“Or the hand of a god,” Mbugua muttered, and it was only when he noticed Blair looking at him that he seemed to realize he had spoken the comment aloud. Clearing his throat, the first officer added, “Sorry, Skipper. It’s just that Nyn’s description made me think of a report I read last year, about the Enterpriseencountering an alien who once passed himself off as one of the Greek gods on ancient Earth. He stopped the Enterprisedead in space with an energy field shaped to resemble a giant hand.”
Blair nodded, recalling the report, one of many odd mission logs recorded by the Enterprise’s current commanding officer, James Kirk. “Commander Nyn, please don’t tell me we’re dealing with something like that here.”
“I don’t think so, sir,” the science officer replied, unable to keep the hint of a smile from playing at the corners of her mouth. “For one thing, the energy signatures our sensors are picking up didn’t match against anything on file in the computer banks, which would include anything the Enterprisescanners recorded during its encounter with … whatever that was supposed to be.”
“Well,” Mbugua said, “I suppose we can give thanks for small favors, then.”
Nyn answered, “That might be the end of the good news, sir.” She gestured to the array of eight status monitors positioned above her console, then waited until Blair and Mbugua returned to stand behind her before pointing to one of the monitors. “While the residual energy readings I’m finding here don’t match anything exactly, there’s still a hint of something similar to Tholian energy weapons.”
“How could a Tholian vessel do that?” Blair asked, waving toward the viewscreen. “Everything we know about their ships tells us they’re outmatched by Klingon D7s, as well as our Constitution-class ships. The only way they have a chance in a stand-up fight is if they bring enough ships to the fight in the first place.” He had read the report of the U.S.S. Bombay’s destruction more than three years ago at the hands of six Tholian ships. The enemy vessels had employed their greater numbers and maneuverability to overcome the Starfleet ship’s greater size and more powerful weapons. They had inflicted sufficient damage that the Bombay’s captain, Hallie Gannon, had ordered the ship’s destruction in a last-ditch attempt to take some of her ship’s attackers with it.
Mbugua said, “Maybe it’s a new weapon—something they’ve managed to keep secret from us. If the Tholians excel at anything, it’s playing their cards close to their vest.”
“Well, we know they’ve got some of the best poker faces around, at any rate,” Blair replied, punctuating his indiscreet observation with a humorless chuckle. “Okay, enough of that. Nyn, prep a briefing packet for Admiral Nogura and his intelligence people back on Vanguard. Include all of your relevant sensor data about the energy readings. Let’s see if they can’t connect some of these new dots.”
Turning from the science station, Blair made his way around the bridge until he stood in front of the main viewscreen. He shook his head as he took in the sight of the destroyed Klingon ships, marveling at the power it must have taken to inflict such damage on the vessels. What might such a weapon, whatever it was and however it might work, do to the Defiant?
Not that I’m in any hurry to find out.
One thing Blair knew—and it was a fact that definitely would be playing into the ever-evolving and always fragile nature of the Taurus Reach’s interstellar diplomatic situation—was that the Tholians appeared to have had quite enough of the Klingons or anyone else pushing them around. Certainly the Klingons would argue that any tolerance the Tholians had shown in the past would seem to be coming to an end. Might the simmering yet still deteriorating relations between the two powers finally be coming to a full boil? Sooner or later, the Federation would be forced to act, if for no other reason than to protect its own interests.
Blair sighed, knowing that when the time for such action finally came, it probably would not be good for anyone involved.
I wonder if it’s too late to retire?
13
Feeling more than a bit exposed, Diego Reyes tried not to look too curious or nervous about the number of patrons inhabiting the bar of the Omari-Ekon’s gaming deck. Though the ship had its slack periods—so far as visitors to its casino, bar, and even its bordello were concerned—it was never truly empty of passengers and other guests, even at this hour in the middle of the day.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” he whispered, covering the act of speaking by rubbing his nose and trying to move his mouth as little as possible. The deception was easy to carry off, mostly due to the noxious odor of cigar smoke coming from a portly Tellarite sitting in an adjacent booth.
Thanks to the subcutaneous transceiver supplied to him by Doctor Fisher, he heard T’Prynn’s voice in his mind as she replied, “ Given the nature of your current environment, this is our best option for making a covert entry into theOmari-Ekon ’s central computer in order to gain access to the ship’s navigational logs.”
“But you didn’t say whether you thought it was going to work,” Reyes said as he regarded the gaming console set into the table at which he sat in one of the booths along the bar’s rear wall. Like most of the other tables, the system before him allowed a customer to play computerized versions of the various games of chance available in the Omari-Ekon’s casino, either alone against the computer’s simulated dealer or against players sitting at other stations in the bar. The interface was a simple, graphics-driven affair that allowed some customization with respect to presentation, such as the player’s native language. “I don’t see how playing blackjack is going to help us here.”
“ I have created a method of infiltrating the central computer via the gaming subsystems,” T’Prynn replied. “ A shell program will be running at the same time, providing cover for your activities and appearing to anyone who might be remotely monitoring you that you are simply partaking of one of the games.”
This entire scheme had been of T’Prynn’s devising. Reyes knew that attempting to access any of the regular computer terminals aboard ship carried far too much risk, and using the terminal in his quarters for anything short of ordering room service was suicide. Ganz had him under almost constant surveillance, affording Reyes little privacy. What T’Prynn had proposed—accessing the Orion vessel’s computer system via an otherwise innocuous entry point in full view of anyone and everyone in the Omari-Ekon’s bar—was just brash enough to work, Reyes decided, provided he did not do anything to attract unwanted attention.
Wonder if T’Prynn’s computed the odds ofthat happening?
“I suppose this is as good a time as any to say that I don’t read or speak Orion,” he said after a moment.
T’Prynn replied, “ There is no one single Orion language, Mister Reyes, but that should not present a problem. The gaming interface we will be exploiting contains an automated translation matrix, in order to provide patrons with simulations in their native language. It is my intention to utilize this feature as we transfer to other parts of the system.”
Her use of “Mister” when addressing him bothered Reyes, though he knew it was not anything the Vulcan was doing as a deliberate attempt to insult him. Her professional demeanor and sense of decorum required her to refer to him in nothing less than a formal manner. Still, every time he heard the title it only served to remind him of what he had lost—what he had given up, and what had been taken from him. He harbored no ill feelings for anyone with respect to the decisions he had made and the actions he had taken which had brought him to this point, and held no one accountable save himself. That included the person now acting as his guide and perhaps even his guardian angel of sorts.