I glare at the image on the viewer, then turn to my exec. "Not your fault. I know you are working with imprecise data, and in an unprecedented situation."
"Yeah, but...." Thala looks genuinely unhappy. "We messed up on this one, boss."
"Then you have plenty of room for improvement." Fifteen parsecs, in fact. But Thala's task is nearly impossible, and I am neither a fool nor a martinet - I will not blame him for what is not his fault.
But still. We are cruising serenely through empty space, and fifteen parsecs away, a subspace rift has just exploded into being, delivering another blast of exotic energies to GO4704. And we could do nothing about it. I squirm restlessly in the command chair.
"What of the Arcturus Sunfire?"
"Lamentably, glorious leader, the reports of this vessel's peregrinations are confused, incomplete, and contradictory," Niquoeb replies. Well, I knew what I was getting into when I gave him the job, I suppose. "If but half of the tentative identifications of this craft are accurate, then it is capable of a velocity far surpassing that of any conventional warp drive -"
"Most likely," Thala interrupts, "Serton's got access to some off-the-record transwarp gates. We know the Ferengi, the Syndicate, and several other groups have gateway tech now. Premaratne probably chose Serton precisely for this sort of access."
I grunt. "Query Starfleet Intelligence, find out what they know about illegal transwarp gates in this sector. Or, rather, find out what they know and are prepared to tell us."
"On it, boss."
"There's, well, something else, sir." Kali Lillian speaks diffidently, but at least she speaks. I spin the chair around to face the science station. "I've been reviewing Captain Quon's account of the rift she saw. The device Premaratne used to trigger the subspace distortion - well, we only have Captain Quon's verbal description, but we know some of the parameters it had to have. The hyper-refractory lensing - um, well, I guess you don't want the technical details, sir, but the point is, there's only a limited number of places that can make things like that."
"Ah." I nod, trying to indicate understanding and approval. "And you have a list of such facilities?"
"Well, at least the known ones, sir. Commercial operations. I suppose Premaratne and his backers might have some secret plant for making the things, but, well, why would they? When you can just buy them? I mean, well, it'd be a big custom job, but -"
"Where is the nearest of these facilities?" I ask.
---
Gamma Occidentis VII is a useless D-class rock, but it produces metals for the orbital foundry in its sky. The foundry is owned by a consortium of Federation business interests; the main body is a conventional enough space station, on a par with a class 2 starbase... but it is surrounded by free-floating industrial units, and even I can see that there is a lot of interesting activity among them. As Amphicyon cruised in to dock, she passed a graphene fabricator, extruding endless skeins of unbreakable thread from its spinnerets, and a solar-powered smelter capable of reducing a small asteroid to molten slag.
I take Lillian with me when I transport aboard the station. She has done well, she deserves to be involved in whatever comes of this. We are greeted by a tall, very poised human male - light-skinned, with dark hair impeccably styled, and a mouth that seems over-full of very, very white teeth.
"Captain Surella? Malcolm Havishaw, liaison officer. How can we help Starfleet?" His voice is cultured, professionally pleasant.
"My science officer, Lieutenant Lillian." He spares her a dismissive glance. "Someone is using subspace rift devices to carry out potentially dangerous experiments. We need to track them down. Their devices require components that can only be made in specialist industrial facilities."
"Such as ours. I see." He treats me to another display of teeth. "Can you tell me anything about the sort of - experiments - we're talking about? It might help us identify a particular class of component."
"Lieutenant Lillian has all the data we have so far gathered." She proffers a PADD; after a moment, he takes it. "Basically, the subspace rifts are stimulating a spatial anomaly into new modes of activity. We do not, as yet, know why."
"But you say it's potentially dangerous?"
"There has already been considerable property damage, and some loss of life, attendant on these disturbances."
"I see." The toothy smile goes away. "Perhaps you'd better come with me, Captain. You can wait in comfort while I check our records in depth."
I follow him out of the transporter room, into a concourse filled with holo-displays, mostly showing heavy engineering works of some sort - meaningless to me. Overhead, transparent panels let in the light of the stars. Havishaw leads us along the concourse, to an area with soft chairs, low tables, a food replicator in the wall. "It will take some time to review our recent orders," he says.
"Hyper-refractory lenses." I do listen to my officers. "How many orders do you receive for such things? What are they used for?"
"Well, now," says Havishaw. "Mostly, we're talking about academic or commercial institutions doing high-energy subspace research. If you're trying to generate and focus subspace fields, you need specialised materials that can handle immense energy levels. I don't think we get many orders for things like that - but there are enough. I'll cross-compare with your data, and see if it matches any particular set of specifications." He seems to weigh the PADD in his hand for a moment, then turns and strides away.
Lillian is looking at a nearby display. "Interesting," she says.
"That thing?" I look around. There is no one else in sight on the concourse. No doubt we are being monitored by security cameras - the staff of the station is small, we detected only some two hundred and fifty life signs while approaching. The industrial processes are, necessarily, heavily automated. Even being within a kilometre of some of them would be enough to kill an unprotected humanoid.
"It's a foamed-metal process," Lillian says. "I didn't know people were even using that any more. It was meant as a mass-saving measure for zero-G construction projects -" I let her chatter on. There is a data terminal on a free-standing pillar next to the holo-display. There are similar terminals throughout the concourse. So why did Havishaw feel the need to withdraw?
I go to the terminal, touch the interface. Security sealed. Curious. Everyone who works here must be cleared to do so, surely? So why take these precautions? There cannot, surely, be many visitors out here. And we are Starfleet, not some commercial rival.... I pull a face. A data-warfare expert would surely be able to unlock this console... but beaming over a hacking team would be - impolite, I fear.
Lillian falls silent. I think she has realized that I am not listening. I glance in her direction. She seems engrossed in some other holo-display, showing some exotic fabricator -
There is a sound, as of something moving along the floor -
It is not much, but I am still Klingon, I know a threat when I hear it. I snarl and spin around, concentrating, hard. The visual discontinuity, the faint distortion in the air, could pass unnoticed, if I were not looking for it -
"Stealth assassins!" I yell, and punch the first one while he still fondly believes himself to be invisible.
The stealth field shorts out under the impact, and a black-clad humanoid form materializes, wrapped around my right fist. There is a knife in its right hand. I reach out, grab the wrist, twist until the arm breaks. Then I deliver a powerful backhand slap to my attacker's head. It is not strictly necessary, at this point. But it is satisfying.
I activate my personal shield and draw my phaser while I am turning to check on Lillian. Fortunately, her rudimentary Starfleet self-defence training seems to have kicked in; she has another black-clad figure in a judo hold, and is choking it into insensibility. Good for her. I switch the phaser to wide beam and spray the concourse with heavy stun. Holograms sparkle and distort - and another assassin comes into view. This one has a gun, a standard phaser. I switch back to narrow beam. We both fire simultaneously. His beam is not strong enough to pierce a shield. Mine is.
The first attacker is scrambling to his feet. I kick him in the head, and he goes down again.
I slap my combadge. "Surella to Amphicyon!"
"Amphicyon here." Som Bloxx's voice. "Sir, is there a problem?"
There is one fewer than I had feared - I was expecting comms jamming. "Go to full evasive! Raise shields! And watch that solar smelter! We are under attack!"
If they attack us, they must deal with the ship, too. The industrial facility is not, technically, armed. Technically. But the solar smelter could pour enough raw heat onto Amphicyon to vaporize her, technically. I can only hope that Thala and Niquoeb and the rest of the team are quick enough to respond -
Flaming golden light stutters across the starscape above us. I spray the concourse with more heavy stun. This time, I hit nothing. There must be more on the way, though.
Lillian has rendered her attacker unconscious, has drawn her own weapon.
My combadge chirps. I slap it.
"Amphicyon to Surella." Thala's voice. "That smelter was already targeting us. We hit it with full phasers, it's down - Boss, what's going on?"
"I am about to find out. Beam down security squads, full armament. Take this station."
I haul my erstwhile attacker to his feet, rip away his black facemask. The bruised and bleeding face of Malcolm Havishaw is revealed. His teeth are much less perfect, now.
"To attack by stealth is one thing," I hiss at him, "to attack by deceit is another. You are without honour. I should destroy you."
He says nothing, only blinks dazed eyes. I sigh.
"I am a Starfleet officer. Fortunately for you. You are under arrest, and this facility is in lockdown pending my investigation." Already, there is the whining of transporters as the security teams beam in.
"You don't understand," Havishaw mumbles, with evident difficulty.
"What do I not understand?"
He blinks at me again. His mind is obviously wandering. "Any of it," he mutters. "When they open the gate... none of this will matter. Nothing will matter. Ever again."
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