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Scene 13

            Five Federation officials converged on the same point of space within a few minutes of each other. There were two Starfleet admirals, a lowly lieutenant who held a very sensitive position in an Intelligence office, a commander with Starfleet Medical, and a single civilian, from the President of the Federation’s office. As was typical of Section 31, some of them didn’t know the others, and only one knew who each one was. That was the civilian, a female Coridanite named Kyan Cosam. The commander, a male Tibronian named Seriv, was involved in the development of the experimentation that would be used on the young research subjects in the Savant Project. The lieutenant, a male Human named Jefferson Nguyen, was a trained intelligence gatherer and obfuscator, trained in deflecting attention away from Section 31 and the Project. The two admirals, a female Human named Juanita Rosario, and a male Andorian named Wolosh, had worked together on development of the Savant Project under the oversight of Kyan Cosam. They arrived first in their shuttles and warily contacted each other.

            Rosario? What are you doing here?”

            “Wolosh?—you’re not—?”

            “Were you expecting someone?”

            “Were you?”

            After a moment, they relaxed. “You got a message, didn’t you?” Admiral Rosario asked.

            “Yes, from a complete fool who needs to be taken care of,” Admiral Wolosh growled. Their communication link crackled. “Are you having instrument malfunctions?”

            “Yes. It’s the proximity to this star system. Wasn’t the Enterprise supposed to be here collecting data?”

            “They were, but I intercepted a communication saying they had gone to check out an emergency call.”

            “Hmm. Would you wager me that the ‘complete fool’ is a crewmember aboard?”

            “No wager. You’re probably right. We have two agents aboard. He might have been there collecting information on them. What does he mean by bringing two of us here? He’s at a disadvantage.”

            “Three,” a new voice cut in. The civilian, Kyan Cosam. “What are you two prepared to do about him when he shows up?”

            “You too?” Rosario exclaimed. “This person knows a lot, Cosam. Too much. We have to pretend like we’re going along with him while we find out precisely what he knows, if we can’t turn him over to our side, we kill him, make it look like a systems failure because of the interference from the star.”

            “You’re the expert in systems, Admiral. You plan it while Wolosh and I tackle him.”

            “Reading another shuttlecraft!” Wolosh exclaimed. “Shuttle, identify yourself.”

            “Admiral Wolosh?” the newest person cried. “Surely it’s not you—”

            “Commander Seriv,” Cosam said decisively, “we are all friends here. It appears we are all waiting for the same person.”

            “What kind of an idiot is he?” the commander muttered. “Bringing us all to the same place—”

            “Another shuttle approaching,” Admiral Wolosh warned. “Shuttle, identify yourself.”

            “Lieutenant Nguyen of Starfleet Intelligence! Identify yourself.”

            “So you’re the traitor we’re all waiting for.”

            “Admiral Wolosh, don’t be a fool,” Cosam snapped. “He’s with us too.”

            “This is ridiculous,” Admiral Rosario said. “We were never meant to all know each other. It’s a security risk.”

            “The intelligence officer who brought us here is an even greater risk. What is he waiting for?”

            “I was just waiting for you all to arrive,” a deep, jovial voice answered. A sixth shuttle was suddenly among them. “So glad you could make it. My name is Lieutenant Jarod Westmore.” His image suddenly sprang up on their viewscreens, a man with dark eyes, dark hair, and dark smile. “No need to introduce yourselves. I already know who you are. I also know what you do for a hobby.”

            “Who have you talked to, Lieutenant?” Admiral Wolosh snapped.

            “Well, I recently had a nice chat with a Vulcan named Sirok. Now he’s gone tearing back to your bosses for reassignment. The people he talks to are being monitored as we speak. The people they talk to will be monitored. Do you remember the old poem about the war lost ‘for the want of a six-penny nail’? Now your Project is lost for the want of a six-penny field agent.”

            “What do you want, Westmore?” Cosam asked calmly.

            “I already told you. The Federation might not use money, but plenty of other worlds do, and I want you to get me enough gold-pressed latinum to make me a king on the planet of my choice. I chose the five of you because you have very secure positions. Sirok’s information won’t take any of you down, but I have information that will, unless you pay up.”

            “Show us this information.”

            Instantly their screens were filled with documents, scrolling down to show how much information he really did have.

            “Well, Lieutenant,” Cosam said, “you are one good operative. Let me offer you something.”

            “What’s that, Cosam?”

            “A position of prestige with Section 31. It’s just your sort of organization. You have more freedom of movement than with Starfleet Intelligence, and we can make it much more worth your while. It would be a great pity to lose someone with your brains. You wouldn’t really want to settle down on some dull little planet somewhere, when you can play our dangerous game within the Federation, would you?”

            “You’re a good judge of character, Cosam. I won’t deny that I have considered it. After all, Section 31 isn’t held back by all those limiting moral considerations that impede Starfleet Intelligence. How many times have I asked my superiors to let me go after a target and been turned down because of the Prime Directive or some such rule?”

            “That’s exactly why Section 31 is here, Westmore. We don’t let such things hold us back. We do things no one else is willing to do. And we do it all for the sake of the Federation. No traitors here.”

            “Well, it’s temping, but I have to refuse. I’m tired of this game, always running and hiding, almost being found out, never sitting still for a moment. I would like to experience a quiet life for once. I’ll take the latinum.”

            The Coridanite woman’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “You’re a fool, Westmore. You must know we’ll never let you escape alive.”

            “I’m not worried. My shuttle is well protected.”

            “Doubly a fool, Westmore. When you selected this star system for your rendezvous, did you take into account the stars’ effect on your systems? And if you had done your research, you would have known that Admiral Rosario is an expert in starship security systems. Admiral?”

            “I’m through his shields, Cosam.”

            “Lock on and fire.”

            Their blackmailer stared around frantically and worked his controls. Moments later his shuttle exploded under Rosario’s phaser fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scene 14

            “Well done!” Admiral Wolosh exclaimed. “Lock tractor beams and tow the debris into the nearest star.”

            “Yes, well done indeed,” the deep voice with a smirk in it responded. The blackmailer’s image in his red and black uniform appeared on their screens again. “You didn’t really think I was on that shuttlecraft, did you? While we’re at it, do you really think you’re still on your own shuttlecrafts?” His lips curved in a cruel smile of his own.

            Their shuttlecrafts and the view from the viewscreens all disappeared. Their heads swam and felt suddenly heavy, everything dark. Once by one they felt the heaviness being yanked off their heads, and then they saw they were together in a small grey room. Jarod Westmore was piling five holoprojector helmets in a corner.

            “You see, the moment you entered this system, you were beamed onto my ship. You’ve been held unconscious in stasis for a week while we traveled to the planet we’re now on. Yes, you’ve lost a week of your lives. My little holographic scenario was clever, wasn’t it?”

            “What was the point, Lieutenant?” Admiral Rosario asked, stripping off the gloves that went with the helmets.

            “To get you to give me verbal confirmation of your involvement with Section 31. It worked, didn’t it? Your murder of me was an added benefit. Only one thing remains. At least one of you knows the location of the children who have been kidnapped for the Savant Project. You will tell me where they are.”

            “Actually, we won’t.” Cosam glared at the other four. “Say nothing.”

            Jarod shrugged. “It’s your choice. I’ll have to ask you to come with me.”

            Admiral  Wolosh stepped up to him, impressively, though his blue antennae barely tickled Jarod’s chin. “Lieutenant Jarod Westmore, I am still a Starfleet Admiral, and I order you to stand down.”

            Jarod smirked at him. “Tempting, but you know, you only have authority over Starfleet personnel. And I’m not really a Starfleet officer. Guards!”

            Five large guards entered the room and took the five of them well in hand. Admiral Wolosh, the one who might have had a chance to fight his way out, had a very tall Vulcan guard who kept a hand on his shoulder, ready to pinch him unconscious the moment it became necessary. They followed Jarod out of the room, down a dull grey corridor, and into another room. This one was quite large, on two levels; the prisoners followed Jarod onto the top level and sat down on a balcony overlooking the lower level.

            Jarod tapped his communicator. “Bring them in.”

            Below they watched more guards—not in uniform as Jarod was—bring in nine figures. Small figures. Admiral Wolosh jolted to his feet.

            “Sath!” he shouted. “That’s my son! What are you doing with my son? Sath!” Below the small blue figure with white hair and antennae whose angle spoke of great distress did not look up from his dejected contemplation of his feet.

            Now the others realized what they were seeing and rushed to the rail. “That’s my brother!” Lieutenant Nguyen cried.

            “My children!” Cosam pointed a shaking finger at three small figures, all identical.

            The lieutenant turned on Jarod. “What are you doing with our children?”

            The guards firmly restored the prisoners to their seats. Jarod stood in front of them with crossed arms. “They can’t hear you. They don’t know you’re here. Here’s the deal. You have twelve children held captive for your Savant Project. I have your nine children—and brother, Lieutenant—held captive here. One of you will tell me where to find the first group, or you will join their parents in never seeing your children again.”

            “Westmore—!” Admiral Wolosh shouted.

            “Now, now, Admiral. Don’t be so upset. Those are just nine resources at the Federation’s disposal down there. What shall we do with nine warm bodies equipped with brains? Train them as assassins? That would help with the Cardassian problem, wouldn’t it? Or take the two who are extraordinarily intelligent—” he nodded to Admiral Rosario—“and develop their minds to deal with special problems—like the Q, perhaps. Or maybe just give them away to some highly-placed Federation officials who are wanting to adopt children. They will never know what happened to you. They may even forget you and who they are.”

            Below them they could see that some of the children were crying. One of the Human children asked a guard plaintively, “Where are my mom and dad? You said they’d be here.”

            Commander Seriv sprang up. “Westmore, how can you do this?”

            Jarod took him by the collar and slammed him down in his chair. “How could you do this? This is what you are doing! Imprisoned in that little research lab at Starfleet Medical, making your little plots, did it ever occur to you what you were going to do to real children? Well, now you’ll understand! And if you don’t speak, your children will be gone! Permanently!”

            “I don’t know,” he cried. “I would tell you if I knew, but I don’t! That wasn’t my job!”

            “Well, your job, which you did so very well, will lose you your children, unless one of the others tells the truth.”

            “Cosam!” the commander cried. “Tell him! Tell him the truth!”

            Cosam’s lips tightened. Jarod tapped his communicator. “It’s time to tell the children about the terrible accident their parents were in.” He smiled at Cosam. “It’ll be traumatizing. They’ll never fully recover. That that’s the price we pay.”

            “Wait!” Cosam cried, her composure finally crumbling. “Wait! I’ll tell you!”

            Jarod put his face down close to hers. “It had better be the truth.”

            With trembling lips, she told him. He tapped his communicator again and repeated the information.

            “Now let them go!” Cosam shouted.

            “No, now we wait to see if your information was true. You’d all better hope it was.”

            They waited an hour, possibly two hours, every second dragging out. Below, the children milled around, some still crying, scared, even bored. Jarod stood leaning against the rail the whole time, his back to the children, his narrowed eyes on the parents, his arms crossed. Finally his communicator beeped.

            “They’ve been found, Jarod. All safe.” The accented voice sounded familiar.

            Jarod sank down on his haunches, his shaking hands going over his face. “Thank God,” he muttered. “Thank God.” Breathing hard, he stood up again. “Thank you, Captain Picard.”

            Picard?

            “Computer, end program,” Jarod said.

            And the room, the guards, and above all the children disappeared to be replaced by a holodeck grid.

            “Wha—” The prisoners’ heads swam again.

            “Welcome to the Enterprise,” Jarod said.

            “The Enterprise?” Rosario gasped. “We detected no ships!”

            “She was cloaked. We picked you up as soon as you entered the star system a few hours ago.”

            “A few hours?” Lieutenant Nguyen gasped in his turn. “Not a week?”

            “No.”

            “I’m not even sure what’s real anymore.”

            “That’s an effect Section 31 will have on you. Welcome to Oz.”










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