Zero Hour 39

Angelica gazed out over San Francisco Bay, again. This time, it was night, and a thin rain was falling, glimmering in the coloured lights of the city.

There was a footstep behind her, and she turned.

"Ms. Moreno." The speaker was a Vulcan, in civilian clothing, with quite the blankest face Angelica had ever seen. "I am Admiral Zorik. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"I don't have any choice," Angelica said. "You can do whatever you like with me -"

"That is not, in fact, the case. Your involvement with Action Black and with Kalevar Thrang has, of course, linked you to several serious criminal endeavours. Your cooperation with Federation agents in exposing and apprehending Thrang and his co-conspirators has also been noted. The appropriate authorities have considered your case and decided that no charges can or should be brought against you. You are, in fact, to be commended for your actions overall."

"But what does that mean?" Angelica asked. "Where does it leave me? What am I supposed to do, now?"

"If I may make an immediate practical suggestion," said Zorik, "I think you should follow me, to a sheltered place, out of the rain."

"Sometimes," Angelica muttered, "out in the rain is the right place to be."

"A human emotional reaction. I understand it, but I do not share it. Please follow me." And he turned and walked away, at a slow, steady pace. Angelica swore under her breath, then hurried to catch up with him.

"Your overall position is somewhat equivocal," Zorik said, as she reached his side. "Your interrupted career as a Starfleet cadet could be resumed, though there might be some social friction with your classmates, insomuch as your activities have become a matter of public record since your testimony was recorded."

"I had to tell everyone about -"

"Of course. It is your duty as a Federation citizen, and it is gratifying that you understand that duty." Zorik shot a sideways glance at her. "I gather that you left the Academy due to ideological differences over the Prime Directive. It is not uncommon for people to feel the Prime Directive is obsolete, or ineffective, or counter-productive. Thrang used the pretext of reform to lure people into his organization, but the opinion in itself is not unreasonable. If strongly held, it would pose something of a problem with regard to a career in Starfleet, though."

"I'm not sure what I believe any more," said Angelica.

"Understandable. You have passed through a trying experience." They were coming up to a small cafe, an island of light under the dark rainy sky. Zorik led her through the doorway, out of the rain, into the warmth and the light.

"Your actions have been noted," Zorik said. "You may find that several career paths have opened to you. You kept your head in a dangerous situation, and provided valuable intelligence to the Federation at considerable personal risk. This is commendable."

"Commendable to who?" Angelica asked.

"To the Federation, and to the agencies which protect the Federation. Starfleet is only one such. There are several others, and you may find them more... congenial to your temperament." Zorik led her to a table, indicated to her to take a seat. She sat. He remained standing.

"I am a senior official within Starfleet Intelligence," he said. "If you do not choose to resume your career in Starfleet, then I am not an appropriate person to influence your choices. However, as I have said, there are other agencies. I am here to effect an introduction to one such."

And a heavy-set man in black clothes glided into the seat across the table from Angelica. He had close-cropped sandy hair, and disquieting light brown eyes - almost yellow - but the first thing she noticed was the scar that wound across one side of his face.

"Hello, Angelica," he said. "My name's Franklin Drake. I have a proposition for you, and I hope you'll consider it carefully."

Zero Hour 38

Thrang remained perfectly motionless, even as he regained consciousness. After a minute, when he was sure no one was near, he opened his eyes.

He glanced around. Metal walls, standard gravity and atmosphere, standard Federation lighting. He was lying on a very basic single bed. His temples were tingling where an electro-sedation patch had been applied. He concentrated, banished the sensation.

He sat up, swung his legs off the bed. A cell. He was in a cell. A cell of a very familiar, very predictable design. He stood up.

"Thrang," he said. "Override two niner seven Dumas." He turned towards the cell door, smiled as he saw the security field wink out.

He went to the door, and it slid open at his approach. Beyond it, he could see a short stretch of corridor. He flexed his fingers. Facility 4028 combat holograms would be tricky opponents -

He went to the doorway and peered carefully around the edge. Then he frowned.

There were no other cell doors in the corridor. To his right, it ended in a blank metal wall. To his left, there was a doorway. There were no light bridges, no cameras, no holographic guards.

He went up to the doorway, and it opened. Beyond it -

His frown deepened. A black space with yellow grid lines. A holodeck?

He stepped through the door, grinned as he saw the control panel in the holodeck arch. He could do a lot with one of these - "Thrang. Override eight seven seven Tolkien," he said.

And he felt, rather than saw, the presence materialize behind him. He whirled round.

The figure was that of a human male, thin and pallid, wearing a Starfleet medical uniform. It smiled at him.

"Hello, Kalevar," it said. "Welcome to Facility 4029. I am the Holographic Rehabilitation Unified System, you may call me Horus for short. I can see you have been using command codes that you expect will enable prohibited access to Facility 4028 systems. They won't work here, I'm afraid."

Thrang raised a fist. "If you think you can keep me here -" he began.

"I'm only here to help you, Kalevar," said Horus. "Facility 4029 has been designed and built entirely with you in mind. I'm afraid I haven't been programmed with all its security information, but it is embedded in an asteroid somewhere near Facility 4028, and communicates with that facility on an irregular and long-duration basis. If you have complaints as to your treatment, you may rest assured they will be heard, but I cannot guarantee exactly when. I must also caution you that there are no liveable areas outside the immediate facility. I know you are very strong and resilient, but even you could not survive outside, so escaping from here would certainly prove fatal."

"What are you doing?" Thrang asked. "I demand to see legal representation."

"Your demand has been noted and will be assessed at an appropriate time," said Horus. "I must inform you, however, that your position is somewhat equivocal. The Klingon Empire has already tried you in absentia and pronounced a sentence of death. The Federation would not, of course, surrender one of its own citizens in such a case, but it is doubtful whether you possess valid Federation citizenship, due to the irregular nature of your birth and your activities. The Federation, however, respects the inalienable rights of all sentient life forms."

Thrang lowered his fist. "Explain yourself."

"Gladly. Your legal status remains unresolved. It may continue to do so indefinitely. While it is unresolved, you are detained in this facility. Every effort will be made to ensure your continued well-being, but security restrictions are in place. The holodeck -" Horus gestured at the grid-lined room "- is fully featured, with every sort of program to stimulate, amuse, divert and educate. You will have every practical facility to maintain your physical and mental well-being. Certain holodeck facilities will not be available to you. In particular, it will not be possible for you to override its safety features, or to create a strong AI. The only AI permitted here is myself." Horus gave a slight bow. "I look forward to a long and productive working relationship with you, Kalevar."

"Long and... productive?" Thrang glared at the hologram. "Productive, how?"

"We have secured data records from off-site backups kept by the Calloway Institute. Now we know their full context, and are able to decipher them, they are highly revealing. Did you know, for instance, that your creator was planning a series of epigenetic therapy sessions to adjust your genome?"

"What?"

"Alistair Calloway was not planning an improved successor to you, Kalevar. He was planning an epigenetic process which would improve you as a person. We have developed a prototype of this process and, with your consent, we can implement it at any time. Or, we have a full library of conventional criminal rehabilitation therapies available to us." The hologram's faint smile, to Thrang, seemed the most odious thing in the universe. "We can begin your therapeutic sessions at any time of your choosing, and work through them at whatever pace you feel is appropriate. I appreciate, of course, that it will take time." The hologram would never stop smiling. "But we have all the time we need, Kalevar. We have all the time in the world."

Zero Hour 37

Pexlini

Tylha's cleaned up good. You'd never guess she'd been wrestling in a sewer a few hours ago, as she slides into her seat in the Gustav Holst's briefing room and reads the stardate into the log. "Also attending this preliminary interview, Commander Heizis of Reman Intelligence, Admiral Pexlini of Starfleet Intelligence." Well, if she's telling the truth, that's a nice surprise. "And, just as a reference point, we are plus six hours, fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds at my mark. Mark." She smiles thinly across the table at Thrang.

Thrang has been cleaned up a bit. You'd never guess he'd been sewer-wrestling, either. Nor would you guess that he'd taken a beating that would leave a normal human fit to be spread across slices of bread. He sits there, looking at Tylha, a faint smile on his full lips. Occasionally, his shoulders tense, just a little.

"So," says Tylha. "We've got your ship, we've got your computer virus, we've got your protomatter bomb, and we've got you. I think that counts as a clean sweep. There'll be formal charges and formal interviews, of course, but... indulge me. Who have we got? Kalevar Thrang isn't your real name, naturally."

"It will do," says Thrang. "Do you expect me to give up all my secrets? Really?"

"Oh, yes," says Tylha. "It'll take time, but... yes."

"Such confidence," says Thrang. "Well, I suppose there's no reason not to be civilized. No, Kalevar Thrang isn't my real name. But, then, I'm an illegal genetic augment, I don't really have a legal name, do I?"

"What would your mother call you?" Tylha asks.

"Test tubes make remarkably undemonstrative parents," says Thrang. "There's no harm in you knowing where I was... constructed, I suppose is the best word. You might have heard of the Calloway Institute."

Tylha taps in the name on her console. She raises her eyebrows. "High energy physics research?"

"With a sideline that isn't in the official documentation. Alistair Calloway wanted an heir to his fortune. One who was worthy. And he didn't care for the complications of human romance, not to mention the genetic lottery of selecting a partner." Thrang's smile grows broader. "I was code-named Alexander in the laboratory. A fitting name. As for my family name - well, a lot of my augmentation was based on the designs for the famous Dr. Bashir, but I very much doubt the noble salutatorian would appreciate having me grafted on to his family tree. No, I think the Calloway surname would suffice."

"It's impressive work." Tylha's fingers have been dancing rapidly across the console interface. "And then the high energy physics research... failed, rather spectacularly."

"Quite."

"Taking out the whole asteroid base, in fact. One of those unexplained tragedies."

"I heard him talking." Thrang's shoulders flex again. "He was talking about improvements. A new version, an improved version. I did not choose to be replaced."

"After Alistair Calloway's death, control of his company passed to his daughter Georgina... a recluse, who hasn't been seen in years." Tylha's voice is dry. "I take it we'd have a lot of difficulty finding her?"

Thrang laughs. "Dear sister. I prefer to think of her as being untrammeled by the tiresome necessities of physical reality."

"A software false front. One of many. Using her, you acquired patents for software applications, bought up isolinear chip manufacturers... laid the groundwork for infesting the data networks with your shadow OS, in fact." Tylha sighs. "It's going to take months to unravel all that, and as for the cost - well, it's lucky the Federation is a post-scarcity economy." She shakes her head. "And using that - any system in Federation or Imperial space can recognize your face, and know that you're in charge of it. Who was the one who wore your mask? The holographic disguise? When you blew a hole in Earth Spacedock to get Paul Hengest?"

"An agent. An effective agent. Find him yourself." Thrang's shoulders are tense, and his smile is starting to slip.

"We will," Tylha says. "Oh, I know we don't have your genetic advantages. But we're skilled and we're thorough. We'll find your agent, we'll find all the extra bolt-holes you're not telling us about, all the shell companies and secret holdings and sequestered funds. You might be able to outsmart any one of us, individually... but we're all working together, and you're all alone. We're going to turn over all your rocks until we've found everything."

"So you think." Thrang's shoulders are very tense now.

"Hey," I speak up. "You know the latest model Federation androids? They've got a limited shape-change ability built in. I mean, not liquid metal or anything weird like that, but they can manipulate their appearance, or do things like slimming down their limbs." Thrang's gaze snaps towards me. "'Course, that means the latest series of android restraints have to compensate for that, don't they? I guess you might be able to thin your wrists down enough to slip those cuffs, buddy, but you'd have to snap your hands off to do it. Puts you at a disadvantage, yanno?"

Thrang's shoulders, gradually, relax. His smile is completely gone, now.

"You," he says to me, "are very, very dead."

I shrug. "Heard that before, buddy. Still breathing."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," says Thrang. I am absolutely sure he means it. Dead sure, to coin a phrase.

"You need not be concerned," says Heizis. "The computer subversion will be undone - a mammoth task, as Admiral Shohl says, but it will be undone. And the Actionist Movement is already in pieces. Rather literally, in the case of the Klingon and the Breen arms. The Federation must go through its legalisms, of course." She shrugs. "As must we. The process for the impeachment and imprisonment of a Tribune is complicated and annoying. But it will be done."

"Do you think those are my only allies?" says Thrang.

"Well," I say, "you're not exactly attracting the best and brightest, are you? I mean, Xerek should've had all the advantages over Heizis, right? But here she is, and her boss is -" I don't know what Reman Intelligence has done with Xerek, and I'm not gonna pry. "As for the rest of them - Starfleet and Klingon rejects, and the Thexemians, I mean, come off it. This is the trouble with killing off the help, Thrang. After a while, the quality help gets wise. They stop knocking on your door."

"You think I have to make do with inferiors," says Thrang. "You forget, though, I always have to make do with inferiors. By definition."

"You say that," I say, "but who's wearing the android restraints, huh?"

Something goes beep on Tylha's console. "You do love the sound of your own voice, Thrang," she says.

"Well," says Thrang, "I say such clever things."

Tylha smiles at him. "We love the sound of your voice too," she says sweetly. "That was my data warfare expert, telling me she's captured enough of your phonemes to crack your last storage vault. We've got all your biometric data, too, naturally. We know enough about you to build a new one, in fact." Her smile goes away. "Though why we'd want to -"

She presses a button on the console, and people start to come in. Security troops - a black-eyed Betazoid, a burly Vulcan, a surly Tellarite - and others: a Borg drone, a security hologram in mirror-finish MACO armour, a pallid Aenar, two different androids, and a voluptuous figure wearing a crop-top, booty shorts, and a maniac smile. Tylha has access to that holo-simulation program for the infamous Admiral Leeta. She crowds round Thrang with the rest of them. It's about the sort of team I'd put together for moving Thrang, in fact.

"Take him away," says Tylha in a voice like a tomb slamming shut.

Thrang rises to his feet. His glare sweeps over me, Heizis, and Tylha.

"You think you've won," he says, "but you have no conception of my abilities and my resources. I will be back for all of you. And you will die."

I'll give Tylha credit, she doesn't turn one white Andorian hair. "I'll keep this countdown running, then," she says. "Just so you know how late you are."

---

There's a heck of a lot left to organize, of course. Thrang's ship, the Anita, and the Holst are all tangled up together in a knot of docking tubes, while the Saraswati hangs off to one side, ready to do something necessary but regrettable with its thalaron weapons if Thrang looks like getting loose.

I wander around the Holst, looking for Tylha and some confirmation about my own status with Starfleet - I'm almost sure I'm OK, but it would be kind of nice to know. I wander past the briefing room again, and I see her.

She is standing, and her exec is standing in front of her, and they are standing very close to each other. In fact, when I look closer, their faces are almost touching, and their antennae are actually twining together. I didn't know Andorians even did that. It's pretty clear they're having a moment, so I back away quietly, or at least as quietly as I can in my mining boots. I don't think they notice me, regardless of the boots.

So I whistle a little ditty between my teeth, and find a docking tube, and wander back to the Anita. "Admiral on the bridge," I say, as I stroll onto the command deck and plump down on my chair.

Nurnos rolls his eyes. Nyesenia says nothing. Rozilai flashes me a quick smile.

"Roz," I say. "Set my mind at rest, will you? You are Zorik's plant from Starfleet Intelligence, keeping an eye on me, aren't you?"

She just gives me another quick smile. "If I were," she says, "I certainly wouldn't say so. And if I weren't, I'd certainly deny it."

"Oh. Yeah. Quite."

"Unless I wanted to mess with your head," she carries on, "in which case I'd say yes, but you still wouldn't know if it was true or not."

"'Course not. God, I love intelligence work." I stand up again. "Come on, people. Let's all go have a drink."