The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [77]
“A team of researchers from Special Projects will be waiting for you on Vulcan; they can take the Heart to more secure quarters.
However, be very careful on your journey here, Captain Picard. At all costs, the Heart must be kept out of the hands of the Federation’s enemies.”
Admiral Wilkerson blinked away, and once again the screen went dark.
“The Guardian of Forever,” said Picard, but he was looking down at the Heart as he spoke.
“Is that where you belong?”
“Captain?”
Picard looked up as if startled that he was not alone. “Yes?”
“Up until now, we’ve assumed this rock was a harmless archaeological relic.” Riker shook his head in disbelief at Starfleet’s revelations. “But if what the admiral said is true, you’d be safer holding a photon torpedo in your hands. Shouldn’t we keep the Heart in a guarded security vault?”
The captain frowned at the suggestion. “I don’t think deep storage will be necessary. If anything, it will simply draw extra attention to the Heart. However, to be on the safe side, I’ll order an end to any more of Data’s attempts at laboratory analysis.”
This wasn’t the result Riker had intended, but before he could marshal an argument, Picard added, “That will be all, Number One.”
“Aye, sir.” Riker rose and walked swiftly out of the room and onto the bridge.
Data looked up from his Ops console, his gold eyes gleaming with unasked questions.
“Don’t hold your breath, Data.”
“Sir?”
Riker kept walking.
He passed through the command area and was halfway up the side ramp when he tapped his comm link and said, “Riker to Counselor Troi. Meet me in the main conference room.”
The captain’s chair of a starship was comfortable— Worf knew this from personal experience—but until such time as he earned the right to assume command authority, the Klingon preferred his position on the aft deck. From this lofty perch, he could observe every action on the bridge and overhear almost all conversations. He had little personal interest in most of the information he gathered, but as the chief of security, Worf felt it was his duty to be aware of the petty concerns of the crew and the weightier matters that involved the senior officers.
So Worf did not miss the anxious look on Commander Riker’s face as he strode off the bridge toward the conference room; his call to the ship’s counselor was duly noted as well.
“There appears to be a problem,” said Data.
The android had a comment for every event, no matter how minor; he would not have lasted very long on a Klingon warship.
“Messy Human problems.”
Unfortunately, Troi’s involvement was usually a warning of an imminent disruption to order and discipline on board the ship.
“In theory, the counselor’s early involvement can forestall the development of greater difficulties.”
“Bad theory.” Worf had little faith in the android’s understanding of such matters. “Klingon ships have no counselors, and they have fewer problems.”
Before Data could prolong this exchange, Worf turned away to a more concrete task, one that did not involve speculation about Human frailties.
Flickering green lights on his console indicated the presence of a faint communications broadcast in the sector surrounding Starbase 193. The steady pulse of a blue light indicated that the signal was an automated message, sent out at regular intervals but without sufficient power to reach a starship traveling at warp speed.
The security chief made a slight adjustment to the alignment of the ship’s antenna array. Then another.
By the time Riker had returned to the bridge, with Counselor Troi following in his wake, Worf had established that the call was spread across all the frequencies used by commercial freighters and passenger liners, and that it was broadcast in a scattershot pattern that would saturate the sector. Since only a starbase had the energy resources for that effort, the implication was that Commander Miyakawa was transmitting information of importance to local ship traffic.
Worf rechanneled more auxiliary power to the amplifiers of the subspace transceivers.
Deanna