Chapter 2: Tactical Analysis
They could be anyone.
Daniel Thompson walked along the sidewalk, lugging his backpack and clinging to his coat in an effort to ward off the cold of the damp autumn's day. His breath spiralled off in vaporous billows, and his cheeks blushed slightly from the chill. And others did the same, making their way along the wet streets of Somerville.
But it wasn't just the cold that caused him to fold back onto himself.
His recent escapade in the heart of a Shapeshifter base of operations with Spock had been a rather jarring experience. That they actually escaped with their lives to begin with was hard enough to come to terms with. He was torn trying to decide whether to attribute his survival to some purveying cosmic force or sheer causal happenstance, considering the destructive potency of the bomb that completely decimated the subterranean outpost. That was but four days ago, and he hadn't slept too well for any of the nights that followed.
So he clung to his coat, eyeing passersby with wariness. They could be anyone of these people, he thought; strangers that he would never again encounter were cast as hostile foes, predators bent on dominating the world from the inside out. He wondered how vast the First Wave truly was, whether they were found not only in low places, but in high ones as well, every echelon of society compromised without so much as a blink of an eye on humanity's behalf.
That he could be in over his head came as a grim realization to him, a grimness that became even more real when he realized that he definitely was in over his head. The menace of the First Wave towered over him, threatening to topple over and crush him under its might, and a part of him wished that he could return to a life of blissful ignorance. And why not? It would certainly be a more luxurious life compared to one where he struggled daily with an overwhelming burden. And all he would have to do was simply push all notions of Shapeshifter infiltrations and government conspiracies and paranormal phenomena aside, to ignore all these troublesome things until they troubled him no more.
But that was precisely the problem.
He couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, ignore the Truth, not when it was dangling right before his eyes. It would not be easy from that point onward, he knew. He worked to muster the resolve that would be required of him if he was to travel the difficult road ahead, to play his part in the struggle for mankind's survival, however big or small a part it may be.
One step at a time.
Dan stopped at the corner of Hammond and Long, checking the note Spock gave him once more. He had instructed Dan to meet him at his workplace – a store whose name and nature he had neglected to mention – so that they could return to Spock's apartment after his shift and review the Intel they retrieved from the outpost. Dan's destination was found in Somerville, thankfully, so he was able to simply walk to his destination.
He continued his trek further into the depths of the city, until at last finding the street which he sought. Dan slowed his pace, scanning back and forth between the buildings, and halted midway down the road, reading the panel that arched over the store across the street with a raised eyebrow.
Larsen Comics.
Dan glanced back at the note, verifying that the information was correct; spotting the Oldsmobile parked nearby erased all doubt. He had a feeling that Spock worked in an untraditional venue, but he wasn't quite expecting to see such a place so fitting of his character. Smirking at the irony of the situation, he crossed the street and entered the store.
A bell jingled as the door swung open. Dan paced forward, taking in his surroundings. Though visibly aged, the store held a welcoming atmosphere. Comic books were arranged in a variety of shelves, trays and bins, scattered across the store in consistent fashion. Posters, more shelves, and merchandise occupied the majority of wall space. He noticed a large opening in the back wall, leading to another room where more wares were to be found.
He then directed himself to the unattended counter, where a score of treasures were displayed on the other side of its plastic panes. New additions were plastered on the wall, with only a few t-shirts and other memorabilia breaking the monotony of cover art. With no one present, Dan tapped the nearby service bell. Voices rang from the depths of the store, and moments later, out came Emmanuel Grayson, sporting a Green Lantern tee beneath an unbuttoned brown plaid shirt. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion; upon seeing Dan, however, he put himself at ease, and welcomed him with a warm smile.
"Greetings," he welcomed, fist-bumping his visitor. "Glad you could make it. I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding this place."
"Not at all, Spock," said Dan.
Spock immediately urged him silent.
"Dude! What do you think you're doing?" he reproached, wide-eyed. "You can't just go around saying my true name out loud like that out in the open! Who knows what sinister forces could be listening in on our conversation at this very moment? By day, I would insist that you refer to me by my mundane name."
He pointed to his name tag, upon which the diminutive was sown.
"Fair enough...Manny," conceded Dan. "Uh, speaking of sinister forces, are we all set to go?"
"Affirmative," said Spock.
Spock gave a paranoid glance back to the doorway from whence he came before continuing, leaning over the counter.
"Did you bring the Intel?" he hushed.
"It's right in here, S– Manny," replied Dan, pointing to his backpack with a cock of the head.
"Excellent," approved Spock, rubbing his hands. "I'm look forward to exchange our findings. I just need to go wrap up out back. Wait right there, I'll be right back."
With surprising speed, the grey-bearded man scurried back into the dungeons of the Larsen Comics building, leaving Dan to himself. A few minutes later, he returned, wearing a grey beret and carrying a backpack of his own, slung over his right shoulder.
"To the Oldsmobile!" he declared, pointing skywards.
Dan followed his companion outside to the car, which was parked across the street. After a few awkward and clumsy gestures, Spock found the correct key, got inside the car, and unlocked Dan's door. Once everything was in place, they sped off, blending into the uniformity of Boston traffic.
"So," started Dan. "A comic book store, huh? How long have you been working there?"
"Since about '97, if my memory serves me well," replied Spock.
"That's quite a long time," noted Dan, surprised.
"Yeah, I guess," acknowledged Spock. "It ain't too bad, though, all things considered. The fellas and I work a tight ship. And Mister Larsen is the nicest guy you'll ever meet."
Dan nodded pensively. He had never worked anywhere for more than a few years himself. He had been working at the Quickway convenience store for almost a year and a half now, and was a deli shop boy for two years before that. And he had no choice, either, with nothing but a GED; a college dropout, he was doomed to wander from post to post in the marketplace, making just enough money to lead a relatively comfortable lifestyle.
"Why there, though?" asked Dan.
"It wasn't too far from where my mother and I lived," said Spock. "She was the one who introduced me to Mister Larsen, as it happens."
"Cool," said Dan. "Your mom sounds like a classy gal."
"Oh yeah, she's fantastic!" said Spock. "She bakes the best chocolate chip cookies in all of Boston!"
"Is that right? Well, perhaps we should pay her a visit one day so that she can make us a batch."
"We can't," said Spock, solemn.
"What do you mean?" asked Dan.
"She...she's been captured by renegade Romulans."
Spock seemed distant and aloof all of a sudden, staring ahead with an inexpressive face as he drove.
"Jesus Christ, Spock, will you give that stuff a break –"
"They took her away from me!" interrupted Spock, staring at Dan with crazed eyes. "She's still out there somewhere, Crow! I know it!"
"Watch the road!" yelled Dan, gripping the driver's shoulder.
Spock snapped out of his apparent trance and braked hard to prevent crashing into the car in front of them, causing them to lurch forward in their straps with the sound of squealing tires.
"What the hell, man?" cried Dan. "What's the matter with you?"
"What?" asked Spock. "What are you talking about?"
Spock seemed genuinely unaware of his previous state, blinking his eyes as though he had just awoken from a strange dream.
"...Never mind," said Dan.
Spock shrugged, eyeing the traffic lights. When it turned green, they sped off; as they crossed the intersection, Dan thought he could hear Spock mumbling to himself.
"...I-I am Spock, son of Sarek of the planet Vulcan, Starfleet officer and sworn protector of the United Federation of Planets..."
But soon enough, all trace of Spock's apparent lunacy disappeared, and Dan dropped the matter entirely, having made a commitment to accept his partner's many quirks; not to mention lacking the desire to delve into whatever psychological issues he might – and probably did – have.
The duo remained silent for the remainder of the drive to Malden, parking near the Summerside Apartments complex once they arrived. Spock opened the front door of the ground-level apartment. Dan chucked his backpack on the living room couch while the other meticulously locked the column of keyholes that secured his door. Then, at his host's behest, Dan assisted in shutting the windows and their curtains. When all the precautions were taken, Spock took out a pack of colas, which he placed on the table in front of the couch where Dan had made himself comfortable.
"I'll be right back," he said before being whisked away by the urge to relieve himself.
Dan took the opportunity to take out the First Wave Intel, spreading the files out before him on the coffee table. As he waited for Spock to return, he glanced around, taking stock of all the collectibles adoring the shelves, of the posters and baubles that decorated the rooms of the lofty place. It must have cost a pretty penny, he thought. He began to wonder how exactly Spock was able to afford all of his possessions – and the apartment itself, which was rather nice – considering his lowly job as a comic shop clerk.
At that moment, Spock returned, armed with a thick folder. After catapulting himself onto the chair's cushion, he propped himself forward, eyeing the Intel Dan had scattered on the table.
"Hey, Spock?" asked Dan. "Where did you get the money to buy all this stuff?"
When Spock didn't answer, Dan flinched slightly.
"Oh, never mind," said an apologetic Dan. "It's none of my business anyway."
"What?" asked Spock, looking up from the table. "Oh, that's alright, Crow, I don't mind. If you truly must know, in addition to my occupation, I make a lot of money on the side from the ad revenue I generate through Galaxy Truth. "
"Oh," said Dan, nodding. "That's cool."
Spock popped open a can of cola.
"So," he began, "what do you make of the Intel so far?"
"Not much, unfortunately," admitted Dan. "These things go way over my head, and I can't make heads or tails of most of it."
"Yeah, I've had poor luck as well," said Spock. "I've tried researching some elements of interest, but I've yet to find anything conclusive. Maybe we should run them down one by one, see what we can find with our combined mental powers."
Dan nodded in agreement, and Spock lifted the string-tied folder to lay his own documents on the wooden surface before them.
"Let's see..." said Dan. "First, we have files on a handful of random, unconnected individuals: Tobias Drake, Edward Salzburg, Lewis Arcand. All of them are fairly important people; Drake is the head of a large law firm out in Allston, and Arcand here happens to be on the Boston City Council.
"Looks like you found a Shapeshifter fashion catalog," noted Spock.
"I wouldn't doubt it," agreed Dan. "And over here, we have Projected Synchronizations. It's basically a list of various dates, times, and places spanning the last two months, all categorized in columns labelled Insertion and Extraction."
"Hold on a sec," said Spock. "If I recall correctly, I have a map here that details Insertion and Extraction points."
He flipped the map around so that Dan could see it. Various locations were circled with black marker, a large number of which Dan recognized. Verifying his own sheets, he found that the locations on the map corresponded to the ones on the Synchronization list.
"Check this out," said Dan, pointing out the connection. "I guess that these are places where they travel back and forth from wherever the hell it is these guys come from."
"Interesting," mused Spock, stroking his goatee. "These specific time tables would suggest that these openings are very narrow. Perhaps they denote periodic, um... windows in the Earth's magnetic field."
"Why would they need to know that?" asked Dan.
"Well, given the bio-mechanical nature of the Shapeshifters, their circuitry might be sensitive to strong magnetic fields. I posit that the Romulans must have calculated specific openings in said field so that they can beam them back and forth from the armada currently hidden over on the dark side of the Moon."
Dan opened his mouth, poised to shoot down the possibility, but, remembering the incident in the car, held his tongue instead.
"So we've managed to establish where they like to hang out," assessed Spock. "What else?"
"Take a look at these two bad boys," said Dan, smirking.
Dan took a pair of documents and placed them in the middle of their workspace; one was titled PROJECT HARVESTER, while the other's heading was PROJECT TITAN. Spock took the Harvester file, flipping through it with great interest.
"Whoa, neat!" exclaimed Spock.
"I can't make sense of most of it," started Dan, "but there are some keywords that reoccur throughout the document, like talk about gathering resources and something called The Blight. And in Project Titan, we have polarity shifts and incubation periods. There's also mention of someone called The Secretary in both of them. I have no clue who that might be, though."
Spock's eyes lit up in recollection at the mention of the name.
"Funny you should mention him," he said.
He dropped a file titled PROJECT HYBRID beside the currently unused Titan pile. Dan immediately set out to analyze Spock's documents.
"The Secretary shows up a lot in that one too," explained Spock, replacing the Harvester file on the table. "He sounds like a pretty important fellow. Whatever the case may be, I think these project files are our best asset against these guys."
Dan nodded absent-mindedly, still absorbed in the Hybrid file. Once he had scanned the document from cover to cover – which, to his dismay, was as undecipherable as the others – he placed it beside the Harvester and Titan files. He then yawned aloud before rubbing his weary eyes.
"Rough night?" noted Spock.
"Yeah," said Dan. "I haven't gotten much sleep these past few days."
"I hear you, man. You know, I've had my fair share of sleepless nights, just sitting there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what could be out there. When you've been in this business as long as I have, you tell yourself that you've gotten used to it, but you never really do. Still, we can't ever afford to back down. Persist or perish, as I like to say."
Dan's brows burrowed in thought at his partner's words. Being a legitimate Truth-Seeker was harder than he thought. He imagined that it might eventually take its toll on him, wearing him out until he could no longer go on. Spock did make a good point, though; Dan intended to stay for the long haul, and would have no choice but to persist until the end. But whether he would make it to that end was another question entirely.
Without thinking, Dan rose from his seat and started to pace, contemplating the significance of the documents.
"Hey Spock," he said at length. "Hear me out. So we've got Hybrids, Harvesters, and Titans, right? If the Shapeshifters are the First Wave... then do you think these other two might be the ones that are going to come afterward?"
"Well, I suppose," acknowledged Spock after some thought. "By convention, first does imply more than one."
Dan leaned back in the sofa. Spock fell silent as well, each beginning to grasp the magnitude of what they were dealing with. Dan soon arose from his seat, and started pacing around the room. That there could possibly be more waves to come perturbed him greatly. Not only did they have to contend with the might of the Shapeshifters, who have already proven to be formidable foes, but the ominous nature surrounding the other two names put him on edge. They were already beginning to haunt his consciousness, shapeless entities lurking just beyond the shadows.
"How exactly are we supposed to stop these guys?" started Dan after some time, completing another lap around the room. "We're outnumbered two to potentially thousands. I hate to admit it, but we're in over our heads at this point. We won't be able to pull this off by ourselves; look what good that gave us. I mean, sure, we stuck a thorn in their side, but we almost got killed doing it. No... This is bigger than us, Spock."
Dan seated himself at his original spot. Spock continued to gaze at his partner, taking in every word of his partner's increasingly impassioned rant.
"If we're going to fight these guys, we're going to need some help," stated Dan.
"Are you suggesting that we form some sort of... civilian resistance movement?" clued Spock. "Hmmm... I like the way you think, Crow."
The novelty of the idea proved to be merely momentary, however, and Dan soon found himself losing confidence in the feasibility the notion.
"But how are we supposed to find enough people for a resistance?" asked Dan. "It's not like we can just staple posters to telephone poles and hand out fliers on the street."
"Then we'll spread the words by subtler means," mused Spock. "As you may recall, I am the proprietor of a fairly popular truth-seeking website. I can easily spread our message to fellow believers; there's bound to be a few soldiers who'll rise to the call."
Dan nodded, staring out into space as his vision took form. It could work, he figured, if they recruited enough like-minded people. He pictured a secret brotherhood walking the streets of Boston: inconspicuous, law-abiding citizens by day, vigilantes with a mission by night. It would start small, of course, but word of their movement would hopefully propagate to other regions – as Dan had no doubt that the scale of the First Wave was global – and they would amass a force so grand that they could effectively rival the Shapeshifters and whatever other Waves dared to follow.
"Crow!" said Spock suddenly. "Starfleet Command to Crow! Do you read?"
"Uh, what?" asked Dan, resurfacing from his daydream.
"I thought you were going catatonic for a second," the grey-haired man said. "I said that we'll need to proceed with caution. I can't guarantee that many people will come forward to join our crusade. Hell, our plea could fall on deaf ears, for all we know. I think it would be best to adopt the mindset that we'll be operating solo from here on out, and adjust our strategies if and when others decide to join us."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," conceded Dan. "So what now?"
"In the meantime, I guess we'll continue to do what we do best: going out on missions and kicking collective Shapeshifter ass. Oh, speaking of missions, I have another assignment that might interest you."
"What did you have in mind?" asked an eager Dan.
"I'm set to meet with a contact of mine tomorrow night," explained Spock, "a man who goes by the name of Watchdog. He alerted me of a possible First Wave hotspot that he has recently discovered, and has asked me to accompany him on a reconnaissance mission. I'm sure he won't mind if you tag along."
"Do you think this Watchdog would be partial to our resistance project?" asked Dan.
"I don't see why not," said Spock. "After all, he's a fellow Truth-Seeker. Furthermore, he's a known figure in the conspiracy underground, specializing in international cover-ups and seedy government activities and the like. With his help, we can surely reach a wider audience and increase the likelihood of our project's success."
"Then it's settled," said Dan, clasping his hands in approval. "We'll go through with this recon mission and approach the Watchdog with our proposition."
"Until that time, I suggest we continue combing this Intel for additional clues," said Spock. "I'll see if I can find any connections with my own documents and cross-reference what I find with the Altar of Truth."
At that moment, Dan's stomach emitted a feeble growl, as though it were a third party that had been neglected a say in their affairs up to that point. Spock's head snapped in direction of the Cylon-themed clock fixed on the wall.
"Six-thirty already?" asked Spock. "Geez, time sure flies by when you're busy plotting the downfall of your enemies."
"Here, here!" said Dan in jest, holding out his can of cola.
Spock mimicked the gesture, and the two noisily siphoned what little there remained in their respective cans before replacing them on the table.
"How's about we head across the street for some pizza?" Spock then asked, rising from his seat and stretching his back.
"Sounds great."
They put away the heap of papers and folders on the table into Spock's mega folder, which he went to go stash. Once all the necessities were dealt with, the pair left through the apartment door. An orange hue covered a dusking Malden, the waning sunlight reluctantly giving way to elongating shadows. After Spock locked the apartment door, they crossed the street in direction of the pizzeria.
"You know what?" said Dan as he held the pizzeria door open. "I have a good feeling about this."