Distant Early Warning Read online

  So, why does Reyes look worried?

  The commodore had been vague from the moment he learned of the carrier wave’s existence and its apparent point of origin deep in the Taurus Reach. Though Reyes had been subtle in his attempts to steer further study of the signal to his own people, there was no denying that more was going on here than met the eye.

  “The big mystery,” Reyes said after a moment, “is whether it was supposed to be a warning about something bad happening, or maybe a directive to stay away.” He looked up from his desk, and Okagawa sensed that the commodore was reading his curiosity and was weighing his next words with deliberate care. “I know you’ve got a lot of questions, Captain. Truth is, your people’s efforts to this point—while exceptional and most helpful—have also raised several new questions. Unfortunately, even if I had any answers, I couldn’t offer them to you, anyway.”

  Okagawa figured that one was coming. Everything he had seen and heard about this matter had been leading up to the commodore’s latest revelation, he decided. It only served to solidify the thought that had been nagging at him since the previous day’s meeting in Reyes’s office: Vanguard’s true purpose extended far beyond simple establishment of a Federation presence and support of colonization within the Taurus Reach, and its proximity to both the Klingon Empire and the Tholian Assembly was only a factor of that mission.

  It made perfect sense, of course, when one considered the station’s construction and deployment within a remarkably short time frame, a fact that, so far as Okagawa knew, had not been made public knowledge but had been provided to him and his engineers as part of their briefing to understand the starbase’s technical problems. Still, from a tactical perspective, the Taurus Reach appeared to offer precious little to justify the establishment of a Federation foothold in the region while risking the ire of either the Klingons or the Tholians. So what did that leave?

  Another question for which Reyes is unlikely to provide an answer, Okagawa mused. But is it that he has no answer, or that he simply can’t provide it?

  “I understand, Commodore,” he said. “If I may, do you intend to continue tracking the signal to its source?”

  Reyes replied, “That would be one of those ‘need-to-know’ type questions, Captain.”

  I’d call that a yes. What the hell does he think is out here, anyway?

  Having served in Starfleet for more than thirty years, Okagawa was more than familiar with the concept of keeping secrets. He also had learned to accept that his position as a captain of a ship that did not patrol the Federation’s borders or carry out strictly military missions meant that there was much information to which he never would be privy.

  Obviously, this was to be one of those occasions.

  Not that it would bother him to any significant degree. Though he naturally was curious as to what might be unfolding in this heretofore unexplored area of space, Okagawa also knew that with the apparent resolution of the station’s difficulties, someone else would carry out the investigation that was sure to follow. So far as Commodore Reyes was concerned, the usefulness of the Lovell and her crew of engineers was at an end.

  Such is life when on the bottom rung of the Starfleet ladder.

  The intercom built into the desk emitted an abrupt, shrill whistle, followed by a voice that Okagawa recognized as belonging to Reyes’s administrative aide, Yeoman Greenfield.

  “Commodore? Lieutenant Ballard and Lieutenant al-Khaled from the Lovell are requesting to see you and Captain Okagawa. They say it’s urgent.” Okagawa watched Reyes’s eyes widen in surprise, and even saw T’Prynn offer a raised eyebrow at the report.

  Punching the button to activate the intercom, Reyes replied, “Send them in.”

  The bright red doors leading from the commodore’s office parted to admit Ballard and al-Khaled, and Okagawa noted their near-matching expressions of concern. The station’s chief engineer was carrying a standard-issue data slate in his right hand, while al-Khaled wore a tricorder slung over his left shoulder.

  “Apologies for the interruption, sir,” Ballard said, crossing the room so that he could offer the data slate to Reyes, “but you need to see this. We’ve got a security breach.”

  That got T’Prynn’s attention. “What kind of breach?”

  By way of reply, al-Khaled moved to the viewscreen on the far wall and activated it, tapping a long series of commands into the unit’s keypad. “We were running a final set of diagnostics on the sensor suites, to ensure no lingering interference from the carrier wave, when we found this.”

  The viewscreen now displayed a technical schematic that to Okagawa appeared as a data stream—highlighted in bright blue—as formatted by a sensor array for transmission to a computer’s memory banks. What he did not understand was the presence of the additional red data stream, weaving in and around the sensor telemetry so closely as to appear like an echo or tracing.

  “What the hell is that?” Reyes asked.

  “An embedded comm signal,” Ballard replied, “piggy-backed along the sensor feeds. We found similar configurations in five different sensor nodes.”

  Pointing to the intertwined data streams, al-Khaled added, “They’re designed to take advantage of the gaps in the scan cycle when the arrays reset after each sweep before transmitting in burst packages.” He turned away from the viewer, and Okagawa noted the worry in the younger man’s eyes. “Whoever put this into play knew what they were doing.”

  “A saboteur,” T’Prynn said. “Have you determined who’s receiving these transmissions?”

  Al-Khaled nodded. “In all cases, the other parties were civilian merchant vessels.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, Reyes looked to T’Prynn. “What do you suppose are the odds that this is connected to the cargo bay thefts and Ensign Malhotra’s murder?”

  T’Prynn paused to consider the theory before offering a succinct nod. “That would be a logical hypothesis, Commodore.” She turned to Ballard. “I assume you have compiled a list of the involved vessels?”

  The engineer pointed to the data slate lying atop Reyes’s desk. “We’re still following the trails, Commander, but I’ve got a preliminary list ready to go.”

  “Excellent work, gentlemen,” Reyes said. Tapping his finger on the hard, polished surface of his desk, he added, “This also means that at least one of the people involved may be responsible for killing a member of my crew.” The commodore’s expression hardened into a determined scowl as he turned to T’Prynn. “Find those people, Commander.”

  Chapter

  7

  The walls were closing in around him.

  That was the sensation gripping Isaiah Farber, anyway, as he once again negotiated the narrow confines of yet another of the station’s Jefferies tubes. His muscles felt as though they might seize whenever he passed a shadowy intersection or ventilation duct. Everywhere he looked, he saw the dead, fixed eyes of Ensign Malhotra. Every instinct told him to turn back or to push through the closest exit from the access crawlway and into the nearest corridor.

  Instead, he pressed on.

  The crawlway met an intersection, an orange tri-sided ladder at its center, and Farber checked his location against the station schematic he had loaded to his tricorder. Satisfied that this was the junction he wanted, the engineer stepped out onto the ladder and began descending. All the while, the tricorder continued to emit an intermittent series of tones telling him that it was continuing to scan in accordance with the parameters he had programmed, but that it had not yet found what he sought.

  Examining one of the five compromised sensor nodes they had discovered, al-Khaled and Ballard were able to determine that the covert communications signals were in fact being routed through the station’s comm and data networks. They also had determined that such clandestine measures would require additional modifications to those networks. Someone with the proper expertise would easily have been able to conceal the necessary hardware components among the networks’ existing infrastructure.


  Scans of the station’s interior from sensor control had revealed clues as to the general location of what probably were unauthorized or subversive modifications to the comm network. Pinpointing those components would require proximity scans via tricorder, which meant going over the target area of the network centimeter by centimeter. A slow process, Farber admitted, but a necessary one.

  It might even have paid off, he thought as the whine of his active tricorder changed both in tone and speed. Pausing his descent on the ladder, the engineer reached for the unit and studied its small display.

  “No hiding from me,” he said aloud, looking about the shaft until he found the data conduit access panel several meters below him and to his left.

  After reaching the appropriate service platform mounted to the side of the tube’s bulkhead, Farber pulled his communicator from the small of his back and flipped it open. “Farber to al-Khaled.”

  “Al-Khaled here,” his friend answered a moment later. “What have you got, Isaiah?”

  “I think I’ve found the data hub we’re looking for,” Farber answered. Kneeling down so that he could get a better look at the access panel, he set his communicator down on the platform near his left foot before holding his tricorder up to the panel. “Mahmud, reset the array cycle and see if we can’t trigger this thing.”

  “Stand by,” al-Khaled replied. “Resetting…now.”

  In an instant, Farber’s tricorder beeped in triumph, displaying the fluctuation in the communications network he wanted to see. “That’s it. Hold on while I get this panel open.” Deactivating the tricorder, Farber let it hang from his shoulder as he extracted a work light from his tool satchel. He cast its bright beam on the access panel’s smooth surface, and his eyes were drawn to a series of small nicks and scratches surrounding the panel’s magnetic locking mechanism.

  “Somebody forced their way into this junction,” he reported. It was the first evidence of sloppy workmanship they had yet encountered during their investigation of the illicit tampering to the communications system. Interesting.

  Farber deactivated the work light and returned it to his satchel, exchanging it for his P-38. Though in reality nothing more than a glorified Starfleet can opener, the small tool emitted focused emissions of light and sound that were ideal for disabling the magnetic seals on doors and—in this case—access panels. Pulling aside the now unlocked panel, Farber peered inside to find the expected collection of wiring, duotronic circuits, and optical cabling that all combined to form the network data hub ensconced within the compartment.

  He also saw the single element that was not part of the expected ensemble of components: a palm-sized metallic disc rimmed with muted amber lights.

  “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “there you are.”

  After first determining—to the best of his ability, anyway—that the transmitter was not in any way booby-trapped, Farber extracted the device before descending the rest of the way down the Jefferies tube until he met up with al-Khaled and Ballard, who both waited for him inside Cargo Bay 12. Though an immense chamber—one of many aboard the station—the bay seemed almost cramped thanks to the numerous transport containers of varying size and shape stacked throughout the room.

  Ballard, unshaven, his uniform wrinkled and his blond hair disheveled—a consequence of having worked almost continuously for the past thirty-six hours—smiled in obvious relief upon seeing Farber emerge from the access shaft.

  “I’ll be damned,” the station’s chief engineer said as he held the transmitter in his hand and studied it with a critical eye. “This is Rigelian technology.”

  Nodding, al-Khaled said, “I know. I recognized the markings on the base plate, too. Nothing more than a signal pulse scrambler and burst transmitter, designed to relay data fed to it by whatever system it’s hooked into. Pretty common stuff, actually.”

  “Which means it’ll be almost impossible to trace,” Farber said, wiping perspiration from his brow. The air in the Jefferies tube had been warm and humid, and he was thankful to be back in the cooler environs of the cargo bay. Though he did not say so aloud, of course, he also was thankful for leaving behind the cramped confines of the crawlways. Along with the image of Ensign Malhotra that still haunted him, an irrational fear of perhaps coming across the person responsible for the man’s death had gnawed at him the entire time he had traversed the access shafts.

  Still holding the device in his hand, Ballard crossed the room to where he had left his own tool satchel sitting next to the door. From the satchel he retrieved a small diagnostic scanner. “If I remember correctly, these things carry a data chip that records between twelve and twenty quads of data about the messages it relays. There might be something we can give to Lieutenant Jackson for his investigation.”

  A short, sharp tone echoed in the cargo bay, and Farber and al-Khaled turned in Ballard’s direction. Farber saw that a new series of indicator lights had begun to flash across the surface of the transmitter.

  “What’s that about?” he asked.

  Ballard shook his head as he waved his scanner over the device. “I don’t know. Its receiver just activated,” he said, still scanning as he turned to walk back toward them. “I didn’t think these things worked without being plugged into a network.”

  Frowning, Farber replied. “They’re not supposed to. Maybe it’s been modified.”

  “It’d have to be,” Ballard said. “I’m picking up a power reading.”

  Then Farber saw his eyes widen in comprehension.

  “Curtis!” al-Khaled shouted from behind him an instant before Farber felt his friend pull him backward just as a dazzling red glow flared from the transmitter. A piercing whine filled the air of the cargo bay as the energy flare expanded and washed over Ballard’s body, consuming him in a rippling crimson sheath before fading into nothingness, taking the engineer and the transmitter with it.

  The only sound Farber heard was his own frantic, rapid breathing. Spots danced in his vision as he stared at the spot where Ballard had stood seconds before. No evidence remained of what had just happened—or that the lieutenant had even existed in the first place.

  “Oh my God…” was all he could muster, the words fading as they passed his lips. Then he felt a hand on his arm, al-Khaled’s, as his friend helped him to his feet.

  “That wasn’t a booby trap,” al-Khaled said, stepping to where Ballard last had been standing. “You heard what he said. That thing was receiving a transmission.” Farber saw the other man’s jawline tighten in harnessed anger. “Someone deliberately sent a self-destruct signal.”

  His hand trembling as he reached for his communicator, Farber nodded. “We have to notify security and Commodore Reyes,” he said. “We’ve got teams out looking for more of those damned things, and whoever did this might trigger those, too.” In addition to the obvious potential for further casualties, the transmitters might inflict additional damage to the station’s data and communications networks if destroyed while still embedded within other data hubs and transfer points.

  “Maybe we can jam any incoming signals,” al-Khaled said, reaching up to wipe his brow, and Farber saw that his friend also was rattled by what they had just witnessed. “Or find a way to trace them to a source.” Shaking his head, he grimaced in what Farber recognized as mounting frustration and perhaps even a bit of helplessness. “Something, I don’t know.” Casting glances about the cargo bay, he shook his head. “I need to think.”

  Giving al-Khaled a moment to compose himself, Farber flipped open his communicator, but as he reached for the switch to activate the unit, he froze in mid-motion.

  To his right, a shadow moved among the stacks of cargo containers at the same instant he registered light reflecting from something metallic.

  “Mahmud!” Farber shouted as the shadow moved and then the reflective object was sailing through the air. Farber dropped to the deck without thinking even as he felt the rush of displaced air on his face before something stru
ck the container behind him with a dull thud. Rolling to his left, the engineer was able to see the blade and handle of a long, rather nasty-looking knife, still vibrating from where it had embedded itself into the side of the container.

  Pulling himself to his feet, Farber turned at the same moment he detected movement in his peripheral vision and nearly flinched in response to the dark-clothed humanoid bearing down on him. He had time only to raise an arm in defense as something hit his chest, pushing him backward and slamming him into another large transport case. Farber exhaled sharply at the impact, scrambling to maintain his balance as the shadowy figure again danced in his vision, but no follow-up attack came.

  “Isaiah!” he heard al-Khaled shout from somewhere in front of him.

  The assailant, cloaked from head to toe in a one-piece black bodysuit that served to accentuate his muscled physique, turned on his heel and bore down on al-Khaled. The engineer saw the onrushing attacker and tried to backpedal in a desperate attempt to give himself some maneuvering room, but the intruder closed the gap between them with uncanny speed. He was on al-Khaled in scarcely a heartbeat, lashing out with one thick arm to strike the lieutenant in the left temple. Al-Khaled staggered to his left, stunned by the blow and completely vulnerable to the next strike as his attacker kicked him in the chest, sending him falling to the deck.

  Farber released a near-maniacal cry of anger and determination as he lunged forward. The outburst had the desired effect, startling the intruder if only for an instant as he turned to confront the onrushing engineer. Trapped between two stacks of cargo containers, he had nowhere to escape. He held his ground and Farber lowered his shoulder and plunged forward, ignoring the glint of light on new metal as he threw his entire body into the attack, catching the cloaked figure just under his chin.