The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [75]
“Um ... yes, of course. Here we go. I’m going to start you slowly, Dir—Your Majesty.”
“At the first sign of trouble, I will terminate the connections,” the EMH said.
“No you won’t. Only if I am in extreme danger. We’ve spent several years proceeding with caution, but the time for that has passed. Now, gentlemen.”
She stood in her alcove and watched as Blake began to download the information from Starfleet Intelligence systems into her brain.
Covington had linked with her collective before. She was starting to grow accustomed to the myriad voices in her head, even to be able to control and separate them out as she chose. But this was different. Harsher, somehow. Lacking human warmth. The information flooded her brain, but at first she was able to stay on top of it.
Here was a report from a spy in deep cover on [225] Vulcan. There were the personal security codes for the head of Starfleet Intelligence. Here were the instructions for the replicators. She smiled a little as she wondered if she could order cinnamon rolls just by thinking about it.
More information came. Messages, thousands of them. One of them registered like a blow upon her consciousness. Just a few moments ago, Libby Webber had contacted Fletcher on a secured channel. A meeting on a beach in Maine was one thing, but Webber would not need a secure channel for romantic chitchat. This could only mean one thing—Covington had seriously underestimated Agent Webber.
Her head started to ache and her lips went dry as her breathing quickened.
“How are you handling it?” Blake’s voice floated to her. She frowned. It would be easier if she could just hear his thoughts. Vocal speech was so clumsy, so slow.
Covington moved her lips, heard her own voice, strange-sounding, emerge in a croak. “More.”
“I’m going to branch out now, to the rest of the Starfleet systems. This might be a little overwhelming at first.”
“Overwhelming” was a pallid word for the intensity of what struck Covington. It was like stepping out the door into the heart of a raging river. Information assaulted her, choked her, raped her. Colors flooded her brain, data pounded her consciousness. So much—so much! Transporter records, command codes, personnel information, security protocols, status reports, every last speck of information in every official Starfleet computer throughout the Federation spewed forth at the [226] same time. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t even control her own body sufficiently to do so. Her heart was racing wildly. She could sense it, could feel the blood flowing through her veins, could hear the cells multiplying and dividing—
Her ears recorded voices, but her brain was too numb to decipher the words. Skin registered pressure and her heart slowed. She felt cold all of a sudden and shivered violently. Her legs, locked as solid as if they had been made of metal, suddenly went rubbery and gave way.
The complex swirl of sound, sensation, and information began to fade. Frantically, Covington tried to cling to it, but to no avail. She was losing it. She had all the information contained in Starfleet systems in her head and now she was losing her grip on it. No!
She reached out with her mind. What was the most important thing, out of these billions of bits of information, for her to know? She asked for it, and it came, lodging in her memory just as darkness claimed her.
Covington regained consciousness to discover that she was securely held by the EMH.
“No,” she murmured weakly, “no, don’t disconnect me ...”
“I had no choice,” the EMH said. “You were in cardiac arrest. We’ll try to link you up again in a few hours and see how—”
“No,” Covington said as her strength returned. She squirmed in the EMH’s arms, and he set her down. “I have to relink. Now. They know, they’re coming.”
“How do you know?” asked Blake anxiously.
“It ... it was hard to pinpoint anything,” she [227] admitted. “But right before I lost consciousness I focused on the one thing I most needed to know. I accessed every transporter