by David Mack
The four Breen in the room who wore civilian-looking garb made a point of ignoring the entrance of the Spetzkar and their prisoners. They seemed more like indentured servants than valued experts, based on La Forge’s reading of the interpersonal dynamics at work in the room.
One of the Spetzkar studied La Forge and Soong with a Breen military-grade scanner. The commando spat a storm of crackling gibberish at Red Stripes, who looked at his prisoners. “You are humans,” came the briefly delayed translation of his own static-scratch noise.
La Forge gave free rein to his sarcasm. “What gave it away?”
“Identify yourselves.”
Feigning labored concentration, La Forge replied, “I can’t recall. Must have amnesia.” For once, Soong had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. La Forge tried to change the subject. “Nice trick you’ve got there—the shrouding. Did you learn that from the Jem’Hadar?”
“We didn’t ally ourselves with the Dominion because we believed in its cause.” Red Stripes conferred with one of his subordinates for a moment, then turned back toward La Forge, drew his sidearm, and pointed it at the engineer’s head. “Identify yourself and claim protection as a prisoner of war, or I will kill you.”
“Since when do the Breen respect laws regarding prisoners of war?”
“We have accepted certain legal limitations as prerequisites for membership in the Typhon Pact.” Red Stripes charged his weapon, filling the room with a whine whose pitch rose swiftly beyond the range of human hearing. “But we reserve the right to execute spies.”
Soong blurted out, “Don’t shoot him! I can help you, but I need him to do it.”
Red Stripes shifted his aim from La Forge to Soong. “In what way can you help us?”
“I know how to program the androids in your factory.” All the Breen in the room stopped what they were doing and turned toward Soong, who played dumb. “That is what you’re trying to do, right? Figure out how to program their positronic brains? I mean, they’re not much use without working brains. Just big, stupid paperweights.”
The commander edged closer, all but touching the tip of his mask’s snout to Soong’s nose. “And you believe you can program these androids to their full potential?”
“I’m reasonably sure I can, yes.” Soong nodded at La Forge. “But not without him.”
“What is he to you?”
“My assistant,” Soong lied. “The first decent one I’ve had, actually.” He smiled. “Give us two hours, and we’ll show you how to make those androids do anything you want.”
Red Stripes contemplated the proposition. He and the other Breen looked at one another—an affectation La Forge found odd, considering they couldn’t see one another’s faces. He wondered if perhaps their understanding of other nonverbal cues, such as the subtle nuances of body language, were so well developed that they could silently express ideas with something as simple as a shift in stance or a fleeting microgesture. Then the commander spat a flurry of noise at his subordinates. Most of them left the room; a few others moved to assist the civilian Breen in bringing more of the control center’s workstations on line.
Red Stripes motioned La Forge and Soong to adjacent terminals with a wave of his disruptor. “Bring the androids on line in one hour, or I’ll kill your assistant. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” Soong said. He cracked his knuckles, then set to work writing code in a blur on the terminal’s holographic interface. He glanced at La Forge and with a quick tilt of his head directed him toward B-4. “Start a level-one diagnostic on the working prototype. I want to make sure its matrix remains stable before we do anything else.”
La Forge saw the method in Soong’s madness, and didn’t know whether to admire the man or hate him. But he knew there were lives that needed to be saved—starting with B-4’s. He sat down and accessed the android’s neural link. “Whatever you say, Doctor. You’re in charge.”
• • •
Vess hadn’t yet finished routing the report from the Spetzkar commander to Pazur’s station when Thot Raas stomped onto the Mlotek’s bridge and confronted the first officer. “I’m told you sounded an intruder alert on the planet, and that prisoners have been taken.”
It would be impolitic, Pazur knew, to ask the commander how he’d learned these things before she’d had the opportunity to inform him. He was under no obligation to tell her, and she had no way of proving whether he had a direct line to some source of intelligence on the planet’s surface or had somehow coerced Vess into bypassing the chain of command. All she could do was cope with the situation as she encountered it. “Yes, sir. Two prisoners are in custody. A male Troyian accomplice was killed while resisting capture. The Spetzkar commander reports there are more accomplices who have not yet been apprehended.”
“Have the two in custody been identified?”
Pazur called up the report on her screen and motioned for Raas to inspect it. “Not yet. They’ve refused to give their names, though they’ve bartered for their lives by offering to help program the androids we found in the factory.”
“So, we just happened to catch a pair of expert cyberneticists?”
The first officer hedged her bet. “Unknown, sir. They claim to have such expertise, but it will be some time before their claims can be verified.”
The commander leaned closer to Pazur’s console, then cocked his head at a pensive angle. “Did the garrison commander send up biometric scans of the prisoners?”
“Yes, sir, as per standard procedure.” Anticipating his next order, she asked, “Shall I compare them to known persons of interest in our databanks?”
Raas straightened. “At once.”
She fed the prisoners’ scans—which included facial-feature mapping, genetic markers, and other subtle details of their physiology—into the Mlotek’s main computer. She expected the process to be time-consuming enough that she might beg a shift alone to analyze the results. Instead, the computer returned two matches almost immediately. Pazur opened the dossiers and read off their key details for the commander. “Two humans. The first has been positively identified as Geordi La Forge. Rank, commander. Billet, chief engineer, U.S.S. Enterprise. In addition to his expertise in starship propulsion, he also holds advanced ratings in cybernetics and computer programming, with a concentration in artificial intelligence. The second prisoner’s identity is unknown, but based on his age and other factors, there is a 98.4-percent probability that he is a direct descendant of noted Federation cyberneticist Noonien Soong.”
The commander sounded pleased. “Maybe his claims of being a cybernetics expert aren’t so far-fetched, after all.” He thought a moment. “An officer of La Forge’s stature wouldn’t be here on his own. Inform the rest of our battle group we’ve identified our prey as the Enterprise.”
29
None of the dozens of tasks and adjustments Soong asked of La Forge were enough to help him forget they were under the constant scrutiny of a Breen special forces commando. The Spetzkar trooper lingered only a few meters away, near the sole exit, his rifle cradled with its muzzle aimed at the floor but ready to draw down on them at the slightest provocation.
The four scientists hovering over Soong’s and La Forge’s shoulders, on the other hand, were a constant source of distraction. They observed every task La Forge executed, and every line of code Soong wrote or tweaked, with a steady buzz of vocoder noise that none of them saw fit to translate for his or Soong’s benefit. He had no doubt, however, that they were capable of understanding every word that passed between him and Soong.
He finished his latest diagnostic series and was about to pass the results to Soong when he had an idea. When the Breen scientists all were watching Soong for a moment, he accessed the controls of his Federation-style user console and activated a secondary function, an interface mode that presented information in a UV wavelength invisible to eyes and devices attuned to the visible spectrum. It was a feature incorporated into Federation systems to make them more accessib
le to such species as the Choblik and the Pak’shree. Adjusting his left cybernetic eye to see UV wavelengths, he perceived the second screen superimposed over the original. Then, working in the ultraviolet mode, he composed a brief message:
B-4’s matrix is starting to fail. I’m not sure how long he has before cascade failure. We need to get him out of here and back to the Enterprise.
As the Breen civilians resumed their observation of his work, La Forge embedded his message with a self-launching program to activate the UV mode on Soong’s terminal, then relayed it to Soong with his latest batch of data. “Here’s the latest diagnostic report,” La Forge said. “Let me know what you think we should do.”
Soong opened the report, and La Forge turned back toward his console and waited to see if the cyberneticist would pick up on his subterfuge. I know his eyes can see in the UV spectrum. The question is, will he notice that his terminal autolaunched its UV mode and see the message?
More mechanical chatter filled the moments while Soong stared at his console. Then the disguised android started keying in commands. “This is good work, but we’re not done yet. Let me send you the next test series.” He shot back a reply with a brush of his hand over the screen.
La Forge watched both the diagnostic panel and his UV interface update in tandem. On the former was a new set of tests and stopgap measures to slow the breakdown of B-4’s matrix. On the latter was a short reply to his message:
We don’t have time to get him to Enterprise. I can fix him here, but not with an audience. We need to get rid of the guard. After that, the rest should be easy.
Fearing that one of the Breen’s visors might be equipped with a UV-sensitive filter, La Forge quickly banished the message from his screen, then waited to confirm that there was no suspicious reaction from the scientists haunting his every move. The snout-masked quartet seemed oblivious of the surreptitious communication between Soong and La Forge. Most of their attention remained focused on Soong’s labors, which they observed while polluting the room with their vocoder noise. Reassured they were not privy to the UV screens, he fired off another urgent hidden message to Soong: How are we supposed to get rid of the guard?
The answer came seconds later, but it wasn’t what he’d hoped for:
No idea. I’m making this up as I go.
• • •
It took all of Choudhury’s willpower to slink carefully up the trail to Soong’s ship when what she wanted to do was run there. Darting from one piece of rocky shelter to another, she put Worf’s advice to use, and let herself rely on senses other than sight. She opened her mind to the sound of the wind between the rocks, the slightest disturbance in the pebble-strewn sands, and the smell and taste of the dry dusty air. Shallow breaths and light steps minimized her own presence on the pitch-dark trail from the pass, and the profusion of vertical rocks jutting up from the ground ahead gave her cover as she emerged onto the moonlit plateau.
She scouted ahead with a peek around one of the rocks. Under the ship, against one of its three landing pylons, she noted a shape she hoped was Worf. A single tap on her transceiver, followed by a pause, then another single tap: that pattern sent a silent hail to Worf. If he had observed her arrival on the plateau, he would respond by silent code, as well.
Her transceiver vibrated silently against her jugular, three times in quick sequence, and she exhaled softly with relief, then emerged from cover. Worf had stepped out from behind the ship’s landing gear, and he walked toward her in long strides. They met in a near-embrace, both of them too professional to let their private relationship show too openly while on duty, even when no one was around to see it. He asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She touched his torn collar. “You?”
“I am unhurt.” He turned his intense stare toward the factory complex in the valley below. “Now that we know the Breen have shrouding armor, we will need new tactics.”
They moved to the plateau’s edge. Choudhury considered their options and realized only one was prudent. “We should switch to a defensive posture.” She eyed the trails along the mountainside and around the complex. “We can’t risk an assault against an opponent we can’t see. Our best bet is to set traps on the routes they’d use to track us up here.”
Worf crouched as he surveyed the local terrain. “That seems wise. However, we have limited armament, and the Breen seem to have neither a weapons cache nor a munitions dump.”
“There are other ways to set traps.” She got down on one knee beside him and pointed toward the pass. “There are some loose boulders above that elbow in the trail. We could set a tricorder to generate a resonant frequency inside the rocks. Voilà—instant rockslide.”
He looked diabolically amused. “The Capellan Snare. A very old trick.” He pointed at the factory. “There may be industrial chemicals or equipment in there that we could use to make explosives. The main assembly area is also large enough to provide places to hide.”
“That’ll buy us some time. But sooner or later, we’ll have to make a run at the control center, and they know it.” She let out a small, cynical chortle. “I bet you’re wishing now we’d brought more firepower.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder at Soong’s ship. “Did we check inside the good doctor’s ride? Maybe he has a few bits of illegal ordnance we could use.”
Her suggestion drew a frown from Worf. “I tried to get inside before you arrived. I was unable to find an entrance.”
“Probably for the best,” she chided him. “Knowing you, we’d have hijacked it and made some kind of kamikaze attack on the factory by now.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
She shook her head. “Well, here’s another thought for you: we should try to get our hands on a couple of those Breen shroud-suits. If we can do that, we might be able to reach the Breen’s scattering field generator. Once we neutralize it, Soong’s ship can beam us all out with the stolen androids before the Breen know what hit them.” With a teasing smile she added, “And then you can thank me for coming up with a viable exit strategy.”
“I will take that under consideration.” He pointed in cautious gestures at various spots in the landscape. “We should arrange our traps in a way that suggests we have fortified a position somewhere other than here. By concentrating the deadliest traps closest to our decoy base, we can draw more of the Breen out of position while we search for the scattering field generator.”
Choudhury gave an approving nod. “It’s risky, but I like it. It has momentum.” She checked her chrono. It was almost time for the next scheduled check-in with the Enterprise. Was it possible Worf had overlooked that because of the recent brush with the Spetzkar? She decided to remind him. “By the way, we have less than an hour till—”
He shushed her with a raised hand. Their eyes met, and in his she saw the fierce light of a hunter who knows he has become the hunted.
His other hand moved with slow grace toward the blaster holstered on his hip . . .
Behind them, a translated voice hissed over a buzz of noise, “Don’t move.”
Another vocoder-filtered voice snapped, “Disarm yourselves.” Moving with exaggerated caution, Worf and Choudhury each drew their blasters using only two fingers on the grips. As soon as the muzzles had cleared the holsters, the voice said, “Toss them over the edge.” The two sidearms cracked and clattered as they smashed against the rocks far below.
Gloved hands seized Choudhury’s collar, yanked her backward, then hurled her down onto her back. Worf landed hard a couple of meters away, and she saw a Breen step on his chest as another did the same to her. Her arms were pulled taut with violent precision, and magnetic manacles snapped shut around her wrists, hard and icy cold. A half dozen more Spetzkar deactivated their shrouds as their comrades cuffed Worf, and the newly visible troopers helped their comrades haul Worf and Choudhury back to their feet. Machine-speak orders and acknowledgments flew back and forth, then she and Worf were shoved forward, down the trail to the pass, sur
rounded by half a platoon of Breen.
So much for momentum.
• • •
The door behind La Forge opened with a soft hiss, which was followed by the heavy clomps of marching feet. He looked up from his work in the control center’s main room to see a squad of Spetzkar commandos escort Worf and Choudhury into the room. The two officers had their hands bound in front of them, but they appeared unharmed.
The Spetzkar commander entered behind the group, circled around them, and faced La Forge and Soong. “Have you completed the updates to the androids’ programming?”
La Forge looked at Soong, who swiveled around with insolent sloth. The scientist regarded the Breen officer with naked disdain. “It’s a rather complicated process. Just because you want it done in an hour doesn’t mean it’s possible.”
“The programming for the androids was already ninety-eight percent complete. If you are the expert you claim to be, it should not take you this long just to activate their brains.”
Behind the commander, another Breen trooper scanned Choudhury and Worf with a handheld device, then tapped in some commands and waited while Soong continued to argue. “If you know the androids’ programming that well, you shouldn’t need me to fix it.”
“We don’t. But why expend time and effort when a simpler, faster solution is available?” He drew his sidearm and held it casually at his side—an action La Forge found far more menacing than seeing it melodramatically waved about. The commander turned and asked his subordinate with the scanner, “Has the Mlotek’s computer identified the new prisoners?”
The trooper checked his device. “The Klingon is Worf, son of Mogh. Rank, commander. Billet, first officer, U.S.S. Enterprise.” He paused and tapped at the device. “The human female matches no records in our database, but we calculate a ninety-one percent likelihood that she is Lieutenant Jasminder Choudhury, chief of security, U.S.S. Enterprise.” He looked at La Forge. “Also, according to our intelligence files, this one is actually Commander Geordi La Forge, chief engineer, U.S.S. Enterprise.”
