by David Mack
“Actually, I asked you here so that I might do something for you.” Ch’Nayla handed him the data slate. “I’m sure it will not surprise you to learn I try to stay current on all open investigations by the JAG office and the security division.”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Jackson said. He skimmed the contents of the data slate as ch’Nayla continued.
“In recent weeks, I’ve noted several warrants and subpoenas related to certain notable Orion citizens,” the Andorian said. “I’ve also been apprised of your difficulties in obtaining sensitive intelligence from the Orion financial sector.”
“Difficulties,” Jackson said, echoing ch’Nayla. “That’s a nice way to say utter failure. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Perhaps not. The obstacles to that investigation might now be removed.” He nodded toward the dais. “Join me.” As they walked to the bank of consoles, ch’Nayla continued. “One of my normally taciturn sources on the Orion homeworld has suddenly become loquacious about a private shell corporation—one that figures prominently in Captain Desai’s reports.”
Jackson felt a tingle of excitement. “How loquacious?”
“Very,” ch’Nayla said.
They stepped into the center of the consoles, and ch’Nayla picked up a yellow data card and inserted it into a slot. The screen directly ahead of them changed to display multiple frames of information, including static images, financial spreadsheets, communication logs, and more.
“We have detailed transaction records that show the CygnarRalon corporate entity belongs to a Nalori national known as Zett Nilric,” ch’Nayla said. “Though he has never been charged with a criminal offense, his dossier suggests he is a former professional assassin for the Nalori government who now works as an enforcer for the Orion crime boss Ganz.”
Pointing at one of the frames of business data, Jackson asked, “Can we enlarge that window, please?” Ch’Nayla magnified it so it filled the right half of the screen. Jackson felt his pulse speed up as he eyed the log of account activity. “The dates on those large cash deposits,” he said. “They bracket the date of the attack on the Malacca. Can we trace the source of those funds?”
“I already have,” ch’Nayla said. “They came from an account on Qo’noS that’s been linked to Klingon Imperial Intelligence.”
My God, Jackson marveled. This is it. The proof that ties the bombing to a criminal organization and the Klingons. He began to wonder what other cases might have ties to Zett Nilric. “Can we analyze the dates on the other transfers and see if they also bracket criminal events from other open cases?”
“Once again I’ve anticipated your needs,” ch’Nayla said. “I have cross-checked these dates with events on file and found what I believe to be seven notable concurrences. Three pertain to major heists on non-Federation planets. Two seem to be linked to acts of deep-space piracy against vessels recently departed from Vanguard. And the final two suggest a link between Mister Nilric and two prominent assassinations of underworld figures believed to have been rivals of Zett’s employer, Ganz.”
“Wow,” Jackson said. “Impressive work.”
“Thank you.” Ch’Naylah began closing the data frames. “I regret only that my discoveries can’t be of more use to you and Captain Desai.”
“What’re you talking about? There’s enough there to let me impound Zett’s ship and cavity-search him till he’s inside out.”
“Unfortunately, there isn’t,” ch’Nayla said. “Most of this intelligence was obtained through extralegal methods, and some of it has no clear provenance whatsoever. Almost all of it will be deemed inadmissible regardless of whether it is presented in a civilian court or a court-martial.”
Jackson balled his fists and growled at this latest aggravation. “Dammit! How many bullets can that bastard dodge?”
Removing the yellow data card from the console, ch’Nayla replied, “I share your anger at seeing justice obstructed.” He handed the data card to Jackson. “Though this information cannot be used to convict Mister Nilric, it’s my hope you can use it to disrupt his efforts in the future.”
Accepting the card, Jackson blinked in surprise. “You’re giving me this intel?”
“I’ve declassified it for you and Captain Desai, because it is clearly relevant to your respective assignments. I’ve also briefed Admiral Nogura on my findings.”
That news put a smile on Jackson’s face. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to sound so shocked. It’s just that T’Prynn was never very good at sharing intel with other departments.”
The middle-aged chan’s antennae swiveled in Jackson’s direction as he returned the younger man’s smile. “I am not T’Prynn,” he said.
Eight weeks of not enough sleep and too much caffeine had left Dr. Carol Marcus feeling frazzled and unfocused. Ever since the Endeavour had returned bearing Ming Xiong and the Mirdonyae Artifact, she and the scores of scientists in the Vault had been working double and even triple shifts to help Xiong unlock the mysterious object’s eldritch secrets.
As she downed the tepid dregs of her fourth cup of coffee for the day, she speculated that her entire department was likely functioning only by the grace of a potent mix of adrenaline and insatiable scientific curiosity.
The reports piled on her desk were too much to face. Stacks of data slates and computer cards threatened to topple over at any moment. When she thought of how hard she had worked to keep her personal work space tidy and organized, the current state of her office felt like a defeat, a surrender to chaos.
It looked like this a year ago, she remembered. Back when I took it over from Xiong. At the time she had prejudged Xiong’s competence based on the muddled condition of his office; now she admitted to herself that she had been too harsh on him. This job could make a basket case out of just about anybody.
Despite the mountains of ostensibly dead-end data their work produced, she and the other researchers had made remarkable discoveries by mining the ancient treasures entrusted to them.
The Taurus Meta-Genome was a complex string of genetic information that, when unraveled, yielded a cornucopia of raw data. Different parts of it had been seeded into seemingly basic life-forms throughout the Taurus Reach, spurring Starfleet to engage in what amounted to an interstellar scavenger hunt.
When coupled with an energy waveform known as the Jinoteur Pattern, the Meta-Genome data was like a key that unlocked one mystery of the universe after another: flawless tissue regeneration, complex matter-energy conversions, and even the first clues to bridging distant points of space-time. Starfleet had documented only part of the waveform’s total pattern, however. Its only known source had been the Jinoteur system, which had been violently destroyed more than a year earlier by a space-time implosion that blinked the system out of existence.
Both the genome and the pattern owed their genesis to a mysterious and dangerous species known as the Shedai. Hundreds of millennia earlier, they had been the rulers of this region of the galaxy. Their civilization had collapsed aeons ago, but the Shedai themselves apparently had lived on, hibernating and hiding, only to awaken when Starfleet began unlocking the secrets of their long-dormant technology.
And now there was the Mirdonyae Artifact—the greatest enigma of them all. It promised to unlock many of the most elusive Shedai mysteries, but Xiong and his colleagues insisted it was not a creation of the Shedai. Alas, after more than eight weeks of subjecting it to every test they could imagine, they seemed no closer than before to explaining who had made it, what it was made of, or where it had come from.
Marcus’s black coffee was now completely cold. She drank it anyway. The next series of reports were all from Dr. Wolowitz in the materials-analysis group, which promised an afternoon of dry reading.
She picked up a data slate and prepared herself for another long struggle against boredom.
Then she heard shouting coming from the lab outside.
It grew louder as she dropped the slate and scrambled to her door, which
slid open ahead of her. As it did, she heard one voice, loud and clear, barking panicked orders.
“Shut it down!” yelled Xiong, who ran from station to station around the central enclosure of transparent aluminum barriers. “Cut all power! Everyone stop, stop, STOP!”
The other scientists reacted with a flurry of frightened scrambling as they fought to deactivate every console and process. All the blinking readouts on the various panels went dark, and the lab’s normal undertone of energized components pitched downward in a mellisonant hum before fading to silence.
Marcus stormed across the lab and confronted Xiong. “What the hell are you doing? What’s going on?”
He was still trying to catch his breath. “Had to pull the plug,” he said between gasps. “Before it was too late.”
“Too late for what? I need details, Ming.”
Xiong nodded and composed himself. “Sorry,” he said. “Let me try to bring one system back online so I can show you what I found.” He led Marcus to the nearest console and nodded for the Vulcan man standing there to step aside. Marcus watched as Xiong took care to reboot the console in an offline diagnostic mode. While he worked, she noticed his face was pale and his forehead heavy with sweat.
She placed a hand on Xiong’s shoulder. “Try to calm down, Ming. Take a breath and tell me what happened.”
He fished a data card from his pocket and inserted it into a slot on the console. “This morning I started analyzing all the tests we’ve run on the artifact over the last two months. I cross-referenced all the inputs and results with the latest long-range scans of planets we’ve pinged with the artifact while looking for Shedai Conduits.”
The console loaded the data card, and its display changed to show an interactive star map. “This is what we found.” He tapped the icon for one of the star systems. What appeared was an image of fiery debris scattered in space. “Every time we’ve used the artifact to ping a planet that turned out to harbor a Shedai Conduit, the planet has exploded.”
Eyes wide, Marcus parroted, “Exploded?”
“Complete geothermal self-destruction,” Xiong said. “Over the past two months, we’ve destroyed eleven planets without even knowing it. And if I hadn’t shut down today’s experiment, we’d have raised the toll to an even dozen.”
Marcus covered her mouth with one hand, as if she could hold back the horror that welled up inside her. “Oh, my God,” she muttered. She looked up at the artifact, which was locked inside the experiment chamber. “What is that thing?”
Xiong shrugged. “Right now, my best guess is it’s some kind of doomsday weapon for attacking the Shedai’s interstellar network of Conduits.” He stared at the crystalline dodecahedron. “If I know Admiral Nogura, his next question’ll be: Can it be used as a weapon against the Shedai?”
She looked at Xiong. “Can it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “All I can tell you is we have to be a lot more careful from now on—because that thing’s Armageddon waiting to happen.”
29
July 30, 2267
Haniff Jackson lunged for the ball as it bounced hard less than a foot behind the short line. He swung his racquet as he dived, but caught nothing but air.
The ball struck the floor a second time and ricocheted off the back wall. Jackson slammed to the deck with a pained grunt.
His opponent gave the racquet tied to her wrist a fast twirl and flashed a cocky grin in his direction. “Thirteen–six,” Desai said. “Are you sure you’ve played racquetball before?”
“Yes,” Jackson said. His entire body was drenched in sweat. Beads of perspiration fell from the tip of his nose as he pushed himself up from the floor.
Desai scooped up the ball from the floor and walked back toward the court’s service zone. As she passed Jackson, she asked in a sweetly mocking tone, “Do you need a time-out?”
“I’m fine,” he said. Flexing his arms to push through the pain of his abraded elbows, he added, “Serve when ready.” He rolled his head in a circle to release the tension in his neck, then settled into his stance for another rally.
The petite JAG officer faced the front wall and lifted her racquet. With her left hand she released the ball and let it bounce once. As it returned to its drop-height and seemed to hang for the tiniest fraction of a second, Desai swung in a blur and swatted it. The sharp pop of contact was still echoing off the walls as the ball returned on an almost straight-line trajectory—and hit Jackson in the face.
A red flash filled his vision. When it cleared, he was lying on his back, looking up at Desai. “Time-out,” he said.
“Are you all right?” she asked, wincing with embarrassment as she kneeled beside him. “I didn’t think I hit it that hard …”
“It’s fine,” Jackson said. “I was planning on getting my nose flattened, anyway.” Lolling his head toward Desai, he added, “Now that I have your undivided attention, have you given any more thought to that intel we got from ch’Nayla?”
She nodded. “I have. And I’m sorry to say I think he’s right. Most of it is completely inadmissible.”
Sitting up slowly, Jackson grimaced with discomfort and disappointment. “I guess that means we can’t even use it to issue warrants to look for evidence that isn’t tainted.”
“Afraid not,” she said. “You and ch’Nayla can use it as a guide to update the station’s security protocols, but as far as using it for evidence, it’s worthless.”
He pulled his hand across his upper lip and wiped away a trickle of blood running from his nose. “Great. Just great.” As he got back on his feet, he let Desai hold his arm and offer him a bit of support. “Thanks,” he said.
“Any time.” She waved her racquet at the front wall. “Ready? That last serve’s a mulligan.”
Jackson shook his head. “No, thanks. You cleaned my clock in the first game, and you’re two aces from handing me my hat in this one.” He pulled off his protective eyewear. “I can tell when I’m beat.”
Desai followed him as he walked off the court. “Don’t talk like that. I know you’re upset about the Malacca investigation, but that’s just how things go sometimes.”
“I’m not in the habit of accepting mass murder, arson, and terrorism as an example of ‘Just how things go,’ ” he said, pushing open the door of the court. He turned and passed other courts on his way to the men’s locker room. “Fifty-two people died in that attack. On my watch. And while we spend our time worrying about rules of evidence, they spend their time finding new ways to rob our ships and kill our people.”
It was hard for Desai to keep pace with Jackson, whose stride was much longer than hers, but she was doing her best. “Haniff, don’t you think I want to see Zett and his accomplices put away for life? The rules piss me off, too, but in the end they work in our favor by making our cases as strong as they can be.” She caught his arm before he entered the locker room and made him turn to face her. “I promise you, I won’t stop until I see him convicted in a fair and open trial.”
“How?” Jackson replied. “Nothing we get on this guy ever sticks. Short of him giving you a full, unsolicited confession, how do you plan on bringing him to trial?”
She folded her arms and looked away. “I don’t know.” Meeting his accusatory glare, she added, “But unlike some people, I won’t quit before the game’s over.”
The challenge implicit in her remark made him smile. “You really want to earn those last two points, eh?”
“No,” she said, jabbing him playfully with her racquet. “I want you to make me earn them.”
He admired her spirit. “All right,” he said, waving her back toward the court. “Let’s go finish this.” She led the way, and he put his eyewear back on. “You know, if you took cheap shots like that at the bad guys, we might’ve put a few more of them in jail.” When she frowned at him, he added, “Just sayin’.”
She opened the door to the court and waved him inside. “And if your hands were as quick as your mouth, that ball might not hav
e hit you in the face.”
“Touché.” He set himself into a ready stance on the right half of the court while Desai strolled confidently back to the service zone. He called out, “Before you serve … ?” She turned back, and he continued. “I just want to say I’m sorry for going all negative on you. This case just has me feeling like I’ve been hitting my head against a brick wall for months, know what I mean? To be so close and watch it slip away makes me crazy sometimes.” He shook his head. “All I’ve wanted to do for the past year was bring the people behind the bombing to justice. Is that really so much to ask?”
Desai offered him a bittersweet smile. “I wish I knew what to tell you. On some level I believe in karma. If Zett was the one who bombed the Malacca, or part of a conspiracy to make it happen, then I like to think he’ll get what’s coming to him, either in this life or the next.” Walking back toward Jackson, she continued, “There’s an old saying: ‘The arc of the universe bends toward justice.’ You need to have faith in that, Haniff.” She stopped in front of him. “Our duty is to serve the truth first, and we do that by obeying the law. Leave justice to the universe.”
Then she reached up, grabbed his shirt collar with one hand, and pulled him down into a long, torrid kiss. When she released him, he was short of breath, and he felt dizzy from the sudden rush of blood away from his brain. She gave him a playful shove. “Now get your head back in the game, Lieutenant.”
He blinked and tried to focus on something other than Desai’s derriere as she strutted back to the service zone.
She lifted her racquet, called out, “Thirteen serving six,” and dropped the ball. He saw it bounce once. He heard her racquet make contact.
A red streak caromed off the front wall. A shallow bounce several meters to his left made him lunge and flail to make a backhand return shot. His racquet sliced at empty air.
