by Dayton Ward
Nodding, Taurik said, “It would have to be an extensive modification, but something on that scale should be detectable.” To Hogan, he said, “Ensign, notify information systems and have them begin a Level One diagnostic.”
“That could take hours,” Chen countered. “The operating system alone is hundreds of kiloquads worth of programming code. Whatever they stuck in could be anywhere, and it makes sense that it’s something low-level or out of the way.”
Taurik said, “Such an investigation is necessary if we are to locate whatever software has been added or compromised by the infiltrator’s actions.”
Sighing in growing irritation, Chen said, “Commander, whoever did this has an in-depth knowledge of computer systems. They probably knew we’d go this route if and when we figured out there’s a problem in the first place. For all we know, they want us to waste time poring through the software looking for whatever they’ve done.”
“Given that time is of the essence, Lieutenant,” Taurik said, his right eyebrow arching, “I am open to suggestions.”
How does he do it? The question burned at Chen’s consciousness, and it irritated her more that she knew the answer. She possessed all of the same discipline and training Taurik employed in order to keep his emotions in check and his focus on his duties. Perhaps there was some value in emulating his example? Okay, but I’m sure as hell not telling him that.
“What about a full system reboot?” Whitsitt asked. “Bring it all down, and then up again.”
“Or restore the system from the backups,” Hogan suggested.
Chen shook her head. “Either one of those will take too long, and what do you want to bet whoever set us up has something in the system that’s watching for a move like that?”
“The lieutenant is correct,” Taurik said. “It is a logical course of action, and one to be expected by someone possessing the expertise needed to commandeer our systems in the first place. There may be a protocol to send a signal back to Andor in the event an attempt at system restoration is detected.”
Shrugging, Chen said, “Hell, why not just go all the way and send a command to drop that last safeguard on the anti-matter containment system?”
“An unpleasant, yet viable scenario,” Taurik said. “Therefore, prudence demands we explore other alternatives.”
“We need another operating system.” The words came unbidden, all but spilling forth from her mouth, and Chen’s eyes widened when she realized she was the one who had spoken them. The assembled engineers provided a host of reactions, from confusion to incredulity to curiosity, in the case of Taurik.
“Lieutenant?” prompted the Vulcan, after several seconds passed without her saying anything else.
Chen said nothing at first, her mind racing in an attempt to force the half-formed thought to coalesce. She opened her mouth, struggling to articulate what she saw in her mind, but the images were coming too fast for her to translate. “We need another operating system,” she repeated, “something those bastards haven’t anticipated. We need something that can interface with the main computer, immune to whatever was done to it and capable of overriding its instructions, while still being able to tell it how to route and store data.” She waved her hands in front of her face. “It doesn’t have to do it for very long, and it doesn’t even need to take over everything. It just needs to handle a few primary systems and give Commander Worf control of the ship.”
Nodding, Taurik said, “An impressive summation of our predicament, Lieutenant, but do you have a suggestion?”
Maybe.
Without answering, Chen turned and started running for the exit. “Taurik, I need your help!”
“Lieutenant!” Taurik called out, but then Chen heard the Vulcan running to catch up with her as she plunged into the corridor leading from engineering, sprinting up the passageway toward the nearest turbolift. “Where are we going?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she replied, “To get our other operating system.”
Beverly applied the cold, wet towel to Konya’s forehead. Thankfully, the lieutenant had slipped into unconsciousness, instead of continuing to squirm and convulse in obvious discomfort due to the attack on his nervous system.
“His blood pressure’s dropping,” she said, eyeing her tricorder while continuing her ministrations. She had been able to diagnose Konya and come up with a treatment that could be rendered even with a standard-issue Starfleet field medical kit, but that solution would do neither her nor Konya any good if such a kit were not procured in short order. How long had Jean-Luc been gone?
“Is there anything I can do, Doctor?” asked Ensign sh’Anbi.
Shaking her head, Beverly replied, “No, Ensign, but thank you.”
Between the two of them, they had managed to move Konya into one of the smaller meeting rooms off the grand, curved passageway, and sh’Anbi had taken the additional step of disabling the room’s emergency lighting so as to provide further concealment in the event someone came looking for them. The air in the room was warm, and Beverly had already unzipped the top of her uniform jumpsuit and opened the closure on her tunic in an attempt to cool herself. Sh’Anbi had taken up station near the door, holding it open just enough to be able to see into the passageway while hiding in the darkness and keeping watch for Captain Picard’s return. They had seen no one since the captain’s departure, which by itself was enough to unsettle Beverly.
“Listen,” sh’Anbi said, holding out a hand and indicating for Beverly to stop her movements. “Do you hear that?”
Deactivating her tricorder, Beverly closed her eyes and listened, hearing nothing at first. Then, after a few moments, the faint sound sh’Anbi must have detected with her superior hearing finally became audible to her comparatively inadequate human ears. It was a low-pitched rhythmic click, repeating once or twice a second, and growing louder. As it increased in volume, Beverly realized the clicks were coming faster, and now she was certain she heard footsteps in the corridor, as well.
Then she flinched as a beam of light played across the floor out in the passageway.
They’re tracking us.
Moving so that the meeting room’s octagonal conference table was between her and the door, Beverly motioned toward sh’Anbi, but the young Andorian was already moving with deliberate slowness away from the door as though trying to meld with the surrounding darkness. Beverly’s own muscles tensed as the brightness of the beam increased and the clicking sounds grew ever louder. Raising the tranquilizer pistol Konya had earlier confiscated, she felt her hand tighten around the weapon’s grip as she laid its barrel atop the table and waited. Her gaze shifted between the tiny gap from the open door to her patient, who was still lying on the floor in the far corner of the room.
Seconds—a handful at most, Beverly guessed—seemed to stretch into infinity. She focused on a point to the left of the door, knowing the tricks the human eyes could play when trying to look directly at an object in darkness. She caught the faint shadow falling across the slice of weak light along the door’s edge. Her finger pressed against the tranquilizer pistol’s trigger, and it took physical effort not to fire as she watched that gap of light widen. A bead of sweat dropped down from her hairline and began tracing a path down her temple, but she ignored it, refusing to risk even the slightest movement.
Something dark and narrow poked through the opening at about chest level, and it took Beverly a moment to realize it was the barrel of another weapon. Her jaw clenched as the object moved farther into the room, the door opening wider to admit the new arrival. Beverly waited until light from the corridor washed over Konya’s unconscious form and the Andorian was framed in the doorway before she pulled the trigger. The sound of the pistol firing was jarring in the silence of the small meeting room. Beverly knew she had hit her target when the Andorian’s body jerked as the tranquilizer struck him. He staggered back, his free hand reaching for his chest before he stumbled out of view.
There was more motion outside and sh’Anbi fire
d her own confiscated gun, which was followed by someone else crying out in surprise. Footsteps scrambled and then a flashlight beam flared in Beverly’s vision. She had time to make out another silhouette in the doorway before she ducked beneath the edge of the conference table, firing one last time without truly aiming. Something skipped across the surface of the table and smacked the wall behind her, but Beverly ignored it, shifting her position and moving to her right in a desperate bid to stay out of the shooter’s line of sight. On the other side of the room, sh’Anbi was moving, too, lunging forward and shouting at the top of her lungs. Beverly rose from her couch in time to see the young security officer strike the intruder across the face with the muzzle of her pistol, catching the other Andorian off guard. The beam of his flashlight danced across the ceiling as sh’Anbi followed her initial attack, striking the side of her opponent’s head with her left fist. Instead of firing her weapon, she was using it as a club, hammering at the Andorian’s head as they both lurched from the room.
“Sh’Anbi!” Beverly called out, dashing forward, gun held out in front of her and searching for other targets. In the hallway, the Andorian had fallen to the floor and sh’Anbi was rolling away from him, regaining her feet. Lying in disjointed heaps on the floor outside the meeting room were two more Andorians, both sedated and unconscious.
“Are you all right?” Beverly asked, eyeing sh’Anbi.
The ensign nodded, holding up her tranquilizer gun. “Empty.”
More running footsteps sounded in the hallway and Beverly turned toward them, bringing her weapon’s sights around to level on the chest of Jean-Luc Picard. Behind him were two more Enterprise crew members, Lieutenant Choudhury and Ensign Hanagan. The captain looked flushed and was breathing hard, and he carried a small satchel slung over his left shoulder. He slowed his pace as he caught sight of Beverly and sh’Anbi, and Beverly sensed him relax just a bit as his eyes met hers.
Not wasting time on greetings, Jean-Luc pulled the satchel from his shoulder and handed it to her. Recognizing the medical kit, Beverly grabbed it and ran back to the conference room to kneel beside Konya, who still was lying undisturbed even after the brief skirmish.
“Can you treat him?” Jean-Luc asked, stepping into the room behind her and wielding a Starfleet-issue flashlight.
Beverly ignored him, opening the medical kit and extracting a container holding various medications as well as a pair of hyposprays. Running her fingers across the selection of vials, she quickly settled on one marked NEUROPINEPHRINE as well as a dose of tricordrazine, which she loaded into the hyposprays. She opted against subtlety, applying the hyposprays to either side of Konya’s neck and pressing their injector studs. Retrieving the medical tricorder from the kit, she activated the device and waved its hand scanner over the security officer’s body, feeling relief wash over her as she noted the change in his readings.
“I think we got to him in time,” she said, nodding in satisfaction as the indicators settled within ranges normal for a healthy human.
“Excellent,” Jean-Luc said, patting her shoulder.
Even with just the single word, Beverly could tell he was tired from his exertion. Looking up from her patient, she studied him. “Are you all right?”
Jean-Luc nodded, reaching up and using his uniform sleeve to pat perspiration from his forehead. “Just wishing I was that cadet who could still run marathons.” Smiling at his own remark, he turned to Choudhury. “Have you been able to contact your people, Lieutenant?”
The security chief replied, “No, sir. Whoever’s behind this, they did a good job cutting us off. I haven’t been able to reach the Enterprise yet, either.”
“How many intruders do you think are on the grounds?” Jean-Luc asked.
“There’s no way to be sure, sir,” Choudhury said, “but I think we’re looking at two distinct groups: the protesters just seem interested in causing mischief and maybe some property damage, but that’s the kind of diversion I’d set up if I wanted to get onto the grounds and tie up security forces.”
“Can there be that many?” Beverly asked, having returned to treating Konya. “If they had large numbers, I think we would’ve seen more of them by now.”
Jean-Luc said, “They may be separating into smaller groups in order to go after multiple targets. Has the parliament chamber been secured?”
“Yes, sir,” Choudhury replied. “I got a report from Commander th’Hadik himself. Presider sh’Thalis and the rest of the representatives have been locked in their meeting chamber and are currently under guard.”
“I wouldn’t trust th’Hadik,” sh’Anbi said. “Remember Captain ch’Zandi?”
“She’s correct,” Jean-Luc added. “We have to be careful. Some of the Andorians are loyal to the Treishya, or whoever’s responsible for this.”
“That’s right. They are.”
Beverly turned from Konya toward the new voice, looking past Jean-Luc, Choudhury, and sh’Anbi to see five Andorians standing in the corridor outside the meeting room, each of them aiming a weapon. Behind them, another Andorian stood holding the blade of a long, curved knife to the neck of Ensign Hanagan.
At the Andorian’s command, Jean-Luc and the others dropped their weapons. Beverly considered the tranquilizer gun next to her left leg, but didn’t want to risk Hanagan’s safety.
Nodding in approval, the Andorian smiled as he gestured toward Jean-Luc with the muzzle of his weapon. “Come out of there.”
“Why? What are you going to do with us?” Jean-Luc asked, keeping his hands away from his body.
The Andorian scowled. “If you don’t come out of there, I’ll have to shoot you, then carry you. If I have to do that, I promise it won’t be a gentle experience.” He paused, and Beverly felt a chill course down her spine as he eyed her, then sh’Anbi and Choudhury. “For any of you.”
Rising to her feet, she locked her gaze with Jean-Luc’s and saw in his eyes an earnest attempt to reassure her that everything would be all right. Despite the strength she drew from him, there was no ignoring the veil of unease settling over her as she and the others were led from the room.
39
La Forge had exhausted all options, it seemed, except one.
“We could blow up the building.”
Sitting at her adjacent console, her face illuminated by its small, recessed lighting panels, Maureen Granados eyed him with understanding, no doubt feeling the same frustration that currently gripped him. “I’d like to think of that as a last resort.”
“That’s where we are,” La Forge said, shaking his head and reaching up to rub his temples. Everything they had tried in order to regain control of the security grid—every trick in the book and more than a few not to be found in any book—had failed. Whoever had infiltrated the system he and Granados had set up had done so with remarkable, even awe-inspiring adroitness. It seemed as though the perpetrator had anticipated every contingency, including attempts to power down the equipment or reroute from one console to another. The field-deployable workstations such as those currently operating in the command post were designed to work autonomously as well as in concert with other such stations, each acting as a hub within the tactical network. They were easily reprogrammable even by someone with little to no computer expertise, and were adaptable to changing conditions on the ground that might necessitate rapid network reconfiguration, such as loss of personnel and equipment during battle, without degradation of systems oversight.
And that flexibility, La Forge knew, was what currently was working against him. That, and an admitted unfamiliarity with tactical systems such as these. While he obviously was familiar with the technology in broad, general terms and was therefore aware of its capabilities, he had never spent a great deal of time working with such hardware intended for deployable applications.
And to hell with me for not knowing.
“Commander La Forge!” called Ensign Steven Perkins from where he had taken up station near the door. “Someone’s coming again!”
/> La Forge felt a fresh knot of worry forming in his gut. They already had been visited by a trio of Andorians looking to gain access to the command post, but Perkins and his companion, Ensign T’lira, had managed to overpower them. T’lira’s Vulcan self-defense training in particular had come in handy as she dispatched two of the opponents in seconds before either Andorian could fire a single shot. She and Perkins had secured the unconscious Andorians in an unused room down the hall, and now the security officers were armed with the odd tranquilizer guns their would-be attackers had been carrying. The weapons were a fortunate acquisition, after La Forge had discovered that their phasers were also inoperable thanks to the commandeered security grid.
Another problem that needs fixing, and damned quick.
That was a problem for another time, he reminded himself as he and Granados extinguished their respective console work lights and he reached for the tranquilizer gun Perkins had given him. Moving toward the door, he asked in a low voice, “What’ve you got?”
Perkins gestured toward T’lira. “Don’t ask me. She’s the one who can hear them.”
The Vulcan nodded. “Two people, moving slowly in this direction from the ramp.” After a moment, she stepped back from the wall next to the door. “They are approaching our position.”
To everyone’s surprise, there was a knock on the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Open up. It’s me. Regnis.”
Waiting for T’lira’s nod of confirmation, Perkins tapped the control pad next to his arm and the door slid aside to reveal Lieutenant Bryan Regnis and another Enterprise security officer, Ensign Shayla Cole.
“Sorry,” Regnis said, his expression flat. “I thought this was the men’s room.”
Despite the tension, La Forge was unable to help the short chuckle that escaped his lips. He shook his head in mild irritation as he waved for Regnis and Cole to come inside before Perkins relocked the door. “What’s going on?” La Forge asked.