The Oppressor's Wrong (12 page)

As he knelt down he noticed similarities between this damage and the one in Antwerp. Of course a conference hall was by no means a starbase, but it was the only thing he had to work with.

With the tricorder out he changed the frequencies,
doing methodical scans for the one organic thing he needed.

“Looking for the key?” Abidah said as he knelt down beside Daniels.

He nodded. “That among other things.”

“Any luck?”

Daniels checked the tricorder. “No. Not so much. But then it took several days of analyzing debris to find the key the first time in Antwerp. And then we found it only by a fluke.” He looked at Abidah, noticed the man's black eyes. “I'd been scanning for organic residue, as most of the people caught in the blast—” He stopped and sighed. “There wasn't much left.”

“So you actually found it in the lab?”

“Yes.” Daniels started his tricorder again as he concentrated on the outer ring of the indentation. “So far all the other elements are present, though in trace amounts.”

“But it's the Dominion, right?”

“The evidence might point in that direction,” Daniels said. “But I'm not convinced yet.” He watched Abidah. Was it his own cynicism or was this young man overly enthusiastic about finding the key? He blurted out, “I'm still looking for the second bomb.”

He didn't know why he said it—maybe it was to test
a theory he'd been rolling around in his mind, ever since he saw the botched communication logs. Only a few people actually had access to the sort of terminal codes needed to do that kind of snipping.

The admiral, the commander-turned-captain, and the chief of operations.

The lieutenant's reaction was interesting. Instead of looking simply surprised or impressed as most people had when he and Sage presented this theory, Abidah looked irritated.

“Two bombs? Nobody said anything about two bombs.”

“It's just a theory.” Daniels narrowed his eyes as he watched the lieutenant, deciding against telling him the truth, that there had been only one.

Abidah gave a short sigh, excused himself, and left.

Daniels pursed his lips. That was odd.

Data entered the area, his tricorder in hand. “We have completed the scans of the immediate area. I suggest continuing out to perhaps twenty meters in all directions so that we can give the computer full parameters.”

“I agree.” He held his tricorder over the darker, larger samples of charred—something—and frowned at his readings. “That's interesting.”

“What?” Data asked.

But Daniels was shaking his head. “I don't want to
say yet. I'm eager to get back and start analyzing it, but I need to take a look at the areas near the hull damage.”

Data nodded. “Do not forget our scheduled session tonight.” The android beamed. “I have something to show you.”

Daniels nodded slowly. “I'll be there.”

Once Data left, Daniels gathered his things and picked his way through the beams of debris and chunks of ceiling to the farthest wall. The placement of the bomb was interesting to him, as it seemed to make no sense.

Bombs were normally placed where they wouldn't be detected and where they would cause the greatest damage. Or if there was a specific target involved, as there obviously had been in Antwerp, a bomb was specially designed, placed, and calculated for a contained space.

Wide dispersion.

Controlled precision.

And on cursory examination, this bomb achieved neither of those objectives. It had been placed too far away from the reactor to actually do any damage to it, in a room closest to the exterior walls of the starbase where it had caused hull damage. No vital systems were around it. This was one of the least populated areas of the starbase.

He stood in the center of the area, his hands on his hips as he looked around. Something was very wrong with all this: the blackout on Earth, the subsequent firing on the
Enterprise
that conveniently put her sensors out of commission.

And the admiral's death.

“What systems were here that would possibly interest the admiral?” he muttered aloud.

“Perhaps he was checking on the reactor.”

The voice startled Daniels. He had his phaser in his hand and bent into a defensive crouch in a fraction of a second.

Captain Snowden stood nearby, his hands out to his sides. He wore a formal uniform, more fitting for a Starfleet captain than the commander of a starbase. He also looked tired, as if he hadn't been getting much sleep. His movements were jerky, less fluid than Daniels had noticed before.

“Captain,” Daniels said. “I didn't realize you were down here. It might be better if you remained on deck twenty-six. Safer.”

“This is my starbase, Lieutenant, and I'll go where I wish to go.”

This answer seemed abrupt and uncalled for, but Daniels held his tongue as he reholstered his phaser. “I'm sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“None taken.” He clasped his hands behind his back
and looked around. “You are Lieutenant Patrick Daniels, right? The security officer on Travec's bomb team?”

Daniels nodded, not bothering to correct the man's pronunciation of his name.

“Why are you back here? Isn't the blast back that way?”

“I didn't know you were so knowledgeable about bomb detonation, Captain,” Daniels said. He hadn't meant for it to sound condescending, but that was sure as hell the way it came out.

“It doesn't take an expert to figure that out, Mr. Daniels. A meter that way is where the worst damage is. Which is why I ask again—why are you back here?”

Something in his tone alarmed Daniels, and he made sure he had his phaser secured. “I'm looking at all angles.”

“Are you looking for another bomb?”

Daniels started. “Sir?”

“Another bomb. You told Abidah there were two bombs at Antwerp. Why wasn't that knowledge made accessible to key members of the Federation? Especially Starfleet? And just because there isn't a second bomb here doesn't mean this isn't the work of the Dominion.”

“Sir, I never said definitively that there were two
bombs, nor have I ever said this wasn't the work of the Dominion. But I have my doubts.”

“You
will
tell Picard this is the work of the Dominion,” Snowden said as he abruptly advanced on Daniels. He was several centimeters taller and loomed over Daniels, who took a few steps back.

“Sir …” Daniels swallowed. In all his years of service he had never been in a situation where he felt threatened by a fellow Starfleet officer.

Until now.

“Captain Snowden, I can't lie if I don't feel there really is a Dominion threat here. And as the evidence stands—” He held up his hands, his tricorder in one, the other empty and free to go for his phaser if need be. “I don't see any valid connection other than circumstantial.”

Snowden took another step closer. Daniels stepped back, aware that the starbase's newly repaired bulkhead was less than a centimeter behind him. “I think you've done enough damage here, interfering with the security measures of this installation. Wasting my time and Captain Picard's. You were supposed to be under
my
command, not his.” He took another step forward. “But you used your special skills to stay on board the
Enterprise.”

Daniels narrowed his eyes in reaction to something
Snowden had said. “Your command, sir? I thought I was supposed to be under Hahn's command.”

Snowden balled his hands into fists. “I was told you removed a padd from this area after the blast. That was evidence, and I want it returned.”

“Padd?” Daniels looked away. His memories of that day were still blurry, which Dr. Crusher had said would happen. He remembered seeing Abidah's face shift, but even that had moved more into the realm of dreams. “I'm sorry, sir, but I don't remember—”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Snowden took another step closer.

Daniels bumped into the bulkhead. He fought the urge to draw his phaser.

“Is there a problem here?” came a familiar and arrogant voice from behind Snowden.

Snowden stiffened, though his gaze continued to linger on Daniels. “No, Commander Travec. I was having a word with Lieutenant Daniels.” Snowden stepped back. “Remember what I said, Lieutenant.” He turned and picked his way out of the area.

Once he was gone, Travec moved closer to Daniels. “Are you all right?”

“Travec.” Daniels shook his head and put his hand to his chest. He felt his heart thumping against his chest. “I've never been so happy to see you.”

“What was he upset about? Was he threatening you?”

Daniels took in several deep breaths and stared at Travec. During his weeks with the Tellarite he'd never heard the creature show or even pretend to care about anybody else but himself. So he was more than surprised to think Travec was actually worried.

But … “I'm not sure,” Daniels said. “It felt like a threat. He seemed very upset that I was under the impression this wasn't a closed case of Dominion involvement.”

Travec nodded. “You are sure of that assessment?”

Daniels nodded. “I want to look at what we've gathered today, go over it with you, and then present it to Captain Picard. Because honestly, Travec, I'm not sure this isn't more paranoia than truth.”

*   *   *

Sifting through the debris took a lot longer than expected, and it was late in the day before Travec's team returned to the
Enterprise
along with La Forge's engineers.

Daniels and Sage worked long enough in the holodeck to upload the data before Daniels stifled a third yawn. Even Sage looked droopy as his ears sagged down to either side of his head.

Calling it a night, Daniels yawned for the fifth time
as he made his way to his guest quarters. He'd cut his own participation in painting short due to lack of concentration, and Data had agreed. The android had also seemed oblivious to Daniels's presence, as his Spot painting was now consuming him.

As it should.

Though Data's remark about practicing making things perfect had sounded odd.

“Huff to Daniels.”

He paused. What was Huff doing up so late? She was alpha shift. He tapped his combadge. “This is Daniels. Althea—what are you doing up?”

“Looking for Ensign Lynch. Have you seen him?”

Daniels thought about the big burly ensign. That was a man that would be hard to misplace. “No, I haven't seen him since lunch today. You check with the computer?”

“The computer says he's in his quarters, but when I checked, there was no answer. He was going to fill in for one of the beta-shift ensigns but hasn't shown up.”
She sighed.
“And I know he seems to like hanging around with you or Porter.”

That was true. Which wasn't bad. He liked Tim.

“If you see him, tell him he's in hot water.”

Daniels smiled. Yawned. He opened the door to his quarters, a place he believed would be temporary, and stepped inside. “Lights.”

He took in the overturned chairs, the uniforms pulled from the closet and dumped on the floor, the picture of Siobhan facedown near the bathroom, and the overwhelming feeling he wasn't alone.

His training kicked in and he had his phaser in his hand—but not fast enough.

Someone knocked at his right hand, causing him to release the weapon. It fell and skittered across the floor toward the foot of the bed. Daniels heard the shuffle of a boot on the carpet, pinpointed its location, and bent down to avoid being grabbed or struck. He then balled his right hand into a fist, pushed it into his left palm and drove his right elbow hard to the right and behind him. It struck something solid, and Daniels was pleased to hear the sound of wind being knocked out of his opponent's lungs.

He glimpsed the intruder bent over—and wearing a Starfleet uniform. So as not to lose momentum, he turned to the right and brought his left knee up hard and into the other's face.

Stepping back, he tapped his combadge. “Daniels to securi—”

The intruder charged, tackling him and forcing him backward into the bulkhead. The impact forced the air from his own lungs as the back of his head hit the metal. Stunned, he gasped for air as he tried to avoid the blow he knew was coming. The intruder's fist
struck his cheek, jarring his teeth. Stars glittered in front of his eyes before he dropped, his back sliding down the wall, and his opponent connected his next blow with the bulkhead.

Daniels tried to take in a deep breath as he pushed himself up and drove his shoulder into the intruder's midsection. The intruder fell backward with Daniels on top of him.

He saw his phaser to his right, just out of arm's reach. But when he looked back at his opponent, ready to strike again, he froze.

He was looking into the face of Ensign Lynch.

The pause was enough for Lynch to deliver another stinging blow to the side of Daniels's head. The force knocked him off the security guard's chest, and he hit the foot of his bed. He tried to reach for the phaser, but Lynch turned and grabbed it.

Daniels watched as Lynch stood and scrambled away backward, the phaser held out in front of him. Daniels was breathing hard, and his chest was on fire, not to mention his head ached … again.

He watched Lynch move back, his eyes wide, his head moving from side to side like a caged animal. If there was one thing Daniels was certain of, this was not Timothy Lynch. Yes, he'd hit his head again, but he wasn't suffering from a concussion this time.

This was a shape-shifter.

“Where is it?” the imposter Lynch said as he shook the phaser at Daniels.

“Where is what?” Daniels moved slowly into a standing position, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. “What is it you're looking for?”

But even as they stood facing one another, Daniels found himself studying every nuance of the shape-shifter's appearance. There were subtle differences between this man and the real Lynch, particularly in height and build.