Hearts and Minds Read online

  Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

  * * *

  Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.

  For Michi, Addison, and Erin.

  They know why.

  HISTORIAN’S NOTE

  This story takes place in late 2386, seven years after the U.S.S. Enterprise-E’s confrontation with the Romulan praetor Shinzon (Star Trek: Nemesis) and a few months after the events involving the Federation, the Klingon Empire, and the renegade Klingon cult known as the Unsung (Star Trek: The Next Generation—Prey). These events unfold just before Trill journalist Ozla Graniv’s bombshell exposé of Section 31 and its numerous clandestine activities, including the conspiracy to remove and assassinate Federation President Min Zife in 2379 (Star Trek: Section 31—Control).

  1

  U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-E

  2386

  The dart struck the center of the target, just above its two companions. A resounding beep erupted from the machine, alerting anyone within earshot that yet another bull’s-eye had been scored.

  “Okay, you need to stop with the voodoo or magic or whatever it is you’re doing,” said T’Ryssa Chen as Taurik stepped away from the white stripe on the floor that indicated where the dart thrower should stand.

  Rising from his chair at the table where he sat next to Chen, Lieutenant Rennan Konya added, “That, or throw with your eyes closed. This is getting ridiculous.”

  Taurik moved away from the dartboard that was tucked into the Riding Club’s far corner, returning to his own seat at the table. “I was given to understand that the object of the game is to quickly close out the indicated numbers. As I have already done so with numbers fifteen through twenty, all that remained was the center, or ‘bull’s-eye,’ as Lieutenant Konya referred to it. Given the rules as laid out before the game commenced, I had no alternative but to concentrate my throws on that area of the target.”

  Konya did not even bother stifling his laugh, and Chen could only shake her head. Fellow crew members sitting at adjacent tables supplied their own chuckles and smiles, including Lieutenant Dina Elfiki, who raised her glass to Taurik.

  “Well played, Commander.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” said Chen, eyeing the Enterprise’s science officer. She then pointed to Elfiki’s companion, Gary Weinrib. “Don’t let her encourage him. Mind your date, Lieutenant.”

  The gamma shift flight control officer offered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Lieutenant.”

  “Oh stop it,” said Elfiki, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “You’ll just make her worse.

  Chen eyed Weinrib with mock suspicion. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty or something?”

  “Not for four hours yet.” Weinrib held up his glass. “Altair water.”

  “A likely story.”

  With the exception of unusual deviations in the crew schedule, the end of alpha shift almost always heralded an increase in patronage and good cheer in the club. Nearly every seat at the bar as well as each of the tables situated around the room was occupied, with personnel camped out at the sofas positioned before the forward viewing ports, or simply standing, drinks in hand, wherever unclaimed floor space presented itself. The Happy Bottom Riding Club—so christened by William Riker before leaving the Enterprise and his role as the ship’s first officer to take command of his own ship, the U.S.S. Titan—had become one of Chen’s favorite places to spend leisure time. The atmosphere here was always festive, as she and her shipmates were able to shrug off the demands of work and duty for a short while either before or after an assigned shift. It was also one of the few times during the course of any given day that she might run into friends like Dina Elfiki, whose duties often required her to be on the bridge or tucked away deep inside of the Enterprise’s science labs. It was the same with Taurik, who as often as not could be found toiling in the depths of the ship’s engineering section or one of the numerous Jefferies tubes or maintenance crawlways running throughout the immense vessel.

  With a friendly wave, Chen left Elfiki and Weinrib to their quiet conversation and returned her attention to Taurik, waiting for the Vulcan to settle into his seat before waving in the general direction of the dartboard, where Konya was setting things up for a new game.

  “You’re making me look bad, you know. How is it you’ve never played darts before tonight?”

  Reaching for a glass of what Chen knew was room-temperature mineral water, Taurik replied, “Until this evening, it was not a necessary skill.” After taking a sip from his water, he added, “It is a rather straightforward game. Hand-eye coordination is key, of course, as is a modicum of arm strength to deliver the dart to its intended target.”

  “Wait,” said Konya, a trio of darts still cradled in his left hand, as he returned to the table and dropped into his seat. “Are you saying you know where you’re going to put a dart every time you throw it?”

  Taurik’s right eyebrow cocked. “That is not what I said, Lieutenant.” He paused, taking another drink. “However, upon further consideration, I am forced to concede that my remarks could be interpreted in that manner.”

  “So, you are saying it?” asked Konya.

  “Yes.”

  Smiling, Konya slapped the top of the table with his free hand. “I do believe I just heard a challenge, Lieutenant Chen.”

  “I do believe you’re correct, Lieutenant Konya.”

  Chen smiled, happy to see him having fun. It had only been in recent months that he had taken to coming here with her every few nights. At first it was just every so often, but he had embraced the notion of winding down at the end of a long day. It was a big step for someone like Rennan Konya, who spent long, often arduous hours immersed in his work, doing all the things for which the ship’s deputy security chief was still responsible even when there was no emergency or crisis with which to contend. Konya spent a good portion of each duty day training the officers who comprised the Enterprise’s security division so that they would be ready to deploy against any number of response scenarios. A great deal of time was devoted to modifying procedures and simulations, and Chen knew that he was always finding ways to incorporate lessons learned during recent missions or encounters to refine the training regimen. Losses suffered by the Enterprise crew during the incident with the Unsung had motivated Konya and Lieutenant Aneta Šmrhová to redouble their efforts in this regard. The harsh lessons imparted by that mission, which required the ship to suspend its exploration of the Odyssean Pass and return to Federation space, hammered home the need for constant training and honing of such skills.

  Perhaps this new satisfaction was providing other benefits as well. With each passing month, Konya seemed to be acting more and more like his old self, from before the Borg Invasion and the guilt and depression he had endured in the aftermath of that conflict. She knew that his sessions with the ship’s counselor, Doctor Hegol Den, had proven most helpful, and Konya had confessed to her that the rekindling of their relationship had also played a large part in his overall improved state of mental well-being. She was reluctant to take any credit for the progress he had made, though it was still satisfying to know that he thought of her in such terms.

  Another sure sign of Konya’s improved spirits was his competitive nature reasserting itself.

  “All right, Commander,” said the Betazoid, tapping the table once more with the flat of his hand. He offered both a
mischievous smile and the set of three darts to Taurik. “With all due respect, sir, Lieutenant Chen and I think someone needs to put their credits where their mouth is.”

  Placing his water glass on the table, the engineer took the darts from Konya. “Very well. If you insist.”

  The gentle verbal sparring and challenge had attracted notice from nearby tables. Elfiki and Weinrib along with several others had turned in their seats, angling for an unimpeded view of the dartboard.

  “Are we taking bets?” asked Elfiki. “Should we start a ship’s pool?”

  Taurik, having moved to the white marker on the floor, appeared content to ignore the science officer’s query as he regarded the board and the darts he held. He had selected one and was testing its weight in his hand when his communicator badge beeped.

  “Lieutenant Commander Taurik,” said the voice of the Enterprise’s main computer. “You have a priority message. Eyes only, authorization code alpha echo three five. Please respond at once.”

  “What the hell is that?” asked Chen, the words escaping her lips before she even realized she was speaking. She frowned, exchanging confused glances first with Konya and then Elfiki. She had heard the computer relay information about priority message traffic before, but it was usually the sort of thing reserved for the captain. For anyone else to receive something like that was out of the ordinary, to say the least.

  For his part, Taurik’s first response was to glance at his combadge for a moment. Then, as though noticing he was being watched by several of his shipmates, he tapped the badge. “This is Taurik. Acknowledged.” He turned, extending his hand and the darts to Konya. “I am afraid I must postpone our wager.”

  “No problem, sir,” replied the lieutenant, taking the proffered darts. “Anything we can do for you?”

  Pausing, Taurik seemed to be pondering Konya’s question before he shook his head. “Your offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, but this is a matter I must attend to personally.” To Chen, he said, “Thank you for inviting me this evening. I trust we can repeat the experience soon.”

  “Taurik,” Chen began, but saw in his eyes that any attempt to pry more information from him would be fruitless. She recognized the way his demeanor changed when he had something new and important demanding his full attention.

  Without saying anything further, the Vulcan turned and departed the lounge, leaving Konya to move back to the table and return to his seat. His own expression was a mask of confusion.

  “I’m not the only one who thought that was weird, right?”

  • • •

  Alone in his ready room, Jean-Luc Picard regarded the computer terminal perched near the corner of his desk. On the screen, below the seal of the United Federation of Planets, flashed the words PRIORITY ALERT – CAPTAIN’S EYES ONLY. VOICE PRINT AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED.

  The tone indicating the activation of the ship’s intercom sounded, prying Picard’s eyes from the monitor as the cue was followed by the voice of the Enterprise’s first officer, Commander Worf.

  “Bridge to Captain Picard.”

  “Go ahead, Number One.”

  “Sir, Lieutenant Šmrhová has completed her check of the communications logs. There is no record of the message being received. However, a file matching the message’s date stamp was loaded into the ship’s command-protected memory banks. The date suggests it was copied to our system during our last visit to Earth Station McKinley.”

  Everything about the order packet was unusual, beginning with how Picard had become aware of it. Notification of the message had come not from his chief of security, Lieutenant Šmrhová, who would have received all incoming communications traffic from her station on the bridge. Instead, the advisory was issued by the ship’s main computer, directly informing him not of an inbound message meant for his sole attention, but instead a preprogrammed order packet. Now evidence suggested the orders had been lurking within the computer’s memory banks for nearly three months.

  Why?

  “Number One, you’re certain the file comes from a legitimate source?”

  Worf replied, “Lieutenant Šmrhová assures me that the packet contains an authorized Starfleet encryption algorithm, designed for voice-print access and keyed to you, Captain. Neither she nor anyone else has examined the file’s contents.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Picard released it in calm, deliberate fashion. The action did little to assuage the tension that seemed to have settled upon him. He felt its weight, along with mounting suspicion. He did not like secrets, and neither did he appreciate whatever games someone at Starfleet Command had apparently decided was necessary in this instance.

  “Has Lieutenant Šmrhová completed her sensor sweep?”

  “Affirmative,” replied the first officer. “We are alone out here and standing by to resume our course.”

  Pursing his lips, Picard considered his next steps, particularly in light of the current situation. While reviewing the waiting message was a priority, the manner of its delivery was still troubling. For weeks, the Enterprise had been pursuing without incident its ongoing charting of the Odyssean Pass, the area of space to which the starship had been assigned to explore months earlier. Time spent studying a rogue comet as well as two uninhabited solar systems had been a welcome change of pace, including a brief shore leave on a particularly inviting Class-M planet that the crew had all to themselves. After the ship’s science officer, Lieutenant Elfiki, had informed him that scan data of the Pass collected by unmanned survey probes had revealed the existence of a planet in another nearby system that showed signs of civilization, Picard decided it was time to get back to work. Long-range sensors seemed to reinforce the early scans, with the detection of weak broadcast transmissions and even indications of interplanetary spacecraft activity.

  The Enterprise had been on course for less than two hours when the computer’s message came, informing Picard not to proceed with entering the system until he had reviewed the encrypted orders packet. The question now plaguing him was whether the orders and the system were related in some way. How was that even possible? So far as Picard knew, beyond the automated sensor drones from decades earlier, no one from Earth or the Federation had ever visited this region.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  “Maintain present position. Yellow alert until further notice, Number One. I’ll apprise you further as I’m able. Picard out.” With the connection severed, the captain returned his full attention to the computer screen and its blinking message.

  There’s no sense putting this off any longer.

  “Computer,” he said, reaching to pivot the computer terminal so that it now directly faced him, “decode and play message. Voice print authorization: Picard four seven alpha tango.”

  The image on the screen shifted from the Federation seal to the visage of Admiral Leonard James Akaar. At one hundred nineteen Earth years of age, the Capellan was still a vibrant, muscular man, his broad chest and shoulders straining the cut of his Starfleet dress uniform. His once-blond shoulder-length hair had largely surrendered to pale gray and his skin was deeply lined, but his eyes were still bright with determination and purpose. Staring out from what Picard recognized as the admiral’s office at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco on Earth, Akaar was leaning toward his desk, his large hands clasped before him.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc. I apologize for this unusual means of communicating orders to you, and I know you must have many questions. Rest assured that the reasons for my methods are due to the sensitivity of the matter on which you’ll soon be briefed, and because I trust you to proceed with all proper discretion and delicacy. It involves a matter that has only recently come to my attention, mostly by chance. We might never have known about it, if not for the simple reason that Starfleet decided the Odyssean Pass was a place we needed to explore, and you’re only hearing this message because of the specific planet you’ve chosen to investigate.”

  Listening to the recorded message and feeling the first hints of irritation
beginning to stir within him, Picard shook his head. Why the games? If he could be trusted to “proceed with all proper discretion and delicacy,” then why could he not receive an actual briefing from Akaar before the Enterprise had left? It was obvious that it involved something the Enterprise had encountered during their journey through the Odyssean Pass, or else it was something they would soon face on the planet that had attracted his curiosity, but what was the connection?

  “As I already said,” continued Akaar, “I know you must have any number of questions, and if I know you as well as I think I do, you’re glaring at me right now and wanting to punch your computer screen.”

  “It’s not the worst idea,” muttered Picard.

  “This is the sort of thing that requires hands-on care. Since I can’t be there, I’ve handed that job over to another member of your crew; someone I know you trust, and with good reason. He’s already proven his loyalty and his prudence on a related matter, and I think he’s the ideal person for handling something this sensitive. You should be hearing from him in due course, and I urge you to listen to everything he has to—”

  The intercom sounded again, and Picard paused the playback in time to hear Worf’s voice for a second time.

  “Bridge to Captain Picard. I apologize for the interruption, sir, but Lieutenant Commander Taurik has come to the bridge and is requesting to speak with you in private. He says it’s urgent, sir.”

  “Taurik?” Looking at Admiral Akaar’s frozen image, Picard frowned. “Have you enlisted him into this scheme of yours?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  Realizing he had spoken the question aloud, Picard pressed a control on the terminal to darken the screen. “Send him in, Number One.”

  A moment later, his ready room door slid aside to reveal the Enterprise’s assistant chief engineer. The Vulcan stood just beyond the threshold, his back ramrod straight and with hands clasped behind his back.