Star Trek: The Next Generation™: Slings and Arrows Book 1: A Sea of Troubles

by J. Steven York

  Riker stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I was thinking of poker. A Changeling would be a perfect player. No tells. Nothing unconscious that could show what’s in its hand.”

  “This isn’t poker as we usually play it here on the Enterprise, Will. The stakes are impossibly high, and it is anything but a friendly game.”

  “If anything,” Riker said, “it’s like no-limit poker. There comes a time in a no-limit game when there’s nothing to do but go all in. Force your opponent to either abandon all illusion, concede defeat—or turn over a winning hand.”

  Picard nodded. “One of the last things I discussed with Captain Adrian was our shared aversion to planning with the assumption of failure. But in this case, I think I must. If I cannot succeed in negotiating with the Changeling, you and I must come up with a workable plan to neutralize it.” His jaw tightened, and his mouth narrowed to a grim line. “By any means possible.”

  “Mr. Hawk should be involved in this.”

  “He will be, when the time is right. But for now, what is needed is my experience and your talent for creative strategy.”

  Riker smiled. “Creative strategy? Is that what you call it? I believe the term they were using at Starfleet Tactical Command after my plan to rescue you from the Borg was, ‘What in blazes will Riker do next?’”

  “Either will serve in this case, Number One.”

  Picard’s combadge chirped. “Data to Picard. Captain, astrophysics reports increasing instability in the corona of the star. They believe it is building up to an intense flare cycle.”

  “Take all necessary precautions, and keep me posted. Picard out.” He looked at Riker. “We’d best get to work. It’s about to get a good deal hotter around here.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Hawk stood at the corridor junction, phaser rifle at ready. It was disturbing, annoying, to know that the Changeling was probably somewhere nearby, and his orders were to give it free passage.

  Ensign Shreff stood a few meters away, his ever-present shadow. It seemed they spent as much time watching each other as they did looking for the Changeling. It was a ritual repeated all over the ship, cutting their efficiency in half, or worse, and creating tension and paranoia. Doubtless the Changeling knew this, counted on it. It was an atmosphere that would eventually lead them to make mistakes, and one mistake at the wrong time would be all the Changeling needed to cause untold damage.

  His combadge chirped with the voice of Berardi. “Bridge to Hawk. Sir, we have an incoming communication for you from Vulcan. The stellar activity is limiting us to audio only, and even that isn’t perfect.”

  “Patch it through, Ensign.”

  The badge cracked and popped, even before anyone began to speak. “Hawk, this is Dan Duvall.”

  He and Lieutenant Duvall had crossed paths in the advanced flight training school at Jupiter Station. They’d never really been close friends in any conventional way. More like friendly rivals, and Hawk had narrowly edged him out to finish top in his flight class.

  But like Addison, Duvall was one of those people Hawk had kept in infrequent contact with. Dan had liked to chide Hawk about being assigned for so long to a ship in Utopia Planitia that never flew, and Hawk reminded him that being the personal pilot for the Vulcan ambassador simply made him a glorified taxi driver.

  When this was over, Hawk decided, he would have to look up old friends and renew old acquaintances. Life, he was discovering, was too short. “Go ahead, Dan. What did you find?”

  “The news isn’t good, but I guess you expected that. Sorry I couldn’t get anything for you earlier, but they only just found her body buried in a cave well inside Vulcan’s Forge. Communicators and transporters generally don’t work there, so it required a ground search.”

  “Do you know the cause of death?”

  “We only have skeletal remains, but everything we see is consistent with a fall of at least twenty meters. I’ll send you the preliminary forensics report if I can get through that static you’re in.”

  “Of course, that doesn’t tell us if she slipped or was pushed.”

  “If we’re talking about a Changeling, I know where I’d put my bet.”

  The panel next to the turbolift just down the corridor indicated an arriving car.

  “Thanks, Dan. I’ve got to go, but I’ll be in touch. Hawk out.”

  He lifted his phaser and watched the doors open. Picard and Riker emerged, and Hawk lowered his weapon.

  Picard walked rapidly toward him. “Mr. Hawk, is everything in order?”

  “This entire section has been evacuated, Captain, plus adjacent areas. The decks above and below the lecture hall have been cleared, and my security people have pulled back as well. I can’t say I’m happy about it, sir, but you have your clear zone.”

  “Very good, Mr. Hawk. I’ll be going in alone.”

  Hawk hesitated a moment before speaking. This was Picard. He wasn’t used to questioning the man, but it was now part of his job, something he was still adjusting to. “Captain, I should remind you that your standing orders are that all personnel are to travel in pairs outside secured areas. When you walk out of this meeting, how will we know it’s you?”

  Picard raised an eyebrow, but didn’t seem disturbed. “Excellent point, Mr. Hawk, which is why you will go with me. Give Commander Riker your phaser.”

  He handed over the rifle.

  “The other one too, Mr. Hawk.”

  He reluctantly removed the type-1 phaser from his belt and handed it to the XO. His duties in the past had rarely required him to wear a sidearm. Now he felt naked without it. It startled him to realize how quickly he had acclimated to the change, and how natural it now felt to carry a weapon at all times.

  He and Picard walked down the corridor to the lecture hall. Picard turned to him, his voice just above a whisper. “I seriously doubt they’d have done much good, in any case, Mr. Hawk. Consider this a learning experience. Diplomacy can be as dangerous a game as open warfare, and a weapon is a poor choice for a security blanket. In any case, your job here is not to ensure my safety, it is to ensure the ship’s safety against me.”

  They stepped through a side door into the lecture hall. It was a multifunction room, capable of being configured for use as a small gymnasium, a dance studio, a formal banquet room, and dozens of other applications, but at the moment it was set up to match its name, with a hundred or so theater-style seats in curved rows facing a low stage with a podium. Next to the podium, Hawk noted, was a table. On the table, a detailed model of the Enterprise-E, two meters long, casually rested, as though it were a prop set up for an engineering lecture.

  Hawk knew its presence was no accident. Picard had assigned Hawk to have it replicated and quietly moved to the hall.

  Picard gestured for Hawk to wait by the door, then continued up the side aisle and climbed the steps to the stage. He stood next to the table and looked around the room. “Changeling, are you here?”

  Hawk scanned the room, considering any object that might be the Changeling. A lighting fixture? A seat cushion? A computer console? The carpet beneath his feet? The idea alarmed Hawk, and he kept his feet still only through an extreme force of will.

  Or could the Changeling be watching them from an air duct or some tiny gap in a wall panel? Would it simply fail to show?

  A movement to the left of the stage caught his eye. A water pitcher on the podium shimmered and transformed into a moving stream of amber liquid that arched over to the floor, grew larger, and extended into a vertical shape that took on humanoid form. It refined its shape and color, and the form became very familiar to Hawk.

  Linda!

  His jaw clenched, and he had to suppress the anger. Somewhere inside him, a voice cried out: Murderer! But he was a Starfleet officer, and he knew his duty. He stood quietly, making no provocative moves, even as his stomach tied itself in a painful knot.

  “Picard,” the false Linda said, “I expected you to be alone.”

  “Mr. H
awk is simply here to observe and ensure that you don’t attempt to replace me. He is not part of this negotiation.”

  The Changeling turned and smiled at him. “If you prefer. I have no objections to the lieutenant. He and I have—history.”

  The words hit Hawk like a punch to the gut, and he had to fight just to keep his lip from curling in revulsion. Probably the Changeling was trying to provoke him, or test his reactions. He wouldn’t offer the satisfaction of a response.

  Picard simply glared at her, as though she were a green ensign who had somehow provoked his ire. “I find the shape you have taken objectionable. No matter the circumstances of Lieutenant Addison’s death, it is an insult to her memory for you to continue to mimic her form.”

  The Changeling again smiled slightly. “As you wish.” Its shape shimmered back into liquid and it changed, resolidifying in a form no less familiar, that of Counselor Troi.

  Picard still looked annoyed.

  “Really, Picard, I can’t be offending her memory. She’s quite well as far as I know.”

  “Why don’t you show yourself to me as you really are?”

  The Changeling laughed softly, and it was disturbingly like the real Counselor Troi. “You solids still don’t even begin to understand what it means to be a Changeling. This is as I am. I am Counselor Troi. I am Lieutenant Addison. I am that pitcher on the podium. I am a tree, or a rock, or a padd, or a Denebian slime devil. A Changeling is not defined by a form. It is whatever form it becomes. If your mind can’t grasp even this simple concept, then there can’t be much for us to talk about.”

  “Why Counselor Troi?”

  “Why not, Captain? She is someone you know and are comfortable with. It could have been anyone. I’ve studied your files and logs in some detail, including most of the secured ones. I am a spy, after all. I could take the form of someone else in your life—Beverly Crusher, or Vash, or Kamala, or Nella Daren.”

  Other than Crusher, Hawk didn’t recognize any of the names, but he could see Picard tense at the mention of each one. It was clear that they had some strong personal meaning to him.

  The Changeling continued. “Would it be better if I adopted the form of some stranger? From my perspective, I find Troi’s pleasing enough. Changelings do not have gender as you understand it. I could become anyone, male or female, but I find I prefer the elegant curves of the typical female humanoid to the more angular male form.” She slid a hand along the curve of her hip, as though smoothing the fabric of her uniform against her skin. “The aesthetics of shape are important to me. Strangely they seem to increase in importance the longer I stay away from the Link.”

  “Perhaps,” said Picard, “you are becoming more of an individual. Perhaps, despite your words, you seek a shape to define as your own.”

  “One shape, to return to day after day? What a repugnant idea! I hardly understand how you solids endure it. Your lives are fascinating in small doses, but to be trapped in one, like an insect in amber.” The Changeling shuddered and crossed its arms, gripping its shoulders in a gesture that was, again, eerily reminiscent of Counselor Troi.

  Hawk tried to develop some understanding of the Changeling that would be helpful, but it was difficult to force his own anger and revulsion out of the way. This is not how you were trained, Hawk! Straighten up!

  Picard grimaced. “‘Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury.’”

  “Quoting one of your poets?”

  “Shakespeare, from Timon of Athens. ‘I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind. For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, that I might love thee something.’”

  The Changeling seemed puzzled by the quotation. “I do not hate mankind, Picard, nor your Federation, nor solids. In a manner of speaking, I’m quite fond of you.”

  “Then show it. Help me to reach your people—your Great Link—and avoid this war.”

  The Changeling shook its head sadly. “Again, you don’t understand, Picard. This is beyond your power or mine. This is inevitability.” The Changeling turned and looked at the model, as though seeing it for the first time. It reached out its hand and followed the curve between engineering hull and warp pylon. “Let me spare you and this beautiful ship from it for a while. That is all I can do for you.”

  Picard looked scornful. “How? Mr. Hawk seems to think you have an interest in our shakedown logs, that with them you can neutralize our ship, and others like her, as a front-line threat in the coming war.”

  She turned toward Hawk and smiled again. “Hawk is very perceptive. That would indeed be a very useful plum to send back to the Dominion. It would justify my spending more time away from the Great Link, and it would offer you some temporary measure of safety.” The false Troi looked at Picard and tilted her head. “You could make that so much easier. Simply turn over a copy of the logs to me. Take me out into open space and leave me. Or better yet, allow me a shuttlecraft.”

  Picard laughed harshly. “Why do you expect I would do that?”

  “Because it serves your interest, Picard.”

  “I have a duty as a Starfleet officer. That is, first and foremost, my interest. I seek peace, but I will not shirk from war if it must be.”

  The Changeling tilted its head. “Poor little solid. Then you will die.”

  “In service to the safety and principles of the Federation, in service to freedom from tyranny, then gladly. And I will not be alone. The beings of over a thousand worlds stand with me.”

  “Am I supposed to be intimidated, Picard? The Dominion knows all about your Federation, its worlds and its capabilities. If you seek to impress me with your resolve, determination, or courage, you should not bother. They are irrelevant.”

  The Changeling shook its head, Troi’s dark tresses moving against her shoulders. “That is what you do not understand. You are tiny to us. Your Federation, your history, your short and fragile lives. If I were to aid you, it might delay the inevitable, a year, a decade, maybe more. But this is nothing to the Dominon. They are patient, and in time, they will crush your Federation. They will bring order to your worlds and your peoples, as they have to countless others. And I, with regret, will move on, looking for other untouched worlds where I can seek my destiny.”

  “You say that if you delay things a year, a decade, it will mean nothing to the Dominion. But will it mean nothing to you? If you enjoy living among us so much, why not preserve that as long as you can? And if that delay is meaningless to the Dominion, then you would not even be betraying them, merely serving your individual interests.”

  The false Troi blinked, then laughed musically. “Very clever, Picard. Your offer is almost intriguing. I haven’t seen Earth yet, and from what I have heard, it is a place I would like to linger and explore to the fullest. But Earth will be the last place to fall. There will be time enough before the end.”

  Picard laughed. “To explore Earth, you will first need to leave this nebula, and I will never allow that under the present circumstances. It is to your advantage in every way to reach an accommodation with me. Aid us, or help us reach some agreement with the Dominion.”

  The Changeling smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage, Picard, it is true. But while I might have something to gain here, the Dominion does not. You have nothing they want that they cannot take from you in due time. All you can offer, your one true hope, is unconditional surrender, and that I would gladly bring back to the Great Link.”

  “Never.”

  “Then we are at an impasse, Picard. Whatever my agenda, whatever my hopes or desires, to betray the Great Link is to betray myself.”

  “Then I will quote to you from Shakespeare again. ‘This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.’”

  This seemed to give the Changeling pause. “I will consider this, Picard. Give me a day.”

  “Mr. Hawk and his security people will still be looking for you.”


  She—it, he had to keep reminding himself—looked at him again. “He won’t find me unless I want to be found, I assure you.” The Changeling turned, and as it did, changed into a white-furred Pyrithian bat, which sped past Hawk, triggering the door. It flew through and vanished into the corridor outside.

  Hawk ducked his head through the door, but the Changeling had already vanished. He stepped back inside, and the doors closed behind him. He and Picard looked at each other for a moment. “I appreciate what you said, Captain, about Linda.”

  He frowned. “Don’t. It was a strategy. We negotiated a seemingly insignificant point, and the Changeling made a concession, no matter how small. I was offended by its use of her form, but I could have ignored it if it suited the needs of the negotiation.”

  Hawk frowned. “I don’t see how that accomplished anything, Captain. Taking the form of Counselor Troi, mentioning Dr. Crusher and those other women, whoever they were, it all seemed calculated to push your buttons.”

  Picard considered a moment. “Those were all women who were important to me at one point or another in my life. The Changeling could only have learned of their importance to me by reading my personal logs.”

  “Then it’s already deep inside our computer files, Captain. I’ll have to run security scans to see how bad the damage is.”

  “Perhaps not as deep as you believe, Mr. Hawk. There simply hasn’t been enough time to crack many deeply encrypted files. The Changeling focused on my files for its own reasons: to unnerve me, to learn things it could use against me, to make me feel vulnerable, and most of all to demonstrate its power over me. Well, it doesn’t matter. The Changelings may be used to being worshipped as gods, but I will not bow down before this one.”