Free Star Trek: TNG: Cold Equations II: Silent Weapons by David Mack

here, sir.”
    “Please meet me near the main gate at once. Essan out.” He put away the device and cracked a meek and worried smile at the starship commanders. “He’ll be just a moment.”
    The three of them waited without speaking for close to a minute until another Orion police official arrived, snapped to attention in front of Essan, and saluted. “Sir.”
    The commandant returned the salute and spoke quickly. “Do you have all the scans we’ve taken so far?”
    “Yes, sir,” Jarek replied.
    “Good,” Essan said. “Transmit them all to the Atlas and the Hastur-zolis.” At Jarek’s first sign of hesitation, he added, “ Now, Major. That’s an order.”
    Jarek lifted a tricorder-like device from a holster on his hip. “Yes, sir.” He keyed in commands while Essan, Tezog, and Bateson watched. Several seconds later, he switched off the device. “Done.”
    “Thank you, Major. You’re dismissed.” The commandant shooed his subordinate with frantic gestures, then he turned back to the starship commanders. “Are we quite finished now?”
    Tezog activated his wrist-mounted communicator. “In a moment.” He spoke a long string of hisses, rasps, growls, and clicks into the device, then listened to a similar string of noise in reply. He turned off the comm. “Now we’re done.” He bowed his head slightly at Bateson. “Captain.” And on that note, he turned and stalked away, marshaling his soldiers behind him.
    Essan didn’t wait for Bateson’s permission to depart. He hurried away, back into the relative safety of a clutch of Orion police, leaving Bateson to mop up his share of the mess. The captain tapped his combadge. “Bateson to Atlas .”
    Fawkes answered, “Atlas here. Go ahead, sir.”
    “Beam up all our security teams from the bank’s perimeter. It seems we’ve stumbled into the middle of a jurisdictional pissing match down here.”
    “Understood. I’m alerting all transporter stations now.” In the background of the comm channel, Bateson heard muffled voices, and Fawkes replying under her breath. Then she was back, sounding anxious as hell. “Sir, we’ve started analyzing the scans the Orions just sent up.”
    He was certain he heard a warning of bad news in her tone. “And . . . ?”
    “I’d rather not say on an open channel, sir.”
    That was all he’d needed to hear to know the situation was worse than he’d feared. “Hold that thought, Fawkes—and have me beamed up on the double.”
    •   •   •
    Two hours, one troubling meeting, and four cups of coffee later, Bateson was seated at the desk inside his ready room on the Atlas, facing the image of Admiral Marta Batanides. She wore her bone-white hair pulled back into a knot at the back of her head, but a few wild wisps framed her lean features, which even now retained much of the angular beauty of her youth. Her steel-blue eyes widened at the news Bateson had just shared. “Would you repeat that, Captain?”
    “Energy readings detected by the Orions during the failed incursion were one hundred percent consistent with those generated by a Soong-type android.”
    Batanides reclined and pressed her fingertips together in front of her lips, as if she were praying. Given the gravity of the Orions’ discovery, Bateson wouldn’t have blamed her if she were. After collecting her thoughts, she asked, “Are you and your crew absolutely certain?”
    “As certain as we can be, working from someone else’s scans.”
    She took another moment to think, then she nodded. “All right. The good news is that the Orions probably won’t recognize those energy signatures for what they are. It’s possible the Gorn might not know what they mean, either—but once they share that intel with their Typhon Pact allies, the Romulans and the Breen will both know what they’re looking at. Which means we don’t have much time to contain this.” She picked up a padd and keyed in some commands. “According to the daily logs from