Possession - J.M. Dillard [73]
The evidence was startling only in its absence. It would be bad enough, Picard knew, to have to break the news of Evans’s death to her parents; how could he face that when he couldn’t even tell them why or how? There had to be something in the reports, some key that would lead him to the truth.
“Bron to Captain Picard.” It was a feminine voice. Jendar Bron was a second-year ensign currently manning communications.
“Yes, Ensign,” Picard murmured, his eyes still focused on the horrific details of how Evans had met her end: shock, from blood loss and brutal trauma. Someone still aboard this vessel had stood by and watched.
“Sorry to disturb you, Captain, but I found something odd in the communication logs.”
“What is it?” He finally glanced up, scowling. Protocol dictated that Bron should take her problem to Commander Riker. What was happening to the training on this ship, anyway?
Bron seemed to note his irritation; her tone grew even more hesitant and apologetic. “Captain, there’s a message logged in from Starfleet Command, a library file. It’s routed to you, but there’s no record of your having received it. Have you been notified about this communiqué, sir?”
Picard sighed. “When did it come in?”
“Yesterday, sir. It was received as a priority message, but then rerouted into storage and given a low-priority status.”
A sudden suspicion made him pause. “Send me the file now. I want to see it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He swiveled back toward his small console and watched as the Starfleet logo appeared, followed by the file heading. The stardate confirmed his suspicions. This was the file with the information about the epidemic.
“Who received this file when it came in, Ensign Bron?”
“That’s the other odd thing, sir. There’s no record of the recipient.”
Impossible. Documentation on the receipt of a file was automatic. “Well, who was on duty when it came through the bridge?” They might be able to determine the original recipient.
“It doesn’t appear that the file ever got to the bridge or that anyone here was even notified about it, Captain. It’s as if the file was received by the ship’s sensors, then automatically rerouted without anyone ever even seeing it. I accidentally found it because I was looking for a file requested by one of the scientists.”
Picard stared at the message on his screen in disbelief. What Bron was telling him indicated deliberate tampering with Starfleet protocols and the central computer’s responses to routine procedures.
“Thank you, Ensign, for bringing this to my attention. Good work.” He sat back in his chair. He could have Data and La Forge run a complete level-one diagnostic on the ship, but he wasn’t sure he could afford to devote that much time on this problem when the more immediate one seemed to be the random acts of violence occurring on the ship. He would have to talk to La Forge and Data after his meeting with the senior staff and see what they thought could be the cause. If it was sabotage, it would indicate the violence aboard ship might not be random at all.
“Ensign Bron,” he said quietly.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Please inform the senior staff that I’ll be several minutes late for our meeting. Ask them to please wait.”
“Aye, sir.”
Crusher and La Forge stood conferring in the ready room and glanced up quickly—almost guiltily, Will thought—when Riker came in. He assumed they wanted a private moment with Picard, who normally arrived at meetings early. If that was the case, they were clearly out of luck.
“Have you received word about the captain’s delay?” he asked.
“Just now,” Geordi answered. “We thought since we were already here, we might as well wait.”
Beverly looked up at Will’s face curiously. “Commander, what’s happened to your eye?” She reached for her medi-scanner as she approached him.
“My eye? Nothing, I hope,” Riker said cheerily.
She peered into Riker’s face a moment—he stood carefully still, gazing upward as she studied the affected eye—then clicked her tongue with doctorly concern. “Yes, definitely. You’ve got a broken blood vessel in your sclera.