Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice (22 page)

“This setup is all so you can listen in on someone,” said Keru, cutting to the heart of it.

“Two days ago the admiral suggested we begin monitoring a discreet subspace domain in the tertiary sigma band layers,” said Torvig, off a nod from Riker. “Such layers are not commonly employed for subspace radio transmissions, owing to the larger energy cost of pushing a signal through such a compressed para-dimensional zone.”

Modan took her cue and indicated a display screen,
which showed a series of complicated moving waveforms. “This is essentially a hidden conduit for communications from Earth to the wider quadrant. Heavily encrypted and carefully concealed to appear as normal background cosmic radiation to anyone who might accidentally happen across it.”

“What's the origin of this channel?” said Melora.

“I believe this comes from one of the highest offices in the Federation government,” said Riker.

“How high?” asked the Elaysian.

“The highest,” Riker repeated.

Keru shook his head. “Wait, no. Sir, are you saying you ordered surveillance to be carried out on the President of the United Federation of Planets? I don't know where to begin with how many laws that breaks!”

Modan blinked her golden eyes. “I . . . suspected it might be this . . . but I thought there had to be an explanation.”

At her side, Torvig's tail drooped. “Did we do something illegal?”

Riker held up his hands. “This is on me. You're following my orders. The responsibility is mine.”

“Just as now the responsibility is mine to inform Starfleet,” snapped Keru. “Sir, you realize what this means? Just standing in this room with you could be enough to end all our careers!”

“The reason is justified,” Ssura spoke up. “Actions occur that must be addressed.
Titan
is the only vessel that can do so!”

“Ranul, if you want to go to Command, I won't stop you.” Riker met his gaze. “But know that I've done none of this lightly. After all we've been through together, you owe me the chance to explain my reasons.”

The Trill nodded. “Aye, sir. You're due that. If
you were any other man, I would have arrested you already.”

“I appreciate your restraint.” He took a breath, and with steady, careful words, he brought them all into the circle.

Riker told Keru and the others about the conflicting orders, the secret commands, clandestine arrests, and mission directives, the growing weight of suspicion and distrust accreting in the Federation's corridors of power. None of them spoke or questioned what he said, and by turns the mood in the lab grew heavy and solemn. When he was done, Riker allowed his officers to take the time to absorb what he had revealed.

Modan was the first to break the silence. “If this pattern of events is what it appears to be, then we stand witness to a grave breach of the public trust. An abuse of power by unknown actors within the government of our Federation.”

“The oath of service is quite clear on this,” Keru mused. “We serve the citizens of the United Federation of Planets against enemies
both foreign and domestic
.” He glanced at Riker. “I understand now, sir. But believe me, if what we're doing here turns out to be anything other than what you've just brought to light, I
will
still throw you in the brig.”

Riker managed a smirk. “If I'm wrong, I'll go quietly.”

Keru went on. “But let's say you're right. We're on thin ice here. We can't know how big a problem this is until we know who is behind it.”

Torvig's metallic hands knit before him. “The Federation is a construct of laws and protections. That structure cannot be ignored, no matter what level one may exist at. If someone hides behind it in order to
abuse it, we cannot allow that to go on.” He nodded toward Riker. “Sir, I will assist you in this, and I accept fully the consequences that may follow.”

Melora said nothing, only nodded her agreement.

“I appreciate your trust and your loyalty,” Riker told them. “Now, Mister Torvig. Why don't you tell me what it is you've found?”

The Choblik crossed to one of the freestanding consoles and tapped in a string of commands. “This morning, at approximately zero seven hundred hours shipboard time, the passive monitoring scans set up to observe the covert channel picked up a burst transmission. It appeared to originate from a source somewhere on Earth's European continent.”

“I gave it an initial evaluation,” said Modan. “Very dense, sir. On the order of gigaquads of compressed data.”

“Let's see it.”

The ensign tapped a control, and the screen before her filled with an impenetrable wall of text, a flood of symbols and digits that at first sight seemed overwhelmingly complex.

“The composition is familiar to me,” said Ssura. “But not comparable to typical subspace message packets.”

Melora came closer, nodding. “He's right. It's not a message stream; it's far too intricate to be video or audio data, even under multiple layers of encryption.” Riker saw Pazlar's eyes narrow as she turned her intellect to the challenge before her. “I know what this is,” she breathed. “It's a holomatrix. Compacted and reconfigured for direct subspace transfer, but definitely an autonomous program.”

“A holographic recording?” asked Keru.

“Unlikely, sir,” Torvig replied. “Unless it contained a colossal level of detail. Lieutenant Commander Pazlar's hypothesis fits the facts. This appears to be a fully operative holoprogram, designed to be interacted with by the recipient.”

“Could it be decompiled?” asked Modan. “It might be possible to learn what it contains without activating it.”

Ssura folded his thin arms across his chest. “Possible, but protracted. It would take weeks to correctly deconstruct something so intricate. Also there may be anti-tampering subroutines built into the program to prevent such acts.”

“There is another alternative,” said Riker, rubbing his chin as he considered. “We run it.”

“I like the thought of that very little.” Keru's reply was dour. “We've got no idea what we have here.”

Torvig's tail gestured at the consoles. “This system is unconnected to any of
Titan
's main functions. If there were a catastrophic effect from activating the program, it could not spread beyond this compartment.”

“
Catastrophic effect
?” echoed Keru. “Tor, my friend, you're not exactly selling me on this.”

“I can rig an emergency shutdown,” said Modan, bringing up a subroutine. She indicated a flashing icon before her. “I press here and all power to this compartment will instantly be cut.”

All eyes turned to Riker, and he nodded. “Run the program.”

*  *  *

Keru's hand tensed and he found himself unconsciously reaching for a holstered phaser that wasn't there. He watched Torvig's manipulators scuttle across the control panel like metal spiders, and then with
a flash of light, the holographic emitter array in the center of the lab came to life.

Lacking the power or range of a full holodeck system, the emitter rig couldn't produce something that would encompass the whole compartment, but then the content of the covert message wasn't a simulation or a synthetic environment. A humanoid figure faded in from nothing, shimmering as the form gained the illusion of solidity.

Riker's first thought was of a child's rendition of a human, a featureless sketch scaled up to the height of a man. The figure had nothing that was indicative of gender, species, or other identity, only the most basic structure of two legs, a torso, two arms, and a head. It was nothing but a placeholder construct, a thing to give the suggestion of a being without any of the actual substance of a real person.

The face it wore was barely an outline of eyes and mouth, and for a moment it didn't move. Then slowly the hologram's bland aspect turned to examine the room around it, head cocked in a manner that was almost quizzical. When it spoke, the voice was flat and toneless. “Receiver mismatch has been logged. Please wait.”

“What is the meaning of that?” Ssura asked.

“It must be aware that it is not where it is supposed to be.” Modan alternated between watching her panel and scanning the hologram with a tricorder. “I'm seeing a lot of internal processing taking place.”

Riker stepped forward and cleared his throat, addressing the figure directly. “Identify your origin and function.”

“The origin of this program is protected,” it replied. “Function: messenger.”

“It's trying to determine its location,” said Torvig
as red flags blinked into being on his console. “But it can't connect out of the stand-alone server.”

“Messenger?” Riker said it like a name, and the hologram looked up at him. “Disclose your information to me.”

“No.” It stared at the admiral with those blank, doll-like eyes. Keru searched them for any sign of emotion, synthetic or not, and came up empty. “The recipient template is not present. Provide designated recipient for primary authentication.”

“It doesn't know us,” said Melora. “And we don't know who the message is for, so there's no way we can bring them here.”

“Messenger, I am Admiral William Riker of Star-fleet Command, and by my authority I order you to immediately relinquish your information.”

“I am not subject to your authority,” the hologram said flatly. Then it slowly turned its head to study Torvig and Modan. “I am aware of attempts being made to infiltrate my core functions. Be advised that any perceived intrusion into security layers will meet with a prompt response.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Keru snapped. “Explain the nature of this response.”

“Stage one: Security firewall is now active. Stage two: Data lockdown is pending. Stage three: Self-deletion . . . is pending.” Keru caught the pause in the reply and considered what that might mean. “I will divulge information only to the designated recipient,” concluded the hologram.

“This program is clearly capable of a heuristic-learning response to outside stimuli,” Torvig noted. “It's semi-intelligent. One could almost say it's been programmed to be evasive.”

“A message that encodes itself . . .” said Ssura. “Quite remarkable.”

“Admiral, if I may?” Modan put down the tricorder and stepped forward as Riker gave her a nod. “Messenger, the recipient template is unavailable at this time. You must have auxiliary protocols for authentication in the event of such circumstances.”

“Yes,” said the figure. “Shall I proceed to that phase?”

“Go on,” Modan said warily.

The hologram studied her blankly. “Queen to queen's level three. Reply.”

Torvig's eyes widened. “That is a move from a game of three-dimensional chess. I do not understand. . . .”

“I do,” said Riker. “It's old Starfleet code. Nothing formal or official, just a quick and simple way for crews to signal if they were under duress or if they needed to confirm someone's identity.”

Keru glanced at him. “Do you know the correct response?”

The admiral shook his head. “It could be any one of a thousand different counter-moves. That's the beauty of it. Simple to learn, but with countless variables.”

“And if we give the wrong answer, the program deletes itself, and we're back to where we started,” said Modan.

Keru studied the holographic figure, his jaw set in a scowl. “We wanted to intercept a message. Instead we appear to have captured a prisoner.”

T
he air-cab banked gently as it pulled into a shallow turn over the river Thames, arrowing through London's late-afternoon sky. A light wind hummed over the windows as the flyer's blunt prow moved to take up a path that would follow the line of Westminster Bridge, calm and unhurried toward the hotel in Holland Park where Deanna Troi had taken rooms for the evening.

The crisp, clear air meant that the view of the Houses of Parliament and the tower of Big Ben was sharp and perfect, and Deanna instinctively reached out to tap her daughter on the shoulder, intending to bring her attention to the city's ageless icons. But she halted, her hand resting over Tasha's shoulder; the four-year-old was fast asleep, her head resting against the opposite window, one hand clutching the plush toy raven she had picked up at the Tower of London.

Troi smiled, delighted by the simple normality of the moment—and then she stifled a yawn herself. It
had
been a long day, she reflected. Out to East Anglia in the morning to see where members of the Troi family had once lived, then crisscrossing the city to visit the sights, willfully going astray in backstreets filled
with curious little shops and buildings that were half a millennium old or more. It had been easy to lose herself in Tasha's enthusiasm for the new for a few hours, just to get away from the cheerless mood that seemed to have cast itself across everything else.

A soft, melodic chime sounded from a pocket in her tunic, and Troi grabbed for the comm padd there, silencing it before it could wake her daughter. The device's screen showed a Starfleet crest and a numeric code indicating a signal relay from off-world. A frown threatened to gather, but she pushed it aside. “Troi here,” she said.

The display switched to an image of Christine Vale, in uniform and seated before what appeared to be a window looking out onto warp space.
“Deanna. I'm glad I got you. Can you talk?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

Vale leaned in toward the image pickup.
“Wait a second.”
She did something at a panel by her hand, and the image quality lessened, the sound taking on a tinny resonance; Vale had activated an encryption subroutine at her end of the transmission.
“Okay. Where are you now?”