by Dayton Ward
Worf nodded, eyeing the cavern’s layout. There were numerous entrances, fifteen to be exact, set into the chamber’s limestone walls along its ground level, though they did not concern him quite so much as the three levels’ worth of private viewing balconies each carved from the rock and positioned along three of the four walls. Each possessed an unfettered view of the raised stage at the front of the hall. Put another way, each balcony offered a direct line of sight to any potential target on the dais.
As though reading his mind, Choudhury said, “Given the number of attendees, sealing off the balconies isn’t really an option.”
“We could deploy force-field emitters,” Regnis said, gesturing toward one set of balconies. “The people sitting in those seats will still have clear views of the stage.”
Shifting her position so she could rest her elbows on the catwalk’s railing, Choudhury replied, “Want to take bets on how well that’ll go over? We’re talking about government and scientific leaders from all around the world, as well as their counterparts from almost two dozen different planets. You can be sure they’ll already be irritated when they see how we’re controlling access to and from the chamber. You can count on at least some of them throwing a fit when they find out they have to sit behind a force field just to watch the show.”
Regnis shrugged. “But aren’t the steps we’d be taking for their safety, too?”
“If you’re going to start injecting logic into this discussion,” Choudhury said, “I’m chucking you right off this catwalk.”
After listening to the banter between the security officers, Worf said, “Mr. Regnis, Lieutenant Choudhury’s observations are valid, but you raise a legitimate concern. The balconies present a potential security risk, and yet simple numbers tell us we’ll need those seats in order to accommodate all of the conference attendees. Captain Picard’s instructions were that our measures must be visible, and yet understated. With respect to the balconies, do you have a suggestion?”
The lieutenant took another moment to study the venue, and Worf noted that he appeared to do so just as he might survey unfamiliar terrain while searching for targets or other threats. Possessing expert ratings with every model of phaser currently used by Starfleet—along with weapons favored by several Federation allies and adversaries—Regnis owned most of the sharp-shooting records at Security School and all of those tracked by the Enterprise’s security detachment. Even Captain Picard, himself an accomplished marksman, had tested the lieutenant in an informal match on the ship’s firing range. Like all previous challengers, the captain lost that bet, and Regnis had enjoyed a bottle of Chateau Picard, vintage 2347, later that same evening.
After a moment, Regnis pointed toward the balconies. “We deploy the emitters to cover the balconies, but leave them inactive unless a situation calls for us to use them. They can all be controlled from our command post,” he said, referring to the base of operations Choudhury had established in a meeting room above the grand hall leading into the Enclave chamber. “We could designate the balconies as VIP seating only—people who were specifically invited and vetted, heads of state and so on—and leave the main floor for the general-public attendees.”
Worf turned to Choudhury. “Lieutenant?”
The security chief nodded. “Sounds like a plan. As for force fields, we can also set up a grid that would throw a blanket over the entire building above- and belowground. Obviously we’d only pull that switch if things got totally out of hand, but I think it’s a nice card to play should something happen and we want to keep people in or out.”
“I’d suggest keeping that card close to the vest, Lieutenant,” Regnis said. “In fact, I’d restrict knowledge of force field or other emergency containment measures only to those who absolutely need it to carry out their duties.”
“You don’t trust our Andorian hosts?” Choudhury asked.
Regnis shrugged. “Not all of them. I mean, we haven’t vetted everyone, including everyone from the local Homeland Security brigade or even on the police force.”
Worf said, “According to the security briefings we’ve received, groups like the True Heirs of Andor and the Treishya have boasted having members, supporters, and informants within the different levels of government as well as law enforcement and the military.” Even for those individuals who passed the stringent screening procedures and background checks being performed on conference attendees, there still was no way to be certain that none of them had ties to one of the groups.
“They already know about the transporter inhibitors,” Choudhury said. “There’s no way to hide those, or any force-field emitters we deploy inside the building.”
Regnis shrugged. “I don’t think we can get around that. The best we can do is demonstrate that they—along with the other measures we’re putting into place—are intended for emergency use, rather than making the attendees feel like they’re entering a prison.”
“I agree,” Worf replied, nodding in approval. Choudhury and her team had spent two days examining the grounds, and she had devised a comprehensive security plan. A series of transporter inhibitors had already been positioned around the Enclave chamber, as well as in or near key spots within the subterranean structure’s three other levels. More of the devices had also been arranged on the lawn surrounding the chamber’s exterior and the rest of the parliament compound, and security teams would be stationed at points along the courtyard’s perimeter wall.
Choudhury said, “We’ll control everything from the command post. We’ve still got a couple of days before the conference starts. Plenty of time to run a series of drills to test everything.”
“Excellent,” Worf replied. Indicating for the other officers to follow him, he turned from the railing and strode toward the elevator. “Be sure to coordinate the drills with the brigade commander and the leader of the presider’s protection detail.” The first officer knew that all three organizations, despite working together to provide security for the event, also had their own distinct procedures for handling such matters, to say nothing of the differences in training and even experience level. Worf wanted to see how those differences came into play once they were set into motion at the same time in response to an emergency or other atypical incident.
“I’m hungry,” Choudhury said as the trio entered the elevator, “and I was told by a lieutenant with the Homeworld Security brigade that there’s a nice little restaurant just outside the compound. They offer dishes from around the planet, as well as several other Federation worlds.” When Worf glanced at her, she added, “I forgot to ask about any Klingon selections on the menu.”
“Will they serve Starfleet types?” Regnis asked. “I’ve heard some of the local merchants are refusing service to anyone in a uniform.”
The elevator had begun to descend when a tremor ran through the entire car. All around him, Worf felt the walls rattle, and there was no mistaking the reverberations in the floor plating beneath his feet.
“What the hell was that?” Choudhury asked.
Frowning, Regnis replied, “Power spike?”
Worf reached up to tap his combadge. “Worf to command post. Report.”
“Command post. Cruzen here,” said the voice of Lieutenant Kirsten Cruzen, another member of Choudhury’s security detail. “We’ve got a situation on the main level, sir. Some sort of explosive just detonated. We have teams on the way.”
“Location of the explosion?” Worf asked.
“The atrium, sir,” Cruzen replied, “just north of the elevator lobby near the main entrance to the auditorium.”
Regnis said, “Isn’t that pretty close to where we’re . . .”
The elevator doors parted, and there was time for Worf to detect movement in the passageway beyond before Choudhury’s shout of warning echoed inside the car.
“Down!”
Harsh blue energy sliced the air inside the elevator as Worf threw himself against the wall to his right, the beam close enough that he felt his exposed skin ting
le. To his left, he saw that Choudhury had shoved Regnis against the opposite wall, with both officers avoiding injury.
“Did you see him?” Regnis asked, pushing past Choudhury and lunging out of the car, phaser already in hand. “He was wearing a police uniform!”
“Lieutenant!” Worf called out, following after Regnis. There was a thin haze of smoke in the corridor, and the first officer noted the telltale odors of scorched metal and burned wood. Members of the Enterprise security team as well as Andorians in Homeworld Security and police uniforms were in the curved, high-ceilinged hallway, running in different directions. Ahead of him, Regnis was heading for one of the transparasteel doors leading outside, and Worf caught sight of an Andorian wearing a police officer’s uniform and running across the open courtyard.
“Secure the grounds!” Worf shouted over his shoulder toward Choudhury before running for the door. He reached it in seconds, using his left elbow to force it open and out of his way. His other hand had already retrieved his phaser from the holster on his hip. Barely ten meters ahead of him, Regnis had stopped, extending his arm and aiming his phaser. Worf watched as the lieutenant’s arm moved to his right, tracking the running Andorian before firing. The weapon spat a pulsing beam of orange energy that crossed the space in the blink of an eye, striking the Andorian in his back and sending him stumbling to the grass.
The Enterprise officers ran to where the Andorian lay unconscious on the ground. Worf, a few steps ahead of Regnis, bent over the prone interloper and rolled him onto his back. A quick inspection told the first officer that the Andorian’s police uniform appeared to be in order, including the identification card suspended on a lanyard around his neck. Worf reached for the lanyard and pulled, feeling it snap in his fingers. Handing the card to Regnis, he said, “Verify his identity.”
“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant replied, reaching to his right hip for his tricorder. Looking past him, Worf saw Choudhury and other members of the Enterprise security team heading in their direction.
It took only a moment for Regnis to scan the card before he looked up at Worf. “This card’s a fake, Commander. A good fake, but not good enough. Neither the name nor his face matches anything we have in our database for any personnel assigned to conference security.”
Worf nodded, not at all pleased with the report, as Choudhury and her team approached.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Regnis replied before shaking his head. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”
Indicating the fallen Andorian with her phaser, Choudhury asked, “Who is he?”
“We have no idea,” Worf answered, “except that he is an apparent imposter.”
“Even if he’s a plant,” Choudhury said, “that doesn’t explain the uniform or how he got on the grounds, to say nothing of the bomb he planted. He had to have help.”
After instructing the security officers standing over the Andorian to take him into custody and transport him to the holding area the Homeworld Security team had established, Worf turned back to Choudhury. “What about the bomb? What did you find?”
Shrugging, the lieutenant said, “Not much, really. It wasn’t a very large device, and didn’t do that much damage. We scanned for residue and were able to find trace amounts of two substances at the point of detonation. By the looks of things, the device was constructed from some form of pretty crude binary explosive, combining two otherwise harmless compounds that are in fact designed to work together in this manner. That’s probably how he got it in here in the first place, waiting until he was inside to create the actual explosive.”
“It is a common tactic,” Worf said, “often used by covert operatives. Klingon intelligence agents have been known to use a compound called qo’legh, which is made by blending three inert ingredients.” Though he found the use of such weapons to be without honor, Worf had been forced to grudgingly admit that they had their uses. “What was the target?”
Choudhury shook her head. “That’s the weird part. The device was detonated inside a waste-disposal bin. The charge wasn’t big enough to cause any real damage, so I can’t figure out what he was trying to do.”
“He was probing,” Regnis said. “Testing our defenses. The Andorian security details have had some problems with this. Remember the report of what happened at the Parliament Andoria complex?”
“You believe he was testing to see if he could get a bomb past security?” Worf asked. “To what end? Now that we know how the bomb was made, we can scan for those substances.”
Shaking her head, Choudhury said, “I don’t think that’s it.”
“What do you mean?” Regnis asked. “You think it was just a prank to see what we’d do?” He nodded toward the Andorian. “Seems like a pretty stupid thing to volunteer for, don’t you think?”
“Not if he’s a member of the T.H.A or the Treishya,” Choudhury countered, before nodding in the direction of the perimeter and the city that lay beyond it. “Lots of buildings with windows facing this direction. You willing to bet that none of them are watching the grounds and collecting intel on us right now?”
Worf frowned. “That would be a sensible tactic.”
“Absolutely,” Choudhury said. “I’ll bet every credit in my account that this wasn’t about a bomb. This was about our response.”
“Even if that’s true,” Regnis replied, “anybody watching us has to know we’ll adjust our procedures to account for this kind of thing.”
Nodding, Choudhury said, “Yeah, but you’re forgetting something.” She pointed to the Andorian who was now in the custody of three members of her team. They were leading the alleged imposter to the holding area, where he would wait to be questioned by her or Worf. “Somebody had to let that guy in here. Maybe it’s one person, loyal to the True Heirs or whatever, but what if there are more?”
Worf holstered his phaser, feeling his jaw set in determination and his anger beginning to rise as he thought of the blunt betrayal to which they had just been exposed.
“We will simply have to be ready.”
20
“You do realize that sitting in such an awkward position for extended periods of time has a detrimental effect on the spinal column.”
Looking up from the computer terminal occupying one corner of the crowded desk in her cramped office, Beverly Crusher smiled at the sight of Dr. Tropp standing in her doorway. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, straightening her posture and reclining into her high-backed chair.
“A benefit of being light on one’s feet,” the Denobulan physician replied as he stepped into the room. “It proves useful when keeping up with the clandestine activities of my offspring. When you’re the father of eight of your own children and parent twenty-six more, you exploit every advantage you can find.”
“And I thought just one at a time was hard,” Beverly said, gesturing toward the guest chair in front of her desk. “How do you do it?”
Settling into the seat, Tropp replied, “I stopped sleeping fifty-six years ago, a practice I never abandoned after my youngest child left home.”
“That has a familiar ring to it,” Beverly said, reaching for the cup of tea she had summoned from the replicator. Taking a sip, she frowned at how cold the beverage had grown. How long ago had she requested it? “Professor zh’Thiin didn’t warn me that this blend sours so quickly once it starts to cool.” Rising from her seat, she asked, “Would you like something?”
Tropp shook his head. “No, thank you. I was on my way to eat when I saw you working in your office. You’ve spent a lot of time here in recent days. That’s rather unusual for you.”
“Don’t worry,” Beverly said as she stepped to the replicator set into the bulkhead to the right of her desk. “I don’t plan on making it a habit.” She preferred to spend the bulk of her duty shifts in the sickbay’s patient-treatment or laboratory areas, even if there were no pressing matters requiring her attention. More often than not, she worked from one of the computer stations i
n the main sickbay, allowing her ease of interaction with patients as well as members of her staff. “It’s just that I’ve been so caught up in Professor zh’Thiin’s research.” Instructing the replicator to provide a fresh cup of tea, she waited as her original cup and saucer dematerialized and was replaced by a new set, the cup filled with the steaming beverage. She retrieved the tea and brought the cup to her nose, relishing the aroma of the exotic blend. Sighing in contentment, she returned to her desk. “Jean-Luc can have his Earl Grey.”
Tropp sat silent for a moment, waiting for her to take her first sip of the tea before saying, “I’ve only had time to give Professor zh’Thiin’s material a cursory review, but some of her theories and conclusions seem rather extraordinary.”
Nodding, Beverly set the cup down on its saucer. “I’d say that, given the circumstances, extraordinary is exactly what’s required.”
“I agree,” Tropp said. “I’ve also been keeping apprised of the political situation on Andor. It’s unfortunate that more people don’t appear to share your view of the professor’s work.”
“There’s not much we can do about that,” Beverly said, leaning back in her chair and gesturing toward her computer terminal. “On the other hand, there doesn’t seem to be much I can do with this, either.”
Frowning, Tropp asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m finally convinced I’m out of my league when it comes to this material,” the CMO said. “I’ve spent the past five days reading through her early research notes—which, by the way, took me most of those five days just to understand. The theory she presented for altering the genetic code in an Andorian gamete is straightforward enough. It’s really not all that different from the types of DNA resequencing we use now to correct simple genetic disorders, at least so far as she presents it. However, the unique nature of Andorian physiology, particularly their reproductive systems, does present a host of potential problems we likely wouldn’t encounter in other species. Her research even acknowledges many of those issues with respect to any new resequencing protocols.”