by Andy Mangels
A heavy silence hung in the air. Picard exchanged glances with Crusher, but neither of them seemed inclined to speak just yet.
La Forge cleared his throat, ending the awkward moment.
Picard turned toward Geordi and Data, and immediately noticed the android's satisfied smile.
"Did you find something already?"
"Yes, sir. Our scans have identified the likely source of this chip. Its technology has, however, been greatly modified."
"Modified from what. Data?" Crusher asked.
"From a Cardassian cranial implant," said La Forge.
Picard looked stunned.
"Cardassian?"
"The chip is similar to a highly classified bio technological implant that has been used in the past by opera102
tives of the Obsidian Order," Data said.
"The original implants were designed to stimulate endorphins, thus allowing operatives to withstand great amounts of pain, and even torture. Starfleet Command first learned of these devices more than two years ago, thanks to a report filed by Deep Space 9's chief medical officer. Dr. Julian Bashir."
"What are you talking about?" asked Batanides.
"Why would Aubin have a Cardassian chip inside his head?"
"The chip merely appears to employ Cardassian technological principles," Data said, addressing the admiral.
"However, it was not necessarily built on Cardassia, or by Cardassians."
Picard nodded.
"What is its function, Mr. Data?"
"The original version stimulated the pleasure centers of the brain to make agents of the Obsidian Order resistant to torture. It appears that this new implant has been greatly modified to act as some kind of emotion-amplification device. As we know. Ambassador Tabor had Lillian telepathic abilities. Our theory is that this device enabled the ambassador to amplify his innate abilities--in effect, to broadcast his own emotions simultaneously to entire groups of people rather than to specific individuals."
"Which would certainly be a help with his diplomatic missions," said La Forge.
Batanides raised an eyebrow, her gaze intent on La Forge.
"Are you suggesting that the ambassador was using implanted thoughts to force negotiating parties to act against their will?"
"No, sir. Even if he had wanted to do something like that, this device just doesn't have enough bandwidth for that. But if you wanted to convey general emotional states to another mind, rather than specific thoughts, I think this chip could do it." La Forge hesitated for a mo103
ment.
"You probably couldn't change another person's thoughts radically, but I think you could "nudge" somebody farther in the direction they were already heading.
If you were negotiating with somebody who was calm, you could soothe that person even more during a delicate negotiation. Like having quiet music in the background."
Picard stared pointedly at La Forge and Data.
"Are you both sure about this?"
"It is only a theory at present, sir," Data said.
"We will have to study the chip further to ascertain if this is indeed the case. Nevertheless, I should note that at the time of the ambassador's death, the chip's active isolinear circuitry recorded not a state of calm, but rather one of intense rage."
"That's not surprising in the least. Commander," Batanides spoke quietly, her manner stiff, her eyes betraying nothing.
"A Chiarosan rebel had just stuck a dagger into him."
Rage? Picard thought. Shouldn't there have been fear of imminent death there as well?
But there was no time to dwell on the thought. Picard knew he had to diffuse the tension created by Data's last statement.
"Thank you, Mr. Data. I want you and Mr. La Forge to continue your study of this chip, and give me a full report."
"That is not all I had to report, sir," Data said.
"Go ahead."
"We have identified trace protein residues on Commander Riker's and Counselor Troi's com badges It appears that Commander Cortin Zweller was the last person to handle them."
The silence in the room was palpable. Data couldn't have shocked his superiors more if he had suddenly broken out into a soft-shoe song-and-dance routine.
"Are you telling me that Zweller is alive?" asked Picard.
"I cannot confirm that. Captain. But his DNA was found on both the front and rear surfaces of both com badges It would seem likely that it was he who removed them."
Batanides's hand dropped to her side heavily.
"Incredible!"
"Have any of the crew been able to track life signs from Zweller or any of the other Slayton crew members?"
asked Picard.
"No, sir," Data responded.
"The atmospheric disturbances are continuing to block all orbital scans."
"We have to find him. Keep trying. Data. Geordi, do whatever you can to penetrate the Chiarosan storms with our sensors. If we can find Zweller, we may find Riker and Troi as well. And the rebels."
Data and La Forge exited the ready room, leaving Picard standing alone with Crusher and Batanides.
"I don't know what to think about this, JeanLuc," said Crusher.
"This is getting more Byzantine by the minute. The loss of the Slayton, the death of the ambassador, the Romulans, the rebels, this chip, and now Commander Zweller's involvement... Can either of you make any sense out of this?"
Picard looked over at Batanides, who shook her head.
He was sure that these new revelations about Tabor and Zweller had added to his old friend's pain--they had certainly rocked him--but he also knew that she was more than strong enough to soldier on.
"Marta, I know this is difficult for you on a personal level, but it appears that there are a number of hidden agendas at work here. Ambassador Tabor didn't strike me as enraged when we beamed him aboard the shuttle.
I'd characterize him more as ... frightened and griefstricken--"
"I think that shows that your android got things wrong," Batanides said coolly, interrupting.
"If the implant has been modified as much as he says, how can he be certain what its purpose was? Or what emotion Aubin was feeling? And how do we know that Corey isn't being framed as a rebel collaborator?"
"You're right, Marta," Picard said calmly, lowering his voice.
"We don't have all the facts. And I'm not accusing either Corey or Ambassador Tabor of anything."
She nodded, stone-faced.
"I'm delighted to hear that.
Treason is a serious charge to lob at a senior ambassador of the Federation. Or at one of your two oldest friends, for that matter."
"I never said anything about treason. Admiral," Picard said crisply.
"So what are you saying?"
Picard paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.
"It certainly seems likely that Cortin Zweller is alive. And we can't dismiss the possibility that he may be involved with Falhain's Army of Light, willingly or otherwise. Especially given the apparent presence of illicit Federation weapons down this--" Picard didn't have time to finish the thought. The Enterprise lurched suddenly to one side, throwing him against a bulkhead, shoulder-first. Batanides and Crusher stumbled as well, catching themselves on the desk.
"What the hell?" Picard spat out as the ship stabilized itself. He quickly made his way to the ready-room door that connected to the bridge, Crusher and Batanides following.
"Status, Mr. Hawk?" Picard asked, heading for the captain's chair.
Hawk spoke without taking his eyes off the conn panel.
"Captain, we appear to have been caught in a
massive subspace interstitial slippage. It came out of nowhere. Our instruments haven't been able to track its source."
Picard turned to his second officer, who stood at one of the science stations.
"Data, could this phenomenon be related to the Slayton's destruction?"
"It is possible, sir. If the slippage had been 3.47827 percent st
ronger, it would have caused severe damage to our warp core, as well as possible structural collapse of our nacelle struts."
"Captain, sensors also showed an anomalous subspace distortion just south of Chiaros IV'S orbital plane," said Hawk.
"Can you track it?"
"Not precisely, sir. It was intermittent, and now appears to be gone. Should I set a course to investigate?"
Picard's eyes narrowed as he looked at the viewscreen, which displayed a portion of Chiaros IV'S eastern Dayside limb in its lower corner.
"No, Mr. Hawk. Hold position.
At the moment, we have a few too many mysteries, and not enough sleuths."
He turned to the tall blond officer standing behind one of the ops stations on the upper bridge and spoke: "Mr.
Daniels, I want all scientific and engineering personnel on duty. I want to know what's out there in Chiarosan space. I want this ship fortified against any more subspace slippages. And I want a way to get our sensors through that atmosphere."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll be in the observation lounge, with Admiral Batanides," Picard said. He noticed that Lieutenant Hawk was watching him, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if deeply troubled. The younger man seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Was there something you wanted to say, Mr. Hawk?"
The helmsman blushed slightly and turned back to the control panels.
"No, sir."
Picard nodded curtly, then spun on his heel and headed toward the exit, with Batanides and Crusher following him.
Chapter Six
Bundling up in the special thermal clothing Grelun's quartermaster had issued him, Zweller ventured a short distance outside the Army of Light's compound--and into the permanent night of Chiaros IV'S dark side. To ensure that Ruardh's forces couldn't find them, Grelun's troops had relieved him of his com badge though Zweller knew it probably wasn't detectable through the planet's heavily ionized atmosphere anyway. But he knew also that outlaws could ill afford to scrimp on caution.
Zweller felt the thin time of hoar frost crunching beneath his boots as he walked across a featureless, rock strewn plain. The air smelled of ozone, giving it a burned quality that belied its bitter chill. Despite the layers of clothing separating him from the elements, the wind bit into his flesh with innumerable small razor teeth, numbing his nose and ears. The cold seemed to aggravate the lassitude caused by the planet's intense gravity. He
jammed his gloved hands deeply into his jacket pockets in a vain effort to warm them.
About fifty meters before him sat a squat, frost encrusted structure, about the size of a Starfleet photon torpedo tube. The apparatus gave off a faint blue glow, which Zweller assumed wasn't visible from the air; he recognized it as a Romulan cloaking device, probably merely one of many. Doubtless the machine was here courtesy of Koval, and its presence helped explain how the rebels had evaded capture for so long. Though Grelun evidently hadn't seen fit to conceal the cloaking device from him, Zweller was certain that the blue light surrounding it was a protective force field of some kind. He probably wouldn't be able to damage it even if he wanted to.
Zweller looked upward. The sky was utterly dark, except where small gaps in the omnipresent Nightside haze revealed momentary, random patterns of multicolored light every few seconds. It was an atmospheric conflagration that would have put Earth's Northern Lights to shame. Zweller tried to guess the rebel base's exact position--information that Grelun, the Army of Light's new leader, had yet to divulge to him--but quickly gave up the effort. The atmospheric pyrotechnics gave him no clue;
the highly energetic interactions between the solar wind and the planet's magnetic field made such auroral displays visible from any point on the globe, and would be visible even in the brilliance of Dayside. The rebel compound could be anywhere from just night ward of Chiaros IV'S habitable twilight meridian to one of the poles to the frigid, windswept reaches of the Nightside equator.
A flash of illumination unlike any of the others drew his attention; it resolved quickly into a small point of light that moved almost directly overhead. At first he thought he'd sighted one of the outer Chiarosan planets
until he realized that the luminous speck was moving far too rapidly- He followed the light with his eyes for several minutes, until it vanished into the haze on the horizon.
A government patrol ship, Zweller thought. It was right on top of us, but it couldn't pierce the cloak.
The crackle of a footfall directly behind Zweller interrupted his ruminations. He instantly turned to face the sound, backing away to give himself room to maneuver.
A colorful flash from the sky allowed Zweller to recognize Grelun's dark visage, just a few meters away. For such huge people, these Chiarosans are remarkably stealthy, he thought.
Apparently contemptuous of the elements, Grelun wore only a light jacket over his gray duty uniform.
Zweller tried to suppress a shiver and failed.
"You really shouldn't sneak up on a trained Starfleet officer like that," Zweller said, pitching his voice only a little louder than the chill winds.
"Do not worry, human," Grelun said with an inscrutable smile.
"You could not have hurt me."
Anger flared within Zweller's chest, momentarily banishing the cold.
"Let's hope we never have a reason to test that hypothesis." For reasons Zweller still couldn't fathom, Grelun was even more distru/l and xenophobic than his late predecessor, Falhain.
The Chiarosan chuckled dismissively, then glanced skyward.
"I see that you are still brooding about your silent ship."
It was useless to deny it. But it was just as useless to give up hope entirely.
"Maybe your subspace receiver isn't functioning properly," Zweller said, trying to sound upbeat.
"It can't possibly work as well as the government's orbital comm system. Maybe Captain Blaylock
has been trying to raise me for the past week but can't cut through all the atmospheric static."
Grelun nodded soberly.
"This may be so," he said, and took a single long stride back toward the compound.
"Nevertheless, my communications sentinels will continue listening to the sky."
Grelun's tone held little hope. The rebels did possess a fairly sensitive subspace radio transceiver, after all. Despite its being located at the bottom of Chiaros IV'S turbulent atmosphere, it should have picked up some trace of the Slayton by now. But the starship apparently had been silent ever since Koval had arranged for the shuttle Archimedes to be diverted here more than a week ago.
And the security-minded Grelun had given strict orders that no subspace signals be transmitted until after the planetary referendum. Zweller could make no attempt to contact his crewmates until Grelun had finished carrying out Falhain's plan to evict the Federation from Chiaros IV.
But Zweller had another, even more fundamental reason to worry about the Slayton's fate. He knew it was useless to dwell on it, but he found the matter impossible to ignore completely. He still couldn't resolve one simple, nagging question to his satisfaction: If the Slayton and her crew were safe, then why had the Federation dispatched a second starship to the ill-fated conference in Hagrate? Grelun hadn't seen fit to divulge which starship the two captured Starfleet officers had come from-if he even knew or cared about that piece of information--but Zweller was certain that he had never seen either of the unconscious captives before the rebels had made their escape from the battle in the Chiarosan capital.
Grelun interrupted his gloomy reverie. Taking a single long stride back toward the compound, he said, "Freezing to death will not make your silent comrades speak to you. And I have need of your services."
Zweller's teeth were beginning to chatter.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Our two newest... guests have at last regained consciousness."
Grelun reached into his jacket and produced a Starfleet-issue tricorder, one of the devices his
troops had confiscated from the crew of the Archimedes. He tossed it to Zweller, who caught it clumsily between his cold-numbed hands.
"I wish for our guests to see what I have already shown to you," Grelun said.
"But you must be the one to show them, if they are to be persuaded that our cause is just."
"I can do that," Zweller said without hesitation. Stowing the tricorder on his belt, he fell into step beside Grelun.
He felt he had every reason to cooperate with Grelun's request. Despite the complications created by Falhain's unforeseen demise at the Hagrate peace conference--it was unfortunate that Zweller had not had a chance to confer with Tabor prior to the ambassador's arrival on Chiaros IV, or to discuss the aftermath of the melee with him-- Zweller was satisfied that he had already achieved Section 31's desired objective: He had set the vast wheels of Chiarosan internal politics into motion, and once started they couldn't be stopped. The outcome of the referendum on Federation membership--to be held in a mere three days--was now all but certain to go in favor of Romulus, thanks to Starfleet's "catastrophic failure to maintain order" in Hagrate. And assuming that Koval was as good as his word, Zweller would soon return to Federation space with ample compensation for this favor--a list of the Romulan intelligence operatives working within the Federation.
Zweller could see no serious downside to his decision
to help Grelun end the genocidal war being carried out by Ruardh's armies. This sort of meddling would almost certainly get him cashiered out of Starfleet, but he had been thinking about retiring soon anyway.
He felt certain he would still have a home within Section 31 after the conclusion of the Chiaros affair. After all, his assisting Grelun couldn't affect the outcome of this mission. And, even more important, it felt like the right thing to do.
The time had finally come to bring the horrible truth about Chiaros IV to light.
Flanked by a pair of silent Chiarosan warriors, Zweller and Grelun made their way along a corridor adjacent to--but not directly visible from--the solitary confinement cells in which Commander Roget and the other Slayton captives were still being held pending the referendum. After continuing for several meters, they stopped before a small, doorless chamber, where a single guard stood at attention, his back to the slightly orange tinged force field that rippled across the room's entrance.
