Precipice

Rolling his eyes as if to suggest that the implications of Jackson’s statement should be obvious, Kane said, “Well, the Klingons and the Nalori areboth fierce rivals of the Federation.”

“Let me jog your memory again,” Jackson said. “April of 2260. The Midas Casino on Risa. You were staying there as a guest when its art gallery was burgled. Dozens of priceless works, including a pair of ancient Vulcan sculptures, were taken in a flawless overnight heist. You checked out the next day.”

“Naturally,” said Kane. “You can’t expect me to stay in a hotel with such poor security. I didn’t feel safe.”

For a fleeting moment Jackson wished he could beat the smile off Kane’s face. Instead, he inhaled deeply and moved on. “March 2261. You just happened to be in the city of Kefvenek on Beta Rigel at the precise time its—” The door signal buzzed, and Jackson snapped, “What is it?” He looked up as the door opened.

Another civilian walked in—an Orion woman unlike any Jackson had ever seen before. Though she had the dark green skin common to her people, her black hair was cut short. She wore wire-frame glasses and a dark business suit over a crisp white shirt. Her shoes were low-heeled, and instead of the erotically charged atmosphere Jackson had come to expect from Orion women, this one was cold and aloof. She carried a metallic briefcase.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” the Orion said as Captain Desai followed her inside the interview room, “My name is Denon Veril. I’m Mister Kane’s attorney.” She set her briefcase on the table. “I need to confer in private with my client, as per his rights under the First Guarantee of the Federation Charter.”

Jackson looked to Desai, who nodded in confirmation and motioned for him to follow her out of the interrogation room. Desai left the room first, and Jackson was close behind her.

As the door hushed closed behind him, he asked in a harsh whisper, “His lawyer? What the hell’s going on?”

“Apparently, she ‘just happened’ to be on the station to negotiate a contract with a mining consortium.”

“Sure she did,” Jackson said, folding his arms.

“Her story checked out,” Desai said.

Jackson shook his head. “Most good alibis do.”

The JAG officer continued, “Veril says Kane’s lunch companion called her on his behalf after we arrested him. She contacted me and immediately filed a motion demanding we turn over any and all security footage of Café Romano in Stars Landing recorded during the time of the alleged heist.”

A grim chortle shook Jackson’s chest. “This has setup written all over it.”

“I agree, but she insists the footage proves her client is i

The door to the interrogation room slid open. Veril poked her head out. “We’re ready to speak with you now,” she said.

“After you,” Jackson said to Desai.

He let Desai enter the room first then followed her in. They took up a position opposite Veril, who stood behind the still-seated Kane.

“After reviewing your charges against my client and the alleged timeline of events that constitute the crime, and hearing my client’s alibi, I am prepared to make the following statement on his behalf.

“Between the hours of twelve ten and twelve thirty-four, when your timeline indicates a series of disturbances and security breaches occurred on Cargo Decks A and B of this facility, my client was with his associate Leskon of Delta Leonis, having lunch in Café Romano, in Stars Landing. Mister Kane and Mister Leskon were both in full public view during a period extending from fifteen minutes before the alleged crime began and ten minutes after it is reported to have ended.

“I can produce at least four witnesses who saw and heard my client and Mister Leskon in the café during that time period, including the establishment’s proprietor and chef, Matt Romano.

“Furthermore, I offer as exculpatory evidence the following vid recorded by your own security system during the times in question.” Veril opened her briefcase, removed the data card, and walked it over to a wall panel with a display screen.

She inserted the card into a slot and started the playback. An image flickered onto the screen. It clearly showed Kane and another man of an alien humanoid species Jackson didn’t recognize. The two sat at a table outside the entrance of the café, a popular dining spot in the mostly civilian residential sector, inside the terrestrial enclosure that occupied the upper half of the station’s hollow saucer.

“Note the time stamp,” Veril said. “This is fifteen minutes before the first reported disturbance. Both men are in plain sight.” She fast-forwarded the playback. “Note that during the entire time of the incident on the cargo decks, neither man leaves the table.” She released the fast-forward and the playback continued at normal speed. “The time stamp is now twelve minutes after the cargo decks were declared secure. Both men are still at the table.”

Veril ceased the playback, ejected the data card, and plucked it from the wall. She turned to face Desai and Jackson. “Unless you have witnesses or physical evidence linking my client to the crime, I insist you release him immediately. If you wish to charge him despite the absence of evidence against him, I am prepared to post bail and file an appeal to the Starfleet Judge Advocate General on Earth.”

Jackson was about to challenge the Orion woman to do her worst when Desai said simply, “Release him.”

The security chief turned and said, “What?”

Desai looked at the Orion. “Ms. Veril, you and your client are free to leave. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Veril nodded, and Kane flashed his irksome smile. Then he got up and followed his attorney out the door. As the door closed, Jackson pounded the side of his fist on the table. “I can’t believe we’re just letting him go!”

“We have no case,” Desai said. “No evidence, no witnesses, nothing. And you saw that recording. His alibi is airtight.”

“And what if he has the artifact?”

Desai crossed her arms. “I’ll order the customs group to tear apart his ship and search it bow to stern. But if it comes up clean, we’ll have to let him leave.”

Jackson was sick with rage as he picked up the data slate from the table. “Eight perfect crimes, eight perfect alibis.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And now we’re number nine.”

Desai sat at the briefing room table with Cooper, ch’Nayla, and Jackson, and avoided Admiral Nogura’s steely gaze as he leaned on his fists and harangued them.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” Nogura said in a voice that made Desai think of broken glass, “the Vault is supposed to be the most secure facility on the station, is it not?”

Sounding humbled, Jackson replied, “Yes, sir.”

“And yet an intruder walked in, defeated all our security protocols, stole the most dangerous alien artifact we’ve ever seen, and then vanished inside our own station?”

“I wouldn’t say he vanished, sir,” Jackson said. “He escaped pursuit.”

Nogura nodded. “How?”

Commander Cooper spoke up. “Sir? Lieutenant Jackson and I have been analyzing the heist, and we’ve developed a hypothesis for how the suspect Joshua Kane could’ve pulled it off. We think he might have used a body double or a holographic stand-in to create his alibi in the café. Then, he could have shipped himself from the café’s back room to the cargo deck inside a standard supply crate using the station’s automated matériel-transfer network. Once there—”

“Commander,” Nogura interrupted, “before you waste twenty minutes of our time on this, do you have any proof?”

Jackson and Cooper volleyed abashed glances. The XO replied, “No, sir.”

“Then put it in your report. I’ll read it the next time I can’t sleep.” The admiral turned to glare at the Starfleet Intelligence liaison. “Commander ch’Nayla. Any progress locating the artifact?”