by David Mack
“Can you explain the nature of the emergency, sir?”
“It’s classified. You have your orders. Send that message right now.”
That’s persuasion enough for the junior officer. “Transmitting now, Captain. Ops out.”
The channel goes quiet, and Maddox slumps into his chair with the grave countenance of a beaten man. B-4, as ever, is oblivious of his worsening peril. I know the kind of pride that drives Maddox; it’s the fire I used to see in myself, before the universe punished me for my hubris. If he’s calling La Forge for help, B-4’s condition must be critical. I need to get in there before anyone else arrives and complicates an already delicate situation.
I activate my wrist comm to Archeus. “Shakti, call up our latest intel on Starfleet’s deployments. How soon can Enterprise get here if it travels at its maximum warp factor?”
She answers without delay. “Approximately forty-six hours and nineteen minutes.”
“Start a countdown. I have that long to get inside the Annex and bring B-4 out. Then start monitoring all comms into and out of the Annex. We might not be able to decode them, but a sudden spike in traffic might give us some warning if we trip an alert.”
I get out of my chair and project a holographic scale replica of the Annex’s interior, in a cutaway view that removes its west wall so I can study the interior. Starfleet did an excellent job of reinforcing its structure when they rebuilt it after the attack ten years ago. The only spot where I can even contemplate breaching its security is its main entrance. Precision demolitions could do the job, but I can’t help but hesitate when I see how exposed I’d be while making the attempt. Using a weapon capable of blasting through the entrance from a distance would be no better, as it would kick up an unholy ruckus and negate my own element of surprise. If it were possible for me to attack all of the door’s systems at once, I might be able to get through before tripping any number of sensors, but even though my brain can perform eighty quadrillion operations per second, I still have only two hands. I’m fast, but even I have limitations.
If only I had more time—and a huge reserve of materials, industrial equipment, precision tools, and a lab designed for high-end applied subquantum physics—I could engineer some kind of portable energy dampener. If I had one of those, I could walk right up to the door, negate all its security systems and backup force fields with the push of a button, phaser my way in, and reach B-4 in less than a minute. And if I had a horse’s body and a horn on my forehead, I’d be a goddamned unicorn. Think, you old fool, think! There must be some way to bypass the—
“Noonien?”
I snap back, “What?”
Shakti, bless her, is unfazed by my temper. “When I initiated the signal intercepts on the Starfleet channels serving Maddox’s lab and office inside the Annex, I detected a phased echo in the subharmonics of the data subcarrier frequencies. I thought you should know.”
Like Maddox, I slump back into my chair a broken man.
We’re not the only ones spying on the Annex. Someone else has tapped into Starfleet’s communications and is watching Maddox.
Or maybe someone is watching me. If I’ve stumbled onto a counterintelligence operation, I might have just undone all my months of preparation with one careless blunder.
I refuse to sit and wait to be captured. “Shakti, beam over my isolation suit.”
“Why? What are you going to do with it?”
I stare at the holographic map of the Annex. “I’m gonna find a way inside that lab.”
25
From where I’m standing, it’s 27.2 meters to the Annex’s main entrance. I can cover that distance in just over two seconds. I estimate that I can place the jury-rigged demolition charges I’m carrying inside my isolation suit in less than forty seconds. Allowing another three seconds to move clear of the blast effects, and a fraction of a second to trigger the detonator, I can breach the front door in forty-five seconds.
I’m confident I can reach Maddox’s lab in the sublevel in thirty seconds if I use the emergency stairwell. But then I’ll still need to get through the lab’s secure entry, and that’s where my timetable falls apart. I’ve been unable to hack Starfleet’s new security codes, so I’ll have no choice but to force my way inside. It would take me nearly two minutes to cut through with a plasma torch. I could blast through in half the time, but not without having to retreat into the stairwell to avoid becoming collateral damage of my own explosion.
The problem is that neither method is viable, because the Starfleet garrison that defends the Annex will reach me in forty-five seconds, and I can’t hold them off and set the charges at the same time. But even if, by some miracle, I accomplish that feat, I would still need to gain entry to the vault inside the lab, where Maddox has been storing all the androids for their own protection. In the time it will take me to reach the door and try every permutation of its possible access codes, I will almost certainly be reduced to free radicals by a barrage of phaser fire.
I’ve been rooted in place like an invisible statue for the past nine hours, since early afternoon. Watching this place in every spectrum I can perceive has been fascinating but not very helpful. I see the glow of motion sensors embedded in an irregular fashion beneath the ground for twenty meters around the Annex, waiting to detect the pressure of footsteps, the radiant heat of a living body, or the unauthorized transmission of a signal. Energy shines as it moves to and from the various sensors that dot the Annex’s walls. Roving guards pulse with body heat and are surrounded by unique bioelectrical auras produced by their brains and nervous systems.
Darkness has long since fallen, and I still don’t know how to reach my son without getting myself killed before I can help him. I keep hoping Maddox will leave the Annex for some reason, and in that moment of enhanced vulnerability, I can dash over the ground sensors and force my way through the open door, saving myself nearly forty-five seconds. That would be enough to get me inside the lab, and maybe even into the Vault, but I’d need several minutes more. Locking myself in the vault with B-4 isn’t an option, because I need Maddox’s computers to do this. Inside the vault we’d be cut off from them—not to mention trapped.
Enterprise will be here at any moment, but I just can’t seem to reason this out.
I hear footsteps in the woods behind me, on my right. I turn my head slowly and look back. Three figures garbed in snug-fitting black fatigues and masks crouch just beyond the tree line. They huddle around a small portable comm device of some sort; I haven’t seen one like it before; only its compact subspace transceiver assembly betrays its function. One of them enters commands on its interface while the others watch the Annex. I assess their physiques, body mass distributions, and centers of gravity, and conclude that all three are male humanoids in prime physical condition. Each of them carries two long cylinders on his back. Studying them in several spectra, I see signs of concealed equipment and fully charged beam weapons.
The leader gives the signal to advance, and they sprint forward, as quiet as phantoms. As they pass me, I get a good look at the cylinders on their backs. They’re carrying transporter pattern enhancers. Fools! Even those can’t help a transporter penetrate the scattering field.
I watch them, expecting to hear the alarms sound at any moment when they race across the field of ground sensors . . . and then I see that several of the sensors have been deactivated, clearing a direct path to the main entrance. I glance upward at the surveillance devices on the wall facing this direction. They, too, have gone dark. Whoever these people are, they have been expertly trained, superbly equipped, and well briefed. In a word, they’re professionals.
Working as a team, they breach the front door in just under thirty seconds and with barely a sound from their corrosive demolition package. If I had to guess, I’d say they’ve perfected a form of programmable parasitic plasma. Quite brilliant and tremendously exotic. They slip inside the Annex, moving on the same path I’d have taken, directly toward the emergency stairs.
/> And no alarms have sounded. There is no sign of response from the Starfleet barracks. Somehow, these elite thieves have done what I could not: they hacked Starfleet’s newest security system with almost comical ease. If their tactics on the sublevel are as efficient and well-rehearsed as those that got them inside, they’ll breach Maddox’s lab any minute now. And once inside, they’ll have access to the vault—and the hard-wired controls for the scattering field.
Suddenly, those pattern enhancers they were carrying make a lot more sense.
I can’t risk letting them get offworld with the androids, but I’m not qualified to confront three armed professionals on my own. I need to summon help—and to do that, I need to figure out why the alarms haven’t sounded.
Then I realize they’ve left their comm unit outside. I run to it and try to make sense of its controls. Its interface is a mishmash of alien symbols I’ve never encountered before, and my built-in universal translator doesn’t have much luck parsing this gibberish, either. I consider smashing it with my hands, but for all I know that might gain me nothing. I try accessing some random functions, but any processes already engaged are locked out.
This is interesting, though: the alien interface is superimposed over a Starfleet command screen. Apparently, the intruders exploited some kind of remote-access back door that enables them to take control of the Annex’s security system, spoof its sensor feeds, and deactivate targeted systems with great specificity. Well, it stands to reason that if it can deactivate systems, it can activate them just as easily. I can’t bring back any of the systems the intruders have already nullified—those are locked out from further changes—but I can do some new tampering of my own. I make a quick review of my options and settle on the most promising one:
The Daystrom Institute’s general alert. With a tap, I fill the night air with the sweet music of whooping alarms. Several seconds later my little symphony expands to include the rumble of running feet, as armed Starfleet security personnel pour out of the barracks.
From inside the Annex comes the muffled shriek of energy weapons—several blasts in quick succession. I see a shimmer in the air as the Annex’s scattering field stutters out. Starfleet troops flood into the building through its blasted-open door, but I know they’ll never reach the sublevel in time. I pry open a panel on the side of the comm terminal and dump in my last packet of nanite flies. Then I close the panel—half a second before the unit dematerializes in the sparkling flare of a transporter beam. Just as I expected, the thieves had someone waiting to extract them—and clean up the evidence they left behind.
With the scattering field down, I receive signals from my nanite flies inside the Annex. I command them all to transmit their last six minutes of recorded surveillance. In a burst of raw information, I see the entire sequence of events inside the building, culminating in the thieves’ successful escape via transporter with all the androids from the vault, followed by an explosion that destroys all of Maddox’s research and archives.
If Starfleet is true to form, they’ll shut this planet down in less than an hour. And if the Enterprise is as close as I think it is, the thieves can forget about making a break for orbit. No, they’ll have to lie low and try to find another way off this planet—which means I might have time to track them down before they do. If I can get close enough to them—within two hundred kilometers, give or take—I should be able to detect the nanites I put in their comm terminal and then program my flies to spy on their command systems and communications. Since they must be using a ship of some kind, there are only so many places they can hide. They can’t land it in the wilderness—Enterprise’s sensors would notice them in minutes. Their best chance at evading detection is to hide in plain sight, inside one of Galor IV’s sixteen surface starports. All air traffic is likely to be suspended within the hour, so I’ll have to travel between cities by maglev train. It’ll take longer than flying, but it’s not as if my quarry will be any more mobile than I am. Even if they don’t stay with their ship, they’re likely to leave the androids and their equipment aboard rather than risk being seen with them.
I have no idea what I’ll do after I find their ship. To be honest, I’m improvising.
Weighing on my thoughts is the fact that even after I recover B-4, I can no longer use Maddox’s lab. Once again, I’m without the resources I desperately need. But that problem will have to wait its turn. I have more pressing crises to address.
Right now, I am certain of only one thing in all the universe.
No matter what it takes, I will save my son.
• • •
Harsh winds whip dust across the plateau beneath Archeus. The four black-clad officers from the Enterprise regard me with incredulous stares. I expected resistance from Worf, but I’m surprised to find La Forge has grown so cynical. He’s not at all the man I came to know through Data’s years of personal logs as my son’s closest friend. Was it a mistake to reveal myself to them?
Worf scowls at me. “Your story is . . . hard to believe.”
“Trust me, I’ve barely told you the half of it.”
The female officer with the raven hair and dark eyes still holds her Orion blaster ready at her side, as if daring me to give her a reason to use it. “From what you’ve told us, it sounds like you don’t have much love for Starfleet. So why step out of the shadows now?”
I’d forgotten how slow-witted the average person is. “Isn’t it obvious?” I tilt my head toward the massive factory that fills the valley below our mountainside aerie. “I’ve seen the enemy, thanks to the nanites I smuggled into their agents’ portable comm terminal. We’re up against an elite unit of the Breen military. Judging from the scale of that factory, I’d say they’re well entrenched and likely outnumber us by a large margin. Hardly a fight I want to face alone.”
The fourth member of the Starfleet team, a Troyian man whose emerald green face is framed by close-cut coppery hair, is the only one still aiming his sidearm at me. “In other words, you want to use us as cannon fodder. Not exactly the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Clearly, I’ll need to work harder to earn their trust and obtain their help. If they were just random Starfleet personnel from any other ship, I wouldn’t take this risk. But this might be my last chance to save my son; like it or not, I need them. La Forge and Worf were Data’s friends, as were many of their shipmates and their captain. My son called these people his family; he trusted them without question, and he gave his life for them. If I’m to ask them to walk into fire with me, I owe them nothing less than the truth. And if I learned nothing else from running a casino, it was that sometimes you simply have to roll the dice and let Fortune have its way.
“Listen, we’re on the same side here. I’m presuming you know that B-4 was one of the androids the Breen took from the Annex, and that he’s on the verge of a major cascade failure. I can help him, but first I need to find him. I’m asking for your help, and offering you mine.”
My proposition is not well received. Their brows crease with distrust and indecision, and they volley wary glances from one to another. Through it all, the Troyian’s weapon remains aimed and steady. After a few seconds, he, La Forge, and the woman all look at Worf. Clearly, the Klingon is the ranking officer of this group. He clenches his jaw, exhales angrily, and directs his fearsome stare at me. “Why should we trust you?”
I almost laugh. “I let you follow me this far, didn’t I?”
That catches him by surprise. He sounds offended as he replies, “Are you suggesting you led us here on purpose?”
“Worf, my ship has a cloaking device and can outrun yours by two-tenths of a warp factor. If I hadn’t wanted you to follow me here, I’d have left you in the dark a week ago.” Finally, the Troyian lowers his blaster a few degrees. I take that as my cue to turn away and start walking down the trail to the mountain pass, which leads to the valley. This is a calculated risk; I hope that trigger-happy Troyian doesn’t shoot me in the back.
Two secon
ds later, I still haven’t been gunned down. I smile and call back over my shoulder to them. “Come on, already! Let’s get this show on the road.”
PART THREE
ELEGY
26
Secluded in his ready room, Picard had spent the past several hours immersed in three reports he had requested as preparation for the current operation. Before leaving on the away mission, La Forge had submitted a detailed history of the work of Doctor Noonien Soong and the verified capabilities of the many androids he was known to have created during his lifetime. Lieutenant Chen had compiled an exhaustive update and analysis of the latest Starfleet Intelligence reports about the Breen, their culture, and the various species that had been discovered to exist behind its masks of conformity. Last but not least, Lieutenant Šmrhová had prepared a tactical summary to refresh Picard’s familiarity with Breen starships and space-combat maneuvers.
He had started with the tactical briefing because it was the shortest of the three. Next he had delved into the report of Doctor Soong, a reclusive and eccentric figure whose reputation had always intrigued him. Three cups of hot Earl Grey tea later, he’d finished absorbing that slice of history, and found himself daunted by Chen’s massive thesis on the Breen. Now, hours later, he was thoroughly engrossed by its fascinating insights into their collective psychology and Chen’s astute analysis of several competing theories regarding the origins of their social model. Far from some dry historical extract, it read like a secret history, a work of literary archeology.
Recalling how awkward Chen’s interactions with him and the rest of the crew had been when she first came aboard more than three years earlier, and comparing it to how vital she had become to the ship’s operations, he smiled. She never ceased to impress him.
He set his padd down on his desk, rubbed his eyes, and contemplated procuring a fresh cup of Earl Grey from the replicator. Then came Šmrhová’s voice from the overhead comm.