The Oppressor's Wrong (5 page)

It looked as if it had been working for both him and Muñiz—they never seemed to tire, even while Daniels stifled his third yawn in ten minutes.

Unfortunately, nothing ever seemed to tire Travec. For the first few hours he had stood over the team and given suggestions—some of them good. But others?

Daniels was glad that Mr. La Forge had finally
requested Travec's help with the
Enterprise
work. He suspected O'Brien had had a hand in that arrangement, and Daniels was going to owe the chief.

In his absence the team did three times more work. Mostly because Sage wasn't baring his teeth every six seconds.

“I think that's it,” Barclay said from somewhere beneath the new console in holodeck three. All Daniels could see were the lieutenant's pants—which were slightly scuffed and dusty—and his boots. “Try it now”

Daniels nodded to no one in particular as he set the coffee back on the bench. He touched several panels in order. Within seconds the entire console came to life, as did the holodeck.

He looked over the console, checked the readings.

The entire design of the junction was impressive. They'd partitioned the holodeck into halves, with Barclay writing the program at record speed. The partition closest to the exit was where Porter, Mu'iz, and Stevens built a solid station and integrated its system into the holodeck.

That console faced the second partition, where Barclay created a semicircular shell for a full holographic imaging station. The layout reminded Daniels of one of the amphitheaters in the park in the Hanging Gardens back home. He and Siobhan had
shared their first date there, listening to the strings of Estro Rama, his favorite Trill composer.

As the holodeck came online, more of Barclay's program filled in, from the dark, semisoft gray floor to the overhead lights. The imaging amphitheater was lit up by incandescent panels. The center of the circle marked a grid where the computer could translate the data received into a holographic image.

The doors opened then and O'Brien stepped through. “Is it working?”

At the sound of O'Brien's voice, Barclay moved out from beneath the console. He scrambled to stand up and nearly knocked Daniels's coffee off the ledge and onto the controls.

O'Brien nodded to the silver cup. “Might not want to have that around Reg.” He smiled as he looked at the room. “Impressive.”

Porter and Muñiz stepped from behind the imaging circle. “Impressive will be passing the test, Chief,” Porter said. He moved to Daniels and handed him a padd. “Commander Data's protocols are all installed and working perfectly.”

“I never doubted it,” O'Brien said with a smile and moved to sit beside Daniels. “We rerouted a partial from the holodeck array to the deflector shield—that should protect this system from any feedback.” He
touched a few controls. “Stevens, did you—” He looked up and around. “Stevens?”

“Working on it,” came a familiar voice from beneath them.

O'Brien looked over to his right and saw a pair of boots. “Oh.”

“S-Stevens and I were working on the imager,” Barclay said, standing beside the console.

O'Brien looked at Barclay, then looked back at the boots on the floor. “Shouldn't you get back down there and help?”

“Oh.” Barclay's eyes widened. “Right.” He disappeared behind the console.

Sage stepped back into the room, his expression quizzical as he handed Daniels another coffee. “Is it working?”

Daniels took the coffee. “I'm awake, but I keep yawning.”

“No.” Sage shook his head, his ears twitching. “This.”

Daniels sipped the coffee. He winced—at the taste as well as the heat. He set the new coffee inside the cup of the empty one. “We're just powering up.”

Sage wagged his dark eyebrows up and down. “Just tell me when to push the button.” With that he clasped his long fingers together and moved to the
other side of the console, peering down at Stevens and Barclay.

O'Brien pursed his lips. “So what is it you do with this? What makes this any different than just inputting the information into the regular holodeck mainframe and using it?”

Daniels set the cup on the floor. He deftly moved his fingers over the console, and the monitor in the center streamed a list. “Regular holodeck mainframes work on security clocked protocols—they're what keep the safeties in check. But holodeck subprocessors aren't geared to work directly with the ship's systems—they work independently, with their own computer core so as not to slow down the speed of the mainframe.”

O'Brien nodded. “And you need the sensor information to catalog and search for specific parameters.”

“Yes. And I need the holodeck to quickly process that information and extrapolate from the database we created, which holds data from explosions all over the quadrant. What we can do from here is piggyback along the ship's sensor sweeps, cull the information we need, identify the components, and compare the information to the database.” Daniels sipped his coffee. “And this was Travec's idea.” He winced at O'Brien. “I'd rather just do it his way.”

“I see your point.”

Daniels touched a few panels. “I've also loaded in the information Sage and I found at Antwerp into the computer so as soon as the imager's online, we can run a test and I'll show you what I do.”

O'Brien nodded. He put a hand on the console back. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Daniels continued cuing up the simulation.

“Investigate the conference sight. All that destruction.” He paused. “I'm not sure I could have done that. It's hard enough, being out here day to day with my family. Bombs—these are not so uncommon out here. But on Earth?”

Daniels turned to look at O'Brien, a fellow Irishman. What he saw in the man's face was genuine concern. A deep hurt that something so terrible could happen on his homeworld. “It's not something I ever thought I'd do, Chief. I work in security. I guard and protect. Detective work was a hobby of sorts. And I've always been fascinated with explosives—you can look at my record back home. I like to understand how they work, and then create ways to prevent as much collateral damage as possible.” He looked back at the console, away from the face of concern. “But to actually be in a blast area where so many died. It wasn't as if there were remains to find and catalog—only
pieces. Chemical indications. Nothing left, except for the memories of those left behind.”

“Daniels—”

“It was hard. And the entire time I was there all I could think about was my wife, and what would she do if this was me.” He looked back to O'Brien. “Even when we sieved through the remains we still found organic material. But there was no way to identify it, except for the Changeling key material. And so I resolved then—Sage and I both did—that we would find a way to prevent this from happening again.”

O'Brien nodded. “You will.”

“Okay,” came a voice from below. There was a noise, and Stevens popped up from behind the console. His hair was disheveled and there was excitement in his dark eyes. “Try it now.” He blinked. “Wait” He held up a hand and disappeared a second before returning with Barclay beside him. “
Now
try it.”

With a grin to O'Brien, Daniels keyed in the holodex sequence. Sage moved his own fingers over the console as the amphitheater dimmed. There was a flash of information on the screen in front of them, and then
SYSTEM READY.

“We're online,” Sage said. “Booyah.”

O'Brien frowned at the Fijorian. Daniels was accustomed to Sage's strange outburts.

Stevens held up his hand to Barclay in what Daniels thought would be a “high five” gesture he'd seen several times while on Earth. Only Barclay looked at the engineer's hand as if it were a third appendage before taking it and pumping it up and down.

Porter came to Daniels's left. “All readings indicate we're online with engineering. Deflector connections are steady. The protocols are keeping speed. Stellar cartography is online.”

“Then let's try a practical application.” Daniels touched several of the illuminated panels as O'Brien moved away. “Scanning Deep Space 9.”

“Initiating imaging holodeck,” Sage said.

Everyone turned to the dimming amphitheater. Almost immediately a three-dimensional image of the station appeared. On the left a list of known mineral and organic compounds and their structural matrix appeared; to the right appeared several views of the station. Top, left, right, bottom. The list of components was color coded and their locations synchronized along the station grids.

“This is one heck of a tactical layout,” Stevens said.

“Thank you,” Sage responded.

Daniels studied the readouts on the monitor in front of him. “Same as before. Clean, except for that trace of nitrilin.”

“I'm not happy about that.”

“Not enough to be worried about, Chief,” Daniels said. He cleared out the image and looked over at Sage. “I suggest we run at least two more tests before we run the Antwerp simulation.”

“I also suggest having Captain Picard and Commander Riker present when you review it,” O'Brien said as he stood and looked over at Muñiz and Stevens, who both yawned. “You two, finish up, clean up, and then get some sleep. We've got a big day on the
Defiant
tomorrow.”

“I was supposed to have tomorrow off,” Stevens said.

But O'Brien was already moving out the door. “Don't count on it.”

O
nce the
Enterprise
was under way to Starbase 375, Daniels finally ate, showered, and caught up on sleep. Refreshed and ready to begin their analysis of the debris and components found at the Antwerp site, he, Travec, and Sage met in holodeck three the next day after receiving full physicals from Dr. Beverly Crusher, the
Enterprise'
s chief medical officer, and undergoing a routine blood screening.

The day proved uneventful, although it was stressful for Daniels because Travec insisted on running repeated system diagnostics when the results didn't yield what he believed they should.

Sage continued to mutter under his breath as
Travec made comments about having a fine dinner of canine beef waiting for him in his quarters.

Daniels and Sage met Porter and Barclay for dinner, at which Sage continued to point out the Tellarite's faults and how he should be pulverized and served as a poison. Porter suggested hiring the Orion Syndicate to make him disappear.

Thinking it might be better to calm the Fijorian's nerves before bed, Daniels suggested finding the art sciences studio. Sage was a bit of a famous painter on his home planet and hadn't been able to get his hands into any pigments since the bombing.

And that just might improve his sulky mood.

The studio was on deck ten. Daniels breathed in the smells of paint and oil, so much like his wife's studio back home. He and Sage grabbed a couple of canvases, smocks, palettes, and paints before setting up easels close to one another, but not too close.

Daniels knew Sage liked to paint in a frenzy, sometimes slinging paint on things besides the canvas, whereas he preferred to paint with a more controlled style.

The only other occupant of the room was Data, who'd chosen a spot in the far corner of the room in front of a still life of fruits and vegetables.

Daniels glanced over at Sage, who'd decided to
forgo brushes altogether and apply the paint directly with his hands.

To each his own.

After using a light charcoal pencil to sketch out the idea he had in his head, Daniels sat back and closed his eyes, imagining the scene he wanted to paint. He thought of Siobhan, her thick red hair and smiling green eyes. Her studio always smelled like this room. So did her hair, and often her clothes.

“Lieutenant Daniels—”

He opened his eyes and nearly fell off his stool when he saw Data standing beside him. He hadn't even heard the android approach—and he prided himself on having a sensitive ear. Though not as sensitive as Sage's.

I was preoccupied.

He put up a hand. “Please, call me Pádraig.”

“Patrick.

Daniels shook his head. “Actually, it's Pah-dreek.”

Data watched Daniel's lips and mimicked them. “Pah-dreek. And please, call me Data.”

Daniels nodded. “What can I do for you, Data?” He took up a larger brush of sable and dipped it in red pigment, then added black to deepen the color, thinking of the
mulda'din
berries that bloomed in the spring in his back yard. Wouldn't it be time for them now?

Data seemed unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth several times before finally coming to a decision. “Counselor Troi wishes me to finish a project and hang it in the gallery. I need art lessons.”

Daniels glanced around. The room was approximately thirty meters square, the walls adorned with finished pieces, some framed, some displayed as plain canvas. A waist-high shelf that ran the length of the farthest wall was cluttered with jars of brushes, sculpting tools, rulers, paints, and canvases. Easels sat in two rows beside the shelf and along the left wall in front of windows that looked out at the moving stars.

Several of the easels were covered, half-completed works resting on them. Many were empty. Inviting.

“If you want art lessons, maybe you should check the schedule and sign up.”

“Yes.” Data nodded. “I know. But I would like for you to teach me how to paint again.”

Daniels pointed to himself. “Me?”

“You said your wife was an art instructor.”

“Yeah, my wife. Not me. I'm probably not any better than any average student.”

“But you paint—I have read your file. And you are human, and have emotions.” Data gave a half smile. “ also believe you are the best qualified because you do not know me. You have no preconceived ideas concerning
my abilities, nor have you seen any of my previous work. You are the perfect impartial teacher.”