A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  The android replied, “I do not believe it can be disabled completely, but it may be possible to interfere with the signal for a short period of time.”

  “How long?” the captain asked.

  “No more than eighty seconds, based on my preliminary estimates, sir. It could be less.”

  Watching Picard consider the information his officers had given him, Mhuic could see the captain beginning to put the pieces of together. There was an energy in his eyes that had not been there mere moments ago, the operative realized.

  Turning to Vale, the captain asked, “Lieutenant, based on what we know of the Dokaalan habitat, would you be able to make targeting selections within sixty seconds?”

  “With the fire-control computer working like it’s supposed to?” The security officer nodded with conviction. “I don’t see why not, sir.”

  “We’d still have to maneuver into position,” Riker said. “What about our escorts?”

  The captain replied, “If we’re to ensure surprise, they’ll have to be taken out of the equation. Continue to monitor them and once we’re out of their communications range with the colony, we’ll take the necessary action.”

  Like everyone else, Mhuic found himself nodding in approval and even satisfaction as he listened to the plan being laid out before him. It seemed that Picard was going to make a fight of it. Further, in only a handful of minutes he had taken the negative emotions threatening to undermine his subordinates’ morale and was channeling it into determination and a course of defined action.

  Perhaps the reports of this human’s abilities are accurate, after all.

  “We should exercise caution,” said Counselor Troi, the Betazoid empath. “There may still be Satarran operatives aboard the ship. If they learn about what we’re doing, they’ll certainly try to contact their superiors at the colony.”

  She was right, of course, more right than she knew, and it was then that Mhuic realized he would have to exercise even greater caution the longer he remained in the command center. It required effort to maintain as close to an emotional detachment as possible while carrying out his charade here, with the constant threat that the Betazoid might somehow become aware of his presence.

  From what he had reviewed of the previous occasion where a Satarran operative had infiltrated the Enterprise crew, the empath had been unable to sense the agent’s deception while impersonating a human officer. The details of that mission report had not revealed whether her failure to recognize the impostor was due to how well the operative had performed his tasks or because of some lingering effect of the sensor probe used to wipe the crew’s short-term memory.

  Even with the complications the Betazoid had expressed regarding her ability to comprehend the emotions of his people, Mhuic was taking no chances. He would avoid direct contact with the counselor if at all possible, especially now, when it appeared that he would have need to find a way of communicating with his superiors.

  “Lieutenant Vale,” Picard said, “Enable security lockouts on the com system. All communications from the ship are restricted until further notice, unless cleared beforehand through myself or Commander Riker.” Turning to his first officer, he added, “That should make things at least a bit difficult for any uninvited guests.”

  Indeed it would, Mhuic agreed, just as he silently conceded that there was little, if anything, that he could do about it. Attempting to circumvent any such restrictions without raising notice to his efforts would prove challenging, if not impossible. The time required to carry out such an exercise in stealth would also be considerable, he judged, but necessary.

  Necessary if notifying his superiors was the primary goal, that is.

  As an experienced covert operative, Mhuic had long since grown accustomed to working without direction for extended periods of time. Being out of contact with those who dispatched him on an assignment was of no particular concern to him. Even without their direction, there was still much he could do here, especially if Picard and his crew were making plans to defy Lorakin and stage some daring raid to rescue the Dokaalan.

  Turning back to the engineering console and once more taking up the act of monitoring the array of information being directed to his station, Mhuic requested direct access to the computer’s data-storage facility. Scattered throughout the vast collection of software, many of Kalsha’s surreptitious additions still waited. Several of them were precautions, intended for use only if Kalsha’s own situation deteriorated to the point that drastic action was required.

  It would seem, Mhuic mused as he began to familiarize himself more thoroughly with a few of the protocols, that we have reached that point.

  Ensconced in her office with her eyes focused on her computer terminal, Beverly Crusher reached blindly for the half-eaten lettuce and tomato sandwich sitting on a plate next to her right arm and took another bite without tasting it. The food was fuel, little more than a distraction as she reviewed her latest Dokaalan DNA test results on the terminal’s display.

  Face it, Beverly, she thought, there aren’t going to be any quick answers this time.

  With a sigh of fatigue and resignation, Crusher leaned back in her chair. Unraveling the delicate chains of nucleotides and using that information to develop a new medicinal regimen with a chance of reversing the Dokaalan’s dependence on the asteroid field’s ambient radiation was by nature a laborious effort, her rational self offered a reminder. No one expected her to suddenly burst from her office with a miracle cure. The hard part, she admitted, was not expecting that of herself, and pushing herself too hard as she fought to realize an elusive and possibly unobtainable goal.

  “Dr. Crusher?”

  Only when she heard the voice did the doctor realize she had allowed her eyes to close as she took a moment to relax. She opened them to see one of her nurses, Susan Lomax, standing in the doorway to the office. “Yes?”

  Lomax, as always, seemed a bit nervous when confronting someone in authority, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she replied, “I’ve finished assisting Dr. Tropp and I was thinking about running some calibrations on the diagnostic monitors in the patient recovery section. I need to spend some time on those units for my certification, anyway, and since we’re on our way out of the asteroid field it seems like we’ll have some time on our hands.”

  Nodding in appreciation of the nurse’s initiative, Crusher offered an encouraging smile. “It’ll take a while to clear the radiation as it is, and as much as I hate to say it, we might need the beds before we’re out.” Her smile faded as she thought of the possibility that Satarran agents might still be running around loose on the ship. “Anyway, I don’t see any reason to do the recalibrations twice.”

  “You’re probably right,” Lomax replied. As she turned to head out of the office she abruptly leaned forward to catch a look at Crusher’s computer terminal. “The Dokaalan DNA studies?”

  “That’s right,” the doctor said. “The proverbial haystack, as it were.”

  Frowning, Lomax shook her head. “It’s a shame that all of your efforts to help them are going to go to waste.”

  Her eyebrows rising at that, Crusher replied, “I wouldn’t call any research a waste. The information we’ve gathered here may end up being useful down the road for who knows what we might encounter.” Shrugging, she added, “Besides, I’m not so sure we’ve seen the last of the Dokaalan.”

  “You think we’ll be back someday?” the nurse asked.

  Offering Lomax a knowing look, Crusher said, “I think it’ll be a lot sooner than that. I know you’re new on the Enterprise, but Captain Picard’s not in the habit of just turning tail and running, at least, not unless he’s got something else up his sleeve. Don’t think this is over. It’s not, not by a long shot.”

  “I suppose not,” the younger woman replied after a moment. “After all, Captain Picard’s reputation is one of the reasons I wanted to serve on this ship.”

  “If that’s the case,” Crusher said as she reached fo
r her sandwich once more, “then he won’t disappoint you.”

  The sandwich never made it to her mouth before the ship’s intercom system blared to life with the voice of Lieutenant Vale. “Security to sickbay.”

  “Sickbay,” Crusher answered. “What is it, Christine?”

  “We’ve got a situation in cargo bay four, Doctor,” the security chief replied. “A maintenance team has discovered the bodies of two crew members. It appears they’ve been strangled.”

  Crusher felt her body gripped by an involuntary shiver as Vale relayed the news. She saw the troubled look on Lomax’s face and understood what the young woman was probably feeling. It was one thing to deal with the deaths of so many Dokaalan patients as she and the rest of the Enterprise medical staff during the past several days, but this was different. These were members of the crew, perhaps even people the nurse or even Crusher herself knew.

  “Have you identified them, Christine?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice level and professional.

  “Yes,” Vale replied. “Ensign Maxson from security and, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Doctor, but the other victim was Nurse Lomax.”

  Crusher’s first reaction was to frown in confusion. “What? That’s impossible.”

  Then time seemed to slow to a standstill in the office, with Crusher looking up to lock eyes with the woman standing before her.

  Nurse Lomax, the impostor.

  “Intruder alert in sickbay!” the doctor suddenly yelled, and even the woman who looked so much like Lomax started in reaction to the abrupt command. She recovered herself quickly, though, turning and rushing from the office as she sprinted across the medical ward.

  “Security teams are on the way, Doctor!” Crusher heard Vale say as she bolted from behind her desk in time to see the other woman nearly run into the doors leading to sickbay. The doors had closed and locked in response to enhanced anti-intruder protocols put in place by Lieutenant Vale, and the Lomax impersonator turned, her young features now clouded with an expression of frustration at having been trapped inside the room.

  “What’s going on?” she heard a voice ask, and looked to the far end of the room to see Dr. Tropp emerge from the small laboratory, his hands tucked into the pockets of his blue medical smock.

  Holding up a hand, Crusher said, “Just stay there, Doctor.” To Lomax, she said, “Security’s on the way here right now. There’s nowhere for you to go, so let’s just keep it easy, okay?”

  “I take it she’s a Satarran in disguise?” Tropp asked, his eyes wide with the naturally curious expression that seemed to characterize all Denobulans.

  “It seems that way,” Crusher replied.

  The Lomax look-alike said nothing, her attention obviously focused on finding some way out of her current situation. Wary of an attack, Crusher moved to her right so that a diagnostic bed separated her from the other woman.

  “Vale to Dr. Crusher,” the voice of the security chief said over the intercom. “We’re at the entrance to sickbay. Where’s the intruder?”

  “Don’t open the door, Christine,” Crusher warned. “She’s standing just inside.”

  Lomax turned to face her. “Not wise advice, Doctor,” she said as she took a step forward. “They cannot save you if they are trapped outside.” Then she stopped, looked at what she was doing, and when she smiled Crusher was struck once more by how perfectly the Satarran had re-created Susan Lomax. “It seems we have a stalemate. So long as I stay near the door, they cannot open it.”

  “Then perhaps you should move,” Tropp said just as Crusher saw bright orange energy cross the room. The beam washed over the Satarran’s torso and the doctor saw black as part of the alien’s mimicking suit was revealed, and Crusher was surprised to see the Satarran still on her feet.

  The Satarran turned to face Tropp, who Crusher saw held a phaser in both hands, having obviously secreted the weapon in his coat pocket. He fired again as the alien charged, this time catching her in the chest. This time Tropp kept his finger pressed down on the phaser’s firing control, its beam of energy continuing to disrupt the illusion of Lomax her suit was projecting. Then the alien cried out in pain as she finally succumbed to the attack, falling to the deck in a crumpled heap. As she collapsed, the image of Lomax faded completely, leaving behind only the metallic exoskeleton of the Satarran’s mimicking suit.

  “Open the doors, Christine!” Crusher called out as she stepped toward the fallen intruder. Retrieving the medical tricorder from the pocket of her smock, she knelt beside the unmoving alien and scanned it.

  The doors to sickbay opened and Lieutenant Vale rushed in, a phaser rifle in her hands and aimed ahead of her as she entered the room. A quartet of security officers followed her in, separating and spreading out around the room to cover the alien from all sides. Vale leveled the muzzle of the weapon on the Satarran as she stepped forward. “Are you all right, Doctor?”

  “We’re fine,” Crusher replied as she scanned the Satarran. “She’s unconscious, but otherwise unharmed, so far as I can see.” Looking over to Tropp, she said, “Good thing you were here, Doctor.”

  “Indeed,” the Denobulan replied. “I’m certainly glad you sounded the alarm, or I never would have armed myself.” Holding up the phaser he still carried, he added, “I’m hardly the combative type.”

  “Could’ve fooled me, Doc,” Vale said, smiling grimly. Stepping closer to inspect the unconscious alien, she shook her head. “I was afraid of this happening. We’ve no way of knowing how many of them are running around the ship.”

  “One’s more than enough,” Crusher said, motioning for two of Vale’s security officers to lift the Satarran onto a nearby diagnostic bed.

  Somehow, she doubted the Satarrans would agree with her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I’D LOVE TO BE A NASAT right about now,” La Forge said, more to himself than anyone else as he moved back and forth between three different workstations in engineering. “I could use the extra hands.”

  He did, in truth have several extra sets of hands, as well as extra minds, with members of the computer support staff and his engineering teams deployed throughout the ship to monitor key areas for any signs of possible sabotage or other tampering by Satarran agents. That left La Forge himself, with the assistance of Data and a few others both here and in the main computer centers, to scour the ship’s network of integrated systems in search of any booby traps the captured Satarran spy or any friends of his might have planted.

  Easier said than done, he mused. The Satarran agent who had infiltrated engineering and taken on the persona of Lieutenant Diix was obviously a talented computer expert. Data’s efforts to weed out alterations the spy might have made to any of the key components in the computer’s immense software library had proven to be anything but simple.

  The task La Forge had assigned himself, that of safeguarding the ship’s warp drive, was no less difficult. As he moved between the workstations situated near the mammoth warp core, most of his attention was devoted to the consoles and their array of status monitors. Despite that, the engineer realized he was repeatedly casting glances at the core itself. The reaction of matter and antimatter within the reaction chamber was a visual frenzy when viewed through his ocular implants, and on any other occasion La Forge would have found this, the veritable heartbeat of the Enterprise’s propulsion system, soothing.

  Instead he found himself searching for any signs of fluctuation in the chamber, or any other visual clue that something might be wrong. Part of him wanted to believe that he might be able to spot potential danger this way, perhaps even keep the ship safe through his ability to see what others could not. The engineer in him knew better, reminding him that even if he did see something, his reaction time would never be a match for the plethora of safety systems overseen by the ship’s computer.

  “Forcefield is in place and holding,” said Lieutenant Taurik from an adjacent workstation to La Forge’s right. “All systems continue to read well within
acceptable parameters, sir.”

  Nodding, the chief engineer replied, “Yeah, I know, but this is way too tempting a target to pass up. If I were a lone spy and needed to cause trouble, this is the first place I’d look.” Word was rapidly spreading about the Satarran agent who had been found impersonating one of the medical staff. La Forge knew that this latest development would do little to improve the morale of the crew, who were already looking for threats around every corner.

  Taurik considered that for a moment before saying, “Agreed, but perhaps he has considered the option and discarded it, precisely because it is a tactic we would anticipate.”

  “Maybe,” La Forge said, “but then again, if he’s decided that he’s run out of time or options, he might just decide to take a shot regardless of the consequences.”

  The thought of spies running around the ship, disguised as any member of the crew and perhaps even killing the people they replaced, was chilling enough. That one of those agents might come charging into engineering, carrying some kind of explosive tucked under one arm or strapped to his chest and hell-bent on detonating it here, caused an involuntary shiver to run down his spine.

  “Geordi.”

  Turning at the sound of the voice, La Forge saw Data making his way, on foot, across the engineering room. The android had completed the repairs to his neural net less than an hour ago and had wasted no time putting his restored mobility to use. There was no fighting the smile that forced its way onto the engineer’s face at the sight of his friend moving under his own power again.

  “What is it, Data?”

  Holding up a padd he carried in his right hand, the android replied, “I have isolated what I believe to be common programming artifacts in several different application modules throughout the computer network. Using the information gathered during my investigation, I have created a search protocol that should prove effective in isolating and neutralizing unauthorized software alterations.”

  “Hallelujah,” said La Forge, though even he noted how tired he sounded as he spoke the words. “Is it ready to go? If we can get it up and running, who knows how much time it might sa…”