Star Trek Corps of Engineers: Ghost Read online

  “You’re not. Your mother’s DNA shows an infinitesimally small degree of phasic degradation in regions proximate to these telomeric caps. Whether or not it was caused by a transporter malfunction, I can’t tell. Somehow I think not. Now we both know that if these caps get too short or the chromosomes become uncapped altogether, the cells die, or the chromosome ends may fuse.”

  “Which leads to the same thing: The cell dies. A lot of them die, and then it’s like setting off a self-destruct cascade.”

  Then Bashir made a face. “But, Elizabeth, you’re talking huge regions of a genome. Oh, I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. I’d like to know how it could be done, or why.”

  “How does a targeted bioweapon hit you? No, hear me out. Telomeric caps are long because they degrade over time as part of normal cell senescence.”

  “All right, I see where you’re headed. Speed up aging enough, and the cell will die. Multiple a hundred million times, and the organism dies.” Bashir thought about that a moment. “What about those portions of…?”

  “Junk?” Lense shook her head. “I don’t know. Stern was thinking novel nucleotides.”

  “Or maybe not nucleotides at all. Maybe something totally alien that we’ve never encountered, yet somehow essential that works alongside or with our DNA.” Bashir made a face. “But we’re arguing in a vacuum. There’s no evidence these odd sequences would ever be expressed. Plus, this begs the question of why, if these sequences are transporter-related, they’re not uniformly expressed in all individuals. None of us have keeled over, though it’s true that I’ve not run a complete DNA analysis on every single individual, myself included. Unless, of course, we’re talking about a single transporter on a single vessel that’s malfunctioned.”

  “Yes, but maybe it’s not a malfunction. Maybe it was meant to happen. Engineered that way.”

  “What, you mean deliberate insertion? I’d like to see the genius who could pull that off. It would take a Daystrom, Sitar of Vulcan, and Einstein combined.”

  “Just because we can’t do it doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

  “Granted. But where does that leave us?”

  Lense threw up her hands. “Gee, I don’t know, Julian; it’s a mystery.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Already forgotten. But…I need to ask you a delicate question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why me? Certainly, yes, a second set of eyes are always good but you are more than capable of solving this on your own. You’ve got Starfleet’s best resources at your disposal, and from what you’ve described, I would think the admiral would be inclined to consider any suggestion. Why not share this with her?”

  “I…I don’t trust Stern, not completely. Why would top brass have been involved with Jennifer to begin with? Yes, Stern now has a legitimate reason to be involved, but she didn’t before.”

  “Unless she was asked. Even an admiral has to take orders. But, Elizabeth,” Bashir said, gently, “are you suggesting conspiracy? That she’s part of some wider cover-up? She’s been nothing but helpful when the evidence warranted.”

  “She got the autopsy wrong.”

  “No, she got it right. She just didn’t take the investigation any further. She had no reason to. I deal with law enforcement all the time, something you don’t have to do. If I went chasing after every allegation of foul play, I’d never get anything accomplished. In the absence of other explanations, sometimes…people just die, Elizabeth. All the time.”

  “That’s what Stern said.” Lense crossed her arms over her chest. “She was wrong.”

  But she thought: Unless she was supposed to sit back and wait to see how much I could piece together on my own—so then she could get rid of it. What happened to Darly’s labs, for example?

  “There’s more I haven’t shared with Stern. Jennifer’s photographs.” She explained about the album. “The thing is Duren had seen these same photographs right before he was killed. He touched them, and he lingered over one set in particular. There were about twelve. One set wasn’t taken on Drura Sextus, not that I can tell. Somewhere else: a cave, it looks like, or maybe just a high rocky gorge. There’s a waterfall.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s different. All the other photos in this album…they’re personal. You had to see them to know what I mean, but take my word for it. This particular photo showed this gorge and then Preston Strong and Jennifer. No one else, and the stardate’s relatively recent, only five years old. There was something there that Duren picked up, some psychic trace that made him hesitate.”

  “And the other set of photos?”

  “Might be Drura, I don’t know. There’s some sort of structure; it reminded me of, I don’t know…the support beams of a building, only I think the beams are the building. There’s some sort of script on them. Now Jennifer had a lot of Tholian artifacts. Some have these same odd characters.”

  Bashir’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “Really? I was under the impression the Tholians didn’t have a written language.”

  “Evidently not.” She explained about the crystal-lattice Faulwell had touched. “Bart thinks the characters represent a previously unknown Tholian alphabet that relies on tones. No other crystal-lattices recorded so far make sounds. Anyway, those are the images Duren lingered over: that gorge, and that structure. You had to be there. But I think Duren confronted Strong, and Strong killed him.”

  “Confront him about what?”

  “If I knew, we could all go home. Here’s another thing: Darly’s missing and she was looking through Jennifer’s computer, going through all the expedition records to catalogue this most recent find. That’s what she said. But when I checked later on that evening—” This morning… “She was looking at records going back between two to five years. I think she was looking for something in particular: these photos, the ones in the album. They’re not in Jennifer’s lab computer or the Academy database.”

  “Where are the photos now?”

  “With Bart.”

  “Oh, you want the hapless Dr. Faulwell to disappear, too?”

  Lense laughed. She hadn’t done so for a while, and it felt good. Come to think of it, it felt good to talk to Julian.

  You could tell him about Jonathan. Of all people, Julian would understand.

  She didn’t.

  After a short silence, Bashir asked, “So how’s the baby?”

  “Asleep,” Lense said, laying a hand on her swollen abdomen. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been so wrapped up in this, I’ve stopped paying attention.”

  “It must mean you’re having a good time,” Bashir quipped, and then his face fell. “Oh God, how thoughtless. Elizabeth, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I understand what you meant. You’re—”

  The only man—only person—I really trust now. Yeah, so if I trust him so much, why won’t I tell him about this other hunch of mine? Because he’d tell me I’m out of my mind? Or that I’m bucking for a court-martial?

  “You’re one of the only friends I’ve got who will listen,” she finished smoothly. “Anyway, we better get to work, try and crack that junk in Jennifer’s and Strong’s DNA. This has got to stay between us for now, okay? When I think we’ve got something, then I’ll take it to Stern, I promise.” She moved to disconnect. “You with me?”

  “Always,” Bashir said.

  They clicked off—and then Lense hurried off to play her hunch.

  And, in her office, after she’d clicked off from listening in on their conversation…so did Stern.

  CHAPTER 14

  Faulwell labored over the photos. He was post-hangover and sober, and he was lonely. So maybe that was why he was willing to put so much effort into chasing Lense’s ghosts.

  Poor Lense. First she lost her lover—boy, can I relate—then she comes back to Earth and finds out that her only living relative probably had been murdered.

  We’re two peas in a pod. Then he discarded that
thought as uncharitable. He did not go out of his way to avoid intimacy. He was just…having some commitment issues.

  Lense had asked him to focus on a particular set of photographs, those involving Jennifer standing before some sort of structure, both with and without Preston Strong. Depending on how you looked at the thing, the structure reminded him a bit of P8 Blue, the insectoid Nasat back on the da Vinci.

  Hmmm.

  “Computer, display all known sentient races capable of interstellar travel with”—he fumbled for the right words; couldn’t very well say bug-oid—“insectile, Mantidea-like, or arachnid features.”

  The computer spit out a list. Faulwell scanned it; the computer had included Andorians because of their antennae, a species Faulwell rejected immediately, and Nasats, but while it reminded him of Pattie, it wasn’t a perfect match.

  Ah-hah.

  Well, now that the picture was right there, it was obvious. He returned to perusing one particular shot of the ruins. He leaned in, squinting. Were those…? “Computer, increase magnification, sector two-eight.”

  The computer did.

  Faulwell blinked. Well, hello.

  Definitely Tholian. Like Cardassian architecture, with its ridges and dark spaces, Tholian architecture mimicked the species’ particular physiognomy. (An interesting trend, now that Faulwell thought about it. Might be worth a paper. He’d have to talk to Carol Abramowitz about it when he got back to the da Vinci.)

  But this structure, unlike any others Faulwell had seen thus far, displayed the same glyphs matching the tonal script with which Almieri had encrypted her computer. So all he had to do was decipher what the glyphs said.

  Thank heavens for Almieri’s encryption code; at least I have a sort of Rosetta Stone for comparison. And there’s this one word that repeats several times over, seems very important, almost central to the thrust of the inscription; I wonder what…

  A soft chime sounded.

  A visitor? Who would know that he was…? Oh my God. His pulse picked up. Maybe this was Anthony come back…

  Nothing else mattered.

  Faulwell crossed to the door then took a deep breath.

  For God’s sake, don’t blow it.

  “Enter,” he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  Scotty screwed up his face so much his moustache nearly disappeared beneath his nose. “Sounds like a hell of a stretch, and I’m pretty sure Admiral Stern’s gonna see it that way, too. You’ll be lucky if she only straps a photon torpedo to your backside and launches you into near orbit.”

  “She won’t if I’m right. Besides, it’s the one thing we haven’t checked.” Lense watched with some impatience as SpaceDock grew larger in the shuttle’s forward portal by what seemed to her to be minute degrees.

  Scotty tut-tutted. “I still don’t understand why you just didn’t come out with it. Stern may be, well…”

  “Stern?”

  “She’s tough. Had to be, what with all she went through on the Enterprise-C. Personally, I think it still eats at her something fierce, her taking Leonard up on transferring back to the Academy, getting the Forensics Division up and running. She was close to Captain Garrett, knew all about her troubles.” He sighed. “It was harder back then, what families faced. Both of you trying to make a go of it, but usually on different ships. No way to run a marriage, and harder to raise a family. But then—” Scotty’s face softened—“I guess you know a thing or two about that.”

  For a weird moment, Lense felt an insane urge to cry. She blinked a few times, was grateful that no tear slid down her cheek to betray her. “I’m okay.”

  “For now. You’ll know what you want when the time comes.”

  Wanna bet? But Lense bit back her reply. How the hell had they gotten on her? Antsy, she shifted in her seat. She’d changed to civvies and the fit bugged her. “Jeez, Scotty, you can’t afford better seats?”

  “Be nice. Just think of it as my way of discouraging company. And speaking of discouraging”—He craned his head around to take in the shuttle’s third passenger—“you’ve been a wee bit on the quiet side. Something stuck in your gullet?”

  Looking a bit confused, Bart Faulwell blinked back from whatever reverie in which he’d been lost. He stared at Scotty for an instant, and Lense could swear she heard the gears turning, like a computer parsing a command: Processing, processing…

  Then Faulwell said, “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I’ve been up for most of the last day and a half.” Then he turned to Lense. “Tell me again why we can’t tell Admiral Stern about this.”

  Lense wrestled back the urge to scream. They’d already been through this. “Because she’s high up, that’s why. She got pulled to take over Jennifer’s case, and there has to be a reason. Some sort of cover-up, I dunno.”

  “Cover up of what?”

  Lense gawped. “Hello, Earth to Faulwell, have we been working on the same thing? We found a particle phase shift in Strong’s apartment where Duren was killed, indicating transporter activity. That’s twice there’s been a dead body, and evidence of transporter use.”

  “Makes a crazy kind of sense,” Scotty said. “But why, if I may be so bold as to ask, are we rushing where angels fear to tread?”

  “Well, first of all, I’m not an angel…”

  “You understand how tempting that is?”

  “Ha. Ha.” Lense gave Scotty a withering look. “And it’s the one place we haven’t looked. Might be something there.”

  “Might be. Or might be just him, waiting for us.”

  “Doubt it. The ship’s under guard and quarantined. And that”—She gave Scotty her most winning smile—” is where you come in. Just get us in there.”

  Scotty shook his head. “Not a chance, no way are you going anywhere. I’ve got an idea or two about the guards—locking onto and then beaming them out, putting their patterns into storage onboard this shuttle—that should work for a short-term jury-rig. But you stay here. Faulwell and me, we’ll beam in…and no, don’t even open your piehole at me, Commander. You’re not so old you couldn’t do with being taken over my knee.”

  Lense reddened. “I’m not a kid. I’m an officer.”

  “And you’re a pregnant officer to boot, with a baby that won’t take kindly to transport.” Scotty patted her knee. “You just sit tight. Wait for me to let you in the front door, like the lady I know you are.”

  And Faulwell said, “Are we talking about the same person?”

  Hunh. Lense fumed. Her eyes clicked to the ship’s chronometer then to the unrevealing view of a SpaceDock bay. Scotty and Faulwell had been gone nearly twenty minutes.

  Getting to be too long, Lense decided. Leaning over a console, she double-checked the state of the two hapless security guards currently held within the pattern buffer. Her job—should she choose to accept it; yeah, like she had a choice—was to babysit the guards. Scotty never had specified how long.

  Plus, Faulwell…She wrinkled her nose. Something going on with him.

  So get your butt in gear.

  As if to emphasize the point, the baby kicked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get the message.” But as she rooted for a phaser, her combadge beeped.

  “Scott to Lense.”

  She tapped open a channel. “It’s about time. Are you ready? Did you find anything?”

  Scotty sounded cheery. “Maybe you’d like to see for yourself, Lizzie, my girl.”

  “Oh, you are so maddening. I’m on my way.”

  “We’ll be waiting.”

  Of all the asinine…Maybe I’d like to see for myself…

  Lense hurried as fast as she could waddle. For the first time in awhile, she wasn’t ambivalent about having shed her uniform. Waddling quickly down a corridor, passing other jostling passengers streaming from shuttle bays, she didn’t really look out of place. When she turned down the corridor leading to Jennifer’s ship, no one gave her a second look. (Well, not much: A pregnant woman was bound to elicit some stares, especially from species for
whom such a pregnancy was, well, weird.)

  There was something bothering her, though. She wasn’t sure what it was. Something about the way Scotty had sounded.

  And Lizzie?

  As she expected, the gangway to Jennifer’s ship was clear and the hatch had been resecured. Smart: Anyone passing along this umbilicus would never suspect a breach. She palmed the entry panel; the mechanism purred, and Lense was pushing through even before the hatch had completely opened. “So what—”

  She never did finish.

  Not when you considered the phaser.

  CHAPTER 16

  Several seconds passed, long enough for Lense to hear the whisper of the hatch closing, the locking mechanism engaging; plenty of time for her gaze to skip from the phaser to two bodies crumpled along a far bulkhead, perhaps ten meters away. She didn’t see phaser burns on their clothes or temples, but she couldn’t tell at this distance if Scotty and Faulwell were alive either.

  She locked gazes with, yes…Preston Strong. She could smell him: a musky tang edged with something quite different now. The scent was like…anger. That’s what popped into Lense’s mind. The scent was rage.

  She said, “You going to tell me what this is all about? I know you killed Duren, and I know you’re not Preston Strong. Strong’s dead, killed in Jennifer’s apartment. My guess is he was waiting for Jennifer and then you came in, killed him, and took his place. They were lovers, weren’t they?”

  “Interesting hypotheses. Some are right; some are wrong.”

  “Which are which?”

  “Alas, you will never know. My job is to make sure whatever you think you know doesn’t go any further.”

  “What about Scotty and Bart?”

  “Their misfortune. None of you will care. Scattered atoms don’t think much.”

  “You really like transporters. I’ll bet you inserted something into Jennifer that way. I’ll bet you stored a separate pattern somehow and then melded the two matter-energy streams that night you beamed her out then back in.”