No Limits, Page 2

  The voice from the bridge responded, “Commander, we have already attempted to do so, but it has activated a tractor beam and used it to secure itself to the deck plating. Its deflector shields are also raised, preventing us from approaching the vessel.”

  “What can this spy possibly be doing from inside his cell?” Taelus asked, his voice incredulous.

  “I’m brokering a deal,” Calhoun replied before exploding into motion.

  He lunged across the cell and seized Arnata from behind, wrapping a forearm around his throat and twisting the doctor’s left arm up and behind his back. Arnata screamed at the painful attack as Calhoun maneuvered him toward the cell entrance.

  Taelus leapt forward, drawing his disruptor from its holster at his waist. “Release him!” he shouted as he reached for the panel controlling the forcefield. He was reacting instinctively, just as Calhoun had hoped he would.

  “Wait!” he heard Sirol shout. Perhaps, in an instant of clarity, he had understood what Calhoun was doing.

  By then it was too late.

  The forcefield blinked and dissolved as Taelus leveled his disruptor at Calhoun, but the Xenexian had already moved Arnata in front of him to block the major’s aim. Then Calhoun shoved the doctor forward and into Taelus, and both Romulans were forced off balance and heaved into the nearby bulkhead. The agent’s arms came up as he slipped and fell to the deck, and Calhoun grabbed for Taelus’s disruptor, wrenching it free of the major’s grip.

  “Stop right there!” Calhoun shouted as he saw Sirol moving for the door. The Romulan froze in his tracks, by which time Calhoun had the disruptor and was aiming it at him.

  “Sound the alarm!” Taelus hissed as he and Arnata scrambled to extricate themselves from the tangle of their arms and legs, but Sirol would never reach his communicator before Calhoun stopped him. There was no way to alert the guard still waiting just outside.

  After relieving the three Romulans of their communicators and weapons, Calhoun waved the disruptor’s muzzle toward the cell, motioning Taelus and Arnata into the small room. Once they were inside he keyed the control panel and the forcefield flared back into existence.

  Turning his attention back to Sirol, Calhoun noted how the commander seemed to be studying him with equal parts astonishment and admiration. “An ingenious, if rather foolhardy, tactic,” Sirol said. “What do you want?”

  Calhoun allowed himself a small smile. “It’s really very simple. You have weapons and other supplies I need. Give me what I want, or else I’ll destroy your ship.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Sirol said, a challenge in his tone.

  By way of reply, alert klaxons sounded and the voice from the intercom spoke again.

  “Commander, the vessel’s warp core is continuing to increase its energy output. We believe it is on a buildup to detonation!”

  “It will continue to build for several more minutes,” Calhoun said, “at which time my ship’s computer will wait for a command from me to overload. Do I sound serious now?”

  Sirol said nothing for several seconds, and Calhoun could not really blame him for the shock he must be feeling. After all, it was quite uncommon for a single man, working alone, to incapacitate a warbird of the Romulan fleet. The very idea should have been preposterous.

  As long as you buy it for the time being.

  Holding up Sirol’s communicator, Calhoun said, “Your science officer should be receiving a set of instructions at his station on the bridge right about now. They call for a detail of five crewmen to begin transferring weapons and equipment I’ve specified to my ship’s cargo hold.”

  “All of this, just to obtain supplies?” Sirol asked, his voice a strangled whisper.

  Calhoun shrugged. “Desperate times, Commander. I also want you to order the rest of your crew to confine themselves to the cargo holds on the lowest levels. I don’t want anyone in the corridors when we leave here. Follow my instructions and you have my word that no harm will come to your crew. If you don’t, you have my word that I’ll blow this ship straight to hell.”

  He could almost see the commander’s mind racing even as Sirol accepted the communicator and issued the appropriate orders, searching for some method to counter the attack on his ship. His options were few, Calhoun knew, except perhaps ordering the destruction of the ship itself.

  “Thank you, Commander,” Calhoun said as Sirol completed issuing his orders and handed back the communicator. “This will all be over soon.”

  “You dare to extort from us?” Taelus snarled from inside the cell. “I will carve your heart from your chest with a cook’s dulled blade, Xenexian.” Naked fury laced every word, and so palpable was the hatred in the agent’s eyes that Calhoun thought he might actually try to push through the forcefield.

  Instead of replying, Calhoun turned his attention to the tricorder he had confiscated from Dr. Arnata. It took only a moment to remember how to operate the device before he entered a series of commands and the unit’s scan functions engaged. The tricorder took only a few seconds to lock on to the object he was seeking.

  Okay, he mused as the tricorder showed him the location of the top-secret phased-cloaking device. Now I just have to get to it.

  “Do you really expect to succeed here?” Sirol demanded as they walked down the otherwise empty corridor.

  Glancing down at the tricorder to verify their position, Calhoun said, “So long as you and your crew do as I ask, everything will be fine, I promise you.”

  He had waited nearly ten minutes for the Terix’s crew to migrate to the ship’s cargo section. At his direction, Sirol had then instructed the computer to seal all hatches leading to those areas and verify that the entire complement had complied with their commander’s orders. Satisfied that everything was in place the way he wanted it, Calhoun had taken Sirol from the detention center and set out through the corridors of the ship.

  The pair reached a turbolift and Calhoun motioned Sirol inside. Almost there, he thought as he directed the car to descend nine levels.

  “Whoever you are,” Sirol said, “you’re not a simple smuggler. You are obviously here for something, and it’s not weapons for the Maquis.”

  The turbolift slowed to a halt and the doors opened, and Calhoun aimed one of his two confiscated disruptors down the corridor. It surprised him to find the passageway empty, as he held no illusions that members of the ship’s complement would refrain from deploying some kind of response to his unorthodox attack. After all, there was no real way to prevent the more industrious among the crew from escaping if they decided to test the limits of their incarceration.

  The only question was: When would whatever scheme they came up with be put into play? Calhoun had programmed his tricorder to alert him if any of the cargo-bay hatches were tampered with or if anyone was approaching his position, but that was as far as he could concern himself with possible reprisals. For now, he had no choice but to focus on his mission and hope he could carry it out quickly.

  Handing Sirol his communicator, he said, “Order the computer to seal off access to this deck, and allow only you to rescind that order.” It was an additional measure of protection, but not a foolproof one, he knew. Determined pursuers would be able to circumvent the computer’s directives. They might even cut through hatches with their weapons, but that would take time. Calhoun had no problem with that, as such delays would keep the crew in check.

  “Thank you for confirming my suspicions,” Sirol said as they proceeded down the corridor. “You’re obviously here for the phase-cloaking device, and considering how secret the project was, that means you must be a Starfleet operative.”

  He was bound to guess, Calhoun thought. It’s not as though he’s a fool. Though the façade created so painstakingly for him by Starfleet Intelligence was designed to withstand even detailed background checks, Calhoun had not really expected it to hold up once he put the most daring part of his plan into motion.

  Only days had passed since the Starship Enterprise had encount
ered the Terix in the Devolin system while searching for the U.S.S. Pegasus, a prototype vessel presumed destroyed twelve years earlier while testing classified experimental equipment. Chief among those tests was that of a cloaking device that could alter the structure of a ship, making it able to pass through normal matter. A revolutionary development in the concept of cloaking technology, the device was also a clear violation of the Treaty of Algeron, the peace accord signed by both the Federation and the Romulan Empire decades ago.

  Something had happened during the experiment, whether as a fault in the system’s design or owing to the interference of Pegasus crew members trying to shut down the device. The result sent the ship drifting through space in a phased state until it arrived in the asteroid field surrounding the Devolin system. As the vessel was passing through one of the larger asteroids, the cloak failed and the Pegasus returned to its normal molecular state. Most of the ship integrated with the solid rock of the asteroid’s interior, killing the crew.

  When the Romulans discovered the existence of the ship and its cloaking device years later, only the actions of Jean-Luc Picard, the Enterprise’s captain and Calhoun’s friend, prevented the eruption of a full-blown interstellar incident between the Empire and the Federation. After a lengthy private meeting with Sirol on the Enterprise, Picard surrendered the device to the Romulan commander.

  It was a gesture that was already being seized by diplomats on both sides of the border as a stepping-stone toward improved political relations between the two governments. However, there were those in the Starfleet community, particularly in the intelligence branch, who were galled at the idea of such a decisive strategic advantage delivered to their enemy on a silver platter.

  Which was why Calhoun had been sent in.

  His mission parameters had always called for the Terix to intercept his ship, and to do so before it could transfer its precious cargo to a Romulan base or other vessel. Insuring that he came across the border in the right area so that Sirol’s vessel would be the one sent to pick him up had been a marvelous feat of logistical coordination between Starfleet Intelligence and one of their double agents working deep inside the Romulan military.

  Calhoun had always found it fascinating how easily entities of opposing governments could come together for less than noble purposes, yet never actually trust each other long enough to pursue anything resembling lasting peace. He would have liked to learn more about the logistics of this mission, but he suspected that Admiral Alynna Nechayev, his Starfleet benefactor and the one who gave him his assignments, would be as tight-lipped as always with the details. As she had since he had started working directly for her as a deep-cover “specialist,” Nechayev had given him only the parameters for the operation, as well as the requisite equipment and other accessories, and left the specifics to him.

  He could only hope that Nechayev’s report about Sirol, based largely on observations submitted by Picard following the incident, was as accurate as the rest of the intelligence she had compiled for this mission.

  Tempted simply to tell Sirol the truth about his mission right now, Calhoun instead said, “Since I’m going to require your cooperation to accomplish my mission, Commander, I’ll tell you everything when the time is right.” He had taken Sirol from the detention center under the guise of using him as cover in the event the crew attempted retaliation, but in truth, he needed the commander in order to complete his assignment quickly.

  Turning a corner, they arrived at a pair of heavy doors set into the bulkhead at the end of the corridor. Unlike other hatches they had passed, this one bore no signage indicating what might lie beyond it. They stepped closer and Calhoun studied the security panel controlling the door, set into the wall to the right of the entrance.

  “This is a secure storage area,” Sirol explained. “We use it for sensitive or high-value cargo that requires additional protective measures. Ordinarily this door would be guarded by two centurions.”

  Calhoun nodded. “I know, which is another reason why I had you order the crew to the cargo bays. I assume your voice authorization is required to gain entry?” He already knew the answer to the question, of course.

  Nodding, the commander said, “Yes, but do you really expect me to assist you?”

  “There’s always the alternative,” Calhoun said, letting the rest of the sentence trail away. Both men knew what he meant, anyway.

  Sighing in apparent resignation, Sirol turned to the security panel and issued a verbal command string in his native language. A status light on the panel changed color and the doors parted, revealing a dimly lighted room beyond.

  Calhoun’s tricorder told him the chamber was unoccupied, but he took no chances as he stepped through the doorway, examining the entire room from left to right. The muzzle of his disruptor aimed wherever he looked, but he saw no one.

  Once they both were inside, Calhoun closed and sealed the door and keyed the lights. The increased illumination revealed several dozen storage containers of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Stepping farther into the room, he saw that one of the containers was of a type used aboard Federation starships, its markings indicating that it had come from the Enterprise.

  “Here we are,” he said, more to himself than to Sirol, as he tapped a command into the small padd on the container’s side. The distinctive sounds of vacuum seals releasing echoed in the room, and after a moment Calhoun was able to open the access door set into the container’s side and get his first look at its contents.

  Cylindrical in shape, the cloaking device stood perhaps a meter in height, with several optical cables extending from its top. Though it was dormant, Calhoun had read Picard’s report on the device’s operation and could almost sense the power it was capable of generating. This single piece of equipment had altered the molecular structure of the Enterprise and allowed it to pass through a dense asteroid as though it were nothing more than air. He knew that to whoever controlled it, the tactical value of the device would be staggering.

  “I do not understand,” Sirol said. “Why was Captain Picard allowed to surrender it, only to have you retrieve it now?”

  The time had come, Calhoun decided, to lay all of his cards on the table, so to speak. If his mission were to have any chance at success, it would start with Sirol. Would he act like a typical Romulan officer, with contempt and suspicion, or did he really possess whatever other qualities Picard had evidently seen during his meetings with him?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  “I’m not here to retrieve it,” he said after a moment. “My orders are to destroy it, in a manner of speaking.”

  Sirol’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Picard sent you?”

  “Not exactly,” Calhoun replied. “Though he’s the reason I’m here, and why I’ve gone to great pains to isolate you with this thing here and now.”

  Pointing to the cloaking device, Sirol said, “By giving it to us, Captain Picard avoided a potentially disastrous situation between our peoples. I commend him for seeking out a solution that did not involve violence.”

  “I agree,” Calhoun replied, “but he caused a lot of problems for the people in power when he did it, even though it was the right thing to do.” While Picard’s actions had engendered a series of tenuous, if embarrassing, diplomatic inroads, to many at Starfleet they had also flown in the face of military necessity. “He reported afterward that he met with you in private, and that the two of you discussed destroying the device then and there.”

  “That is true,” Sirol replied, “but my orders were quite clear on the matter. I am to surrender it to the Tal Shiar when they arrive. Despite your captain’s gesture of good faith, I fear my people will exploit this turn of events for political and military gain.”

  Calhoun nodded. “That’s why I’m here.” He indicated the device with one hand. “My orders are to destroy that thing and tie up any other loose ends.” He paused a moment before adding, “The catch is that it’s supposed to look like an accident.”
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  This is it, he thought, several seconds passing as Sirol regarded him with an unreadable expression. They had arrived at the crucial turning point, Calhoun knew, when the Romulan commander would decide if he was going to help him.

  “An accident,” Sirol repeated, nodding. “Interesting. Such a development, particularly if it occurs while the device is in our possession, would do much to preserve the positive outcome Picard created when he surrendered it in the first place.”

  Studying the cloaking device, Calhoun shook his head in disgust. He knew that several people in the corridors of power at Starfleet Headquarters were anxiously awaiting the outcome of this operation, with the hope that he would preserve yet another of their dirty little secrets. “To be honest, I don’t care about any of that. I’m just here to destroy that thing, and to do it in a way that leaves Picard free of blame.”

  Sirol’s right eyebrow arched at that. “Is that one of your mission parameters?”

  “My own addendum,” Calhoun replied. He believed he had known the Enterprise captain long enough to understand his beliefs and values. Jean-Luc Picard did not blindly follow orders or regulations if they violated what he believed to be right. That sense of morality had put him in direct conflict with his superiors, placing his career at risk in order to uphold the Treaty of Algeron and the peace it protected between the Federation and the Romulans. “Picard did a good thing, maybe even averted a war by doing it, and I’ll be damned if I let a bunch of politicians and other brands of idiot waste that effort. He seemed to think you’re a man of similar convictions.”

  Negotiating with an adversary was not something that came easily to Mackenzie Calhoun. In all his years battling the Danteri, the brutal, warlike race that had plunged his home planet into oppression and slavery, he had rarely viewed his enemies with anything other than scorn. For the most part, he regarded the Romulans in the same manner, but Sirol had already shown himself to be of a different breed. Yes, the commander was shrewd and calculating in fine Romulan fashion, yet he possessed an intangible quality that Calhoun instinctively wanted to trust. Calhoun had also always had a kind of “sixth sense” whenever danger reared its head. That sense was staying quiet right now.