The Oppressor's Wrong (4 page)

Daniels watched as Stevens leaned in close to Muñiz and muttered, “Tell us how you
really
feel.”

O'Brien gave him a withering look.

“Data, that's enough,” La Forge said. “Muñiz didn't say you were responsible for anything. He was double-checking the information, not criticizing your work. And I'm sure these good people would be very happy if you didn't criticize theirs. Data, we're all on the same team, remember?”

Daniels watched the android look from the padd back to La Forge. His eyes widened. “I did it again, did I not?”

La Forge nodded. “Yeah, you did. But you lasted longer this time.”

Data looked … crestfallen. That was the best word Daniels could think of to describe the expression on Data's face. He was also aware there was something else—something between the two that had contributed to Data's abrupt temper flare. Maybe the android was working on controlling it? He assumed La Forge was the only one with the patience to deal with Data during these periods as he seemed to have an excellent working relationship with the android.

“Sir,” Sage said, “even if he can rewrite the protocols, the base syntax still might not keep up with the
Enterprise'
s processing speed. We didn't code any of it with holographic imaging—not anything that will work with this isolinear model. We might have to consider scrapping the whole program and starting from scratch if we're going to integrate the program at all.”

Daniels sighed. “Or I can just learn a new system—translate years of research.” Of course, that could take even longer than rewriting anything.

Barclay cleared his throat. “Commander?”

La Forge looked over at him. “What is it, Reg?”

“I—I was going to say,” Barclay said, the tricorder and thermal patch still in his hands, “if Mr. Data can rewrite the protocols, we can still rig up a separate system in one of the holodecks—use the existing holoprotocols instead of fully rewriting the program—but k-keep the system rogue as Mr. Daniels suggested so
the regular speed of the isolinear matrix doesn't redump the program. I—I thought we could then integrate the holodeck system into the main computer and sensor sweeps. It—it would be easy to just overlay the imaging matrix in stellar cartography for a higher pixel resolution without relying on the main core, s-si-since it uses the secondary core.”

Porter nodded. “You mean build a conduit, in a sense. A bridge between the two.”

Barclay nodded, though he didn't look confident. “But it would only be temporary. The p-program would still need to be rewritten from its base to c-compensate for the subprocessor speed and holographic imaging.”

There was a second of silence before a smile broke out on La Forge's face below his VISOR. O'Brien's face reflected a similar one.

“Reg,” La Forge patted his arm. “You did it again.”

Barclay looked around himself in panic. “What'd I do?”

Daniels set his padd on the console and downloaded the original syntax as well as the first root, database, and protocol. Once it was done, he moved around the console and handed the padd to Data. “These are the basics, without all the extras added to it. If you can rewrite it for compatibility, Sage and I
can lend a hand with the database.” He glanced at Sage, who shot him an irritated look back.

Data looked at the padd and nodded. He smiled at Daniels. “It will take me at least an hour to finish.”

“Good.” O'Brien looked at his team. “You've got one hour to set me up a new sensor station. Get to it.”

All three of the men, including Barclay, smiled just before disappearing.

Sage whispered to Daniels, “I'd really rather work on the rogue system—the tinman gives me the heebee-jeebies—and I don't want to be around the pompous porcine.”

Daniels nodded. “Then do that. I'll be around for Mr. Data if he needs me.”

Even as Sage took off after the others, Data turned to Daniels. “I will contact you once the new protocol is ready.” He paused, frowned, and then gave a half smile. “Thank you.”

Daniels returned the smile. “Oh no—thank you. You're going to save Sage and me another week's work.” He paused a beat before saying, “Mr. Data—”

The android looked at him with a pleasant expression on his golden face. Daniels had seen anger like Data's before, especially in adolescents trying to get a handle on who they were and how they fit into the universe, even if it was their own smaller one. Sometimes the anger had an external cause. Siobhan
dealt with children grappling with emotional damage, either after losing a family member or when recovering from a tragic accident.

Some of the knowledge he'd picked up from Siobhan's work came through as he smiled at Data. “Don't let Travec get to you, okay? He's that way with everybody.”

Data nodded and frowned at the same time. Then he cocked his head to his left shoulder. “How do you cope with him every day?”

Daniels shrugged. “I paint. Ever thought about channeling some of your emotions into art? Maybe take up painting? Or acting?”

Data's expression changed abruptly from pleasant to mildly perturbed. “What?”

“You know, use art for relaxing. Painting. Music. They're all a great way to soothe away tension. My wife's an art instructor—”

But Data had turned away, the padd in his hand, and marched to the holodeck door as Travec came in. If Daniels didn't know any better, he'd say Data had made a dramatic exit.

Travec looked from the door to Daniels. “Mr. Daniels, what did you do?”

O'Brien muttered under his breath at the Tellarite.

Daniels stood beside La Forge, his own expression full of the confusion he felt inside. The look that had
graced the android's face before he'd turned looked to be a mixture of sadness, loss, and anger. Had he tried to paint or sculpt before? Did he despise music?

Did androids even listen to music? Could they appreciate it?

“What?” He looked at the two men. “What did I say?”

La Forge reached out and patted his shoulder. “It's not you, Pádraig. Ever since the emotion chip, he's been having a hard time with his painting, as well as his music and acting.”

“He does all of those?”

“Did,” La Forge said and sighed. “He told me this morning he believed his emotion chip destroyed his ability to perform any art. Claimed he was never going to try it again.”

“But that's ridiculous.” Daniels frowned. “How can having emotion
destroy
art? Emotion is what art evokes. You have to know emotion in order to recapture it.”

“I know that, and you know that. But we've lived with emotion all of our lives.” La Forge looked back to the door Data had passed through. “Data never has, but he's learning. He's trying.”

“But to deny art?”

“I know.” La Forge sighed. “I know.”

“I
t's good to see you too, Eric, but why contact me on a Bajoran frequency?” Picard gave Admiral Eric Hahn a half smile. Picard and Riker had just finished dinner with Worf, Jadzia Dax, and Major Kira at Kaga's Klingon restaurant on DS9 when he received notification of another priority-one message.

Kira had ordered the channel secured and patched through to one of the working holosuites. Per his preset preferences, the holosuite had changed upon his entrance, and he was now seated at the desk of Dixon Hill, a Starfleet communications monitor juxtaposed on the scuffed, wooden desk. In the darkness outside the window behind him, it was snowing silently.

Picard had been pleasantly surprised to see Admiral
Hahn staring back at him, but even more startled to hear the admiral had left Starfleet Academy and was now in charge of Starbase 375.

Hahn sighed.
“It's complicated, Jean-Luc. And with what's happened on Earth, I felt the Bajoran channel was less likely to be tapped into.”

“Tapped into by whom?” Picard narrowed his eyes. “Trouble on the station?”

“
Well, yes and no. My assignment here was something of a surprise to me—arranged by Admiral Leyton before the Antwerp bombing. He said he needed to have his best men on all Federation facilities.”
He smirked.
“I'm more inclined to believe he stuck me out here because I didn't agree with this new Red Squad.”

Picard shook his head. “Red Squad? I'm not familiar with that security measure.”

“Not a security measure, Jean-Luc. It's a new elite team of cadets. I'm not sure who created them or who backed them, but they're the talk of the Academy. Only the best in every class get to be in Red Squad, and they get specialized training.”

“What sort of special training?”

“Heck if I know. I never got a chance to work with them. The first time I voiced any dislike for the idea of singling out a special group of cadets above the other cadets who work just as hard and don't get special treatment,
I was reprimanded. Harshly. By Leyton himself. A week later, I'm here.”

“Eric.” Picard leaned back in the time-worn leather chair. It gave a loud squeak. “You can't possibly think of your new assignment as a punishment.”

“Oh no. It's a chance of a lifetime—just not one I'd ever considered myself for. I'm a teacher, not a leader of a space station.”
He rubbed his chin.
“But that's not why I called.”

“Oh?”

“Not long after I was assigned here, there was an accident that injured my XO and the station's chief of security. They were shipped home for recovery just before the bombing—even though we have one of the best medical facilities in the quadrant. Admiral Leyton assigned Commander Snowden to the position of XO. He promoted a new security chief.”

“Commander Ishmael Snowden?” Picard said, recalling a faint memory of meeting Snowden once at some Starfleet function in Geneva. “He once served with Admiral Leyton on the
Okinawa.”

“That's the one,”
Hahn said, but Picard caught the subtle disapproval in the man's voice.
“What I can say about him is he's got a slight phobia about shape-shifters. The man sees them behind every potted plant.”

Picard smiled, but let Hahn continue with no comment. He could understand such a fear because he
himself had looked at every member of his crew as being a Changeling a few weeks ago. This was something the Dominion was good at—instilling fear and paranoia.

“After the bombing the two of them presented me with several stringent security measures.”

“We've all been given new security procedures.”

“Yes, yes, I know. And I can agree with the phaser sweeps to a point, and a few of the others. But these were measures not laid out in the report from Starfleet Security. One of them was posting a security person to every level, at every entrance and exit. This station is a home to hundreds of families, businesses, and private industry—not just the Federation.”
Hahn shrugged.
“They wanted to have blood screenings at every exit and entryway on the station.”

Picard arched his left eyebrow. “Well, take my advice; the blood screenings are not always reliable.”

“So I've heard. I'm sorry about Lieutenant Addison, Jean-Luc.”

“Bad news travels quickly,” Picard said, noticing the bite in his own tone. “I was just as upset by the deaths on board the
Samson.
They didn't deserve such an end.”

Hahn agreed.
“Have you chosen a new chief of security?”

Picard shook his head. “Not yet. We have several
candidates, but Will and I are taking our time at this. We've assigned Lieutenant Huff as acting chief for now. We're not sure whether to promote from within or request a replacement.” He tilted his head back. “But you should feel lucky—receiving a bomb specialist team as well as twenty new security personnel.”

Hahn nodded.
“Did Daniels study the bomb at Antwerp?”

“Yes. They were able to identify the initiation switch and rebuild the shell itself. They've identified eight of the eleven chemical and ore components. And he confirmed it was of Founder origin—the bomb switch was made up of the same amalgam of organic material as the Changeling key Constable Odo received from Croden. He and O'Brien's team are busy getting his equipment together so he can do more analysis before we arrive there.”

“Well, don't take too long, okay?”

Picard noticed the slight darkening in Hahn's expression. “Eric, is something else bothering you?”

“Yes, but I can't talk about it like this. I have something I want to show you—soon as you get here.”

“We'll be there before you know it.”

Hahn smiled, and the brightness returned to his face.
“Keep your ears and eyes open. And, Jean-Luc.”
Hahn paused before continuing.
“Keep a level head—don't
let hysteria determine your course of action. I'm not sure things are always as bad as they're painted.”

Hahn cut the connection first, his visage replaced by the blue and white Federation emblem. Picard stood and turned to look out the window at the street below, heavily coated with the white, powdery snow. He thought it odd that the holosuite would create a wintry scene when it was supposed to be mid-July.

But even as he rejoined the dinner and returned to the
Enterprise
later that evening, Hahn's last words lingered with him long into the night.

*   *   *

Twenty-four hours without sleep—not a good idea.

Daniels sipped at his fifth cup of coffee as he recalibrated the holographic sensors. He'd always been a tea man himself, preferring jasmine or
balta,
a regional tea on Canopus. Stevens had suggested the coffee as a suitable stimulant.