Star Trek: 24th Century Crossover - 018 - Section 31 - Disavowed

by David Mack

  The Breen in the docking bay stood frozen as the barrage of disruptor blasts erupted from the hold of the Królik. Most of the technicians and engineers fell or were launched backward as the fusillade slammed into them. All those who stood between the Section 31 team and the sealed blast doors that led to the station’s interior were downed within moments.

  Bashir turned, crouched, and snapped off a flurry of shots at another group of Breen. He felled two in quick succession, then had to dive for cover behind one of the Królik’s landing struts, to dodge an incoming salvo from a Breen trooper in a guard post on an upper deck overlooking the docking bay. Before Bashir could recover his bearings to retaliate, Sakonna drew out the trooper with harassing fire, and Kitsom finished him with a precision head shot.

  Then came the thunder.

  Webb fired the CRM-114. A bone-rattling boom shook the docking bay and left Bashir feeling as if his innards had been quaked into pulp by sheer sonic force. Bright almost to the point of being blinding, a crimson flash leaped from the portable artillery piece and obliterated the blast doors at the far end of the docking bay. A storm of smoldering metal debris rode the rebounding shock wave and pelted the strike team and their ship. Bashir shielded his face with his arm until the shrapnel settled.

  Cole barked, “Everyone up! We need to move!”

  There was no time to protest or ask questions. Bashir sprang to his feet and followed Cole and the others toward the vast smoking breach. As they moved through the ragged gap wrought by the CRM-114, Bashir saw that the Section 31 agents had arranged themselves in a defensive formation around him and Sarina. Before he could remark on it, Cole turned, grasped Bashir’s shoulder, and pointed him at a nearby wall console. “Know how to use that thing?”

  “I remember the basics.”

  “Get on it. We need to scramble their internal sensors and find a route to the control room for the dimensional gate.”

  Sarina joined Bashir at the wall console. Together they keyed in commands, parsing the bizarre alien symbols and syntax with ease thanks to their photographic memories of the Breen idioms they had learned during the Salavat mission. Whenever one of them strayed off the mark, the other was there to catch it and correct the error. Within seconds they broke through the station’s security lockouts, disabled its internal sensor grid, and called up a diagram of the station.

  “Everything’s in lockdown because we blasted through the bulkhead,” Sarina said to Cole, pointing out details on the interactive map. “All the turbolifts are frozen, and security’s mobilizing against us. We can expect to have some serious company in about sixty seconds.”

  “We’ll be gone by then. Where’s the control room?”

  She highlighted it with a tap of her fingertip. “Up here. Operations level.”

  Cole pointed at the core. “We’ll take the road less traveled. The station’s guts are automated—lots of open space, no air, zero gravity. Douglas, find us a way in there.” Alarms blared, and the station’s interior lighting turned bloodred. Cole noted the new circumstances with a sanguine nod. “And not to put any pressure on you, but sooner would be better.”

  Sarina switched off the wall monitor and beckoned everyone to follow her. “This way.”

  Bashir fell in behind her, and the rest of the team scrambled back into their protective box formation around the couple. He appreciated the extra protection, but as they raced to the nearest core access hatch, he found himself suspicious of the team’s desire to safeguard him and Sarina. They could’ve done most of this without us. Everything we learned during the Salavat mission was recorded. So why go to all this trouble to bring us here? What are they really driving at?

  His questions would have to wait. The team charged into a terminal passage, and Sarina pointed at the pressure hatch on the far wall. “Through there.”

  Cole waved Kitsom forward. “Open it.” The fair-haired young agent hurried to the hatch, unlocked it, and pulled it open. On the other side was an empty airlock.

  The passageways behind the team resounded with the rumble of running footsteps and the angry buzz of mechanized voices barking orders. Time and options were both running out.

  Cole waved the team past him. “It won’t take ’em long to figure out where we went.” He followed them inside the airlock and pulled the hatch shut behind him. “So get that next door open and move your asses before the Breen shoot them all off.”

  * * *

  “Cover!”

  Bashir huddled, head down, behind the corner with the rest of the team as Webb targeted the control room’s reinforced door with the outrageous might of the CRM-114. The team’s ascent to the operations level had been swift and uninterrupted, and now their access to the heart of the station promised to be just as quick.

  “Fire in the hole!” A red pulse and a thundering boom disintegrated the entrance to the secret laboratory. Webb dodged toward the opposite corner, half a second ahead of the rebounding shock wave and its chaos of sparks and shredded, half-molten metal.

  Bashir adjusted the filters of his helmet’s holovisor to pierce the smoke, just as Cole windmilled his arm and marshaled the team into action. “Go!”

  Kitsom and Sakonna sprinted down the smoke-filled passageway, firing suppressing shots through the jagged opening where the control room’s door had been. Cole and Webb fell in behind Bashir and Sarina, who charged with their disruptors leveled ahead of themselves, prepared to face any counterattack head-on.

  Energy pulses ripped through the gap, forcing the Section 31 agents to duck to either side and press themselves against the walls. A wild shot grazed the shoulder of Bashir’s uniform with a sharp sizzle, followed by a puff of acrid smoke. He swatted the scar until it stopped smoldering, then shouted across the barrage to Cole, “We’re pinned down!”

  “Relax. We’re just regrouping.” The leader fired a quick series of shots at the lab’s defenders, then hollered to the rest of his team, “Deploy spiders!”

  Webb, Sakonna, and Kitsom slung their weapons. Each of them detached a pair of palm-sized, thin octagonal canisters from their uniforms’ utility belts and tossed them to the floor. All six canisters sprouted eight legs on impact, then skittered with unnerving speed under the enemy’s defensive barrage and scrambled into the control room.

  Next came high-pitched whines and shrieks. Blue-white flashes filled the control room, which suddenly looked to Bashir like nothing less than a killing jar. The drones had the advantages of surprise, velocity, and superior accuracy. In a matter of seconds, all sounds of resistance from inside the lab ceased. Kitsom touched the side of his helmet, then he looked back at the rest of the team. “Clear.”

  Cole strode toward the control room. “Move up, two by two, covering formation.”

  Kitsom and Sakonna were the first ones inside. They split up to cover the Breen personnel who were still conscious. Bashir entered to see all of the control room’s armed guards incapacitated, bodies sprawled on the deck in agonized poses—but still breathing.

  Standing in the middle of the laboratory, surrounded by the six spider drones, were two unarmed persons. One wore a Breen military uniform bearing a thot’s rank insignia. The other was a resplendent Tzenkethi woman. Her silvery skin, deep-copper hair, and elegant facial symmetry were striking amid the aggressive drabness of the Breen.

  Cole stepped past Bashir and Sarina to confront the enemy duo. “Thot Tran. Doctor Choska. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances after all this time.”

  Choska’s voice was as sweet as a lullaby. “And you would be . . . ?”

  “Unimpressed by your charms.” Cole aimed his disruptor at Choska’s head.

  Bashir blocked Cole as Tran stepped in front of Choska. “What are you doing?”

  The agent’s aim was steady, even with Bashir as its target. “Step aside, Doctor.”

  “I didn’t sign on for this.”

  From the sides of the room came the low whine of charging disruptors. Kitsom and Sakonna took aim at Choska. Sar
ina leveled her weapon against Cole, who breathed a sigh that the vocoder parsed as crackling static. “Time is short, Doctor, and we only need one of them.”

  Tran raised his empty hands. “Do what you want to me. Don’t hurt Doctor Choska.”

  In unison, Cole, Bashir, and Choska muttered with the same note of incredulity, “What?”

  “I will cooperate,” Tran said. “No tricks. All I ask is that you not harm her.”

  The Tzenkethi snapped at Tran, “What’re you doing?”

  “Saving your life. So be quiet.” The Breen looked back at Cole. “I am in command here. Just tell me what you want.”

  Cole shook his head. “Sorry, Tran, but your dossiers make it clear she’s the brains of this operation. I can’t let her live just so she can rebuild all of this someplace else. I hope you both understand—this isn’t personal.”

  Bashir seized the barrel of Cole’s disruptor and forced it toward the ceiling. “You don’t need to do this. He’ll give us what we want.”

  “What we want is to stop the Typhon Pact from sending missions to the alternate universe. And the most reliable means we have of ensuring that outcome is to make sure these two both end up dead. But in the name of compromise, I’ll settle for killing the smarter one.”

  “If they die, you die, I die—everybody dies.”

  To Bashir’s dismay, Cole seemed to consider his offer. Unable to peer beneath the man’s snout mask, Bashir had no way of knowing whether he had just struck a blow for diplomacy or had set in motion a bloodbath that would start with his own execution.

  The tense standoff was interrupted by Webb, who noted with dry professionalism, “We have about sixty seconds before the security forces get here.”

  Cole lowered his weapon. “All right, Doctor. Have it your way.” He leaned to look past Bashir at Tran. “You have one minute to power up your rift generator and program it to open us a passage to the alternate universe.”

  “Understood.” Tran moved to a nearby master console.

  Choska followed and leaned over his shoulder while he worked. “Are you mad?”

  “Just do as I say, Choska. Initiate the stabilizer field.”

  Kitsom and Webb moved to covered positions from which they could defend the entrance. Cole stepped close enough to Tran and Choska to monitor their work. Sakonna kept her distance and stayed where she could cover both Bashir and Sarina.

  Bashir watched Choska and Tran work as he asked Cole, “What’s next?”

  “Since you insist on letting them live, we’ll need to change our exit strategy. Once our new friends activate the rift generator, we’ll escort them to the nearest escape pod and put them in it. But someone has to stay here to trigger the self-destruct and sabotage the command systems to prevent it from being aborted.” He frowned at Bashir. “Which job would you prefer?”

  Sarina touched Bashir’s arm. “I’ll make sure the scientists get out unharmed.”

  He nodded. “All right. I’ll stay here to trigger the self-destruct.”

  “So be it.” Cole returned his attention to the enemy scientists. “How much longer?”

  Tran entered a few last commands. “The generator is activating now.”

  A holographic projection along the wall opposite the entrance showed a sudden rent in the fabric of interstellar space. A radiant wound had appeared, as if slashed by a blade of titanic size. Choska made a few final adjustments to her console’s settings, and the brilliant incision in the skin of the universe began to widen. Its edges grew ragged with wild energies that left its contours tattered and aglow with eerie fires of unknown origin.

  “It’s open,” Tran said. “It should remain stable for about seven minutes, or until one ship passes through.”

  Cole offered the Breen a jaunty salute. “Well done, Tran. And my compliments to you, as well, Doctor Choska.” He gestured for them to move toward the entrance. “Now if you’d be so kind as to vacate the premises?”

  Choska glared at Cole even as Tran gently ushered her out at his side.

  “Webb, Kitsom, see them to an escape pod, then decoy the incoming security force. No matter what, after ninety seconds, use your recall beacons to get back to the ship and prep for launch.”

  The two agents led Tran and Choska into the passageway outside the control room. Sarina paused at the doorway to look back at Bashir. All he could offer her was a single nod of encouragement. She parroted the gesture, then vanished into the smoky haze of the corridor to safeguard the fates of the two strangers for whom Bashir had just risked his life.

  Cole pointed Sakonna toward the entrance, and she took over Kitsom’s previous position so she could act as a sentry. Then Cole directed Bashir toward the master console where Tran had stood. “Work quickly, Doctor. Time’s a factor.”

  “I never would have guessed.” Most of the command systems resembled those Bashir had encountered during his mission to Salavat a few years earlier. It took him only a few seconds to isolate the command protocols and call up the interface for Ikkuna Station’s self-destruct system. “I don’t suppose you have command codes for—”

  “Identify yourself as Thot Kren and use emergency command override five one swit zmierz nine nine three red.”

  Bashir activated the self-destruct. The main computer requested his authorization, and he repeated the identity and authorization code as Cole had recited them. Then the computer’s mechanical voice prompted him, “Set countdown duration for self-destruct.”

  Cole instructed him, “Set two minutes, silent countdown.”

  Instead, Bashir told the computer, “Six minutes. Sound evacuation warning.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  A high-pitched alarm keened and echoed through the station’s empty spaces. The computer’s voice announced over the public-address system, “Self-destruct sequence engaged. All personnel evacuate. You have six minutes to reach minimum safe distance.”

  Cole punched a nearby console. Then he pulled off his helmet to shout at Bashir. “What the hell are you doing? I gave you an order!”

  “True. But I never agreed to take orders from you—or to condemn innocent people to die.” He turned his back on Cole and accessed the station’s emergency systems. “Computer: Lock onto all registered station personnel inside the command center and beam them directly to the nearest unoccupied escape pods.”

  “Energizing.” Seconds later, coruscating swirls of light cocooned the unconscious Breen troopers lying on the deck around Bashir, Cole, and Sakonna. Within moments, they all had vanished, shepherded to safety. “Transports complete.”

  “Computer: Launch those pods.”

  “Pods away.”

  Bashir took off his own helmet and stared back at Cole. “Now we can go.”

  “Not so fast. If you’d set the countdown I’d requested, we could leave. But for some asinine reason you insisted on giving the Breen six minutes—”

  “They need time to evacuate a station of this size and crew complement.”

  “Perhaps. But by giving them time to evacuate, you also gave them time to respond. They’ll try to retake this command center and override the self-destruct. So thanks to you, we need to stay here and make sure that doesn’t happen.” He put his helmet back on and charged his disruptor. “Take cover. You’re gonna need it.”

  Bashir pulled his own helmet back on. He crouched between Cole and Sakonna, behind a long bank of consoles whose back faced the wide-open entrance. He checked the settings on his disruptor. “Say what you will, Cole. I know I did the right thing.”

  “No, Doctor, you did the moral thing.” He peeked over the top of the console as the sounds of boots crunching over dust and debris filled the passageway outside. “Let’s hope your renowned compassion doesn’t get us all killed.”

  * * *

  Like everything else made by the Breen, the escape pod was sturdy, functional, and soul-crushingly ugly. As a coffin it would have suited Thot Tran just fine, but it was a vessel most unworthy to ferry or contain Choska
Ves Fel-AA’s ineffable beauty.

  Tran had no time to dote upon Choska—not now, with so much at stake. Using tools he always kept hidden in the folds and pockets of his uniform, he detached the faceplate of the escape pod’s emergency communications system. He reached deep into the close-packed hardware that dwelled inside the pod’s narrow, efficiently designed bulkheads.

  Choska’s enchanting voice filled his ears. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I need to connect the comm system’s main transceiver to the reserve power cells.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “So we can generate a subspace signal powerful enough to pass through the rift and get a warning to the Tajny.” His fingers found the power cables and adroitly wrestled them free. When he went to connect them to the transceiver, however, he grumbled bitter curses.

  “Now what?”

  “I can’t feel the recessed auxiliary power port through my gloves.”

  She shouldered him aside. “You Breen and your costumes. Let me do it.” Twisting like a slow flame, she snaked her limber arm inside the bulkhead and found the transceiver. After a few moments, a soft click from inside the machinery signaled her success. She extricated her limb and invited Tran back to the console. “All yours.”

  “Thank you.” He powered up the comm system and opened an encrypted channel on the super-low subspace frequency that had been optimized for cross-dimensional transmissions and reserved for the Tajny’s use for the duration of its mission to the alternate universe. “Thot Tran to Tajny. This is a Priority One alert. Please respond.”

  He feared that the pod lacked sufficient power to send the message, or that the rift might be too unstable to let the signal pass through intact. But after several seconds, Thot Trom replied. “This is Tajny. Go ahead.”

  “Ikkuna Station has been compromised. Its destruction is imminent, and a hostile vessel is about to pursue you and close the rift. Adjust your mission profile for return strategy usta.”