Glass Empires

by Various

  Picard’s fingers itched to grab the disruptor hidden in his boot, but they wisely stayed where they were. Not even Madred would be able to protect him if he pulled a weapon on soldiers of the Alliance. The altercation at the tavern was one thing; if he was lucky, nobody had gotten a good look at his face during the raid and ensuing riot. He judged it unlikely that he would be identified. That wouldn’t be the case if he was caught defending Stargazer from these warriors.

  “No,” Picard muttered.

  “No what?” Khone pressed. “Speak up, Terran!”

  Picard’s jaw tightened. “No. I don’t have a problem.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Khone said, sneering contemptuously. He shoved Picard in the chest, then went back to looting the cabin. His fists clenched at his sides, Picard watched in impotent fury as Gwarz trashed his notes on the New T’Karath expedition. An angry vein pulsed in his temple.

  “What’s this offal?” the bald Klingon groused, sweeping the accumulated padds and isolinear rods onto the floor. He stalked away from the workstation, trampling the fruits of Picard’s labors under his feet. “I should have known we wouldn’t find anything worth taking on this miserable ship.”

  His piggish gaze fell upon the antique wine bottle resting on its shelf. “Hold on a moment,” he corrected himself. He reeled across the cabin. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

  Picard’s heart sank. No, he thought. Anything but that.

  Gwarz reached for the bottle. A flash of blue energy crackled as the stasis field repelled his fingers. “Gre’thor!” he swore angrily and smashed the compact field projector with his fist. The field flickered weakly before evaporating. “That’s more like it!” Snatching the bottle from the shelf, he yanked out the cork with his teeth.

  “Wait!” Picard protested. That single bottle meant more to him than all the age-old relics littering the floor. “Please! You don’t want that, believe me.”

  “Shut your mouth, Terran!” Without even bothering to sniff the exquisite bouquet, he guzzled from the bottle. Château Picard dribbled down his chin. “Hah!” he laughed. “It’s not bloodwine, but it will do.”

  He handed the bottle over to Khone, who took a gulp. Making a face, he spit the precious vintage onto the floor. “Terran swill!” he declared in disgust, shaking his head at his partner. “How can you swallow that bilge?” He wiped the taste from his lips with the back of his hand. “I swear, you’ve got worse taste in drinks than a Vulcan!”

  “Eh, issh not so bad,” Gwarz slurred. Reclaiming the bottle, he finished off the wine. Picard felt sick as he watched the last few drops of his family’s legacy drip from the Klingon’s matted beard—2347 had been a particularly good year….

  Gwarz belched and tossed the emptied bottle over his shoulder. It shattered at Picard’s feet. He stared murderously at the broken shards. Given half a chance, he would have gladly slit the Klingons’ throats with the jagged glass.

  And then gone to work on the rest of the Alliance….

  “I’ve done what I can for him,” the crone said. “The rest is up to time and fate.” She coolly appraised her patient. “He’s young, though. Given time to heal, maybe he won’t end up too badly crippled.”

  Wesley groaned atop the dingy sheets. Splints bound up his fractured limbs. Crude herbal poultices coated his wounds. No respectable Cardassian physician would bother with a penniless Terran urchin, of course, so the best Picard had been able to do for Wesley was to buy the boy a cot in a seedy flophouse and secure the services of an unlicensed human healer named “Momma” Pulaski. He frowned at the woman’s bleak diagnosis.

  “Here,” he said, handing the haggard medicine woman several leks in currency. Gul Madred would never notice the expense, which Picard intended to bury amid his usual expenditures. “This should be enough for his bed and care, for as long as he needs them both.”

  The crone’s eyes lit up at the sight of the coins. “More than enough,” she agreed, greedily tucking the coins into the folds of her blood-speckled apron. ‘I’ll look after him as though he were my own flesh and blood.”

  “See that you do,” Picard admonished her. Returning his attention to the injured boy, he leaned over the cot and spoke gently. “I have to go away for a time, Wesley. There’s something important I have to do. But this woman will make sure you get everything you need to recover.”

  “Including Thalian chocolate?” He grinned weakly. “Don’t worry about me, Luc. I’ll be all right.” He tried to sit up, but his battered body refused to cooperate. He grimaced in pain. “Sorry I didn’t do a better job guarding Stargazer for you. I’d offer you a refund, ’cept I already spent your money.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Picard assured him. His expression darkened. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  But I know whose fault it was. A volcanic fury seethed inside him as he gazed down at the wreck the Klingons had made of his friend. He silently cursed the brutal regime that let such crimes go unpunished on a daily basis. And I know what I have to do. Before the day was out, he intended to get word to Vash that he’d changed his mind. If there was even a chance that the Borg could bring down the Alliance, he was going to find them.

  Or die trying.

  “You’re quite certain about this, Luc?”

  “Well, the evidence is encouraging,” Picard lied. He spread out an intimidating assortment of star charts, transit logs, and doctored archeological surveys atop Gul Madred’s desk. “The third and final segment of the Stone of Gol used to reside in a museum on Vulcan itself, but was supposedly smuggled off-planet right before the Terran invasion. These records give me strong reason to believe that the fragment ended up in an obscure Vulcan monastery on P’Jem. The sanctuary was destroyed decades ago, of course, but it’s possible that the final piece of the Stone is still buried somewhere beneath the ruins.”

  It was a total fabrication, of course. In order to search for the Borg, Picard needed his patron to authorize another expedition into deep space. Once he was safely away from Celtris III, with sufficient funds to subsidize his search, he would be free to pursue his real objective.

  No matter where it takes me.

  If fortune was with him, he would return to Celtris III in the forefront of an unstoppable Borg invasion force, with the Resistance providing support on the ground. If he failed, and the Borg proved to be more myth than machine, he could always claim that his quest for the missing Stone of Gol segment had turned out to be a wild-goose chase. Madred would be displeased, but not lethally so; even the merciless Cardassian understood that there were no guarantees in archeology.

  But would Madred fall for the hoax? Picard tried not to let his anxiety show as he tensely watched the commander examine the fabricated evidence. A cold sweat glued his shirt to his back. The consequences, should Madred catch on that he was attempting to dupe him, would be severe. Picard imagined himself hanging from the cruel administrator’s ceiling. For once he was grateful that Madred was nowhere near the scholar he thought he was. “Finding the third segment will be quite a coup,” Picard pointed out. “Romulan historians will be literally green with envy.”

  Madred smiled coldly at the prospect. “Very well, Luc,” he said finally. “You’ve convinced me. How soon can you embark on the expedition?”

  “I just need to take on the necessary provisions.” Picard suppressed a sigh of relief. Moving with deliberate casualness, he reclaimed the various documents from the desk and headed toward the exit. He wanted to get clear of the office before Madred had a chance to change his mind. “I should be able to depart within forty-eight hours at the most.”

  Depending on how long it takes to smuggle Soong onto Stargazer.

  He had almost made it to the door when Madred spoke up. “Just a moment, Luc.” Something in his tone sent a chill down Picard’s spine. “You are not dismissed yet. There’s another matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  Picard turned around reluctantly, resisting an urge to run for his life. “Yes?”


  “There was an unfortunate incident at a Terran saloon a few nights ago. During a routine security check, a trio of unidentified Terrans launched an unprovoked attack on Alliance soldiers before cowardly escaping into the night. Unfortunately, the officers involved were only able to provide vague descriptions of the perpetrators.” He eyed Picard suspiciously. “You wouldn’t know anything about this disturbance, would you, Luc?”

  Picard swallowed hard. Just how much did Madred already know about the raid on the tavern? Was this some sort of trap? “I’m afraid not,” Picard said, hoping to brazen it out. “I don’t make it a habit to frequent such establishments.”

  “Of course not,” Madred said smoothly. “You’re too smart for that. I know you would never be so foolhardy as to do anything that might embarrass me. After all, I should hate to lose your valuable services.” It was hard to miss the veiled warning in his words. “That’s all, Luc. You may go now. Good hunting.” He cracked open a boiled taspar egg and jabbed a fork into the feathered embryo inside. “I’ll clear a space in my collection for the rest of the Stone.”

  Picard hurried out of the office. He felt as though he had just been granted a stay of execution.

  The sooner he left Celtris III, the better.

  4

  T he outpost was located on the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone, at the very edge of the disputed boundary between the Alliance and the Romulan Empire. Despite its official status as a science station, only a fool could fail to realize that the outpost’s true purpose was to spy on the Alliance from across the border. The Romulans had maintained a wary guard against the Alliance for decades, and vice versa. The precise nature of the outpost had become academic, however.

  The Tranome Sar Science Station no longer existed.

  Picard and Soong stood on the lip of an enormous crater, looking down at the lifeless cavity where the Romulan base had once been. Nothing remained of the colony except for a gaping wound in the surface of the planet, several kilometers in diameter. The sloping walls of the crater, which descended deep into the bedrock, were shockingly smooth. It was as if the entire outpost, buildings and all, had been scooped up and carried away.

  By the Borg?

  “This matches the historical accounts of the Borg’s attack on the El-Aurian homeworld, over one hundred years ago,” Picard observed. Records of that attack, which had taken place after the end of the old Terran Empire, were sparse and incomplete, but he felt confident that they were on the right track. “I’ve read fragmentary reports of whole cities being whisked into space by an implacable foe.”

  Contemplating the vast crater before him, he struggled to imagine how such a feat was even possible. Whoever did this obviously possessed technology far beyond that of either the Alliance or the Romulans. From the looks of things, not a single inhabitant of the colony had survived the assault. Picard didn’t know whether to be encouraged or alarmed by this awe-inspiring evidence of the Borg’s power.

  Maybe a little bit of both.

  “Astounding, isn’t it, Picard?” Soong did not seem to share Picard’s reservations. The aged scientist was clearly thrilled by their discovery. Intellectual excitement animated his wizened face. “The Borg must be incredibly more advanced than we are, just as I would expect them to be.” He gestured at the yawning crater. “This just goes to prove what can be accomplished when organic intelligence is enhanced by cybernetic means.” His gaze turned heavenward. “I can scarcely wait to meet them!”

  The passion in the old man’s voice disturbed Picard. He had no love for the Romulans, who had not lifted a finger while the Alliance enslaved their Vulcan kinsmen, but Soong’s jubilation struck Picard as somewhat unseemly in the presence of such appalling devastation. By his estimates, at least five hundred Romulans had died here.

  Not that Soong seemed to care.

  “Where does it come from?” Picard asked. “This…fascination…with artificial life-forms?” In the interest of tact, he avoided the word “obsession.”

  Soong chuckled hoarsely. “Sort of a family tradition, you might say. One of my ancestors, a contemporary of the famous Jonathan Archer, laid the groundwork for future endeavors in the field, before he was executed by the first Empress Sato as a danger to the Terran Empire.” He shook his head sadly. “A woefully shortsighted decision, which stalled progress for generations—and may have contributed to the demise of the Empire. Who knows? With an army of intelligent androids on our side, humanity might have been able to repel the Alliance.”

  “Perhaps,” Picard admitted. “But what about the threat posed by the androids themselves? Aren’t you afraid that any truly sentient robots might eventually turn on their creators, as they did on Exo III?” Most archeologists now accepted that a flourishing humanoid civilization on that planet had been exterminated by self-aware androids of its own creation. Picard had personally inspected the ruins, searching for yet more treasures for Gul Madred. “Exo III is nothing but a graveyard now.”

  Soong snorted impatiently. “That was a freak event, obviously caused by a fatal flaw in the androids’ programming. And I could prove it, too, if James Kirk hadn’t destroyed the last surviving android nearly a hundred years ago. Another bad decision that deprived Terran science of vital information.”

  “Maybe Kirk made the right call,” Picard suggested. “He usually knew what he was doing.” Indeed, the fall of the Terran Empire had begun the day Kirk was betrayed by his treacherous first officer, Spock, who had eventually set the Empire on the road to ruin. As a historian, Picard often wondered what might have been had Spock been assassinated instead. “If not for Kirk, we might be ruled by androids now, instead of by the Alliance.”

  “And would that be so bad?” Soong challenged him. “Like my visionary forebear, I firmly believe that cybernetic intelligence is the next big breakthrough in evolution, and the only logical development where the future of sentient thought is concerned.” He tapped his skull. “Plain old gray matter is on its way out.”

  I’m not sure I like the sound of that, Picard thought. He was tired of debating the old man, though, so he kept his doubts to himself. Not for the first time, he wished that Vash could have joined them on this leg of the expedition; unfortunately, Resistance business had delayed her departure from Celtris III. Picard hoped that she could rendezvous with them soon.

  Soong scanned the crater with a customized tricorder. “Hmm, I’m detecting some interesting magnetic resonance traces, which don’t correspond to any technology I’m familiar with. The Borg’s unique signature, perhaps?” He looked up from his readings. “So where to now, Picard?”

  “That depends,” Picard said. “My contacts on this side of the border have passed on rumors of similar attacks on other outposts in this region. If we can confirm these reports, perhaps by scanning for those resonance traces you just mentioned, we might be able to extrapolate where the Borg will strike next.”

  “And get there in time to make contact with them!” Soong’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “I like the way you think, Picard!”

  Picard wished he possessed the scientist’s enthusiasm. On impulse, he tossed a rock into the crater. It took an unnervingly long time to hit the bottom.

  Did they really want to meet the creatures that did this?

  The caves beneath Celtris III reminded Vash of the underground temples on Ktaria VII. She and Jean-Luc had once spent a glorious weekend exploring those catacombs while assembling a substantial collection of antique burial stones. Alas, she was not looking for anything old and precious tonight; instead, she was hunting for something new and terribly dangerous.

  “I am detecting definite subspace signals,” Selar reported, sweeping the area with her tricorder. “Readings are consistent with theta band emissions.”

  “Guess there’s some truth to those rumors after all.” Vash trusted the Vulcan scientist’s judgment. Selar was no Noonien Soong, but she knew her stuff. As a bonus, she was also an excellent combat medic. “I knew the spoonheads w
ere up to something nasty.”

  “What about life signs?” Bagro grumbled. The Tellarite demolitions expert grunted beneath the weight of his camouflaged backpack. “That’s what you should be scanning for. The Cardies will have our hides if they catch us down here.”

  Selar arched an eyebrow. “The only life-forms in this vicinity are Celtran sand-bats and assorted varieties of invertebrates.” A stolen Alliance medkit was strapped over her shoulder. “I doubt that they will pose a significant threat to your safety.”

  “Are you questioning my courage?” Bagro said, bristling. He snorted aggressively through his snout. A thick yellow beard wreathed his face. “I won’t stand for—”

  “Quiet, both of you,” Vash ordered. Vulcans and Tellarites typically got along like oil and water; she briefly questioned her wisdom in assigning them both to her team. There was no way around it, though. She needed their respective talents to complete this mission, especially if they found what they were looking for.

  The three-person team was investigating unconfirmed reports that the Alliance was developing metagenic weapons in an underground installation beneath Gul Madred’s headquarters. Such bioweapons, which used genetically engineered viruses to destroy all forms of DNA, were theoretically capable of killing an entire ecosystem in a matter of days. They were strictly banned by a treaty between the Alliance and the Romulan Star Empire, but Vash wouldn’t put it past the Cardassians to be working on them just the same. Ultimately, the weapons could be used to eradicate all life on any planet, moon, or space station liberated by the Resistance.

  Spoonheaded slime! Her blood boiled at the very thought. It would be just like the Cardies and their Klingon buddies to wipe out any biosphere that wasn’t under their despotic control. She couldn’t let that happen. If the rumored facility existed, they had to destroy it. That’s where Bagro came in. Tellarites loved blowing things up.