The Oppressor's Wrong

Star Trek: The Next Generation™: Slings and Arrows

Book 1:
A Sea of Troubles
by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

Book 2:
The Oppressor's Wrong
by Phaedra M. Weldon

COMING SOON:

Book 3:
The Insolence of Office
by William Leisner

Book 4:
That Sleep of Death
by Terri Osborne

Book 5:
A Weary Life
by Robert Greenberger

Book 6:
Enterprises of Great Pitch and Moment
by Keith R.A. DeCandido

 

 

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

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First Pocket Books eBook edition November 2007

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ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5013-6

ISBN-10:   1-4165-5013-5
eISBN : 978-14-16554-1-03

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This book is dedicated to my dad, Leonard C. Weldon, Jr., and to his wife, Delois A. Weldon, for giving me my first typewriter and telling me to never stop dreaming

H
e moved quickly to the back room of his quarters. With a glance to the door behind him as it shut, he bent on one knee and carefully reached beneath the bed, tugging at the small twelve-by-twelve silver case positioned just out of sight.

Once it was free from its hiding place, he sat on the edge of the bed, opened the case, and stared at the blank, black glossy surface of the upright side. With two touches to the horizontal black surface, he watched as the inner side illuminated his face as well as the room in a soft, turquoise light.

“Receiving,”
came the voice from the silver box. There was no image to accompany it—even the voice that filtered through the small speakers was masked, coded, and dispersed.

He cleared his throat, aware that his own face
was
visible. “Tactical liaison nine-twenty-three reporting in.”

“Take that face off,”
came the quick retort—his superior's irritation still evident through the disruption.

And if he was irritated before the conversation even began, that could only mean things were not going as planned.

He did as he was told, the shimmer of his transformation reflected in the glossy black of the case's interior. He faced the tiny camera naked now, without the protection of another's identity.

“Better,”
came the voice.

He nodded but already knew there was something else. “I gather from your request for contact that there could be a problem, sir?”

“Maybe. I'm not sure yet.”
The reply was terse.
“Things are progressing here as planned—even with the occasional setback that comes with the insurrection of terror.”

He took in a deep breath and waited for his orders. He had other duties to perform; appearances needed to be kept up lest his present mark notice any suspicious behavior.

“We're going to need to step up the timetable as of today. I'm not sure about the exact time and date, but it will be soon. I'll need you to double-check to make
sure everything is ready.”
The voice paused.
“How is the admiral behaving? Does he suspect?”

It was time for honesty, no matter how painful. “I think he suspects something. Commander Snowden is doing all he can to soothe the admiral's fears.” He looked away, hoping his superior couldn't see his eyes, wouldn't see the doubt lodged there.

“But the admiral isn't buying it?”

He looked back to the camera eye. “No, sir.”

“Then I'm afraid he'll have to be eliminated.”

He paused. “Killing was never part of this assignment.”

“Assignments change,”
the voice said.
“Just do what you're best at. I'll arrange for the proper follow-up—Snowden will be there when you need him.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded and reached out to disconnect.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

He stopped and looked at the pulsing glow. “Yes?”

“Make sure it looks authentic—I want nothing to go wrong. In fact—”
There was a long pause, and he was afraid he'd lost connection. Then,
“Use the
Enterprise.
I've made arrangements for her to be docking there in a few days—hopefully to stay for a while. I'd rather have Picard out of the way just now, and preoccupied.”

“Sir—I should use the
Enterprise?
A starship?”

“You heard me. Is there a problem? Are you not capable of handling a starship?”

He looked down at his hands. Hands he didn't recognize. “Yes,” he said with conviction. “I can handle a starship.”

“Good. Keep me informed. Out.”

The glow eased back. The glossy black pane returned.

He closed the case and sat alone in his quarters. He didn't need to confirm or guess at what his superior wanted.

There was no question the death his superior wanted would be the most dramatic. But to involve a starship, and not just any ship within the Federation fleet.

The flagship.

A new
Sovereign-
class ship, equipped with the latest technology.

He gave a deep sigh, seeing now an even greater problem. With his eyes closed, he returned his face to what was most familiar before stowing the case and leaving his quarters, unaware that his plans, as well as those of his superiors, were about to fall apart.

H
umans, Bolians, Tellarites, Trills, Vulcans, and Romulans moved about the crowded room, laughing, talking—many in deep conversation—on this day on which the Federation hoped to begin talks of a working alliance with the Romulan Star Empire.

That is, until the conference center exploded, killing twenty-seven people.

He stood in the center, watching the silver carafe to his left. It was situated between a Romulan man and a human woman who talked with bright smiles and shaking hands, unaware they wouldn't live another second. The trigger was set, the bomb initiated, the explosion little more than a white hot light—

—a white hot light—

—a white hot light—

“Computer,” said a tired voice in the brightness. “End program.”

The image dissolved around him, revealing the black walls, ceiling, and floor of a small, three-by-three holosuite located on the upper deck of Quark's, on the Federation station Deep Space 9. Of the suites Quark owned, this one was supposed to be his best. Yet the simulation hiccupped in different places, repeatedly.

Lieutenant Pádraig Daniels ran his fingers through his thick, blond hair as he tried to stifle his outrage and frustration with the holosuite. He felt like screaming.

But Lieutenant Commander Var chim Travec spoke first. Daniels stood back and sighed, wishing for the hundredth time that the admiral hadn't sent the Tellarite along with Mr. t'Saiga and him. It was bad enough that the piglike Travec and the doglike t'Saiga could barely exchange three words without snarling at each other—hadn't Leyton even bothered to read that Tellarites ate the canines on their world?

Daniels was there because he was Starfleet security and he had a working knowledge of explosives, but he had suspected more than once that his true purpose was to keep the other two from killing each other.

“Inexcusable,” boomed Travec. He stood with his
stout chest thrust forward, his hooflike hands behind his back. “This is intolerable. How can Starfleet even allow this incompetent fool to run such shoddy equipment on board one of its stations?”

To his left stood two humans, a Bajoran, and a belligerent Ferengi.

“This obviously isn't my fault,” Quark said as he glared at Travec. “This holosuite was working perfectly until Lieutenant Daniels and his dog-eared assistant commandeered its use for their”—he held up the index finger and middle finger of each hand to make quotations—“investigation.”

“Quark,” began Major Kira, in temporary command of DS9. The station's commanding officer, Captain Benjamin Sisko, as well as the station's head of security, Constable Odo, were on Earth while Sisko took over as acting head of Starfleet Security.

“Major, this suite was working perfectly the other week when Dr. Bashir and the chief used it.” He looked over at one of the humans. “Right, Chief?”

Chief Miles O'Brien, head of operations for Deep Space 9, crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, it was a bit dodgy now and then. Julian and I nearly fell out of our planes—they were practically see-through.”

“That's a lie.” Quark held up a finger at the chief.

“Incompetent,” Travec said again.

“Gentlemen,” Captain Jean-Luc Picard said in a
stern but tolerant voice. “Please. I can understand Mr. Daniels's frustration. I myself would like very much to see this simulation finished as well.”