Author's Note: You can't see me right now (which is good because I look like one of those whacky inflatable arm creatures).
I am beyond relieved to have finally finished Enterprise-C survivors arc. I loved it, but I'm thrilled we get to advance to the next part of this story!
Wait? I thought Contagion was a Pulaski episode?
Contagion has always been one of my favourite episodes. I'm taking it out of turn in this series and moving it from S2 to S1. I felt it fit better in this space than waiting a year in-universe.
Varley gave a sneak peek at Jean-Luc in terms of his friendships and fascination with archaeology. But more than that, I've always felt Varley represented something more. He pursued his quest for knowledge at the risk of his ship and all those aboard.
And he paid for it with his life (and his crew).
Throughout TNG, Picard is tempted with this choice time and again. S2 gets a lot of flak for some episode missteps. But I think Contagion largely holds up. Like Lonely Among Us and The Chase, Picard demonstrates that he knows where to draw the line.
He's not willing to sacrifice 'everything' for the pursuit of discovery. He's got a limit and that's not necessarily a bad thing in a leader.
At the end of the day, Picard cares most about protecting the people who have put their faith in him.
And I thought that was the best possible mirror for an arc where that same crew begins to question that faith and Jean-Luc's leadership.
Alas… the burden of command.
Peanut Butter, hot sauce, and… tuna?
Yes, Tasha and Data are still completely unaware of the pregnancy.
ICYMI, the last chapter established it has been three months since Hero Worship.
That means Tasha is just about to enter her second trimester.
Considering there really aren't any signs until the six-to-eight-week mark, it really hasn't been all that long (even if it seems like a long time on our end).
With that said, each day brings them closer to learning the truth. (But still quite a way off!)
And away we go…
I am Captain Tryla Scott of the USS Renegade.
This is a direct appeal to the captains of the Enterprise, the Thomas Paine, and the Yamato – I know that you are afraid. I know that you feel alone. That it seems like walls are closing in around you and that you have nowhere to turn.
You have feared – and rightful so – the possibility of outside influence exerting control over Starfleet Command operations.
I know that you are only trying to protect your people.
I shared those same fears and the same hesitation.
Captain Picard clicked to pause the transmission.
Deanna's eyes narrowed as she studied the face of the young Captain on screen.
"She looks… foggy," Deanna settled on. "Her speech pattern is rehearsed. If I didn't know any better, I would think that she had been sedated."
"She goes to claim that she surrendered herself to Starbase 26, was treated by a medical team, and that this business of a Romulan conspiracy is, in fact, the result of dytalletracylene exposure during the rendezvous with Walker Keel," Picard said.
Beverly's eyebrows shot up.
"Excuse me?" the Doctor asked.
"She claims Admiral Quinn and Walker Keel met on numerous occasions and suffered from long-term exposure," Picard went on. "And that this conspiracy theory snowballed out of control following the arrest of the Romulan spy ring several months ago."
Data blinked in disbelief.
Beverly scoffed.
"Huh?" Tasha asked, still bleary-eyed.
It was 04:38 in the morning.
The team had barely gone to bed before being assembled back to the Observation Lounge for an emergency meeting.
Data had only just initiated his rest programme when they'd received orders to report. Somehow, rebooting following that shut down was more difficult when he'd only been in his rest mode for a short time.
Data could feel his neural net was not firing at optimal efficiency.
"Dytalletracylene can trigger hallucinations and paranoia. Long-term exposure would amplify that. But-"
Beverly made a face.
"The effect would only last a few hours for one-time exposure. You only went into that mine once, Captain," Beverly said.
"And none of which explains all of the other evidence of a conspiracy," Worf chimed in.
This appeal was a weak excuse at best.
"They don't really think we're stupid enough to fall for it, do they?" Geordi asked.
"They do not," Data remarked as he observed the subtle change in Captain Picard's demeanour.
Jean-Luc's expression darkened.
"This message was not sent to me. It is being broadcast on all Starfleet channels," Picard informed them.
He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"We're still maintaining a communications blackout," Picard said.
It meant all incoming and outgoing messages were stopped at the Bridge. There was a growing backlog of personal letters and reports that were waiting in limbo – all which added to the stress of the travel restrictions.
"How many people know about this?" Tasha asked.
"Ensign Marshall was manning that station when it came through. Lieutenant T'Palo was in command. Fortunately, she recognised it was likely sensitive and brought it directly to me before it could be played on the Bridge," Picard explained.
Riker announced that he would handle it.
"Commander-" Deanna started to say.
Riker's hand shot up.
"I'm just going to speak with them. That's all," Riker assured her.
The last thing they needed was to add to the sense of fear and paranoia.
"And the other ships?" Tasha asked.
"Both have been under blackout since our message about the Romulan starbase," Picard answered.
For the moment, things were stable. But they couldn't hide forever. Sooner or later, their ships would be spotted. And all three would eventually require resupply and maintenance that couldn't be done without the assistance of a shipyard.
"Alright, so the message is a fake. What does it mean for us?" Miles asked.
"I do not believe this message was intended to relay information," Data said. "In transmitting via the full network, I believe this message was intended to create a feeling of distrust amongst the crew."
The Romulans wanted to stir up dissent by playing on the frustration caused by months of safety procedures and travel restrictions.
People were pent up. They were tired of shortages, of having their messages delayed, and of being denied access to travel freely while still expected to endure difficult missions and combat situations.
At best, this panic would eat up time as Captain Picard had to meet with the crew and work to mitigate concerns. Someone may even go so far as to try and override the communications blackout. There were certainly officers aboard that had the skills necessary.
At worst, it could lead to open mutiny.
"Like throwing a match on a tinderbox," Tasha remarked.
She sat forward, suddenly more alert.
"Sir, we have to bottle this, keep it under control before there's a panic," Tasha said.
Captain Picard was in complete agreement.
"Lieutenant, I want you and Commander Riker to put together a plan to keep the peace. I want a solid cover story. Options on my desk by 09:00. And you two will coordinate handling complaints," Picard said.
He paused.
"I also want options in the event we do find ourselves facing a mutiny," Picard added.
They could take nothing for granted.
"Counsellor," he began, turning to Deanna. "You have the full resources of the ship at your disposal. Pull in additional help and let's make sure we have plenty of sessions available."
Deanna would have her hands full for the foreseeable future. Before the rude awakening, everyone else had been planning to have a lie-in. Deanna already had appointments scheduled starting at 07:30.
She had done her best to triage the requests – but it was far too much for one person to handle.
"Commander Data, I want you and Mr Worf to keep tabs on the communications blackout. Let's ensure nothing gets in or out of this ship," Picard said.
Beverly had her hands full in Sickbay with all the wounded from the assault at Lantera. Meanwhile, Geordi and Chief O'Brien were up to their ears in repair work.
Those Romulan D'deridex cruisers had done a number on the hull. They were lucky that critical systems weren't damaged.
Jean-Luc had already met with Captain Rixx and Captain Varley before paging his crew. The three men had another meeting scheduled at 07:30.
"I know you're all dead on your feet. You've just come off what will hopefully be the most trying mission of our careers," Picard said.
He'd be happy to never do that again.
"But at least today we have some time to figure out where we go from here," Picard concluded.
It was a relief they had no pending mission.
The team went their separate ways.
Worf and Data were off to his quarters to review the communications logs. Riker and Tasha set up camp in Riker's office.
Geordi and Miles stopped to snag a thermos of coffee and snacks before a long day in Engineering.
Deanna had appointments to prepare for and Jean-Luc had another meeting scheduled with his counterparts on the Yamato and the Thomas Paine.
Beverly had a Sickbay full of injured patients – some of them critically wounded following their interlude in the Neutral Zone.
Worst of all, Beverly had a morgue full of people.
Some would receive traditional Starfleet services in the coming days. Others would be returned to their home planets for funerary rites in accordance with their personal traditions.
Until then, they were left in limbo.
She hated to leave them there, but the contact protocols prevented her from notifying any family.
Beverly didn't want to admit it – but it was starting to get to her.
She felt doubly guilty in knowing that Wesley was there with her on the ship. Her children weren't tens of thousands of lightyears away on the opposite side of Federation space.
She could poke her head in and see if Wesley had fallen asleep reading or was up working on his schoolwork.
Beverly could simply tap her combadge and chat with Wesley whenever she wanted to.
Most of the crew didn't have that advantage.
As Beverly rounded the corner in Sickbay, she was confronted with that reality.
Doctor Selar was standing over a cot in the far corner of the room. She glanced up to meet Beverly's eyes. Wordlessly, an understanding passed between them.
Crewman Uriah Cohn was dead.
He'd clung to life overnight. But he'd been thrown into the hull on Lantera by a blast from a Romulan disruptor cannon.
Beverly hadn't been optimistic.
She hated being right.
Crewman Cohn's widow was sitting next to the bed in stunned silence.
"Why don't we step into my office?" Beverly offered.
Rachel Cohn shook her head.
"How did it happen?" she asked softly.
She glanced at her husband's bruised body. Rachel reached for his hand and pulled it toward her mouth.
"He said he had to go on a mission," Rachel said. "And that he would be back. But I just-"
She paused.
"There was something in the way he said it that I knew he wasn't coming home," she confessed.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I knew," she repeated.
Rachel was a Lieutenant Junior Grade. She served in the Electrical Engineering lab as a service tech.
"There are travel restrictions in place. No one's supposed to leave the ship," she went on, shaking her head. "No communications. No shuttles."
She turned and looked up at Beverly.
"So how did this happen?" she insisted.
Beverly was at a loss for words.
"These are disruptor burns. Energy weapons," Rachel said.
She rose from her chair. Her hands were trembling.
"Why is my husband lying dead and I can't even talk to our children to tell them their father is gone?" Rachel demanded.
"Rachel, I can't discuss-"
"Tell me one thing," Rachel interjected.
Beverly fell silent. She felt utterly helpless.
There was no malice in Rachel Cohn's voice, simply a plea for understanding.
"Was it worth it?"
"What about your contact?" Picard asked.
The three Captains fell silent.
"Donald," Picard pressed.
Varley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Captain Rixx leaned forward with keen interest.
"Contact?" he asked.
"I had a contact. Someone at Starfleet Command. For months, I was working extra missions in between my own travels. Picking up artefacts – mostly Iconian – in order to secure them before the Romulans could get their hands on them," Varley explained.
"Had," Rixx said, noting his use of the past tense.
Varley nodded.
"I never knew who it was. All our communication was done on private, secured channels. Coded communiques," Varley explained. "Haven't heard a peep in three weeks."
Varley shrugged.
"They could be lying low. Or might have been discovered," he suggested.
"Or they're a part of the conspiracy itself," Rixx threw out.
Varley shook his head in disagreement.
"Look – I don't think they would send me halfway across the galaxy to find these relics if-"
"For all we know, they may have sent you there to instigate an incident. A prelude to war," Rixx interjected.
Jean-Luc cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, please. At this point, we don't have enough information to speculate one way or another," Picard said.
"I've been their direct contact for months," Varley hissed.
"And I've spent more time patrolling the Neutral Zone than any other officer in the last decade," Rixx retorted. "This smells like a typical Romulan ploy."
Jean-Luc pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
Their meeting was off to a rough start.
"Please step aside," Rachel Cohn requested.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. The Captain is not to be disturbed," Ensign Jeffords said.
Lieutenant Cohn wasn't about to back down – not until she had answers.
"I need to speak with him," she insisted.
Ensign Jeffords's heart went out to her. Word of Crewman Cohn's death had spread quickly. Jeffords had been with Cohn on Lantera.
And he understood from his own debriefing that Crewman Cohn had been barred from providing his wife with any sort of explanation.
"The Captain is in an important conference," Jeffords explained.
"Then I'll wait," Rachel replied.
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall.
"I don't know when he will be finished," Jeffords said with a sympathetic smile. "Maybe I could send you a message when he's done?"
Rachel maintained that she would wait.
"It's just that he's got a busy schedule this morning," Jeffords explained.
He wasn't trying to put her off. He genuinely felt terrible. But Jeffords knew the senior officers were coming back for another briefing at 09:00 and didn't want to delay that with an unexpected meeting.
"And since when do we station Security officers outside of the Captain's Ready Room?" Rachel asked.
It was Tasha's idea. She wanted a buffer to keep complaints off Captain Picard's plate. In addition, it was one less thing to worry about if things did grow out of hand.
"I've just been assigned to help manage the Captain's schedule this morning," Jeffords answered as he recited the line provided by Commander Riker.
"I need to get a message to my children," Rachel pleaded.
Jeffords nodded in understanding.
He had been given strict instructions from Commander Riker and Lieutenant Yar.
"The Captain can't help you with that right now – but you should speak with Commander Riker," Jeffords said.
Tasha startled awake as Will Riker set a mug of Raktajino down in front of her.
"T?" he asked.
They were all exhausted from the long mission to Lantera and lack of sleep. But she seemed to have sustained the brunt of it.
"Sorry. Just knackered."
Riker grinned.
"Good night?"
When Tasha failed to answer, Will's grin only grew.
"A bad night?" Riker asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Tasha was not going to answer that.
In spite of her denial about preening in the mirror, Tasha had found there were certain advantages to that – namely, it seemed to have hit just the right sensory input for her favourite android.
Under normal circumstances Tasha quite enjoyed being thoroughly sexed and drifting off to sleep in that lovely post-coital afterglow.
She wasn't quite as keen when that sleep only lasted a few minutes.
Tasha surmised that had to be why she was having such trouble concentrating on the task at hand.
When she wasn't dozing off, her mind was consumed with a rather short list of wants.
Needs. Tasha corrected herself.
"Can I get you anything?" Riker offered.
"Just keep the Raktajino coming," Tasha replied.
She wasn't about to share just how desperate she was for the other two things on her list – cake and Data.
"So, I was thinking we could use-"
The door chimed.
"Our first customer," Will teased.
He turned to the door.
"It's open!" he hollered.
Tasha was both surprised and disappointed to see Lieutenant Rachel Cohn. It wasn't that she disliked Mrs Cohn.
Rather, Tasha knew her presence meant Uriah must have died overnight.
Rachel wasted no time in cornering Commander Riker.
"I'm told you're the man I need to talk to about getting a message to my children," she announced.
Data and Worf were working in the Security office to review the communications blackout plan. It relied on a combination of security protocols, careful monitoring, and a special code Data and Geordi had worked up to prevent any inbound or outbound messages.
Data was seated at his workstation while he combed over the last seventy-two hours of logs.
"You have no window," Worf said suddenly.
Worf had set up his own computer at the table.
"No. My quarters do not include a window," Data replied.
Even without looking up from his work, Data could sense Worf's disapproval as it radiated off of him.
Data glanced up and cocked his head to the side as he observed Worf cast a critical eye over his quarters.
"They are smaller than the other senior crew quarters," Worf said.
"That is correct," Data acknowledged.
Data's quarters had never actually been intended for use as personal rooms. They were designed as an office. At the time, Starfleet didn't see the need to assign an android personal quarters.
Before coming aboard, Data had petitioned to be allowed a personal space. Unfortunately, all available crew spaces were full.
So, Data had suggested converting his own quarters into a joint working office and personal space and Captain Picard had agreed.
"Are you considering a request to change crew quarters?" Data asked.
"No," Worf answered.
Data didn't follow.
"Lieutenant, may I ask why you appear concerned about the size of my personal quarters?" Data pressed.
"There is insufficient space," Worf remarked.
Data was taken aback. He certainly would have liked additional space for his painting and plants – but he knew it was a hot commodity on a starship.
Worf was trying his best to tread delicately.
In recent weeks, Worf had detected a change in his best friend. He could see it in the way Tasha was exhausted and frequently ill. He could smell the change in her pheromones.
Tasha and Worf had been in the fitness centre lifting weights when he first pieced it together. Worf had wanted to drop everything and toss her in the air then and there.
But he knew Tasha wouldn't appreciate that.
And Worf suspected that Data and Tasha were keeping the news of their little crew expansion a secret – not that Worf could blame them.
Between the Romulan conspiracy and the debacle that had accompanied both of the previous mistaken pregnancy rumours, Worf understood why they would want to maintain privacy.
They didn't need the added stress of gossip circulating through the ship.
"Lieutenant Yar's quarters are also too small. But they are bigger than this space," Worf said as he surveyed the room.
Data frowned ever so slightly.
"Did Lieutenant Yar ask you to speak with me?" Data inquired.
The matter of a shared living space had yet to be resolved. Data and Tasha were well past the point of wanting to move in with one another. They were preparing to build a life together.
Only they couldn't decide whether to settle in Data's quarters or Tasha's.
Tasha's were far bigger. But that would mean a big change to Data's routine. Presently, he could just slip out of bed and hop on his workstation when necessary – something he did most nights when an idea struck, or he couldn't shut down his mind.
"She did not," Worf answered honestly. "I am merely… expressing a concern."
Worf chose his words carefully.
"As the Head of the House of Mogh, I must take an interest in the future of my house," Worf said.
Data's eyes widened. His neural net began to spiral.
Worf panicked.
"I only mean that you and Tasha have made clear your intention to have a family. One day. In the future," Worf said awkwardly.
By Kahless, you really butchered that. Worf thought.
"As Tasha is now a daughter of the House of Mogh, any offspring would be-"
"Ah," Data said.
Now he understood.
Well, sort of.
Data wasn't sure he would ever fully comprehend the bond shared between Worf and Tasha. But much like his own relationship with Geordi, Data knew that connection ran deeper than just friendship.
They were family.
"It is our intention to resolve the issue of shared quarters long before we welcome a child," Data said.
Worf quirked his eyebrow in a way that indicated he didn't quite buy that.
"Have you applied for family quarters?" Worf pressed.
"We will when it becomes necessary," Data said.
Worf scowled.
"They are difficult to obtain," Worf protested.
He was alarmed they had not yet submitted their names to the waiting list.
"Tasha will require adequate space for the G'puq Tlhagh," Worf insisted.
Roughly translated, Klingon pregnancy yoga.
It was a form of physical fitness and meditation practiced by expectant Klingons that carried into the first year of a child's life.
It promoted healthy breathing, helped prevent sciatica, and was a great method for new parents to bond with their baby.
"And the child will need space to move and crawl and roll. They cannot be confined to… to-"
Worf trailed off and gestured vaguely at the carpet.
"Fortunately, we have a long time until then," Data said.
Data could understand Worf's concern. He could even appreciate it in a strange way. It was nice to know someone cared.
But Data also knew that Tasha had made clear her feelings on rearing children. Tasha firmly wanted to adopt. And it was unlikely they would adopt an infant.
Given Tasha's desire for privacy, Data did not raise this matter to Worf.
Worf assumed Data wasn't ready to discuss the pregnancy publicly yet. Worf knew it was customary for humans to withhold such information until they were further along.
"Of course," Worf replied with a stiff nod.
He was fine with waiting as long as it took for Data and Tasha to share the news. He'd already completed the q'ut ghu months before.
Customarily, it was the duty of a new parent's 'brother in blood' to present the child with the q'ut ghu.
It was a child's first protection in the world and a symbolic promise of care and safety.
A baby blanket.
After the first pregnancy rumour months earlier, Worf had set to work making one. He figured it would only be a matter of time and Worf took his duties as the head of the House of Mogh seriously.
Data offered Worf a nod in reply before turning back to his work.
He was not put off by Worf's interest. In fact, Data was relieved to know that Tasha had others so concerned for her wellbeing.
Data knew that if something were to ever happen to him, Tasha would still have a circle of support from people like Worf.
"Mr Worf? I am grateful that Lieutenant Yar has you. You are a good friend," Data said.
"I hope you know that I am your friend as well, sir," Worf added.
Suddenly, Data's computer screen began to flash, and an alert triggered.
"What is it?" Worf asked, on guard.
"I am transmitting the relevant data to your tablet," Data said, typing furiously.
Sure enough, Worf's device pinged with an incoming file.
His eyes narrowed as he skimmed through the contents.
"Do you see the three anomalies in the last twenty-four hours?" Data asked.
Worf grumbled under his breath.
"And four more the day before," Worf added.
"I believe it is prudent that we pull the log from every individual terminal for study," Data said.
If someone had tampered with the communications array, then it was possible there would be important clues left in the backups.
"I could not agree more," Worf said.
Will Riker was at a loss.
"Rachel, why don't we-" Tasha began to suggest.
"I don't want to sit down. I don't want a stupid cup of coffee or to talk or a shoulder to cry on," Rachel Cohn hissed, shoving Tasha's hand aside.
She paused and inhaled sharply.
"I want to contact my children so I can let them know their father is dead," Rachel concluded.
"I can't begin to imagine what you're going through," Tasha said.
"No. No, you can't," Rachel replied.
Tasha fell silent.
"Neither of you can," Rachel said as she began to back away. "You don't have a family waiting back home. You haven't been separated from your children. You haven't lost your partner in life and love."
Her chest was heaving.
"You came back. You always come back. But… but my husband didn't," she sobbed.
She quickly brushed away her tears.
"So, I will not go away quietly. I need to speak with my children," Rachel demanded.
By the time 09:00 rolled around, it felt like 19:00.
Jean-Luc was ready to curl up with a thick book and a glass of wine.
Unfortunately, the bulk of the day still lay ahead.
Picard's meeting with Captains Rixx and Varley had ended on a tense note. The three were planning to regroup after everyone had time to cool off.
Data and Worf had dropped by to advise they were investigating a series of unusual anomalies with the communications system - a thought that left Jean-Luc unsettled.
Geordi and Chief O'Brien had radioed to clear their repair plan with the Captain. They would need to evacuate and seal off three decks to complete repairs to the hull.
And Beverly's report from Sickbay did not bode well.
Now, Jean-Luc was sitting behind his desk as Commander Riker and Tasha waited for him to finish reading their brief.
Rachel Cohn had been temporarily placated by the suggestion that she record a message for her children for later transmission as a way to help process her grief. Riker and Tasha had both promised the message would remain private and that they would work to get communications restored as soon as possible.
They were planning to check in as soon as the Captain finished his review of their proposal.
Picard stopped and looked up. He set the tablet down on the surface and sighed.
"I cannot authorise this," Picard declared.
Riker and Tasha exchanged a knowing look. They had anticipated pushback from the Captain.
"Sir, I know these measures could be classified as extreme," Riker began to say.
"Extreme?" Picard scoffed in disbelief.
The word was a gross mischaracterisation of methods that Picard found abhorrent.
"This plan is contrary to every value we hold dear," Picard said. "I will not be a tyrant. To implement these measures would be to follow the Romulan example. They wouldn't need to take over – we'd be doing the work for them."
It was harsh, but not undeserved criticism.
Riker and Tasha's plan was a sharp deviation from Starfleet standard procedure. It called for the strict rationing of supplies and power, movement restrictions for personnel and civilians alike, curfews, and more.
"Sir, we're already halfway there," Riker pointed out.
The communication lockdown and prohibition on travel meant the collective mood was already strained.
Jean-Luc had no way of knowing what might come in the days, weeks, or months ahead. The Enterprise couldn't hide forever.
Preserving fuel and supplies would extend that cover. They could stay on the edge of Federation space and do their best to avoid the Romulans either side of the border.
But it wouldn't last.
Sooner or later, the ship would need to resupply and put in for repair.
Picard was concerned the crew was teetering on the edge of madness. And he feared what would follow in the event of a breakdown of command.
The possibility of mutiny was very real.
Hence, why he had tasked Riker and Tasha to develop a plan to mitigate that concern (and to react). Jean-Luc knew if it came to it, they would need to secure the Bridge and other critical areas to retain control of the ship.
But Picard wasn't ready to go as far as this plan to ensure that.
"I will not authorise armed guards at these locations or extra patrols," Picard said.
"And what happens when a handful of tired, scared, armed people storm one of those critical areas and the crew manning those stations are forced to choose between their lives and their Captain?" Riker asked in response.
His voice quavered with a fury so rarely seen in the jovial First Officer.
"If it came to that, I would readily step down. I am sure that we could reason with the crew to appoint a competent officer-"
"You don't get it!" Riker exclaimed.
It was the first time he had ever cut the Captain off.
"They won't care about rank or duty. They don't think about command or consequences. And you won't be able to reason with them," Riker said.
He was certain of that.
"I've seen it, sir. I saw it on the USS Pegasus," Riker said.
It had been Riker's first posting to a proper starship.
"I saw good men take up arms and turn on each other," Riker went on. "It started in Engineering. Spread to the Bridge."
Will had escaped along with Captain Pressman and a handful of loyal officers.
"I don't know what happened after we escaped. But I know seven of us made it out alive. Seventy-two people died on that ship, Captain," Riker said.
The whole incident had left Will questioning his career in Starfleet. It was the first time he'd had to take a life – all of which was only more traumatic by the fact he'd been forced to turn a phaser on his own fellow crew members.
"I don't ever want to do that again," Riker said.
"Sir, Commander Riker has a point. Someone that's frightened with a phaser is a danger to the ship," Tasha said.
She implored Captain Picard to at least beef up the guard presence around the armoury.
"If they were to get spooked in an area like Engineering, and one of those phasers were aimed at the warp core or a coolant tank - even unintentionally – it only takes one lucky shot," Tasha said, outlining her concerns.
"With all due respect, these are trained Starfleet officers. Professionals. Scientists. Specialists. And civilians," Picard shot back.
He refused to accept that they would simply throw out reason and decorum – even if it came to a mutiny.
"Exactly, sir," Tasha said.
Jean-Luc did not respond, giving Tasha the space to speak her mind.
"They are Starfleet officers and civilians – many of whom grew up on worlds under the protection of the Federation and most have never known rationing, hunger, the sheer inability to just replicate what you want on demand," Tasha explained.
There was a decent Bajoran population on board. Roughly half of them were refugees that had been lucky enough to resettle on various Federation colonies. Some had grown up in the refugee camps along the border and a few had known life on occupied Bajor.
But the Cardassians no longer permitted the Bajorans to travel freely, and most Federation worlds had asylum quotas that heavily restricted opportunities for Bajorans.
"And here? With families? Fear is a powerful motivator. I think you'd be shocked how far people will go to protect their children," Tasha cautioned.
"Sir, the ship is a tinderbox," Riker warned.
He could see it in the drawn faces of his colleagues. He could feel it in the air. The whole atmosphere had changed.
It grew worse with each passing day.
"I'll authorise the new guard shifts and security procedures around the Armoury," Picard said.
Tasha opened her mouth to speak, but Captain Picard cut her off.
"And I'll add two Security officers to the Bridge and agree to a team posted at the secondary tactical station near Engineering. But I want them out of sight. I don't want to scare the crew," Picard said.
They could easily maintain a low profile and still be close in the event they needed to respond to anything.
"But as for these other measures," Picard said, eying the tablet. "It would take something pretty drastic for me to authorise them."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Riker said.
"I sincerely hope it does not," Picard agreed.
Picard sent them on their way and prayed that would be the worst of it for the day.
By noon, things were not going well.
Varley and Rixx were in stark opposition about how to proceed.
To make matters worse, Varley's unnamed source had finally made contact.
Captain Rixx was furious that Varley had accepted the message and highly suspicious about the timing.
"I can assure you – we are using a secure method of communication. No one can track the location of our ship," Varley insisted.
Rixx's blue lips went thin. He slowly shook his head in disapproval.
"There is no method that is guaranteed," Rixx cautioned.
"We aren't using traditional methods," Varley countered.
A pregnant pause followed.
Captain Rixx's eyes narrowed.
"How are you communicating?" he demanded in a stern voice.
Rixx was the expert in covert operations. He knew best how to transmit secret messages and cover his tracks.
"I can't answer that," Varley said.
"Answer it," Picard ordered.
It was the first time he'd taken a side during the meeting.
Varley sat forward in his seat. He folded his hands on top of his desk.
"Gentlemen, please. I have orders," Varley explained.
"Captain, we are past orders," Rixx commented.
"It's a fair question," Picard said, hoping to appeal to Varley's sense of reason.
Varley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had worked for months under the utmost veil of secrecy. Varley had only trusted Picard with the information about his covert mission because of their long friendship.
"Dammit, Donald! Answer the damn question!" Picard barked. "A Romulan conspiracy has infiltrated Starfleet Command. There is a fleet of ships out there looking for us!"
He had reached his limit.
"I am responsible for more than a thousand lives on this ship and I do not have time for war games," Picard snarled.
He took a breath to compose himself. When Jean-Luc spoke again, his voice was different.
Softer.
Pleading.
"We are all we have. We have to trust each other," Picard said.
"We're using a code. Messages disguised as sports scores and transport logs. We use a type three SR-517 remote transmitter and piggyback the signal off Orion trade ships," Varley answered.
Picard was impressed.
Captain Rixx was not.
"Clever," Picard remarked.
"It's a foolproof way to prevent anyone from pinpointing either the origin or the destination of the transmission," Varley said.
"It's also an old Zhat Vash trick," Rixx chimed in.
Jean-Luc frowned.
"Zhat Vash?" Picard asked. "That is not a Romulan term."
In fact, he recognised it as the Iconian word for 'shadow.'
"You're right. They stole it," Rixx said.
It was one more aspect of Romulan culture lifted from the Iconians.
"What is this Zhat Vash?" Varley asked.
"Who," Rixx corrected.
Varley and Picard fell silent.
"During my time patrolling the Neutral Zone, we picked up various reports. Never anything more than whispers, rumours," Rixx explained.
By nature, Rixx was suspicious of the intentions of others. His experience along the Neutral Zone and decades of covert operations had left him cautious about sharing too much.
He paused to reflect on Jean-Luc's plea for mutual trust.
"Some people believe they are a branch of the Romulan government in their own right. Others believe they are a division of the Tal Shiar," Rixx explained. "And then there are conspiracy theorists that believe the Tal Shiar is just a cover for Zhat Vash."
Rixx had heard even wilder conspiracy theories before too.
Rumours of an ancient cabal that survived the downfall of the Iconians. Whispers of survivors that would go on to found the Romulan Empire.
A secret group that was thousands upon thousands of years old that now controlled the Empire.
Pulling the strings from the shadows.
"What I can tell you is that Zhat Vash is the most secretive, closely guarded organisation within the Romulan Star Empire," Rixx said.
They were more cunning, more deceptive, and more sinister than the Tal Shair and the Obsidian Order combined.
According to some conspiracy theorists, they had they tentacles in every facet of the Romulan government, spies within the ranks of Starfleet and the Klingon Empire, and plants high within the halls of the Federation Council.
"They're a spectre. A shadow," Rixx said. "For years, I thought that's all they were – a ghost."
A chill ran down the back of Jean-Luc's neck.
"And then we encountered one of their operatives. Captured him on Tahruesh," Rixx recounted.
It had been a routine mission – what was known as a 'swoop and scoop.' Rixx's team had orders to swoop in and recover a device that a Romulan operative had dropped on the planet before a covert Romulan team could recover it.
Rixx had expected to find files, perhaps even a cache of stolen Federation technology or even Breen or Klingon intelligence carefully cultivated from months of espionage.
Instead, they had discovered a Zhat Vash operative in a stasis pod.
"She was like no Tal Shiar agent I'd ever seen," Rixx said. "I've encountered the Orion Syndicate, the Breen Legion, and the ACIA."
The Andorian Central Intelligence Agency.
"I've interrogated agents from the Tal Shiar, the Obsidian Order, the Huragh Q'Ib."
The Silent Shadow.
They were a quasi-intelligence organisation that operated under the authority of the Klingon High Council with ties to the dangerous House of Duras faction.
The team had kept her in stasis until she could be transferred to a secure Starfleet facility.
"We searched her, removed all the standard weapons and a communication device. Found three Felodesine chips on her person," Rixx continued.
It was a fast-acting poison and standard issue for all Romulan troops and operatives in service of the Empire.
"After we took away any she could use to harm herself, we put her in a secure cell," Rixx said. "I don't know how much you know about Rura Penthe, but it's nearly impenetrable."
Rura Penthe had changed much since the alliance between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Not only was the facility upgraded, it became a favourite spot where Starfleet could employ 'enhanced' interrogation tactics not permitted within its own boundaries.
Rura Penthe was no longer a mining facility – but it remained on the inhospitable planet.
It sat like a great tower in the midst of a frozen landscape, surrounded on all sides by nothing but deadly ice.
The planet was patrolled by an advanced orbital system consisting of automated weapons, an impenetrable shield grid, and more than a thousand Security officers (themselves a mix of Klingon warriors and Starfleet's finest).
Within the walls of the prison, there were even more strict methods to ensure maximum security. The prisoners were kept in isolation twenty-three hours a day.
They were permitted one free recreation hour.
Furniture within the cells consisted of concrete and duranium pieces. It ensured no piece of furniture could be used to fashion an instrument of harm.
Both the light and temperature were controlled by audio command. Prisoners were permitted no blankets, no pillows, and no comfort.
Prisoners were not permitted to socialise with one another nor the staff.
They ate in solitude.
They had no possessions, no books, no work to occupy their minds save for a lone terminal bolted to the wall where they could access limited entertainment, educational resources, music, and religious texts.
"It takes two access codes and a full three minutes to open a cell," Rixx explained.
"She escaped?" Picard asked, astonished.
"No."
No one escaped from Rura Penthe. Not anymore.
"As soon as we sealed the door, she threw her head against the concrete wall with such force," Rixx said.
He fell silent for a moment, shaking his head. Even years later, Rixx was still disturbed by the memory.
"Over and over and over again. In the time it took to reopen her cell, she managed to kill herself in the only way left to her," Rixx said.
Jean-Luc was horrified.
He was wise to Romulan extremism. In particular, the Tal Shiar were notorious for the lengths they would go to in order to remain silent.
"How do you know the agent was of this Zhat Vash?" Varley questioned.
Captain Rixx reached into the top drawer of his desk.
"I've carried this ever since," Rixx said.
He dangled a chain in front of the screen.
"By God," Varley remarked.
Both Captain Picard and Captain Varley recognised the symbolism behind the piece. As voracious readers that shared a lifetime dedication to the study of archaeology (Iconia in particular), the two men understood the importance of the eight-pointed star.
"Starfleet Security dismissed the incident. Swept it under the rug," Rixx explained. "I snagged this from evidence before they could erase this too."
Rixx clutched the chain and pendant in his hand.
"When I pressed the issue with Admiral Henry, I was strongly encouraged to forget it," Rixx warned.
The corner of his mouth curved upward.
"I may have kept silent. But I never forget," Rixx said.
He grinned and tapped his right temple knowingly.
"Since then, I've made it my business to know Zhat Vash. To discover their agents, their methods."
Rixx had used his vast network of connections along the Neutral Zone. He traded information with merchant captains and privateers. He leaned on underground contacts and kept his ear to the metaphorical pavement for any information.
Over the last decade, Rixx had gathered a profile on Zhat Vash operatives and their methods.
"But their mission, their end goal, that remains elusive," Rixx confessed.
Rixx had theories.
Plenty of them, in fact.
At best, Rixx thought they might simply be a more advanced and secretive branch of the Tal Shiar that focused on interstellar intelligence and relations.
At worst, he thought they existed solely to engage in covert operations intended to draw neighbouring powers into a war, tricking them into violating long standing agreements.
"So, when I say that I believe this is a trick. Deception. A ploy meant to draw us into a war – I want you to understand that is been the Romulan's very goal since the Treaty of Algeron," Rixx said.
"I respect your concerns, Captain. And there is no question that your expertise on Romulan relations is top-notch," Varley said.
Varley laughed nervously.
"But my source is trying to save valuable and potentially dangerous information before it can fall into Romulan hands."
He didn't want to insult Captain Rixx. Rixx's reputation spoke for itself. He was one of Starfleet's finest Captains.
"The contagion that nearly wiped out the Enterprise was based on a design the Romulans recovered from an Iconian tablet," Varley explained. "What is the next weapon? What else is just waiting out there for the Romulans to find?"
Rixx couldn't answer that.
"The Iconians were the most advanced and formidable warriors to ever exist," Rixx acknowledged.
"And the Romulans will find what is out there and they will turn it against us," Varley said.
The conversation had reached a stalemate.
"I don't need to remind either of you, that I don't need your permission to go," Varley said.
The first crack in their shaky alliance had finally broken through.
"Donald, please," Picard said as he put up his hand.
Varley's eyebrows shot up.
"I suppose you think you're in command?" Varley asked. "We're all the same rank. We're all here by choice."
"And we may very well be all that is left," Picard reminded him.
He took a breath to steady his nerves.
"I'm not trying to assert authority. I'm just suggesting that we all take a step back. Perhaps it would be prudent to establish some sort of decision-making authority?" Picard proposed.
Varley scoffed. A broad grin broke out under his thick moustache. He had known Jean-Luc Picard long enough to know he had a knack for inserting himself as a de facto leader during situations. Picard didn't mean anything by it – it was just his nature.
"I'm talking about voting," Picard clarified in a terse voice.
"You would have us function as a council?" Varley asked, amused by the notion. "Meanwhile, there's an artefact out there that needs recovery before the Romulans swoop in and take it for themselves."
A beat passed.
"Picard has a point," Rixx said.
"You'd love a vote," Varley shot back. "You would both outnumber me. You could veto the mission."
Rixx leaned back in his seat. He folded his long, slender hands across his stomach.
"Starfleet protocol dictates that in the absence of a Fleet officer, command falls to the highest-ranking officer on the most tactically superior ship," Rixx pointed out.
He paused, giving time for Varley or Picard to lodge a protest. Varley was the first to find his voice.
"Your ship may very well be the most heavily armoured vessel ever produced but—"
"That order would place Picard in command," Rixx interjected.
"That order is only applicable to the fleet during a combat situation," Varley threw back.
Rixx leaned forward at his desk.
"It the last forty-eight hours, my ship has been pursued by Starfleet, shot at, fired upon by Romulan D'deridex cruisers, and taken significant hull damage," Rixx rattled off. "We're hiding in the Neutral Zone because right now, it's the safest option we have left."
Rixx was calm. His voice was smooth.
"How exactly would you characterise our position, Captain?" Rixx asked.
Varley's mouth thinned.
Most of the time, his source only got word of these artefacts after the Romulans were already en route. They'd had more than a few close calls.
Donald Varley firmly believed it was necessary to beat the Romulans to this latest find. Time was of the essence. And Varley couldn't afford to wait any longer.
"I'm going. If you want to stop me – you'll have to shoot me," Varley warned.
"You know we won't do that," Picard said. "Please. None of us has slept or—"
"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Varley interjected.
It was an old from their Starfleet Academy days.
Jean-Luc recognised the determined look in Varley's eyes and resigned himself to defeat.
"I'll send a message in twenty-four hours," Varley said.
The Yamato had taken less damage than the other ships. Twenty-four hours would give both the Enterprise and the Thomas Paine a chance to make necessary repairs.
And it gave them all another day to consider their next steps.
"I hope you are right. I sincerely do," Rixx said.
"Keep us informed of your progress. We'll await your message," Picard said with a stern nod. "And Donald—"
Varley stopped, inches away from deactivating his computer.
"Be safe," Picard said.
Varley smiled.
"You know me, Jean-Luc. Safety third," Varley replied with a wink before the channel went dark.
Captain Rixx did not immediately disconnect, and Jean-Luc was glad for it. He had a sinking feeling not unlike what he'd experienced after speaking the Walker Keel.
And Gregory Quinn.
A dark thought crossed his mind.
Somehow, Jean-Luc could sense this was the last time he would speak with his old friend Donald Varley.
"You are pensive," Rixx observed.
Tension was already at an all-time high. Picard didn't want to come across as doom and gloom. Outwardly, he was all cheer.
"I'd like to take a look at that pendant if you don't mind?" Picard said.
Rixx nodded.
"I thought you might. I'll send it over along with the dossier I've compiled on this Zhat Vash," Rixx said.
Worf picked up his prune juice from the replicator. With a tray of food in hand, he scanned the canteen.
Over by the window, Chief O'Brien waved.
"Over here, Lieutenant," Miles said.
Worf slipped into a seat across from Miles. Geordi was there too.
Beverly was half a step behind Worf.
"I thought you usually took lunch with Counsellor Troi?" Geordi asked.
"I do," Beverly acknowledged.
Deanna was so booked up with appointments that she had opted for a quick lunch alone in her office.
"And I'm so busy in Sickbay. I just needed a quick half hour break," Beverly said.
"I think we all had the same idea," Miles said.
Normally, Geordi and the Chief would have been found at Ten Forward. To lift spirits, Guinan was hosting a 'Build Your Own Waffle' extravaganza. The event boasted of more than eighty different styles of waffle and promised any topping one could imagine.
"Don't get me wrong. I'd murder a plate of uttaberry waffles right now," Miles said.
He shook his head.
"There's just no time!"
"Repairs aren't going well?" Beverly asked.
"Don't ask," Geordi chimed.
He set his fork down and looked up, leaning in close to ensure their conversation remained quiet.
"I'm none too keen on the circumstances that brought us here. But hiding out has given us time to make some necessary repairs," Geordi whispered. "I wouldn't want to fly into a dangerous situation anytime soon."
O'Brien agreed.
The ship was structurally sound but hardly in fighting condition.
"Whatcha talking about?" Tasha asked as she slid into a seat next to Worf.
The look on Worf's face told her everything she needed to know.
"Right," Tasha said.
"Hungry?" Geordi asked, eyeing her tray.
It was stacked high with a large, protein-rich salad, two bowls of fruit and yoghurt, gelatine, a slice of peach pie, and three sandwiches.
It was all topped off with a jumbo Raktajino.
Tasha's face flushed.
"I'm starving," Tasha said.
"Did you forget to eat the last three days?" Miles teased.
Worf slammed his fist down on the surface of the table. The plates shook.
"It is not our business what Lieutenant Yar eats," Worf declared.
"Quite right," Beverly said, nodding in support of Worf's statement.
Tasha was chewing on her lip, suddenly nervous about her meal. She knew it was ridiculous to feel embarrassed.
Everyone at the table had seen her dive elbow-deep into a tray of hot nosh bean wings without blinking.
Tasha's thoughts drifted back to the night before and her moment of realisation in front of the mirror. She had really packed on weight in the last month – regaining her own former weight and then some.
And significantly faster than Worf, Miles, and Commander Riker.
All four of them had suffered from the impact of the experimental nanocyte suit technology. It had left them emaciated.
"I'm sorry, T," Miles apologised. "That was inappropriate of me to"
Tasha shut him up with a gentle squeeze of the arm.
"It's quite alright, Chief," Tasha assured him.
Tasha turned back to her tray and froze.
"Having a hard time deciding where to start?" Geordi asked.
From across the table, Worf shot him a stern warning look.
"I'm done, I'm done," Geordi promised, catching a glimpse of Worf's scowl.
"It's true. I couldn't choose. I've been craving tuna and peanut butter all morning," Tasha confessed.
She'd opted to get both – along with a third pickle and cheese for good measure. Now she couldn't decide which one she wanted most.
"Data would probably eat them together," Geordi said.
"Speaking of Data, will he be joining us?" Miles asked.
Tasha shook her head.
"No, he wanted to run a diagnostic on the comms system," Tasha said.
Worf put a pause on his braised Targ steak long enough to dab the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin.
"We discovered an anomaly," Worf announced.
"What kind of anomaly?" Tasha asked as she reached for the hot sauce.
She flipped open her tuna sarnie and gave the bottle of hot sauce a good shake. On a whim, she flipped open the peanut butter one and also smothered it in the delicious, vibrant flavour of the pepper known as the Bajoran Flame Viper.
"We believe someone has been attempting to transmit a message," Worf shared.
An ominous sense of dread settled on the table.
"We'll know more this afternoon," Worf said before he turned back to his meal.
There was nothing they could do until then. It was no use fretting over the situation until they had a full picture of the problem.
After dousing her tray in hot sauce, Tasha realised she couldn't put off lunch any longer. She needed to eat and get back to Riker's office.
But it was hard.
Tasha was craving all of the food on her tray. Yet, none of it quite scratched the itch.
Suddenly, she cocked her head to the side much in the same manner as Data.
She picked up one side of the tuna sarnie and one side of the peanut butter one and smashed them together.
Miles's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Don't do it," he cautioned.
Tasha felt utterly drawn to this strange combination.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," Geordi said as the sandwich drew closer to her mouth.
Tasha closed her eyes and keened with pleasure at the first bite. Geordi gagged. Miles dropped his fork and pushed his tray forward.
"Well, that's just put me right off," Miles said.
Even Worf was feeling a little queasy at Tasha's near-orgasmic experience of tuna salad, peanut butter, and hot sauce.
Tasha closed her eyes and savoured the taste. It was like scratching a long-neglected itch or kicking off her boots at the end of a gruelling day.
This.
This is what she had been missing all morning.
Tasha was pulled from her moment in culinary heaven by Beverly's hand on her own.
"Tasha? Honey? Are you feeling alright?" Beverly asked.
Tasha opened her eyes. She found everyone at the table was staring — horrified — as Tasha swallowed a mouthful of the disgusting combination.
"I'm fine," Tasha insisted.
She paused, sensing her companions' discomfort.
"Sorry," Tasha apologised. "I suppose this does seem a little strange."
She frowned.
"I can't explain it. I've just been craving it," she said. "And when you joked that Data would put them all together, well—"
Tasha trailed off.
"We're uh… we're eight weeks out from the next Enterprise Sparring Tournament. I'm really hoping to hold onto my title," Tasha said pleadingly.
That was the only excuse she could fathom for her newfound appetite.
"It's fine," Beverly said.
Everyone nodded in agreement before turning back to their own trays, desperately trying to push away all thoughts of tuna and peanut butter.
They ate mostly in silence after that.
At the end of their short lunch, Geordi and Miles scurried off to Engineering with a full thermos of coffee for the afternoon.
Beverly had to get back to a full Sickbay.
Worf caught Tasha's arm on their way out of the canteen.
"Worf?" she prompted.
Tasha could sense he was worried about something. But when Worf spoke, it was not about the communications anomalies nor the looming Romulan threat.
In fact, Tasha was left stunned by how far off the mark her prediction had been.
"I am overjoyed to see you have a healthy appetite," Worf said.
Tasha blinked in surprise.
"For… training?" Tasha asked slowly.
Training.
Clever. Worf thought.
He presumed this was going to be her code word for the next child of the House of Mogh.
"Yes. Training," Worf replied in a low voice.
Suddenly, Tasha felt guilty. She desperately wanted to hold onto her position as reigning sparring champion. But Tasha didn't quite think she had it in herself anymore.
"Look, Worf. I should probably tell you that-"
Worf shushed her.
"You need not worry," Worf assured her. "I understand humans can be reluctant to speak openly about such matters."
Tasha's shoulders slumped.
"Then you noticed?" she asked.
Once more, Tasha was keenly aware of her weight gain.
"It was not my intention to bring it up," Worf confessed.
He still thought they were talking about her pregnancy. And Worf could tell he had touched on a sensitive topic.
"I am very happy for you. You look healthy," Worf said.
His comment did not have the desired effect.
"Is it obvious?" Tasha asked in a hushed voice.
"No! Not at all!" Worf said quickly.
Too quickly.
"If you continue to fuel properly with a protein rich diet and plenty of whole grains—"
"Worf, please don't," Tasha said, stopping him.
Worf felt awful.
"Forgive me. It is not my place to judge," Worf apologised.
"Thank you," Tasha replied.
All the tension between the two friends instantly melted away.
"Though you could ease up on the Raktajino," Worf said as they waited for the lift.
Tasha shot him a ferocious glare over the top of her jumbo hazelnut Raktajino with double caramel and dark chocolate sprinkles.
"Sorry," Worf said.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the lift doors.
"I just want you to know that I am here for you. Always," Worf promised. "And when you are no longer able to carry on the obligations of your duty, I will be ready to step in until you return."
Tasha was visibly aghast.
"It's… it's not even two stone," Tasha protested.
Worf felt as if he were tiptoeing through a field of landmines.
"I did not mean to insult you. But as you —"
He paused and gestured vaguely, miming what it would look like to get bigger.
Tasha was gutted. A part of her wanted to smack Worf. Another part of her wanted to burst into tears.
"I just mean that at some point you're going to have a hard time crawling through Jefferies tubes in your condition," Worf said.
"Worf!" Tasha roared.
And when you are no longer able to carry on the obligations of your duty.
Worf's words echoed in Tasha's mind.
"I'll show you duty," Tasha huffed under her breath as she flopped down at the table in Riker's office.
Huffing was an accurate description.
In her rage, Tasha had power walked from the lift. She was positively puffed by the time she reached Riker's office which only further fuelled her misplaced self-doubt.
She couldn't explain her wild mood swing. The night before, Tasha had never felt so comfortable in her own skin. She felt confident. Beautiful.
Glowing.
And now all day the slightest comment about her body was enough to fracture her strained nerves.
Tasha grumbled and slammed her Raktajino down on the table. Tasha whipped out her tablet. She tapped so furiously against the screen that Riker was concerned she might break it.
"Wanna talk about it?" Riker asked.
"No," Tasha replied in a heated tone.
"Noted," Riker said, turning back to his work.
They worked in silence for a few moments before Tasha collected herself.
"I'm sorry, sir. That was uncalled for," she apologised.
"It's alright. We're all on a short fuse," Riker replied.
They smiled at one another. Riker was always the one to offer a smile or a warm embrace. His jovial attitude was part of what made him such a great First Officer. It was easy to work under someone that genuinely cared about their crew.
And Will Riker would do everything he could to ensure his team was safe and happy.
"Any word from the Captain?" Tasha asked.
Riker shook his head.
"Not yet."
Riker turned back to his own computer to resume his work.
"You know, I was thinking—" he began to say.
Tasha glanced up.
"What if we were to expand on Guinan's idea?" Riker suggested.
Guinan had done everything she could to boost morale within the confines of Ten Forward.
"Themed parties on the holodeck, more concerts, book clubs," Riker explained. "Ooo! Ooo!"
He snapped his fingers together.
"We could get the school to do another carnival. The kids would really perk things up!"
Riker thought if he could keep everyone busy with activities that they wouldn't have time to sit around and think about the Romulans or the isolation.
"We can take their mind off it," Riker said.
"I love it," Tasha said.
As the Yamato darted off to pursue the latest secret orders from Varley's source, Data was at his workstation pursuing his own leads.
Like a Twenty-Fourth Century Dixon Hill, Data had put his gumshoe skills to work tracking a hunch.
By the time Worf returned from lunch, Data was well on his way to some preliminary conclusions.
"Find anything?" Worf asked.
"Yes," Data replied.
Worf resumed his seat at the table and booted up his tablet.
"That is good news," he remarked.
"No, it is not," Data announced.
Captain Picard had barely had a moment to study the unusual pendant before he received an urgent page from Data.
He desperately wanted to shut out the world for a few hours and study the piece. But his duty to the ship came first.
Jean-Luc had learned long ago that leadership often meant sacrificing one's personal academic pursuits.
How much simpler it would be. Picard mused.
He dashed the thought as quickly as it came. Jean-Luc had never been the kind of person to find satisfaction behind a desk or in a lab.
As he listened to Data outline their latest issue, Picard was certain he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Data, Tasha, Worf, and Deanna were seated around the table on the Observation Lounge.
The rest of the senior officers had more pressing responsibilities.
"Counsellor, I do apologise for pulling you away from your sessions," Data said.
Deanna's schedule was packed. She felt terribly guilty about asking Lieutenant Pendergast to reschedule.
"I believe your expertise will be most valuable," Data said.
He glanced over at Worf.
Data may have detected the anomaly, but it was merely confirmation of something Worf had long suspected.
"We have a spy," Worf announced.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Riker scratched his chin and dropped his gaze to his lap.
Tasha remained silent. She was not surprised by the news. In fact, Tasha had first raised the possibility of a Romulan plant on the Enterprise more than a year ago.
But saying it aloud?
Finally having to acknowledge the presence of a spy on board felt wrong. It felt like a violation, an intrusion into the space Tasha held so dear.
The Enterprise was her home.
And her home had been invaded.
"During a routine analysis of our new communications procedure, Lieutenant Worf and I discovered a series of anomalous readings," Data explained.
He directed their attention to the viewscreen.
"As you can see, they have occurred since we first picked up the survivors of the Enterprise-C."
Indeed, the report painted an alarming picture.
It was safe to assume the spy was aware the ship was up to something. Captain Picard and the other senior officers had done their best to keep the secretive nature of their mission hidden from the bulk of the ship's complement.
"These readings are inconsistent with any of our communications efforts. And they are too precise to be random anomalies," Data went on.
Riker's eyes narrowed as he studied the screen.
"It looks like a pattern," he observed.
Data nodded.
"Correct, sir. These efforts have mostly followed a pattern with two attempted transmissions every four hours," Data said.
Worf clicked his tablet to move to highlight a portion of the data.
"Except for three days ago," Worf pointed out.
The timing coincided with their departure for the Neutral Zone. Whoever had been making the communication attempts had broken their routine that day. The data showed the spy had only made two attempts that day.
"Unusual," Picard noted.
"We cannot know why the pattern changed that day. But I believe we can draw a number of possible conclusions," Data shared.
Before Data could delve into his theories, Tasha interjected with an obvious question.
"How did we miss this?" she demanded.
She was already feeling more than a little on edge after the morning she'd had. Captain Picard's reluctance to sign off on her plan combined with Worf's comments after lunch had left Tasha questioning her fitness for duty.
"I check the Security log every night," she insisted.
It included a readout of the ship-wide communications logs.
"I believe someone has been using a programme to fool the ship-wide report," Data said.
"None of these anomalies are present end of day logs," Worf explained.
He could tell Tasha felt like she'd failed. And for someone that took her job so seriously, this news was a huge blow.
Deanna had picked up on it too.
"Then there is no way this would have been present in the nightly reports?" Deanna pressed.
"None," Data answered.
Tasha felt a small bit of relief.
"It's a clever ruse," Riker acknowledged.
"One that would require advanced knowledge of our systems, communications experience, and programming skills," Worf said.
"That should narrow down the list of suspects," Picard said.
Deanna shook her head.
"Not necessarily. Would a good spy try to distance themselves from that?" she pointed out.
Data cleared his throat.
"If I may continue?"
Of course, Data had already considered that possibility and many more theories.
"Please," Picard said as he nodded to Data.
Worf clicked through to the next slide in the presentation so Data could outline his process.
"I have analysed all the personnel files, duty logs, and combadge checkpoint records," Data explained.
Each combadge tracked movement through the ship during the day. While it did not key into an exact location, it did 'ping' whenever someone passed through a number of critical areas like using a lift, entering the Bridge or Main Engineering, personal quarters, or whenever someone accessed a terminal.
Combadges could be used to key into more precise location information – but not without cause. Even the Chief of Security had to secure the Captain's permission for such a method of surveillance.
"I have narrowed down the list to a possible two-hundred and fourteen suspects," Data said.
Jean-Luc baulked.
"Two hundred and fourteen?" Picard clarified.
"Yes, sir."
Jean-Luc knew it wasn't Data or Worf's fault that they had such little information to go on. It was a miracle they had even discovered the anomalies in the first place.
According to their research, they
"They are consistent with short data bursts," Worf added.
The size of the file indicated it was likely a message.
"Do we know the contents of these messages? Did they contain our location? Our mission?" Picard pressed.
"No," Worf answered.
Without a successful transmission, there was no way to know. The only thing that had been recorded in the logs was the timestamp of the unsuccessful attempt and the file size of the attempted upload.
"And without the message, we cannot determine if they are aware of the Enterprise-C survivors and our mission to Lantera or if they simply noticed the changes in Security and ship protocols," Worf said.
"But we can determine with a reasonable degree of certainty that these readings are the attempt of a spy trying to contact the Romulans," Data said.
Data had not been able to determine a target destination for the messages – but he had found the frequency.
"Sir, this message was transmitted using the same frequency as the messages that were previously transmitted before the incident with the Romulan contagion on Stardate 41636.9," Data advised.
More than a year earlier, the Enterprise had been dispatched on an urgent mission to the Neutral Zone. Their encounter with a Romulan ship had been a setup.
Tasha and Worf's investigation into the matter was cut short.
The culprit (or culprits) remained at large.
"I believe it is highly likely this is the same individual or group that was responsible for transmitting information and materials to the Romulans a year ago," Data said.
Picard fought the urge to shudder. Deanna openly shivered.
"Then they have been on board this whole time?" she asked.
Tasha's mind reeled.
She knew (better than most) that safety was an illusion. But it still felt wrong. It felt like an intrusion.
The Romulans had come into her home.
They threatened everyone Tasha loved.
And now that treat felt even more real than the mission to Lantera.
Seeing the big Romulan D'deridex cruisers and the plans for Ekloire meant confronting an uncomfortable reality.
But knowing they were here? Unseen?
It was worse than Turkana's deadliest snakes.
It was disgusting to find one – but more dangerous to lose track of it.
And now their Romulan spy was out there, slithering back to the shadows to await the next opportunity.
"We have days at best before Starfleet or the Romulans find us," Picard said.
There wasn't time to interview hundreds of suspects.
"I believe the expertise of Lieutenant Yar and Counsellor Troi could help build a profile," Data suggested.
It was why he had requested their presence at the meeting.
"I would like your input," Data said.
He and Worf had already built a preliminary profile to narrow down a list of possible suspects. But Tasha and Deanna were the real profilers.
They had a far greater understanding of behaviour.
"I think we rule out any of the junior officers or civilian personnel living in the lower decks and junior suites," Tasha said.
A spy needed space to operate and store equipment. They likely kept odd hours and devices that would arouse suspicion if they were in a space with limited privacy.
"We should look for anyone with their own quarters. Either someone that loves alone. Or it could even be a team posing as a family," Tasha said.
A married couple or domestic arrangement was an easier way to expedite getting a second person on board.
Data kept pace with the theories. He quickly subdivided the list.
"They'll have a job that grants access to a number of key areas but not one that would arouse suspicion. Maybe a maintenance technician or an Ops or Security support specialist," Tasha went on.
Data had already thought as much — but it was good confirmation to know Tasha's mind was headed down the same direction.
"What about one of the Command support crew?" Riker suggested.
They had access to the Bridge and other key areas along with limited command functions. They stepped in frequently to assist when the senior officers were off duty or tending to tasks away from the Bridge of the ship.
Data shook his head.
"I do not believe those individuals are likely candidates. Our spy would be better served in a role that allows the use of a general maintenance access code rather than an individual command login," Data said.
All officers and civilian personnel had individual login credentials that granted access to different terminals depending on the user's security clearance.
But maintenance techs, support specialists, and a variety of other rank and file officers had access to a number of generic maintenance codes.
They did not grant access to any primary systems or command functions. But they could be input to ease the burden of having to repeatedly enter a code to climb through the Jefferies tubes or get into systems like waste removal and plumbing.
Tasha nodded in agreement.
"Data's right. They would need to move about unseen," Tasha said.
On a ship the size of the Enterprise, they all encountered dozens of crew members that they paid no mind to daily.
"My guess is they're all feeling isolated and afraid right now. Each day that passes without contact, the more anxious they will grow," Tasha said.
There was nothing more frustration for a covert operative than to have vital information and be cut off from their contact.
"So, they're alone and under pressure," Worf said.
"You've just described half the ship," Deanna said.
She didn't want to sound defeatist, but most of the ship was struggling with the contact protocols and travel restrictions.
The tension had been building for months.
"They're going to make a mistake," Tasha warned.
"That is a good point. It is only natural — even more so for a Romulan. They aren't just under the normal pressure of a covert operative," Deanna explained.
A Romulan spy could face devastating consequences for failure. They may be sentenced to a prison planet, or their family may suffer imprisonment, banishment to the mines on Remus, or even death.
"We should prioritise Vulcanoid officers or any officers with Vulcanoid heritage," Tasha added.
Captain Picard bristled at the suggestion.
"I am not about to start accusing our Vulcan, Regelian, and Austorian crew of being spies simply for their heritage," Picard said.
The very idea was repugnant.
"Sir, I am not suggesting we round up our comrades for interrogation. I just mean, it's something we should be aware of," Tasha clarified.
"It would not be an atypical Romulan ploy to pose as a Vulcanoid officer," Data said.
Worf was in agreement.
"Surgical alterations and intense cultural training cannot hide a blood test. Any long-term spy would need to pose as some sort of Vulcanoid or someone with Vulcanoid heritage," Worf said.
"Or, they could very well be a defector," Picard countered.
Stories of the defection of Starfleet's Ensign DeSeve were infamous.
"It is possible. And we shouldn't limit ourselves to Vulcanoid officers. I just think we need to prioritise any of them that fall onto Data's list," Tasha said.
"Given Romulan xenophobic tendencies, it is unlikely they would entrust such an important mission to a non-Romulan operative," Data added.
Data's logic was sound — even if Picard was rue to admit it.
"How many people does that leave on your list?" Picard asked.
"One hundred and nineteen," Data replied.
Jean-Luc leaned back in his seat. He took a slow breath as he scratched at his chin.
"One more thing," Data said.
Jean-Luc gestured for Data to continue.
"I believe we could narrow this list down even further to seventy-nine names," Data said.
"Whoever did this, used a programme to erase the record from the ship-wide log. It would never have been noticed had we not reviewed each terminal individually," Worf said.
The anomaly was only present in the secondary backup log at each individual terminal.
"Whoever did this was sophisticated enough to understand the programme. But they failed to check the secondary logs. It is a common error we see in techs and support crew that were trained prior to installation of the comms relay on newer model starships," Data said.
Riker snapped his fingers.
"Right. When was that? 56? 57?" Riker asked.
It was a newer change and had only been rolled out in the last decade. The team had encountered the issue many times since the launch of the Enterprise during routine maintenance work.
Technicians trained on the older model weren't accustomed to the extra step.
Starfleet's retinue was vast and featured models of ships from many different eras. It meant that at any given point in time, crew members might be working on technology that was a century apart in design and capacity one week to the next.
"I also believe this individual has been on the ship for over a year," Data said. "Possibly even since our initial launch."
Worf too backed that theory.
They didn't know the contents of the message itself. But Worf had done some digging of his own.
"I checked outgoing transmissions for the last sixteen months and discovered someone has been sending routine messages that I believe are disguised to hide the actual contents," Worf said.
Riker frowned.
"How can you know they're in code if you don't know what you're looking for?" Riker asked.
Worf tapped his tablet to pull up the evidence.
"All of these transmissions are roughly the same size. They use the same, obscure frequency," Worf explained.
The frequency was not used by Starfleet communications or any known Federation member planet. In fact, it was typically only used by rogue traders.
"These messages aren't going to a person. They aren't being sent to someone like a friend or family at another posting or someone's home," Worf went on.
He slid his tablet across the tablet.
There had been a major red flag that caught Worf's attention.
"And because those are not the correct scores," Worf said.
Riker skimmed the contents on the screen. It was a list of scores from last year's Parrises Squares division playoffs.
"The Firebrands beat the Ice Miners three to one," Worf said.
"Are you certain?" Picard asked.
Both Worf and Tasha raised their eyebrows.
"Over a hundred billion people watched that game, sir," Tasha pointed out.
It was one of the most viewed sporting spectacles in the whole quadrant. Federation news had broadcast the game live — carrying it to more than a hundred member planets.
"Right," Picard said.
Of course, Worf and Tasha knew the score.
"Data, I want you to analyse the previous messages with the sports scores. See if you can crack the Romulan code. Find out what you can," Picard ordered.
He tapped his knuckles on the desk. Deanna could sense a new fear had formed in the back of the Captain's mind.
"Sir?" she prompted.
"We need to relay a message to Captain Varley. Now," Picard said.
A collective sense of curiosity went around the table.
Picard had hoped to spare his team additional worry. He wanted the Yamato to come back safe and sound and for his team to be none the wiser.
"I am afraid that I must inform you the Yamato departed earlier this morning," Picard said.
"What?"
It slipped from Riker's mouth before he could stop himself. Deanna now understood why it had felt like Jean-Luc was hiding something form them.
"Where were they headed?" Tasha asked.
It didn't make sense to leave.
"I don't know," Picard answered honestly.
That did little ease the fear in the room.
"We do still have a few remaining probes," Riker suggested.
They had stripped all the tracking information. It was a countermeasure they had used to relay previous communiques to the Thomas Paine and the Yamato.
"Do it and do it quickly," Picard said.
"Sir, launching that probe would narrow the field of search for anyone looking for us," Data advised. "It will not take long for someone to deduce we are using the dense gas cloud around this planet to hide our signature."
Jean-Luc nodded in acknowledgement. He knew it was a risk.
"Which is why we will need to find an alternative location to complete our repairs," Picard said.
He turned to Tasha.
"Lieutenant, please get on a channel with Captain Rixx. Find a suitable location for our ships to hide," Picard ordered. "Then circle back with Lieutenant Worf. I want this Romulan spy found."
"Sir? May I ask what is the urgency? What if the Yamato's been compromised? Are we sure we want to message them?" Riker pressed.
"We have to warn them. The Yamato is warping into a trap," Picard announced.