Текст книги "Declassified "

Автор книги: David Mack

Соавторы: Marco Palmieri,Dayton Ward
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Despite the effort T’Prynn had expended in the development of the various search routines, she did not expect any of them to yield any tangible results. Any spy of worth would avoid such obvious routes for passing information, electing instead to utilize some other surreptitious means to contact a superior or to receive instructions. It was therefore surprising when one of her watchdog programs did in fact find something.

Her program had detected a single message, divided into multiple data packets that in turn were embedded within other messages transmitted from the station more than three weeks earlier. To the casual reviewer, such information components could easily be dismissed or mistakenly viewed as portions of the communiqués in which they were inserted. Only by piecing together several of the packets did a pattern emerge, and even then it was but a portion of the entire message. While the search program reported finding more than two dozen such data fragments, its findings remained incomplete. As for the segments that had been discovered, they of course were written in some form of code, which T’Prynn was faced with attempting to translate. It had taken her in excess of six hours to decipher enough of the message that her suspicions could be confirmed: someone was reporting on the station’s activities to what remained an unknown benefactor, though examination of other data fragments was leading T’Prynn to conclude that the recipient of this information either was a Klingon, or someone working for the Empire.

A logical development.

That concession was only strengthened upon her decrypting a partial reference to the U.S.S. Sagittariusand its current assignment to reconnoiter the Traelus system. The Klingon Empire’s seemingly sudden interest in that system now made sense, as did the Sagittarius’s running afoul of a Klingon scout vessel while carrying out its survey mission. Other segments T’Prynn had reviewed appeared to contain references to the movements of other Starfleet and civilian vessels between Vanguard and destinations throughout the Taurus Reach. Even information collected by the station’s long-range sensors with respect to Tholian ships passing through the region was mentioned. The amount of intelligence this agent was able to gather was as impressive as it was disconcerting.

Despite what she had found, T’Prynn had not yet discovered anything that might be construed as a reference to the Taurus Meta-Genome. This was encouraging, especially if the Klingons indeed were the ones benefiting from the efforts of a covert operative. Still, if the Empire succeeded in establishing footholds on worlds known to harbor samples of the complex, artificially engineered DNA strand—or, perhaps, other artifacts or evidence of the unknown race responsible for creating it—Starfleet’s mission to contain the secrets surrounding Operation Vanguard would be jeopardized.

That is not your concern now,T’Prynn reminded herself. Her immediate priority was tracking down the spy and ending his or her clandestine activities before such efforts could undermine or even expose Starbase 47’s mission.

And what will you do to achieve that goal?

Whatever was necessary, T’Prynn decided.

7

The door to Captain Nassir’s quarters slid aside and Clark Terrell entered the cramped room to find the Sagittarius’s commanding officer lying on his bunk, his booted feet resting atop a folded field jacket as he held a data slate before his face. The glow of the device’s compact display screen illuminated the captain’s features, making him appear gaunt and pale. As Terrell stepped into the room, Nassir dropped the data slate onto his chest, but did not rise from the bunk.

“You sent for me, Skipper?” Terrell asked by way of introduction. Then, taking an extra moment to study Nassir’s face, he added, “Are you okay? You look tired.”

Nassir waited until his door shut before answering, “You sound like Ilucci an hour ago.” Closing his eyes, he reached with both hands to rub his temples. “I was helping him with repairs to the warp engines, but then Theriault alerted me about her latest report on the sample you two retrieved.” He did not have to offer any clarification for Terrell to understand that the captain was referring to the meta-genome. “According to her preliminary findings, the sample possesses several properties that are identical to what was found on Ravanar.”

“Really?” Terrell asked, his curiosity piqued.

Shrugging, Nassir replied, “It also contains elements that look to be unique to Traelus II, but Theriault’s report shows a definite match to other aspects. Whoever put it there also placed it on Ravanar and who knows how many other worlds, thousands of years ago.”

Terrell shook his head as he moved to sit in the small, straight-backed chair situated before the equally diminutive desk that jutted out from the bulkhead next to the captain’s bunk. “Any ideas on what that might mean?”

“Only that whoever was responsible,” Nassir said, “their level of scientific advancement had to be extraordinary. I mean, I know we’ve already been theorizing along those lines for a while now, but it’s still incredible to consider what we may really be talking about here. Any civilization capable of creating that meta-genome, no matter what its purpose might have been, would have about as much in common with us as we do with a colony of ants.”

Nodding, Terrell chuckled. This was not the first time a discussion along these lines had been held, of course. “And I’m going to ask the same question I always ask: Where are they? What happened to them? Did they die out because of some natural disaster, or were they conquered by someone even more powerful than they were? And if that’sthe case, then where are thosepeople?”

“That’s the fun part, Clark,” Nassir said, offering a wide grin. “Sooner or later, we’re going to find something else, something more substantial that can tell us about these people. I can’t wait for that day.”

Terrell laughed again, unable to resist the infectious enthusiasm with which his captain approached the exploration aspects of Starfleet’s charter. “You really are in the wrong line of work, you know.”

Sighing, Nassir waved away the suggestion. “Except for days like today, I wouldn’t trade this job for anything.” Reaching for the data slate on his chest and laying it beside him on the bed, he rose from the bunk and stretched his back muscles. “Enough goofing off. I’m going back to engineering to help Ilucci.”

That idea was interrupted by the telltale beep of the ship’s intercom, and the voice of Bridget McLellan. “Captain Nassir, please come to the bridge, sir.”

Without bothering to respond to the call, Nassir exited his quarters and made the transit to the bridge in seconds, with Terrell following on his heels. No sooner did the two men enter the Sagittarius’s nerve center than McLellan turned from the tactical station to face them, her expression one of concern.

“What is it, Bridy Mac?” Nassir asked.

Nodding toward the main viewscreen, which at the moment depicted the desiccated, pockmarked landscape of the desert region in which the Sagittariushad sought temporary refuge on the surface of Traelus II, the second officer replied, “Long-range sensors just picked up a contact, Skipper. Hard to tell unless we move out into the open, but I’m thinking we might be looking at a Klingon battle cruiser.”

“Well, that was predictable,” Terrell said before looking to Nassir. “What do you think? Get a better look?”

Standing with his arms crossed behind McLellan, the captain did not say anything for a moment, but Terrell could guess what the other man was thinking. As a precaution and after Ensign Theriault had provided a comprehensive sensor scan of Traelus II and its two moons, Nassir had ordered Lieutenant zh’Firro to guide the Sagittariustoward the largest continent of the planet’s southern hemisphere. Scans of that area showed it to contain vast quantities of thallium and other minerals that were capable of disrupting sensor scans. Once there, the ship had soft-landed near one of the larger deposits of thallium, allowing the massive storehouse of untapped ore to act as a rudimentary yet still effective camouflage screen. The trade-off was that while here, the ship’s own sensor array was to a large degree compromised, as well, but it had been Nassir’s hope that the admittedly feeble protection might still work long enough for Master Chief Ilucci and his engineers to finish repairs to the ship’s warp drive.

Our luck might be running out,Terrell mused.

“Theriault, how long do you need to get a decent reading?” Nassir asked.

Seated at the science station, Ensign Theriault replied, “Ten to fifteen seconds should be good enough for a decent snapshot, sir. About double that, if you want a full readout. Any more than that and they might be able to pinpoint our position.”

Nodding in approval, Nassir said, “Get us the quick picture and anything else you can before I pull the plug.” He then turned to Lieutenant zh’Firro at the helm. “Take us up to a low orbit, Sayna. Just enough to have a look around.”

“Aye, sir,” said the young Andorian before glancing at McLellan and nodding as the two women began to coordinate their efforts.

Terrell felt a tremor in the deck plates beneath him and sensed similar vibrations coursing across every surface of the bridge as the ship’s impulse engines came on line and zh’Firro applied just enough thrust to lift the Sagittariusfrom the ground. Despite the artificial gravity and inertial damping systems, Terrell’s stomach still lurched as the ship ascended toward orbit. In short order, the barren, uneven terrain displayed on the viewscreen gave way to the black of empty space, and the first officer half expected to see the screen dominated by the massive forward hull of a Klingon battle cruiser and its ominous forward disruptor array. He failed to suppress a small sigh when such an image did not appear.

Small favors, and all that.

Within seconds, Theriault’s workstation began to emit a series of almost musical indicator tones as the young science officer bent over the console’s hooded sensor viewer. “Definitely a Klingon ship.” She paused, and Terrell saw her frown as she studied the data being relayed to her. “It’s a D5, Skipper.”

“D5?” McLellan repeated. “Wow. I didn’t think I’d ever see one of those.”

Terrell shrugged. “The Klingons have always been big on getting the most out of proven ship designs. I guess that goes double for the ships themselves.” So far as he knew, the D5 class of battle cruiser had been all but replaced by the Klingon Empire more than a decade ago in favor of the larger, faster, and more powerful D6 and D7 designs. That such older ships were still in service– or had been returned to service—might itself be an interesting clue to the present status of the Klingon military apparatus.

Doesn’t make them any less nasty when the shooting starts.

“Any sign they’ve spotted us?” Nassir asked.

Theriault shook her head. “Not that I can tell, sir.”

“Okay, then,” the captain said. “Let’s not press our luck. Take us back down, Sayna.” As zh’Firro set about returning the Sagittariusto its makeshift refuge, Nassir turned to regard Terrell. “It seems the Klingons are serious about planting their flag here.”

“It’s a sure bet they like it for the same reasons we do,” Terrell replied. “They need dilithium to feed their ships, too.”

Frowning, Nassir shook his head. “Still, it’s a long way from the Klingon border, and it’s not as though there aren’t plenty of resource-rich planets a lot closer to home. And so close to Tholian space? It’s like they’re hoping to provoke a reaction.”

“I’ve never known a Klingon to turn away from a good fight,” Terrell said, “but even they usually have a plan. If they’re here, they’ve got a reason.” Whether that reason had anything to do with the Taurus Meta-Genome, he could not say, though the notion of the Klingons attempting to acquire knowledge of the mysterious alien DNA and all it represented was not one that provided him comfort.

The sound of the ship’s engines changing pitch made both men turn toward the viewscreen, and they were treated to another exhibition of zh’Firro’s piloting skills as the Sagittariussettled once more on the surface of Traelus II. Dust from the ship’s maneuvering thrusters billowed up from the ground, obscuring the view depicted on the screen by the vessel’s array of imaging sensors. A moment later zh’Firro cut the engine power and the hum of the impulse drive faded.

“Nice driving, Sayna,” Nassir said before turning back to Terrell. “We need to call home and tell them what’s going on.”

Terrell released a small, humorless chuckle. “Well, until our friends out there decide to go looking somewhere else for something to do, or Ilucci gets the warp drive back on line, we’re not talking to anyone. Any ideas?”

Moving to sit in the command chair, Nassir replied, “Unless someone has a warp-capable carrier pigeon handy, for now we wait.”

“What about when it’s time to leave?” zh’Firro asked, turning from her console. “We can’t sit on top of a thallium deposit forever, after all. Sooner or later, they will find us.”

Terrell started to reply, but stopped when he noted Theriault sitting quietly at her station, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then, her expression changed, and a mischievous grin graced her delicate features.

“What?” Terrell asked, confused.

Without responding, the ensign turned back to her station and began to key instructions on the array of controls before her. As a pair of the console’s display screens began to scroll data in response to her queries, her smile only broadened.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

8

Though Starbase 47’s officers’ club had been open and available for use by the station’s crew for several weeks, it was only the second time T’Prynn had seen fit to visit the facility. Unlike her human colleagues, she did not find the club—with music broadcast over the intercom system to accompany the numerous conversations taking place around the room—conducive to any form of real rest or relaxation. She instead preferred the tranquillity and solitude of her quarters. Failing that, there was the station’s gymnasium, which often was largely unoccupied during gamma shift, midnight to 0800 hours.

The club’s atmosphere two hours prior to the start of gamma shift was anything but quiet. The overhead lighting had been extinguished in favor of rows of recessed track lighting along the walls near the ceiling, and small lamps on each of the tables as well as various points along the bar. A quick visual inspection told T’Prynn that most of the seats at the bar as well as the tables and booths scattered around the room were occupied, either by off-duty Starfleet personnel or members of the station’s civilian contingent, who had been provided with club access privileges by Commodore Reyes until such time as the various restaurants and taverns located in Stars Landing were open for business. Moving around several tables and their patrons, T’Prynn looked for the commodore but did not see him, nor did she see any other member of the starbase’s senior staff. Ambassador Jetanien was present, seated alone at a secluded booth in the room’s far corner, his attention focused on whatever meal he had ordered as well as one of three data slates arrayed on the table before him. She was thankful for the ambassador’s choice to dine alone rather than sharing the company of his subordinates—and one subordinate in particular: Anna Sandesjo.

None of the other chairs at the young woman’s table were occupied, and T’Prynn watched Sandesjo for several moments as first a Starfleet lieutenant and then a civilian—both males—approached her table and inquired about joining her or perhaps asking her if she wanted a drink. A data slate sat on the table near Sandesjo’s right hand, along with a glass filled to the halfway mark with a clear liquid. She did not drink from it during the few minutes T’Prynn observed her interactions with her would-be suitors, both of whom she rebuffed with what appeared to be practiced ease and poise. T’Prynn surmised that this was the sort of situation the ambassador’s aide encountered on all too frequent occasions. It therefore prompted the question why Sandesjo would come to a place like this, knowing she would encounter unwanted attention from prospective companions.

Perhaps she simply awaits someone who conforms to specific criteria.It seemed to T’Prynn a logical notion, and she decided it was a theory worth testing.

Moving from her vantage point at the front of the room, T’Prynn maneuvered around tables and patrons, offering or returning greetings as she made eye contact with a fellow officer or a civilian she recognized, until she stood before Sandesjo’s table. The other woman’s attention was on the data slate before her, and from watching her expression and body language T’Prynn realized that the young human knew someone had approached her. Sandesjo was pretending to have taken no notice, and it was another five seconds before she released a small sigh and looked up from the table. When her eyes met T’Prynn’s, Sandesjo’s widened in surprise.

“Commander,” she said, a slight stutter accompanying the first syllable.

T’Prynn nodded. “Ms. Sandesjo. It is . . . agreeable to see you again.”

Smiling, Sandesjo replied, “It’s good to see you, too.” She gestured to the chair closest to T’Prynn. “Please, sit down.”

“You’re not expecting someone?” T’Prynn asked, placing her hand on the back of the chair.

Sandesjo shook her head. “I’m afraid not, though several people have tried to get me to change my mind.” As T’Prynn settled into the proffered chair, the human woman asked, “May I get you something to drink?”

“You may,” T’Prynn replied, sitting up straight in the chair.

A few seconds passed with the two women eyeing each other before Sandesjo’s brow knit in apparent confusion and she released a small chuckle. “Well?”

Maintaining her impassive expression, T’Prynn asked, “Yes?”

“I asked if you wanted something to drink,” Sandesjo said, her eyes beginning to glance past T’Prynn.

The Vulcan shook her head. “No, you asked if you could offer me something to drink. I merely granted your request.” Why was she acting this way? T’Prynn knew that her verbal wordplay might be seen by the other woman as being critical of her grammar, but at the same time she found she could not resist the gentle teasing afforded by the exercise.

Sandesjo’s mouth curled into a small, hesitant smile, and her green eyes bored into T’Prynn’s. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No,” T’Prynn said, and when she spoke this time she arched her right eyebrow, and Sandesjo was unable to stifle a louder laugh.

“Commander,” the aide said, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me, but I didn’t think Vulcans flirted.”

Pausing to consider her answer, T’Prynn replied, “Vulcans do not engage in the activity with the same proclivity as humans, but we recognize it as a desirable means of discourse with a potential companion.” Having observed the behavior in her human friends over the years, she felt as though she understood how to employ the conversational tactic effectively.

Her blunt remark seemed to catch Sandesjo by surprise, and she blinked several times before offering a response. Then, leaning forward so that her elbows rested atop the table, she regarded T’Prynn with a bold, unflinching gaze. “Is that what we are? Potential companions?”

“There are always possibilities,” T’Prynn said. For the first time since entering the officers’ club, she reconsidered the course of action she had undertaken. Getting involved in any kind of personal relationship was something she had not done since Sten’s death. Given her dead fiancé’s lasting effects on her psyche thanks to their frantic mind-meld in his last moments of life, T’Prynn had long been wary of further emotional entanglements with anyone. Still, this woman fascinated her for several reasons, some of which she could not describe or even identify. This of course troubled T’Prynn, given what she now knew about the young ambassadorial aide.

Anna Sandesjo was the spy she sought.

At first unwilling to believe the conclusion to which her investigation had led her, T’Prynn had rechecked the information compiled and collated by the search algorithms she had launched into the station’s main computer and communications systems. On its own, the evidence she had found was largely circumstantial, revolving around the woman’s occasional presence in the Federation Embassy offices at odd hours of the night, each instance of which was followed in short order by the inclusion of the encrypted and purposely fragmented messages T’Prynn had found embedded in outgoing communications traffic. The gap of time between Sandesjo’s working late hours and the inclusion of the covert messages was always less than two hours. Working backward from what she knew might still be a coincidental connection, T’Prynn had performed a thorough review of Sandesjo’s background information and other personal data. The anomalies she found might be dismissed by a casual inspection as errors or oversights, but a more comprehensive analysis revealed to T’Prynn a pattern of minor, even unconnected inconsistencies, which someone skilled in counterintelligence might conclude were unavoidable gaps in an otherwise well-crafted false identity. As the recipient of the messages appeared to be someone affiliated with the Klingon Empire, T’Prynn now also had cause to wonder if Sandesjo herself might be a Klingon agent. Was she simply a traitor to the Federation, or might she be an alien—perhaps even a Klingon—surgically altered to appear human?

There may be only one way to be certain.

While it might not be enough to engage the services of the Judge Advocate General or even Starfleet Security, T’Prynn felt she had sufficient information to act on her own and determine the true nature of Anna Sandesjo’s apparent clandestine activities. In order to prove her theories without alarming either Sandesjo herself or whoever might be providing her instructions and receiving her reports, T’Prynn would have to proceed with caution.

“I have to tell you,” Sandesjo said, clasping her hands atop the table and looking down at her fingers as she interlaced them, “this isn’t the sort of thing I do very often.”

T’Prynn nodded, recognizing the attempt at erecting an emotional barrier. Sandesjo, if she was a spy, also would be leery of placing herself at risk of exposure, while at the same time endeavoring to ascertain T’Prynn’s own motivations. It would require patience on T’Prynn’s part if her scheme was to succeed, despite whatever personal feelings she might be experiencing toward Sandesjo.

The mission must come first.It was an unconvincing rebuke, T’Prynn decided.

“Nor is it something with which I have much familiarity,” she said, sensing an opportunity to perhaps put them both at ease. “Perhaps we should ‘take things slowly,’ as you humans sometimes say.”

Sandesjo smiled again. “Perhaps, but not tooslowly, I hope,” she said, holding T’Prynn’s gaze as she spoke the words. There was no mistaking the sentiment being expressed. What T’Prynn now required was a strategy for turning this evolving situation to her advantage, and to do so without alerting Sandesjo to her true agenda. That would be a challenge, she realized, given that she could not deny her own physical attraction to this mysterious young woman, which only seemed to be amplified when considering her possible true identity and affiliations.

A challenge, indeed, but one T’Prynn welcomed.