled with melodious noise . . .

  . . . and resolved instantly into the dim gray interior of the Królik. As soon as the annular confinement beam released its hold on her, Sakonna raced forward and opened a hidden panel in the deck. Underneath was a second panel, this one equipped with a biometric sensor. She pressed her palm against it.

  “Sakonna. Clearance, tango nine four red oscar seven blue echo.”

  The disembodied masculine voice of the ship’s computer replied, “Confirmed.”

  A thunk and a subtle vibration in the deck indicated the panel was now unlocked. Sakonna lifted it open. Inside were four large bundles, each just over a meter long and forty centimeters in diameter. She pulled them from the secret storage space, closed the inner panel, and waited until she heard its locks reengage. Then she closed the outer panel.

  She slung a pack over each shoulder, picked up the other two by their protruding handles, and hauled them to the Królik’s transporter room. Its interfaces roused themselves from standby mode as she entered the compartment. She walked to the transporter platform, issuing orders to the computer as she went. “Lock on to viridium tracer signals in subjects Webb and Kitsom.”

  “Coordinates locked.”

  “Set for stealth transport and beam me to those coordinates.” She took her place on the platform, beneath the foremost energizer coil, facing the control console. “Energize.”

  Next came the quickest of flashes. Sakonna barely felt the touch of the annular confinement beam because its embrace was so brief. In the space of a breath and a blink, she was back inside the guest suite on the Enterprise. Webb and Kitsom jogged toward her.

  “That was fast,” Kitsom said as he took hold of the bundle stenciled with his name.

  Webb grabbed the bundle that had been marked for him. “Nice work.”

  “Thank you.” Sakonna tossed them the other two bundles. “Retrieve the parts and assemble the machine before Cole returns. We don’t have much time.”

  * * *

  It all had happened so quickly. Not that the swiftness of Memory Omega’s response to his offer had surprised Cole in the slightest. Based on what the organization knew about them, Cole’s circumstances fit Omega’s documented modus operandi.

  One moment he had been relaxing in the guest suite he shared with Webb, Kitsom, and Sakonna on the jaunt ship Enterprise; the next he had been collected by a pair of armed guards, who now delivered him to Saavik in a nearby transporter room. “The board has agreed to meet with you and hear your proposal,” Saavik said. Before he could mutter so much as a thank-you, she pulled him with her onto the transporter pad and snapped, “Energize.”

  They disappeared into a wash of white light and a mellifluous curtain of sound, then they materialized inside a long, high-ceilinged tunnel. As soon as they were free of the transporter’s confinement beam, he sensed the perfect fluidity of real gravity exerting its hold upon him. Long ago he had learned to distinguish the subtle differences between artificial gravity and the natural pull of a planet’s mass. Because Bajor was the only world within the range of most starships’ transporters, he deduced he was somewhere on the planet’s surface.

  “Follow me, Mister Cole.” Saavik led him a short distance down the tunnel to a set of double doors that parted as they approached. Beyond them lay an imposing silolike chamber. In its center was a short dais surrounded by high-tech terminals, all of them manned by personnel wearing white laboratory jackets. His hostess acknowledged one of them, a male Zakdorn. “Good morning, Doctor Ropaal. My guest and I are bound for Omega Prime.”

  “Very good, Director. Please step onto the platform.”

  Saavik led Cole up a short set of stairs onto the main dais. He looked around, uncertain what he was getting himself into. “What is this?”

  “A subspace transporter. For security reasons, our destination’s coordinates must remain a secret.” She looked at Ropaal. “Energize.”

  The Zakdorn worked the controls of his panel with deft movements of his long digits. A crushing force seized Cole and knocked the air from his lungs. Before he could signal anyone for help, another pulse of light and sound erased his surroundings for a moment that felt strangely elongated. His senses returned, and he found himself and Saavik in a nearly identical chamber, surrounded by different scientists wearing similar long white jackets.

  The Vulcan woman stepped off the dais and beckoned Cole. “Welcome to Omega Prime, Mister Cole.” He followed her out of the subspace transport chamber.

  Together they moved through what Cole imagined had been designed as a labyrinth of corridors. None of the junctions or compartments were marked in any way. He was sure that someone who lacked his ability to memorize routes and minuscule details would become disoriented within a matter of minutes inside this maze. If they think these cheap tricks are enough to confuse me, they’re in for quite a surprise.

  Saavik led him to a door, which opened ahead of her. They entered a long room. Its walls and floor were dark. At the far end of the room, opposite the entrance, a holographic display was projected in front of a blank wall. A long conference table dominated the room; its surface was polished obsidian. Gathered around it, seated in high-backed chairs, were several persons, all in civilian garb. Saavik took the empty seat at the head of the table, and she motioned for Cole to take the chair to her left. “Thank you all for coming on short notice.”

  Her thanks were met by nods of acquiescence. Cole sat down and did his best to project calm and confidence. Once he had settled, Saavik opened the meeting. “Everyone, this is Mister Cole. A visitor from the other universe.” She furrowed her brow and asked him in a confidential tone, “Forgive me—do you have a first name?”

  He couldn’t help but crack a wan smile. “Just Cole will suffice, Director.”

  “As you prefer.” She went around the table, starting from her right, making introductions. The first member of the board was a female Betazoid. “This is Dannis Palancir of Betazed.” Next was a Bajoran man with a receding hairline and hostile eyes. “Ruxin Ejor of Bajor.” At the end of the far side of the table was an Andorian thaan with a warrior’s hard mien. “Fallanooran th’Sirris.” At the foot of the table, opposite Saavik, sat a black-maned Tellarite. “Kol jav Megh.” On Megh’s right was a pie-faced Bolian man of middling years. “Mister Veen.” One seat closer to Cole was a burly male human. “Yoshi Dehler.” The last person to be introduced was the professorial-looking Trill woman sitting next to Cole. “And this is Inglis Arkel.”

  “A pleasure to meet you all,” Cole said. None of the board members tensed or flinched as he reached inside his tunic and removed an isolinear data chip from an inside pocket. Okay, so we know they’re not jumpy. Maybe they’re overconfident. He held up the data chip. “This contains several hundred gigaquads of classified intelligence my employers have gathered over the past decade regarding such powers as the Dominion, the Breen Confederacy, and the Tzenkethi Coalition. Although there are bound to be differences between them and their counterparts in this universe, I think that you’ll find enough of value in these documents to—”

  “How did he bring that here?” asked Palancir.

  Saavik arched her brow at the Betazoid. “I warned you he was resourceful.”

  “Never mind how I got it here.” Cole slid the chip across the table to Palancir. “I’m giving it to you. No questions asked. As a show of good faith.”

  His gift was received with incredulity. Ruxin snorted derisively. “Good faith?”

  Palancir picked up the chip. “It does seem . . . unlikely.”

  “Everything we know about the Breen’s mission to steal one of your jaunt ships is on that chip. Along with all the data we collected on their dimension-breaching technology, and intel on the new Romulan-made cloaking devices they’re
using.”

  Megh leaned forward to get a clear look at Cole. “Nothing of value is ever given freely. What are you hoping to obtain, Mister Cole?”

  “Your trust. And your help. I was sent here with two missions. The first was to stop the Breen from acquiring your jaunt ship technology. The second was to open a direct line of communication between your organization and mine. Call it a back channel between our universes. Our goal is to safeguard the Federation at all costs. And unless we’re mistaken, your mission is to do the same for the Commonwealth. We both benefit by having each other’s back.”

  The mood in the room turned cold and suspicious. Cole had known this might be a hard sell, but until that moment he hadn’t realized just how much resistance he would face from the puppetmasters who pulled the Commonwealth’s strings.

  It was th’Sirris who broke the silence. “Why should events in your universe concern us?”

  “They already do. The Breen are here, and they’re a threat. And they won’t be the last.”

  The Andorian remained unconvinced. “And why should the events of our universe be of any consequence to yours?”

  “Because if you people can’t keep your technology under wraps, your carelessness might cost trillions of lives in my universe—and destroy the Federation I’ve sworn to protect.”

  Grim looks were volleyed around the table until Saavik abruptly halted the meeting. “We’ll take your advice under consideration, Mister Cole. But until we reach a decision, I fear the time has come for me to escort you back to your confinement on the Enterprise.”

  * * *

  Silence and suspicion defined Cole’s chaperoned return from Omega Prime. From the moment Saavik had ended his meeting with her peers, she had not spoken to him except to dole out curt directions: “This way.” “Turn left.” “Stay in front of me.” They had returned to Bajor via the subspace transporter and then had beamed back up to the Enterprise. The old Vulcan woman led him to his quarters and nodded at the female security officer guarding the door. With simple, quiet efficiency, the human woman unlocked the door to the guest suite.

  Saavik ushered Cole back inside his gilded cage. “I will inform you when the board reaches a decision. Until then, make yourself comfortable.”

  “Too kind.” He met her stare and extended his hand. She shook it, feigning politeness, but she was visibly uncomfortable with the tactile nature of the gesture. Cole stepped through the doorway, which Saavik closed and locked behind him as soon as he had cleared its threshold.

  Sakonna, Webb, and Kitsom emerged from the private sleeping quarters situated off either side of the suite’s main room. The men wore hopeful expressions.

  Cole let slip the slightest glimmer of self-satisfaction.

  With the merest lift of an eyebrow, the Vulcan woman prompted him to elaborate.

  “It went well.” He moved toward the middle of the main room, and the others met him there. Sakonna opened her clenched left hand to reveal a privacy module: the tiny device enveloped the four of them in a cone of silence augmented by spoofed sound waves. Anyone eavesdropping, either by ear or by device, would hear a sanitized version of their conversation, one devoted to the most mundane topics: dinner, sleep schedules, and a host of petty complaints about minor maladies and inconsequential inconveniences.

  The four agents huddled. “Since you have that,” Cole said, “I presume you made it safely back aboard the Królik.”

  “I did. All the gear we set aside is stowed in our private rooms.”

  “Did you meet any resistance?”

  “None.” Her eyes shifted toward the door. “The woman guarding our door is an open book to me now. We can make her do whatever we need of her.”

  Cole nodded. “Outstanding.” He pried open the lids of his left eye and with his right index finger gingerly removed one of the high-tech contact lenses he had been wearing since before the team’s capture by the Breen. He passed the first lens from his fingertip to Sakonna’s, and then with gentle care he removed the second lens from his other eye and passed it to her in the same manner. “I got detailed scans of the entire route through their facility on the planet, and their headquarters facility. I’m pretty sure I also got a look at a few screens in the distance that had base schematics. Look those up and magnify them. They should help us locate the target.”

  Webb activated a tiny encrypted-signal receiver; it resembled a stylus with a data port on one end. “I’m downloading the data from your transceivers now. Signals look good.”

  The transceivers were tiny subdural implants, each half the size of a grain of rice. They were implanted behind Cole’s ears and had circuits that made them register on most scanning devices as benign nodules of fatty tissue. In fact, they were extremely sophisticated devices; one recorded with perfect fidelity every sound Cole heard. It could store several months of audio data. The other scanned and recorded each new genetic profile it detected.

  A red progress light crept across the receiver’s side. When it turned green, Cole switched off the device. “Done.”

  “Pull up Saavik’s voiceprint first, then get a transcript of her orders.” He extended the back of his hand toward Kitsom. “Are Saavik’s fingerprints legible?”

  The serious-faced young man scanned Cole’s hand with a miniaturized tricorder. “Yes.”

  “Webb, how long until Sakonna’s prosthetics are ready?”

  He thought it over. “Five hours. I need time to set up the fabricator and mask its energy signature from the ship’s sensors. Once it’s ready, we can program a voice patch and configure a sensor-spoofing transceiver that’ll mask Sakonna’s genetic profile with Saavik’s.”

  Kitsom nodded. “As long as you got a straight look into Saavik’s eyes, we can copy her retinal patterns.” He glanced at his tricorder’s display. “And we have all the prints for Saavik’s right hand. As long as no one asks Sakonna for a blood sample, she ought to be golden.”

  Cole nodded. “From what I’ve seen, they all defer to Saavik, regardless of rank.”

  Webb asked, “How ’bout snagging some of those Memory Omega stealth suits for us?”

  “My new puppet will provide them,” Sakonna said. “She knows the location of the ship’s armory and has a high enough clearance code to gain access. When we’re ready to deploy, I’ll send her to retrieve three of their stealth suits. She’ll hand them over when she unlocks our door. Then we can all walk out together and not have to fear being accosted by the ship’s crew.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Cole said. “Let’s get this new intel analyzed on the double. Every second we shave off this op gets us one second closer to going home.”

  Twenty-five

  Drawn from his ready room by the whooping of the Red Alert siren, Captain Picard stepped onto the bridge of the Enterprise expecting to face a worst-case scenario. He was not disappointed.

  K’Ehleyr met Picard in the middle of the bridge. “Long-range sensors have picked up three battle fleets converging on our position from separate vectors.”

  “Whose fleets, Number One?”

  She nodded toward the main viewscreen. “Tholia’s Third and Fourth fleets, bearing one-nine-seven. The Breen Confederacy’s Seventh Fleet on bearing three-five-three. And the Tzenkethi Coalition’s Gold Fleet, bearing one-five-five.” The lanky half Klingon frowned. “All are en route at maximum warp. They all have the same ETA, five hours and nine minutes.”

  Picard frowned. “A coordinated assault.” He tried to make sense of it. “Why is the Taurus Pact taking such an aggressive stance? We’ve done nothing to provoke them.”

  “Not directly,” K’Ehleyr said. “Not recently, anyway.”

  Troi spoke up from behind them. “They’re capitalizing on our standoff with the Dominion. Apparently, the Taurus Pact believes hostilities between us are imminent.”

  “They aren’t the only ones,” K’Ehleyr grumbled.

  Ignoring his first officer’s cynicism, Picard asked Troi, “To what end?”

 
“If I had to guess? I’d say they hope to land forces on Bajor, and perhaps attempt to salvage the wreckage of our ships and the Jem’Hadar’s for new technologies.”

  Confronted with such base motives, all Picard could do was scowl and clench his teeth. “Send an encrypted request for reinforcements.”

  K’Ehleyr recoiled in mild surprise. “Really? We already have nearly half the fleet here.”

  “I’m prepared to face a single hostile force that has a fivefold advantage in numbers,” Picard said. “But we can’t prevail against a four-front attack outnumbered twenty-five to one.”

  “Aren’t you always telling me ‘pessimism is a misuse of imagination’?”

  “You must have me confused with someone else.”

  Troi interrupted, “We’re being hailed by the Dominion command ship.”

  That can’t be good. Picard turned and faced forward. “On-screen.”

  The image of the Dominion warship orbiting behind the Enterprise was replaced by the fearsome visage of Taran’atar. “We have detected three battle groups converging on this star system.”

  “As have we,” Picard began, only to be cut off.

  “They will not arrive in time to save your fleet.”

  “I doubt they have any intention of doing so,” Picard said. “Those vessels belong to a political alliance known as the Taurus Pact. They are not our allies—nor are they yours.”

  Taran’atar narrowed his eyes, as if doing so would enable him to pierce some imagined veil of lies. He sounded almost insulted. “The Jem’Hadar have no need of allies.”

  Picard had no idea how to overcome the Jem’Hadar’s innate distrust. “You’re missing my point. The inbound attack groups have no wish to engage in battle. Their true aim is to push us closer to violence and then feast upon the scraps of whatever our two forces leave behind.”

  “Then they act in vain. Because when our battle is done, we will leave no trace of you or your precious technology. You have one hour to hand over the fugitive Bashir. If you refuse, we will take him by force—and destroy you in the process.”