The Art of the Deal Read online

  Gold and Lense exchanged a glance. “Language or code, hmm?” the doctor said, raising her eyebrows.

  The captain nodded, knowing exactly where she was going with this. “Faulwell. Let’s get him in here now.”

  Bart Faulwell liked challenges. But the da Vinci’s linguist and cryptography expert quickly realized that the one laid out before him by Captain Gold was the toughest thing he’d faced since he cracked Dominion codes during the war.

  Soloman had downloaded the data from the chip onto the da Vinci’s main computer, and now this data was displayed on the computer screen in Faulwell’s quarters. He had been working at it nonstop for nearly four hours, a cup of French roast coffee with half-and-half never far from his reach. But things were not progressing as quickly as he wanted, and his sense of frustration was growing.

  At least he no longer had to worry about Commander Gomez. She received proper medical care as soon as the da Vinci returned to Vemlar, and was already back on active duty on the planet surface.

  But this strange code was throwing Faulwell for a loop, and he was feeling very tense. He was about to take a short break—and a quick shower—when Captain Gold summoned him to the main conference room to give a status report. Faulwell felt a momentary flash of panic. It had been at least ninety minutes since he felt he’d made any real progress with the code, and as far as he was concerned, that progress was minimal at best. He would have preferred to give his report when he had more to say.

  He arrived at the conference room to find Gold with Lense, Corsi, and Soloman.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t really been able to crack this code yet, sir,” Faulwell began reluctantly, scratching his beard.

  He activated the small viewing screen atop the table at which everyone was seated, and the code popped on the screen for all to see.

  “However,” he continued, a bit more brightly, “a few things show up a number of times within the code—names or phrases—which I think I was able to decipher. One is ‘Vemlar.’ That was easy enough. Another seems to be ‘Taru Bolivar.’ Is anyone familiar with that?”

  Everyone in the room thought for a moment before shaking their heads “no.”

  “The other is ‘Fantasixun’—I think. That’s the closest I could make out so far.”

  No one reacted, so Faulwell assumed that the second name was as unfamiliar to everyone as the first.

  Soloman accessed the ship’s library computer and entered both names. Within seconds, he had results.

  “No listings for ‘Taru Bolivar,’” the Bynar said. “However, there is a planet named Phantas 61, located on the outskirts of this system. Perhaps this is ‘Fantasixun?’”

  “What’s on record about it?” Gold asked.

  Soloman read the information on the monitor out loud. “A somewhat isolated planet, known as a thriving, financially successful, independent mining world with an abundance of dilithium crystals and other natural resources. Purchased by Rod Portlyn ten years ago, when the inhabitants agreed to sell out to him. Portlyn kept the inhabitants on to run day-today operations, and he publicly vowed to ‘exploit Phantas 61’s equities to the fullest potential.’ Under his control, Phantas 61 became more productive and more profitable than at any other time in its history. It remains part of Portlyn’s business empire to this day.”

  Gold sat silently for several moments, mulling this over. Finally he spoke.

  “Maybe we should pay a little visit to Phantas 61, try to find out what the connection is—if indeed there is one.”

  “Makes sense,” Lense responded. “Maybe my anonymous patient is from that world.”

  The captain reached for the communications transmitter. “I’ll contact Mr. Portlyn, let him know what we’re doing.”

  “Sir, before you do that…?” Corsi interjected, causing Gold to pull his hand away from the transmitter.

  “Go ahead, Corsi,” the captain said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “These terrorists, whoever they are, apparently know quite a bit about Portlyn and his operations—when and where to strike. We don’t know how they know so much, but it’s reasonable to assume there’s a leak somewhere inside Portlyn’s organization. If too many people know about us heading to Phantas 61, the terrorists could find out and interfere with our investigation.”

  Gold nodded in agreement. “Yes…from this point on, maybe it’s best if we kept our actions and whereabouts on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

  “That’s what I’d suggest, sir,” Corsi responded.

  “All right, then,” Gold said as he stood up. “Meeting adjourned. We’ll get under way shortly. And Faulwell—good work.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Faulwell replied with a smile, pleased that what little he had accomplished was apparently enough, at least for the moment.

  Chapter

  5

  The frowning face of Rod Portlyn dominated the main viewscreen on the bridge of the da Vinci.

  “Let me get this straight, Captain—you’ve got a possible lead on the terrorists, but you won’t give me any details?”

  “Only that we’re looking into it, Mr. Portlyn,” replied Gold. He added, as earnestly and reassuringly as he could, “It’s really for the best. Until we learn how the terrorists know so much about your operations, releasing any details of our investigation could hamper our efforts. But we’ll be in touch if we learn anything. In the meantime, Gomez, Tev, and a team of S.C.E. specialists will be staying behind to help clean up the site of the explosion and get the construction project moving again.”

  “But surely you can tell me what you’ve learned from the suspect?”

  “In the interests of security, sir, I really think it’s best to keep that on a need-to-know basis, as well.”

  Portlyn pursed his lips and nodded once. “Very well, Captain Gold. Good luck.”

  With that, Portlyn signed off and his image disappeared from the screen.

  Corsi, standing behind Gold during the conversation, stepped up and stood beside the command chair.

  “I get the distinct feeling he’s not used to being told ‘no,’ sir,” she said wryly.

  Gold shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re just doing whatever’s necessary to accomplish our goal—and accomplishing our goal directly benefits him. Portlyn’s a big boy, a seasoned businessman. I’m sure he understands.”

  Gold turned in his chair to face the helm.

  “Wong, take us out of orbit.”

  The viewscreen showed the ship’s orbital departure, with Vemlar quickly receding. “Next stop, Phantas 61,” the captain said to the helmsman. “Have gravitational potentials been taken into account?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wong replied confidently. “We can safely go to warp speed inside the solar system.”

  “Very good, Wong. Warp factor two, please.” At that speed, the da Vinci would arrive at Phantas 61, located across the Norvel system, in just two hours—an eighty-eight-hour trip at full impulse power.

  The ship accelerated, approaching warp factor one and beyond. Gold settled back in his chair, expecting an uneventful journey for the next couple of hours. He watched the stars as they began to streak by on the viewscreen.

  “Captain!” called Lieutenant Shabalala. “Urgent incoming transmission for you, sir, from Starfleet Command. It’s Admiral Adair, sir. He, uh, wants to talk to you—immediately, sir. About Mr. Portlyn’s grievances.”

  Gold rose from his chair. With a good-natured smirk, he told the young officer, “You’re lucky Starfleet captains are no longer allowed to kill the bearers of bad news. I’ll take it in my ready room. You have the conn, Shabalala.”

  Stepping off the bridge, Gold waited until the doors closed behind him before muttering to himself, “Lousy momzer went right over my head.”

  “Captain Gold, why is Rod Portlyn waking me up in the middle of the night with complaints about how he’s being treated by Starfleet?” asked Admiral Ian Adair, his scowling face on the viewscreen in David Gold’s ready room.

&nb
sp; Adair was five years younger than Gold but appeared to be about ten years older, with thinning white hair, many wrinkles on a face that seemed perpetually grumpy, and a wiry frame that bordered on being frail-looking. But it was clear that there was still plenty of fire in the admiral’s belly, and his piercing blue eyes remained filled with energy.

  Gold took a breath before responding, and concentrated on maintaining his composure.

  “Admiral, I strongly believe it’s in the best interests of our investigation that the details remain classified to all but the most essential participants, at least for now.”

  “Consider me one of the essential participants. So what’s going on?”

  Gold knew he had no choice in the matter. He took another breath.

  “We’re en route to Phantas 61, Admiral,” he told Adair, and then he explained why. When Gold finished, Adair remained silent as he considered everything he had just heard.

  Finally, the admiral said, “This investigation isn’t the kind of assignment you and your crew normally handle, Gold. The da Vinci is a boatload of engineers. These are terrorists we’re talking about here. Maybe you should wait for assistance from a ship better suited for this situation.”

  “As you’re undoubtedly aware, sir, no other Starfleet vessels are currently available to take this on. And these terrorists seem able to strike anywhere, at any time. The da Vinci is the only ship currently in a position to act right now. Besides, we’re already on the way.”

  Adair still seemed skeptical. Gold pressed on.

  “Above all else, Admiral, the people aboard this ship are problem-solvers, and this is a problem that needs solving. At the moment, we have the best chance of doing that.”

  Gold could almost see the wheels turning inside the admiral’s mind.

  “What about the Vemlar project? I don’t need to remind you how important it is to the Federation.”

  And to your close personal friend Rod Portlyn, Gold thought. But out loud, he said, “No, sir, I’m well aware. Rest assured, Commander Gomez and most of her team are hard at work back on Vemlar.”

  Adair finally nodded. “All right, Captain, proceed as you see fit. I’ll contact Portlyn and try to soothe his bruised ego. I’m sure that’s what this is all about.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gold said, relieved.

  But on the screen, Adair pointed a warning finger at Gold. “Now, I don’t want any more complaint calls, so you’d better become more of a diplomat, and I mean pronto.”

  “I’ll work on that, sir,” Gold replied with an amenable grin that disappeared as soon as Adair signed off and the screen went dark. He leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

  “Mr. Portlyn,” Gold said aloud, “you are a royal putz.”

  Rod Portlyn was seated in his office on Vemlar with his feet up on his desk, trying to look as calm and casual as possible, as he listened to Starfleet Admiral Ian Adair, whose image was being transmitted to the tycoon’s desktop viewing screen.

  “Rod, Captain Gold and his crew are among Starfleet’s very best. I wouldn’t have had them assigned to this project if they weren’t. I understand Gold’s decision for secrecy, and I believe it was made for the right reasons. It’s in the best interests of all of us.”

  Portlyn folded his arms across his chest and sighed. Injecting a slight edge into his voice, he replied, “Look, Ian, I have no doubts about Captain Gold’s abilities or his competence. I just don’t understand why I, of all people, have to be left out of the loop. I mean, ‘essential participants only’? Who’s more essential than me? Who’s been more affected by these terrorist activities than me? Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on in my own backyard?”

  He sighed again, displaying his frustration and dissatisfaction.

  “I’m just disappointed, Ian,” Portlyn continued with a frown. “I thought there would be more trust here in this joint venture.”

  Adair mulled that over. Finally, he replied, “You’re right, Rod. You have been the one most adversely affected by these terrorists. All right. I’ll qualify you as someone who ‘needs to know.’”

  Portlyn’s raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Won’t Captain Gold have a problem with that?”

  “I outrank him, old friend. It’s my prerogative.”

  Adair proceeded to tell Portlyn about the microchip, “Taru Bolivar,” and the da Vinci’s trip to Phantas 61. Once he was done, Portlyn nodded and told the admiral, “Whatever it takes to stop these terrorists once and for all. Thank you for sharing this with me, Ian.”

  “Just keep it to yourself for the time being, Rod. Gold was right about the need to keep a lid on this.”

  “Absolutely, my friend. Thanks again, and be well.”

  With that, Portlyn signed off. Then, he punched a numerical code into his communications console, a code he had committed to memory. A moment later, a new face appeared on his screen: a gray-skinned man with ivory hair, violet eyes, and a thick, almost square-shaped head.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Portlyn?” the man on the screen asked.

  “Mr. Gerard, what is your current status?”

  “I’m departing Asteroid Station P-16 now, sir. I’ve made sure that security at the chemical plant has been beefed up, as per your request. I guarantee, no terrorists will be infiltrating that location.”

  P-16, Portlyn thought. Very good. Not far at all.

  “I have a new assignment for you, Mr. Gerard. A very important one. One that can only be assigned to my Senior High Security Agent.”

  “What do you need, sir?”

  “I need you to go to Phantas 61. Keep a very low profile. Watch for the arrival of a Starfleet crew, find out what they’re doing there, and report back to me on their activities.”

  “I’m not far from Phantas 61, sir. I can be there within thirty minutes.”

  The tycoon smiled faintly. “Yes, I know. I’ll be waiting for your call, Mr. Gerard.” He then cut the transmission.

  Portlyn leaned back in his chair and looked out the window of his office, gazing at the stars in the evening sky.

  “Phantas 61,” he said softly to himself. “Very interesting.”

  Chapter

  6

  Captain’s Log, Stardate 54152.5:

  The da Vinci is approaching Phantas 61. An away team led by Lieutenant Commander Corsi will beam down upon our arrival to investigate the planet and find out what connection, if any, it has to the terrorist activities aimed against Rod Portlyn’s properties. We also hope to find out what “Taru Bolivar” means. Is it a person? A place? A weapon? Hopefully, we are not far from the answer.

  The turbolift doors on the bridge slid apart and Corsi stepped out, accompanied by P8 Blue.

  “Captain,” Corsi began as she approached Gold, who was seated in his command chair. “We have a volunteer for the away team.” She tilted her head toward P8 Blue.

  “Oh?” Gold replied, somewhat surprised. He turned to the Nasat. “Blue, this is really a matter for security, not engineering.”

  “Captain, I may be able to help facilitate communication with the inhabitants of this world,” Pattie said. “Or, at least some of them. When I heard we were going to Phantas 61, I recalled that there are a number of Nasats who settled there several decades ago. They’re probably still there.”

  That piqued Gold’s interest. “Any relatives of yours, by any chance?”

  “I doubt it, sir. From what I understand, they were all Reds who decided to leave the homeworld and forge new lives for themselves. Naturally, they were viewed as ‘strange’ by mainstream Nasat culture—I can certainly relate to that. And I’ve always admired them for their fortitude.”

  Gold nodded. “If they know anything, they may feel more comfortable talking to you. Okay, Blue, you’re on the team.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Pattie replied with a grateful nod.

  On the main viewscreen, the small yellowish planet that had come into view a short while earlier was rapidly increasing in size. The da Vinci ent
ered its final approach.

  “Captain, we’re receiving a hail from the planet,” Shabalala said as the ship achieved standard orbit.

  “On screen, Lieutenant.”

  A moment later, a smiling male with pale yellow skin appeared on the viewscreen. He was apparently in early middle age, with long, slightly graying hair that was pulled back in a small ponytail and matched by a thick mustache. He wore a maroon jacket and slacks and a collarless white tunic.

  “Greetings,” the man said in a smooth, easygoing voice. “Welcome to Phantas 61.”

  “Thank you. I’m Captain Gold of the U.S.S. da Vinci. And you are…?”

  “Ramark,” the man replied. Then he added, with a chuckle, “The only one here who still has an actual job—or at least a reasonable approximation.”

  “I…see,” Gold replied. He glanced over at Corsi, who stood beside the captain’s chair and looked as bemused by this introduction as he was.

  “I run the communications center,” Ramark continued. “Not that anyone really contacts this mudball anymore. So, what brings you here? You get lost or something?”

  “An investigation on behalf of the Federation, actually. Perhaps you can put us in touch with your local authorities?”

  Ramark grinned. “I’m about the closest thing there is to that here. I’d be glad to help you, if I can.”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Ramark. An away team will beam down momentarily, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s fine. Have them beam down in the center of our main city—I’ll send the coordinates, and I’ll meet them there.”

  Ramark signed off, and Gold turned to Corsi with a small grin. “He seems…interesting.”

  “Hopefully he can point us in the right direction,” she replied, all serious.

  “We’ll know soon enough. Happy hunting, Corsi.”

  It was midday on Phantas 61 when Corsi and her away team materialized on the surface. Standing on one side of her was her trusted deputy chief of security, Chief Petty Officer Vance Hawkins. On the other side was security guard Frank Powers, a brown-haired, capable young man from Earth, who joined the crew following Galvan VI and the ship’s refitting. Bringing up the rear was P8 Blue.