5

“Transporter Room two reports that Bashir’s team has been successfully transported,” Ch’qahrok said.

“Very good,” said Sheppard as he settled back in the captain’s chair. “What’s the status of the retroviral transport?”

“It’s currently at ninety-five percent,” Ch’qahrok replied. “We should have it all down to them in approximately ten minutes.”

“Very good. I’d be willing to bet that they’re going to wait until they have all the retroviral treatment before they decide we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Sheppard said. “Keep monitoring the away teams as well and be prepared to pull them out of there at the first sign of trouble.”

“Aye, sir,” Ch’qahrok said calm and confidently.

Sheppard stood up and walked near Ch’qahrok’s console and gave him a half-smile. “Lieutenant Commander, are you sure your ears aren’t pointed?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t understand the question,” Ch’qahrok said.

“I mean I’ve known many Andorians over the years. Stoicism and strict adherence to logic aren’t exactly what your species is known for. I find your demeanor almost Vulcan.”

“Is this going to constitute a professional conflict?” Ch’Qahrok asked.

“No, of course not,” said Sheppard. “I’m just making an effort to get to know you. Before I stepped foot on this ship, you were just another personnel file, and a damn fine officer.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I was one of the few off-worlders invited to attend the Vulcan Science Academy. The Vulcans not only appreciated my academic achievements, but they also felt comfortable with my lack of emotions. During my time there, I picked up more of their mannerisms.”

“Is there a reason you’re… emotionally flat?”

“There is,” Ch’qahrok replied. “I realized as a child that emotional outbursts are counter-productive in most situations, and I endeavored to prevent them from having a negative impact on my life.”

“But isn’t emotion one of the fundamental things you get to experience in life?”

“It is one aspect of personality,” Ch’qahrok said. “Even in Vulcans, it exists, albeit suppressed into the background. I choose to suppress it as well, so it doesn’t interfere with my ability to pursue more enlightened goals. Emotion does exist in me, but I refuse to allow it to interfere with making the most logical choices at all time.”

“Do you adhere to the disciplines of Surak, or do you take a different approach?”

“I have studied Surak, and I agree with his philosophies, but because my brain is not Vulcan, I’m not capable of participating in the Kolinahr ritual to purge emotions entirely.”

“Interesting,” Sheppard said. “Would you if that were possible?”

“I have often pondered the possibility, and I believe I would if I could.” Their banter was interrupted when a beep sounded at Ch’qahrok’s control console. “Captain, sensors are picking up a very faint energy distortion between the planet and its nearest moon.”

Sheppard frowned. There were a number of possibilities when it came to energy distortions, but they were one of the primary ways Starfleet had to detect cloaked ships. “Do you think it’s a cloak?”

“The only way to tell for sure would be to flood the area with tachyons. Would you like me to do that, sir?”

Sheppard considered his options. It was tempting to do exactly as Ch’qahrok suggested and flush them out. But, if they did that now and it turned out to be a cloaked ship, they would likely soon be engaged in combat, and the remaining retrovirals might not reach the planet’s surface. They would also likely be forced to raise their shields, which would make it impossible to beam back the away teams. “Can you tell if it’s moving towards us?”

“I’ve picked up the distortion three separate times with passive scans and it appears to be holding position between the planet and the moon,” Ch’qahrok said.

“Alright, let’s not tip our hands that we’ve found them just yet,” Sheppard said. “Let’s go to yellow alert, but keep shields down until I say otherwise. Let’s proceed as though it’s a confirmed cloaked ship unless we determine otherwise.

“Aye, sir,” said Ch’qahrok.

“Keep an eye on that, and let me know if it starts to move. Oh, and alert the away teams that we might have trouble up here.”

* * *

Bashir breathed a sigh of relief as he Cunha, and Cruz materialized inside a forty-foot long industrial container. He activated the light on his tricorder and scanned the area. Stacked in neat piles throughout were pieces of metal that appeared to be unassembled portions of some sort of structure. Given that this was a defense facility, odds were that these were portions of some sort of weapon platform that hadn’t been welded in yet. He quietly walked to the end of the container, grabbed the door’s latch and slowly rotated it. He heard the metal groan slightly, but it moved to the open position without making too much noise.

He pushed the door open a crack and peaked out. Ahead of them were several more storage containers in an open area, and beyond that was a massive hangar type building that he estimated stood a hundred fifty feet tall or more. There were Gourans milling about, but they were wearing blue jumpsuits. They were workers, not guards. There was almost certainly security on site, and he knew they should make every effort to avoid them, but workers were unlikely to realize that they weren’t supposed to be there. He opened the container door a little wider. “Let’s go,” he said as he motioned for the two women to follow him. He noted that Cruz had her phaser in hand. “And put that away unless we need it.”

Cruz glared at him darkly, but followed his instruction.

“Are you sure it’s safe to just go walking out there?” Cunha asked.

“No,” said Bashir, “but we’re not going to learn anything if we don’t. Just act casual.”

He led the way from the storage container. And approached the large hangar-style building. The workers they neared along the way glanced at them, but went back to their conversations without paying them any extra attention.

“Why aren’t they paying attention to us?” Cunha asked.

“They probably think we’re just part of the regular inspection team,” Bashir replied.

“What happens if we run into someone who’s part of the actual inspection team?” Cunha asked.

“Hope they aren’t paying attention. We can always try and bluff them and say that we’re new arrivals,” Bashir replied. “We’re all Starfleet, so we could just tell them the truth and they can verify it through the Horizon.”

Bashir opened the door to the main hangar and led them inside. Within was a massive production facility where it appeared that they were constructing small but highly armored starships. He’d never seen these designs in Starfleet. Everywhere he looked, there were semi-completed starship components, ships that were in various stages of completion, and people working on them with advanced production equipment. It was loud in here. In fact, it was so loud that he realized they should either place audio dampeners over their ears or risk hearing loss that he’d have to correct after they returned to the ship.

“What is this place?” Cunha asked.

“It looks like they’re constructing small starships for combat purposes.” He glanced at his tricorder which identified this place as a shuttle manufacturing facility, but he had never seen shuttles that looked like this. These ships were wide, with cockpits that could probably seat no more than three, and they bristled with energy weapons on their thick hulls. “This is supposed to be a shuttlecraft manufacturing facility, but those look more aggressive than any shuttle I’ve ever seen.”

“Those ships look downright mean,” Cruz said.

“Just at a glance, it looks like their hulls are twice as thick as most standard shuttles. The weapons look more like disruptors than phasers…” Cunha said.

Bashir commented, “Come on, let’s start walking. Look like we’re going someplace specific so we don’t attract attention. I’ve noticed something else though.”

“What’s that?” Cunha asked.

“Since we got inside the main building, I haven’t seen any other Starfleet personnel. If this were still a Starfleet facility, I should have seen some in the distance by now.”

“That sounds problematic,” Cunha said.

Bashir passed by an unoccupied work table where he saw a stack of PADDs. He glanced around quickly, saw that nobody was observing them, and grabbed three of them. He kept one and handed the other two over to Cunha and Cruz. “Keep these up. It will help sell the disguise.”

Cunha surveilled the room and noted a table with holographic displays showing plans. A strange looking device sat near the holo-projector. Judging by the multiple dataports and small display built into it, it looked like a data storage device, but it wasn’t anything she was familiar with. There were others at the table, but they looked like engineer types, not security. “See if you can distract them,” she said to Bashir.

“Have you found something?”

“I think so,” she replied.

Bashir walked up to the engineers gathered around the station. “Gentlemen, so nice to see you. I’m here to conduct a quick inspection.”

Bashir noticed a pained look on their faces, but they didn’t seem as though what he was doing was particularly unusual. “This isn’t going to take too long, is it?” asked one of the Gourans.

“Quick and easy. Let’s just start by everyone showing me your identification.” Bashir glanced over while everyone was digging their identicards from their pockets to see Cunha grab the data device and hide it under her PADD.

“Which part are you building here?” Bashir asked.

“This is the rear section of the plasma induction manifold,” said the same one who had spoken before.

Bashir took their identicards and scanned them with his tricorder. None of them turned up any information since he wasn’t plugged into the local database, but they didn’t need to know that. He handed them back and said, “Do you have your daily agendas?”

“Agendas? They stopped assigning those when we switched projects,” the man said. “Speaking of which, it’s been a while since we’ve seen Starfleet inspectors around. Are you guys back?”

Bashir frowned. This was not supposed to be a friendly exchange. “I’m asking the questions here,” he said pointedly.

“Yes, sir,” said the Gouran.

“How long do you expect it to take to complete this section?” Bashir asked.

“We have a work cycle of three days,” said the engineer. “But between us, we all think it’s unrealistic to think we can finish it in under five days.”

“Well, I suggest you find some new motivation and get it done on schedule. I don’t want to have to come back here.”

The engineers looked at one another uneasily but said nothing.

“This has gone on long enough. Get back to work,” Bashir said loudly. “I’d better not see the group of you standing around while this thing remains unfinished.”

“Yes, sir,” said the engineer again.

Bashir led Cunha and Cruz away from the table and toward the nearest door that led outside. “I think we have enough to go over for now. Let’s get out of here.”

They stepped out into the humid air and looked around. Bashir still saw a number of workers milling around, but there was still no sign of security. He walked back to the storage box they had beamed into, opened it up, and wandered inside, closing it behind them once they were safely inside.

“Doctor,” Cruz said, faintly nodding to her left.

Bashir moved his eyes to follow hers, but didn’t turn his head. There were six of them in official-looking uniforms cutting through a cluster of workers and walking quickly toward them. Bashir looked to his right and spotted the storage container they had beamed into. That would still be a good location to beam out of, but they had to lose them first.

He noted that Cruz had her phaser in hand already, but he could tell by Cunha’s expression that she was frightened. He never stopped being frightened in dangerous situations, no matter how many times he had faced them, but he had training, and he was born genetically engineered to withstand the stress. Captain Sisko had helped develop his ability to manage stress. Cunha didn’t have that. “Just stay close to me and don’t panic,” Bashir said calmly.

Cunha nodded, but said nothing in response.

Directly up ahead were two smaller metal sheds. Bashir picked up the pace and walked between them. There were only a couple workers here, but he didn’t see any good hiding places, and not knowing how many he would find inside the sheds, he didn’t want to chance them. He broke into a run, leading the other two to the far side of the buildings. The storage container he wanted to reach was still far in the distance. He paused for a moment.

“There,” said Cruz, pointing. Bashir looked in the distance and saw a pile of slightly rusted cylindrical metal parts he couldn’t identify that were stacked as high as he was tall. It was the largest unattended object he saw that they might be able to hide behind. He ran for the opposite side and squatted down behind the pile of parts. There was just enough room between the parts to see through to the other side. He hoped it would provide enough cover.

He watched through the gaps as the Gouran security personnel moved into view on the other side. “Split up! You three, go to that side of the building. We’ll stay here and see if they’re hiding somewhere,” said one of the male Gourans.

Three of them ran off, but Bashir could see the three men walking around in front of them. Their hiding spot wasn’t going to work for long. He looked to Cruz and handed her his tricorder. “Get ready to make a move. I’m going to buy some time.”

“Understood,” the security officer said.

Bashir moved to the side of the pile of parts and faced his pursuers, raising his hands as he did so.

“You! Don’t move!” the Gouran said.

“I assure you, I’m not going to give you any trouble.”

“What happened to your friends?”

“I’m not sure. We split up,” Bashir said. It was a misleading statement, but it was somewhat true.

The officer who had been speaking pointed to one of the others. “Cuff him, and keep a phaser on him.”

The other officer nodded and approached Bashir, a pair of energy-cuffs in his hand. “Lower your hands, slowly,” he said.

Bashir did as he was told, and he could feel the Gouran’s chill flesh grab him by the forearms. A moment later, the cuffs were on and the energy field that would immobilize his wrists was activated.

“Take him back to the office and detain him. We’ll keep looking for the others,” said their leader.

“Yes, sir,” said the officer.

Bashir began to worry. Cruz and Cunha had more than enough time to slip away, but part of the plan was that they were supposed to come back for him. This could get ugly if the Horizon was forced to become involved and answer for his actions. The man began leading him off. He counted his steps, one after the other, increasingly convinced with every step that the other two had found a calm spot and simply beamed out. It would have been the intelligent thing to do. It also left him in an unfortunate position.

Then he heard the phaser fire behind them. There were two shots in quick succession, and then a third, at which time the guard holding him fell limply to the ground. Bashir turned around to see Cruz standing next to the pile of parts, her phaser still in her hand.

“Ensign, get me out of these,” he said as he ran back to his crewmates. “I thought you were going to abandon me.”

“No, I don’t leave anyone behind,” Cruz said as she activated her phaser again. Bashir felt the cuffs power off and fall to the ground.

“Thank you,” he said.

Cruz smiled in response.

“Can we get out of here now?” Cunha asked.

Bashir tapped his combadge. “Bashir to Horizon, three to beam back to the facility where they’re storing the retrovirals.”

Bashir felt the familiar sensation of the transporter beam enveloping him. A moment later they were once again standing in the warehouse. He looked around and saw that they had been beamed back into proximity with Lashwan. “Were we missed?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Lashwan said. “Nobody has been down to check on us since you left.”

“Perfect,” said Bashir, his heart still pounding from adrenaline. “Now let’s see what we managed to make off with from that facility.”

Cunha produced the device and handed it to Bashir as he led them into a small supply closet. “I can’t even figure out how to power this on,” she said.

Bashir set his tricorder to scan and passed the device in front of it. There was electrical activity within the device, but the frequency registered as four-hundred-fifty-five gigahertz. “Well, that confirms it,” he said. “This is Breen technology.” He tapped his combadge. “Bashir to Horizon.”

He waited heard nothing in reply. He tapped his combadge again. “Bashir to Horizon.”

“Either they can’t hear us, or they’re no longer there.”

Bashir heard the sound of marching outside the door. He peaked out to see a group of metal-masked Breen marching toward them. The one in the lead pointed a disruptor at him. “You’re coming with us, Starfleet,” it said in a metallic metal screech.

Bashir sighed. This situation escalated quickly.