The Oppressor's Wrong (14 page)

Picard narrowed his eyes. “I'm sorry, Admiral?”

“The bomb was set by a shape-shifter. There is enough evidence to convince the Federation in this report. Commander Travec, I'd like for you and your team to report back to Earth, where I can use your expertise in the field. Captain Picard, please prepare for departure from
Starbase 375.
I'll be mobilizing the fleet in two days, and I'd like to have the
Enterprise
at the forefront.”
He smiled.
“Well done. Leyton out.”

Snowden stood, his look of smug satisfaction turning Daniels's stomach. “It appears the admiral sides with me. We still have a shape-shifter on this vessel, or on my starbase. I would appreciate it if your people would see to its capture.” With that he left the observation lounge with his security guards and Abidah behind him.

Everyone looked stunned. Except for Travec, who looked as if he were about to explode. “How—” the Tellarite had his hooflike hands balled into fists. “How can he possibly do that? Declare this is a Dominion threat when the evidence points to a copycat?”

“I'm no more happy about this than you, Commander.” Picard stood and moved behind his chair. “Mr. Daniels, call up the schematics you included in your report.”

Daniels touched a panel on the padd before him, linked it to the lounge‘s main viewer, and called up the image. Picard turned and viewed the wireframe tactical display. “We know from the starbase records and Mr. Abidah's testimony that Hahn was here when the news of the blackout reached him and Snowden. Then the bomb was detected. According to Snowden, the admiral left him in control while he took a contingent of security guards to the area to look for the bomb. Then he abruptly disappeared from the sensors.”

“And he's not seen again until we find him in the wreckage,” Riker said.

Picard turned to look at him, and then at the others. “So where are the security guards he took with him? There's been no more mention of them.”

Daniels's eyes widened. He glanced at Sage. Picard was right. And their analysis of the area uncovered only the admiral's body and DNA.

Picard turned to face them. “Number One, I need you to go back over to the starbase and do a little more interviewing with any officers or enlisted personnel
who were in ops that night. I want to question those security officers.”

“Why don't we just ask Snowden to volunteer those names?” Riker said.

“Because I don't believe he'll cooperate,” Picard said. “Mr. Daniels, Mr. t'Saiga, Mr. Travec, I want to know what happened down there. Take another look at the area with as fine a scan as you can—with no interference from Snowden's people. Mr. La Forge, take Porter and Barclay and initiate another thorough sensor sweep of the starbase.” He put his hands on the back of his chair and looked at each of them. “Eric Hahn was a good friend of mine. I owe it to him to discover how he died, and why.” He looked at the illuminated conference table, but Daniels knew the man wasn't really seeing it. “Even if I don't like the answer.”

“W
hat exactly were you trying to prove back there?”

He watched Admiral Leyton on the viewscreen dress down Snowden as he and Snowden stood in the captain's private office on Starbase 375. He was silently afraid he was next for a demotion.

He had failed at his mission objective. Secure the
Enterprise
and her captain at all costs.

The admiral had even sent a bomb specialist team to give the mission a bit of verisimilitude. And even they had drawn the conclusion that the evidence wasn't enough.

So many mistakes. He wasn't an explosives specialist. He wasn't even a real soldier. But he was loyal. He
believed in the admiral and what he knew was a real threat from the Dominion.

“I was trying to discredit Daniels.”

“Really?”
Leyton's tone was even. Frightening.
“So you wanted to make fun of the man I endorsed? My, my, Ishmael—who are you really trying to make a fool of? Him or me?”

Snowden remained silent.

“Well, not all is lost,”
Leyton said in a casual tone.
“I'll instruct Picard to depart, as I've already set that in motion. Before he leaves, I want Nomine to set the second bomb in the ship's engine room—as close to the warp core as possible.”

Nomine's eyes widened. He could feel the waves of surprise emanating from Snowden. “Sir?”

“We can't let Picard's attitude infect the rest of the fleet. I'm having to deal with my own little thorn here—and luckily I've been able to neutralize him. I intend on doing the same to the
Enterprise.”

“Admiral,” Snowden said slowly, “you're talking about destroying the
Enterprise.”

“Not destroy her—simply wound her. You see, Ishmael, this is why I'm here, and you're there. The
Enterprise
is the fleet's pride and joy, and Picard has his rather colorful if not respectable service record. Now, how do you suppose the Federation itself would react if the Dominion crippled the flagship?”

Oh no.
He held his tongue, bit his lower lip. This was madness. It was insane.

“Ishmael, remember what I told you about the chain of command. We must follow it at all costs. You have your orders.”

Snowden straightened in his chair. “I can see your point.”

“Get the job done, gentlemen. Your ship is on its way, Snowden. Leyton out.”

Even before the screen had darkened, Nomine was leaning forward on Snowden's desk, his hands planted on the smooth surface. “We can't do this, Captain. It's unreasonable.”

“I realize it sounds like that now,” Snowden admitted. “But as Leyton has always taught me, we must all follow the chain of command. The crippling of the
Enterprise
will cement the Federation's support of martial law. There will be outrage and a call to arms. I can see where the admiral is going with this.”

“But all those lives?”

Snowden glared at him as if seeing him for the first time. “If you don't think you can carry out your mission, soldier, perhaps I should do it myself?”

“No.” He stepped back. “No, sir. I can do it. I
will
do it.”

“Good. Now get back on board that ship and plant
the bomb. And if anyone gets in your way, eliminate them.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded to his superior officer, turned on his heel, and walked through the door, his head filled with a cacophony of mixed emotions while his heart rose higher and higher into his chest and threatened to choke him.

*   *   *

Riker's interviews on the starbase failed to turn up anything new. And as for discovering anything else in the rubble, Daniels and Sage did little more than upset the delicate constitution of Snowden, who did keep a discreet distance from Travec.

After a simple dinner and a light concerto concert in the lounge, Daniels met Data in the art sciences studio, his first visit in nearly a week.

As he sat down, he realized Data had asked the computer to play a pleasant violin piece—not one that he recognized. He peered with curiosity at the android, who was happily painting away at his own easel.

Though the music was relaxing, he was having trouble getting past the odd attitude of Admiral Leyton, as well as the over-the-top reactions of Snowden.

It's like he's overcompensating for something. Putting on a show of some kind.

And as for finding out the reason for Hahn's presence at ground zero—

“I'm missing something.”

Data stopped painting and peered out from behind his easel. “Do you require a new paintbrush?”

Daniels realized with a start that he'd loaded his brush several minutes ago but had yet to apply it to the canvas. “I'm sorry, Data. With everything we've found—the logs, Admiral Hahn's disappearance and then reappearance—we're still no closer than we were before. I'm feeling frustrated.”

“I too am experiencing that same emotion of late.” Data set his brush down and came to stand to the right of Daniels's easel. “Much of what I see in my mind is not what my hand is painting. This is adding to my frustration as I start over. I have now used sixty-seven canvases since starting my portrait of Spot.”

“Data.” Daniels blinked at him, his mouth open. “You've used how many canvases?”

“Sixty-seven. I am on my sixty-eighth tonight.”

Daniels set his brush down and moved off the stool. “Show me.” He followed Data to a stack of discarded canvases in the back of the room, neatly tucked out of the way—or as out of the way as sixty-seven twenty-by-forty canvases could be.

With a glance at the android, Daniels knelt down beside the stack and pulled one of them toward him.

An orange tabby cat leaned back in the picture, licking himself. Daniels tried not to laugh because in truth the stroke quality and precision were incredible even if the subject was a bit—quirky. He pulled another one out. Same image, only with different hues and stroke patterns. With a sigh he pulled canvases at random and looked. All of them were the same image.

An orange tabby cat, its right back leg thrust into the air, its head bent down in front.

Daniels laughed the first good laugh he'd experienced in weeks.

“Why are you laughing?” Data frowned, looking from the paintings to Daniels. “See? I have failed. These were not meant to incur humor.”

Daniels put a hand to his chest as he laughed and then wiped at the tears in his eyes. “But, Data …” He gave a wide smile. “These are
great.
I don't know about meaning to make them humorous, but you did. Why—why did you pick this pose to paint?”

“It was the pose I saw in my head when I closed my eyes.” He leaned his head to his left shoulder, toward Daniels, and grinned. “It is also her favorite position.”

“Data, you do realize what Spot's doing, right?”

And then Data joined in the laughter as Daniels picked out several canvases and lined them up against
the well shelf. He couldn't believe the android had painted a series of a cat cleaning herself.

“T'Saiga to Daniels.”

“Daniels here.”

“Do you have a sec? I have something you should see in engineering.”

“I'll be right there,” Daniels said.

“I will continue my series.” Data turned and ambled back to his painting.

Daniels found Sage ensconced with La Forge and Travec in the far corner of engineering at one of the diagnostic consoles. The latter leaned up as he approached. “We might have found what it was the shape-shifter was looking for.”

Sage nodded from where he sat in front of the console. “About a week ago Lynch handed me a padd he said was yours. I left it in the holodeck and earlier today Travec here got frustrated with it.”

“It was broken,” Travec said, his hoofs on his hips. “I was in need of a working padd and it was—as you so often say, Mr. t'Saiga—giving me fits.”

Daniels smirked at Travec.

Sage glanced at the ceiling, his golden eyes bright, his ears twitching. “After he threw it at me, I noticed carbon scoring and something dark smeared on the back of it. So I gave it to Dr. Crusher for analysis.”

La Forge nodded. “It was blood.”

“Hahn's blood?”

“Yes,” La Forge said. “But she also found Betazoid blood.”

Daniels frowned. “I don't recall there being a Betazoid registered on the station. Did Crusher pull a DNA match?”

“Yep,” Sage said as he pulled up a standard Starfleet profile sheet. “Bael Nomine. A third-year cadet at Starfleet Academy. Specializing in holographic technology and a member of Red Squad.”

“Red Squad?” Daniels mouthed the name. It wasn't familiar. “Never heard of it. Is it some special degree or classification?”

“No, it's evidently some sort of elite cadet group,” La Forge said. “That's what the captain knew about it.”

Daniels ran a hand through his hair. “Besides that, why would a damaged padd have this Bael Nomine's blood on it? And why would a shape-shifter want it?”

“Might be because of this.” Sage held up a scuffed green isolinear chip.

Daniels took it and looked at it. “It's not coded.”

“No,” La Forge said. “Which leads us to believe it's a personal memory chip. I could see it inside the padd with my VISOR, jammed in on top of the padd's original memory.”

“Someone hid it there.” Daniels smiled. “You think Hahn did it?”

“Well, the chip has Hahn's blood on it,” La Forge said.

“Have you been able to read it?”

“Not yet. The chip was damaged in the explosion, though the padd was a great place to hide it.”

Daniels closed the chip in his hand. “I'm going to gamble that Hahn hid it, and the shape-shifter was after it. There's something on this chip he doesn't want discovered.”

“We'll keep trying to pull the data off,” Sage said.

“Do you need the chip back?”

La Forge pursed his lips. “No, I've made a backup of what we've got. I'm afraid I damaged it in the process.”

An idea was forming in Daniels's head—a way to bring the shape-shifter into the open. “Mind if I borrow this?”

*   *   *

Daniels turned left down the hall, the chip in his hand along with the damaged padd. He called ahead to Porter and Barclay, who were still conducting a full-spectrum scan of the starbase.

“Anything turn up yet?”

“No,” Porter said after a drawn-out pause. “That
ghost image is back again, though. Barclay's trying to pinpoint it.”

“I'd keep checking. I have to grab something in my quarters and I'll be right there.” His plans were to send out a personal message to Sahvisha at the DPO to ask him about clearing data from a damaged isolinear chip, one he'd found inside of a padd. Daniels figured if the shape-shifter was watching them for it, then he'd be monitoring communications as well.