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  Turning from the computer interface terminal and its array of three display screens, Soloman nodded. “I believe so, Commander.” Pausing, the engineer cast an uncertain glance toward the deck at his feet. “Of course, the readings on which I am focusing are almost identical to those I was tracing during our previous attempts.”

  Corsi let out an audible sigh. “I’m sorry, Soloman. I know you’re doing everything you can.” As much as she hated to admit it, she still was upset over what had happened to Hawkins and Banks. While Hawkins’s injuries had been relatively straightforward and easily treated by Sarjenka, Banks was a different matter altogether.

  A recent addition to the da Vinci’s security team—having replaced T’Mandra when the Vulcan woman chose not to reenlist when her term was up—Leslie Banks possessed all the qualities of a superb security officer, including the potential to one day lead a detail of her own. She now lay in sickbay, fighting for her life with the assistance of Dr. Lense and the Emergency Medical Hologram. Though the prognosis was grim, the da Vinci’s chief medical officer had spent the past eleven hours doing everything in her power to defy that dire prediction.

  Corsi did not blame the reformant wielding the weapon that had injured Banks. She knew now that the individual had almost certainly been acting under instructions fed to him or her via the computer chip implanted into his or her brain. That person had not made the decision to harm Banks, and Corsi wondered if the shooter was aware of what he or she had done, or if they even retained memories of the altercation down on the planet’s surface.

  No, she decided, the reformants had not caused Banks’s critical injuries. The person known as Jannim alone held that responsibility. Therefore, Corsi wanted Jannim, or at least his head. Hence her current and rising level of frustration.

  Even with the resources at the crew’s disposal, finding Jannim was proving to be more difficult than originally anticipated. What had begun as a seemingly straightforward exercise in triangulating to their source the plethora of transmissions disseminated by the troublesome activist, had instead evolved into a protracted and increasingly exasperating game of technological hide-and-seek. As if anticipating that the Ministry of Reformation and indeed the Lisqual central government would enlist the aid of Starfleet to track him down, Jannim had set into motion a complex scheme of misdirection and diversion that had left Soloman baffled at the insurgent’s considerable technical skill. The result was that each time the Bynar announced that he had pinpointed what should have been Jannim’s exact position, no life signs were detected at that location. All that was found was a suite of hardware designed to receive the activist’s transmissions, as well as process and pass them on to a random destination elsewhere in the global communications network.

  He’s a sly bastard, Corsi mused. I’ll give him that.

  “I believe I’ve deciphered the pattern Jannim is using to scatter his communications,” Soloman said after a moment. “It’s fragmented and embedded within separate data transmissions. What I didn’t notice earlier was that the decryption algorithm is itself the result of two additional and wholly distinct encoding schemes, each containing a host of code stubs and logic loops that do nothing except obfuscate the true purpose of the software Jannim is using to infiltrate the network.”

  Blinking in confusion, Corsi shook her head. “More of those distractions and countermeasures that you mentioned in your report?”

  “Precisely,” the Bynar replied. “In this case, the software appears designed to actively engage search protocols and encourage pursuit to what ultimately are revealed to be diversionary destinations within the network that are unrelated to those Jannim is interested in utilizing. However, now that I’ve determined the nature of these countermeasures, I should be able to bypass those transmissions purposed strictly for misdirection and instead key in on the true source.”

  Yeah, Corsi thought as she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, listening to the transporter room’s omnipresent and yet still-soothing hum, even as she felt the onset of a fresh headache. That explanation was much simpler.

  An indicator tone sounded at Soloman’s workstation, and the engineer pointed to a new graphic now displayed on the console’s leftmost screen. “Sensors are detecting significant power sources as well as a single Lisqual life sign at the targeted location.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Corsi said, patting Soloman on his shoulder. “Notify the bridge that we’re proceeding with the extraction.” Despite her growing level of irritation at the proceedings’ slow pace, she had known from the start that—given time—the talented Bynar would eventually succeed in the task given by Captain Gold. Turning from the workstation, she saw Ellec Krotine and Lauoc Soan rise from where they had been sitting on the steps of the transporter platform, drawing their phasers and—out of habit—checking the weapons’ power settings.

  From behind the curved freestanding console, the transporter chief, Laura Poynter, gave Soloman a nod and said, “Receiving coordinates now.”

  “Any sign of weapons, Chief?” Corsi asked as she drew her own phaser from its holster on her hip. After Gomez’s report about the weapons utilized by the reformants during the riots in the city square, the security chief was taking no chances.

  Shaking her head, Poynter replied, “None that I can find.”

  Corsi nodded in satisfaction. “Good,” she said as she stood with Krotine and Lauoc at the foot of the steps to the transporter platform. “Ready?”

  “Yes, Commander,” Krotine said, her voice containing absolutely none of her normally engaging personality. Banks and Krotine were roommates, and they had become close friends during Banks’s three months aboard. The Boslic woman had insisted on being a part of any away team or security detail on hand when Jannim was to be taken into custody.

  As for Lauoc, he just nodded. The diminutive Bajoran showed none of Krotine’s anger, but there were few on her staff Corsi would more want covering her back.

  “Energize,” Corsi said. The lights within the transporter alcove flickered as the energy-intensive procedure was put into operation, and seconds later a shower of energy appeared on one of the platform’s six pads. Almost immediately, the beam solidified into a humanoid figure, wearing a dark robe with a hood that Corsi instantly recognized from the broadcast transmissions she had been studying for the better part of a day.

  Jannim.

  “Remain where you are,” Corsi ordered, her voice taut and stern as she stepped from behind the transporter console, phaser aimed directly at the Lisqual’s head. “Remove your hood.”

  Hands held out and away from his body, the new arrival did as instructed, reaching up with slow deliberate movements to push the hood back from his head.

  Or, rather, her head.

  Scowling as she took in her new surroundings, which of course included Krotine and Lauoc leveling their own phasers at her, Jannim said, “I see that the Reformation Ministry has enlisted you to do their bidding.” Shaking her head, she released what to Corsi sounded like a sigh of resignation. “A pity that those in power cannot take a fraction of the time and energy they expend on subjugation and duplicity, and instead exert it toward understanding and compassion. If that were the case, you and I might well be embracing one another as friends, rather than posturing as adversaries.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Corsi said, allowing the muzzle of her phaser to drop the slightest bit. “If you have a legitimate grievance, everything will be done to see that you’re heard, but you’ll never accomplish anything so long as you continue these disruptions you’re causing. You’ve been lucky so far, but eventually more people are going to get hurt, and when that happens, you can forget getting out any message you’re trying to send.”

  Jannim cast a downward glance before returning her gaze to Corsi. “I want you to know that I sincerely regret the injury to your personnel. It was not intentional, and I hold no malice toward you or your Federation, but I am afraid I must disagree with you as t
o my methods. So long as the government acts against any segment of the society it is charged with protecting and nurturing, citizens must see to it that those who cannot speak are given a voice.”

  “It’s over,” Krotine said. “We’ve got you, and once we send our people down to your site, we’ll have no trouble counteracting what you’ve done to the reformants. Your only chance is to cooperate now and help us get this all sorted out as quickly as possible.”

  Any reply Jannim might have made was interrupted by the whistle of the ship’s intercom system coming to life.

  “Bridge to transporter room!” shouted the voice of Commander Gomez. “We’re picking up a series of explosions from the location you targeted. Were you able to complete transport?”

  Stunned by the report, Corsi’s eyes widened as she stared at Jannim, who now was offering a small knowing smile.

  “As you can see,” the Lisqual woman said, clasping her hands before her, “I have chosen another option.”

  “What did you do?” Corsi asked, biting down on every word as she stepped forward and raised her phaser to once again aim at the activist.

  Shrugging, Jannim replied, “Ensuring my message continues to be heard. I cannot allow you to stop that, not until justice is served, and the people know the full ugly truth supporting the lie they have lived for generations.”

  “You’re just one person,” Krotine said. “We’ll put a stop to what you’re doing; and after that, the authorities down on your planet will deal with you.”

  Jannim shook her head. “I think not. I have seen how my government treats dissenters and other undesirables, and I have no intention of becoming one of their slaves.”

  The movement was subtle and yet swift, so fast that Corsi scarcely could believe the Lisqual woman had even moved as she reached with her right hand toward her left wrist, grasping something hidden by the sleeve of her robe.

  “Don’t move!” Corsi shouted, but it was too late, as an audible click echoed in the transporter room, followed by a lyrical string of electronic tones. Jannim’s eyes opened wide with obvious pain, and her body jerked in a series of violent spasms before she collapsed to the transporter pad.

  Chapter

  6

  Earth Year 2328

  Location: Moon Orbiting Delavi III

  Mission Elapsed Time: 1 Hour, 32 Minutes, 58 Seconds

  His back pressed once more against the unyielding stone wall and feeling his muscles tensing in anticipation, Lieutenant David Gold pulled the stock of his phaser rifle into his shoulder and aimed its muzzle at the large metal doors. Sweat dampened his body beneath his uniform, a consequence of the elevated temperature of the underground passageway, owing to the away team’s proximity to the outpost’s primary power generation and distribution venues. He winced at the dull stab of pain coursing through his left bicep. Though Gus Bradford had treated his wound, the arm itself was still tender.

  “What’s the story, Jolev?” Bradford asked from where he stood next to the doors, opposite Gold, watching as the young Bolian ensign knelt before a small oblong keypad that hung suspended by a length of optical cabling and gave her access to the small compartment behind it. She was scanning the niche with her tricorder, her free hand moving in and around the cabling and a bank of what to Gold looked like the Cardassian equivalent of isolinear computer chips.

  “According to my tricorder scans,” Jolev replied as she continued to work, “the door’s controls are not linked to the rest of the outpost’s internal security network. It appears that the lock was engaged with a manual override command, most likely from a control pad on the inside.”

  From Gold’s right, th’Sena said, “Which means there is at least one Cardassian still in there.”

  “Probably more,” added ni Bhroanin, and Gold noted how the young officer tightened the grip on her own phaser rifle. The prolonged stress of the operation was now definitely wearing on the young officer. Gold could not blame her, as he was feeling similar strain himself.

  Let’s just get this over with.

  “We need to hurry,” said Rha-Teramaet from where he had taken up a protective position farther up the tunnel, near an intersection in the underground passageways. “Sooner or later, any remaining Cardassians will figure out what we’re doing, and they will converge here.” To Gold it seemed almost like a disembodied voice offering the observation, as darkness all but consumed the Efrosian where he crouched next to the corridor wall. Only his long white hair contrasted with the shadows.

  “I think I have it,” Jolev said finally. Snapping closed the cover on her tricorder, the ensign returned the device to the satchel slung over her shoulder before returning the keypad to its proper place. “I disengaged the lock in a manner that did not alter any indicators or sensors on the other side. So far as anyone on the inside is concerned, the doors are still secure.”

  Nodding as she checked the setting on her phaser rifle one last time, th’Sena said, “Even if you are correct, I doubt we have the advantage of surprise any longer.”

  “I might be able to do something about that, Commander,” Bradford said. Reaching into the pocket on his left thigh, the lieutenant produced a small cylindrical object that Gold recognized as a flash grenade.

  Gold frowned. “How do you know that thing will work?”

  Used by security forces when circumstances called for small teams to have access to non-lethal defensive measures, and were outnumbered or holding an inferior tactical advantage, flash grenades emitted a brief yet powerful burst of intense light, capable of disorienting most humanoid species. The duration of the effect depended on the target’s individual physiology, of course, and Gold was certain that Starfleet’s version had never before been deployed against Cardassians.

  Shrugging, Bradford replied, “Only one way to find out, my friend.” He smiled as he spoke, holding up the grenade for emphasis before turning to th’Sena. “Whenever you’re ready, Commander.”

  Trying to ignore dryness in his mouth and the feeling that his heart was about to pound its way through his chest, Gold recalled the drills he and other members of the away team had undertaken in preparation for this operation, which had included several variations on room clearing exercises. While he, th’Sena, and Teramaet had scored well during the simulated assaults, the intense training had not succeeded in erasing any anxiety he felt during the actual mission, where the opponents actually were hell-bent on killing him.

  Nothing like the real thing to get the blood pumping.

  “Standard entry on my mark,” th’Sena said, her voice low and tense as she tightened the grip on her own weapon and took one last look at the rest of the team, giving them their order of entry. Gold nodded when the commander’s gaze fell upon him, hoping to convey a sense of confidence he was not sure he felt at that moment.

  Then, finally, it was time to go.

  With a nod from th’Sena, Jolev pressed a control on the keypad and the doors began to part. Bradford did not wait, stepping forward and tossing the flash grenade through the space widening between the doors before reaching over Jolev’s hand and tapping the keypad again. Gold counted the seconds as the doors closed again, heard the muffled whump as the grenade detonated.

  “Go!” th’Sena shouted.

  Jolev keyed the door again, and this time it was th’Sena who stepped forward, rushing through the widening breach with her phaser rifle leading the way. Per the commander’s instructions, Gold followed after her, crossing the door’s threshold and side-stepping to his right as th’Sena went left. The lingering illumination from the flash grenade still tinged the air of the command center, and in his peripheral vision he saw Teramaet enter the room and follow th’Sena, even as ni Bhroanin echoed Gold’s movements.

  Gold only had heartbeats to gather the layout of the command center. Consoles lined the walls, and there was an open doorway leading to another room, beyond which he was certain he saw at least one shadowy figure. Three Cardassians stood or knelt at workstations, their han
ds over their eyes as they fought to shrug off the grenade’s effects and presenting easy targets for Gold, th’Sena, and Bradford, who each targeted one soldier and fired their weapons.

  No sooner did Gold stun his opponent then he detected movement to his right, catching sight of a head ducking behind a freestanding control console. That was all he had time to register before yellow energy flashed across his vision, and a cry of pain echoed in the room. Glancing to his left, he saw th’Sena falling backward, the Andorian dropping her phaser rifle before collapsing to the floor in a disjointed heap. His anxiety level spiking as weapons fire bisected the air of the command center, Gold stooped to one knee and fired in the direction of the Cardassian using the console as cover. He missed, and the soldier dropped back into hiding.

  More disruptor energy flared from within the room at the command center’s opposite end, and Gold saw Jolev scrambling for cover as Bradford fired in that direction. Maneuvering to his right in search of a better shot, Gold moved until his shoulder pressed against the side of what looked to be an equipment locker. From his new vantage point he almost had an angle on the Cardassian’s back, and he raised his phaser rifle to fire.

  Then a shadow fell across the weapon’s barrel, and Gold had only an instant to register the towering form of the Cardassian lunging around the equipment locker toward him. Light glinted off polished steel, and Gold saw the blade of the jagged-edge knife slicing through the air and coming right at him.

  Earth Year 2377

  Location: U.S.S. Da VInci

  Gold flinched.

  “Captain, are you all right?”

  Looking up at the sound of the voice, Gold realized that Corsi was still standing before him, her expression one of worry. He blinked several times to force the intruding memories back to their proper place at the back of his mind.

  “I’m fine,” he said, knowing even as the words came out that they sounded harsher than he had intended. Irritated with himself for the lapse, he glanced around the transporter room, noting that Sarjenka was still examining the lifeless body of Jannim. The telltale whine of her medical tricorder echoed off the transporter alcove’s low ceiling and curved bulkhead. With Lense consumed by her feverish efforts to save the life of the grievously injured Banks, it fell to her new assistant to carry out this morbid yet necessary task.