“We should easily be able to locate Aviana,” Worf said. “Assuming you can provide us with a bioprint.”
“She’s a Keeper,” Lwaxana said. “Of course we can. I think this is a brilliant idea.”
Troi felt hopeful for the first time since the empty display case was unveiled. “Even if she has gone offworld, the Enterprise should still be able to track her.”
“You make a compelling argument.” Sulel nodded at Worf. “If this plan is acceptable to the Enterprise’s captain, I would very much like to proceed.”
Worf tapped his combadge. “Worf to Captain Picard,” he said.
Picard’s voice crackled through the badge. “Go ahead.”
“Requesting permission to initiate the Enterprise’s scanners to help in the search for a potential subject.”
“Of course,” Picard responded. “The Enterprise will help any way we can. Make it so.”
“Worf,” Troi said. “I’d like to accompany you. I’ll be better equipped to communicate with Aviana Virox once we’ve located her.”
“I would appreciate that, Counselor.”
“A good idea,” said Rusina. “Commander Troi, Lieutenant Worf—beam aboard when ready.”
* * *
Geordi La Forge stood as Worf and Troi walked down into the command well. “The data is loaded into the ship’s computer.” He took the first officer’s seat and activated the controls on the console to his right. “Is the captain all right?”
“Yes,” Troi assured him. “But to lose Xiomara’s treasures is a devastating blow to all of Betazed.”
“Initiating scanners,” announced Ensign Challinor from the back of the bridge.
Worf stepped up and watched the ensign work, as the Enterprise’s scanners searched the planet for Aviana Virox.
“No match, sir.” Challinor twisted around in his chair. “I don’t think she’s on Betazed.”
“Wait.” La Forge was checking his screen. “I’m reading an anomaly in the temple.”
“What sort of anomaly?” Worf asked.
La Forge moved up to the security station, adjusting the sensors. “I’m not sure. It appears to be an issue with one of the force fields. I’m seeing something—”
“Put it on main screen,” Worf ordered.
As he made the adjustment, the viewscreen displayed an overlay of Isszon Temple. A tiny dot of light appeared right in the middle of the space where the stage was set up.
“That’s where the display case is.” Troi moved closer to the viewscreen, trying to make sense of the images. “What is that?”
“Uncertain,” La Forge said. “But it’s suspicious.” His frown deepened as he made further adjustments on the scans. “Oh, I see it now. That one force field has a power cycling flaw.”
Troi frowned. “But surely the Betazed Security team would have picked up on that?” Troi asked.
“Maybe not,” La Forge said. “This disruption is barely there, and they might not have had the technology to detect it.”
Worf made a snorting noise in the back of his throat. “I see they were not prepared for everything.”
Troi asked, “What’s causing the flaw?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It’s just so slight—” La Forge snapped his fingers. “It was a hole!”
“Explain,” Worf said.
La Forge gestured toward the viewscreen. “It was a hole in the force field. It’s closed now, but there’s just enough residual weakness for it to show up on our scans. Although the hole was a tiny one. Barely half a meter across.”
“Too small for a person,” Worf said.
“But not for the three treasures,” Troi said, alarmed. “That’s how the thief did it. Somehow they tore a hole in the force field—”
“Micro–transporter enhancers,” La Forge said. “After getting them out of the display case, that’s how the items were stolen. They were small enough that if the thief used an enhancer to teleport them, it could have overpowered the ceremony’s transporter dampeners.”
Troi stared at the image on the viewscreen, at the small hole where the treasures had been pulled through. “How did Betazed Security not notice this when it happened?”
“Likely some kind of sensor dampener,” La Forge said, still studying the screen. “It would likely have registered as a quick glitch in the power logs.”
Troi nodded. “And if our thief had timed it for the middle of the ceremony, security forces might not have noticed with all the excitement onstage.”
“Exactly. Then the enhancers self-destructed once the treasures were transported away. Without the Enterprise’s technology, Betazed forces wouldn’t have noticed the residual reading.”
Troi nodded grimly. “I doubt whoever did this was expecting the incident to be investigated by a Galaxy-class starship.”
“We can assume that our thief is not in the temple,” Worf noted.
“Most likely not, no.” La Forge offered a wry smile.
“And we already know Aviana Virox isn’t on Betazed.” Troi felt dizzy. Had a Keeper actually stolen all of the treasures? She tried to imagine her mother doing such a thing, and the idea was so absurd she almost laughed out loud.
“Aviana Virox is our prime suspect,” Worf said, and Troi felt the regret of his words.
“Yes, I agree,” Troi said. “What other answer is there?”
14
Beverly Crusher pushed her chair away from the laboratory computer, irritated. The last sample collected from the beach—a few grains of sand from the tide pools—had traces of those microbial fossils like all of the other samples. The scans said they were inert, no threat to biological life, and Muñoz and Talma, the two botanists, agreed.
The doctor reviewed the collection of notes. The sample collection had been handled by the members of the Kota team and in larger quantities than what Crusher was looking at in her own samples. None of them had experienced any of the symptoms like they did recently on Bluster Beach.
Reading into her tricorder, she noted, “I have completed examination of the final sample, number”—Crusher checked the label—“309D. Nothing to account for the hallucinations experienced by the beach team, including Lieutenant Commander Data.”
The last few grains of sand glittered on the slide. Was it because they had been in the decon chamber? Data had been affected, and the equipment in the lab.
It just didn’t make any sense.
Someone knocked on the door—Crusher spun around and found Will Riker peering in through the window. “Ten hours left. We’re about to have dinner. Decon yourself and come join us.”
“I still haven’t figured out—”
“Stop. That’s an order.”
Could she remember the last time she ate? Will’s mention of dinner set her stomach grumbling. She put away the final sample and ran the decontamination wand over herself. The doctor wasn’t sure if leaving this room was the right thing to do, but she also didn’t have any real evidence otherwise.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” Crusher said.
“Didn’t have to. Wanted to.” Riker peeled himself off the wall and sauntered toward the common room. “I thought a communal dinner would boost morale.”
They stepped into the common room. It had been transformed, the chairs all pushed up around a big table that folded out of the wall. A few of the team had already replicated their meals and were sitting down, the food letting off wisps of steam.
“Doctor Crusher!” Rikkilä bounded up to Crusher. “I’m so glad to see you. I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine, although I appreciate the concern. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything.” Crusher shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to take another approach.” She didn’t add that she had no idea what that could be.
“Hmm.” The ensign and Crusher walked over to the replicator, where Muñoz was pulling out a big bowl of mujadara. The scent of cumin and fried onions filled the room.
“That smells amazing.” R
ikkilä joined Muñoz. “Would you be mad if I replicated the same thing?”
“No.” Muñoz laughed. “Why would I be?”
“I don’t know. People are weird.” Rikkilä ordered her dinner. “Doctor, what are you thinking we should try next?”
“To be frank, I’m at a loss,” Crusher said. “With ten hours left, I want to monitor the crew. Gather all the data I can.”
“Those poor refugees. I guess this place won’t be hosting a colony. I hope they find someplace for them.” Rikkilä pulled out her own mujadara and breathed in the scent. “I am starving.”
Crusher stepped up to the replicator. She didn’t know what she wanted to eat; she was hungry, but really wasn’t in the mood to sit down for a morale-boosting dinner. Her mind was completely preoccupied.
She asked the replicator for her old standby, a ham and cheese sandwich with a side of fruit, and joined the others at the table.
“The good doctor!” boomed Solanko as she slid beside Riker. “Glad you could join us. And you, Mister Data, our miracle man.” Solanko lifted up a shot glass of synthehol. “In fact, I’d like to toast the entire away team from the Enterprise.” He waited for a moment, grinning, then cried, “Za vstrechu!” He knocked back his synthehol, and the rest of the table took a long drink, even though most were just having water.
“Kota might not have shown us the warmest welcome,” Riker said. “But the Kota science team certainly has.”
His words were met with cheers, and then everyone dove into their food. Conversations kicked up around the table: Talma, Muñoz, and Rikkilä debating the merits of a Bolian musician who Crusher gathered was immensely popular and vaguely controversial. Solanko and Malisson laughing together over a shared joke and their synthehol while Riker offered something that had them all in fits.
None of them seemed ill. But something had happened to them.
“Are you not hungry, Doctor?” Data’s question broke her musings.
“Starving,” she said.
“You have not touched your food.”
It was true; her sandwich sat just as it had been replicated, a blob of cheese congealing into a rubbery mass. She picked it up and took a big bite. “I’m just distracted,” she said. “I just—”
Solanko’s laughter rumbled down the table. If Crusher didn’t know better, she’d think there was actual vodka in his glass. Malisson joined in, her voice rising.
“Those two are certainly enjoying themselves,” Crusher murmured.
Data said something that Crusher couldn’t make out.
“Data?” She turned away from her sandwich and found him sitting with his mouth hanging open.
“Data!” Crusher scrambled over to him. Solanko was still laughing. She shook Data’s shoulder but got no reaction from him.
The scent of fried onions wafted through the room. She looked up and saw two bowls of mujadara sitting in the replicator. As she watched, a third appeared, knocking one of the others to the ground, spilling lentils and rice across the floor.
“Doctor, we need you over here!”
Riker was leaning over the table, pulling Solanko up; he had fallen face-first into his plate of dumplings. Malisson was stumbling backward away from the table, her eyes fixed on some point in the air. “What do you want!” she screamed, pulling her hair loose from its tightly woven braid. “Leave us alone!”
“Something’s wrong with Data as well.” Crusher looked around for her tricorder.
A shriek tore through the room. It was Talma, launching himself at the wall, waving his arms as if swinging an invisible sword. Rikkilä moved her hands wildly, clawing through the air—swimming, Crusher thought distantly. She’s swimming upward.
Muñoz was gone.
“Ensign Muñoz,” she said to Riker, who had crawled across the table and was feeling for Solanko’s pulse. “He’s vanished.”
“Solanko’s still breathing. I’ll look for Muñoz.” Riker leaped over his chair and raced out of the room. Malisson’s screams had melted into soft, frightened muttering.
Crusher found her tricorder and started scanning Solanko.
A crash slammed through the room: another bowl of mujadara spilled onto the floor.
“What is wrong with that damned replicator?” Crusher said, exasperated.
The doctor concentrated on Solanko. The replicator was an engineer’s concern, not hers. She looked down at the tricorder readings.
A temperature of eleven degrees? Blood pressure zero?
Crusher put the tricorder aside. She pressed two fingers on Solanko’s neck. He was warm to the touch, heart rate normal, breathing normal.
Scrambling to her feet, Crusher grabbed another tricorder. Everything in the supply closet was alight, blinking in rapid, random patterns. The doctor stopped short, studying them.
“Found him!” Riker pulled in a stumbling, shouting Muñoz. “He was in the sleeping quarters stripping the blankets off the beds.”
“We surrender!” Muñoz screamed. “Don’t you understand? We surrender!”
Malisson began to howl again, and she lunged at Muñoz. Riker yanked him away, but she kept running, right out the door.
“No!” Riker guided Muñoz to the nearest sofa. “I’ll go get—”
All the lights in the station flickered off, plunging them into complete darkness. The computer’s voice trilled out: “Initiating shutdown of all unnecessary systems.”
“What?!” asked Riker. “Computer, no one ordered—”
“Initiating.” The safety lights blinked on, casting the room in an eerie, amber glow. Rikkilä and Talma were both collapsed in a heap on the floor; Muñoz’s head lolled back against the sofa. For a moment, Riker and Crusher stared at each other from across the room.
“Computer, this is Commander William Riker—”
The lights flickered back on. Cool air from the environmental system blew across the back of Crusher’s neck, chilling her sweating skin.
“Computer?” Riker said uncertainly.
Another bowl of mujadara crashed to the floor, adding to the mountain of lentils and rice piled up there. But with that bowl, the replicator let out the soft chime that indicated it was powering down.
“Computer, run a diagnostic of the replicator,” Riker said.
“Running diagnostic.”
The Enterprise officers waited.
“Diagnostic complete. Replicator functioning within parameters. No malfunctioning systems.”
Crusher knelt down by Talma and Rikkilä and felt for their pulses. She did the same to Solanko.
“Normal.” Gingerly, she turned on her medical tricorder. All life signs normal. “It’s like before. There is nothing wrong with any of them.
“Will, please locate Lieutenant Malisson.”
“On it.”
Crusher moved over to Data. He was still unmoving, although he had shut his jaw. “Data?” she whispered.
His eyes blinked. He looked at her.
“Doctor Crusher.” His voice carried that same strange metallic timbre as before, but it flattened out and disappeared as he spoke. “I fear I may have lost time. I cannot recall the last seven minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”
Seven and a half minutes. The attack lasted seven and a half minutes.
“How do you feel?” Crusher asked.
“I am fine.” Data shook his head. “I feel no different than before.”
Crusher suspected when the others woke up, they would be fine as well.
* * *
“What are you seeing?” Riker asked.
They were outside, standing in a circle several paces away from the station, its windows lit up with light. Crusher had linked another tricorder to her own and was scanning the team. Both tricorders appeared to be working properly; everyone’s signs were normal, including Data’s.
“Nothing.” She stared down at the readings. “According to the equipment, there’s nothing wrong.” She looked up at the others. “According to my own eyes, right now, there’s n
othing wrong.”
“I feel fine,” Rikkilä offered, and the others let out a round of agreement.
“You feel fine,” Crusher said. “But you clearly aren’t fine. Something’s obviously not right here.”
For a moment, everyone was quiet while the wind whistled around them. In the darkness, the station didn’t look like a beacon, even though it was wreathed in warm light. It felt as if something was lurking inside, keeping itself hidden.
“Dammit. I’m stumped,” Crusher said, turning to Riker, and she didn’t know if that was fear she saw in his face.
15
“I must say I’m impressed.” Ambassador Sulel swiped through the Enterprise’s scans, peering down at them with a discerning eye. “We certainly are fortunate that we had the Enterprise at hand.”
“And her crew,” Picard added, and he saw the hint of pride flash across Worf’s features.
“Of course. That goes without saying.” Sulel handed the padd back to Worf. She glanced up at Commander Rusina, who stood off to the side, hands folded behind his back. “Which is why Commander Rusina and I have a proposal for you, Captain Picard. Time is of the essence in this situation. I think the Enterprise should search this sector for Aviana Virox.”
Picard felt a feeling of joy swell up inside him—he could be off Betazed within the hour. Surely as important as it may be to calm the guests, ensuring the safe return of the treasures was a better use of his talents.
“We still don’t know it was Aviana!” Lwaxana protested. “Oh, we can’t let the other Keepers get word of this—or the House leaders, for that matter. They’re already asking so many questions since we sequestered Aviana’s attendants.” The ambassador had produced a feathered fan from somewhere on her person and was flapping it wildly. For dramatic effect, Picard suspected, as the room was fairly chilly.
“Ambassador Troi, Aviana Virox is our primary suspect,” Worf said.
“That’s simply not possible!” Lwaxana squawked.
“Mother, please, you are here as a courtesy.” Troi’s tone was even, but Picard was able to detect the edge of frustration in her words.
Shadows Have Offended Page 10
