The Oppressor's Wrong (9 page)

Daniels took in a deep breath and abruptly coughed. He was on his right side, his head pressed up against something hard.

“Hold still,” Data said from above.

The pressure on his chest eased and he could move. Daniels pulled at the bulkhead debris surrounding him. His head throbbed with each cough.

“The tricorder is picking up Admiral Hahn's combadge several meters ahead. Mr. La Forge has also informed me there is a hull breach exactly ten meters in that same direction. The force field shielding it is weakening.”

Daniels managed to push himself up into a sitting position.

Data knelt down beside him. “How do you feel?”

He blinked at Data several times. His vision blurred and he put his hand to the right side of his forehead. His fingers came away wet and sticky. “Like I was hit by a bulkhead.”

“That is a very accurate approximation of what happened. Mr. Lynch and I appear to have sustained less
damage. Mr. Niles is unresponsive, and Lieutenant Huff has a broken leg as well as probable internal injuries.”

Daniels nodded, tried to push himself up. The beam he was using for leverage gave way with a loud crash, but Data stood and pulled him upright by his arm. Once he could stand without wobbling, Daniels said, “We need to beam them to sickbay.”

“The
Enterprise
is unable to lock onto our signals. There is still an inhibitor working.”

Daniels frowned at Data. “But how is that possible? The bomb went off. That means it's emanating from a different location in the station.”

Data nodded. “That would be my conclusion.”

Daniels looked around for his bag. He spotted the edge of it in the spot where he'd landed. With a groan he leaned over, grabbed a chunk of debris, and pulled the bag to him. “Here.” He reached inside and took out three isolinear tags. “Let”—He put the back of his hand to his forehead and blinked again. Data's face swam in front of him. “Let Chief Mun Ying know to lock onto the frequency forty-four megahertz.”

Data nodded and contacted the transporter chief. Within seconds he heard the buzz of a transporter. Data and Lynch returned.

“You should beam to sickbay as well,” Data said.

Daniels pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder
and shook his head. “You said you located Admiral Hahn's combadge, and I need to get close to the blast center and collect samples. If the hull gives, any evidence could be swept into space.” He picked his way clear of the debris and looked to see Lynch standing several meters away, his phaser rifle in his hand. Instinctively Daniels looked down for his own weapon and found it on the floor. Slowly he leaned over to retrieve it, the motion making him nauseous. When he straightened he looked at Lynch.

Lynch preceded Daniels and Data around the corner. They moved carefully over bits and chunks of bulkhead, metal, and circuitry. A blast of cooling fluid sprayed a mist of white to their left as they passed by.

When they reached the end of the corridor, Lynch turned to the left and stopped.

Daniels and Data paused beside him, their gazes riveted to the mangled bulkhead to their left.

And the masculine human hand that protruded from the center of it all.

My God.

Data moved forward and gently placed his thumb and middle finger against the wrist. He paused and then looked back at Daniels. He gave a single head shake.

Dead.

“I am afraid it is Admiral Hahn.”

“Picard to Data. Dr. Crusher's treating the wounded. Commander Riker and his team are on their way to your location. Commander Snowden is accompanying them with two of his own security personnel. Any luck finding the admiral?”

Daniels glanced at Data before he tapped his own combadge. “Daniels here, sir. Yes, sir, we've found the admiral. It looks as if he was caught in the blast.”

He looked back at the debris, ducked his head beneath collapsed beams as he stepped gingerly over blasted and broken bits of plastic and circuitry. The door to the reactor room was two meters to his right, around the corner.

Reaching into his bag, he retrieved his own tricorder and began scanning the structural damage to the hall where the admiral had perished. It was hard to make out the exact center of the blast, but from the scans on his tricorder, it looked as if the blast was at a safe distance from the reactor.

Daniels frowned at the tricorder as the readouts blurred. He put his hand to the bridge of his nose. Blinking, he looked past the device to the floor. Just to the right he saw the edge of a padd, still activated.

Closing the tricorder and dropping it into the bag, he grabbed hold of the closest dislodged girder and bent to retrieve the padd.

Footsteps echoed around them. Lynch moved to
stand in front of Daniels and Data, shielding them from anyone approaching. Daniels had his phaser out as well, the padd in his right hand.

Riker appeared first, then the salt-and-pepper head of Commander Snowden. They were flanked by two of the starbase security members and three of Huff's people.

“It's us.” Riker narrowed his eyes at Daniels. “Why aren't you back on board the—”

“Commander,” Data interrupted. He nodded to the body.

Riker's gaze moved to the debris and the protruding arm, as well as the red piping around the edge of the sleeve. His shoulders dropped, and Daniels was surprised at the intense emotion in the commander's expression. He was obviously upset by the find, but his self-control returned as he turned a hardened look at Data, Daniels, and Lynch. “The explosion damaged several of the internal environmental systems on this deck and the one below. The starbase's power couplings are fused on the upper decks.”

“Meaning the shields protecting us could go at any minute,” Snowden interrupted. “We need to get back to a safer deck and beam out of here.”

Riker turned an angry face toward him. “I'm not leaving the admiral's body here to be blown out into
space if those shields go. We're going to carry him to a possible beam-out point.”

“Commander.” Daniels reached inside his bag and pulled out an isolinear tag and held it up. “We can use one of these. The
Enterprise
has the beaming frequency and is standing by.”

Riker gave him a grim nod. “Proceed.”

One of the starbase security officers stepped forward and took one. He moved to the admiral and attached it to his sleeve. Data contacted Chief Mun Ying, and the admiral was beamed out.

Daniels looked down at the padd in his hand. The readouts on it were garbled, and he thumbed a few of the lower controls. Nothing helped—it was as if the screen were reading two files at the same time.

Either that, or his vision had blurred again. Daniels was acutely aware of a throbbing behind his eyes. He needed to get back to the ship.

“Okay, people,” Riker said. “We need to be moving out of this area and up to deck twenty-six. There we can beam back to ops.”

“Sir,” the security officer said as he stepped closer to Daniels. “Where did you get that?”

There was something in the tone of the man's voice that triggered several of Daniels's internal warnings—it was a voice that spoke of possession and reclamation.

The security officer reached out for the padd, but Daniels moved away. “It's mine,” he lied, but he wasn't sure why.

But the lieutenant stepped even closer, and as he did the emergency lights revealed his face in full.

Daniels froze.

It was like looking at a ghost from his past. The face was that of a man he knew he'd never see again. As he stood rooted to the spot, his gaze locked with the officer's, Daniels took in the man's uniform. The gray turtleneck, smudged along one side. The scuffed jacket. The rip in the left sleeve.

He looked at the officer's face as he reached up to touch his own. Felt the slick perspiration from the heat generated by the blast, held in close confinement by the shields. He felt the heat intensely inside the thick, two-layered uniform.

But this man—this ghost—wasn't perspiring.

And there wasn't a speck of dust on his face. No dirt. No soot.

After dropping the padd into his bag, Daniels had his phaser up and aimed at the man's chest. “Stay right there—don't come any closer.”

“Mr. Daniels,” Riker said, his tone coarse. “What the hell are you doing?”

“This man is a Changeling, sir,” Daniels said. “I
know his face—he died on board the
Odyssey.
He's wearing the face of Lieutenant Jonathan DeNoux.”

“Put down that weapon, Mr. Daniels,” Snowden said. The panic evident earlier in his suggestion to flee was gone, replaced by irritation. “That's Jonas Abidah, my chief of operations.”

Daniels and the imposter stared at one another.

“Mr. Daniels,” Riker said. “I order you to stand down. Snowden passed Mr. Abidah himself. I saw the blood screening.”

“Screenings can be faked, sir,” Daniels said. His vision blurred for a second, and he couldn't hear what Snowden was saying over the roar in his ears.

“—obviously wounded and not in his right mind. Look,” Snowden said. “He's shaking.”

The commander was right. Daniels was shivering, and he knew it was shock. He'd seen it a hundred times himself in his career in security.

“… calm down, sir,” Riker was saying. “Mr. Daniels—”

The imposter's body wavered in front of him.

“… medical attention. We need to
leave,”
Snowden was saying.

Daniels's vision blurred again and the imposter's features shifted. Bent. Changed.

But so subtly. Daniels blinked. Abruptly the man's face was different. Still the same mocha skin, dark
eyes, dark hair. But his face wasn't the same. The features had morphed into someone else.

Daniels looked at Riker. “You saw that—he changed. You saw him change.”

Riker held up his hand. “No, Mr. Daniels,” he said. “I didn't see him change.”

But he
had
changed.

It
had.

Daniels's vision blurred again, but this time he couldn't clear it. His knees buckled as he lowered his hand and the phaser fell to the floor.

S
o far, everything had gone as planned. Even the admiral's death could now be explained away easily enough.

There were only two problems he could see.

Taking a moment away from the chaos, he removed the small case, sat on the bed, and opened it.

“Receiving,”
came the voice as usual. It took longer this time.
“Why have you risked contacting me now? You reported the
Enterprise's
sensors are back online. They can detect this transmission if they look for it.”

“Yes, sir, but I—”

“Did the blast go off as planned?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“And the signature—was it placed exactly where it should be?”

He bristled. He was good at his job, and he disliked being drilled. “Yes, sir. But there is a problem—possibly two. I was recognized.”

There was a pause, as he expected.
“Recognized?”

“The bomb specialist—Pádraig Daniels—he recognized the face of Jonathan DeNoux. He pulled a phaser on me and accused me of being a Changeling in front of others.”

“What did Picard say?”

“He wasn't there. But Commander Riker was. Luckily they didn't believe him because he almost immediately passed out from a head wound.”

Another pause.
“That could be a blessing.”

“He's in sickbay on the
Enterprise,
along with the security team and Commander Riker. Snowden is, as well.” He paused. “I've also changed my appearance—subtly—so as not to arouse suspicion here on the station.”

“Good. The average human won't notice unless they compare images. I'll make sure my contact at Planetary Operations disposes of the necessary records for me.”

“Unless they demand a DNA screen.”

“I'll take care of that. And the other problem?”

He paused. It might not actually be a problem. But
it was better to let his contact know. “Sir, there was a padd near the body—still active.”

“So? Those things would survive a Klingon blood feud.”

“Hahn claimed he had everything he needed on a chip—but I haven't found that chip.”

“You think it's in the padd?”

“It's possible. But the padd is with the specialist. I'm sure it hasn't been examined yet.”

“Get it back. We can't afford to be discovered. Not now. Not when we've accomplished so much in such a short amount of time. Find it. And if he sees it, then he's become a casualty of war.”

“Sir?” He wasn't happy about killing again. He'd killed too often since taking this mission. More than he bargained for. He believed in the cause, and he knew they were right in taking over Earth and her facilities.

“Do you have a problem with carrying out orders?”

“No, sir. It's just that we need the specialist. I can't kill him. He has to authenticate the bomb.”

There was a pause.
“That much is true. Then make sure the specialist finds what he needs to find and nothing more. Watch him.”

End of transmission.

He sat in his room, staring at the reflection of a face
that wasn't his, and began to wonder how far and how deep one had to dive before drowning.

*   *   *

From somewhere in the dark there was a rhythmic cadence. A heartbeat that echoed inside his head.

And Siobhan's voice. “Open your eyes.”

But he didn't want to. He wanted to sleep. They were on their honeymoon. Why did he have to get up early?

“Please, just open your eyes. Tell me your name.”

He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy. He heard a buzzing in his ears. He tried again and succeeded, only to close them again as bright light burst in and burned the back of his head.