SHUTTLECRAFT MEUSE
APPROACHING THE FAR EMBASSY
Picard looked through the forward viewport as the shuttle approached the station. The Far Embassy was just as he’d seen it in the files provided by Titan. The vessel had been waiting on the scene when the Enterprise arrived. Christine Vale had backtracked to the place where, all now knew, the trouble had begun. The Enterprise captain had enough time to fill in Titan’s crew fully about what had happened and about what was expected once Aventine and the renegade ships arrived.
Aventine had made it in before the rest, as anticipated, giving them further time to prepare. Deanna Troi had wanted very much to see her husband, but he had thought it best that she didn’t. Picard didn’t blame him. There was too much already going on in Riker’s mind, even with its enhanced capacity. And while the Cytherian influence provided added self-confidence—a commodity Will Riker was well supplied with—Picard could tell Riker simply didn’t want to be seen by her or his daughter in his current state.
“They bought it completely,” the holographic Riker said from the seat opposite Picard in the rear of the shuttle. He was wearing the mobile emitter, perfected on the journey. “You, Worf, and Glinn Dygan make a great acting company.”
“Worf wasn’t sanguine about the ploy,” Picard said. “But I agreed with you: if they were involved, the renegades would be incensed.” He looked at holo-Riker. “You heard me speak the lines you gave me about your promotion. I didn’t relish that part. You know I couldn’t be more pleased for you.”
Holo-Riker shrugged. “It was the right play. I don’t know a lot about the players on the other side, but thwarted ambition seems to be a motive they understand. It worked. I don’t know if they’re coming to conquer or destroy, but they’re coming.”
“We’ll be ready,” Picard said. “Or rather, you will.”
It was one of the stranger situations the captain had been involved in. Riker—or rather, his holographic stand-in—was sitting there being directed remotely by the real Riker back on Aventine. At the same time, the admiral was busy coordinating the three ships’ upcoming defense of the station. Only one person could board the Far Embassy at a time through the Federation’s designated airlock; they’d decided it should be Picard, who had been part of the first contact with the Cytherians.
He would be bringing Admiral Riker along literally in his vest pocket. Holo-Riker again showed him the controls of the armband. Picard would enter the station alone, but both of them would be able to work inside it—and provided the local subspace link between Aventine and the mobile emitter remained operational, the hologram would retain its live connection back to the admiral’s mind.
A jolt shook the shuttle. “That’s the automatic tractor beam,” called Sam Bowers from the pilot’s seat.
Picard looked forward to see Bowers and Aventine’s chief engineer, Mikaela Leishman, at the controls. They were here not simply as pilots; Riker and Dax had concocted a plan he called his “ace in the hole.” The admiral had not been sure the scheme would work, nor did he know what circumstances would make him play the card, but it was something they could do to try to affect the station. If Picard had learned anything about the transformed Riker, it was that he planned for every eventuality.
“Do you think you can complete the assignment as the admiral laid it out?” Picard asked the Aventine’s officers.
Leishman’s eyes scanned the approaching interface with the station. “It’s doable. A Federation-style docking port and tractor beam, of a model from about twenty years ago.”
Riker nodded. “That’s when the Cytherians would have last seen schematics for them.”
“Why were you showing them docking ports?” Bowers asked.
Picard answered that. “As an aid to them, in case they made contact with anyone in this sector.”
Bowers stared at the docking port, growing ever-larger outside. “Well, they’ve definitely made contact.” He looked back to Picard and Riker. “We’ll start work as soon as you’re inside.”
“Thanks,” Riker said, leaning forward to address the Aventine officers. “Stay sharp. Don’t let anyone put one over on you—no matter who he says he is.”
Bowers and Leishman nodded in appreciation—even as the shuttle turned to line up with the airlock. A second later, Meuse bumped the station with a metallic thud.
“Will the door open for me?” Picard asked.
“You’re an invited guest,” Riker said. “Try it.”
Picard stood at Meuse’s hatch. The shuttle’s door opened, revealing a gray portal beyond with an alphanumeric keypad at the center. Picard entered the passcode the United Federation of Planets had been sent. After a pause, the door opened, revealing the cramped turbolift car Riker had used on his visit.
“That’s one hunch that worked,” Riker said. “They didn’t plan to use the airlocks again, so why change the passcodes?” He turned so that Picard could access the mobile emitter. “Captain.”
Picard took careful hold of the armband, knowing that it would fall to the deck as soon as there was nothing to support it. “I’ve never deactivated a superior officer before,” he said, carefully operating the controls.
“Very funny. I’ll see you inside.”
AVENTINE
So this is the place that caused all the trouble, Dax thought as she watched from her command chair. Aventine had taken up a defensive position alongside Enterprise and Titan, all three vessels preparing for the renegades. But her interest was what was in the shuttle, docked at the Far Embassy.
“Magnify,” she said.
Meuse didn’t look too bad for the beating it had taken in her attempt to break out earlier. Right on schedule, the shuttle’s upper hatch opened, disgorging two figures in EV suits. Commander Bowers and Lieutenant Leishman scuttled across to the docking interface. They couldn’t get inside, Dax knew. But they could access something else—perhaps the only part of the Far Embassy that wasn’t designed by an advanced civilization.
“They’re starting,” Helkara said from the science post. “I’ll be amazed if this works.”
“I’m tired of being amazed,” she said. “I just want to be right.”
Behind, Kedair reported, “Proximity alarm. One, three—no, six vessels arriving from warp, on the expected vector.”
“That’s our friends,” Dax said. “Red Alert. Shields up. Bowers, Leishman—finish and get out of there.”
“It’s everyone but the Romulan, Captain.”
“It’s plenty.” The Trill looked back to Kedair, eyes cold and serious. “We’re going to defend the Far Embassy, just like Enterprise defended the array from us. Listen for the Admiral’s orders!”
Forty-three
D’VARIAN
Bretorius had figured it perfectly. While the other six renegade vessels were arriving along the same vector, he had dropped from warp short of the Far Embassy—only to engage on a route plotted to deliver D’varian on the opposite side of the station, well beyond the reach of the sensors of any Federation vessel nearby. He’d been expecting anything from a single starship to a flotilla defending the location; three ships were enough to confirm for him that the Federation indeed had plans for the Far Embassy. He had immediately engaged his cloaking device, cruising calmly and casually toward the station without regard for the battle now raging around it.
Things weren’t going as well inside D’varian. What crewmembers weren’t working to get at him were trying to disable the warbird. It had been a game of move-countermove for him. He would use the transporters as a defensive weapon, they would attempt to disable them. The crew would try to protect themselves by constructing transport inhibitors, he would beam the components into space. He had even been forced to expend valuable time trying to figure out how to replicate and beam knockout gas into the ventilation systems.
The whole thing would have been so much easier if anyone had followed him.
But there was still Nerla, bound to his will. From within the Taibak
Indoctrinator, he looked up at her. “Cheer up,” he said. “You’re going on an adventure.” Nerla looked miserable and angry in her spacesuit, equipment he’d beamed into the brig from storage. “I will beam you to a location near the Romulan docking port, just outside the range of the Far Embassy’s transport inhibitors. The tractor beam will bring you to the hatch. There is a keypad with characters in our language. Use—”
“I know, I know,” she said, snapping her helmet on. “Use the code you gave me.”
“When you are inside, remove your suit. I will be able to communicate with you and see what you can see—via the necklace. The Far Embassy may be proof against transporters and most of D’varian’s sensors, but I already know from my first visit that we can get a subspace signal through. And don’t forget the disruptor,” he said, eyes darting to the weapon on the table nearby.
Nerla stared at it. “Who’s over there?”
“I told you, I can’t read life signs through its shell. Nobody can—it’s why my colleagues are able to strike at it without it violating their conditioning. As far as any of us know, the place was uninhabited. I want to make sure it remains so. Use the disruptor to thwart anyone who attempts to gain power from the Cytherians. Or anyone who just seems too smart.”
“Fine.” Picking up the disruptor in her gloved hand, she pointed it at Bretorius. She glared at him. “You fit both descriptions, don’t you?”
He sighed. “You know I wouldn’t have replicated a weapon that I couldn’t deactivate in an instant, right?”
Nerla rolled her eyes. “I’m so sick of this. And you.” She snapped the disruptor in her holster and shrugged. “Okay, whenever . . .”
FAR EMBASSY
Picard stepped from the cramped turbolift into the round room. It was just as Riker had described: large, domed, featureless—lit by a light seemingly coming from nowhere. And there was the large octagonal table, an impractical number of meters across, in the center of the room, surrounded by eight chairs of different configurations.
It was time; there was more than enough room for two here. He pulled the mobile emitter from his pocket, held it at arm’s length, and activated it.
In a flash, the holographic admiral appeared. Holo-Riker looked up and around. “Genie out of the bottle,” Picard said.
“We could trade archaic expressions all day,” Riker said. “But I can tell you that our guests have arrived outside. Six ships against three. Dax, Worf, and Vale have launched the defense I designed.”
“How long will that give us?”
“That depends,” Riker said, walking toward the giant table. “My fellow diplomats won’t be able to use deadly force themselves, but that won’t stop people they’ve duped from using it. Nothing will stop them from firing on the Far Embassy if they get past.”
“Or mounting electronic attacks,” Picard said, wandering the room. “If they jam Aventine or the station, your link could be severed. I’m curious how we can get a subspace signal out when our sensors can’t pierce the station’s hull.”
“That’s how the Cytherians wanted it. The diplomats had to be able to call back to their ships on arrival—it made it seem less like a trap.” Riker walked to one of the chairs at the table designed for a bipedal humanoid. “Where it all started,” he said. He sat down in it and put his hands on the smooth surface. “This place hasn’t changed an atom since we all walked out. They didn’t even put the furniture away.”
“They? Was someone here?”
“No. It was all functioning automatically.” He looked about. “Our transformation was triggered when we all sat down—there was this bright light. Nothing’s happening now.”
Picard looked at the other seats. “Did we need to bring seven others to trigger the process?”
“I didn’t have time to build emitters for a holographic menagerie, if that’s what you mean. This was chancy enough without spending time creating our own fake diplomats.”
Picard nodded. “Perhaps the mechanism senses you’re a hologram. Perhaps I should try it.”
Riker looked up at him. “I don’t want this thing transforming you as it did me. I don’t know that it would happen, but it happened to me.”
The holographic Riker paused. Picard searched his face. “What is it?”
“Meuse is safely away—and the renegades have engaged our task force.” As Riker said it, a low sound thrummed through the room. “That would be a close call delivered by a Tholian Emerald-class juggernaut. He ran his hands across the table and looked up and around. “We can’t wait much longer. But even knowing what I know now, I can’t perceive any mechanism in this room at all.”
Picard walked around the table and surveyed the place, even as another blast reverberated through the chamber. “Just a moment. Who called this place the Far Embassy?”
“The hosts, in their invitations,” Riker said. “The Cytherians.”
“The Cytherians are incredibly precise in their language, Will—you remember. They would not call something an embassy unless it was.”
Riker nodded, catching the idea. “It’s not an embassy for any of us. It’s an embassy for them.”
Picard’s eyes lit up. “Precisely. And where there is an embassy—”
“—there is an ambassador,” Riker said, standing up. “Well?” he called out to the air.
Nothing.
“You might as well show yourself,” holo-Riker said, cupping his hands together. His voice echoed through the room. “The game is up. I demand to see the ambassador!”
A searing flash blinded Picard. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the giant floating head of a Cytherian floating ethereally, several meters above the center of the table.
Giant eyes focused on the humans. “Disturbance unnecessary,” the woman said.
“Madame Ambassador,” Picard said, bowing.
“We have some things to discuss,” Riker said, as another explosion rocked the Far Embassy. “And you’d better talk fast.”
Forty-four
She was three meters tall from chin to her bundle of orange hair. The color matched the six-pointed jewel embedded in her forehead. The Cytherian’s skin was old and drawn, and her eyes narrowed as she beheld her visitors. When she spoke again, the words she repeated boomed around the chamber, louder than before.
“Unnecessary disturbance!”
Picard and Riker had been in the presence of a Cytherian before—and had become accustomed to the race’s parsimonious means of expression. Picard stepped forward, his palms open in a gesture of friendship. “I don’t know if your people remember me. I am Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets.”
“Impatience. Slight regard.” The floating head began to slowly revolve away from Picard.
“Remarkable,” the captain said, staring at her with wonder. “But the Cytherians don’t travel. Or they didn’t before.” He looked to Riker. “What do you see, Will?”
As a holographic character, Riker’s doppelganger was not limited to human senses. Holo-Riker studied the alien face. “I can’t tell you much about her. I don’t have all the sensors I’d have on Aventine.” He gestured to Picard. “Use your tricorder.”
While Picard reached for the instrument, the giant head’s eyes fell on the holographic Riker. She stared at him coolly. “Simulacrum,” she said and continued to rotate.
The captain activated his tricorder and directed it at the Cytherian. The readings didn’t help much. “It’s just like aboard Enterprise, with Caster. It’s difficult to tell whether she’s material or not. She could be here—or she could a holographic program.”
“I can’t tell either. But the Cytherians told us they didn’t travel. Odds are she’s a program.”
The captain shut the tricorder off and started walking around the floating head, which continued to turn faster than he could keep up. It was like trying to maintain eye contact with a gyroscope.
Finally, he stepped into her field of view again. “And how should we address you?”
“Proctor.”
The name made sense to Picard. Caster’s name—at least as a term Enterprise-D’s crew could understand—was in some sense a description of his role, or so the theorizing had gone. “You are a teacher?”
“Proctor.” The Cytherian resumed her disinterested, slow turning.
Picard walked round to Riker’s side, pocketing his tricorder as he did. “They don’t give you much, do they?”
Riker glared. “It was like this years ago. It’s like talking to a tarot card reader. They give you just enough and make you imagine the rest.” He spoke to the back of her head. “You forced skills on me, Proctor, and a mission of destruction. I want to know why.”
At once, the head spun a hundred eighty degrees. Proctor’s eyes looked daggers at Riker. “Impertinent vested intelligence.” The head seemed to bob angrily. “Rejection of assignments. Failure.”
Picard scratched his head. “I think ‘vested intelligence’ means you, Will.”
“I’ve only started to be impertinent. You haven’t answered my question, Proctor. Why have you done all this?”
“Impudence. Misapprehension of station!” Proctor’s voice boomed—and as it did, the Far Embassy shook again.
“We don’t have time for this,” Riker said. “Your station is under attack!”
AVENTINE
It was the most challenging tactical situation Dax had faced in her recent memory. And she wondered how Starfleet could ever train someone for it.
Six attacking vessels, from six different interstellar powers. It wasn’t a simple matter of Lonnoc Kedair working against the profile of a Klingon battlecruiser. It was a ship identification seminar, all in one attack wave. The best defense against one wasn’t the right move against another.
Complicating matters was something that had become quickly apparent: the six ships didn’t seem to have the same objectives. The Klingon, the Cardassian, and the Gorn were clearly targeting the Far Embassy; the Tholian and Tzenkethi were buzzing around, evidently looking for ways to approach the side of the station with their docking ports. The Ferengi was dithering—waiting to salvage the pieces? She didn’t know.
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