Hawk magnified the small image of the torus‑shaped facility at the core of the cloaked zone–the heart of the array that kept the subspace singularity contained–and saw that the outer edge of the torus was under siege as well. Metal‑eating molecular fires danced across several of its outermost structures.
Then the center of the torus gave off an expanding wave of energy, a deluge of iridescent brilliance that leaped outward in every direction. The phenomenon organized itself into a gigantic horizontal band, a vast and growing sapphire expanse that reminded Hawk of the tsunamis that sometimes struck Earth’s coastlines. It brought to mind holographic re‑creations he had seen of the first human‑controlled thawings of the subsurface Martian aquifers, and the titanic explosion that had devastated the Klingon moon Praxis eighty years ago.
Hawk watched uneasily as the strange phenomenon seemed to grow steadily, though its initial burst of light appeared to be dissipating harmlessly. Still, the thing hadn’t yet shown any sign of quietly disappearing.
“Sir, are you fairly confident that we were right about this?”
“How do you mean, Lieutenant?” Picard asked, his eyes barely open. The captain appeared to be in some pain.
“I mean our theory that a direct attack on the containment field would start an automatic abort and drop the singularity back into subspace,” Hawk said quietly.
“Mr. Hawk, there have been many occasions when I have trusted my life, and even my ship, to my senior officers’ expert judgment. This is simply another one of those times.”
But how many times was the whole universe in danger of being sucked into subspace if they made a mistake?Hawk thought.
Suddenly, the center of the accretion disk started to form a depression, as though some invisible but heavy object had been set down upon it. With agonizing slowness, the edges of the disk began contracting toward the center. The effect gradually accelerated until the phenomenon resembled a crumpled piece of paper. Then it collapsed onto itself completely, abruptly becoming too small and dark for the viewscreen to resolve.
It was gone.
Picard looked up at the screen and smiled. Hawk shot a brief, sorrowful glance at the motionless Data, whose condition was impossible to diagnose at the moment. I hope I’ll get to thank you, my friend.
Turning back to his instrument panel, Hawk grinned. “Looks like it worked. And their cloaking field is down as well.”
“One of the Romulan Empire’s most closely held secrets is now on display for the entire Chiarosan electorate to see.”
“Maybe they’ll petition Ruardh to hold a recall election over it,” Hawk speculated.
Picard shook his head wearily. “First Protector Ruardh has her own difficulties with the Federation at the moment,” he said, recalling the still‑unresolved custody battle over Grelun. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s not enough left of that singularity to prove that the Romulans were ever up to any mischief here in the first place.”
Hawk realized that Picard was probably right. “The Tal Shiar would probably see to that,” he said quietly.
The captain shot a stern glance at him, and for a moment Hawk feared that he had said too much. Had Picard begun to wonder how much Zweller had told him about Section 31’s secret agenda in the Geminus Gulf?
Some spy I’d make,Hawk thought, chiding himself.
Whatever the captain’s thoughts, all he said was, “Set a course for the Enterprise,Mr. Hawk. Best possible speed.”
And then, to Hawk’s shock and chagrin, the captain’s expression suddenly went slack, and he fell face forward across the instrument panel.
Koval and his two guards sparkled into existence in the warbird Thrai Kaleh’s principal transporter room. A centurion awaited him there, a youthful but able officer whose name escaped Koval at the moment. It occurred to him that he had been having entirely too many memory lapses of late, and made a mental note to consult his physician about the problem at the first convenient opportunity.
The young centurion was out of breath, and looked nearly panic‑stricken. Koval had never had much patience with useless emotional displays. “Out with it. What is wrong?”
“Chairman Koval, the subspace phenomenon . . . the containment facility . . .”
Koval grew uneasy. “Yes?”
“Sir, they are both gone!”
That can’t be,Koval thought, shoving past the centurion and repeating the words in his mind like a mantra until he reached the central control room. The viewscreen there graphically confirmed the centurion’s improbable story. Koval stood in the center of the chamber for the next several minutes, quietly contemplating his next move.
“The Federation vessel is obviously responsible,” Subcenturion V’Hari said from behind one of the weapons consoles. “I respectfully suggest that we attack the Enterpriseimmediately.”
Such an action struck Koval as perhaps futile and certainly counterproductive. To fight over a secret thing, even a secret vanishedthing, was to admit that it had existed–and that it had been a threat to one’s adversaries–in the first place. Another factor to consider was that the Chiarosans would probably soon learn of the singularity‑containment facility, as well as the efforts of the Romulan Star Empire to conceal it from them. Who knew how these barbarians might react? The revelation of a hitherto covert Romulan military presence might make the Empire’s newest protectorate almost impossible to control. Unless the Tal Shiar covered things up very carefully.
“No,” Koval told his subordinate. “I have an alternate plan. Please contact First Protector Ruardh immediately.”
Picard’s eyes fluttered open, revealing the muted blues and grays of the Enterprise’s sickbay, which were broken up by the dull orange glow of an overhead sensor cluster. He looked down past his chin and saw that he was lying on his back, his chest covered by a clamshelllike piece of equipment which he recognized as a surgical support structure. A quartet of figures wearing scarlet masks and gowns worked with feverish efficiency over the device, performing intricate maneuvers, manipulating tricorders, fetching, using, then discarding various surgical and diagnostic instruments. Though his vision was distorted by the azure glow of a sterilizing medical forcefield, he quickly recognized the lead surgeon’s flashing green eyes as those of Dr. Beverly Crusher.
“He’s conscious, Dr. Crusher,” said a member of the trauma team. Picard recognized the gruff voice of Dr. Gomp.
“Thank God,” Crusher said quietly.
“No brain damage,” someone else said. “I think we got to him in time.”
“Justin time,” Crusher responded. “Let’s get him stabilized. Then I need to know the extent of the damage to his heart.”
“Done,” said Ogawa, who was staring intently at a medical tricorder. “The heart’s bio‑regulator looks to be completely fused, but it seems to be the only component that’s suffered damage. I’m already downloading the replicator specifications for a replacement.” Then she headed for one of the adjacent labs, the Tellarite physician accompanying her.
“Beverly,” Picard said, his voice a parched croak. He was mildly surprised to find that he could speak at all.
“It looks like you beat the singularity after all, Jean‑Luc. Despite having ignored your kindly doctor’s advice.” The surgical mask couldn’t conceal her smile.
“How are Hawk and Data?”
“Hawk came through the mission just fine, though I think your injuries scared the hell out of him. Data was . . . shut off somehow. Geordi thinks he entered some sort of protective shutdown mode while linked to the scoutship’s systems. But he also thinks he’ll have him on his feet again in a few hours.”