The Oppressor's Wrong (13 page)

Tim Lynch wasn't a small man. He towered over Daniels, standing as tall as Lieutenant Commander Worf back on DS9. He was thicker and stronger than Daniels. There was no way Daniels should have been able to force the real Lynch backward. Not from the position he'd been in against that bulkhead.

“—Huff to Daniels, can you hear me—”

He blinked and tried to tap his combadge to respond. He struck his uniform. He glanced down at his chest. His combadge was missing. He looked to Lynch, who clasped it in his left hand.

Lynch's face blurred, changed, reshaped itself into a familiar visage—one Daniels looked at every day in the mirror.

His own.

H
e hadn't meant for it to go this far. Daniels wasn't supposed to be back yet—he'd checked the
Enterprise
logs repeatedly. Daniels always spent an hour in the art sciences studio with Data.

I didn't have time.

And now—

He took in a deep breath as he held the phaser on the security officer. He'd never actually fought before—not real physical fighting. He'd moved purely on instinct, intent on subduing the officer before fleeing. He had never meant for Daniels to see him.

And even now he'd been unable to subdue him.

This wasn't the sort of reaction he'd expected from
someone as soft-looking at this man—though he knew looks could be deceiving.

First priority had changed. He needed to get out of here. The padd wasn't in Daniels's quarters, and it appeared Daniels hadn't remembered it. If it was gone, maybe he didn't have anything to worry about.

But how to incapacitate Daniels? If he fired the phaser, then the entire ship would know. He'd be discovered.

He tilted his head to the left, shuffling off this image and putting on a different one. A mirror of what stood before him—minus the blood on Daniels's lips and left temple.

The change had the desired effect. Daniels's eyes widened and he took a step back.

He thumbed a control on the phaser, then glanced down at the reading. He couldn't remember which setting was for stun and which killed. He'd rarely had the need to use a weapon.

But if he could just stun Daniels—

The door to the quarters opened behind him.

He turned.

“Huff—don't—”

He saw her step in, remembered her short dark hair, saw her stop and look at him, and then at Daniels. He saw her raise her phaser, her attention
moving quickly between the two of them as if she were trying to decide which one was real.

She made a decision and turned it on him.

“Don't shoot!” Daniels said. “He's not—”

He fired his own phaser at Daniels. The officer ducked out of the way, but not fast enough to avoid a hit to his left shoulder.

Huff fired her phaser.

But he was already moving, blind panic pressing him forward as he turned and raised his phaser at her.

He fired.

She fired again—too late.

He watched as her chest caught fire and she fell backward.

Sirens called out above him, alerting the crew to phaser fire. In a matter of seconds the corridors would be full of Starfleet officers.

He looked at the downed woman, glanced back at the slowly moving Daniels. Within seconds he shifted his outer appearance again, moved past the inert security officer, and left through the door.

To catch him, they'd have to find him.

*   *   *

“This is unacceptable.” Picard set the padd harshly down on the semicircular table in the observation lounge. The senior officers sat before him as Starbase
375 loomed silently through the lounge's windows. “I have a dead security chief, another wounded, and two more recovering from severe bericol poisoning in sickbay.”

Riker frowned. “Bericol?”

“It's a street narcotic,” Crusher said in a soft voice. “Cardassian in origin. When less than a CC is injected, the user experiences intense euphoria. But when more is taken, it causes loss of consciousness and severe headache, but no permanent injury.”

“Who were the two injected?”

“Ensigns Lynch and Kao. They were on deck ten, administering blood screenings.”

“Apparently,” Troi said, “they were approached by a young officer who offered to help.” She shrugged. “They were hit with hyposprays.”

“The Changeling then took the identity and combadge of Ensign Lynch, ransacked Lieutenant Porter's quarters, Mr. t'Saiga's, and then Lieutenant Daniels's,” Data said.

“And that's when Mr. Daniels walked in on him,” Picard said. He straightened his jacket and looked at each of them. “What I want to know is why. He was looking for something. Something he desperately wanted back if he's willing to risk exposure.”

Riker looked over at Data. “Internal sensors show anything?”

Data shook his head. “Only instances of the Changeling as Ensign Lynch entering and exiting the designated quarters.”

“Anything from Daniels?” Mr. La Forge asked.

“Not yet,” Crusher said. “He said the Changeling wanted to know where the padd was.”

“Padd?” Picard said. “What padd?”

Everyone answered him with a shake of the head.

“Daniels wasn't sure what he meant either,” Crusher said. “I want him to rest for a few days, preferably tonight and tomorrow in sickbay.”

“Agreed.” Picard looked at Data. “I've ordered security to lock down and restrict anyone wanting to leave the ship or enter it. We're going to do a methodical blood screening and DNA matching of all crew throughout the ship and increase security on all decks with vital systems. We have a Changeling on board. Again. I want it caught and contained.” He looked at Data. “I want you to continue working with Travec's team on the analysis. Snowden managed to delay us too long in identifying the bomb's origin. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starting not to like being bound to this station. Dismissed.”

Everyone stood to leave but Riker, who remained in his chair beside Picard. When the room was cleared he leaned on the arm of his chair. “You really think the Changeling's still on board?”

Picard nodded slowly as he looked at Riker. “I do, because he hasn't gotten what he came here for. And whatever it is, we need to find it first. I also need you to get in touch with Major Kira at Deep Space 9 and see if she's heard anything from Sisko lately. All of my attempts to contact him have been turned away—all requests and calls having to go through and be approved by Admiral Leyton.”

Riker narrowed his eyes. “You're starting to suspect something else is wrong, same as Daniels. You're missing pieces to the larger puzzle.”

“Maybe, Number One. But there are too many missing pieces to this puzzle not to think that the box they came in was damaged before we ever arrived.”

*   *   *

When Crusher finally released him from sickbay, the first place Daniels went was holodeck three to check on the status of the simulation. Porter, Sage, and Barclay had everything ready for him to examine.

He and Travec spent most of that day and the next going over the data, standing in the center of the blast, comparing it to the blast in Antwerp.

And in the end, their conclusion was not a welcome one.

Picard called a meeting with Daniels's team, himself, Riker, Data, Snowden, and Abidah.

Travec, Daniels, Porter, Barclay, and Sage sat on the right of the observation lounge, the view of the star-base behind them. Snowden, Abidah, and two more of Snowden's security team sat on the left. Picard sat at his usual post at the head of the table. Riker stood to the side.

Miraculously, Admiral Leyton had returned Picard's messages, in time to listen in on the meeting. The admiral peered at them from the lounge's monitor in the wall facing the viewport. A dark-haired young woman he introduced as Captain Erika Benteen stood beside him.

After listening to the team's findings, Leyton steepled his fingers together in front of his chin, his elbows propped on the desk in front of him. The Golden Gate Bridge gleamed brilliantly behind him. It was early morning in San Francisco.
“So your conclusion is that the bomb was not Dominion construction—even though all the chemical elements, including the unknown ones with the metamorphic material—are all present.”

Daniels nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Snowden shoved the padd away from him and looked across the table at Daniels. “You expect me to believe this?”

“But how can you say that?” Abidah said even as he held out his own padd. “It's here. The same compounds,
chemicals—even the same organic material that defines it as being a Changeling bomb.”

“Perhaps,”
Leyton said in a calm tone,
“if you give the reasons for your conclusions, we can understand better.”

Daniels glanced at Travec before taking in a deep breath. “Having the same ingredients doesn't make it the same end product. The same ingredients go into cakes and brownies. The same four instruments can create many concertos—the end music has a million permutations. Yes, we detected the same ingredients, but the proportions weren't consistent, and neither was the metamorphic material.” He licked his lips. “It looked more like a copy of the bomb in Antwerp, not the original, and as you can see in my report, that anomaly repeats itself again and again.”

Leyton picked up the padd on his desk.
“Yes, so I see. There was a problem with the metamorphic material.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniels said. “In both explosions there was residue with metamorphic properties that suggest Changeling matter'but in the Antwerp bombing, the residue wasn't diluted.”

“Diluted how?” Picard said.

Daniels looked at the captain. “When t'Saiga first analyzed it, we all thought it was a match. But looking closer that conclusion didn't
jik—”
He paused and
decided to correct himself and to give Sage a good kick later. “It isn't a match. There were variances between the two substances. Variances we originally attributed to heat distortion.”

Snowden crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm waiting for your proof, Lieutenant.”

“It's not proof but fact, sir,” Daniels said, his voice growing more confident. “The heat levels of the Antwerp bombing were much higher—the impact of the explosion practically vaporized everything in its path.
This
heat level was much lower.”

Picard leaned forward. “Which means the metamorphic material found on the starbase should be less distorted than what you found in Antwerp.”

Daniels nodded. “Exactly. But it wasn't. It was much higher—several times greater than the distortion recorded in Antwerp. So I asked the computer for alternate probable causes. It told me genetic mutation, chemical fusion, and replication.”

Everyone sat back and stared at their padds, including Abidah—but not including Snowden, who continued to glare at Daniels.

Sage spoke up. “When Mr. Daniels showed me the computer's results, I went back in and ran a sample from this bombing and one from the Antwerp explosion. What gave us the contradictory readings was the
fact that this metamorphic material had been replicated.”

“Can that be done?” Riker asked.

“Yeah, it can,” La Forge said. He clasped his fingers together in front of him and put his elbows on the table. “The material was replicated from an original source, then used on a low-level bomb. It shouldn't have affected the variances that much—not with Changeling goop.”

Daniels said, “There was also something else that differentiated the bombs. This bomb was heat activated. The bomb in Antwerp wasn't activated by heat, but by a version of the Changeling key that was activated by the Changeling itself, just before it vanished.”

Leyton sat forward.
“What about Admiral Hahn? Have you learned why he was near ground zero?”

“No, sir,” Daniels said.

“But there is a Changeling on the starbase, if not on your ship,”
Leyton said.

Picard spoke, “We've had sporadic reports of personnel—both on the
Enterprise
as well as the starbase—being in two places at one time. I've had two of my people attacked, as well as Mr. Daniels, though for what reason we've still not discovered.”

“The shape-shifters don't need a reason,” Snowden said. “They're here to cause havoc. And for all we
know Admiral Hahn could have been working with them. Perhaps he set the bomb.”

All eyes turned to Snowden, who returned their stares defiantly. Daniels looked from him to Picard to Leyton. The thought wasn't too far from where his own suspicions had drifted lately. There didn't seem to be any other reason why the admiral would be at the center of things. And what about the missing logs—the empty spaces with deleted information?

Which he noticed were missing from his final report.

Picard was the first to speak. “Captain Snowden, accusations based on speculation won't help the situation. As it stands now, we do not believe the bomb was set by a shape-shifter, and yet Eric Hahn is dead.” Picard turned his attention to Leyton. “Admiral, might I suggest that it is possible Admiral Hahn discovered the shape-shifter and it reacted by destroying the threat.”

Leyton narrowed his eyes.
“How so?”

“Perhaps it created a bomb as best it could to kill Hahn, but to make his death look like an accident.”

The hypothesis didn't sound right to Daniels, and something in the captain's tone as well as his posture told him he didn't believe it either.

Was he stalling?

An interesting theory,”
Leyton said.
“But we've no
time for it now. Admiral Hahn's death is a loss, and we are much sadder for it.”
He straightened up in his chair.
“Good job, Mr. Daniels, by you and your team. But I'm going to have to go with my instincts on this one, and call a spade a spade.”