STAR TREK - TNG - 42 - Infiltrator

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Star Trek: The Next Generation Infiltrator # 42
Chapter One
"THAT'S THE SHIP," Maria Sukhoi told her husband. She pointed to the white needle on the
spaceport's flight pad.
"The Temenus. It launches in eight hours." Lee nodded. "Eight hours. They changed their plan.
Do you think they suspect?" Mafia shook her head. The midnight air had made her black hair damp, and
it clung to her forehead in loose strands. "Central's always suspicious, but it doesn't have a reason to
suspect us." Lee grinned crookedly, white teeth in a dark broad face. "I'm just nervous." "You'd damned
well better be," Marla said. Security around the spaceport was good, and Lee carried a half- dozen
thumbnail bombs in his pocket. "Too many things can go wrong." "Cheerful tonight, aren't you?" He
reached out and stroked her cheek. "'So lovely fair, that what seem'd fair in all the world seem'd now
mean.' I'll be back for you." "I know." The quote from Milton--Adam's descrip- tion of Eve, another type
of firstborn--warmed her as it always did. She kissed him. "Now get going." "Right." Lee hurried down
the slope. Despite his words Mafia did not think she would see him again.
His chances of sabotaging the Temenus were good, but his chances of survival were poor. A sense of
loss and sorrow welled up in her, only to fade out before it could overwhelm her. Damn the originators,
she thought. The changes that the genetic engineers had made in her people made it all but impossible for
the people of Hera to sustain an intense emotion. She was able to view Lee's impending death with a
sense of detachment that seemed to reduce the love she felt for him.
Maria turned away and jogged back to town. She was not afraid of being observed. Central Security
had de- cided that extra surveillance would only alert the subver- sives to the start of Operation Unity, so
Central had gambled by not increasing its activities around the spaceport. By the same token, only the
people who had to know about Captain Blaisdell's secret orders had been told about Unity. Mafia
Sukhoi, who ran the Olympus Spaceport, was one of those people.
And now I'm a traitor and a murderer, she thought. So be it. When she had learned about Unity she had
discussed its implications with Lee. They had concluded that if Unity succeeded it would provoke the
primels into destroying Hera, and that would lead to the loss of their family, along with everything else.
They could not count on the resistance movement to stop Unity, so they would have to do it themselves.
Logic left them no other course.
Even so, she did not want to kill the Temenus's crew.
She wished that she were smart enough to think of an alternative.
Merle reached her home as the sun rose. She woke the children and got their breakfast ready. Gregor,
the younger of her two boys, waited until Mafia had her hands full before he brought up a problem. "I
didn't finish my math homework last night." Marla wondered why six-year-olds liked to leave their
problems for the worst possible moment. "Anna, can you take care of this?" she asked.
"Okay. Come on, Geeken" Anna took her younger brother by the ear--a maneuver she had picked up in
her aggression classes--and pulled him over to the dining room table. Mafia watched in disapproval; the
classes were supposed to teach children to suppress their aggressive instincts, not give in to them.
Anna put the boy's school pad in front of him and called up his calculus assignment. "What's the prob-
lem?" "This one," Gregor said, jabbing a finger onto the pad.
"Gotta integrate e to the minus x squared. I can't do it." "Nobody can," Anna said. She spoke with all the
authority of a ten-year-old. "It's an undefined operation.
You have to sneak up on it. Write the Taylor polynomial for e to the x, substitute minus x squared for x,
and integrate the polynomial." "Teacher said we had to do it as an integral," Gregor protested.
Joachim, the older boy, blew air out of his cheeks.
"Then Write down that it's a trick question and solve it as a sigma series. They want you to learn to look
at the questions, not just the answers." Maria put breakfast on the table while her children squabbled
over Gregor's homework. At least the talk kept them from noticing that their father was missing. It was
not unusual for Lee to leave early; he was a field geologist, and the children probably reasoned he was
out testing another new piece of equipment. After they had eaten, Mafia bundled the children off to
school, then went to the neighborhood tube station. The capsule that took her to the spaceport was
empty, which suited her mood.
The capsule brought her to the spaceport entrance, where she nodded to the guard and walked to her
office.
On her way across the green she passed the marble column that commemorated the spaceport workers
killed in a primal attack three years ago. A damaged freighter had made an emergency landing at the
space- port, and while repairs were made to the ship its crew had realized what the Herans were. The
primals had gone berserk and killed several people with their phasers before they were stamped out.
Once inside her office Marla settled into her daily routine. The computer delivered reports to her in order
of importance. Combat Operations had spotted a Romulan ship outside the Heran system; analysis sug-
gested it was heading home after a routine exploratory flight. A primal ship was en route to the sector to
lay a series of communication and navigation beacons; Oper- ations wanted a warshit, readied to shadow
it, in case the primals made trouble. The three robot warships of the Special Reserve were to be
activated and deployed for maneuvers in deep space. The Hephaestus Institute needed to borrow a
courier for a test of its long-range transporter system.
Maria ground her way through the work, half- expecting to see a security report. She found none, but
that meant nothing. Central Security kept a tight lid on reports of sabotage and other forms of dissidence.
Lee might have been caught at once, and her first hint would come when she was arrested.
A glint of light caught Marla's eye, and when she looked out her office window she saw the white needle
that was the Temenus rising into the clear morning sky.
A wave of guilt made her look away. If all went well, Lee's bombs would go off in six days and the ship
would vanish. But if all went well, Central Security would never know if Temenus had been lost to an
accident or sabotage--or an attack by the primals. The uncertainty should make them hesitant about
trying Unity again.
Or so she hoped. She didn't understand the Modality.
Over the past few years the Heran government had grown more secretive, more authoritarian. It had
revived the originators' dream of conquering the old human race, and that threatened to bring destruction
down on Hera.
Chapter Two
Captain's log, stardate 47358.1 The Enterprise has en- tered sector 11381, a reportedly uninhabited
portion of the galaxy that the Federation is opening to colonization.
Accordingly the Enterprise has been ordered into this sector to lay a series of communication and
navigation beacons. As the beacons incorporate some experimental computer technology, we have been
joined by a cyber- neticist from the Daystrom Institute. Although quite young, Dr. Kemal comes highly
recommended and has already shown a remarkable talent for enhancing the Enterprise's computer
programs.
ASTRID KEMAL TRIPPED over her own feet as she walked into the Ten-Forward lounge. Most of
Guinan's patrons politely ignored her as she stumbled, but Worf growled with embarrassment. He had
invited the cyberneticist to join him and two of his security troops for lunch, and her clumsiness grated on
his innate sense of dignity. A Klingon warrior was not seen in public with--he re- called a human word
that one of his security ensigns had used--a klutz.
One of the two ensigns seated at the table with Worf showed less restraint in his reaction. "I told you so!"
K'Sah crowed as he gave Sho Yamato a punch in the arm. "Pay up!" Worf growled at K'Sah while
Yamato rubbed his upper arm. The massive Pa'uyk resembled a poisonous, shaggy spider with pincerlike
hands at the ends of its four arms, but Worf felt unintimidated by the creature. "I dislike your gambling,"
the Klingon rumbled.
K'Sah ignored the hint. "How could I pass up a sucker bet?" he said. The chitinous tips of his four legs
tapped merrily on the deck. "Besides, Sho's buying you a drink, tOO." "A bet is a bet," Yamato said in
agreement. He signaled one of the bartenders, then looked at Kemal.
She stood at the bar, ordering a drink from Guinan.
"Lieutenant," he wondered, "is Dr. Kemal always this ú.. artless?" "No," Worf said curtly. That was
literally true. She had been on the Enterprise for over a week, and he knew of one occasion on which she
had not stumbled. That had been when she entered his security office today to work on his computer
subsystems. He regretted that he had no witnesses. "Do not accept any more bets on her performance,"
he warned Yamato.
"Yes, sir," Yamato said, and looked at K'Sah. "I thought that bet seemed peculiar," Yamato remarked.
K'Sah clacked his serrated mandibles in mockery.
"Let that be a lesson to you. Never bet against me." Despite his friendly tone his words seemed
threatening.
Worf told himself that must be a false impression. The Pa'uyk world had only recently contacted the
Federa- tion, and no one seemed to have much knowledge of their customs and manners. K'Sah himself
would say nothing useful about his people, even though he was temporarily under Worf's command as an
exchange officer from the Pa'uyk military; K'Sah took the reason- able (to him) position that he was the
one who was to do the observing, not Worf.
A bartender arrived with a tray laden with drinks: synthehol for Yamato, some sort of reeking meat juice
for K'Sah, prune juice for Worfi As the bartender walked away Kemal joined the party at the table. She
was a tall woman whose deep voice matched her robust physique.
She was as dark as a Klingon, showing the mixed European, Asian and African heritage common to
many human colonists. She was also uncommonly strong; Worf had seen her lift a navigation beacon with
her bare hands, a feat that would have tested his strength.
As Astrid sat down Worf saw that her glass was filled with a bright orange liquid. "Sorry I'm late, Worf,"
she said.
Worf gave a noncomittal grunt and took a swallow of prune juice. Its alien biochemicals had a soothing
effect on the Klingon metabolism, and Worf felt his temper subside. "Ensign Yamato, Ensign K'Sah," he
said, nod- ding at his men to introduce them.
His good mood did not last. "Sho's paying for this round, thanks to you," K'Sah said to Astrid. "Those
two left feet of yours are the best money-maker on this ship." Worf growled. "You will cease making
these bets, Ensign." "It's all in fun, Lieutenant," K'Sah said. "Hey, Kemal, why don't you come in again
and give Sho a chance to even the score? I bet you won't trip this time." "Cute, K'Sah," Astrid said in
disdain. She took a sip of her drink, then looked at Yamato. "Your first name is Sho? I'm Astrid. Let me
buy the next round, to make up for that bet." "No fair!" K'Sah protested. "How am I supposed to enjoy
my drink if I can't force someone to pay for it?" He rested the elbow of one of his upper arms on the
table with his hand out, challenging Yamato to arm wrestle.
"Come on. Loser buys the next round." Yamato raised an eyebrow at the spikes that protruded from the
coarse fur on K'Sah's arm. "Didn't you just say I should never bet with you?" "Dullard," the Pa'uyk
sneered. "Are you going to believe everything I tell you? How about you, Asteroid?" Astrid shook her
head. Worf thought she seemed untroubled by a nickname that was clearly meant as a dishonorable
comment upon her size. "I've heard about you. You'll cheat." "Aw, c'mon, human!" K'Sah's faceted eyes
gleamed as if he felt delighted by the accusation. He pushed a bristly arm toward her. "I can fight clean.
Honest!" Worf watched her, idly curious as to whether or not she would accept the challenge. While
human females were not noted for their aggressiveness, he wanted to think that this woman had a certain
degree of spirit.
Equally important, a dozen people had clustered around the table to see what would happen. It had been
bad enough that they had seen Astrid stumble as she entered Ten-Forward. Worf did not want them to
think that he had made the acquaintance of someone who would back away from a challenge.
Astrid glanced at Worf as though reading his mind.
She put her elbow on the table and cautiously clasped K'Sah's chitinous, spiky hand. She let out a slight
grunt of exertion which told Worf that the contest had begun.
"Not bad," K'Sah admitted in a voice that showed no strain. Millimeter by millimeter he pushed her hand
toward the tabletop. "For a human you've got muscle." "Charming, isn't he?" one of the human onlookers
muttered.
"You mean 'obnoxious,'" Worf grumbled. Even by Klingon standards K'Sah was a rude spawn of a
tribble.
K'Sah snickered at Worf. "I love recognition," he said.
With one of his free hands he took Astrid's half-finished drink, poured it into his mouth--and spewed it
out.
"What is this slop?" he demanded, while several onlook- ers backed away from the orange mist.
"Orange juice," Astrid gasped. Her face showed the strain as she fought to keep her hand above the
tabletop.
Worf did not mind that she was about to lose. He honored anyone who would enter battle, even though
defeat seemed inevitable.
"'Orange juice,'" K'Sah repeated in disgust. He tossed the glass aside and looked at their hands. "This is
taking too long," he decided. There was a thump under the table, and Astrid let out a surprised yelp. At
once she shoved K'Sah's hand up and over, and there was a sharp crack as the back of his hand
slammed onto the tabletop.
Astrid released her grip. K'Sah jumped to his feet and clutched at his injured hand with his other three
hands.
While he hopped around the lounge and howled curses in his native language Astrid leaned over and
looked at her lower leg. "Are you hurt?" Worf asked her.
"He... he kicked me in the shin." Worf had never seen anyone who looked so thoroughly flustered. "I
thought he said he'd fight clean." K'Sah glared at her while one of the onlookers, a medical technician,
examined his hand. "I said I could," the Pa'uyk said, speaking through gritted fangs. "I didn't say I would.
Do I look like an idiot?" The technician snorted. "What you look like," he said, "is somebody with a
broken hand. Let's get you to sickbay." K'Sah followed the orderly to the lounge door. He stopped after
a few paces, turned around andlooked at Astrid. "Hey, Kemal," he rasped. "Best two out of three?"
Then the orderly pulled him through the door.
Guinan came to the table with a fresh tray of drinks.
The lounge hostess's smile suggested she shared a won- derful joke with the universe. "I'm putting this on
K'Sah's tab," she said as she handed out the glasses.
"Sake, prune juice, orange juice. That was quite a show," she added, and sat down. "You didn't strain
any mus- cles, did you?" Astrid shook her head. "The truth is, I got lucky. He slipped." "I'll say," Guinan
said. Worf heard the amusement in her voice--and something else, as if she were trying to insinuate a
second meaning into her words.
Astrid ignored her words. She raised her glass and looked at Worf. "Ghlj get jagmeyjaj!" she snarled.
The Klingon words brought a pleased look to his face.
He seldom encountered a human who spoke his language with such flawless pronunciation. Picard and
Riker spoke Klingon, but they always made the language sound, well, polite. "And may your enemies run
with fear," he said, returning the toast. He allowed himself a faint smile. "As K'Sah did." Yamato eyed
Astrid's glass. "'Orange juice'?" "I like orange juice," Astrid said. "And Guinan serves the best I've ever
tasted. I wish I knew how she gets this much flavor out of a replicator." The intercom sounded before
Yamato or Guinan could respond to that. "Lieutenant Worf, please report to the bridge." "On my way,"
he said, standing up.
Worf left the lounge and went to the turbolift outside its door. He thought about Kemal as he rode the
elevator to the bridge. She was strong and healthy, and she handled computer tools with great dexterity.
He did not understand her clumsiness, and he was suspicious of things he did not understand.
The turbolift stopped and Worf stepped onto the bridge. Captain Jean-Luc Picard nodded to Worf as
the security chief went to his post. "We've picked up a distress signal, Lieutenant," the captain said in his
resonant voice. "It's an automated beacon. We'll rendez- vous in fifteen minutes." "Aye, sir," Worf said,
looking at his instruments. "I have the beacon. Getting a sensor lock now." Data, the android systems
officer, left his helm station for the science officer's post. "I am reading signs of a ship, Captain, and
humanoid life-forms." "'Humanoid' covers a lot of ground," Will Riker said.
Enterprise's executive officer pulled thoughtfully at his short dark beard. "Can you get anything more
specific, Data?" "No, sir," Data said. "There is heavy interference from the ship, indicative of a major
reactor accident.
Readings suggest that the reactor core has been jetti- soned." "Hail them, Mr. Worf," Picard said.
Worf sent a general signal, then scowled at his instru~ ments. "No response, sir." "I have an image now,"
Data said.
"Put it on the main viewer," Picard ordered.
"Aye, sir." The main viewscreen at the front of the bridge showed a starfield and a small, elongated ship.
The hazy, unsteady image told of the intense radiation surrounding the vessel. Its slow tumble announced
that it was out of control.
"I don't recognize the configuration," Picard said. He turned to Deanna Troi, who sat at his left hand. "Do
you sense anything, Counselor?" The Betazoid empath nodded. "There's at least one person still alive out
there, Captain," Deanna said.
"He's... annoyed. Very, very annoyed." "'Annoyed'?" Picard raised an eyebrow. "That's a rather mild
reaction to a space disaster." "Unless... perhaps the pilot is a Klingon," Worf said.
"But I don't sense a Klingon," Deanna said. "This is a human, but with a very deliberate, formidable
personali- ty. It's as though whatever happened is merely a nui- sance." "A reactor accident is more than
a nuisance," Picard noted. "Mr. Data, is it safe to transport aboard that ship?" "Not without environment
suits, sir," the android said. "The radiation levels are too high for crew safety. I would suggest beaming
aboard survivors as soon as we are within transporter range." "Make it so," Pieard said. "Mr. Worf, I
want you to supervise the rescue operations. See if the survivor can tell you what happened." "Aye, sir."
Worf touched the intercom control. "Dr.
Crusher, report to transporter room three. Possible radiation injuries." Worf turned toward the turbolift.
Deanna spoke quickly to the captain, then hurried into the elevator with Worf. She waited until the door
ú had slid shut before she spoke. "Something's bothering you, Worf." He growled as the turbolift glided
down its shaft; he disliked his inability to keep secrets from the counselor.
Her large, dark eyes only added to the impression that she could discern his every thought. "Have you
met Dr.
Kemal?" "The cyberneticist?" Deanna shook her head. "I haven't had the pleasure. Why? Do you have a
problem with her?" "I would like to know why she cannot enter a room without falling down," he said. "It
does not fit what I know of her." Deanna smiled. "And that makes you suspicious?" "Everything does,"
Worf said, annoyed that she felt amused by a natural Klingon attitude.
"It's an intriguing point," the counselor said as the turbolift stopped. "I'll see if I can have a few words with
her." Worf nodded and stepped out of the elevator. He walked into transporter room three, where
Beverly Crusher, the ship's chief medical officer, was already present with a pair of orderlies and two
stretchers. "Oh, Worf," she said. "You can't have K'Sah back until tomorrow morning." "Why so long?"
Worf asked.
The doctor brushed a tumble of auburn hair from her face. "Because along with five broken bones and a
shattered wrist-spike he has two torn ligaments, a lace- rated vein, and considerable soft-tissue damage
in his hand and forearm. He won't be fully healed until to- morrow." Worf accepted that with a nod. He
felt pleased that Astrid had done so much damage, even if by accident.
"Is he in much pain?" Crusher shook her head. "No, not anymore." "Pity," Worf said. "Perhaps this will
cure him of gambling." "I wouldn't bet on that," Crusher said, a comment that drew groans from her
orderlies. "He tried to bet Dr.
Par'mit'kon ten credits that he'd be fully healed by midnight." The transporter technician spoke to Worf.
"Lieuten- ant, we're in transporter range of that ship. I've locked on to two survivors; they're sealed into
an escape pod. I can't detect any other life." "Bring them aboard," Worf ordered.
Light shimmered on the round transporter stage, and two men materialized on its surface. One lay flat on
his back, unconscious, while the other knelt by his side. The kneeling man looked around as Dr. Crusher
and her orderlies surged onto the stage. "This must be the Enterprise," he said.
"Good guess," Worf said.
"I'd heard you were operating in the area," the man said, while Dr. Crusher scanned him. "And no other
Federation ship has a Klingon crew member. I'm Gustav Blaisdell, master of the Temenus. This"mhe
gestured at the unconscious manw"is Vlad Dunbar, my navigator." "Are there more survivors aboard
your ship?" Worf asked.
"No, everyone else died." Blaisdell rose to his feet. He was a large man with an olive complexion; Worf
esti- mated that he was two meters tall and massed a hundred kilos, which made him only slightly larger
than the Klingon. He carried a rucksack slung over one shoulder.
"The rest of my crew was beyond my reach, but I got Vlad into an escape pod before the life system
failed." "And just in time," Crusher'said. She injected some- thing into the unconscious man. "Your friend
has a near- lethal amount of tetrazine in his system, and you've both taken a large radiation dose. Let's
get you to sickbay." Dunbar was every bit as massive as his captain, and Crusher needed the help of
Worfand the two orderlies to wrestle him onto a stretcher. One of the orderlies acti- vated its antigrav
suspensors, and they floated Dunbar out into the corridor. Worf walked alongside Blaisdell.
"What was the nature of your accident?" Worf asked.
"I don't know," Blaisdell said.
"You must have some idea," Worf insisted.
Blaisdell shrugged. "Everything just blew." "There was no warning?" Worf asked.
"I heard a few thumps when the power died," Blais- dell said. "After that I was too busy staying alive to
notice much else." "Yet you had the time to gather your luggage," Worf said, eyeing the man's rucksack.
Blaisdell sighed noisily. "It was within reach." "And you did not eject?" "In a short-range pod?" Blaisdell
shook his head.
"Staying with the ship seemed a better idea. We were still drawing power from the emergency system."
"That's enough talk for now," Crusher said firmly.
The group came to a turbolift. Worf remained in the corridor while Crusher and the others crowded into
the lift. "I'll let you know when my patients are ready for questioning, Lieutenant," the doctor said, before
the door slid shut.
Worf scowled at the door. He found Blaisdell to be exactly as Deanna Troi had described him: deliberate
and formidable, and unfazed by his experience.
He was also a liar. Worf felt certain that Blaisdell knew exactly what had happened to his ship, and that it
was no accident.
In Greek mythology Temenus had served the goddess Hera, and that was enough to tell Astrid Kemal
that the ship was from the planet Hera. She sat at the computer terminal in her quarters and viewed
everything she could find about the planet. At five thousand words per minute, the terminal's maximum
display rate, that did not take long. She found nothing useful, however. All of the information on Hera
was consistent and innocuous.
There was nothing she could point out to Worf and say, sir, this proves the Herans are a threat to the
Federation.
That left telling the truth.
Astrid shut down the terminal and closed her eyes. It would be nice to stop lying and hiding, and the
Federa- tion had to know about the Herans. They were geneti- cally engineered supermen. Their average
intelligence was seventy percent higher than human-normal, and their strength and endurance were
superior to that of a Klingon. Their senses and reflexes were just as superior, and they were immune to
all known diseases. They also believed that they had a right to dominate the galaxy; that was why they
had named their world after a mythological goddess of the heavens.
She could see herself explaining that to Worf. He would nod, once, deliberately, and ask her how she
knew this. Then she would have to explain that she and her parents were Heran refugees.
Her parents had warned her what would happen if any of the old humans ever found out what she was,
and the prospect chilled her. A few years ago an Enterprise crew member had been expelled from
Starfleet when it was learned that he was part Romulan, and not part Vulcan as he had claimed.
Compared to what could happen to her, ex-Medical Technician Simon Tarses had been for- tunate.
After four centuries the human race still remem- bered Khan Noonien Singh's conquests, and they feared
that genetic supermen like him would attempt to domi- nate humanity again.
Astrid lay down on her bunk and tried to figure out what to do. Every alternative frightened her.
Chapter Three
"I FEEL LIKE SOMETHING out of an old space opera," Geordi La Forge said as he struggled to climb
into the environment suit. It was a bulky garment, a thick white coverall with a bubble helmet and a
clumsy backpack. It looked like a twentieth-century moon suit, and the Enterprise's chief engineer felt
sorry for anyone who had explored the Moon in anything so hideously uncomfort- able.
Evidently the other members of the away team shared his sentiments. "I'd like to catch the sadist who
designed this monstrosity," Will Riker said, a comment that drew an agreeable growl from Worf and a
sour laugh from Reg Barclay.
"The designers were not sadists," Data said. "They were all members of the Vulcan Science Academy,
and as such possessed well-balanced personalities." "Vulcans," Barclay grumbled. Geordi's assistant
struggled with his suit's backpack. He was a tall man, as thin as a guitar's neck and with nerves
perpetually stretched as tight as a guitar's strings. "It, it figures.
Comfort is illogical." "Let's get this over with," Geordi said. He closed his helmet and checked the tiny
readouts in front of his chin.
They showed normal, which was reassuring, as was the faint susurration of air inside the glass bubble.
What the engineer saw through the glass did not reassure him. Geordi had been blind since birth, and his
vision came through a wraparound gold VISOR. The sensors built into his VISOR allowed him to sense
almost the entire electromagnetic spectrum, along with a variety of esoteric radiations--few of which were
trans- mitted by the helmet. The radiation-proof glass would pass only the so-called visible portion of the
spectrum, and Geordi felt crippled by the sudden limitation of his sight.
Well, he thought, if other people can live with this, so can I.
The away team stepped onto the transporter stage.
Riker gestured to the technician, and a moment later they materialized in a narrow corridor on board the
Temenus. The air was filled with smoke, and the only light came from the blue glow of emergency lamps.
The artificial gravity was still operating, but at one-tenth normal. The feeble tug made Geordi feel giddy.
Geordi whistled at his readouts. "It's pretty hot in here," he said. "Ten minutes would kill an unprotected
human--call it ten minutes and five seconds for a Klingon," he added, unable to resist teasing Worf. "Let's
see if we can find a purge system." "We should find the proper controls in the engineering section," Data
said. He walked to one end of the corridor, which was blocked by a sliding door. The door did not
respond when he tried its control pad, but it slid aside when he pushed it. Geordi was glad for the
android's enormous physical strength.
The door admitted the away team to the ship's engi- neering section. "Nice," Geordi said as he looked
around. Temenus wasn't much more than a starfaring yacht, but her reactor and warp unit reflected a
brilliant sense of design. "Very nice." Riker chuckled. "You sound like a man in love." "Just about,"
Geordi conceded. He found a control station, and in a moment he had an emergency power system
on-line. The main lights came on and the control panels lit up. "I'll need an hour to purge all the radiation
and coolant from the life support system," he told Riker, "but that shouldn't be a problem." "Good."
Geordi saw Riker's suited form twist around.
"Riker to Dr. Crusher. We have three bodies here." "Understood," Beverly Crusher answered. "I'll per-
form autopsies after you've secured that ship." Geordi looked at the nearest body on the deck. The
intense radiation and tetrazinc coolant had done a lot of damage to the corpse, which barely retained a
humanoid shape. "I think a postmortem would be pointless," Geordi said. "The remains are pretty badly
burned." On his way to a control station, Barclay gingerly stepped around one of the bodies as though
fearing it might rise up and grab him.
Data accessed the ship's computer while Geordi and Barclay began the life system purge. It was
hopelessly dead. The android found the flight data recorder, opened it and removed its synthetic diamond
cartridge, which he scanned with his tricorder. "There are no indications of impending trouble in the
recorder," Data stated. "The primary, secondary and emergency reactor cooling systems all failed
simultaneously, and without warning." "They had three critical failures in the space of a few seconds?"
Riker asked in disbelief. "Impossible." "No," Worf said. He had climbed atop the warp coil casing. He
gestured to Geordi, then pointed to the cabin ceiling. "Sabotage." Geordi followed Worf's gesture and
whistled in awe.
Three separate units nestled amid the piping had small, blackened holes carved in their shells. "I see what
you mean. Shaped charges?" "Yes," Worf said. "This is the work of an expert." "I'd like to know the
motive," Riker mused. Geordi saw him raise his hand to his helmet, as if to stroke his beard. The glass
bubble blocked him. He looked at a hard-copy instruction manual on a work shelf. "'SS.
Temenus, Hurran Institute of Astronautics.' There's no 'Hurra' in the Federation, is there?" "Heera,
Commander," Data corrected. "The name is Greek, and that language employs the long 'eta' form of the
letter e rather than the short 'epsilon.' There is an independent, human-colonized world by that name at
coordinates--" "Okay," Geordi said. It was only coincidence that Hera was the name of his mother's ship,
still missing in space and presumed destroyed, but the coincidence stirred uncomfortable memories of the
loss. "Data, does the log say anything about the ship's mission?" Data consulted the computer station.
"The Temenus departed Hera eight days ago on a mission to Aldebaran Two to purchase computer
components." "At Aldebaran?" Barclay asked in surprise. "W-why not Benzar? It's a lot closer, and, and
it's the place for computers. Aldebaran is just a b-big shipyard." "You are correct," Data said. "However,
the log mentions one Khortasi, a Ferengi sales agent with an office located adjacent to the New
Aberdeen Naval Yard." Geordi chuckled. More often than not, "Ferengi sales agent" meant "fence." "So
Blaisdell may have been shopping for stolen computer components." "That is the most likely explanation,"
Data agreed.
Riker snorted in contempt. "This entry smells like a cover story. Nobody records criminal activity in their
ship's log." "Indeed," Worf rumbled. "I will discuss this with Captain Blaisdell."
Deanna Troi smiled as Astrid Kemal bumbled into the doorway of the counselor's office. As Deanna had
ex- pected, the young woman's clumsiness was an act.
Deanna thought she had already guessed the reason behind it.
Deanna had a desk in her office, but it was hidden in a comer and almost lost between two exuberant
potted ferns. She did her real work sitting on the comfortable chairs that dominated the floor. She sat on
one now, and as Astrid entered the office Deanna gestured for her to take a seat. Deanna's empathic
sense told her how uneasy Astrid felt in her presence. "You wanted to see me, Counselor?" the
cyberneticist asked.
"Lieutenant Worf asked me to see you." Deanna held a versina paperweight in her hand. As Astrid slid
into her seat Deanna chucked the glittering green crystal straight at her. Astrid's hand snapped out as she
摘要：

StarTrek:TheNextGenerationInfiltrator#42ChapterOne"THAT'STHESHIP,"MariaSukhoitoldherhusband.Shepointedtothewhiteneedleonthespaceport'sflightpad."TheTemenus.Itlaunchesineighthours."Leenodded."Eighthours.Theychangedtheirplan.Doyouthinktheysuspect?"Mafiashookherhead.Themidnightairhadmadeherblackhairdam...

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