Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

44

Xiong watched the display on his tricorder, his heart racing in time with the increased activity the device was detecting. Finally, after several days of effort, the first sign of progress was manifesting itself.

“I think we’ve got something,” he said, stepping closer to Tasthene, his Tholian companion and fellow captive. The Tholian was standing before one of the ancient Shedai consoles, his crystalline appendages resting on the gleaming onyx surface and making use of the contact points he had found there. The equipment pulsed with life, radiating a power the young lieutenant figured it had not exuded for thousands of years.

At the console, Tasthene said, “I feel odd, as though I am touching an active power conduit.”

Xiong nodded. “In essence, that’s exactly what you’re doing.” He had observed a similar scene with the mysterious Shedai being on Erilon months earlier. Since then, he had been working to solidify his theory that the enigmatic species, by virtue of its wondrous crystalline physiology, was capable of channeling electrical impulses both within and beyond their physical bodies. So far, it was only a hypothesis, one he had been unable to investigate given the notable lack of Shedai test subjects. However, the revelation that the Shedai and the Tholians shared an ancestral connection within their DNA offered Xiong new hope for furthering his research. The experiments he and Nezrene had conducted on Erilon had lent credence to his theories.

And now he had Tasthene.

“This is not at all like what I am used to,” the Tholian said. As Xiong had learned during their time together, Tasthene was his people’s equivalent to a computer systems engineer. In his role, he had designed and built such mechanisms for a wide variety of uses, including those aboard Tholian military spacecraft. “Even our most advanced prototypes offered nothing like this.”

Before them, the console’s array of thirteen graphic displays teemed with images. Most were static, but strings of indecipherable alien text and colors scrolled across four of the screens, moving too fast for his human eyes to follow. “Can you make out any of that?”

Tasthene uttered another string of clicks. “Some, but most of it is in a language I do not understand. At least, I do not think I understand. Though I have never before seen this script, at some level, it is recognizable, but I am unable to explain how that is possible.” Lifting his left arm from the panel on which it had been resting, the Tholian continued, “These readings are from a subterranean power plant hundreds of kilometers below us, as well as a computer storage and environmental control system. The other systems I do not recognize, and the information regarding them appears to carry a sophisticated encryption scheme.” After a moment, he added, “All attempts to move beyond the planetary network are proving ineffective.”

Studying the information being relayed to his tricorder, Xiong frowned. It was true that Tasthene’s efforts had resulted in far more success than what he had been able to do by himself on Erilon. Still, the vast interstellar network the Shedai once had used to showcase their power and supreme rule over the Taurus Reach, if it had not been destroyed by whatever action had resulted in the disappearance of the Jinoteur system, remained dormant. He had suspected that this might happen, though he had chosen to remain optimistic. Tasthene’s report dampened that hope.

“Do I take from your expression, Earther, that you have not yet been successful?”

The voice intruded on his thoughts, and Xiong turned to see Lorka regarding him with an expression of disdain. Her large, muscled arms were folded across her chest. Behind her stood two more Klingons, flanking what appeared to be an oversized packing crate. How long had she been standing there? He chose to assume that Lorka had overheard several minutes of the conversation between him and Tasthene.

“We’ve made some progress,” he said, indicating his Tholian companion and the consoles with a nod of his head, “but we’re limited with what we can do here. Accessing the global network to any meaningful degree would take far more power than we could ever generate. Access to the subterranean power source is impossible because of an incredibly complex encryption method, the likes of which I’ve never seen before.”

Seemingly unimpressed, Lorka asked, “What about the planetary defense system?”

It was Tasthene who responded, stepping away from the console and turning to face the Klingon. As he did so, the millennia-old equipment once again went dark, no longer benefiting from the Tholian’s contact.

“The defense system is protected in similar fashion,” Tasthene said. “Even if we were able to access it, without the proper key or other decryption method at our disposal, there would be no means of utilizing any of it, to say nothing of gaining entry to the larger network used to communicate and send information across the Taurus Reach.”

“I’m not interested in that,” Lorka countered. “At least, not at the moment. The weapons system is the first priority.”

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Xiong pointed to the console. “We don’t even know what we’re looking at. Tasthene might understand a fraction of the information we’re getting to. There’s nothing with which to compare it, nothing for a universal translator to grab onto. We need more time.”

“Perhaps you recall what I told you the last time you made such a request,” Lorka said. “My husband grows more impatient by the day, but he has come into possession of something that may prove helpful to you.” She nodded toward Xiong and told her two subordinates, “Bring it in here.”

Xiong looked past her, catching the look of uncertainty the two Klingons shared before—in what Xiong took to be a somewhat reluctant fashion—bending and straining to lift the container sitting between them and bring it closer. He felt a sudden, unexplained hint of unease, even paranoia, tingle at the back of his mind. Though he already felt fear, of course, given Lorka’s threats to kill him, this was something else.

The guards set down the crate at Xiong’s feet, and he noted that even Lorka took a step back before saying, “We believe the contents of this container to be another artifact. If those who possessed it are to be believed, it may well prove useful to our research.”

Without asking permission, Xiong ran his hands along the crate’s surface. Determining that it was not locked, he raised the lid, beholding what he could only describe as a stone sarcophagus within. “What is it?”

“Unknown,” Lorka replied. “No attempt to scan it has been successful.” As she spoke, Xiong noted that she appeared to swallow a nervous lump.

What the hell is this thing?

Despite his curiosity, Xiong sensed his own agitation growing as Lorka directed the guards to remove the lid from the sarcophagus. He felt his jaw slacken as he beheld the stone casket’s contents.

Lying on a bed of lush, thick fabric that reminded Xiong of an ornate tapestry sat a large crystal. Nearly the size of a human head, it had been cut to resemble a dodecahedron. Its clear, colorless exterior formed a solid shell around a smaller, violet crystal sphere at its center. The smaller crystal was about the size of a large grapefruit.

As he studied it, the inner crystal flared to life, emitting a vibrant aura that radiated through the clear outer shell and bathed the interior of the sarcophagus with a brilliant lavender hue.

“Oh, my God,” Xiong said, unable to control his reaction. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” There was no way to determine with certainty that the crystal was a Shedai artifact, but there was no mistaking its apparent lineage. Looking up, he watched as Tasthene stepped away from the crate, his entire body seeming to tremble in panic as he beheld the crystal.

Was it a true missing link, perhaps the very sort of key for which he had been searching since his earliest examinations of Shedai technology? The challenge now facing Xiong was twofold. He could not waste this opportunity to learn something new, though he also would have to do everything in his power to avoid giving too much to his Klingon captors. Somehow, he would have to find a way to balance those two goals, at least for as long as it might take for Starfleet to find him, if they were searching for him at all.

You have to do all of that and not get yourself killed. Good luck.

45

Draining the contents of his coffee cup, Reyes relished the brew’s rich flavor. He reached toward the table before his small sofa to set down the cup but pausing in mid-motion. As he examined the cup, he considered the odd notion that had just come to mind.

“I’ll bet the coffee there tastes like crap.”

Sitting next to him with her legs curled beneath her, dressed once again in the uniform she had earlier discarded, Desai released a tired sigh followed by a small, humorless laugh as she shook her head. “Your sense of priorities never ceases to amaze me, Diego.”

“I’ve had plenty of time for ponderous reflection,” Reyes said, rising to his feet and crossing the room to return the empty cup to the food slot. Deciding against another cup, he turned back to Desai. “Any word on Xiong?”

Desai shook her head. “Nothing. Jetanien’s still pursuing a few back-channel options, but the Klingons flatly deny taking any prisoners.”

“That’s SOP for them,” Reyes said. Still, Ming Xiong was Starfleet’s foremost expert on all matters related to the Taurus Reach. If the Klingons—or the Tholians, for that matter—wanted insight into the progress the Federation had made in understanding the secrets of the Shedai, Xiong was the prime candidate to provide that knowledge.

“Nogura’s not buying it, either, if that makes you feel any better,” Desai said after a moment, “but there’s not a lot he can do. With tempers running hot at the negotiating table, the Klingons are looking for any excuse to unleash open hostilities. The fact that they’re not going to get their chance at you isn’t making them want to play any nicer.”

Reyes nodded. “I know.” The Klingons’ calls for his extradition were inconsequential. Every day brought closer the specter of war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. He had seen his share of combat against Klingons during his career, and it was not something he relished seeing again, but he particularly did not welcome the idea of seeing it from within a prison cell.

Glancing to the chronometer on his desk, he noted the lateness of the hour—or the earliness, depending on one’s point of view. It was 0230 hours. They would be coming for him soon, he knew. The prospect of a lengthy passage to Earth was not something he had looked forward to during the best of times; that he now would make that trip as a prisoner made the notion almost unbearable to contemplate. “I don’t suppose they could just put me to sleep for the entire trip, could they?”

It had taken only three days for a ship to become available for the journey. In this case, it was to be the U.S.S. Nowlan,a Starfleet Antares-class transport configured for ferrying passengers rather than cargo. With a maximum speed of warp five, the voyage would take nearly three months, though Reyes knew the ship was equipped with enough amenities to make the trip bearable. He already had been assured that he would be allowed full use of the transport’s recreational facilities. After all, he would be the vessel’s only passenger, and what else were they going to do with him?

Turning from the food slot, Reyes found Desai standing before him, a sad, resigned expression darkening her delicate features. Her eyes had begun to water as she reached for him and pulled him to her. “It’s almost time.”

“I know,” Reyes replied, stroking her hair with one hand as she buried her head against his chest. He rested his chin on her head, and they stood like that for a moment before he said, “Rana, I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

Raising her head so that she could see his eyes, Desai regarded him with a small smile that Reyes could tell was forced. “Thank Admiral Moratino. She’s the one who approved the conjugal visit.”

Her words had the desired effect, and Reyes laughed despite his heavy heart. “I’ll be sure to do that.” The admiral had approved his request for a single overnight guest on his last night before boarding the transport to Earth. Indeed, Moratino had been more than generous with regard to his situation while he waited for the ship that would take him to prison. He had wondered about that for a time, but she had not offered any reasons. Rather than spend any more time questioning the leniency she had shown, Reyes chose to focus on sharing this last evening with Rana, the first such opportunity they had enjoyed in months. Though an understandable pall weighed over them, they had managed to keep it at bay for a few hours.

“I guess this means our secret’s finally out,” Desai said, placing her hand on his chest.

Reyes released another dry chuckle. “I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but along with the price the Klingons have on my head that cat’s been out of the bag for a while. If you don’t believe me, ask Tim Pennington whenever he gets back.” After a moment, he moved his hand beneath her chin, raising it with his finger. “What I meant was that I never thanked you for standing by me, for going to the mat for me andwith me. You had the rule book and duty on your side, and still you were there for me.”

“I did my duty by defending you,” Desai countered. “Right or wrong, I wanted to make sure you had your say.” She tapped his chest with one finger. “I suppose it didn’t hurt that I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

“It’s always something,” Reyes replied.

Desai’s expression fell, and a single tear dropped from her left eye, beginning a slow descent down her cheek. “What am I going to do without you, Diego?”

Reyes wiped away the tear with his thumb and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I’m not leaving you, Rana.” He drew a deep breath. “And who knows? You might be able to get my sentence reduced on appeal, or I can get an early release for good conduct. Either way, I’m hoping you’ll be waiting for me when it’s over.”

“I’ll be here,” she said, her voice soft and sounding as though it might break under the strain of fighting to keep her emotions in check. She tightened her arms around him once more, and they remained in that embrace, enjoying the moment and each other. Then the sound of the door chime intruded on the comforting silence.

“Come,” Reyes said, loosing his hold on Desai.

The door slid open to reveal one of the security guards stationed outside his quarters. She stepped aside, allowing entry for Dr. Fisher, who strode into the room dressed in his regular-duty uniform despite the hour. In his right hand, he carried what looked like four old-fashioned bound paper books.

“I heard you weren’t accepting visitors,” Fisher said, “but I figured you’d make one or two exceptions.”

Reyes nodded, offering a slight smile. “Jetanien already beat you here, back around dinnertime.” He had passed on his request to Admiral Nogura and Commander Cooper declining all visitors. As far as he was concerned, he was now a distraction to the starbase’s complement and mission, and the sooner he was away from here, the sooner the men and women he had once commanded could return their full focus to their jobs and the difficult missions Starfleet would continue to give them.

Eyeing Fisher’s uniform before glancing to Desai, he said, “I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious.” His hands moved to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from the dull gray jumpsuit he had been given to wear—standard attire for a prisoner being transported.

“At least it’s not orange,” Fisher said. His eyes moved to Desai. “Good evening, Rana.” Then he frowned. “Or is it good morning?”

Desai shrugged as she crossed her arms. “Neither, really.”

Nodding in understanding, Fisher held up the books and offered them to Reyes. “Some light reading to help pass the time.”

His eyes narrowing in mock suspicion, Reyes replied, “Be-ware doctors bearing gifts.” He took the proffered tomes, holding them gently and running his fingers over their smooth leather covers. “They’re beautiful, Zeke.”

“Not first editions or anything,” Fisher said. “I had the quartermaster make them up. I know you prefer real books to data cards, and I didn’t know what kind of access to a data terminal you might have, anyway. Besides, these’ll look better on your shelf.”

Opening the largest of the books, Reyes closed his eyes and took in the musty smell of what should be centuries-old paper but that he knew had only recently been created. How did they do that so convincingly? Closing the volume, he turned it and its companions so that he could read the titles embossed on their spines. “The Count of Monte Cristo? Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption? Sunrise on Zeta Minor?”The first he had read as a boy in school long ago, whereas he had never heard of the other two, comparatively shorter works.

“They’re about prison breaks,” Fisher explained.

Desai added, “Those might prove educational.”

Chuckling at the gallows humor, Reyes eyed the fourth book. “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich?”

“He spends ten years in prison, too,” Fisher replied, “but I figure you’ll have it a hell of a lot easier than he did.”

“I sure hope so,” Reyes said as he crossed the room to where a small black bag sat on his dining table. The bag contained the very few personal effects he would be allowed to carry with him, including—among other things—a collection of photographs and a few books from his own library. The rest of his belongings would be packed and transferred to one of the station’s cargo stores until he provided a final destination for them. He had packed no clothing or personal-hygiene items, as all of that would be provided for him aboard ship as well as upon his arrival at the penal settlement. “Your taste in gifts is about as good as my fashion sense.” He moved back to where his friends stood and patted Fisher on his arm. “Thanks, Zeke. I mean it.”

“I needed something big enough to hide the hacksaw blade,” the doctor retorted. Then his expression softened, and he reached out to grip Reyes’s shoulder. “Now, listen to me, Diego. I know you did what you thought you had to do, and who knows? Maybe some sense will get knocked into people’s heads as a result. Until that happens, you’re not alone, do you understand me? You’ve got friends.”

Reyes smiled again. “I know,” he said before the door chime sounded again. “Come,” he called out.

When the door opened this time, it was to admit Lieutenant Beyer and Ensign Tseng, the pair of security guards posted in the corridor. Beyer regarded Reyes with an apologetic expression clouding her fair features.

“I’m sorry, Comm—I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

Nodding, Reyes replied, “Okay.” By mutual agreement, Desai would remain here, rather than accompany him to the hangar bay. He reached for Fisher, drawing his longtime friend into a firm embrace, a gesture shared by brothers and comrades in arms who had lived long enough to see far too much and come through it all because of the uncommon bond linking them.

“Take care of Rana for me, would you?” he asked as they stepped apart.

Fisher’s own expression had grown somber. “You got it.”

Turning to Desai, Reyes saw the tears that now flowed without restraint, streaming down her face. Without a word, she moved to him, gripping him in her arms and pressing her lips to his. Reyes was terrified to move even the slightest bit, for fear that his own emotions would force themselves to the surface and overwhelm him. They stood like that for several moments, neither willing to move, until Reyes heard a subtle, polite throat-clearing sound from Beyer.

“Sir.”

Looking to where the lieutenant stood, her face communicating her fervent desire to be anywhere and doing anything else, Reyes said, “I know.” Feeling the lump grow larger in his throat, he crossed the room and took his bag from the dining table. He wiped a tear from his eye before returning to Desai and the others. To Beyer, he said, “All right, Lieutenant. I’m ready.”

Beyer offered a formal nod. “As you requested, we’ve cleared a route to the hangar deck that’ll be free of spectators. We’ll get you to the Nowlanwithout fuss.”

“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.” It had been a personal request, one that did not have to be granted, but he had suspected that it would be honored when he learned that Beyer had volunteered to stand the final watch before Reyes’s transfer to the transport vessel.

Flanked by the guards, he made his way to the door of his quarters, preparing to exit them for the final time. Then he heard Desai call out from behind him.

“This isn’t over, Diego,” she said. Turning to face her, Reyes saw the sadness in her eyes, now coupled with new determination. “We’ve still got the appeals process. I’m already starting on that, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

Taking one last look at her, burning her face into his memory, Reyes offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“You’ll know where I’ll be.”