I've never seen Admiral Stroffa look furious. The head of Stellar Survey is a matronly Denobulan woman, usually kindly and approachable; now, she is obviously seething with rage. Of her two assistants, one is obviously perturbed too; the Caitian M'eioi's black fur is bristling, her tail switching rapidly from side to side. Only T'Pia - being a Vulcan, and trained in the Kolinahr, and being, well, T'Pia - remains totally calm and inexpressive.
"All survey groups have now been redeployed within Federation borders," the small red-haired Vulcan is saying. "Agreements are in place with the KDF and the Republic to cover boundary areas such as the former Neutral Zones. Survey groups 201 through 220 are in position in the Eta Eridani sector, coordinating with Klingon and Gorn task forces on similar missions. I have the complete deployment schedule on my PADD now."
"Good," says Stroffa. "Finally." She turns to me, her face actually pulsating - the Denobulan threat reaction, just barely being kept in check. "What can Engineering Division give us?"
I hold out my own PADD. "We've supplied parameters, coordinated with Starfleet Intelligence, and identified every facility in the Federation with the technology needed to build a trilithium weapon. All listed here. There are only four hundred and thirty-eight of them, so we will have full monitoring systems in place, within forty-eight hours."
"Some of those facilities, while inside Federation territory, may not fall within Federation jurisdiction," T'Pia says.
"We will have full monitoring systems in place within forty-eight hours," I assure her. "If this involves placing scanning satellites around an independent world, well, they will just have to live with that."
"Good," says Stroffa, her face deflating. "So. With our sensor network looking out for trilithium, and a constant watch kept on places that can produce trilithium... maybe we can actually prevent a repetition of this - this atrocity."
It's a formidable job - the Federation is big, space is bigger, and there is plenty of room for someone to develop an illicit weapons factory if they want to. But with the whole of Starfleet on alert, with all of Stroffa's science vessels combing the void for trilithium signatures... maybe we can catch the next attack, stop it in time. If there is a next attack.
My combadge chirps at me. "Shohl." This had better be an emergency.
"Sir." Cordul's voice. "We have a crash priority request from Intelligence. They need the King Estmere again, urgently."
I glance at Stroffa. "We have your data," she says. "You'd better go. Thank you, Admiral Shohl."
---
"Six independent merchant ships, all reporting sensor contacts with a Hirogen escort." Anthi marks out the positions on the holographic display. "So far, no hostile activity. What's bothering Intelligence is the distances involved."
I look at the display, and at the stardates for the contacts, and my antennae twitch. "That ship is moving at one hell of a speed. Assuming it's the same ship. Can we make that assumption?"
"Data from the freighters is consistent," Three of Eight rumbles. "Transponder idents and warp signatures match. For the ship to be present in each of those locations, at the designated times, it would have to be moving at speeds in excess of warp forty."
"Analysis suggests it's going in and out from some central location." Bulpli Yulan takes over the discussion. "We've plotted a locus in the centre of the region marked by the contacts." She puts another marker on the display. "Somewhere around here. There's nothing listed at that location, but there might be an asteroid fragment nearby - or, of course, someone might have built something there. A transwarp hub, maybe, or a trajector gateway. That might account for the ship's speed."
"OK. So we have a Hirogen escort probing around, moving very fast, mission unknown. And Intelligence wants it intercepted, by something fast enough to catch it, and big enough to beat it. Which means us. We ready to move?"
"All systems go," Dyssa D'jeph assures me.
"So let's move," I say.
---
Surprisingly few hours later, Three of Eight says, "I have a sensor contact."
I turn the command chair to face him. "The Hirogen?"
"Negative. An asteroid, but in the approximate locus we have identified - and with a temperature significantly higher than cosmic background level." There is something approaching a smile on Three's grey, machinery-infested face. "I think we have found our bogey's base of operations."
At any rate, we've found an unregistered space outpost, and even if it's not involved in the mysterious Hirogen's activities, whoever's there must surely have seen that ship passing.... "OK. Lay in an approach course, scan on all frequencies -" I think for a moment. "Deploy the Mesh Weavers. We might as well be ready for anything. Yellow alert."
King Estmere comes about, aims her sharp prow at a new point in space. The frigates thunder out of the launch bays.
"Substantial sensor jamming," says Three. "I have albedo readings confirming a metallic structure on the surface of the asteroid -"
"Got something for you," Klerupiru interrupts. "Sensor jamming, yeah, and plenty of it, but there's a data transmission subchannel running." She grins. "And I recognize the encryption pattern. I think I can crack it."
"Data transmission." My antennae twitch. "Transmitting what, to where?"
"I think it's internal monitoring," says Klerupiru. "Whoever this place belongs to, they want to keep an eye on it while they're away." Her fingers are working busily at her console. "Isolating a facility map... single transporter pad.... Looks like it's a pretty standard commercial modular lash-up - oh, hey. I can get a visual."
"Visual on what?"
"Looks like a security camera monitoring the largest internal space. Might be a laboratory or something."
"Well, let's see it, then. On screen."
And the image appears on the main viewscreen. I think Klerupiru's right, this is a laboratory - there are workbenches, and PADDs scattered about, and what might be equipment for high-energy particle generation. There's something in the middle of the lab, a big upright cylinder -
I sit bolt upright. "Klerupiru. Can you zoom in on this image?"
"Sure. No problem. What do you want to look at?"
"That cylinder in the middle. There's something square on the side of it. It looks like a plaque -"
"Oh, I see it. OK. Isolating and enlarging."
The image jerks, shudders, starts to expand. The plaque on the side of the cylinder gets larger and larger, and I can see writing on it, a few short words, engraved on the metal.
"Ex uno plures," I whisper, and a chill runs down my spine.
"What?" says Anthi. "Sir, that was -"
"The motto on Dr. Tamik's machine. Yes." Disjointed thoughts are passing through my head. Surely no one would be stupid enough to build a copy of Dr. Tamik's reality-fracturing device? An exact copy, down to the Latin tag on the outside?
I stand up. "This has got to be some kind of trick," I say. "I don't know if it's a trap, or an invitation, or what, but I'm pretty sure it's aimed right at me."
"Makes sense, sir," says Anthi. "What are you going to do?"
"Take the bait and see what happens. Klerupiru, can you get a signal through to that transporter pad?"
"I don't - Uh-oh." Klerupiru frowns. "Between the security settings and all the jamming, I shouldn't be able to, sir. But I can."
"An invitation. Well," I say, "I guess I'd better take it."
---
The transport seems to take longer than usual. Maybe that's just my nerves.
I beam into a room that's little more than a cubicle. The environment is standard Federation - warm, by my standards, but perfectly liveable. My antennae are tingling, though, with the background electromagnetic radiation from the jamming systems.
My combadge chirps. "We just lost the visual feed," Klerupiru's voice says. She sounds tinny, as the signal fights its way through the interference. I check the transporter console.
"Someone doesn't want to be seen," I muse, as much to myself as Klerupiru, "but as far as I can see, this console's fine - I can still beam out." I draw my phaser pistol. "OK, I'm going to the lab."
"Sir, interference is -" Klerupiru's voice vanishes in a strangled squawk. Someone wants this meeting to be private.
I step towards the door, and it hisses open. Beyond, a short corridor, and another door. That one, too, opens as I approach. I step through, into the laboratory. The cylinder looks very massive, very ominous.
"So all right," I say. "I'm here."
A familiar, but slightly hollow, voice says, "Took you long enough. Just a minute, let me get out of this thing."
I raise the phaser. The outer casing of the cylinder starts to rise up, and a pair of feet become visible inside it - feet covered by massive dilithium-miner's boots. Pexlini shuffles and squirms awkwardly out of the cylinder, stands up, and pulls a sour face at the sight of the gun. "Aw, yeebles, are you planning on arresting me or something?"
I keep the gun on her. "Shouldn't I?"
"No. Absolutely not. Why'd you think I went to all this trouble to get you here? I got news, and you need to hear it." She brushes a hand over her unruly topknot, goes over to a workbench, sits down on it.
I sigh, and holster the phaser. "What's with the super-speed ship?" I ask.
"What? - oh, yeah, right. Haven't got one. I just asked some friends to, yanno, do me a solid. Transmitted some fake sensor logs. I do have a Hirogen ship, but it's just a bog-standard one." Pexlini shrugs. "Got you here, didn't it?"
"You seem very determined to talk in private," I say.
"I know nothing here's contaminated with Thrang's computer virus," says Pexlini, "and the jamming field means he can't pick anything up from your gear. Yeah, I know your data-warfare guy will be trying to keep your systems clean, but, well, that stuff's insidious. Gets everywhere."
"Thrang's computer virus."
"Yeah. Kalevar Thrang's at the back of all this. I spoke to the guy. More importantly, I got a line into his organization."
"Why are you talking to me instead of Intelligence?"
"I couldn't work out a way to get to the right people in Intelligence. You, I could make an invitation for. But the only guy in Intelligence I could have done the same for... was Paul Hengest." She looks away for a moment, her lips pursed. "He was OK, was Paul. I owe Thrang for that, too."
I pull up a lab stool and take a seat. "All right. Tell me what I need to know."
"I don't know everything yet. My contact is an ex-Starfleet cadet on Thrang's ship. She got disillusioned with the Federation, and joined the Actionist movement. Then she met Thrang, and she got a whole lot more disillusioned. But Thrang doesn't tell his people any more than they need to know, and my girl's taking a hell of a chance with everything she does. Thrang's got at least one Lethean working for him, among other things."
"Can she get a handle on how he's working the computer virus? Or on how he's managing to be in so many different places? He got onto Earth Spacedock -"
"Working on it. The virus, the shadow OS, has some control device for it. My contact's heard some stuff about a 'mask', and I'm hoping it's not the damn Mask of Dhalselapur, that thing's caused me enough trouble already."
"A mask." Something clicks. "Klerupiru found something it'll respond to - a set of quaternions. It could be a way of defining a three-dimensional object. The Mask of Dhalselapur would be as good as any other -"
"Why that thing, though? Besides, Thrang's been spreading this computer stuff around for ages, probably since way before my misadventures in the Delta Quadrant." Pexlini sighs. "Still think I'm missing something. We're trying to rough out a way I can get in contact with Thrang, anyway."
"He's still interested in you?"
"Guy doesn't like to take no for an answer. But I'm not gonna be his number one priority, anyway. I'm just on his list." Pexlini shoots me a sidelong glance. "So are you."
"Me?"
"My contact's name is Angelica Moreno. You can maybe check up on her. She was on the engineering track -"
I snap my fingers. "She was on an optional materials-engineering course on Magamba." Pexlini gapes at me. "Oh, come on. I was one of the first-contact team on Magamba, I've been leading the field in integrating Jolciot materials and methods, of course I know who else might be taking an intelligent interest."
"Right. Well, Thrang worked that one out too. Pretty much the first thing he had Angelica do was work out some gimmick for making your ship fall to bits. You're on his list, and it's the naughty list, not the nice list. I don't think he's forgiven you for not starting his war for him." Pexlini runs her hand over her topknot again. "You should maybe go over your personal routines, all your habits - see if there's anything you can change. Any chance you can take to pitch Thrang a curve ball, you take it."
"You're lucky a baseball fan explained that one to me, back in 1948," I mutter. Pexlini stares at me. "Never mind, it'd take too long to explain. You realize, of course, there's nothing here I can take back to Starfleet? Just a tall tale from a rogue Intelligence agent."
"Ain't that the truth. I'll get what I can, when I can. Angelica reckons Thrang is planning another spectacular, to keep everyone off balance. Won't be trilithium this time, though. He did have a second trilithium weapon, but Heizis got to it before he could use it." She sighs. "Angelica also hasn't heard of any countdowns currently running. But that doesn't mean there aren't any. Thrang never tells anyone everything."
"All right. Consider yourself not arrested. I'll... do whatever I can." My antennae twitch. "I might have a curve ball I can throw, at that. Will you be all right if I leave you here?"
"Oh, sure. My ship'll be here in a few hours, now you've tripped the transporter pad. Um, if you could take yours away, just so's I can be sure there'll be no shooting -"
"Right." I stand up.
"The main thing is, Action Black is run by Kalevar Thrang," says Pexlini, "and it joins up with all the other Actionist groups, whether the individual Actionists know it or not. Pretty standard stuff. Like that guy on Earth, twentieth century? Got a bunch of thugs to cause trouble, got elected to power on the basis that he was the guy to stop 'em? There ain't anything new under the sun." She shakes her head. "Problem is gonna be getting any sort of proof of this."
---
I step off the transporter pad, under the watchful gaze of most of my senior staff. "OK," I say. "Bulpli, get scans done for Changeling cell structure, isomorphic injections, psionic or chemical hypnotic agents - basically, everything we need to prove I'm still me. While we're doing that - Klerupiru. Set up a sanitized meeting room, and I mean sanitized - clean out every data terminal, every PADD, everything more sophisticated than a lever, if you have to. I need to give you all a briefing, and it needs to be secure."
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