The Oppressor's Wrong by Phaedra M. Weldon Page A

surprised at the intense emotion in the commander’s expression. He was obviously upset by the find, but his self-control returned as he turned a hardened look at Data, Daniels, and Lynch. “The explosion damaged several of the internal environmental systems on this deck and the one below. The starbase’s power couplings are fused on the upper decks.”
    â€œMeaning the shields protecting us could go at any minute,” Snowden interrupted. “We need to get back to a safer deck and beam out of here.”
    Riker turned an angry face toward him. “I’m not leaving the admiral’s body here to be blown out intospace if those shields go. We’re going to carry him to a possible beam-out point.”
    â€œCommander.” Daniels reached inside his bag and pulled out an isolinear tag and held it up. “We can use one of these. The
Enterprise
has the beaming frequency and is standing by.”
    Riker gave him a grim nod. “Proceed.”
    One of the starbase security officers stepped forward and took one. He moved to the admiral and attached it to his sleeve. Data contacted Chief Mun Ying, and the admiral was beamed out.
    Daniels looked down at the padd in his hand. The readouts on it were garbled, and he thumbed a few of the lower controls. Nothing helped—it was as if the screen were reading two files at the same time.
    Either that, or his vision had blurred again. Daniels was acutely aware of a throbbing behind his eyes. He needed to get back to the ship.
    â€œOkay, people,” Riker said. “We need to be moving out of this area and up to deck twenty-six. There we can beam back to ops.”
    â€œSir,” the security officer said as he stepped closer to Daniels. “Where did you get that?”
    There was something in the tone of the man’s voice that triggered several of Daniels’s internal warnings—it was a voice that spoke of possession and reclamation.
    The security officer reached out for the padd, but Daniels moved away. “It’s mine,” he lied, but he wasn’t sure why.
    But the lieutenant stepped even closer, and as he did the emergency lights revealed his face in full.
    Daniels froze.
    It was like looking at a ghost from his past. The face was that of a man he knew he’d never see again. As he stood rooted to the spot, his gaze locked with the officer’s, Daniels took in the man’s uniform. The gray turtleneck, smudged along one side. The scuffed jacket. The rip in the left sleeve.
    He looked at the officer’s face as he reached up to touch his own. Felt the slick perspiration from the heat generated by the blast, held in close confinement by the shields. He felt the heat intensely inside the thick, two-layered uniform.
    But this man—this ghost—wasn’t perspiring.
    And there wasn’t a speck of dust on his face. No dirt. No soot.
    After dropping the padd into his bag, Daniels had his phaser up and aimed at the man’s chest. “Stay right there—don’t come any closer.”
    â€œMr. Daniels,” Riker said, his tone coarse. “What the hell are you doing?”
    â€œThis man is a Changeling, sir,” Daniels said. “Iknow his face—he died on board the
Odyssey.
He’s wearing the face of Lieutenant Jonathan DeNoux.”
    â€œPut down that weapon, Mr. Daniels,” Snowden said. The panic evident earlier in his suggestion to flee was gone, replaced by irritation. “That’s Jonas Abidah, my chief of operations.”
    Daniels and the imposter stared at one another.
    â€œMr. Daniels,” Riker said. “I order you to stand down. Snowden passed Mr. Abidah himself. I saw the blood screening.”
    â€œScreenings can be faked, sir,” Daniels said. His vision blurred for a second, and he couldn’t hear what Snowden was saying over the roar in his ears.
    â€œâ€”obviously wounded and not in his right mind. Look,” Snowden said.