by Dayton Ward
“All hands,” Regnis’s voice said, “the security grid is back online. Repeat, the grid is back online.”
“Now he tells me,” Braddock said, moving back and to his right to avoid the Andorian’s attack. His opponent’s strike was half-hearted—a feint. The arrogant bastard was actually playing with him. Well, he decided, here’s something new for you to—
A beam of orange energy struck the Andorian in the chest, stopping him in his tracks. His body shuddered from the phaser blast and his eyes rolled back in his head before he went limp and collapsed to the ground. Blinking in disbelief, Braddock turned to see Ensign Dean advancing, phaser out and aimed ahead of her. Behind her, he saw the inert form of her own opponent, lying facedown in the grass.
“Are you deaf, Braddock?” Dean asked, moving to verify that the Andorian indeed was out of commission. “Regnis said the grid was back up. That means phasers, too.”
Clearing his throat, Braddock made a show of straightening his uniform. “I heard him. I was just . . . you know . . . taking care of this guy my way.”
“Uh-huh,” Dean said, shaking her head. Then, she and Braddock cocked their heads at the same time, listening to the sounds of energy-weapons fire elsewhere in the compound. “Sounds like everybody else is getting the word.” She pointed over his shoulder. “Look. Force fields are back up.”
Braddock looked in the indicated direction and saw the energy barrier now once more covering the entrance at the compound’s perimeter wall. “We’re not in the clear just yet. More people might not be able to get onto the grounds, but who knows how many are still here, and now they’re trapped inside.” Other than this skirmish, they had managed to avoid contact with other protesters or whoever was responsible for the compound breach. Thanks to the communications blackout, information was scarce with regard to whoever or whatever the security forces were facing. With comm apparently restored, hopefully the situation would become more clear in short order.
Moving to where Nordon was still unconscious on the ground, Braddock asked, “Is he okay?”
“Sleeping like a baby,” Dean said. “I have no idea how long those sedatives last.”
Bending down to maneuver Nordon into a sitting position, Braddock levered the Benzite to his feet and then crouched low enough to first hoist the unconscious ensign over one shoulder, then drape one arm over his other shoulder. “There are medkits at Checkpoint Bravo. Maybe there’s something in them that’ll snap him out of this.” Adjusting Nordon’s weight to a more comfortable position, he gestured to the phaser in Dean’s hand. “Okay, you’re on point. Let’s keep moving.”
Though not as opulent as the Enclave chamber, the large meeting hall in which Picard and his party now found themselves was still very well appointed, far more impressive than even the main assembly hall at Starfleet Academy on Earth. The only things detracting from the chamber’s atmosphere were the forlorn faces of dozens of Enterprise crew members as well as other non-Andorian civilians, and the twenty Andorians standing watch over them. Studying the Andorians with a critical eye, Picard noted even in the room’s reduced lighting that they carried weapons that most certainly were not tranquilizer guns, but likely far more dangerous or even lethal. Whatever all of this was about, he surmised, it would begin here.
“Get away from the door,” said his Andorian captor, who had identified himself as Biatamar th’Rusni, an apparent advisor to whoever was behind the attack on the compound. He gestured with his pistol for Picard to move deeper into the hall. He carried a satchel slung from his left shoulder, in which he had deposited the combadges taken from Picard and his people.
“Why are we here? What is it you want with us?” the captain asked, for the fifth time.
As with his earlier attempts, this one also was met with disdain. “Your primary concern,” th’Rusni said, “should be that you arrived here at all, and that you remain in reasonably good health for the time being.” He stood next to Beverly, his large left hand gripping her right arm. He had taken her aside from the moment Picard and his group were captured, obviously figuring the captain would be easier to deal with so long as his wife was part of whatever coercion tactics th’Rusni chose to employ. Picard bristled at the notion, but, for the moment at least, the Andorian was correct. Indeed, th’Rusni saw the captain looking at him and, to emphasize the control he enjoyed, pulled Beverly closer.
Focus, Jean-Luc.
Even as he struggled with apprehension over Beverly and the rest of his crew, the part of his mind still trying to formulate a way out of the current predicament noted that whatever had been done to seize control of the security grid and the weapons-inhibitor systems, an exception had been made for the model of pulse rifles these Andorians carried.
“If you were going to kill us,” Picard said, “you’d have done it already. You obviously want us alive, so what’s the reason?”
Th’Rusni replied, “A minor point of clarification, Captain: we want you alive for the moment. The Treishya will soon demonstrate what happens to outsiders who pollute our world, subvert our leaders, and enslave our people for their own ends.”
“Enslave your people?” Picard asked. “Andor is a founding member of the Federation, an ally for more than two centuries, joining of their own free will.”
“‘Free will’?” th’Rusni repeated. “I believe you mean that our leaders were maneuvered into an alliance after first being subjected to enemies for which we were not prepared, all while asking us to devote people and resources to help fight battles you humans brought upon yourselves. And now this filth you conspire to inflict upon us, by introducing alien genes into our population? Even that is motivated by your desire to subjugate us. Here you have a possible cure for the affliction my people suffer while preserving our genetic integrity, but instead you pursue an easier solution that allows you to control our numbers and keep us in line.”
“That’s not true at all,” Beverly said, spitting the words even as she tried without success to break th’Rusni’s grip on her arm. The Andorian responded by yanking on her arm hard enough to elicit a pained grimace.
Picard felt his jaw slacken as he listened to th’Rusni’s words. “You’ve already found a way to twist even those facts to fit your agenda,” he said, regarding the Andorian with pity.
“Do you realize what you’re saying?” sh’Anbi said, moving to stand next to Picard. “It’s insanity to think anyone would do something like that.”
“Ensign,” said Lieutenant Choudhury from behind sh’Anbi, her tone one of caution. She was helping Lieutenant Konya, who was conscious and able to move but still disoriented.
“What’s insane,” th’Rusni said, “is that the Federation and Starfleet would place the protection of their precious secrets above helping a supposed ally.” He glared at Picard. “You would either offer us substandard treatment with only a slim chance of success and the very real possibility of actually worsening our problem, or stand by and watch us die as a race in order to keep buried whatever wondrous mystery you unearthed and chose not to share. Are those the actions of an ally, Captain?”
Picard said nothing. What would be the point? Th’Rusni had made up his mind, at least for the time being, operating as he was with whatever partial or deliberately distorted information he had been given. There would be no reasoning with him. Not here, and certainly not now.
His attention was drawn to the meeting hall’s subdued secondary lighting, which had begun to flicker. Everyone in the chamber was looking around, eyeing one another in confusion. Then the room was awash in much brighter illumination as the main lights flared to life, and Picard was forced to blink several times to clear his vision.
“What’s happening?” he heard th’Rusni ask. When he turned, he saw confusion on the Andorian’s face.
One of his companions replied, “They weren’t supposed to restore the lights until we made our report.”
Th’Rusni nodded. “Something’s wrong.”
“All security teams, this
is Lieutenant Regnis,” said a voice, carried over the meeting hall’s intercom system. “All hands, the security grid is back online. Repeat, the grid is back online.”
A chorus of murmurs rolled over the assembled hostages, and Picard took heart in the looks of uncertainty beginning to cloud the faces of th’Rusni and his companions.
“Excuse me.”
Picard turned at the sound of Lieutenant Choudhury’s voice and saw the security chief walking toward one of the Andorian guards, who promptly shifted his position and aimed his rifle at her.
“Stay back,” the Andorian warned. When Choudhury continued her advance, the Andorian pressed the weapon’s firing stud, but there was no discharge of energy.
“That’s what I thought,” Choudhury said, before lunging at the guard. She grabbed the rifle’s barrel and yanked it toward her, pulling the surprised Andorian forward until she was within arm’s reach. Her right arm lashed out, the edge of her hand striking the bridge of the Andorian’s nose. He cried out in pain but Choudhury ignored him, swinging her left fist into the guard’s stomach before grabbing his right arm and pivoting to her left, pulling the Andorian across her hip and over onto the floor.
Around the room, the other guards were now realizing they were outnumbered and all but weaponless. A few of the Andorians attempted to brandish knives or other implements but that proved futile as two or three Enterprise crew members converged on each of them.
Picard turned toward th’Rusni in time to see Beverly yanking herself free from the Andorian’s grip. She staggered away from the Andorian even as he began following after her, but he took only a few steps before the familiar report of a phaser echoed in the room. His body spasmed as an orange beam struck him in the back, and he sagged to the floor. Then there was a rush of movement near the door and Picard saw more Enterprise security officers clamoring into the meeting hall, each carrying a Starfleet-issue phaser rifle. Within seconds they targeted th’Rusni’s companions, dispatching them with surgical precision. It happened with such speed that Picard was certain he had to be imagining the sight unfolding before him.
Movement to his right caught his attention and he turned in time to see another Andorian barreling toward him. His attacker was mere meters away when something hot and orange screamed past Picard’s head, striking the Andorian in his chest and sending him tumbling to the floor. Picard turned to see Ensign sh’Anbi standing beside the still shaken-up Rennan Konya, wielding what the captain recognized as a compact Type 1 phaser in her hand. Noting Picard eyeing the undersized weapon, she shrugged and indicated Konya with a nod.
“The lieutenant had it hidden in his boot, sir.”
Despite himself, Picard could not help smiling at the elegant simplicity of Konya’s unorthodox tactics. He nodded in approval. “Well done, the both of you.”
“Captain,” a voice said from behind Picard as he moved to Beverly, who had fallen to the floor and was pulling herself to her feet. Verifying that she was uninjured, he turned to regard the young brunette woman wearing lieutenant’s pips on the collar of her uniform tunic.
“Lieutenant,” he said, frowning. “I’m sorry, but I seem to have forgotten your name.”
The woman nodded. “Walker, sir. Lieutenant Katherine Walker. I’m usually on gamma shift, but Commander Worf sent me and my team with his compliments.”
Smiling as he glanced over his shoulder to see Walker’s security team taking the now-quite-unconscious Andorian dissidents into custody, he said, “Excellent work, Lieutenant. What’s our current status?”
“Commander La Forge was able to reset the security grid, sir,” Walker replied. “After that, I’m told it was a piece of cake to restore the force fields and reconfigure the weapons-lockout systems. He basically programmed it to recognize Starfleet phasers and deactivate everything else.”
Choudhury said, “I’m sure Homeworld Security will be happy to hear about that.”
“You let me worry about that, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “What about the Enterprise?”
Walker said, “We had our share of problems there, too, sir, but the engineers figured it out just like Commander La Forge did down here.”
“Do they know what happened?” Beverly asked, rubbing her right arm as she stepped forward to join the conversation.
“The ship’s main computer was hijacked, by an expert. I don’t have all the details, Captain, and I’m likely too dumb to understand most of what I was told, anyway; but the way I understand it, whoever wormed their way into our systems knew what they were doing. We’re talking about a level of expertise you normally only find with people serving aboard starships.”
Picard turned at the sound of Choudhury gasping, watching as her eyes widened before her expression took on an abrupt shift, from shock to . . . anger?
“Or,” the security chief said, “someone who used to serve on starships.”
The office was empty.
“Damn it,” Choudhury snapped, lowering her phaser as she cleared the last room in the lavishly decorated work space that dominated this floor of the towering building located in the heart of Lor’Vela’s business district. Moving back into the office’s main area, she saw Commander th’Hadik standing behind the expansive desk, which was the room’s most prominent furnishing. Behind him, the lights of the city as seen through the bay window’s darkened glass reminded her of the view from her cabin aboard the Enterprise, and the stars that were the last thing she saw before falling asleep and that greeted her with each new day. The sudden odd thought reminded Choudhury just how tired and worn-out the last hours had made her.
Yeah, my bed would feel pretty good right now.
“He could not have left here that long ago,” said th’Hadik, indicating a cup sitting near one corner of the desk. “This beverage is still warm.”
Choudhury said, “What about access logs for the building? Is there anything like that we can check?”
“I will ask the city police to investigate that possibility,” th’Hadik said, “but given the resources th’Gahryn supposedly commands, masking his movements would be a simple task.”
Sighing in disgust, Choudhury turned from the desk and glared at the Andorian currently standing between Lieutenants Regnis and Braddock. “Where would he go?”
Threlas ch’Lhren regarded her with an implacable expression. “Any number of places, Lieutenant.”
“What, are you his travel agent?” Choudhury asked. “Being able to move around without attracting attention requires help, including the kind of help you’re obviously capable of providing.”
Ch’Lhren shook his head. “I am nothing more than a loyal subordinate, and a humble follower of the Treishya. I do what is necessary to further our cause.”
Feeling her teeth grinding together as she clenched her jaw, Choudhury said, “Tell it to the magistrate.” For a fleeting moment, she imagined what she might do to the Andorian if left alone in a locked room with him for but five minutes.
Upon hearing Worf’s report about the nature of the infiltrations that had affected the Enterprise’s main computer, including the strange device of Andorian origin discovered in the engineering section, Choudhury had known instantly and without doubt who was responsible. Threlas ch’Lhren possessed the precise expertise that would have been required to so thoroughly assume control over a Starfleet computer system, particularly one so advanced as to be found installed aboard a Sovereign-class starship. After nearly a decade of service, the Enterprise-E and her sister vessels remained at Starfleet’s technological forefront, employing the most advanced information-processing systems to be found. Understanding and being able to exploit such sophisticated computer hardware and software would almost certainly require a very specialized skill set.
Such as that belonging to someone who once held a Starfleet A6 computer-expert classification.
Despite whatever her gut had told her, such a theory, based as it was at best on circumstantial evidence, needed proof. Fortunately, ch’Lhren himself provid
ed that corroboration when Choudhury and Commander th’Hadik found him at his office on a lower level of one of the parliamentary administration buildings, packing a travel case and looking very much like someone who wanted to leave in a hurry. Choudhury had deferred to th’Hadik so far as questioning ch’Lhren, and it was the commander who had found in the Andorian’s packed belongings a duplicate to the odd transceiver device discovered by engineers aboard the Enterprise. Even if ch’Lhren was not directly responsible, he was at least somehow involved.
Choudhury was absolutely certain it was the former.
“You did it during the tour, didn’t you?” she said, glowering at ch’Lhren as she levied the accusation. “All that crap you spewed about Starfleet failing Andor. You knew I was from Deneva and that talking about the war would rile me. You were counting on me getting flustered so I’d walk away, and give you the opening you needed to plant that thing. Tell me I’m wrong.” Even as she spoke the words, the images of the scorched husk, which was all that remained of her homeworld, danced once more in her mind’s eye. Again, she saw her family, lost and perhaps now nothing more than yet more nameless, faceless victims of the Borg.
Ch’Lhren shrugged. “You are not wrong.”
It required every iota of self-control Choudhury possessed not to draw her phaser and shoot the Andorian where he stood. Her right hand twitched, yearning to reach for the weapon. She willed it to stay at her side.
Stepping around the desk, th’Hadik held up the transceiver for ch’Lhren to see. “You have much to answer for. Conspiring to destroy a Starfleet vessel? There won’t be a hole on this planet deep enough for where Presider sh’Thalis will want to throw you.”
“He wasn’t going to do it,” Choudhury said, regarding ch’Lhren with disdain. “It was all a bluff. If they’d wanted to kill people, they could’ve started with the captain. Instead, they weren’t even carrying real weapons. It was all a show they wanted to put on.”