by David Mack
The system’s most intriguing characteristic, however, was an unusually high level of docelerite particles in a six-billion-kilometer radius of its star, with an even more dramatic concentration in its asteroid belt. Docelerite was an exceedingly rare compound not normally encountered near main-sequence stars. Its most troublesome property was that, when found at levels as high as these, it impeded warp travel by making subspace fields dangerously unstable.
Choudhury silenced a soft alert tone on her console. “We’re picking up something near the third planet.” She adjusted a few settings on her console. “A sudden surge in neutrinos . . . it appears to be a ship deactivating its cloaking device.”
Picard was eager to see if his hunch had paid off. “Can we magnify that?”
Dygan keyed in commands at ops. “Optical sensors to maximum magnification.”
The image of the third planet was small and hazy, and Picard found it difficult to discern any details of the gray-green smudge he assumed was a starship. Still, only moments later, he heard tactical officer Šmrhová declare from her post at the master systems display, “Analysis confirms that’s the same ship we scanned in the Galor system.”
“It’s entering orbit of the third planet,” Choudhury said. “We’re picking up ship-to-surface comm traffic, and some high-energy emissions. Looks like a transporter beam.”
Worf threw a hopeful look at her. “Can we get a lock on their transport coordinates?”
“Negative, sir. Not at this range with only passive sensors.”
The first officer looked to his captain for direction. “Should we move closer, sir?”
“Not yet. Right now we hold the tactical advantage: the Breen don’t know we’re here.” Picard stood and walked back to join Šmrhová at the MSD, and Worf followed him. “Lieutenant, have we made any progress on penetrating the cloaking device on that ship?”
Šmrhová summoned the latest updates on the large screen in front of her. “Yes, sir. We’ve been refining the protocol since we left the Galor system. If we can bring even a few of our active sensors on line, we should be able to track this ship, and others using this older version of the cloaking device, when they’re at ranges close enough for combat.” She called up a different set of reports and tactical diagrams. “At longer distances—for instance, within a single star system—we could detect their emissions well enough to know generally where they are and how many of them there are, before they enter our firing solution.”
“Excellent.” He stepped aside with Worf. “Hold position here until the Breen ship cloaks. Once it does, its own sensors will be limited, and we’ll engage active protocols to track it.”
Worf signaled his understanding with a curt half-nod, and the two men returned to their chairs. As Picard expected, they did not have to wait long for the Breen ship to break orbit and raise its cloak. Turning back toward Šmrhová, Worf said, “Initiate tracking protocols.”
“Engaged.” Moments later, she added, “Captain, the Breen ship is heading out of the system at full impulse, on bearing two-six-three mark seventeen.”
“Acknowledged.” Picard looked to his left, at Choudhury. “Any movement by our stranger in the transport?”
The security chief shook her head. “Not yet. So far, it . . .” She let the sentence trail off and started working with increasing urgency at her console. Her mask of serenity slipped for the briefest moment; then she recovered her composure and met the captain’s stare. “It’s gone.” Resuming her efforts, she added, “Correction: it’s on a stealth trajectory through the asteroid belt, headed for the third planet.”
Worf asked Picard in a confidential voice, “Should we overtake and intercept?”
“Let’s not be hasty, Number One. The Breen ship made contact with someone on the planet’s surface. Whoever that someone is, I’m betting they won’t welcome visitors—which makes it useful that the transport can approach the planet far more discreetly than we can. It’s also a private vessel; its presence might attract interest from the Breen, but it wouldn’t be grounds for a military reprisal. Ours, on the other hand . . .”
The XO frowned. “Understood. How do you wish to proceed?”
“Covertly.”
“Understood.” Worf raised his voice and started issuing orders. “Lieutenant Šmrhová, track the transport ship as it approaches the third planet. If it lands on or beams anything to the surface, I want precise coordinates. Lieutenant Faur, watch for any sign of cloaked ships entering this system. Be prepared to exercise evasive maneuvers if we are detected. Glinn Dygan, inform all departments that all noncritical systems are to remain at minimal power levels, to reduce our sensor profile. If there is a Breen installation on the third planet, it might conduct random sweeps of this system. Do not underestimate their sensor capabilities.
“Lieutenant Choudhury, have Commander La Forge and one of your security officers meet us in the observation lounge in one hour. We have an away mission to plan.”
• • •
“According to our sensors, the transport ship we followed to this system landed on its third planet roughly ten minutes ago.” Worf enlarged a topographical map of the planet’s surface on the main screen of the observation lounge’s MSD console. “It touched down here, on the edge of a narrow valley surrounded by steep, jagged terrain. We have observed a massive industrial complex there, but it is protected by a scattering field, so we are unable to make detailed scans.”
Choudhury and La Forge sat on either side of security officer Ensign Velex, a lean and sinewy young Troyian man whose bright green face was topped by close-cut coppery hair with a metallic shine. The three officers faced Worf, who stood on the other side of the table. Velex caught Worf’s attention and nodded at the screen. “Sir, do we know what that complex is?”
“Not at this time.” Worf updated the screen to show the best enhanced version of the intel, but the difference in detail was negligible. “All we know so far is that it is huge, the Breen transported something to it, and our unknown subject has landed his ship near it. For lack of a better lead, we are assuming that is where the Breen delivered the stolen androids.”
La Forge wore a look of determined focus. “What’s our next move?”
“The captain has ordered a covert away mission. Its risk factor will be high. If we are captured or killed, Starfleet will disavow us and our actions. No reinforcements or rescue teams will be sent in after us.” With a tap on the console, Worf posted a mission summary and equipment loadout specifications on the screen. “We will be wearing solid black field combat uniforms with no rank insignia. Comm transceivers will be concealed inside our uniforms’ collars and set for silent vibration to signal incoming transmissions. If you are hailed when you cannot respond safely, tap your transceiver once to send a silent response. To open a regular comm channel, tap it twice.” Everyone nodded their understanding, so he continued. “Our mission is expected to be of minimal duration, so we will travel light: no rations—just canteens, civilian-grade tricorders, generic first-aid kits, and non-Starfleet sidearms.”
Velex furrowed his metallic brows in a questioning manner. “Just sidearms, sir? Shouldn’t at least one of us carry something heavier?”
Worf understood the impulsive young Troyian’s desire for superior firepower; as a newly minted officer, the Klingon would likely have made the same request. However, he had since learned that sometimes entering a situation in possession of greater destructive potential could lead to more problems than it solved. “The captain’s orders are clear, Ensign. We are to treat this as a covert recon op, not a combat mission. Will that be a problem for you?”
The emerald-skinned youth shook his head. “No, sir. No problem.”
Satisfied with the ensign’s answer, Worf moved on. “We will advance on foot into the valley from the western hills, survey the facility from a distance, and infiltrate it if doing so seems feasible. Our primary objective is to locate and recover the stolen androids. Our secondary objective is to figure
out why they were taken. If we can, we are to learn the facility’s purpose, map its exterior and interior layouts, and identify its personnel and defenses.”
Choudhury studied the mission summary. “How long do we expect to be in the field?”
“Less than twenty-four hours,” Worf said. “After we reach the surface, we will contact the Enterprise at six-hour intervals. If we miss three consecutive check-ins, or if the ship does, the mission is to be considered compromised and aborted. At that point, if we are still alive, we will become responsible for arranging our own escape from the planet’s surface.”
“Wow, this just gets better by the minute,” La Forge quipped.
The security chief deadpanned, “You haven’t heard the best part.” She looked at Worf. “Tell Commander La Forge and Ensign Velex the insertion strategy.”
Worf knew that La Forge was not going to like what he was about to hear. “Because we must preserve plausible deniability for the Federation, we cannot use any Starfleet shuttlecraft to reach the planet, nor can the Enterprise risk orbiting the planet to beam us down.” A few deft taps on the console filled the display’s main screen with a schematic for a modified photon torpedo casing. “We will remove the ordnance packages and warp propulsion coils from four photon torpedoes. They will be fired toward the third planet at full impulse while the Enterprise uses the fourth planet’s magnetic pole for cover, as the transport ship did. The torpedoes’ shells will be wrapped with sensor-dampening materials and threaded with shaped microexplosives.” He initiated a computer-generated animation that depicted the four torpedoes cruising into orbit of the planet and disintegrating. “The explosives will shatter the torpedoes’ casings as they enter the planet’s upper atmosphere. From there, we will make planetfall in radio silence, using orbital skydiving suits modified with sensor camouflage.”
“I get it,” Velex said. “We’ll look like meteors breaking up at high altitude.” A broad grin lit up his emerald face. “Damn, that looks like it’s gonna be fun.”
The ensign’s enthusiasm put a deep frown on La Forge’s face. “You say that now, but the last time we did something like this, my team and I got dropped into high-mountain terrain through heavy fog. One of my men never reached the ground alive.” He cast sour glares at Worf and Choudhury. “You two weren’t here for the Tezwa assault. This plan might sound clever in theory, but in practice it can go wrong faster than you’d think.”
“I am aware of the risks,” Worf said. “If you wish to withdraw from the mission—”
His suggestion seemed to offend La Forge. “Not a chance. But if we’re being shot into orbit in self-destructing torpedoes, I plan on checking every square centimeter of those things myself. Same goes for the suits.”
“I would expect nothing less.” Worf switched the display back to its standby mode. “We have orders to deploy in ninety minutes. Assemble at 1340 hours in Torpedo Bay One for suit-up and final preparations. And do not discuss this mission with anyone—captain’s orders.” The others nodded in affirmation. “Dismissed.”
La Forge was the first one up and out of the room, and Velex was close behind him. Choudhury lingered behind with Worf, interposing herself between him and the door. Her features telegraphed a mild air of concern. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Geordi or Velex, but I have a question about the mission.”
Worf suspected he knew what was troubling her. “Ask.”
“If the Enterprise can’t risk approaching the planet, what, exactly, is our exit strategy?” When he failed to answer right away, she deduced the bad news. “There is no extraction plan.”
He was unable to look her in the eye. “Not as such.”
There was a rare note of anger in her voice. “How are we supposed to get off the planet?”
I owe her the truth. “If this mission goes as I expect? Any way we can.”
• • •
For fifteen minutes that felt like a foretaste of forever, La Forge had lain cocooned in darkness, his breath hot inside the helmet of his orbital skydiving suit, his short but beefy form packed claustrophobically tight inside a modified photon torpedo that he was beginning to fear might soon double as his coffin. After a nausea-inducing rush of sudden acceleration had come the disorienting sensation of weightlessness, as he and the rest of the away team were shot from the Enterprise on their interplanetary journey to the third planet, which Choudhury had code-named Mangala, an homage to a deity of war in Vedic astrology.
Alone with his thoughts, La Forge pondered the ethics of the mission that lay ahead of him. Even if they reached B-4 before the inevitable collapse of his positronic matrix, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to erase Data’s memory engrams from the android’s brain. He knew that doing so was the only way to prevent the android’s mental disintegration, which would result in the irretrievable corruption of Data’s engrams in any case, but willfully expunging the last traces of his best friend’s identity from the universe felt to La Forge as if fate itself was perpetrating a cruel joke upon him.
His bitter reflections ceased as the torpedo casing shattered and flew away in a storm of black shards and dimming sparks. The majestic curve of Mangala’s reddish-brown northern hemisphere spread out beneath him, its albedo so intense that he had to squint until the polarizing filter of his suit’s visor activated and cut the glare. Free at last to move, he extended his arms and legs to exorcise the stiffness that had accumulated during the short transit from the Enterprise. Then he powered up his suit’s built-in computer and watched holographic information flicker into view on his virtual heads-up display.
Even as he watched details of the planet’s barren, cracked-and-cratered surface speed by far below, he still noted no sensation of movement. Not enough air resistance for us to feel our movement. We must not have breached the mesosphere yet. He tapped commands into the simple interface built into the suit’s left forearm and activated its low-power deflector screen, which would prevent him from burning up as he and the others made planetfall. Information appeared in ghostly greenish script, superimposed over his view of shredded wisps of cloud that girdled Mangala’s equator. At a glance he was able to note his orbital velocity and declination, the distances between himself and the other three members of the away team, and various statistics about his suit’s power and air reserves. So far so good.
Another quick tap activated the computer-assisted navigation circuit that would control his suit’s thruster pack and guide his descent along a preprogrammed approach vector. As the team passed over the terminator line, the landscape below vanished into the cloak of night and the heavens above revealed a bounty of stars. The bright green projection of his suit’s HUD blazed in sharp contrast to the enveloping darkness, and he felt the relentless hand of the planet’s gravity take hold as the angle of his dive steepened.
All at once came an increase in air resistance, and with a deafening roar a fiery nimbus bloomed around him, held at bay by the suit’s deflector field. For several seconds the glow of friction provoked by his plunge through the stratosphere overpowered his view, making it impossible to read his HUD. When it finally abated, he checked his altitude and confirmed that he and the rest of the away team all were still in formation and displaying steady vital signs as they dropped like missiles through the troposphere.
The helmet displays of the orbital skydiving suits boasted a number of helpful features, such as ultraviolet night-vision filters or topographical wireframe overlays, that La Forge was sure the other team members were using to good advantage at that moment, but thanks to the full-spectrum vision provided by his cybernetic eyes, he had no need of the suit’s assistance. He engaged his innate UV frequency settings and surveyed the landscape as if it were lit by a spectral, frost-blue twilight. Jagged formations of rock stabbed threateningly skyward beneath the team, and from their current altitude the landing zone on the edge of the mountain range looked precariously narrow. He felt a twinge of anxiety as his suit’s thrusters fired, then he relaxed
as the HUD confirmed that his approach trajectory was correct. Good thing the computer’s driving. If I had to do this manually, I might not make it.
A countdown appeared on his display. It reached zero, and his chute automatically deployed. He felt a bone-jarring jolt of deceleration in his back and shoulders as the black canopy snapped open above him. Following the textual prompts on his visor display, La Forge guided himself to a pinpoint landing squarely inside his designated drop zone, in the center of the mountain pass. He stepped clear as he released his canopy. The fluttering swirl of high-tech microfiber fell like a shadow on a cluster of sharp rocks at his back.
Within minutes, La Forge and the others had gathered up their parachutes, doffed their skydiving gear, and regrouped in a close huddle. Worf looked over the group. “Any problems?” The others shook their heads. “Good. Velex, dispose of the dropsuits.”
“Aye, sir,” the Troyian said. He retrieved and unfolded a small portable entrenching tool from his backpack, excavated a wide but shallow pit, and tossed his skydiving gear into it. La Forge, Worf, and Choudhury did the same. Velex stomped the gear flat, then took a canister of molecular acid from his pack and emptied it over the suits. As their gear rapidly dissolved, he used his miniature spade to bury the pit of slag.
While the ensign concealed the team’s abandoned equipment, Choudhury stepped away and made a quick sweep with her civilian-model tricorder. After Velex had finished his task, she returned and beckoned the others toward a narrow trail that led upward. “There’s a small plateau about a hundred meters up that path, beyond those rock towers. I’m picking up signs of metal that might be from our mysterious transport.”
Worf nodded at Choudhury. “Lead the way.” He looked at Velex. “Bring up the rear and guard our backs.” Then he started walking as he added, “Move out.”
Progress along the path was slow and difficult. At times the sheer cliff faces on either side drew so close that the team had to sidestep through them, and even then they succeeded only with great effort. Though the plateau was not very far away, it took nearly half an hour for them to reach it. They emerged from the pass to see the sleek, silver transport ship parked atop the plateau, away from its edge and nearly flush against the mountainside. Far from being smooth and empty, the plateau was dotted with dozens of small, daggerlike rock formations, each of which was more than large enough to conceal a large humanoid—or who knew what else. Beyond its edge lay an unparalleled view of the adjacent valley, which was dominated by a massive, sprawling factory whose steely depths glowed with dull crimson light.
