Star Trek: TNG: Cold Equations II: Silent Weapons (36 page)

Perched on a stool in a narrow lab, Data kept his head still as he spoke. “The Caeliar sound like a remarkable species. I regret that I missed the opportunity to meet them. As a fully synthetic being myself, I would have found such an interaction . . . 
intriguing
.”

“Yeah, they were interesting—I’ll give them that much. But according to Counselor Troi, they were also kind of a pain in the ass.” To pass the time while he worked, La Forge had regaled his old friend with tales of the
Enterprise
crew’s exploits during the years between Data’s demise and his return. Out of necessity, they had spent most of that time discussing the fate of the Federation’s since-vanquished mortal enemy. “Anyway, after the Caeliar ‘assimilated’ the Borg, they all just up and vanished. Most of the Borg technology that was left behind turned to dust, but I guess the parts that weren’t linked to the Collective, like the factory on Mangala, are still lying around.” He switched off the dermal fuser and checked his handiwork underneath the hairline on the nape of Data’s neck. “Good as new. What’s next?”

“We need to recalibrate the chromatic-control circuits in my eyes. They were damaged when an explosion inside the bank briefly overloaded my visual receptors.” He selected a pen-shaped ocular recalibrator from the worktable and mustered a genial smile as he handed it to La Forge. “I could do it myself, but it will be easier with your help.”

Envy was not an emotion that often afflicted La Forge, but he suffered pangs of covetous admiration for Data’s unique assortment of high-tech cybernetic implements. “That’s kind of you to say.” He took the tool from Data; it seemed to have no moving parts. “What do I do with it?”

Data pointed at one end of the device. “Aim its emitter crystal directly into the pupil of one of my eyes. Then apply gentle pressure to its sides. It will emit a series of photonic pulses that my eyes will use to restore their constituent circuits and relays to their default settings.”

“You’re the boss.” He did as his friend had instructed, and a bright green ray shot from the device, bathing Data’s left eye in viridescent light. Minuscule details, such as the capillaries in the whites of Data’s eyes, continued to fascinate La Forge. A prismatic swirl within Data’s iris quickly turned a radiant hue of emerald.

Data blinked his left eyelid a few times, and La Forge eased his grip on the device, terminating the beam. “Excellent,” the android said. “Now my right eye.”

La Forge resumed work, admiring the simplicity of the maintenance kit designed and built by Data’s creator, Noonien Soong. “If only fixing the warp drive were this easy, I might have time for a hobby.” Data’s iris flashed green, and he put down the ocular recalibrator.

“As I understand it, your off-duty hours are mostly spoken-for these days.” Data smiled at La Forge’s surprised double take. “Doctor Crusher told me about your budding romance with Doctor Harstad. She seems very nice, Geordi. I am happy for you.”

La Forge laughed. “It didn’t take you long to get caught up on ship’s gossip, did it?”

Data shrugged. “It looks large from the outside, but the
Enterprise
is a very small place.”

“So it is.” He looked over his shoulder to check the chrono on the bulkhead. “I wish we had more time. Now that you’re back, I’d love to set up a poker game.”

A wistful nod conveyed Data’s fondness for the senior officers’ weekly game of Dealer’s Choice. “That
would
be fun. Who has filled the seats left by Captain Riker and Counselor Troi?”

The question struck an unexpected chord of sorrow in La Forge. “Lately, it was Choudhury, Elfiki, and Chen. But after Jas . . .” He found it too difficult to say,
after Jas was killed,
so he skipped over it. “Well, we just kind of forgot about the game.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

La Forge looked up and saw genuine sympathy in Data’s eyes. He found it reassuring that his friend seemed to have finally integrated human emotions into his life to the point that they now seemed effortless and natural. “I’ve missed having you around, Data. And not just for poker. Day-to-day life around here just hasn’t been the same without you.” He sat down on a stool opposite Data’s. “I mean . . . I’ve found a way to get by; life goes on. But after you”—he decided not to hide behind a gentle euphemism—“died . . . there were so many moments when I found myself thinking, ‘If only Data were here. He would have loved this.’”

Data nodded. “I understand.” He furrowed his brow. “Since my return, I have had to rely on the memories I inherited from my father to bridge the temporal gap in my consciousness. On occasion, it has been easy to lose track of my place in time, to forget that years elapsed in my absence.” A goofy smile brightened his youthful face. “On the other hand, it has also been a blessing. Because it often seems to me as if no time has passed between my download into B-4 and my reincarnation inside this body, I have had no time to ‘miss’ anyone.”

His admission made La Forge laugh, not out of mockery but out of true joy. “That’s what I love about you, Data: Only
you
could find the silver lining to being dead.”

28

The
Enterprise
was at Red Alert as it dropped from warp speed to sublight, and Picard channeled his anxiety into a clenched fist as the airless, reddish-brown orb of Tirana III took shape on the main viewscreen. He looked at Šmrhová. “Tactical. Report.”

Her attention alternated between her console and the main viewscreen. “We’re picking up energy readings from the surface. Whatever’s causing it, it’s big.”

Something—be it instinct, intuition, or common sense—told Picard this was what he had come to find. “Lock all sensors onto that reading. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Aye, sir,” the security chief said as she kept working.

Next to Picard, Worf seemed ready to leap from his chair. It was obvious he would rather be on his feet, but since Picard was seated, so was he. “Helm,” he said, “time to orbit.”

Faur answered over her shoulder, “Twenty seconds.” On the viewscreen, Tirana III had expanded so that only half of its northern hemisphere was visible.

Low murmurings from the aft stations snared Picard’s attention, and he swiveled his chair so he could see Lieutenants Chen and Elfiki working together at the master systems display, which they had reconfigured as an all-purpose sensor analysis station. The two women conferred in excited whispers as they tapped commands into their respective panels. When they noticed that they had Picard’s attention, it was the half-Vulcan contact specialist who turned to report. “Sir, we’ve identified the source of the energy signals on the surface.” She relayed a set of schematics and technical information to the main viewscreen, where it appeared on the left side of a split screen. “It’s a
Mardiff
-class mining vessel, the
S.S. Basirico,
out of Ramatis.”

On the half of the screen opposite the schematics, the planet’s ruddy surface snapped into view, revealing a massive industrial vehicle—a vast agglomeration of pipes, reactors, smelting furnaces, refinery systems, and fuel pods, all topped by a comparatively tiny blister of crew accommodations.

Šmrhová looked up from her console. “There are no mining or refinery permits for any vessel named
Basirico
. Whatever that thing’s doing here, it’s illegal.”

Picard leaned forward, certain there was more to this than he was seeing. “Why would the Breen go to this much trouble to hide an illegal mining operation?”

Glinn Dygan turned his chair toward Picard and Worf. “Sirs, the
Basirico
isn’t engaged in standard mining or refining operations. They’re excavating something, and proceeding with extreme care—which suggests that whatever it is, it’s valuable—and fragile.”

“Keep scanning,” Picard said. “I want to know what they’re digging up.”

Behind him, Elfiki called out, “Sir? I think we have something. Something huge.”

Worf and the captain traded a look of alarm, then they got up and moved in tandem to stand behind Chen and Elfiki. Picard looked at the science officer. “Report, Lieutenant.”

“There’s a structure underneath the
Basirico
.” She called up enhanced sensor images on the large aft screen. “Most of the metallic composites are common to starship construction. What’s unusual is its quantum phase signature.” Pointing at an ancillary screen, she added, “It’s consistent with matter from a known close parallel universe.”

Chen cut in, “That’s not all, sirs. After we masked the
Basirico
from our sensors, we got a clear shot of some large-scale structures inside the buried ship.” She shifted the images in question to the main screen and enlarged them. “They’re a pretty close match for the singularity cores the Tzenkethi were using to generate artificial wormholes. Maybe an improved version.”

Worf’s eyes widened. “Self-contained wormhole propulsion? Is that possible?”

“Not for us.” Elfiki gestured at the screen. “But someone in the alternate universe thinks it is.” She looked at Worf and Picard. “But, seeing as they crashed in
our
universe, I think it’s safe to say they might not have worked out all the bugs yet.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Picard said. He turned and strode toward the center of the bridge. “Raise shields, arm all weapons. Glinn Dygan, hail the
Basirico
. Number One, prepare a boarding party. I want that ship seized and its crew arrested.”

Dygan made a few quick taps on his console. “Channel open, Captain.”

Picard raised his voice and invested it with authority. “Attention, mining vessel
Basirico
. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, commanding the Federation
Starship Enterprise
. I order you to cease operations, surrender, and prepare to be boarded. Acknowledge.”

Long moments passed without a response.

An alert warbled on Dygan’s console. “The
Basirico
is transmitting a distress call.”

Then Šmrhová called out, “Vessel uncloaking! Bearing one-eight-two mark one, range two hundred thousand kilometers.”

“On-screen,” Worf said.

The image on the main viewer switched to an aft angle, revealing the distorted shape of a Breen warship emerging as if from a desert mirage. Tactical data scrolled up the right-hand side of the screen, and Šmrhová announced, “Engine signature matches the Breen cruiser
Mlotek
.” She looked up, her countenance grim. “They’ve raised shields and locked weapons”—she shot a hateful stare at the vessel on the screen—“and they’re hailing us.”

“Put them on-screen, Lieutenant.” Picard turned to face his foe.

A view of the
Mlotek
’s bridge appeared on-screen, its angle so narrow as to reveal nothing except one snout-masked officer and a soft-focus blur in the background.
“I am Thot Raas, commanding the Breen cruiser
Mlotek.
We come to answer the distress call of the vessel on the surface.”

It was such a brazen ploy that its sheer hubris almost took Picard by surprise. Then it made him angry. “Thot Raas, I find your humanitarian motives suspect, at best. How did your vessel come to be in Federation space? Much less in immediate proximity to the
Basirico
?”

“Such petty legal distinctions are irrelevant. We stand ready to defend the innocents on the planet’s surface from your unprovoked aggression.”

Picard wasn’t certain whether he or Worf was more mystified by the Breen commander’s irrational challenge. The two Starfleet officers exchanged stunned glances, then looked back at the Breen. “Thot Raas,” Picard said, “the vessel on the surface bears a Federation registry, and it’s engaged in unlicensed operations on a Federation world. Consequently, the
Basirico
and its crew fall incontrovertibly within our jurisdiction. As for your own ship, its presence here, under cloak, violates several laws and treaties, thereby nullifying your claim to be acting in good faith.”

The Breen appeared paralyzed for several seconds. Then he replied,
“You will permit the
Basirico
and its crew to depart this system with its salvage, under our protection. If you continue to threaten them, you will be fired upon.”

“I don’t think so.” Picard couldn’t see the Breen’s eyes through that damnable mask, but he was certain that if he could, he would see fear in them. “Its salvage is illegal without a proper license. Furthermore, if its crew members are Federation citizens, they have nothing to fear from me. They’ll be afforded every protection available under the law. Unlike you and your vessel—which I will destroy if you don’t withdraw at warp speed, with your cloak down, in the next thirty seconds. Do I make myself clear, Thot Raas?”

“If you fire upon this ship, the Breen Confederacy will interpret that as an act of war.”

“Your presence here is already an act of war,” Picard shot back. “But for the sake of peace, that’s an error I’m offering you one last chance to correct.”

Thot Raas slowly tilted his head, like a wild enemy regarding its prey.
“Do not interfere, Captain. The civilian vessel will leave with its salvage. This is
your
last warning.”