Star Trek - TNG - 62 - Maximum Warp Book One Read online

  T'sart smiled the smile that, after many years of practice, he knew to be both treacherous and gleeful. "Yes, yes, I did. And I lied. I tend to do that, m'boy."

  He turned his grin to the small hypospray in his left hand. Another of his ingenious potions. This was better than the one he'd given to the government. He was careful to always keep a slightly more potent concoction for himself. He did that with anything he created for the Empire. His intellect was his own, and he would always see that the benefits of that were his before others'. Considering how he'd been treated recently, that was doubly wise.

  As his prey finally perished, with a small puff of air from its lungs and the last of life's tension leaving its muscles, T'sart decided to leave the area quickly. There was a time he might have stayed to see to it that someone else was blamed for his doing. Not tonight. Tonight he had someone else to see... and the quest to conclude.

  There he was, just down the hall, in the very simplest of offices. T'sart was careful not to allow his gaze to linger too long, but even if he had, the door opened and closed so quickly he probably would not have been seen.

  After a short moment, he determinedly walked in the opposite direction, so as to not raise suspicion. Three days it had taken him to find this man, three days, and a cunning hunt. He had reason to be proud, as even the Tal Shiar had failed at this task, over and over and over again. Tal Shiar, he thought. Simpletons, more concerned with their inner politics than anything of substance and import. I'll not see them take all my power.

  Before reaching the entryway that would lead him back to the street, T'sart turned confidently and headed back toward the library, where he'd seen his long sought prey. Why not confront now? All was in place, and he need not wait for the man to be alone. He was only a man. And T'sart could always make him alone, in any case.

  Yes, in fact, that would be a very good idea. Let his ultimate prey know the ground rules.

  The door was pushed out of T'sart's way with a firm hand and a slight creak. Perhaps the young guard recognized T'sart. Or perhaps duty alone called for him to raise a weapon to anyone who entered. In either case, he was too slow.

  The second young Romulan to die this day was relieved of his weapon quickly, with a small but powerful twist to his wrist. The man across the room, the final prey, looked up from some text he was reading. T'sart could not help but smile. It was him.

  T'sart looked back toward the guard, who did not yelp in pain, though he should have. There was no expression on the young man's face at all. No surprise, no terror. What trick was this? Why didn't he struggle or cry out?

  It stunned T'sart, for just a moment, and he stared too long at the boy in his grip. When he looked up, the final prey was gone.

  "No! Fool!" T'sart fired the weapon he'd taken two seconds before, firing point-blank at the boy's head.

  The weapon was set to stun, of course, T'sart realized a moment later. Fine. A stun at such proximity and to the head would bring a slow, lingering death. He let the guard fall straight down as he quickly turned toward where the other had been.

  "Where are you?" T'sart huffed under his breath. There was no place to hide in here, and no one could have gotten past T'sart to the door through which he'd just entered. There was another door on the other side of the room, but it had neither opened nor closed, and from where he stood he saw it was locked.

  A hidden door? A transporter? Technically it could be either, but transporter beams were not widely used for intra planetary purposes on the homeworld, and the energy surge would be noticed and draw suspicion.

  The other door, T'sart decided, was his only choice.

  Through it was another hallway with many tributaries. T'sart gnashed his teeth as he made his way slowly down the hallway, listening. Had he thought to bring a tricorder he would know where the man was now. But tricorders on average townspeople was questionable in itself, and he'd thought better of taking that risk.

  There were no footsteps to be heard, and no breath save his own. Where could his prey have gone? Where?

  Frustration trickled sweat down T'sart's neck. He damned himself for looking too long at the guard's expressionless face. Why had the guard not called out in pain or anger? Was he being taught, or was it a planned contrivance to confuse for just that moment?

  Up one corridor and down the next, T'sart saw no sign of his final prey. None. And no doors that he could

  further check. If he had come this far only to lose the man ... No. T'sart would not accept that. He's here. Somewhere. Find him, before he finds you' Cease Turn slowly."

  Too late.

  "Very well." T'sart felt the disrupter that was now lightly pressed against his back, heard its soft, powerful hum. After a moment the pressure was gone. His prey had found him, announced his presence and advantage, then stepped out of striking distance. Smart, T'sart thought as he nodded, smiled thinly, and slowly turned toward his captor.

  The man with the disrupter took T'sart's weapon and glanced over him, probably wondering what other devices should be found and confiscated.

  T'sart smiled. "It would seem you have the advantage, Mister... do you have a name you'd prefer me to use?"

  His captor raised one brow. "Subterfuge at this point seems futile. You know who I am."

  T'sart nodded. "Yes, Spock. Yes, I do. Or shall I call you Ambassador? Or do you yearn for the days when you were Captain Spock?"

  The Vulcan did not move, did not show surprise, did not show anything on that damned expressionless face.

  "Why are you here?" Spock asked.

  "To speak with you, of course."

  Again, no expression. No irritation. Just Spock's bland tone. "My question required a more specific answer."

  T'sart smiled. He hated Vulcans, but loved toying with them, and he'd been given only a few occasions over the years to do just that. So, fine, Spock showed

  no frustration. T'sart was surely being frustrating nevertheless. "Of course," he said finally, masking his tension with a false smile.

  "Move down the corridor. Take the first turn on the left and then the door at the end of that hall," Spock ordered, but did not motion with his weapon hand.

  With deliberate, perhaps almost Vulcan grace, T'sart did as he was ordered. Once in the room, he noticed the man he'd stunned just a few minutes before was gone. Spock had seen to him already, gotten him help, and still had time to turn the tables on T'sart.

  Vulcans, T'sart thought bitterly.

  "Sit."

  Fine. The Romulan sat in a chair in front of what was presumably Spock's desk.

  "State your purpose in contacting me."

  T'sart paused, then finally began in what he hoped was an almost pleasant tone. "My business is urgent, but not so much that we must forget civilities. Allow me to savor the meeting, Spock. You have no idea how many people I've had to kill to gain your trail."

  "Twelve, if young Polnor lives. State your purpose."

  Suddenly T'sart's smile faded. He'd hoped the death toll would be thirteen soon, and had he not needed Spock so badly he would've liked the Vulcan to be the fourteenth victim.

  "You're very intelligent," T'sart admitted. "Almost as intelligent as your reputation."

  Spock kept his weapon aimed evenly. "I'm sure the reverse is true. Your purpose, T'sart."

  It was the first time Spock had used T'sart's name, and for some reason it startled the Romulan a bit.

  T'sart couldn't help then but notice that the Vulcan's Romulan accent was near perfect. He would've passed easily as a native. Obviously had.

  "I want to defect to the Federation," T'sart said finally. "And I want you to help me."

  Silently, Spock seemed to consider the veracity of T'sart's confession.

  "You don't need to believe me, Spock. Either way, your task would be finished on this planet, if I chose it. You don't know how many people besides myself know of your presence here. Not just here on the homeworld, but specifically here in this town, on this street, in this building, in
this room, standing in that spot."

  Spock nodded. "Perhaps."

  Damned smug Vulcans. "Perhaps" killing you would be exquisite. "Perhaps indeed. Put down your weapon," T'sart ordered. "We have much to discuss."

  Chapter Five

  Federation Research Colony on

  Gamma Hydra IV Gamma Hydra Sector Section 2

  Sixteen days ago

  "I'M telling you, it's probably just another comet. You get them here all the time, right?"

  Young Miko Tariki idolized Dr. Spurn, so the good doctor decided not to crush the new transfer with a few well-chosen words. Yes, the fresh-from-university man was imbecilic, but he agreed with every scientific paper written by J.B. Spurn, and so the boy had some promise, if little else.

  "Planetary defense systems have taken care of two

  comets in the last three years. Sensor stations throughout the system say we're clear," said K'leeta Mertal, head of research for the southern projects. Another imbecile heard from. She wouldn't know a comet if she was standing on its tail.

  "One sensor buoy isn't responding," Spurn said. "Or did you forget that, my young flower?"

  "Buoys fail all the time. There is sensor overlap." A beautiful woman, but Spurn had never seen her smile, not once, in his presence. "Or," she added, "did you forget that, my old weed?"

  Petulant.

  Horace Blake, colony leader--more a figurehead than a true decision-maker--finally stepped into the discussion he'd let meander for more than twenty minutes. "A starship will be by in three days for supplies and crew replacement. The--" Blake looked down at some notes, but didn't see the ship's name quickly enough.

  "The Dezago," Spurn offered.

  "Yes, the Dezago." Blake nodded.

  Mertal pressed her lips into what Spurn figured was her version of a smile. "Why don't you go with the Dezago, J.B.? Get away for a month. Or two. Or twelve."

  "As close as we are to the Romulan Neutral Zone, I should want to leave here. Who's to say our dead buoy isn't their doing?"

  "We are very close to the Neutral Zone--" Tariki said.

  "But Starbase 10--"

  "Ignores us repeatedly, boy," Spurn scoffed.

  "Well, they don't have their own starship, not since the Stacker was destroyed," one of the other, lesser members mumbled.

  Spurn didn't know the person well, and didn't care to, he was sure. "We have a more immediate problem, ladies and gentlemen. We're running on batteries only."

  "We have food stores to last us months," Blake said, glancing again at his notes. Chances are he didn't see that fact in his notes, and only used them to avoid the looks of others when he spoke. Spurn had yet to see the man look anyone straight in the eyes.

  "I have several experiments that will falter when we lose the battery power to the labs," Spurn said. "There's a reason why there aren't any of the generators working, and we should find out what it is."

  Mertel smiled. "You're a scientist, J.B." so you tell us."

  "If I ever want to write a paper on arrogance, I know where I'll find my subject," Spurn said.

  "A mirror? Or will you look in the holosuites?"

  "Listen here, I've had it with--"

  "Enough!" All were taken aback. Blake rarely yelled, and never became unpleasant "I'm afraid this is the situation, people. Subspace communications are out and the Dezago isn't due for three more days. In that time, we may lose our research, but we won't lose our lives. I'd call that damned lucky."

  "I'd call it--"

  "No one cares what you'd call it, Spurn."

  "Professor Blake, do I need to take this abuse?"

  Some men are crashed by pressure. Others, pressure hardens and focuses them.

  "Not at all," Blake said. "You're not required to be at these meetings at all."

  Star-fleet Sensor Monitoring Station Sector 001-Sol III [Earth] Detroit, Michigan

  Sixteen days ago

  "Oh, come on, Hedrick, you're not working on all thrusters with that one." Crewman Chris Spiker half chuckled, half winced at yet another of his chief's "supposin's."

  "Hey, you don't need to believe me." Hedrick clicked buttons on his console with the ease of rote. "I'm just tellin' you what the reports say."

  Spiker turned and picked up a padd. "Hmmmm..." He poured over the text with mock intensity. "The reports say four ships have lost power under mysterious circumstances. They say nothing about some hokey Romulan invasion plot."

  Nodding matter-of-factly, Hedrick said, "You gotta learn to read between the lines, young' un You been a sensor jockey for what? Five seconds? I been--"

  "I spent thirteen months on the Jenkins."

  "Science vessel," Hedrick scoffed. "And thirteen months ain't nothing. You're so damn young, I 'spect

  when you smile I don't know if something's funny or you got gas."

  "Spare me the southern jibes, Chief. If you're so damn smart--" Spiker tossed the padd down and swiveled his chair toward the other console he needed to calibrate.

  "Yup. Am smart. You don't think so? You tell me why four different ships in three days have had this power-loss thing. And all near the damn Romulan Neutral Zone."

  "Yeah, yeah. There's no evidence--" Spiker turned back around.

  Hedrick rolled his eyes. "Geez. There's no evidence of a cloaked ship until it's on top of you, is there? And I've heard about a few other things happening to other ships, a few Romulan colonies."

  "You can't believe barroom talk from gossiping traders."

  "You can't. I can. Nine times outta ten, it has a kernel of truth--"

  This time Spiker was the one to roll his eyes. "See, listen to you: 'kernel of truth." "

  "You just gotta know what sounds plausible and what doesn't. Remember the conspiracy thing with Admiral Quinn and those parasites thirteen years back?"

  Crewman Spiker grinned. "Before my time, Gramps."

  "What isn't?" Hedrick grinned back. "Anyway, I heard 'bout that a week 'fore the press did."

  "Fine, let me get this straight. The Romulans want to go to war, despite our being allies now, and are testing

  some new disabling weapon. Is that the latest from the Great and Powerful Mind of Randall Hedrick?"

  Hedrick shrugged. "Maybe."

  Leaning over and resting his arm on Hedrick's console, Spiker almost whispered, as if the two of them were keeping some dark secret. "Okay, Chief, one question: Why? Why now, and over what? We're all hurting from the Dominion War, the Romulans as much as us."

  The older man shrugged. "I don't make the news, I just report it. Who knows why the people in charge do what they do? Five'll get you ten, even they don't know half the time."

  Spiker cocked his head to one side, pursed his lips, then nodded. "Yeah, that one I buy."

  Abruptly, Hedrick turned away toward a blinking monitor. "Hey, you picking this up?" Suddenly his accent was less defined.

  Turning toward his own panel, Spiker punched up the same screen. "Yeah, got it. Priority report Switching to speakers."

  "This is Priority Channel from Starbase 10. We've lost all sensor and comm contact with the U.S.S. Dezago, eleven pars off Gamma Hydra Section two. Requesting search and support, Gamma Hydra, surrounding sectors. Starfleet, please respond."

  Spiker shook his head. "Damn weak message. Lot of distortion."

  "Not meant for us," Hedrick said. "I'm routing it to San Fran and Olympus Mons."

  "Why Mars, too?"

  "Buncha brass on Mars. You don't need to listen to barroom gossip, but you can at least read internal fleet memos. Brass meeting will wanna know."

  "Yeah. Maybe this is something big."

  Hedrick chuckled. "You're finally getting' it, kid. And I reckon big won't even cast a shadow on this one."

  Chapter Six

  U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701E

  Sector 001

  In orbit, Sol IV [Mars]

  "This can't be right. Why would there be nuclear radiation?" Commander Will Riker handed the padd back to the yeoman with a
shake of his head. "Have Sciences check their findings. I seriously doubt Mars has a nuclear pile somewhere."

  Data turned from the ops station. "Actually, sir, I believe it does."

  Pushing himself from the command chair, Riker took a few steps forward as he motioned for the yeoman to wait "Come again, Mr. Data?"

  Dabbing a few commands at his station before he

  swiveled completely away from it, Data continued. "Dilithium re-crystallization experiments."

  Looking back for a moment, Riker shared a glance with Deanna Troi, then turned his gaze back to Data. "That's possible?"

  "Recently declassified Starfleet files, as well as contemporary experiments, have confirmed it, but I believe they are working on a less complicated method," Data said.

  Riker let out a soft chuckle. "Learn something new every day."

  "Indeed." As he turned back toward his console, Data nodded and his brows drew up.

  "Question is, should we be registering anything from it?"

  Data seemed to consider the question thoughtfully as he silently turned. "No. I do not believe that we should. Such radiation should be contained."

  There was a feeling Riker sometimes got. Not so drastic as a sinking feeling in the stomach or his neck hair standing on end. This was just a little gut-twitch. Something that made his eyes squint a little, as if there was something to listen for that he couldn't quite hear.

  Whether he ignored such feelings depended on the situation. This time, he didn't want to disregard it.

  "Data, look into this."

  "Aye, sir."

  Riker turned away, stroking his currently beardless chin. "Captain wanted me to contact him if anything came up."

  "Is something 'up' with this?" Deanna asked.

  "Not sure." Riker lowered himself into the command chair. "But when the captain is in all-day meetings like this, a bad transporter circuit is big enough to interrupt him."

  "Ah, of course." Deanna nodded and smiled that knowing smile.

  "Then again," Riker added, returning her smile, "last time there were meetings to attend, he sent me and wouldn't do the same. We'll sit on this for a little longer."

  Picard glanced at the timepiece to the left of the podium for the forty-third time. Admiral Dulroy, a.k.a. Admiral Dullard, had been talking for ninety-six minutes, the last fifty of which Picard had been praying the man would use some sort of punctuation. My command for a comma, he thought.