A quick visit to the stellar cartography labs had provided Hawk and Data with further scientific background of the Geminus Gulf. Hawk was somewhat surprised to discover just how little there was to go on. According to the few pertinent records that Keru had managed to retrieve–which had come, thanks to the barrenness of the Gulf, mostly from some of the more obscure stellar cartographical journals, as well as from his correspondences with colleagues serving aboard other Federation starships–the random subspace fluctuations in the vicinity had intensified substantially over the past two years. Prior to that, even the most patient and long‑suffering researchers hadn’t seen fit to spend much time taking readings in the Gulf; one science‑vessel commander had characterized the entire region as a kind of “interstellar tabula rasa.”
Hawk was back at his post, mentally reviewing the dates, locations, and intensities of all known subspace fluctuations in the Geminus Gulf when the turbolift opened. Batanides strode out, dressed impeccably in her admiral’s uniform, her face once again composed. Hawk knew she must be holding in an enormous amount of emotional strain following the death of her lover. What he didn’tknow was whether or not shehad been aware of the ambassador’s involvement with Section 31. Had Tabor managed to keep his association with the bureau a secret from her as well?
His eyes tracked her as she went to sit at Picard’s right‑hand side, in the chair usually occupied by Will Riker. She gave Hawk a brief glance–and in that look he saw not the slightest glimmer of recognition. At that instant, the lieutenant became relatively certain that even if she didknow about Tabor’s activities, she remained unaware of the ambassador’s efforts to recruit him.
Hawk’s mind raced as he turned back to the conn and the viewer, while behind him, Picard and Batanides conversed in low tones.
A few minutes later, Data interrupted them, his eyes steady on the screen while his fingers slid across his console. “Captain, I believe the probe has encountered something.”
“What specifically, Mr. Data?” Picard looked at the screen intently, though the starfield looked no different now than it had moments before.
“Impossible to tell for certain, sir. There is definitely an energy field being generated at coordinates 294 by 025 by minus 121. It appears to be a cloaking field of some kind, though its size is larger than anything our computers have ever mapped.”
“Is it natural?”
“Unknown. It couldbe a natural phenomenon, but the readings I am seeing are inconclusive. It is also possible that the field is technological in origin.”
“Which doesn’t tell us much,” Picard said. “Data, approximately how large would you estimate this field to be?”
The android cocked his head slightly, a move that Hawk recognized as a sign that Data’s curiosity had been piqued. “The probe is moving along the outskirts of the field now. It appears that the cloak may cover a volume of space roughly the size of a large gas giant planet.”
“What?” Batanides leaned forward in Riker’s chair, a surprised look on her face. “Are you saying there’s a cloaked planet in this system?”
“Not necessarily, sir. We do not know whatis cloaked, nor if anything is indeed ‘cloaked’ in the traditional sense of the word.”
Picard spoke up, pointing at the screen. “Data, what happens to the signals that the probe is sending toward the field?”
“They disappear, sir. They are not reflected, nor deflected. All trace of them is gone.”
Hawk fidgeted slightly at his console. Before he realized he was doing it, the captain evidently noticed it. “Is there something you want to contribute, Mr. Hawk?”
“Captain, may I suggest that we attempt to send the probe into the field itself?” Hawk asked, relieved. “At worst, we get one of our probes destroyed.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” Picard said agreeably. “We might be able to get some valuable telemetry readings from a probe, even if the field does destroy it. I think the Enterpriseis sufficiently far from the . . . anomaly to prevent whatever happened to the Slaytonfrom happening to us. Still, we can’t be too careful.” Picard then raised the volume of his voice, though everyone on the bridge was clearly already listening. “Yellow alert. Shields at maximum.”
Then, the captain nodded toward the young helmsman. “Go ahead, Mr. Hawk.” The lieutenant moved his fingers over the console swiftly, while to his left, Data stared attentively at the numbers and pictographs displayed on the screen.
The silence on the bridge was palpable, and all eyes were on the viewer. Suddenly, the blackness of space began slowly wavering, as if the starfield were a curtain being moved aside. For an instant, the viewer showed the infinite emptiness behind that curtain, and then in a burst of static it was gone.
“All signals from the probe have stopped, captain,” said Data. He tapped at his console, then turned his head toward Picard. “I cannot restore contact.”
“What did we just see?” Picard asked as he rose to his feet.
“Whatever it was, it lasted precisely .763 seconds.”
“Interesting. If I had blinked at the wrong moment I would have missed it. Replay and freeze the image.”
“Yes, sir.” Once again, the viewscreen displayed the hazy picture, suspending it in time. The effect was like looking into a warped funhouse mirror, with space itself showing odd distortions, and reflections of the probe broken up throughout the image. The only tangiblelooking object visible in the immediate foreground appeared to be an artificial satellite of some sort; the numerical telemetry overlays, which Data displayed on the viewer, showed that the device was no larger than a Starfleet shuttlepod.
“Enlarge that object.”
As Data did so, the satellite came into view somewhat more clearly. It was nondescript, a smooth metal ovoid with no markings, nor any visible means of propulsion.
“Curious,” Picard said, frowning slightly and tugging at his tunic. “Enlarge the initial image further and scan it in sections for any other incongruities in the local visible and subspace fields.”
Data studied the screen as enlarged portions of the image sped by, almost too quickly for the human eye to follow. After almost a minute, the android spoke. “I have detected numerous other similar concentrations of matter, as well as an apparent central point‑source of subspace distortion. Displaying now.”
The screen returned to a wide‑angle display of the main image, with four square sections highlighted in red. Data touched the face of his console, isolating and then magnifying images of four separate objects. “I have displayed the device we initially observed beside magnified images of two more distant, but apparently identical, objects. Interestingly, these three artifacts seem to be arranged in an equidistant formation. Nearby sensor shadows would seem to indicate that many more similar objects exist within the field.”
Picard pointed toward the screen’s upper right corner. “What is that fourth object?”
Data touched his console again, and the fourth section of the screen moved forward, magnified to its fullest potential. Though the image was tremendously clouded and distorted, the object clearly wasn’t of the same construction as the satellites.
Without waiting to be prompted, Hawk input a command that enhanced the image further, editing out the empty space surrounding it.
A double‑bladed, emerald‑hued vessel hung in the viewscreen’s center. Picard was hardly surprised. “A Romulan warbird.”
Hawk’s mind raced, scrambling to sift through details he’d studied about the crew’s previous missions. Within moments, he seized on the proper memory. “Captain, I’ve got a theory that might explain some of this.”