Текст книги "Section 31: Rogue "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Batanides stood, signaling that the briefing had come to a close. “The Enterprisewill arrive at the Chiaros system in approximately twenty‑two hours. Captain Picard will assemble a team to accompany Ambassador Tabor to the Chiarosan capital for the initial peace summit between Ruardh and Falhain.”

And to make certain that everyone gets out of the proceedings alive,Picard thought.

Picard lingered in the observation lounge after his officers had left. Besides himself, only Batanides and Tabor remained.

Tabor took one of Batanides’s hands between his own. “I’ll be in our quarters, my dear. I have a great deal of reading and preparation to do before tomorrow.” He turned toward Picard. “Captain, I understand that you and Marta are old friends. Friendship is something we Ullians value very highly. Why don’t the two of you take advantage of my preoccupation and spend some time catching up on–how do you humans say it–‘old times’?”

Batanides tilted her head to the side as though weighing her options. Then she favored Picard with a slightly mischievous smile.

Picard felt awkward in the extreme. “Marta, I completely understand if you’re too busy–”

Tabor interrupted him. “Please, Captain. I insist.” Then he walked to the door and was gone. Picard and Batanides stood alone together, looking out onto a stunning vista of stars.

“I think I can spare a few hours of my time,” she said brightly. “Let’s see if you still know how to show a girl a good time, Johnny. How about a holographic jaunt to the Bonestell Recreation Facility and a few quick games of dom‑jot before dinner?”

He smiled sheepishly, then said, “All right. But let’s ask the maУtre d’ to hold the Nausicaans this time, shall we?”

She grinned and took his arm.

Whatever am I going to tell Beverly tomorrow morning at breakfast?he thought, as they exited the lounge together.

Chapter Three

Aubin Tabor stepped into the quarters to which he and Marta had been assigned. As the door hissed closed behind him, he spoke into the air. “Computer. Dim lights. Blue illumination.”

As the computer adjusted the room’s lights, Tabor moved to a sleek case lying on a side table. Opening it, he removed a small sculpture, a representation of two entwined water nymphs, sea foam gathered at their ankles. The nymphs were facing away from each other, though their arms were interlinked behind them; each a part of the other, but watching vigilantly to either side. He had bought it for Marta on a trip to Crete a few years ago, when they were still newly discovering each other. So many secrets were shared in those early days, so much revealed. Marta had recently broken up from another relationship, and her mind was guarded. Aubin had promised her from the start that he would not use his telepathic powers on her–that he would neveruse them on her–and it had helped to forge the bond that had grown between them since then.

Still, each of them hid secrets from the other. All couples do.Tabor knew that. When he wanted to, he could seetheir secrets. It had aided him as a diplomat, and elsewhere. Marta kept secrets from him that usually had to do with cases being investigated by Starfleet Intelligence, but he also knew about her occasional indulgences with Andeluvian chocolate, and of her secret love for a distractingly loud form of 22nd‑century Earth music known as “splitter.” Aptly named.

And he knew that Marta still harbored feelings for Jean‑Luc Picard, the captain of this starship. She hadn’t spoken of him more than twice in the time she had been Tabor’s lover, but he knew–long before she had told him–that she had intentionally chosen the Enterpriseas the ship to transport them to Chiaros IV. He didn’t begrudge her these feelings. In fact, they made his tasks easier. So much to prepare.

He pulled the communicator from his sleeve pocket, pressing his thumb into a recess on its underside. It began to vibrate, almost imperceptibly. He wedged it in between the backs of the two nymphs that made up the statue. It clicked into place smoothly, and the sculpture emitted three short light‑bursts. Those flashes signified that the circuitry that had been specially built into the communicator and the sculpture– neither of which could work without the other–was active now. Tabor’s quarters were now completely shielded from all sensor scans and computer surveillance. No matter what he did within these rooms, no one would be able to track him.

The shield was most useful whenever he had to access protected Starfleet records. It was one of the many devices that made Aubin Tabor’s covert work with Section 31 easier.

Half an hour later, Tabor had narrowed his choices down to three potentials. Their personnel dossiers were all open on a computer screen in front of him. He punched a few more codes into a padd, accessing data files that Starfleet security only used in the most extreme of circumstances. He was an invisible entity in the database, his codes wrapping and doubling back on themselves, disguising his movements from any of the seventy‑three concurrently running automatic programs that sought out potential intruders.

He brought up the complete dossiers on the trio of Enterprisecrewmembers, his eyes scanning over the files quickly. He processed the information almost as quickly as the files scrolled upward. Here were the details on every movement of the three crewmembers since they had entered Starfleet Academy; their grades and performance scores, teachers they had favored, or who had favored them, links to any personal logs that had been kept on Academy computers, travel itineraries for every trip they had ever taken. Here too were the complete records of their actions post‑graduation, through whatever ships they had been assigned to prior to the Enterprise.Any mention of them in crew logs was flagged, and all duty and personal logs were catalogued. If he wanted to, Tabor could even find out what the crewmembers in question had eaten each day from the replicator, how often they used the sonic showers, and the intimate details of their personal holodeck programs.

Tabor had noted that some of his human counterparts in Section 31 were less than enthusiastic about poking into their subjects’ histories in such depth, especially if those subjects were Starfleet personnel. Invasive, they generally called it. But it was one of the reasons that Tabor made a good recruiter; as a Ullian, he was used to sifting through the clutter within people’s minds– memories of which they were not even consciously aware. He was not “invasive”; he was merely utilizing the abilities he had been born with. Because of their reticence, few human operatives could do what he did. One man, Luther Sloan, was among the handful of human Section 31 agents whose scruples were, like his, completely subjugated to his duties.

Tabor’s superiors had recently made the decision to recruit a new operative aboard the Enterprise.Given the crew’s illustrious history, and Captain Picard’s penchant for becoming involved in politically sensitive interstellar issues, having an operative here was an obvious choice. And while Section 31 could easily have transferred an officer onto the ship–they did that all the time, most recently on the Slayton–it seemed like a better idea to recruit from the existing crew. Trust was already established.

One of Tabor’s three choices was Lieutenant j.g. Kehvan Zydhek, a Balduk who worked in engineering, alongside his brother, Waltere. The Zydheks had entered Starfleet Academy upon completing their training as warriors on their homeworld. They were brilliant technicians, whose work on ships’ systems kept them close to Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge. The fact that they knew the Enterpriseand its computers so intimately made them good prospects as agents, but Tabor felt that Kehvan held the stronger potential for Section 31 work because of disciplinary incidents in his past. Still, the odds of one brother not telling his sibling about his covert affiliations were slim; in cases of close familial contact, Tabor had learned to err on the side of caution.

Another choice was Jyme Soule, one of the barbers. A jocular older Bajoran, Jyme was well‑liked by the command crew of the Enterprise–as was his colleague, the Bolian Mr. Mot. Jyme’s in‑shop patter with the officers and crew while cutting or styling their hair meant that he knew a lot about what was going on aboard the ship. And his loose schedule–as well as his civilian status on the ship–would allow him to accomplish many types of covert missions more easily than could a crewmember who was constrained by Starfleet regulations and protocols. However, that same civilian status would mean that Jyme would require a great deal of training to keep abreast of Starfleet operations, which was a negative toward choosing him, as was the fact that he would not have clearance to access all areas of the ship.

Which left Tabor with his final choice, Lieutenant Sean Liam Hawk. The officer’s records showed exemplary service in Starfleet, with a quick rise in rank following his first assignment, to the U.S.S. Yorktown.He was particularly adept at the conn, with reflexes faster than most of his fellow officers. He was athletic, personable, and well‑liked by his superiors. Tabor noted twenty‑three separate commendations in the files, and seventy‑nine other instances in which the Yorktown’s Andorian Captain Kentrav, or the Enterprise’s Picard, had favorably mentioned him in their reports.

Searching the files, Tabor probed further into Hawk’s past. He was born on Mars, the third son of Rhyst and Camille Hawk. Rhyst was a horticulturist whose work on the hydroponic gardens on Mars had gained him considerable renown in his field, while Camille was a popular novelist who specialized in period adventure stories set in Earth’s 17th and 18th centuries. Sean’s eldest brother, Darey, was the primary mining supervisor on Janus VI, while middle brother Jason was an archaeologist who had gone on a few digs in the Gamma Quadrant.

Sean had entered Starfleet Academy as soon as he was old enough, noting his desires to “explore space” on his application. He had performed extraordinarily well in his classes, leading experts to theorize that he possessed an eidetic memory. Tabor would have to test that theory when he met with the young man. A few simple mind probes should suffice. If he did indeed possess an eidetic memory, it would heighten his value to Section 31 immensely.

Tabor noted that Hawk was in a relationship with another male Starfleet officer, and that it was only his second major relationship. The first, with a classmate at the Academy, had broken up after a year; the man had later been killed in a battle against the Cardassians. His current partner was an unjoined Trill, who apparently had no desire to become joined with a symbiont. According to holodeck logs, Hawk and his partner spent much of their time in adventure scenarios, no doubt inspired by Hawk’s mother’s writings. A quick check of content showed, among other settings, seafaring pirate scenarios and programs set during the 19th‑century’s war between the North and South of Earth’s United States.

Times and settings filled with moral ambiguities.

He’s the one.

Tabor meditated for a moment, storing as much of the information in his own prodigious memory as possible, before backing out of the hidden files. His computer screen flared for an instant as it disconnected, the recursive Section 31 algorithms covering his exit, and then he was done.

Tabor stood and cleared his throat softly. He extracted his communicator from its resting place in the statue, repinning it to his lapel. He spoke then, his voice cutting the silence. “Computer, please locate Lieutenant Sean Hawk.”

“Lieutenant Hawk is in the Botanical Arboretum.”

* * *

As Tabor had surmised, Hawk was in the section of the arboretum that housed a dazzling array of Martian flora; Sean’s father had bred most of the variations seen here. Tabor circled the area, to make sure that there were no other crew members nearby, and he took the precaution of setting up a personal perimeter device in his chronometer; should another person get within seven meters of them– even someone telepathically shielded–he would be alerted. He was pleased to note that Hawk was sitting near a small waterfall, where the sound of the water would muffle their conversation.

Hawk turned smoothly as Tabor approached him. He seemed to regard Tabor for an instant, as if ready to spring to his feet if he were a ranking officer. In a blink, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a smile.

“Ambassador Tabor. May I be of some assistance?”

“Perhaps. May I sit?”

“Certainly.” Hawk grinned, gesturing toward a stone set near the one on which he sat. The waterfall raised a fine mist in the air, while large purplish fronds from one of the trees provided shade from the hydroponic lamps set high above.

“It’s a beautiful setting here. These are all Martian plants, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” Hawk said. He paused, then added, “My father bred several of these plants.”

“Ah, yes. The famed Rhyst Hawk.” Tabor watched Hawk closely, gauging the slight look of surprise in his eyes. “I know of him. I was involved for a few years with a botanist from Telfas Prime. She used to go on and on about her love of your father’s work. That would make you the son of Camille Hawk as well then? I’ve read some of her books. Quite . . . vivacious.”

“Yes, sir. Dad says she’s to blame for my yen for adventure.”

“Oh, you don’t need to call me ‘sir,’ ” Tabor said, holding up his hand as if to push the honorific aside. “I’m Aubin. And if it’s all right, I’ll call you Sean.”

Hawk grinned. Tabor pushed slightly into his mind, seeing that he was unused to the informality, especially from someone older and more traveled. Tabor didn’t give him time to ponder his friendliness, but pressed on. “So, is that ‘yen for adventure’ why you joined Starfleet?”

“I guess so, yes. When you’ve grown up reading about warriors and spies and pirates, I guess a typical job behind a desk seems . . . I don’t know, boring.I had to escape the Martian suburbs somehow, and Starfleet seemed like a good way out. And it hasbeen interesting. I’ve met scores of people from different civilizations and cultures. There are so many things out there beyond what we know about back home.” Tabor raised his eyebrow slightly, as if shocked, and Hawk looked sheepish for a moment. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend you. I don’t mean to imply that being an ambassador would be–”

“It’s quite all right, young man. But I guarantee you that for every day I’ve spent behind a desk or in chambers somewhere mediating a treaty, I’ve also had more than my share of . . . adventures. Not all missions of peace end with olive branches, as your own captain can probably tell you. These upcoming talks on Chiaros IV could be quite difficult.”

“What do you mean?” Hawk asked. Tabor knew that he hadn’t been told much about the mission.

“Chiaros is beset by two factions fighting against each other in a civil war. One of the groups is led by the elected First Protector, but the opposing group feels that her rule is corrupt. Each side is claiming atrocities have been committed against them, and neither seems willing to stand down. They are a warrior race, and reportedly as tough and unyielding as Klingons. How true are either of their grievances? Which side, if any, is in the right? I don’t yet know.

“That’s part of the reason I became a diplomat,” Tabor said with a friendly grin. “Learning about cultures such as the Chiarosans’ fascinates me, but in practicing diplomacy, I have to see those cultures from many different sides. I must foresee all the ways in which any one actcan be interpreted, positively or negatively. I have yet to find a situation in which everything is black‑and‑white and crystal clear. Life is all about color, about variations, not about absolutes.”

Tabor could read Hawk’s mind, hearing his own words as they were processed through his memory. It created an odd echo effect. He’s right,Tabor heard Hawk think, just before the young man said out loud, “I’m learning that. Watching Captain Picard and Commander Riker on the bridge has been an invaluable education for me.”

Although Tabor had initially planned to cite a few of Picard’s and Riker’s more unorthodox decisions–to demonstrate that even high‑ranking officers don’t always follow approved procedures–he could see in Hawk’s mind that the young man idolized his superiors. The ambassador altered his strategy slightly, saving those examples for later. “They certainly are among the best, even if Starfleet doesn’t always recognize it. But we both know that Starfleet makes mistakes every now and then, don’t we?” He paused for a moment, his telepathic power spearing into Hawk’s memories, seeing exactly which memories this evoked. Grasping them, he spoke again. “After all, look at all the mistakes that have been made in strategizing the battles in the demilitarized zone between Federation and Cardassian space. A lot of good men and women have died there. Good Starfleet officers. And good ex‑Starfleet officers as well.”

Hawk looked away for a moment, and Tabor could feel him remembering his loss at hearing the news that his first lover–and several Academy classmates–had been killed in a battle against the Cardassians. He finally turned back toward Tabor. “Yes. I’ve lost several friends . . . out there.”

“I sympathize. On several occasions, as an ambassador, I’ve even argued to the Federation Council that it has badly mishandled the entire Cardassian Demilitarized Zone–Maquis situation,” said Tabor. “That surprises you, doesn’t it?” He knew that it did. He could feel it in Hawk’s mind. “And I disagree with the Council now,regarding the situation on Chiaros IV.”

“But you’re going there as a Federation representative.” It was both a statement and a question.

“Yes, because that is my job. The First Protector has asked for Federation intervention, promising to ally her people with us if we aid in ending the conflict and thereby help keep her in power. The other side has made overtures to the Romulans, and doesn’t want the Federation involved.”

“The Romulans?” Hawk’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“That’s one of the reasons why the Enterpriseis here,” Tabor said, lowering his voice. He knew that in doing so, he was making Hawk feel as though he were being entrusted with privileged information. Which, in a subtly expanding way, he was. “Starfleet’s flagship is a symbol of its military might. The Romulans dare not try anything untoward with Picard around.”

“So what does that mean for the peace summit?”

“It means that an already unstable–and morally questionable–situation has become more aggravated,Sean. I argued to my superiors against the alliance with Protector Ruardh’s side, but they didn’t concede my point. The advantages to having Chiaros join the Federation are few, and the ethical implications are shady at best. And there are advantages to letting the Romulans have the Chiaros system, even though doing so would give them control of the entire Geminus Gulf. I can’t tell you what those advantages are, but they would strengthen both the Federation and Starfleet.”

Tabor sensed Hawk’s confusion before he spoke. “Surely you can’t be saying that you plan to defy the Federation Council’s agenda,” the younger man said. “You can’t just act on your own initiative.”

“My own initiative? No, not entirely. But I do have a certain autonomy once the negotiations start. As a diplomat, the specific direction of the talks is often mine to choose.” Tabor felt Hawk inwardly wince, and quickly added, “As much as I care about galactic peace and interstellar amity, I feel just as strongly that the Federation must be protected, at all costs.Sometimes, that goal can only be achieved in unorthodox ways. Why, your very own captain has bent the rules of the Prime Directive more than once to achieve a greater good.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir . . . Aubin.”

“Haven’t youever felt that the people making the rules sometimes make mistakes?”

“You aren’t suggesting that Starfleet Command is–”

Tabor leaned in closer to Hawk, conspiratorially. “I’m not suggesting that Starfleet Command is incompetent. But Starfleet is a gargantuan organization. Surely you can understand how some things might slip through the cracks? How mistakes can be made? How poor policies can be implemented and perpetuated?” Tabor probed again, and heard Hawk’s mind whisper Maquis,as if validating the ambassador’s words. He was relieved that Hawk was not prejudging him. He was, in fact, wanting to understand Tabor better.

“I will let you in on a secret, Sean. Starfleet knowsthat mistakes can be made. Aremade. They’ve known it since the beginning. It’s why the founders of Starfleet created a secret bureau, an elite group whose job is to provide for the organization’s best interests.”

“You mean Starfleet Intelligence? They’re hardly a secret.”

“No, not S.I.” Tabor paused for a moment, knowing that what he was about to say marked the turning point in their conversation. “The group I’m talking about is known as Section 31.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Hawk said. Tabor could feel the hunger for more information within the young man.

“Most people haven’t. I doubt even your Captain Picard, as wise and as knowledgeable as he is, is aware of the group, even though it was a part of Starfleet’s original charter two hundred years ago. Section 31 exists to identify anything that might threaten the Federation– and then deals with it, efficiently and quietly.”

“Has Starfleet really been all that bad at indentifying and handling threats?” Hawk said. Tabor could feel the lieutenant’s mind–his very conscience– struggling to wrap themselves around the ideas they were receiving.

Tabor smiled. “I didn’t mean to imply that, Sean. But the laws and principles that Starfleet’s officers of the line are sworn to uphold can hamstring them in certain . . . ethically gray situations. Section 31 has no such encumbrances. And that autonomy protects the ethical integrity of Starfleet’s mainline officers and the Federation’s leaders. Its agents answer to internal superiors, who, in turn, implement the decisions that other Federation operatives cannot.”

Tabor could tell that Hawk was truly becoming conflicted; he had begun to question not only modern‑day Starfleet’s decisions, but also the schoolboy assumptions about history that most Federation citizens rarely called into question.

And yet, the lieutenant still could go either way. Tabor knew he had no choice but to press on.

“Sean, Section 31 also exists to make sure that mistakes that aremade can be corrected.That the dangers which threaten the Federation’s existence–and those who are naive enough to expose the Federation to those dangers–are neutralized. Sometimes the agents have to step outside the rules to help keep the Federation’s true best interests in the forefront.”

Hawk rocked back on his seat, his brow furrowed. His voice was soft, almost a hiss. “Are you saying Starfleet has something like the Cardassian Obsidian Order or the Romulan Tal Shiar? That they sanctionthose sorts of operations?”

Tabor put on a wounded expression, and prepared to take the next step–confirming that he wasa part of Section 31. He could read in Hawk’s mind that the young man had guessed it anyhow.

“We’re not assassins, son. The steps those groups will take to accomplish their ends are much more . . . proactive than ours. However, we value the survival of our way of life every bit as much as our adversaries do theirs. ‘Necessity knows no law except to prevail.’ One of Earth’s philosophers said that.”

“Publilius Syrus,” Hawk said quickly. “But he also said, ‘Pardon one offense, and you encourage the commission of many.’ It seems as if this group is above the law.”

“Not above it. Beneath it, perhaps. You might think of the bureau as the bulwark that makes the Federation’s ideals possible in the first place. The only reason freedom exists at all, Sean, is because of those who stand vigil outside on the ramparts. Section 31 upholdsthe Federation’s principles. Just as Picard has done on those occasions when he has bent the rules. Even in your short time on the Enterprise,I’m sure you can think of more than a few instances wherein he, or Commander Riker, have made decisions based more upon conscience than on the rule book.”

Tabor could feel Hawk’s thoughts swirling, but one question rose to the forefront more quickly than any other. “You’re wondering why I’m telling you this, aren’t you?” Tabor asked.

“Yes,” Hawk said, simply.

“It’s because Section 31 has need of new agents. Strong, reliable, honest men and women who are committedto the dreams of the Federation.” Tabor looked him directly in the eyes. “I believe you to be one of those men, Mister Hawk.”

“Me? I’m not–”

“You embody allof the qualities of the best Starfleet officers. Additionally, I believe that you may have an eidetic memory, a valuable tool for an agent.”

“I’ve always had a near‑photographic memory, but . . .” Hawk shook his head, then asked, “Why now?”

“Because I fear that Section 31 may have lost an agent who was aboard the Slayton.Commander Cortin Zweller. He was on an important mission to Chiaros IV–a mission that would have altered the outcome of the peace talks in a way that would ultimately have benefited the Federation.”

“You mean . . . he was there to make sure the Romulans gain control of Chiaros IV.”

Tabor nodded slowly. “As you’ve no doubt surmised, I’ve decided to make sure that his mission succeeds. Especially if that mission has cost him his life.”

If Cortin died trying to trade the Geminus Gulf for that list of Romulan spies,Tabor thought, then I’ll be damned if I’m going to let his death be in vain. There’s too much history between us for that.

“I may need your aid in this matter, especially if something hashappened to the Slaytonand its crew. And beyond that . . . I would like to call upon you from time to time to help Section 31 in defending the Federation.”

Tabor felt Hawk’s apprehension and fascination grappling like opposing storm fronts. There’s trepidation there, yes, and confusion,Tabor thought. But the lad does indeed love a good adventure.

“Are you asking me to leave the Enterprise?”Hawk said.

“Not necessarily. This isthe Federation’s flagship, after all. Section 31 could certainly use some alert eyes and ears here.”

Hawk’s crystal‑blue eyes were wide as he considered everything Tabor had just said. Tabor could feel that he had punched all the right buttons for the young officer; now, the lieutenant just had to make the right decisions.

“I’m not sure about this, Ambassador. Covert operations, spying . . .” Hawk trailed off.

“Sounds like something out of one of your mother’s books,” Tabor said, almost lightheartedly. “There are many instances in history where selfless people have had to stand alone or work in secret for the benefit of all.” He let his words hang in the air for a moment. Tabor could sense that it was time to ease up and disengage. Gently, he said, “I understand, Sean. Really, I do. And I appreciate the gravity with which you are approaching my offer. It speaks highly of your personal ethics.”

He paused, then added, “But I would ask you to keep our conversation confidential, even from your partner. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that the very safety of the Federation depends upon Section 31’s continued secrecy. And I’m trusting youwith an enormoussecret.” Tabor stood, and offered his hand to the young man.

“I understand, sir,” Hawk said, standing as well. He gripped the ambassador’s hand firmly and shook it. “I just need some time to think.” Probing gently, Tabor noted with relief that Hawk had made no plans as yet to inform his superiors of this meeting.

“Certainly. But I hope you can decide soon. I believe that something may have gone terribly wrong in the Chiaros system. We could discover things there that we didn’t anticipate. And such surprises could jeopardize not only the bureau’s Chiarosan mission, but also the Federation’s vital interests elsewhere. If you truly care about the Federation’s security as much as I think you do . . . well, I hope we’ll be talking again soon.”

Aubin Tabor turned and walked away, his eyes and nose taking in the lovely sights and smells of the arboretum, while his mind drank in the thoughts of a very conflicted Lieutenant Hawk.

As the bridge turbolift doors hissed open, Captain Picard saw Commander Will Riker stand abruptly from the captain’s chair, tugging at his tunic. With Admiral Batanides at his side, the scowling Picard strode toward the center of the bridge, looking at the viewscreen.

“Is that what I think it is, Number One?”

“Yes, sir. It’s wreckage from the Slayton.It seems to be scattered throughout this region of space. It might have been spread out by radiation pressure, or maybe by a spatial distortion wave of some sort.”

Data, already at his post, looked down at the computer panels upon which information scrolled. “These specific pieces are hull plating from the starboard side. Scans show a distinct pattern of disruptor weaponry. The type is indeterminate. I am attempting a more complete scan to match any residual disruptor particles with–”

“Data, are there any survivors?” Picard asked, interrupting.

“Unknown, sir. The dispersal of the wreckage over such a wide volume of space has made it impossible for us to tell if any escape pods were jettisoned.” Data turned, looking over his shoulder toward Picard. “If there are any survivors, it is likely that they would have traveled to Chiaros IV.”

Batanides spoke up. “Have you been able to trace any combadge signals?”

“The planet’s atmosphere appears to be impenetrable to combadge signals and disrupts most other subspace traffic as well, including transporters and sensors,” Data said. “Ship‑to‑ground communication is possible only through the Chiarosan government’s orbiting communications tether.”