War Stories (Book 2) - Keith R. A. DeCandido [8]
The second officer continued. “If the Cardassians want to know what’s coming through this relay, they’ll have to come here themselves.” A pause. “Not that I, y’know, want that or anything, but—never mind. Duffy to Feliciano. Diego, lock onto the piece of equipment half a meter in front of me and beam it to the lab. Tell the new guy not to touch it.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Salek began removing a damaged ODN conduit, he wondered how Stevens, 110, and 111 were proceeding with the attempt to ascertain the function of the Dominion device.
* * *
A sonic driver. A lousy, rotten, stinking sonic driver.
Fabian had managed to cobble together the actual components of a standard emergency tool kit from the assorted tool kits on the da Vinci—all of which were far better equipped than any tool kit he’d worked with on the Defiant or on Deep Space 9. While he did so, a small device that—to Fabian’s experienced eye after serving on a Cardassian-built space station for two years—looked to be of Cardassian design was beamed into the lab. Chief Feliciano said that Duffy had told “the new guy” not to touch it. Fabian plotted several types of revenge on Duffy for the crack while he started trying each of the tools on the golf ball.
For whatever reason, the emissions of the sonic driver had two effects—they made 110 and 111 wince and they removed a panel of the golf ball. Said panel had no visible seams until after it came off.
“How’d you do that?” Okha asked.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Fabian said, taking out his tricorder. Then his eyes widened at what the display told him. “Wow.” He looked over at the Bynars. “Are you two reading what I’m reading?”
“If you are reading—”
“—several dozen weapons systems—”
“—a propulsion system—”
“—and a sophisticated computer core—”
“—then yes, we are reading—”
“—what you are reading.”
Fabian sighed. “I wish I could say that was a relief.” He was about to tap his combadge when an indicator light went on over the doorway to the lab.
The da Vinci was at yellow alert.
Abramowitz pursed her lips. “That can’t be good.”
“Never is,” Okha muttered.
“Stevens to bridge. This may not be the best time, sir, but we’ve pried open the golf ball, and, uh—well, it’s interesting.”
“Good job, Stevens. Report,” Gold said.
Taking this as a sign that he could go on at greater length despite the alert, Fabian said, “Apparently this is some kind of small, mobile weapon. The outer casing is designed to survive space travel and protect the components, which is why we couldn’t read it until we got it open. We’re gonna do a more thorough analysis now. Unless there’s a more pressing concern?”
“Not for you. We’re just playing it safe up here, waiting to see if the Dominion wants to crash the party. Let me know what you find out.”
“We will, sir. Stevens out.” He turned to look at the diminutive, bald-headed aliens next to him. “Okay, Mutt, Jeff, let’s get to work.”
“I am 110.”
“I am 111.”
“There is no Mutt—”
“—or Jeff here.”
Again, Fabian sighed. Stick with Duffy for the jokes, he admonished himself.
As he ran the tricorder over the golf ball, he decided to brave a question. “If you two don’t mind my asking, how did a couple of Bynar civilians wind up on the da Vinci?”
“None of our kind—”
“—has ever joined Starfleet—”
“—although we have assisted Starfleet—”
“—in many computer-related endeavors.”
“It was decided—”
“—that one pairing—”
“—should serve as observers on a Starfleet Corps of Engineers vessel—”
“—during this time of war—”
“—to render assistance where needed.”
Smiling, Fabian said, “That’s very considerate. You consider enlisting for real?”
The two Bynars exchanged glances. “We have—”
“—considered it.”
Fabian wondered if he had hit upon a sore point. Before he could pursue it, however, two security guards entered. At least, Fabian assumed them to be security. True, they were enlisted personnel, based on their lack of rank insignia, and their uniforms had the gold trim of operations, but Fabian knew a grunt when he saw one. For one thing, they were armed; for another, they had that tense,