Star Trek: TNG: Cold Equations II: Silent Weapons (21 page)

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No matter what direction T’Ryssa Chen turned, she was met by the shrill warbling of alerts from every console on the
Enterprise
’s bridge.

Balidemaj’s face blanched as she reported, “The
Hastur-zolis
just raised shields! It’s going weapons-hot and coming about in a combat posture, bearing one-nine-one mark four!”

“Somebody get me an update from the surface,” Chen ordered. “Helm, hard about. Ops, cancel the manhunt and give me targeting sensors.”

The signal traffic on the master systems display, which Elfiki had retasked into a mission-coordination center, redoubled into a flood of raw intel. The brown-eyed Egyptian science officer trembled with frustration as she fought to keep up with it. “All channels from the surface are going haywire! Local police, Federation Security, the Gorn Imperial Guard—there’s so much chatter I can’t tell what’s going on.”

“Contact the captain,” Chen said. “I want locations and status for all personnel on the surface. Find out if they’re in trouble.”

Elfiki nodded. “I’m on it.”

“Sir,” Balidemaj called out, “the Gorn are locking weapons on us and the
Atlas
!”

Chen felt like a wind-up toy torqued to its breaking point. “Hail them!”

The security officer sent the hail, then frowned. “No response.” Then she creased her brow in alarm. “Sir, the
Atlas
has raised shields and is locking weapons onto the Gorn ship.”

One hand on her hip, the other massaging the pounding ache from her temples, Chen wondered how much worse this situation could get. “Hail the
Atlas
.”

Plagued by the fear that everything was spiraling out of control, Chen forced herself to take a deep breath, but her mind refused to be calmed; it just kept on spinning in ever-tighter circles, a drill of fear inside her psyche.
Five minutes ago we were running a manhunt; now we’re one bad temper away from starting a war. What the hell just happened down there?

The screen switched from the tableau of the
Atlas
and the
Hastur-zolis
squared off for battle to an image of the officer currently in command of the other
Sovereign
-class ship. To Chen’s profound dismay, the human-looking man wore the pips of a lieutenant commander; he outranked her. That would make her next task all the more difficult.

Hoping he hadn’t been as quick to note her rank, she made a subtle pivot to angle her insignia away from the vid sensor, then adopted a most imperious attitude. “This is T’Ryssa Chen, commanding the
Starship Enterprise
. Identify yourself!”

He seemed taken aback by the force of Chen’s demand.
“Lieutenant Commander Boaden Ackles, second officer. Why are you hailing us?”

“Are you trying to start a war? Release your weapons lock and stand down!” Chen knew she didn’t have the advantage of rank, the privilege of commanding a superior vessel, or the primacy of involvement; that left her with only one option—bluffing.

Ackles bristled at her command.
“Are you out of your mind? They locked weapons on us! They’re moving into an attack posture!”

“We’ll deal with the Gorn, Commander. But if you turn this into a shooting match, it’ll mean war. Release your weapons lock, beam up your officers from the surface, and break orbit.” She studied his reaction. He didn’t react right away; he was thinking too much, and that would only lead to questions Chen wasn’t equipped to deal with. Once again doing her best imitation of Captain Picard, she snapped at Ackles, “That’s an order, Commander! I won’t tell you again!”

The force of her voice broke the man’s concentration and impelled him to action.
“Acknowledged,
Enterprise.” He nodded to someone off-screen.
“We’re beaming up our people now. You’re on your own from here. Good luck.
Atlas
out.
”

In a blink the viewscreen reverted to an image of Orion from low orbit. The
Atlas
pivoted away from the
Hastur-zolis
and accelerated away, leaving only the
Enterprise
to face the angry Gorn. Chen returned to the command chair, determined to make the second half of her ruse as successful as the first. “Dina, hail the Gorn again. Abby, keep our shields up, but take our weapons down to standby. Gary, adjust our orbit: keep us between the Gorn and the
Atlas
.”

Tense seconds ticked away as Chen wondered how she was going to avert a calamitous showdown with the Gorn ship. She was still at a loss for a plan when Elfiki announced, “I have contact with the Gorn ship. Channel ready.”

“On-screen.” Every stray fact Chen had ever learned about the Gorn raced through her thoughts as the viewscreen changed to an image of the command deck of the
Hastur-zolis.
Dominating the frame was an extreme close-up of a Gorn’s face, its nostrils flaring and fangs bared, its topaz-colored eyes fixed on Chen. She confronted the intimidating archosaur with all the calm and confidence she could fake. “This is T’Ryssa Chen, commanding the
Starship Enterprise.
To whom am I speaking?”
Please let this trick work twice.

“I am Gith Saroz, commanding the
Hastur-zolis.
Surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

Chen considered his demand for all of one-third of a second. “No.”

“You have twenty seconds to—”

“I said,
no
.”

The Gorn’s nostrils flared.
“You are in no position—”

“Stand down,” Chen said, matching the archosaur’s unblinking stare.

Saroz bellowed,
“After one of your delegation tried to assassinate our imperator?”

“You can prove that?” Challenging him was a calculated risk; if it backfired, their already ugly situation was going to get much, much worse.

To her relief, Saroz hesitated—not long, but long enough to confirm her suspicion that there was reason to doubt the Gorn’s one-sided version of events.
“The Imperial Guard informs us a member of the Federation delegation used a concealed weapon to attack our imperator.”

Elfiki hurried to Chen’s side. “Federation Security says Bacco’s chief of staff opened fire with a phaser at the reception. But the president’s protection agents say Piñiero’s target was unclear—she also opened fire on President Bacco and Starfleet officers.”

“I see.” Armed with the new information, which she knew Saroz had heard over the open channel, Chen faced the Gorn with new resolve. “It sounds as if the situation’s not as clear as you made it out to be, Gith Saroz. I recommend we both stand down and return to our assigned orbits while our people on the surface investigate the attack. I, for one, would rather not start a war based on faulty intelligence. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The Gorn exhaled loudly, flaring his nostrils. A low growl rattled in his throat. Then he answered in a dry rasping voice,
“Agreed. We will return to our orbital sector. But be warned,
Enterprise—
we will be watching you, and your people on the planet.
”

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, too.
Enterprise
out.” She looked at Balidemaj and slashed her thumb across her throat. Balidemaj cut the channel before Saroz could ruin the fragile détente. Chen sighed with relief as she turned back toward Elfiki. “Damn, that was close.”

“Closer than you think.” Elfiki lowered her voice. “What I didn’t mention was that one of Piñiero’s shots killed Szamra, the Gorn legislator—and that she escaped from the bank.”

“What about the president?”

The science officer frowned. “She’s all right, just really shaken up. But once the details start coming out, this’ll turn into a bona fide mess. And now that the
Atlas
is warping out of the system, it’ll be up to us to keep the civilian news media from finding out about it.”

Chen shook her head. “And just like that, I already miss talking with the Gorn.”

15

Tattered veils of smoke lingered between smoldering trees, masking the full extent of the damage to the once-verdant rooftop arboretum. Beverly Crusher strode along the main path, stepping over branches blasted loose from the trees, weaving around debris scattered in the pandemonium that had followed the shooting, and checking on the dozens of medics tending to the wounded and the dead. Nine agents from Bacco’s protection detail had been hit—five fatally—in the wild crossfire during Piñiero’s escape. Four soldiers from the Gorn Imperial Guard had been killed, and seven others had been seriously hurt.

Now the rooftop was swarming with armed security and medical personnel from the
Enterprise
and the
Hastur-zolis,
as well as investigators from both ships and the Orions’ civilian police force. President Bacco and Imperator Sozzerozs, along with the surviving members of their respective retinues, had been spirited away to the relative safety of their private suites on the bank’s secured sublevels. The most prominent casualty, unfortunately, was Szamra, whom everyone had been counting on to sway key opinions in the Gorn Imperial Senate. The venerated
nizor
lay beneath a tablecloth liberated in haste from a nearby buffet table.

Picard stood near the main entrance to the arboretum, answering questions from and offering advice to the bank’s executives and its security director, Akili Kamar. Crusher watched her husband for a moment, torn between gratitude and resentment.
If he hadn’t tackled me,
she reminded herself,
I’d probably have been Piñiero’s first victim.
But as much as she wanted to see him as a hero for saving her life, she couldn’t forget that he had chosen to shield her rather than act to stop Piñiero. More damningly, he had saved her instead of protecting the president.

She knew she could rationalize away his actions, if she wanted to. Technically, as Starfleet officers they were sworn to obey the civilian government and uphold its laws, but the life and person of the president were the responsibility of the Protection Detail. It might even be legally proper to argue that Picard’s responsibility as Crusher’s commanding officer was to protect her life and vouchsafe the
Enterprise
and its crew. But legalisms and sophistry were no longer any comfort to Crusher. There was no undoing what had been done, and even though Picard had made no error and committed no offense against Federation law or his Starfleet oath, he still had shattered her conception of who he was. Instead of a hero . . . she had a husband.

A feather-light touch on her arm made her turn to see the
Enterprise
’s assistant chief medical officer, Doctor Tropp. The grouchy, middle-aged Denobulan regarded her with the bleary gaze of someone roused from a deep sleep. “We’re done with triage. The ones that are safe to be transported are being moved up to the ships, since we can’t send anyone to the local hospitals without raising red flags for the media.”

“I understand. How many are we still trying to stabilize?”

“Two of Bacco’s agents, and one of the Gorn.” He nodded in the general direction of a team of surgeons, nurses, and technicians from the
Enterprise
who were huddled over the two critically injured Federation protection agents. “I’d put their odds at about fifty-fifty. Might be a bit higher if you could lend a hand.”

Crusher nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute. Go back and keep things moving.”

“Understood.” Tropp shuffled away, obviously exhausted but soldiering on.

She walked in the other direction, toward the arboretum’s entrance. Picard finished his conversation with the bank’s security chief, who stepped away as Crusher joined her husband. “We’re starting to beam up the casualties,” she said. “But the last few aren’t stable enough yet.”

Picard squeezed Crusher’s shoulder. “If things are under control here, it might be best if you returned to the
Enterprise
now.”

“Not until I make sure the last two wounded agents are out of danger.”

Doubt darkened his expression. “Surely, Doctor Tropp can handle—”

“Jean-Luc—are you trying to get rid of me?”

Her accusation left him taken aback. “Not at all. But in light of recent events, a greater emphasis on security seems warranted, don’t you think?”

She didn’t know whether to take his explanation at face value or to plumb for a hidden agenda. Before she could decide, La Forge and Šmrhová arrived and headed directly to the captain. “Sir,” La Forge said, “we got here as soon as we could. Is everyone all right?”

“No one from the
Enterprise
was hurt,” Picard said. “Unfortunately, several members of the president’s protection detail have been killed, as have a number of Gorn imperial guards. Do we have any leads on the bank’s chairman?”

Šmrhová shook her head. “No, sir. And it sounds like your shooter got away, too.”

“Regrettably, yes.” He pointed around the arboretum. “Somehow, she planted a handful of explosive devices after the area was secured. Most of them were tear gas intended to cover her escape, but a high explosive near one of the far exits enabled her to slip past security.”