< I don’t like playing games, Trigger. >
< Hey, you demanded to see me in person. In my line of work I’m sure you can appreciate the need for a few safety precautions. >
Mech stopped in the middle of a narrow corridor, hidden in the basement of a seemingly abandoned building in the outskirts of Luna City. It had taken her two hours to follow Trigger’s cryptic directions to get this far. Now her patience had run out.
< Oh come on, don’t stop now. > Trigger’s high pitched voice reassured her inside her head. < You’re almost through the rabbit hole. >
Mech sighed and set out again.
Then her enhanced vision noticed the slight shimmer in the air directly in front. This wasn’t right.
She reached behind her back to draw her Glock and pushed herself against the gray wall, slowly moving forward.
< No point being squeamish now. >
She made another step and stopped short when she suddenly found herself standing face to face with a half-naked swimsuit model, clutching with both hands a Starfleet issue phaser which had been top of the line some hundred years ago.
The young woman wore a pair of fluffy bunny ears on top of her lush blonde hair. She had large eyes, a tiny nose and pouty read lips but her real assets were further south and barely covered by the flimsy bikini-suit she wore.
Even while the bimbo was raising the phaser Mech had already placed the muzzle of her firearm squarely in-between her eyes. < I can’t speak for your phaser but I guarantee you the Gavinium laced bullets in this gun will leave their mark on your sex doll’s tiny artificial brain. >
“I told you I have to be careful,” Trigger said.
The skimpily clad woman withdrew her weapon.
“And I told you I don’t like games,” said Mech and secured the Glock. She was fully aware that the woman in front of her had not appeared out of nowhere. She had in fact noticed that her entire surroundings had changed. She was no longer in the cramped corridor but in a large darkened room.
Trigger was a skinny man of Farian descent, a horizontal ridge running across the length of the bridge of his nose distinguishing him from other humanoid species. He sat in a large leather chair at the center of the room surrounded by a circle of computer terminals. His eyes were covered with a black headband and he had a whole array of flashing data ports connected to his neck.
“Holographic projection? A neat little trick.”
Trigger didn’t face Mech when he spoke. “It comes in useful. I’ve made one or two enemies over the years.”
Mech inspected the room but found little of note besides Trigger and his sexbot. The smell however was offensive, as if the ventilation system had not been in use for a few decades.
“Nice of you to let me in.”
“You’ve helped me out a number of times, this is the least I can do,” he said and swiveled in his chair. “Besides I know you’re not here to take me in. You’ve left that life behind, haven’t you?”
She nodded and then looked up where she found a skylight which provided a majestic view into the perpetual darkness of space. Earth shimmered in blue and white in the distance.
“Nice view, eh?”
“Quite. So what do you do to keep yourself busy these days?” she asked. “This isn’t Nyuchiba or Farius Prime. Much more difficult to get away with your line of work.”
“I’m disappointed with the low opinion you seem to have of me. I do a lot of legit work these days. You have no idea how often Starfleet needs some professional consulting work on their computer networks.”
She laughed softly. “Is that why you hide yourself behind a holographic shield?”
Trigger shrugged. It was a motion barely noticeable. “As I said I still have a few enemies. Now please stop torturing me with conjecture and tell me the honor of your visit. It wouldn’t be that you finally decided to take on my offer?”
Mech glanced at the sex droid who had made herself comfortable on a filthy looking sofa, observing the visitor with lusting eyes. “To be honest I don’t think I’m your type,” she said. “I actually have a will of my own.”
“That’s too bad because you would have made a great addition,” he said just before a row of man-high glass booths lit up at the far wall. Each one contained another sparsely dressed female in all colors and races, ranging from a well endowed dark-skinned Vulcan to a green Orion slave girl. The last booth was empty.
Mech glanced at the lifeless bodies with curiosity. “That’s some nice craftsmanship. They look very real,” she said with admiration and then turned back to Trigger. “And very illegal. I wonder what your Starfleet employers would think about this.”
The cubicles were quickly reclaimed by darkness. “How about we concentrate on business,” he said quickly.
“Excellent idea.”
“How can I help you?”
“Gateway 668. Have you ever heard of it?”
He let out a low whistle. “Heard of it? Among some circles it’s considered a legend. The holy grail of hacking. Level ten firewall, at least six active layers, top-notch anti-hacking software and probably the single most vicious protective protocol in all of FedNet.”
“So I take it you haven’t cracked it yet?”
Now Trigger laughed. “I haven’t heard of anyone getting past the third layer and live to tell about it.”
This gave Mech something to think about. When she didn’t speak Trigger actually faced her and slipped one stringy finger under his blindfold and raised it slightly to look at her with his own eye. “You didn’t?”
“I tried but I didn’t get far. Do you know who set it up? What it protects?”
Trigger covered his eye again and leaned back. “No idea. I guess finding that out would be the jackpot. I’m not crazy enough to try but I’ve done a bit of research on it. Didn’t find much.”
“I want you to look at something for me,” Mech said and produced a small fragment of scorched metal.
“Place it there,” he said and pointed at a flat, shiny surface among the many computer stations surrounding him. It lit up in a bright white light.
Mech carefully positioned the fragment on the scanner. The terminal came to live, rapidly changing colors as it tried to analyze the piece of metal.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It’s part of whatever tried to stop me from finding out more about 668.”
“It looks like I’m not the only one making enemies.”
“What you got?”
A shimmering grid of holographic light appeared at the center or the room just above Trigger. It quickly proceeded to display a heavily magnified version of the fragment and plenty of descriptive text. Then the fragment disappeared to show what it had once been part of.
“A quantum torpedo,” Mech realized.
“Yeah. And not just any. This is Starfleet issue. Latest model too.”
“Can you tell where it came from?”
Trigger shook his head. “Not from the fragment. But maybe I can trace it if you give me the coordinates you found the fragment at and the exact time index.”
“I can do better,” she said and transmitted him the data of when and where the torpedo had struck.
“Alright, let’s see,” said Trigger as he concentrated on his computer uplinks. “There were no starships in geo-synchronous orbit at that time. If we rule out cloaked ships that leaves us with three orbital weapon platforms which would have been in the right position to fire on you.”
“But those are used to defend the planet.”
“True but it wouldn’t be very difficult to adjust their orientation to target something on the surface and besides all three platforms carry the matching type of quantum torpedoes.”
Mech, her curiosity piqued, placed her hands on the computer bank and leaned closer towards Trigger. “Who controls those platforms?”
“Well they’re administered by the UEDA but the torpedoes are provided and maintained by Starfleet,” he said and turned towards Mech. “I like that fragrance, what’re you wearing?”
“Soap.”
“Fancy.”
“Can you hack into the platform’s computers and see if they fired recently?”
“That would be difficult. But I might be able to get access to less vital information, give me a second.”
Mech stepped away again, giving Trigger some room while he dove into FedNet to access the weapon satellite’s computer memory.
“We’ve got a match,” he proclaimed after a few seconds. “According to the manifest platform 7451-A is short one quantum torpedo.”
The holographic matrix above him changed to display a three dimensional rendition of the satellite.
“Any official explanation?”
“It was removed yesterday due to a reported malfunction with the payload.”
Mech’s steely focus remained on the holomatrix. “On whose orders?”
The image shifted to show a file photograph of a high ranking Andorian Starfleet officer. His blue skin and antennae were hardly remarkable. The frown on his face made him appear like the kind of man who hated having his picture taken.
“Captain Whren, Chief of Security, Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco.”
Mech quickly glanced at the officer’s record displayed next to the image. Highly decorated veteran, distinguished service during the War, medals, distinctions and all the other earmarks of a career soldier.
Her eyes wandered towards the skylight and focused in on the bright blue planet.
“Why would Starfleet want you dead?”
Mech had no answer to that question. But she was determined to get one.