Voyskunsky snapped her fingers. “That’s where I know the name. We used to vacation on Aurigae when I was a girl. We visited the museum there.” She smiled. “I haven’t been back there in years, though. As I recall, the ruins and artifacts found there were quite impressive.”
“Indeed,” Tuvok said, betraying only the slightest irritation at the interruption. He touched the display on his padd, and an image appeared on the briefing-room screen. It was a human woman in an old-style Earth space-service uniform and a Vulcan woman in a uniform that DeSoto didn’t recognize. They were both wearing some kind of gloves and holding small objects that looked like old-fashioned optical chips. “Most telling was a chronicle that the officers of the Earth ship, aided by a Vulcan observer, were able to translate. It indicated that Malkus was able to enforce his rule with the aid of four devices.”
DeSoto nodded. “The so-called Malkus Artifacts.”
“Yes, Captain.” Tuvok changed the display to one that showed a Vulcan Starfleet officer in a blue uniform holding a black box. The picture had to be at least a century old, based on the uniform, and after a moment DeSoto realized with surprise that he was looking at Ambassador Spock from his days serving in Starfleet. “Though all the artifacts look alike, each serves a particular function. One can exert telepathic control; one can manipulate weather patterns; one emits a beam of force; and one imparts a deadly disease. After Malkus was overthrown, the artifacts were removed from the Zalkatian homeworld and placed on distant worlds throughout the quadrant.”
Janeway, who had been leaning forward in her chair, smirked. “But they didn’t say which worlds, right?”
“No. It was feared that if any record was made of the artifacts’ destination, someone of a less than scrupulous nature would seek them out and try to re-create Malkus’s tyranny.”
“Why not simply destroy them?” Janeway asked.
Tuvok’s eyebrow shot up in that manner common to many Vulcans. “That was attempted, but the artifacts have proven resistant to brute force. They also give off a distinctive energy signature, which was encoded in the chronicles.”
“I don’t understand,” Voyskunsky said. “If they wanted to hide them, why make them easy to find?”
“It’s not a question of being easy to find,” Cavit said with a level of annoyance out of proportion to Voyskunsky’s question, “it’s a question of knowing what you find if you stumble across it.”
“Precisely,” Tuvok said. “Thus far, two of the artifacts have been located. The first, as you can see from this picture, was found by the U.S.S. Enterprise and the U.S.S. Constellation during a mission to Alpha Proxima II to aid in curing a plague that had broken out on the surface.”
“Caused by the artifact?” DeSoto asked.
“Yes.” Tuvok changed the image again, this time to a starship shuttlebay. Once again a Starfleet officer held a black box, but this time the uniform was contemporary. And once again DeSoto recognized the figure: Benjamin Sisko, the commander of Station Deep Space 9. “The next was found four-point-five months ago on one of Bajor’s moons by a terrorist known as Orta. This was the artifact that emits a beam of force. Orta was captured on the Runabout Rio Grande and incarcerated on the U.S.S. Odyssey. Both artifacts are presently being studied at the Rector Institute on Earth.”
Cavit leaned back. “And it looks like the Maquis have found the third artifact. God help us if it’s the mind controller, but even the weather controller would be devastating in their hands.”
“There is one other concern.” Tuvok changed the display once again, this time showing several identical sensor readings. Two were obviously from older Starfleet sensors, based on the style of the displays; the other four were modern starship displays. “These are the sensor readings taken of the artifacts. The first two are from the Constellation and the Enterprise a century ago, the second two from the Odyssey and the Rio Grande four-point-five months ago, the latter two the ones just taken from Voyager and the Hood. Notice the slight difference.”
DeSoto squinted and realized that there was a slight variation in the energy pattern given off by the artifact in the DMZ. “That difference is pretty negligible.”
“Indeed it would be, but for the fact that, according to the chronicle, the energy signatures should be precisely the same.”
“And the signatures of the first two artifacts were precisely the same,” Janeway added. “I doubt it’s anything that significant, though.”
“Perhaps not, but I thought it worth pointing out,” Tuvok said archly.
Janeway smiled affectionately. “Of course you did.”
DeSoto also smiled. Obviously these two have served together a long time.
“We need to go in,” Voyskunsky said. “General Order 16 is pretty clear: we have to confiscate the artifact. Even if there wasn’t such an order, Aaron’s right—we have to keep that thing out of Maquis hands.”
“An aggressive charge across the DMZ would be a mistake,” Janeway said. “For one thing, it would alert the Maquis that we’re onto them. Besides, you know full well that the Cardassians won’t allow a Starfleet vessel to go in without an equivalent Central Command presence.”
DeSoto sighed. “And that way lies madness.”
“Definitely.”
“What do you suggest, Captain?”
Janeway smiled. “I’m glad you asked. Tuvok?”
Tuvok changed the image on the screen once again. This time it was yet another familiar Starfleet face, though he wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform. In fact, legend had it that he’d disintegrated his uniform with a phaser.
“Cal Hudson?” DeSoto asked, bemused. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Our first mission, once the shakedown is complete,” Janeway said, “is to go into the Badlands to try to root out some of the terrorists that are hiding out in there—especially the Starfleet defectors like Hudson.”
Tuvok steepled his fingers together. “Captain Janeway, Lieutenant Commander Cavit, and I have been formulating a plan whereby I would infiltrate the Maquis. Starfleet Intelligence has been able to trace Lieutenant Commander Hudson’s movements, and we’re reasonably sure that we can locate his cell. From there, I should be able to join them and gather intelligence about the organization.”
Cavit added with a small smile, “We were kind of hoping to do this once Voyager was fully operational, so we’d be available to pull him out if need be, but with this…”
“The only alteration to Mr. Tuvok’s mission would be that he would also be tasked with finding the Malkus Artifact and working to get it out of Maquis hands,” Janeway said.
“And the only change in plan,” Cavit added, “is to use the Hood instead of the Voyager as the backup ship, since we’re out of action.”
DeSoto tapped his finger on the desk. He certainly didn’t have any problems with the idea in theory—he’d need to look at the plan the three of them had concocted, of course—but it would have been preferable for Tuvok’s own ship to keep an eye on things.
“Dayrit to DeSoto.”
The captain looked up. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, Lieutenants Czierniewski and Honigsberg are requesting permission to beam aboard. They have a report they want to give you regarding Voyager.”
“Send them down here, Manolet.”
Within minutes, the short, rotund form of Tara Czierniewski entered, joined by the tall, lithe form of a human in a lieutenant’s uniform—presumably Alexander Honigsberg, Voyager’ s chief engineer. “Report,” DeSoto said.
Honigsberg tossed a padd onto the table. “It’s broken.”
Janeway blinked. “Can you be a touch more specific, Mr. Honigsberg?”
“Oh, I’m sure I could spend half an hour breaking down all the specifics in a way that would sound really complicated, but it’s all in the report,” Honigsberg said, pointing at the padd. “And what it boils down to is that it’s broken.”
The smile Janeway hit Honigsberg with was as scary a sight as DeSot
o had ever seen. “Try me, Lieutenant. I’ve used the occasional two-syllable word in my time. I think I can handle it.”
Letting out a long breath, Honigsberg closed his eyes. Then he reopened them and spoke. “The connections between the gel packs and the other systems are misreading the inputs. It’s transferring power at a greatly accelerated rate, and we can’t slow it down. It’s not just improving response time like it’s supposed to, it’s increasing everything. And it’s not a software problem. The only way to fix this is to go back to Mars and replace every single damn gel-pack unit—and every single gel pack, since the current ones are all burned out.”
The smile became a sweet one, but no less scary for that. “See, Mr. Honigsberg, was that so hard?”
“How much time will we need at Utopia Planitia?” Cavit asked.
“We’re talking weeks, Commander, at least. This is a major design flaw.”
Czierniewski added, “But not unusual when you’re playing with new toys. I mean hey, this is why you have shakedown cruises.”
Cavit turned to DeSoto. “All the more reason why we need your help here, Captain.”
Turning to his first officer, DeSoto asked, “Any objections, Commander?”
“Assuming the plan is sound, no. Aaron’s plans do tend to work, though, so I’m pretty sanguine.” She smiled. Cavit grimaced. “I still think we’d be better off going in full force, but sometimes the sneaky approach is better.”
Remembering their latest Go game, DeSoto silently agreed, and turned back to Janeway. “All right, then, let’s see what you’ve got. If we both back it up, I’m sure we can sell the changes in the plan to Nechayev.”
Chapter Three
HAVING FINALLY CONVINCED DESOTO to resign the Go game—and gaining great satisfaction out of it, especially since she was able to counter his last-ditch maneuver—Dina Voyskunsky left the lounge and headed to the bridge while the captain headed for bed. Just as she arrived for the overnight shift, a communication came in from Voyager. Taking it in the captain’s ready room, she was greeted by the smiling face of Lieutenant Honigsberg.
“Commander, it looks like we’re as shipshape as we’re going to be. We’re back up to a hundred percent. I figure we’ll only be at optimum power consumption for about six hours or so, but that’s enough to get us home so we can beat this puppy into shape.”
Voyskunsky returned the smile, remembering the glee of problem-solving from her own days as an engineer. “Looking forward to it, eh?”
“Nah, not so much,” Honigsberg said with a slight tilt to his head. “I want to get out into the field with this beast. I’m greatly looking forward to spending many years with these engines.”
Chuckling, Voyskunsky said, “I’ll have Czierniewski cut the power transfer, then.”
“Fine. Thank her and her team for me, will you? The extra hands really helped. Oh, and Mr. Cavit wanted to talk to you.”
“Put him on,” Voyskunsky said with a smile, thinking, I doubt that “wanted” is the right word to use. “Felt it necessary,” maybe.
The image switched from the happy face of a chief engineer to the dour face of a first officer. “You know,” she said without preamble, “you didn’t used to always look grumpy all the time.”
Cavit closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. “I was really hoping DeSoto would be on duty.”
“Nope, he’s asleep,” Voyskunsky said, reveling in his discomfort. “Went to bed after I whupped him at Go again.”
Blinking, Cavit said, “I couldn’t have heard that right.”
“Heard what?” Voyskunsky blinked coquettishly, feigning innocence.
“It sounded like you said you beat Captain DeSoto at Go.”
“That’s because it’s what I said.” Voyskunsky got up and went over to the replicator in the ready room. If she was going to have a lengthy one-on-one talk with Aaron Cavit, she needed fortification. “Orange blossom tea, hot,” she instructed the computer.
“When did you learn how to play well enough to beat him?”
“Captain taught me himself,” she said, removing the tea from the replicator dispenser. The steam carried the lovely scent of oranges to her nose, relaxing her almost instantly. She retook the desk chair and faced Cavit. He looked more shocked than he had that time on Risa. Now, that was a shore leave, she thought with fond remembrance.
He snorted in a long-suffering manner. “Doing your usual making friends and influencing people, I see.”
“Was there a point to this call, Aaron, or did you just feel like making up for lost time by cramming twelve years of verbal abuse into five minutes?” She took a sip of her tea. It was too bitter again. She made a mental note to talk to Czierniewski about it.
Cavit looked like he was about to say one thing; then he stopped himself, to Voyskunsky’s annoyance. “I wanted to tell you that Mr. Tuvok is ready to beam over. Have you taken care of everything on your end?”
She’d been hoping to get a proper response out of him, but he was reverting back to professional mode. “I’ve updated all the records—as far as anybody’s concerned, Tuvok’s been serving on the Hood for three months and his family moved to Amniphon three years ago. I even got the authorities on Vulcan to change his wife and kids’ records around so they’re listed as having died on Amniphon last month, though I doubt the Maquis would be able to dig that deep.” She smiled, then decided to take another shot. “I did tell you that I’d take care of it. You doubting my word now?”
“No, I just—” He sighed. “Never mind. What was that crack about in the meeting, anyhow? About my plans ‘tending’to work?”
“They always did in my experience.” She managed to keep her face straight. “When can we expect Tuvok?”
“At 0100 hours. Look, you don’t have to make snide comments in meetings. If you want to—”
Voyskunsky rolled her eyes. This was not what she was hoping for. She wasn’t sure what to expect after twelve years, honestly, but this whining certainly wasn’t it. “Enough of this. Look, Aaron, I wasn’t going to bring a damn thing up. I didn’t say anything in that meeting that was out of line with my duty as first officer of the Hood. Anything you choose to interpret is, frankly, your problem. Now, is there anything else?”
“I—” Cavit sighed. His dark eyes looked almost pleading, but she didn’t want pleading, dammit, she wanted contrition. Or at least an emotional response of some kind that wasn’t snarky. “No, Commander, nothing else. We’ll be getting under way shortly after Mr. Tuvok reports to you.”
“Fine. And good luck.”
“Thank you.” Cavit sounded like he wanted to say something else.
She decided to go for broke. “Look, Aaron, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a lot of gall copping an attitude when you were the one who never showed on Pacifica. Now unless there’s anything else, I actually have work to do over here.”
“No, Commander,” he said tightly, “there’s nothing else. Voyager out.”
He cut the connection.
Damn, damn, damn, she thought. Could’ve handled that more smoothly. She started to sip her tea, then thought better of it.
She tapped her combadge as she exited the ready room, leaving the tea behind. “Voyskunsky to engineering. Cut the power transfer to Voyager.” To the young night-shift ensign at conn, she said, “Set course for the Cardassian border. We’ll implement at warp three once Lieutenant Tuvok reports on board.”
“Aye, sir.”
The viewscreen held the image of Voyager, a gray line seeming to connect it to a point just under the screen: the power transfer. Then the line blinked out of existence. All of the Intrepid-class ship’s running lights were going at full bore; the nacelles glowed with their full blue luminescence. From what Honigsberg had said, that was a temporary condition, but at least they should be able to get back to Utopia Planitia and fix whatever was wrong.
“Transporter room to bridge. Lieutenant Tuvok and all his personal effects have arrived safely, Comman
der.”
Voyskunsky smiled. “Hit it, Ensign.”
The following morning, Captain DeSoto found his first officer in the main shuttlebay along with Lieutenant Tuvok. The former was holding a tricorder, the latter a phaser rifle, and both were standing near the Shuttlecraft Manhattan. The shuttle had seen better days: phaser scars marred several parts of the hull. As the captain entered, Voyskunsky said, “Now fourteen centimeters up and six centimeters to the right.”
Tuvok fired the phaser at the hull of the Manhattan without bothering to take any measurements. DeSoto had no doubt that the resultant phaser blast was right where Voyskunsky instructed it to be in relation to another phaser scar.
“How goes the deception?” DeSoto asked.
“Almost finished,” Voyskunsky said. “Next one should be across the port bow, say a forty-five-degree angle.”
Tuvok turned to look at the lieutenant commander. “That would not be consistent.”
“I beg your pardon?”
DeSoto smiled. “Let me guess, Mr. Tuvok—you’re about to point out that the next logical phaser blast would be across the starboard bow, as that would be the standard Starfleet tactical procedure when firing on a small vessel taking a standard evasive course, yes?”
“That is correct. If we wish the Maquis to believe that I stole this shuttle from the Hood—”
“Then the phaser scarring should match the pattern that we’d follow. Not everything in the field is by the book. Commander Voyskunsky, Lieutenant Dayrit, and I sometimes improvise these things. Besides, we’d know that you, logical person that you are, would follow a textbook evasive course.”
“And we’re the kind of people who like to throw people off by reading the book backward,” Voyskunsky added with a smile.
“The Maquis would not necessarily be aware of your—proclivity for improvisation.” Tuvok hesitated briefly, and DeSoto suspected the Vulcan was searching for an appropriately diplomatic way of putting it.
The Brave and the Bold Book Two Page 3
