by David Mack
His curiosity aroused, Picard looked askance at Maddox and asked, “How much progress had you made in your study of Doctor Soong’s work?”
“Quite a bit, actually. Some of my civilian colleagues at the Daystrom Institute developed new scanning technologies that let us study the inner workings of the androids without taking them apart. We still couldn’t replicate Soong’s method of incepting new positronic brains, but we were closer than ever before to understanding how an active matrix works.”
The more Maddox spoke, the graver Nechayev’s countenance became. “If your research fell into the wrong hands, could it be used to create new Soong-type androids?”
The scientist seemed doubtful. “Not unless they knew how Soong made the positronic brain in the first place, or had access to far more advanced cybernetic technology than we do.”
“But if they did . . . ?”
“Then hypothetically, yes. It’s possible.”
Picard recognized the expression on Nechayev’s face: it was the look that comes from realizing a situation has turned out to be far worse than one ever expected. The admiral breathed a low sigh, then fixed her weary gaze on Maddox. “Captain, the Enterprise crew will need you to help guide their investigation. Can I count on you to provide that aid?”
“Absolutely, Admiral. No one wants to bring B-4 home safely more than I do.”
She nodded. “Excellent. Jean-Luc, I’ll inform Admiral Andell that he’s to place his forces at your disposal. For both our sakes, please use them judiciously.”
“I will. You have my word, Admiral.”
“Then good hunting, Captains. Keep me apprised of your progress. Nechayev out.”
Nechayev closed the comm link, and the wall screen switched briefly to the Federation emblem before it faded to its standby mode. Picard tapped his combadge. “Picard to Worf.”
The reply came almost immediately: “Worf here.”
“I’m returning to the Enterprise with Captain Maddox. Join us in the observation lounge in twenty minutes, and bring Commander La Forge and Lieutenant Choudhury.”
“Aye, sir. Worf out.”
Picard faced Maddox. “Captain, let’s go find your missing androids.”
• • •
“We need to narrow the list of suspects,” Choudhury said. She alone of the five officers in the curved lounge was up and pacing between the table and the master systems display set into the bulkhead. “How many entities do we know of that are capable of an operation like this?”
“Too many,” Worf grumbled. He sat with his back to the windows, whose view was dominated by the northern hemisphere of Galor IV. “All of the Typhon Pact powers. The Grigari, the Talarians. Even a well-prepared band of Ferengi could have done this.”
Across from him, La Forge turned his chair away from the table and faced Choudhury as he struck a more positive note. “Okay, but how many do we know of that can also make use of Soong-type cybernetic technology?” He shot questioning looks down the table at Maddox and then Picard. “Not many, in my opinion: the Romulans, maybe the Breen. Before the Dominion War, I might have said the Cardassians, but these days I think that’d be a long shot.”
“Agreed,” Picard said. Seated at the head of the table with Maddox on his right, he reclined slightly and regarded the evidence posted on the companel. “Lieutenant, can we make any deductions based on the equipment the intruders used?”
Choudhury called up the latest scans and enlarged the data on the main display screen for everyone to see. “Unfortunately, no. Several different species and nations use variations on the plasma parasites that disabled the retinal scanner and magnetic locks at the entrance. The trace evidence we found at the scene was pretty generic. It could be Tholian-made, or it might be of Klingon design.” She switched to another screen of reports. “The plasma torches are a common industrial tool on worlds throughout the Federation, Klingon Empire, and Typhon Pact. Based on the residues left on the lab’s doors, we believe these were acquired locally, on Galor IV.” With a tap on the MSD’s control panel, she put a chemical analysis on the screen. “The explosives that fragged the computers were Nausicaan-made, as were the timers. They’re both fairly common on the black market right now. And the intruders’ sidearms were Orion-made disruptors. Also a black market staple.”
Captain Maddox massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “I don’t suppose there were any witnesses? Or security vids the intruders overlooked? Or trace DNA at the scene?”
“Sorry.”
Picard leaned forward. “Be that as it may, in the absence of other clear suspects, let’s suppose for now that our burglars were either Romulan, Breen, or perhaps both working in unison.” He pressed a finger thoughtfully to his upper lip for a moment. “Lieutenant, you said the plasma parasites might have been of Tholian design. Assume that’s true; that would suggest this might have been a coordinated effort by several powers of the Typhon Pact.”
It sounded like a reasonable hypothesis to Choudhury. “I could see that.”
The captain nodded. “All right. Mister Worf, if you were planning an operation such as this, how would you have begun?”
“With reconnaissance of the target,” the first officer said.
La Forge seemed possessed by a sudden insight. “Except the Annex is shielded from external scans. You’d need people on the ground, someone who could get close enough to the facility to compromise its security without being recognized as an enemy operative.”
Choudhury followed La Forge’s thinking. “Like a Romulan passing for a Vulcan—or an unmasked Breen humanoid, a member of one of their species we haven’t identified yet.”
The engineer pointed at her. “Exactly.”
“Good,” Picard said. “Worf, what would be the next step?”
The Klingon thought for a moment. “Selecting, equipping, and deploying a team.”
Maddox was growing impatient. “I think we know what happens after that. The big question is: How did they plan to get away?”
Picard stood. “Lieutenant, call up the time line of the robbery.” He joined Choudhury beside the master systems display as she posted the crime’s sequence of events. “They didn’t expect the general alert to call attention to them. They’d planned to be long gone before their crime was detected. . . . They might have made a run for it even after being detected, but at the time of the heist, we’d already arrived in orbit. That may have foiled their chance for a clean escape.” He cast a hopeful look at Choudhury. “Did Galor IV’s air-traffic data yield any leads?”
“More than we could follow.” Choudhury changed the display to show a cluttered graphic detailing the positions and flight paths of innumerable small craft. “There were six hundred fifty-eight possible targets, and we’ve had time to track down only a few dozen of them. By now, the thieves could’ve transferred the androids to a hiding place or a new spacecraft.”
La Forge’s metallic cybernetic eyes were fixed on the massive block of data. “Were any of the targeted ships warp-capable?”
She applied a filtering parameter to the data. “No.”
The chief engineer gestured at the display. “If they were using a short-range shuttle to avoid drawing attention while on the planet, how did they plan to get away with the androids?”
Worf met La Forge’s keen stare. “They had another ship.”
“Or planned to rendezvous with one.”
“Either way,” Choudhury cut in, “they must still be here, because no warp-capable ships have left Galor IV since we arrived.”
Picard’s mood brightened a bit. “That’s the first good news we’ve had since this started. How long will it take to identify and search every warp-capable ship on the planet’s surface?”
Choudhury made an educated guess. “A couple of days.”
“Then we’d best get started. Mister Worf, contact Admiral Andell and let him know we’ll need his garrison’s help impounding all warp-equipped vessels on the surface.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And let’s do all we can to expedite this process. The unchecked proliferation of Doctor Soong’s technology, especially by a power such as the Typhon Pact, could have dire—”
The whooping Red Alert klaxon cut him off, and it was followed moments later by the voice of the ship’s operations officer, Glinn Ravel Dygan. “Bridge to Captain Picard.”
“Picard here.”
The young Cardassian exchange officer spoke quickly. “Sir, we’ve received a priority alert from the planet’s security forces. They say they’ve sighted B-4.”
The captain was already on the move, with the others close behind him. “On my way.”
• • •
The bridge of the Enterprise was abuzz with activity as Picard moved at a quick step to the center seat. Worf settled quickly into his own chair on Picard’s right, and Maddox perched on the edge of the guest chair to Picard’s left. Glinn Dygan resumed his normal post at the forward ops console beside senior flight controller Lieutenant Joanna Faur, while La Forge and Choudhury took their posts opposite each other, at the engineering and tactical consoles. Several junior bridge officers manned the secondary stations, and tactical officer Lieutenant Aneta Šmrhová and contact specialist Lieutenant T’Ryssa Chen jointly manned the aft master systems display.
Picard checked the command console by his chair for updates. “Glinn Dygan, report.”
Dygan began superimposing inset vids and graphics on the left quarter of the main viewscreen. “Two minutes ago, civilian law-enforcement personnel on the surface reported an alert from automated facial-recognition scanners in the planet’s capital.” He highlighted one of the inset vids, then froze the image. “This individual registered as a ninety-nine percent match for the missing androids B-4 and Lore. Because Lore remained decommissioned as of Captain Maddox’s last report, we are proceeding on the assumption that this is B-4.”
Worf looked suspicious. “Magnify and enhance.”
The young Cardassian did as instructed, and the freeze-frame resolved into a portrait of what appeared to be a human man whose features were a perfect match for those of Soong’s self-styled androids—but this subject’s hair was a long, wild mane of unkempt white locks, and a scraggly grayish-white beard contrasted with his natural-looking complexion. Picard cast a curious look at Maddox. “Captain, have you made any cosmetic changes to B-4?”
“None.” Maddox seemed as perplexed as Picard by the image on the screen. “I don’t know who or what that is.” He leaned forward. “Glinn, has that person been scanned?”
The ops officer checked his console. “Yes, sir. Street-level sensors indicate he’s human, likely between twenty and thirty years of age. He appears to be unarmed.”
La Forge stared in amazement at the man’s image. “Could he be related to Doctor Soong? And if he is, what’s he doing here now?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Picard cautioned. “The android copy of Data’s ‘mother,’ Juliana Tainer, also registered as human—right down to her age-related illnesses. This might be another of Doctor Soong’s creations—one made to fool sensors, as Juliana was.”
Worf leaned forward to look past Picard at Maddox. “Is B-4 capable of masking his true nature? Could he, too, appear human to sensors?”
“He wasn’t as of a few hours ago, but it wouldn’t be a difficult modification to make. Anyone with college-level training in cybernetics could probably do it in under an hour.”
Choudhury considered that for a moment. “To what end? What would someone gain by modifying B-4? And why would they let him walk the streets of the capital by himself?”
“It could be a distraction,” Worf said. “Perhaps the thieves have released him to draw our attention away from them.”
Picard was skeptical. “If he’s a lure, why disguise him?” He decided he’d heard enough. “Whether this is B-4, another android, or a human who bears an uncanny resemblance to Doctor Soong and his creations, I refuse to believe his presence is merely a coincidence. Glinn Dygan, instruct the planetary authorities to set up a cordon in a one-kilometer radius around the subject, and to keep us apprised of his location at all times. Number One, beam down with an away team and take this person into custody. Lieutenant Choudhury, you’ll serve as the coordinator for the away team, the civilian authorities, and Admiral Andell’s garrison on the surface.” He pointed at the man’s image. “Whoever or whatever that is, I want to have a word with him.”
3
Misting rain shimmered in a glow of searing neon light as Worf materialized inside the protective cocoon of a transporter beam. He and his away team stood on a city street crowded with angry civilians penned in by Starfleet’s security cordons. The wide boulevard was flanked by dizzying architectural marvels of steel and glass whose façades were awash in blindingly bright advertisement vids—some two-dimensional, some holographic, all of them garish. A low-lying fog turned figures in the distance into apparitions. The cold, damp air was thick with aromas both sweet and savory, courtesy of a number of food carts at nearby intersections.
Rumbles of discontent susurrated through the sea of bystanders as word spread of the away team’s presence. Tensions were high, and Worf sensed that the sooner this situation was resolved, the better. He tapped his combadge. “Worf to Enterprise.”
Choudhury replied, “This is Enterprise. Be advised, this is an open channel.”
“My team and I are in position.” He looked around, trying to pierce the colorful chaos of shifting bodies so he could see the other Starfleet personnel who were supposed to be occupying strategic locations around the square. “What is the status of the other away teams?”
“All ground units are in place, and the perimeter is secure. The runabout Roanoke is touching down above you right now.”
Worf looked up, and through the fog he saw the running lights of the Roanoke as it landed on the rooftop of the tallest building inside the cordon. A team of the Enterprise’s best sharpshooters were no doubt already deploying from the vessel to act as high-ground lookouts. Right on schedule. “Let me know as soon as the spotters are ready.”
“You’re good to go. They’re sweeping the crowd now.”
The rest of Worf’s away team, which consisted entirely of security personnel, looked to him for instructions. He nodded for them to follow as he gently shouldered his way into the wall of people ahead of them. “We are proceeding into the crowd. Have the other units move in.”
A man’s voice issued from his combadge. “Braddock to Worf.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve got eyes on your subject. Eighteen-point-four meters ahead of you, on your ten.”
“Paint the target,” Worf said. “Enterprise, prepare to lock transporters.” He drew his phaser and leaned his shoulder forward, cutting a path through the knot of bodies. Paying no mind to the scowls of reproach or the mumbled epithets cast in his direction, he kept his eyes focused straight ahead, on infrequent glimpses of the subject’s bone-white hair.
The crowd parted for a moment, and Worf saw him—and he looked back at Worf. Without thinking, Worf said, “B-4?” But even as he said it, he knew the person looking back at him couldn’t be Soong’s simpleton android. This man’s stare burned with a keen intellect, a profound affect of knowingness. It felt to Worf as if the man stared straight through him.
Then, in a blur, he was gone. A nervous murmur went up from the crowd. Braddock cried out over the comm, “He’s on the run! Moving eastbound, heading for Merchant Street!”
Determined not to let the quarry slip away, Worf shoved his way forward as he roared, “All teams, move in! Lieutenant Davila, stand by to—” A phaser blast split the night, and hundreds of people started screaming as if they’d never been in the middle of a potentially deadly crossfire before. Running bodies surged toward Worf, who checked them roughly aside, clearing a path for himself and his team. When they reached the intersection that led to Merchant Street, they found Lieutenant Peter Davila and his security team
unconscious, and a wall of panicked civilians receding down the shop-lined thoroughfare.
Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen knelt between the fallen Davila and one of his comrades. The slightly built but steely-eyed human woman checked Davila’s pulse with her fingertips, then she touched the Bolian ensign’s jugular. She looked up at Worf. “Stunned but alive.”
“Go forward,” Worf said. “Worf to Enterprise. Bravo Team needs a medic.”
“Braddock to Worf. Subject took the first left, down that alley. Lost him after that.”
Choudhury’s voice snapped over the open channel. “Enterprise to Echo Team. Divert left down Foundry, then right into the alley. Cut off the subject’s escape route.”
Worf picked up the pace. “Double time!” He rounded the turn into the alley at a full run, his phaser leading the way. Unlike the streets of the capital’s main square, which were ablaze in primary colors, the windowless alley was steeped in shadows, a yawning canyon of darkness that reeked of garbage and excrement. Keeping his phaser steady in his left hand, he pulled a palm beacon from his belt with his right, thumbed it on, and pointed its harsh blue-white beam ahead of him. Behind him and ahead of him, the other Starfleet personnel surging into the narrow passageway between two commercial high-rises did the same, and several beams crisscrossed as Alpha Team, led by Worf, converged with Echo Team.
Both squads met in the middle of the alley. Worf stared expectantly at Echo Team’s leader, Lieutenant Randolph Giudice, a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded hulk of a man, a human whose stature would impress even a Klingon. All the dark-haired man could offer Worf in return was a gaze of blank confusion. Shining his palm beacon on the alley’s walls, Worf shouted, “Look for a door! A hatch! Any way out of this alley!”
Seconds passed in frantic fits until a member of Worf’s team called out, “Sir! Here!”
He ran back to see Ensign Mlawr shining his palm beacon beneath a bulky metal trash bin on struts, illuminating an open sewer grate. The white-furred Caitian looked up at Worf. “It’s the only thing we’ve found, but we can’t imagine how anyone could—”