A split-second later, a flash of light issued from behind the cockpit, filling the scoutship's interior with the acrid smell of ozone, burnt circuitry, and scorched artificial flesh. Glancing behind him, Hawk saw patterns of blue incandescence shooting through the cable that connected Data to the scout vessel's computer core. Saint Elmo's fire briefly crackled around the android's head. He convulsed briefly, then became as motionless as a statue, frozen in the act of rising to render aid to the captain.

Not good, Hawk thought as he returned his attention to the viewer. There, the coruscating inferno of the subspace singularity still burned, as brightly and defiantly as ever.

And the warbird Gal Gath'thong was coming about, like a hungry shark closing in for the kill.

Chapter Sixteen.

In the central control room of the warbird Gal Gath'thong, Commander T'Veren kept a dispassionate eye on the scoutship that rolled and tumbled across his screen. Though his directive to destroy the small vessel had been authorized by no less a personage than Tal Shiar Chairman Koval himself, T'Veren remained curious about the motives of whoever was inside. By flying evasive patterns at close quarters with the Gal Gath'thong, the scout had so far managed to avoid being severely hit by the warbird's weapons.

The heavy brows of the young decurion behind the weapons console were knit together in frustration. It was apparent that she knew that the other vessel should have been dispatched minutes ago.

That pilot deserves credit for his courage and audacity, T'Veren thought, smiling at his gunner's obvious pique. But even the most skilled flyer will eventually make a mistake.

Suddenly, the weapons officer grinned triumphantly. On the screen, one of the scoutship's warp nacelles had taken a savage blow, and was spewing superheated plasma in every direction. A moment later, one of the secondary guns hit the scoutship yet again, pummeling it squarely amidships. The smaller vessel began to spin in an uncontrolled manner, the glow of its shields dimming steadily, then finally guttering out completely. Without having to be told, the helm officer minimized the danger of a collision by increasing the distance between the two ships.

T'Veren smiled. It wouldn't be long now. "Bring us about, helmsman," he said quietly. "Then finish them."

This can't be happening, Hawk thought as he watched the warbird make its slow, stately approach.

Peering across the darkened cockpit, he saw the captain's insensate form sprawled on the scoutship's deck. Behind the cockpit, Data appeared to be in much the same condition, though the android had remained eerily frozen in a half-standing position, his golden eyes wide but vacant, his positronic network still cabled to the ship's computer core. Deciding that there was nothing he could do for Data at the moment, Hawk returned his attentions to the flight console. From the dozens of flashing readouts and alarms vying for his attention, Hawk gathered that a warp-powered retreat was out of the question. At least, he thought, the main controls seem to be working.

Hawk spared a moment to kneel beside the captain, and felt for a pulse in his neck. He found one, though it was weak and thready. He wondered what would happen to the captain's artificial heart if he were to remain exposed to the damaged engine's tetryon emissions for much longer.

But that'll be moot in a couple of seconds, he thought, if I don't do something about that warbird now.

Seating himself in the pilot's chair, Hawk shut down the visual and audio alarms to help himself concentrate. One indicator, attached to the computer's memory buffer, continued flashing in an irregular pattern, and Hawk didn't want to waste any more time trying to shut it down; it was easy enough to ignore.

Almost at once, he thought of a way to address two of his most immediate problems. Recalling a command sequence that Admiral Batanides had shown him once off-handedly just before the raid on the rebel compound, Hawk armed the warp-core jettison system. Firing a thruster to reorient the ship, he engaged the core launcher.

The scoutship lurched as it loosed the core into space. Hawk watched the screen, which showed the scoutship's cylindrical, green warp core arcing quickly toward the approaching warbird. But moments before impact, the warbird's forward disruptor banks vaporized it. The small singularity that powered the core abruptly spent its energies in subspace. The warbird's paint didn't even appear to have been scratched.

Too bad. But at least the tetryon problem is solved.

Hawk watched as the warbird's forward guns began glowing a dull red as they began powering up for another salvo. Absurdly, Hawk found his attention wandering to the computer memory-buffer light, which persisted in its mindless, rhythmic flashing.

So this is it. I'll never see Ranul again.

Captain Picard groaned and began trying to sit up. Hawk went to his side. "Try not to move, sir."

"I'll take your medical opinion under advisement, Lieutenant," Picard said, pulling himself into the copilot's seat. Hawk offered him a steadying hand.

"Ship's status?" Picard said, looking Hawk in the eye.

"The warp drive is... gone. Completely," Hawk said, with a touch of embarrassment. But now wasn't the time for overly detailed explanations; what's done is done. "We have only minimal impulse power and life-support. Shields are down as well."

"Then I gather that Data's attempt to move the cloaking buoys hasn't worked." The screen showed that in the depths of space beyond the rapidly closing warbird, the subspace singularity's hellish aspect remained unchanged.

Hawk swallowed hard as he watched the warbird grow larger on the screen. Seeing death make such a close approach lent an air of unreality to the entire situation. "I'm not even sure Data was able to transmit the signal before that last direct hit crippled him," he said.

Picard looked across Hawk's console at the one light that was flashing there. Reacting to the captain's quizzical expression, the lieutenant explained what it was, and that he couldn't shut it down.

Picard sat quietly staring at the light for several seconds as it pulsated. Long flashes alternated with shorter ones, though Hawk could discern no obvious pattern. "You're right, Mr. Hawk," Picard said finally. "Data hasn't sent his transmission. But he has managed to load it into the transmitter's memory buffer."

Hawk was puzzled. "How can you tell?"

"Because he just told me. Those flashes-it's an old-style radio code. Morse, I believe it was called. Data is saying 'transmit buffer data now.'"

Hawk's eyes grew wide as he grasped the idea. Data had assembled the command sequences necessary to move the cloaking-buoy network and thereby trigger the singularity abort-but his injuries had forced him to dump the command into the memory buffer before he'd been able to take it all the way through his subspace link to the Romulan array.

Hawk's hands moved quickly across the console. He sighed with relief when he determined that the subspace channel he needed was still open.

"Transmitting," Hawk said, slapping the final touchpad with his palm.

"Forward disruptor tube is fully charged, Commander," said the Gal Gath'thong's weapons officer. T'Veren watched with quiet anticipation as the young woman's hand approached the firing toggle.

From across the central control room, the grizzled operations centurion spoke up, the customary steadiness missing from his voice. "Commander, something is happening on the security network's outer periphery."

The weapons officer paused in mid-keystroke, and T'Veren's diagonal eyebrows went horizontal with puzzlement.

"Has the cloaking field malfunctioned?" T'Veren said.

"It appears to have gone into a maintenance shutdown mode, sir."

"What?" T'Veren roared in outrage. He knew this could only mean that the Apparatus that held the subspace singularity in check was now decloaked and visible. Such a thing should not have been allowed to happen-at least not prior to the Federation's legally binding withdrawal from the Geminus Gulf.

"The field-generation pods also seem to be... moving," the decurion reported, sounding perplexed.

T'Veren struggled to keep his voice level. "Moving in what manner?"

"Inward, toward the Core's containment facility itself. They have remained in formation, and are on a fast approach vector, heading toward the defense-pod network."

"The defense pods are becoming active!" the helmsman said excitedly, the crippled scoutship now all but forgotten.

"Tactical!" T'Veren shouted. He wanted a clear picture of what happened as the middle-level defenses protected the Core from this apparent systems glitch.

On the screen, a tactical diagram appeared, showing the outer spherical array of cloaking generators as it swiftly contracted. Inside that sphere lay a second, stationary globe, composed of hundreds of small but heavily armed defense pods. T'Veren noted that the synchronized collapse of the outer sphere of cloaking generators was accelerating.

T'Veren watched in mute astonishment as the two spheres merged briefly; a moment later, the shrinking cloaking array had contracted so much that it slipped inside the stationary defense-pod network. The cloaking devices continued moving in formation, heading even faster toward the Core Containment Apparatus itself.

"Defense pods are turning inward and acquiring target locks," the centurion said breathlessly. "They are taking aim on the cloaking-field generators!"

T'Veren felt a rush of cold terror rush up his spine as he realized the full implications of what was happening.

"They're about to fire directly into the Core," he said, feeling utterly numb and helpless.

Hawk pointed the scoutship away from both the warbird and the singularity, pushing the single impulse engine to the limit. He was mildly surprised to note that the warbird was not in pursuit; in the condition the scout's propulsion system was in, they wouldn't have been at all difficult to overtake.

On the forward viewer, Hawk saw several of the cloaking buoys streak by the scoutship, looking like stars as seen from a vessel passing them at high warp.

"Let's have a look at Commander Data's handiwork, Mr. Hawk," Picard said. His voice was strong, though he looked pale and drawn; Hawk chalked it up to a lingering effect of whatever the engine core's tetryon burst had done to the captain's artificial heart.

Hawk switched the forward viewer to a reverse angle, displaying what now lay aft of the withdrawing scoutship. On the screen, dozens of vessels, most of them small scouts and shuttles, dived and swooped to evade salvos from the spherical formation of stationary weapons pods, which were unleashing uncounted fusillades of disruptor fire in the general direction of the singularity's containment equipment. At the facility's core, away from the worst of the fighting, the singularity's accretion disk glowed with a preternaturally angry brilliance, like some ancient war god enjoying blood sports being staged in its honor.

Hawk magnified the small image of the torus-shaped facility at the core of the cloaked zone-the heart of the array that kept the subspace singularity contained-and saw that the outer edge of the torus was under siege as well. Metal-eating molecular fires danced across several of its outermost structures.

Then the center of the torus gave off an expanding wave of energy, a deluge of iridescent brilliance that leaped outward in every direction. The phenomenon organized itself into a gigantic horizontal band, a vast and growing sapphire expanse that reminded Hawk of the tsunamis that sometimes struck Earth's coastlines. It brought to mind holographic re-creations he had seen of the first human-controlled thawings of the subsurface Martian aquifers, and the titanic explosion that had devastated the Klingon moon Praxis eighty years ago.

Hawk watched uneasily as the strange phenomenon seemed to grow steadily, though its initial burst of light appeared to be dissipating harmlessly. Still, the thing hadn't yet shown any sign of quietly disappearing.

"Sir, are you fairly confident that we were right about this?"

"How do you mean, Lieutenant?" Picard asked, his eyes barely open. The captain appeared to be in some pain.

"I mean our theory that a direct attack on the containment field would start an automatic abort and drop the singularity back into subspace," Hawk said quietly.

"Mr. Hawk, there have been many occasions when I have trusted my life, and even my ship, to my senior officers' expert judgment. This is simply another one of those times."

But how many times was the whole universe in danger of being sucked into subspace if they made a mistake? Hawk thought.

Suddenly, the center of the accretion disk started to form a depression, as though some invisible but heavy object had been set down upon it. With agonizing slowness, the edges of the disk began contracting toward the center. The effect gradually accelerated until the phenomenon resembled a crumpled piece of paper. Then it collapsed onto itself completely, abruptly becoming too small and dark for the viewscreen to resolve.

It was gone.

Picard looked up at the screen and smiled. Hawk shot a brief, sorrowful glance at the motionless Data, whose condition was impossible to diagnose at the moment. I hope I'll get to thank you, my friend.

Turning back to his instrument panel, Hawk grinned. "Looks like it worked. And their cloaking field is down as well."

"One of the Romulan Empire's most closely held secrets is now on display for the entire Chiarosan electorate to see."

"Maybe they'll petition Ruardh to hold a recall election over it," Hawk speculated.

Picard shook his head wearily. "First Protector Ruardh has her own difficulties with the Federation at the moment," he said, recalling the still-unresolved custody battle over Grelun. "And I wouldn't be surprised if there's not enough left of that singularity to prove that the Romulans were ever up to any mischief here in the first place."

Hawk realized that Picard was probably right. "The Tal Shiar would probably see to that," he said quietly.

The captain shot a stern glance at him, and for a moment Hawk feared that he had said too much. Had Picard begun to wonder how much Zweller had told him about Section 31's secret agenda in the Geminus Gulf?

Some spy I'd make, Hawk thought, chiding himself.

Whatever the captain's thoughts, all he said was, "Set a course for the Enterprise, Mr. Hawk. Best possible speed."

And then, to Hawk's shock and chagrin, the captain's expression suddenly went slack, and he fell face forward across the instrument panel.

Koval and his two guards sparkled into existence in the warbird Thrai Kaleh's principal transporter room. A centurion awaited him there, a youthful but able officer whose name escaped Koval at the moment. It occurred to him that he had been having entirely too many memory lapses of late, and made a mental note to consult his physician about the problem at the first convenient opportunity.

The young centurion was out of breath, and looked nearly panic-stricken. Koval had never had much patience with useless emotional displays. "Out with it. What is wrong?"

"Chairman Koval, the subspace phenomenon... the containment facility..."

Koval grew uneasy. "Yes?"

"Sir, they are both gone!"

That can't be, Koval thought, shoving past the centurion and repeating the words in his mind like a mantra until he reached the central control room. The viewscreen there graphically confirmed the centurion's improbable story. Koval stood in the center of the chamber for the next several minutes, quietly contemplating his next move.

"The Federation vessel is obviously responsible," Subcenturion V'Hari said from behind one of the weapons consoles. "I respectfully suggest that we attack the Enterprise immediately."

Such an action struck Koval as perhaps futile and certainly counterproductive. To fight over a secret thing, even a secret vanished thing, was to admit that it had existed-and that it had been a threat to one's adversaries-in the first place. Another factor to consider was that the Chiarosans would probably soon learn of the singularity-containment facility, as well as the efforts of the Romulan Star Empire to conceal it from them. Who knew how these barbarians might react? The revelation of a hitherto covert Romulan military presence might make the Empire's newest protectorate almost impossible to control. Unless the Tal Shiar covered things up very carefully.

"No," Koval told his subordinate. "I have an alternate plan. Please contact First Protector Ruardh immediately."

Picard's eyes fluttered open, revealing the muted blues and grays of the Enterprise's sickbay, which were broken up by the dull orange glow of an overhead sensor cluster. He looked down past his chin and saw that he was lying on his back, his chest covered by a clamshell like piece of equipment which he recognized as a surgical support structure. A quartet of figures wearing scarlet masks and gowns worked with feverish efficiency over the device, performing intricate maneuvers, manipulating tricorders, fetching, using, then discarding various surgical and diagnostic instruments. Though his vision was distorted by the azure glow of a sterilizing medical forcefield, he quickly recognized the lead surgeon's flashing green eyes as those of Dr. Beverly Crusher.

"He's conscious, Dr. Crusher," said a member of the trauma team. Picard recognized the gruff voice of Dr. Gomp.

"Thank God," Crusher said quietly.

"No brain damage," someone else said. "I think we got to him in time."

"Just in time," Crusher responded. "Let's get him stabilized. Then I need to know the extent of the damage to his heart."

"Done," said Ogawa, who was staring intently at a medical tricorder. "The heart's bio-regulator looks to be completely fused, but it seems to be the only component that's suffered damage. I'm already downloading the replicator specifications for a replacement." Then she headed for one of the adjacent labs, the Tellarite physician accompanying her.

"Beverly," Picard said, his voice a parched croak. He was mildly surprised to find that he could speak at all.

"It looks like you beat the singularity after all, Jean-Luc. Despite having ignored your kindly doctor's advice." The surgical mask couldn't conceal her smile.

"How are Hawk and Data?"

"Hawk came through the mission just fine, though I think your injuries scared the hell out of him. Data was... shut off somehow. Geordi thinks he entered some sort of protective shutdown mode while linked to the scoutship's systems. But he also thinks he'll have him on his feet again in a few hours."

Picard nodded, relieved; he owed much to the two officers who had braved the singularity's dangers at his side. With the immediate peril behind him, he felt exhausted, and was sorely tempted to rest. But even though his throat felt as dry as the Chiarosan Dayside, there were still questions he needed to ask.

"The referendum?"

"From what Deanna told me, everything's over but the shouting down on Chiaros IV. The long and short of it is this: We'd better have our bags packed within the next twenty minutes. Or else."

Grelun, he thought with an inward groan. The matter of the rebel leader's asylum plea had yet to be resolved.

"Have Admiral Batanides and Commander Zweller returned to the ship?" Picard said as Nurse Ogawa returned, a small electronic device in her hand.

Crusher shook her head. "No. But I think their shuttle is due back any time now."