Synthesis - James Swallow [20]
“How did she do that?”
“Not the easy way,” replied the Orion.
THREE
“Usually,” said Riker, pausing at the window in his ready room, “it’s the first officer’s job to prevent a captain from doing things that might be considered foolhardy, not the other way around.”
“I understand thickheaded is the term that Lieutenant Commander Keru used, sir,” offered Vale. She stood at stiff attention in front of his desk. A small gray patch with a pulsing indicator on its surface—a medical module—was attached to her neck. Her hand twitched as she resisted the desire to scratch at it.
“That works, too.” He frowned at the cloud of wreckage off the starboard bow and turned to face her. “Damn it, Chris, what were you thinking? You could have been fried.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, Captain,” she replied. “The circumstances weren’t exactly favorable to a lengthy, involved process of reasoning.”
“You’re not bulletproof, Commander, none of us is,” he replied. “You took a big risk.”
“Risk is our business,” she noted evenly, and Riker’s lips curled.
“Don’t quote James T. Kirk to me,” he told her. “That trick was old even when I was using it.”
Vale eyed him. “Never worked on Captain Picard, either, huh?”
“Nope. And he knew the man.” Riker blew out a breath. “Lucky for you, you made the right call. According to Ensign Meldok, disconnecting that…” He reached for a padd on his desk containing the Benzite’s report. “That ‘nexus core’ caused an immediate shutdown of all of the wreck’s autonomic defense systems.”
“Luck didn’t enter into it, sir,” she replied. Riker studied her gravely, and then she sighed. “Okay, well, maybe a little.”
“Just don’t use any more up on thickheaded spur-of-the-moment stuff like that,” he replied. “I’ve got you broken in nicely. I don’t want to have to replace you with Tuvok and thereby lose a good tactical officer.”
“I’m touched, sir, really.” She managed a slight smile, concealing a wince of pain from her still-aching neck muscles.
A two-tone ping sounded from the door, and Riker called out. “Come in.”
The door hissed open to admit Deanna Troi. “Christine?” she said. “Shouldn’t you be in sickbay?”
“I’m fine.”
Troi gave her a look that made it clear she knew that wasn’t the whole truth, but she had been a counselor and a Starfleet officer long enough to know that sometimes bed rest was the last thing a person needed.
“Do we have a problem?” Riker asked.
“That all depends,” said Troi, “on what we have onboard.”
The captain nodded. “Where’s the device now?”
“Cybernetics lab, Deck Ten. Lieutenant Sethe and Specialist Chaka are down there right now with Ensign Dakal, giving it the once-over.”
Riker touched an inset keypad on his desk, and the ghostly pane of a holographic screen appeared. A live sensor feed from the lab showed a graphic of the alien module secured in a gantry made of silver tubes. Readings were streaming in as data probes attached to the device’s casing gave their first outputs.
The captain’s jaw stiffened, and Vale saw Troi shoot her husband a glance. “Remind you of anything?” he said in a low voice.
“I’ll admit there are some superficial visual similarities,” said the other woman.
“Borg.” When Vale said the name, it was as if the temperature in the ready room fell ten degrees.
“Yes.” Riker folded his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Are we certain—?”
“We’re certain,” Vale said firmly, telling herself she was right. “It’s not them. Not even some sort of variant or splinter group. The commander is correct. There are some similarities, but that’s as far as it goes.” She pointed at the object on the screen. “That’s about as close to Borg tech as I am to a Klingon. Vaguely the same, but that’s all.”
“Will, we should make sure the crew knows that.” Troi’s dark eyes were serious. “Everyone’s feeling the same thing you are.”
“And what would that be?” He turned to his wife. “A gut fear?” Along with every other ship in Starfleet—and many more beyond it—months earlier, the Titan had been part of the forces