by Peter David
Reaching a decision, he calmly flipped the disruptor around in his hand and held it, handgrip first, to Sirol. “For both our sakes, I hope Picard was right.” Despite the confidence in his choice and the fact that he had a second disruptor tucked in his belt, he still tensed as the commander took the weapon from him and examined it for a moment. Sirol, however, calmly returned the disruptor to the holster at his waist.
“Obviously, you require my assistance for this to be successful,” Sirol said. He shook his head, and Calhoun got the sense that the commander was weighing the consequences of his next action. “I have experienced my share of battle, so the thought of forestalling more conflict, if even for a short time, appeals to me.” Glowering at Calhoun, he added, “But understand that I cannot permit any danger to my ship or crew.”
“That was always the plan,” Calhoun replied. Kneeling down, he grasped the heel of his left boot and twisted it until it swung away from the bottom of his foot. The action exposed a small cavity from which he extracted a small, cylindrical object. He twisted the cylinder and pulled it apart to reveal a Federation-standard isolinear data chip.
“How did you hide that from Dr. Arnata?” Sirol asked.
Smiling, Calhoun said, “Spy toys, Commander. The cylinder houses a small dampening field generator that renders it invisible to most scans. I took a chance that you wouldn’t subject me to much more than a basic tricorder sweep when I came aboard.”
“I have to wonder what else the doctor missed.” Sirol indicated the chip. “What does it do?”
Stepping closer to the cloaking device, Calhoun opened an access panel on the unit’s side and examined a bank of computer interface ports. He took a moment to recall his instructions for installing the chip before replying, “It’s designed to interact with the cloak’s existing embedded systems, while at the same time being indistinguishable from the rest of the software.”
He saw that other chips already occupied some of the slots, and a quick tricorder scan told him which chips had to be reconfigured to make room for the new one. “The first time it’s activated without a proper security code, it will initiate an overload of its primary power source.”
“Simple, yet elegant,” Sirol conceded. “With the possibility of weeks passing before the device is tested aboard a Romulan vessel, there will be little reason to suspect deliberate duplicity on Captain Picard’s part.” Nodding in approval, he asked, “This is something created just for this mission?”
Calhoun shook his head. “The procedure was part of the device’s original development, but the software was never installed into this prototype. Even those members of the Pegasus crew involved with its testing didn’t know about it. Perhaps if they had, they might have avoided what happened to them.”
He inserted the chip into the slot he had selected and it snapped into place. It was somehow interesting to him that he was, in a way, completing the original construction of the cloaking device that had begun more than twelve years earlier.
“And it won’t harm anyone?” Sirol asked.
Calhoun shook his head as he ran a final scan with the tricorder to confirm that his modifications were correct before replying. “No, though I’m told there will be some ancillary damage to whatever systems it’s joined to.”
Finished with his alterations, Calhoun rose and handed Sirol his communicator. “Request a status update on the delivery of the supplies to my vessel, please.” When he saw the confused look on the commander’s face he added, “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave with all of that matériel, to maintain the illusion, you understand.”
Before Sirol could carry out the request, he and Calhoun were startled by the sound of the hatch seals deactivating. The doors parted to reveal Taelus, flanked by two centurions whose uniforms also bore the insignia of the Tal Shiar. All three Romulans carried disruptors.
“Greetings, spy,” Taelus said. Turning to Sirol, he added, “And to his accomplice.” He held up his disruptor for emphasis. “Please, do not move.”
Despite the shock at being caught off guard, Calhoun schooled his features to avoid revealing his surprise. How the hell had they gotten here undetected? His tricorder had never alerted him to their approach.
As if reading his mind, Taelus retrieved a small device clipped to his belt and held it up for Calhoun to see. “A sensor mask. You are not the only one with special tools at your disposal, after all.” Calhoun heard a click as the agent pressed a control, after which his tricorder immediately emitted the shrill proximity alert signal he had set up. He stabbed a finger at the device in disgust, silencing the alarm.
Should have seen that coming, he chastised himself. I must be losing my touch.
His two escorts remaining at the door, Taelus stepped into the room, focusing his attention on Sirol. “You do realize that this is all your doing, Commander? If you had simply taken that Federation ship into custody when this all began, there would be no residual mess for me to clean up.”
“It was a valid option in the beginning,” Sirol countered, “and one I honestly considered. However, when the full facts of the matter were revealed, the risk of inciting an interstellar incident made such action untenable. Surely even you can see that.” Glaring at the agent, he added, “Besides, I acted well within my discretion as commander of this vessel.”
A thin, sinister smile creased the subcommander’s features. “But now it can be argued that your leniency was born out of disloyalty and contempt for the people you have sworn to serve.”
Calhoun could already see where Taelus was leading with this even as the agent turned to him.
“For a fleeting moment I actually believed you were a mere smuggler,” the major said, “a deranged if not incredibly fearless one at that. Did you really think my agents or I would stand by while you did whatever you wanted?” Waving to the ceiling, he said, “Everything the two of you discussed has been recorded, and will be most helpful when I submit my report.”
“Do you honestly expect anyone to believe such a report?” Sirol asked, aghast. “I have pledged an oath to the Praetor just as you have. How does working to prevent a war contradict that pledge?”
“The safety of the Empire is the prime concern of the Tal Shiar, and your actions here today are a direct threat to that security. That is what your superiors will be told, and that is what they will believe, traitor.” Looking to Calhoun, Taelus added, “In that regard, I must also thank you, Xenexian. By herding the ship’s crew into the cargo areas like so many sheep, you have given them the opportunity to demonstrate their cowardice. That shortcoming will also be addressed at the appropriate time.”
Snorting at that, Calhoun said, “The same old story, isn’t it? You say you’re here to protect the people, but you do it through oppression and by instilling terror in their hearts. That makes them easier to control, doesn’t it?” He could feel the fingers of his right hand twitching, aching to reach for the disruptor stuck in his belt, yet he willed his hand to remain still.
Not yet.
“I will not be questioned or judged by you, spy,” Taelus replied, swinging his disruptor to aim at Calhoun. “The sole reason you remain alive is so that you and the commander can be tried in a very public court. Your Starfleet-sponsored espionage and treason will be revealed to all, after which you will be found guilty and executed as a fitting punctuation to the rampant hypocrisy that is Federation diplomacy.” Then the agent smiled abruptly, as if an amusing thought had just occurred to him. “Tell me, why did you not destroy the device outright? You went to all this trouble, created such an elaborate charade, simply to install a computer chip?”
“They don’t give the exciting assignments to rookies,” Calhoun deadpanned. Shrugging, he added, “It seemed kind of silly to just sneak aboard disguised as a Romulan, even though I hear you people fall for that one all the time.”
Calhoun saw Taelus’s jaw torque in response to the verbal jab, and the major’s fingers squirmed around his disruptor’s handgrip. “Take cauti
on in your tone, spy. I really only need one of you, and in truth Sirol would provide the better example.”
“It seems to me that I’m dead, anyway,” Calhoun replied, “so it might as well be now.”
His hand was almost a blur as he drew the disruptor and fired.
The shot was wild, screaming over Taelus’s left shoulder, but it was enough to make the agent duck to avoid being hit. He leapt toward the door and his two subordinates likewise dodged for cover as Calhoun’s second volley hit the control pad next to the entrance. The doors immediately began to close and the Romulans had to scramble to get out of the way. Taelus was nearly crushed between the heavy metal hatches but fell backward into the corridor before they sealed shut, trapping the other two agents inside the room.
One of the Romulans fired as he tried to regain his feet but the shot went high, hitting the wall above and behind Calhoun. Ignoring the attack, Calhoun aimed and returned fire, striking the Romulan in the chest.
More fire erupted in the room even as the agent collapsed, and it took Calhoun an extra instant to realize it was coming from his right. Sirol had drawn his own weapon and fired, catching the second agent in the leg and spinning him into a nearby bulkhead. Calhoun added a second shot and the Romulan dropped unconscious to the deck.
“Are you all right?” Sirol asked.
Dashing across the room to retrieve the fallen Romulans’ disruptors, Calhoun tossed one to the commander. “Fair enough, but we can’t stay here. How many more agents does Taelus have on board?”
“Two,” Sirol replied. “They were most likely dispatched to the bridge to communicate our situation to their superiors, but Taelus will surely be calling on them to help him now.”
A hissing sound began somewhere behind them and Calhoun turned in search of the source but saw nothing. “What’s that?” He activated his tricorder and had an answer a moment later. “The oxygen is being pulled from the room.” Taelus had decided against another direct confrontation, choosing instead to simply incapacitate or even kill him and Sirol before trying to reenter the room. “We have to get out of here.”
Searching for another exit, Calhoun’s eyes fell on the cloaking device.
His plan for the unit’s covert destruction was a wash, of course. Taelus would insure that the device was properly examined before any testing was performed, knowing to look for the self-destruct program Calhoun had installed. The mission would be exposed as an embarrassment to Starfleet, with Picard’s efforts at maintaining the peace between the Federation and the Empire squandered. There was no way to imagine the ultimate consequences if the device was allowed to remain in Romulan hands.
With practiced ease and without another thought, Calhoun thumbed his disruptor’s power setting to maximum, aimed, and pressed the firing stud.
Energy exploded from the weapon and enveloped the cloaking device. It was obliterated, taking with it every shameful secret and senseless death surrounding it for more than twelve years.
“Good riddance,” he said. Damn Nechayev and her crazy schemes.
Turning his back on what little debris remained of the device to survey their limited escape options, Calhoun realized he was already beginning to feel the initial effects of oxygen deficiency. If they were going to get out of this, it would have to be in the next minute or two. “Is there another way out of here?”
“No,” Sirol said, indicating the lone door. “The main purpose of the room precludes multiple points of entry, after all. None of the ship’s maintenance shafts connect here, and the ventilation ducts are not large enough to crawl through.” Shaking his head, he added, “This part of the ship is also equipped with transport inhibitors.”
Calhoun’s gaze settled on the sealed hatch, their only way out of the room. “Looks like it’s back the way we came.”
Sirol said, “The door is sealed. We will not be able to cut through it in time.”
“That’s okay,” Calhoun said as he reached for his left arm. “I have one more trick up my sleeve.” Pushing back the material of his shirt, he exposed his forearm and the large, nasty scar there. He dug under the skin with his fingernails, and the scar peeled away to reveal unmarred flesh underneath. “It’s a fake,” he said when he saw Sirol’s astonished look, “designed to fool even a medical scan.” He pointed to the other cargo containers stacked haphazardly behind them. “Find some cover.”
Stars danced in his vision as Calhoun reached for the hatch, pushing the artificial scar into the seam joining the doors. Composed of Qo’legh, a highly volatile chemical compound and an able explosive even when used in small quantities, it was extremely difficult to detect and was a favored weapon of Klingon Imperial Intelligence. Calhoun had occasionally found uses for the explosive during past missions, and he figured that the amount of the chemical saturating the simulated tissue would be more than enough to blast through the heavy metal of the door.
If it’s not, you’re dead.
“Duck,” he said as he lumbered for the cargo container Sirol had selected for cover. Forcing his eyes to focus long enough to sight on the door with his disruptor, Calhoun fired one more time.
Even though he covered his ears, the blast was deafening in the enclosed room as the door exploded and heated air washed over them. Smoke quickly filled the room, but Calhoun also sensed the inrush of fresh oxygen and greedily gulped air into his lungs. He could already feel the effects of deprivation beginning to fade as he pulled himself to his feet.
Charging into the smoke-filled corridor with a disruptor in each hand, he searched for targets. Shrapnel from the destroyed doors littered the passageway, and lying among the debris was the unmoving body of a Romulan, one Calhoun did not recognize.
“One of Taelus’s men,” Sirol said as he stepped out of the room, also brandishing a pair of disruptors. It was obvious that the agent was dead, caught unaware when the door blew.
Forgetting the dead Romulan, Calhoun moved forward. The smoke was clearing in the corridor and it was easier to see another body lying on the cluttered deck. He saw that the second agent had survived the blast but the injuries to his chest and arms prevented him from being a threat any longer.
That left only Taelus.
Calhoun saw him, lying in the shadows near an intersection in the corridor, the second before the major fired.
White heat exploded in his shoulder, spinning him off balance and pushing him into the bulkhead. He dropped the weapon in his right hand as he reached for his wounded arm. Pain racked his body, and it was an effort even to hold on to his remaining disruptor as he slid to the floor.
“Drop your weapon,” a weak voice rasped from up the corridor. Obviously, Taelus had also been caught in the explosion, close enough to be wounded but far enough away to avoid lethal harm. The disruptor in the major’s hand was shaking, but Calhoun doubted he could bring his own weapon up fast enough to get a shot off before Taelus fired.
“Wait, Taelus,” Sirol said from behind him, “it doesn’t have to end like this. You need medical treatment. Let me call for help.”
“No…time for that,” Taelus said, the words coming between ragged gasps for breath. “My duty…is to…the Praetor. Must…” The words trailed off, but his intention was clear. Calhoun tried to raise his weapon in defense even as the agent struggled to pull himself to a sitting position.
Energy erupted once more in the corridor and Calhoun flinched as the disruptor bolt hurled past him to strike Taelus in the chest. The Romulan simply buckled under the onslaught, falling lifeless to the deck.
Calhoun looked up as Sirol knelt beside him, leaning closer to inspect his injured shoulder. “It is not serious,” he said. “Dr. Arnata will be able to treat that easily.”
Unable to help the small chuckle escaping his lips, Calhoun said, “Are you sure he’ll want to? I’m still a spy, after all.”
Watching as a pair of Romulan centurions loaded the last storage container into his ship’s cargo hold, Calhoun shook his head.
“What am
I going to do with all of this?”
Standing at the entrance to the hold, his hands clasped behind his back, Sirol dismissed the two subordinates after they had finished their task. Once they had gone, he entered the storage area. “You mean you do not have a plan for the supplies as part of your cover story?”
“To be honest? No.” Calhoun laughed at that as he rubbed his right shoulder, which still itched after Dr. Arnata had healed the injury inflicted by Taelus’s disruptor. “I didn’t really expect to get this far.” Slapping the nearby bulkhead, he added, “I didn’t even have to blow up my only ride home. It’s not my fault I’m better at this than even my boss gives me credit for.” He hoped he would be able to see Nechayev’s face when she read his final report for this assignment.
“We will be in position for you to depart within the hour,” Sirol said. “You should be able to cross into the Neutral Zone and back into Federation space with little trouble.”
“I don’t anticipate any problems,” Calhoun replied. “After all, you only caught me because I wanted you to.” He smiled mischievously at that, but it faded a moment later. Nodding in the direction of the cargo-bay hatch, Calhoun said, “Are you sure you can trust your people to keep quiet about this?”
“Absolutely,” Sirol said without hesitation. “My officers are handling the details of disseminating a proper cover story to the rest of the crew. As for those who do know the truth, I trust them with my life, as well as to remain silent on a matter in the best interests of the Empire. My crew follows me out of respect, Mr. Calhoun, not because they fear retribution but because they know I will treat them fairly at all times.”
Calhoun could appreciate the sentiment. Having led men in battle many times during his life, he had discovered long ago that to be truly successful, a leader had to extend the same level of trust that he expected from those he commanded. He suspected Sirol had learned the same lesson early in his career as well.
