Pliable truths, p.21
Pliable Truths, page 21
Worf countered, “If we attempt a rescue mission, we could be responsible for triggering an interstellar incident. War, once again with the Cardassian Union.”
Riker moved to stand between Ro and Jae, and he stared at the viewscreen. The planet that was the subject of interest was not visible, but it was there, taunting him. Could the Cardassians afford to have whatever secrets they were protecting exposed? Would any of that matter if a Starfleet vessel violated their border and carried out an unsanctioned mission against Cardassian forces? Would such action provide cover for burying the secret of that world? There also were the Bajorans to consider. If Riker seized the initiative and it all went to hell, would Starfleet have his back?
Don’t screw up.
“Ro,” he said, “maybe your friend can help shed some light on things. I think it’s time we let him know we’re in the neighborhood.”
25
“Captain, you’re allowed to call a recess.”
Lost in thought, it took Picard a moment to realize Counselor Troi was talking to him. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. “I apologize, Deanna. I’m not myself today.”
It then occurred to him that he had said nothing to her during their walk to the wardroom. All he could recall was a perfunctory greeting after meeting her in the passageway outside their adjacent quarters. What had she just said to him?
“I was saying you don’t need to wait for the first minister or the commissioner to request a recess.” Keeping pace with him, she leaned closer, as if to make sure he was listening. “It’s within the protocols for you to declare a recess for any number of reasons.”
Picard said, “Is one of those reasons that a Cardassian intermediary captured and tortured me, and is now enjoying watching me as I relive that experience every time I look at him?” He glanced around to make sure they were alone.
To her credit, Troi took the serve and smacked it back across the figurative net. “That might fall under extenuating circumstances, such as requiring a visit to the lavatory or the Romulans declaring interstellar war. There might also be special dispensation for happy hour at that Ferengi’s bar on the Promenade.”
“Research that last one and get back to me.”
He had spent the evening in private contemplation, ensconced in his temporary quarters attempting to lose himself in the pages of a book he had brought with him from the Enterprise. The book ended up holding little interest for him, and neither had the other tome he had packed as a contingency. There was nothing wrong with either volume, but they could not compete with the thoughts filling his mind. Despite multiple attempts, the Bajorans and Cardassians were as far apart now as they were when the discussions began. It was fair to say some of the demands levied by First Minister Kalem on behalf of Bajor leaned toward the extreme. However, his requests for assistance removing environmental hazards from the planet and a commitment to the return of Bajoran nationals and property taken offworld, as well as a full accounting for missing Bajorans and items, were reasonable.
As they turned a corner in the corridor, Picard said, “Have we heard from Commander Riker?”
Troi replied, “They arrived at the coordinates and are commencing repairs.” Picard knew she was playing her role in the charade they had engineered to disguise the reason for the Enterprise’s departure. They had agreed not to speak of the ship’s real mission anywhere on the station, in the event they were being monitored.
“They might return before we’re done here,” said Picard. “The Cardassians seem determined to downplay the lasting effects of the Occupation. ‘Unauthorized deviations to the rules and regulations’ is one excuse I recall.”
Troi replied, “The one that irritated me was ‘unsubstantiated indiscretions.’ One has to wonder at their efforts to minimize what happened. Surely no one can accept something that’s in direct contradiction to what they’ve seen and heard with their own eyes and ears.”
“I assure you, Counselor,” said Picard, “the capacity to craft a reality to suit one’s worldview in order to avoid any responsibility for whatever horrible thing they have either enabled or incited is eternal.” Even with their current efforts, the captain feared that how the suffering of the Bajorans had been ignored would remain one of the darkest chapters of Federation history.
His next thoughts were lost amid the sound and flash of the explosion.
* * *
White light flooded his vision, and he reached up to shield his eyes. Picard detected movement within or beyond the pale shroud that seemed to cover everything. Voices, muffled and indistinct, rang hollow in his ears. The white began to fade and figures emerged. His head throbbed with pain, and he sensed someone leaning close. Then he felt a hand on his chest.
“Jean-Luc, can you hear me?”
His eyes focused and he saw a wave of red before him, and he realized it was Beverly Crusher, leaning so close her hair was almost brushing his face.
He was lying on his back, instinct telling him to seek cover, and Picard attempted to sit up. That was a mistake, his body protesting the sudden movement. With a groan of pain, he let himself collapse back to a supine position.
“As your doctor, I advise against that for a few minutes.”
Only then did Picard realize he was lying on some sort of bed. His vision, while still blurry, had refocused enough for him to see subdued overhead lighting set into the curved ceiling above him. It took him an extra moment to recognize the telltale signs of Cardassian architecture.
“Where am I?”
Returning to his side, Crusher leaned over so he could see her. “The station infirmary. You’ve been unconscious for nearly twenty minutes, but you don’t have any serious injuries.”
He blinked for several seconds, trying to clear his head. Then a single thought emerged from the others whirling in his head. “Deanna.”
“I’m here, sir,” said another voice, one he recognized for its soft, almost melodic quality. Troi added, “I’m fine, thanks to you.”
Picard frowned. “Thanks to me?”
“You pushed me out of the way when the explosion occurred,” said Troi. “We weren’t close enough for serious injury from the blast, but a piece of debris caught you in the side of your head and you fell to the floor on top of me.”
Gritting his teeth, Picard tried to remember, but there was a hole in his memory where that recollection should have been. He reached up to where his head hurt, expecting to find a bandage or blood or some other sign of injury, but he felt nothing.
“I already treated your wound,” said Crusher. “I also scanned for signs of concussion or hearing damage, and you’re fine. You’ll probably be sore for a couple of days.”
Finally able to arrange his thoughts into a useful order, Picard asked, “The explosion. What was it?”
“It was a bomb, sir,” said Troi. “In the room set aside for the Cardassian delegation. We would have passed it on our way to the boardroom. If it had gone off just a few seconds later…” She let her voice fade.
Picard tried sitting up again, and this time he ignored his body’s protests. “Was anyone hurt?”
Crusher replied, “Commissioner Wonar was in the room when the bomb detonated, and there was a Cardassian guard detail just outside. They suffered injuries and are being treated aboard the commissioner’s ship, but Wonar took the brunt of the blast at close range. I got there as fast as they could beam me aboard, but it was too late. He never had a chance.”
“But how—?” Picard stopped himself, a wave of dizziness washing over him. Crusher moved to him with a hypospray and injected him; within seconds the unsettling sensations began to fade. He even felt a bit revitalized thanks to whatever she had given him. “How did someone get an explosive into that room? It was supposed to be secured, and guarded even when the commissioner wasn’t there.”
Troi said, “Major Heslo has the station’s chief of security examining the scene with help from Commander La Forge.”
A shuffling from somewhere behind him made Picard turn to see First Minister Kalem and Kai Opaka entering the infirmary, a Bajoran Militia security detail right on their heels. The Bajoran leaders wore matching expressions of shock and concern, and they made their way in hurried fashion across the room.
“Captain,” said Kalem, extending his hands toward Picard. “Thank the Prophets. We were just informed of this unspeakable tragedy.”
He took one of Picard’s hands in both of his, and the captain could feel the first minister trembling in obvious worry. As for Opaka, at first she appeared to be her usual stoic self, but Picard could see the concern that also haunted her own eyes.
“First Minister,” said Picard. “Eminence, given the circumstances, you may not be safe here. I’m compelled to ask that you both agree to let us transfer you to a safer location.” He almost said the Enterprise before remembering his ship was not here. “Perhaps the Oceanside. I’m sure her captain will be more than happy to accommodate you.”
Opaka replied, “We appreciate your concern for our safety, Captain, but our leaving the station would only send the wrong message, both to the perpetrators of this terrible crime and those looking to us for leadership and guidance.”
“Further,” said Kalem, “no matter who is responsible, it was an act of aggression upon our guests on our station. I cannot hide while others search for the guilty parties, and neither can I remove myself and leave others to shoulder that responsibility.”
The dizziness was gone, and Picard was beginning to feel more like himself despite the muscle aches. Pushing himself from the patient bed, a move he made under Doctor Crusher’s disapproving glare, he pulled down on the front of his uniform, which he now noticed was dirty and torn in places. “I can appreciate that. My primary concern is the blow it would be to your people if anything happened to you.”
“Are you concerned about how any failure on your part to protect the first minister and Her Eminence might be perceived by the Bajorans, Captain?”
Although his body tensed despite his best efforts, Picard forced himself not to further react as he turned to see Legate Madred entering the infirmary. Another pair of Bajoran Militia members flanked him, but if the Cardassian took any notice of their presence, he did not show it.
“Madred,” said Picard, keeping his voice neutral, “it is good to see you uninjured.”
The legate made a show of putting a hand to his chest, though his face registered no emotion. “Captain, your concern is most touching. It is exactly what I would expect from a proper Starfleet officer.”
Refusing to take the bait, Picard instead asked, “Where is Arbitrator Ilson? Was she harmed?”
“Like Legate Madred,” said Troi, “she wasn’t in or near the room when the explosive detonated. She’s being questioned by the station security chief.”
“When does the questioning expand to include Bajorans?” When everyone turned to look at him, Madred added, “Surely I’m not the only one who suspects this was the act of a terrorist. There are Bajorans with significant grievances against my people, even if we disagree on the merits of their complaints.”
To Picard’s surprise, Kalem said, “The legate raises a valid point. This may be the work of a Bajoran, perhaps a former Resistance fighter or someone else seeking vengeance.” He turned to Madred. “In the interests of continuing to advocate for my people, Legate, we pledge to assist in any way possible to help find and punish whoever is responsible. Despite our differences I still believe our discussions hold value. I sincerely hope we can find a way to forge a path ahead.”
Madred said nothing at first, but his expression told Picard he had already made his decision and was waiting for a properly dramatic interval to pass before responding.
“To be honest,” he said, “I was ready to end these negotiations, particularly in light of this indefensible attack upon one of our esteemed representatives. However, I have informed Central Command of this alarming incident. My superiors have instructed me to continue in Commissioner Wonar’s stead. Arbitrator Ilson will remain, to assist me.” When he paused, with a tilt of his head, his expression seemed to soften. “We all have our duty.”
Excusing himself, Madred departed the infirmary with his Bajoran bodyguards in tow. The Enterprise officers exchanged surprised looks with Kalem and Opaka.
“That’s quite a development,” said Picard.
Crusher said, “I do not like that individual.” She studied Picard. “All right?”
“Yes.” Picard nodded. “I’m fine. Rather, I will be fine. We need to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.” To Kalem, he said, “First Minister, it pains me to say this, but given the circumstances, we must consider the possibility this was the work of Bajorans.”
Kalem’s expression turned somber. “I agree, Captain. It would be foolish to rule out such a possibility. There have been other reports of Bajorans taking matters into their own hands against the Cardassians who’ve not left the planet or this station. My orders on this are very clear: such behavior will not be tolerated and the perpetrator will be punished.”
Opaka said, “There is too much at stake, and we cannot allow our emotions to control us. We will work together to get past this, for the good of Bajor.”
As the Bajorans left, Picard noted Troi watching them. “Captain, I sensed something… odd… from Madred while he was talking. It was a satisfaction—a sort of perverse satisfaction—with the turn of events.”
“You think he was behind this?” asked Crusher, her eyes wide. “Really?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone resorted to underhanded methods,” said Picard. “It’s more likely he’s taking advantage of an opportunity to further his own interests.”
“He’s dangerous, Captain,” said Troi. “Now that he doesn’t have the commissioner to rein him in, he’ll use this as a way of provoking you.”
“We need to be careful, Jean-Luc,” added Crusher, and he saw the genuine concern in her eyes. “You need to be careful.”
26
No sooner did the transporter beam release her than Beverly Crusher felt herself enveloped by a profound chill. The sensation reminded her of walking into the large cooling unit at the back of her grandmother’s lab where she stored various plants as well as seed and soil samples. The only sources of illumination were the lights worn by her, Keiko O’Brien, and Kira Nerys, strapped to their left wrists. The trio had activated them prior to transport, ensuring they did not materialize in total darkness. The effect of the limited visibility in the otherwise utter blackness was profound. Crusher could not help the momentary shiver coursing through her body, and rubbed her hands together for a moment before tapping her combadge.
“Crusher to Oceanside. Transport complete.” She turned to see O’Brien and Kira standing behind her, and each indicated they were fine. “We’re all here, safe and sound.”
“Acknowledged, Doctor,” said the voice of Captain Tamiko Hayashi, the Oceanside’s commanding officer. After a moment, she added, “According to our scans, you shouldn’t be too far from the source of the readings.”
“We’ll keep you posted,” said Crusher.
Hayashi replied, “We’ll be here if you need us, Doctor. Oceanside out.”
Adjusting the sling of the satchel draped over her left shoulder, Crusher raised her arm and shone her flashlight’s beam around their new surroundings. She could see and hear water seeping from countless fissures in the rock, running down a narrow, shallow stream that was all that remained of what she assumed was once a subterranean river.
“I’d guess the rerouting of the water into the camp affected its course down here,” said Kira.
O’Brien stepped into Crusher’s line of sight, her light playing off the nearby wall. “I can’t believe this tunnel runs directly under the camp’s water-management system, and no one ever noticed it before now.”
“The Cardassians who built the camp likely knew about it,” said Crusher. “They would’ve conducted site surveys and sounded the bedrock to make sure it could handle the stress of construction and if infrastructure needed extra support.”
“It was likely Bajorans who built all of that,” said Kira. “Overseen by their benevolent Cardassian overlords, of course.”
When her tricorder beeped for attention, Crusher looked at the unit in surprise. “There’s something down here. I’m picking up refined metals and indications of technology.”
“Could it be mining equipment?” asked Keiko. “Or something left over from the original construction? They may have tossed rock debris and leftover materials down here.”
Kira said, “That tracks with the usual Cardassian lack of concern for the environment. Given all the chemical and biological waste they tossed into our rivers, lakes, and oceans, it’s no wonder the entire planet isn’t in bed with whatever this contagion is.”
The doctor’s light was playing along the damp wall, but her attention was focused on listening for any sounds apart from the gentle litany of dripping water from multiple points all around her, and Crusher almost missed the irregularity on the stone in front of her. Catching herself, she pulled the light back, retracing her steps, until the beam shone on something out of place in an underground cavern.
“Have a look at this,” she said, her voice echoing off the tunnel walls. She listened to the sounds of Kira and O’Brien sloshing through the ankle-deep water, their lights dancing along the walls and ceiling as they drew closer. With the three of them now standing together, they were able to combine their lights to get a better look at the wall.
“What is that?” asked O’Brien as she focused her light on a small circular cap, mounted to a portion of pipe embedded into the rock.
Shifting the satchel on her shoulder to a more comfortable position, Crusher eyed the valve. “About ten centimeters across. Maybe it’s a valve of some kind?” Activating her tricorder, she aimed the device at the odd fitting, and the unit beeped within seconds. “Nine point eight centimeters. This is recent. Very recent. According to these readings, the hole behind this thing was cut no more than a few weeks ago.”
