“Who benefits?” Corsi asked suddenly.

  “Excuse me?” Fesoan asked.

  “The basic question when faced with a problem like this,” Corsi explained. “If DS10 were taken out of commission, who would benefit? Certainly not a Tellarite trader. Maybe not even the Breen.”

  “Pirates?” Sonya offered.

  Corsi turned to the Andorian. “Mr. Fesoan, any indication if the Orion Syndicate has been active in the area?”

  Clearly feeling on firmer ground, his voice was strong in replying. “One of the reasons this station was built was to make certain the sector was safe during Cardassia’s reconstruction. With so many relief supplies and materials flowing into their solar system, it’s what you would call ripe pickings. Our patrols have apprehended two pirates in the last six weeks but no evidence of the Orions themselves.”

  “Ferengi?” Tev asked with obvious distaste.

  “A few traders trying to horn in on deals,” Fesoan answered. “Their wares are even worse than Ren’s.”

  “And why would the Breen still be sniffing around?” Gold asked.

  “They are scavengers, seeking to pick up whatever they can since they, too, were dealt a blow,” the Andorian answered.

  “What about the Androssi?” Pattie asked. “We’ve had enough run-ins with them.”

  Sonya shook her head. “They’re not usually this subtle. If this was an Androssi plot, they’d have shown up by now.”

  “Maybe a new party?” Corsi said.

  Gold asked, “Why do you say that, Corsi?”

  “Because the obvious culprits are weak and unlikely.” Heads began to nod in agreement.

  “Okay, I like that notion,” the captain said. “Where would they come from?”

  Corsi stopped mid-word and looked at both Fesoan and Kesh-Mara. The commander tapped a few controls and a viewscreen behind Gold’s head winked to life, showing a detailed map of the Alpha Quadrant. The commander then rose and stood before the screen, and Nancy suddenly felt as if she were back at the Academy.

  “Since the end of the war, the Cardassian Union is effectively made up, loosely if you ask me, of the Cardassia, Algira, Almatha, and Dorvan sectors. All were hit hard during the war. If I were looking for some new threat, I’d be looking toward Tzenkethi or the other side of the Badlands.”

  “We’ve mapped and studied much of those regions,” Gold mused, studying the screen. “What if it is someone within the Union stirring up problems?”

  Corsi craned her head, studying the sectors that made up the Union, and exchanged a glance with Gomez. Nancy felt lost since galactic politics rarely engaged her. “The nearest worlds to Cardassia Prime were pretty hard hit during the war and are rebuilding themselves. Could one benefit from taking out the station and then raiding the supplies so worlds like Torros or Tevak get supplies marked for C-Prime?”

  “Could be, but it sounds pretty elaborate,” Gold said noncommittally.

  “Something about this just isn’t adding up,” Corsi said. “Those worlds could just as easily plunder from the Beloti sector outside of our jurisdiction. Or directly steal from Cardassia rather than come anywhere near DS10.”

  “I agree,” Gold said. “We can’t figure out who benefits from this.”

  Nancy looked around the table and saw the bewildered expressions on most of the faces, including Sarjenka. Their newest crew member seemed in over her head with all the politics and no patients, which, after all, was her specialty. Nancy’s heart went out to her. Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise from her side.

  “Soloman?”

  “Sorry, Captain,” the Bynar said. “It’s just that I have found that some of these maintenance logs have been tampered with.” All heads snapped up, as if they were jolted by a current. He seemed not to notice the intensity of the collective gaze. Instead, he tapped some more buttons and then added, “I need to look further, but something is definitely amiss.”

  “So much for the galaxy,” Corsi muttered.

  “It’s an internal problem,” Fesoan said in disbelief.

  “Give me a moment,” Soloman said, not taking his eyes from the padd. “He’s sophisticated, I’ll give him that.”

  “Definitely an internal matter,” Corsi agreed.

  Soloman made an affirmative sound, intent on the information flowing before his eyes.

  Tev said, “Fesoan, I would recommend the trader be released to go about his business. He knows about wine and cheese—and damned little about that—not terabytes or internal records.”

  The security chief remained silent at first, jaw muscles working, but finally nodded. “And where do you propose we look next?” he asked.

  “You’ve checked everyone who’s been in and out of the station, right?”

  “Of course,” he replied, now sounding insulted.

  “You’ve of course ruled out internal personnel,” Corsi said, probably just to give her a chance to think.

  “What do you mean? Starfleet personnel?”

  Corsi’s head shifted in his direction and she fought to keep her jaw from dropping. “Yes, I mean Starfleet personnel! Are you suggesting that each and every officer who’s been on this station may be perfect? No mentally altered or mind-controlled crew? Do you mean you’ve forgotten about all the sabotage that’s been performed on starships and starbases, not to mention the ones who’ve just lost it due to stress? Skip that course at the Academy? Of course you look at the personnel, if only to say you’ve ruled them out.”

  While Nancy was entertained by Corsi in her full “Core Breach” mode, she also knew the security chief was overstepping protocol. Corsi seemed to reach the same conclusion and stopped her harangue for two reasons.

  Corsi took a breath and then held it, letting someone else talk. Fortunately, it was her captain.

  “Mr. Fesoan, while Commander Corsi could have phrased things differently, her point is well taken. By not looking at Starfleet personnel, a large percentage of the potential suspect pool has remained a variable.”

  “Captain, my training for this station indicates I look at the largest body of variables first.”

  “Which you have done and have now ruled out.”

  “Looking at it your way, then we’re speculating that one of our own has been behind these…mishaps.”

  “Quite possibly,” Gold admitted softly. “Until they are examined and ruled out.”

  Fesoan cocked an eyebrow in Gold’s direction. “What happens when we rule out Starfleet staff?”

  “We’re back at square one and start all over again,” he said glumly.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Pattie studied the complete Technology Assessment Directorate’s request for the construction of Deep Space 10. Even the extract took her an hour to wade through, but she quickly understood what was required for this region of space. She then called up the bidding that was done for the assignment and chuckled lightly to herself to see how many non-aligned governments wanted in on the project, attempting to profit after the Dominion War ended. She could only imagine if Starfleet ever granted a construction contract to the Ferengi, who were notorious for inflating their work change orders.

  Instead, she focused on Kesla Randu’s firm and their bid. She made careful note of the materials Starfleet asked for and then checked them against what the firm’s records indicated were supplied. Given Randu’s boast of exceeding requests, she made careful note of everything that was in variance with the specs. The list was beginning to get lengthy and she stopped to consider how those changes might have affected the station overall.

  She then started checking on the time frame requested by Starfleet and the actual timeline as prepared by Kesla during the construction. In every case, they met their deadlines or exceeded them, which she knew earned them a bonus. Carefully, she then checked for injuries to the workers in case the haste made them less than cautious. While pleased the injuries were within expected parameters for a project of this scope, she was also disappointed not to find something that would help her solve the station’s problem. Pattie had never been a part of a massive construction project so lacked the experience to see something subtle. But her instincts were rarely wrong, so she wanted to keep checking every aspect of the construction, without the chatty Bajoran interrupting.

  Nancy knew in her heart that the problem was not mechanical. Figuring out which person was responsible, though, was the issue. She and Tegor sat at a table, each nursing a steaming cup, padds and station schematics strewn in every direction. They’d been at the table for more than an hour and she didn’t feel they were any closer to an answer.

  “It’s all so random,” Tegor said. “And the timing doesn’t fit any pattern. Doesn’t expose the station during a critical juncture. Doesn’t make us vulnerable to an attacking fleet—”

  “Mostly because there’s no attacking fleet nearby,” Nancy said, finishing the sentence. “The pirates are bold but not that bold, and usually not that smart. Many of these problems are sophisticated in that they’re minor glitches causing maximum stress. Corsi’s right, it has to be someone on the station staff.”

  Tegor made an angry noise at the reminder and shuffled a padd out from the middle of a stack and thumbed it to life, studying something on the screen. He then pulled another and the intensity in his eyes caught Nancy’s attention. She wasn’t sure which padds he was studying, but something might be suggesting itself and as a fellow engineer, she knew to wait it out. Instead, she sipped at her coffee.

  The minutes passed peacefully until Tegor finished his examination. He put the final padd down, traced a finger along the station schematic spread before them, and then caught her attention. Nancy had been letting her mind wander, and was actually thinking about her new cabinmate and how they were going to get along long-term. Sarjenka was a bit prickly, mostly because of the grief she was receiving from Lense but also from being inserted into a small, tight-knit crew. Sarj needed to lighten up; maybe it was her roommate who needed to show her the way.

  She shook off the thought and met Tegor’s eyes. “Got something?”

  “We know the errors are random but there might be a pattern to the errors themselves since no system has been affected twice.”

  “Process of elimination, try and guess where the next one might occur,” she said quickly, earning a tight smile of approval. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “Nothing but the best from the chief engineer,” he replied, finally easing up.

  The two refilled their cups and then started looking over the schematics, using rainbow-hued salt and pepper shakers, stolen from nearby tables, to start marking off sections that had already been affected. As they placed markers, Nancy studied them and noticed something to add to the theories.

  “Tegor, the level of complexity has been rising with each incident. The recent problem certainly proved to be the nastiest. How do you improve on compromising the atmosphere?”

  “Good question,” he said and stood, stretched, never taking his eyes off the charts. “Food supplies, airlocks, transporters, they’re all possibilities.”

  “Good ones, too, look,” Nancy said, stabbing a finger on the chart, noting the transporter rooms were in the unaffected areas.

  “The frequency has also moved up but not in any way that appears obvious,” Nancy noted. “Picking the next place will be easier than the next ‘when.’ Now, this is curious…”

  Tegor moved around the table to look at the chart and then at the padd in Nancy’s hand.

  “Each of the incidents, in fact, all of them, happened right around shift changes—before, during, or just after,” Nancy said. “Timed to disrupt everything and everyone.”

  “Makes sense for a saboteur,” Tegor said.

  “Something security hasn’t shared,” Nancy added.

  “Or noticed themselves,” Tegor said. “Fesoan is so by-the-book I wonder if he has any intuition.”

  Nancy grinned at him. “I can think of at least one.”

  “Do tell,” Tegor coaxed.

  “Maybe when this is over,” she said, pushing the memory back in her mind. “Let’s share this with Kesh-Mara and see how he wants to proceed. Meantime, let’s see if we can marshal some troops to check out the likely stations.”

  The two gathered their padds, folded the schematic back into its protective case, and then placed their mugs in the recycler. Conlon was feeling like they had made some progress even if they still didn’t know when the saboteur would strike next or where the event was to occur, but she was at least not idle. She fully understood why Sonya enjoyed her S.C.E. duties so much.

  On the walk back to the command center, they chitchatted and she was growing fonder of Tegor, who seemed to enjoy his work as much as she did. He was proud of the station and was pained by each glitch, taking each incident personally. She wanted to help, knowing it’d eat her alive if something similar happened to the da Vinci.

  Kesh-Mara gestured in greeting as they entered the center and Nancy saw that Sonya and Tev were over to one side, checking some terminal. There was a quiet hum to the center, people doing their jobs, trusting that others were doing their own work. As it should be, she noted. When Sonya spotted the engineers, she nodded to Tev and smiled at her. The smile filled her with confidence, knowing that her friend trusted her to help. She was grateful to serve on this ship and to have earned the trust of both the captain and his first officer—enough to have her promoted to chief engineer, something she hadn’t expected at this stage in her career. As a result, she had made certain to be worthy of that trust.

  “Something?” Sonya asked.

  “Something,” Conlon replied. She quickly outlined their theory that a different portion of the station was likely to be hit next as well as it occurring during a shift change. When she mentioned that fact, Sonya looked at the station commander, and Kesh-Mara in turn glanced over at the vacant security station. Conlon had been informed that Fesoan and Corsi were working in the security office, which made sense to her.

  “So, what do you want to do?” Gomez asked.

  “I had a thought,” Conlon began.

  “We need a break,” Lense said.

  Sarjenka didn’t necessarily agree and suspected Lense was feeling more tired than she let on and didn’t want to admit it. The Dreman nodded once and closed the terminal she had been using. Without a word, the women walked from the infirmary to the mess. The silence was not a comfortable one, and Sarjenka once more filled her thoughts with wondering if she had been hasty in accepting Gold’s offer. Things would be different if Lense made any effort to accept her being present or took her comments without some snappish rejoinder. She recalled what Conlon had told her about shipboard life, the need to meet people halfway sometimes.

  “Doctor,” Sarjenka began, forcing herself to remain pleasant, “when we return to the ship, can you take the time to show me where you want equipment kept?”

  “Of course, all you have to do is ask,” Lense said without warmth.

  And they kept walking.

  In the mess room, they saw Corsi and Lauoc finishing a meal. The Bajoran waved to the doctors and Sarjenka nodded in return. Each woman stopped at the food slots and entered her order. Sure enough, they got entirely different things. Lense had a heaping plate of steaming vegetables while Sarjenka made do with an Antarean glow fish. If there was one thing she liked about serving in Starfleet, it was the ability to sample cuisines from other worlds.

  As they joined Corsi and Lauoc at their table, the security personnel asked if they had learned anything new. Sarjenka shook her head while Lense ate her food, ignoring the question.

  “I can’t believe their security chief hadn’t thought to check Starfleet personnel,” Lauoc muttered. From what Sarjenka recalled of the Bajorans, they had, like the Dremans, recently ended a period of planetary occupation that saw members of their world fight for freedom and resent those who worked with the overseers. She’d read that Bajorans treated Cardassian collaborators with even more disdain than Dremans treated Exile collaborators. Looking internally would come naturally to Lauoc.

  “Find anything?” Lense asked, finally speaking. She had already cleared a good portion of her plate.

  “Nothing obvious,” Corsi admitted. “Conlon found the pattern that each incident occurred near a shift change.”

  “Sounds like a chance to improve the chaos,” Lense offered.

  “Or a chance to hide in the crowd,” Sarjenka added, earning her a look from the other doctor.

  “Okay, let’s walk through the scenario,” Corsi said, clearly seeking a fresh audience. Sarjenka wasn’t sure what to make of this woman yet but appreciated her dogged work ethic. “Everyone is changing shift, walking to and from their posts, the alarm rings, and people scramble. The first incident was simple, some blown EPS conduits. The engineers step in and fix it. No big deal, nothing odd. Now, the second incident involved programming errors including misaligned isolinear chips.”

  “Programming errors could have been done off-station,” Lense said.

  “But the chips mean someone stepped in and fixed it, hiding their presence,” Sarjenka said.

  “And they’re good enough to mask their presence from the security logs,” Corsi said, thumbing through screens of names on a padd. “So we’re looking for someone pretty smart and well trained. The third incident was the plasma manifolds. They don’t mis-align themselves. EPS conduits, computer glitches, plasma manifolds…”

  “Sounds like an engineer,” Lauoc said.

  “No engineer has a bad service record,” Corsi said. “We just checked everyone who’s been here since the station opened and the first problem occurred. There are more than two hundred crew members who are suspects.”

  “That’s a lot of people to interview,” Lense said. “How many have the technical know-how?”

  “And if they’re that clever, they may not give something away when the security chief talks to them,” Sarjenka said.