Star Trek: Brinkmanship (25 page)

“I don’t want to know your name!”

“Easier to kill someone then, isn’t it? I know all the tricks of the trade, remember? You’re not getting away with my murder that easily, Mayazan. I’m Alex Gardner, I’m twenty-seven years old, and my old mother thinks I’m on a humanitarian mission to one of your worlds. You know, on account of us being allies? Remember that? Allies? I’m Alex Gardner, your ally,
and you’re going to know the name of the man you’re killing.”

She cursed him. Then: “What do you want?”

“You know what I want. Take me with you!”

“I’m not authorized to do that—”

“
Authorized?
Mayazan, this is life or death. We’re supposed to be
allies.
”

“You’re the one who chose to break cover. You kept following me. If you’d just kept your head down, you’d be safe in the city right now!”

“I wouldn’t! I told you, our network’s being rolled up. They’ll have my colleagues by now, and they’ll be coming for me soon.” His voice became desperate. “I can’t let that happen, Mayazan. I can’t let them take me. Surely you understand that?”

But Efheny didn’t understand. Again, she found herself bewildered at the decision his superiors had made to send him here. Did he not understand that there were certain risks you took upon yourself when you chose this line of work? You accepted them and you got on with the job. Tormenting yourself with the prospect of capture and interrogation only destabilized you. You put it out of your mind, or else, if it became inevitable, you did not struggle. Struggling only meant it would hurt more.
Don’t think of capture unless it happens,
her instructors had said.
Then accept your fate.
If Alex Gardner—
no,
she told herself firmly,
Hertome Ter Ata-C
—could not bear the thought of being in Tzenkethi hands, then he should not be on Ab-Tzenketh, and the people who had sent him here
were the ones murdering him, not her.
Humans,
she thought again, bitterly.
They are a menace!
But she was stuck with one, and he wasn’t going away, and he was bringing enforcers closer all the time. She needed to get moving again, and quickly.

Deliberately, Efheny put down the branch. With her back still against the tree trunk, she stood up. She raised her hands to show she was now unarmed.

“Come out,” she said. “We’ll talk.”

There was a pause, and then he emerged from behind a nearby tree. He still looked like Hertome, which would help. He walked toward her, slowly and uncertainly. When he was close, but not within range, he stopped.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. Then she shot forward, ramming the side of her hand into his neck, launching herself onto him, and struggling to get both her hands around his neck. She very nearly had him, but he was a professional too and, in a split second, her advantage was lost.

They fought fiercely, bitterly, both knowing that her advantage was that he didn’t dare kill her; both knowing that her disadvantage was that much more delay would cost them both the opportunity to leave. She had speed, but he had strength, with which he grappled himself around on top of her. Just as she thought she was going to lose, she heard someone cry her name. He was pulled away from her.

Taking her chance, Efheny scrambled backward
and up onto her haunches. She started in dismay at the sight of her deliverer, who was now ineffectually beating Hertome on the back with both fists.

It was Corazame.

•   •   •

Dax received the
Aventine
’s new instructions directly from Admiral Akaar. She set a new course for Cardassian space, where she was to rendezvous with a Cardassian ship, the
Aklaren.
With Akaar still on the line, Dax raised her concerns about this vague new mission.

“May I ask why the
Aventine
is being sent?”

“It will become clear when you rendezvous with the
Aklaren.
In the meantime, best possible speed
.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we assisted the
Enterprise
? We’re the closest ship, we’re the fastest ship. And it’s not going to be much of a blockade while there’s only the
Enterprise
there—”

“They’ve got plenty of support coming, Starfleet and Cardassian. But the
Aventine?
We’re going to need your speed elsewhere
.” Akaar frowned.
“It’ll make sense in time, Captain.”

“I have one more question, sir.”

Akaar glared at her.
“Proceed, Captain.”

“Peter Alden.”

“Yes, I thought you’d want to ask about him.”

“Is it wise to put him back on active duty?”

“I assume you’re not seriously going to accuse an officer of Alden’s caliber of such a hasty and ill-judged act?”

Still deeply uncertain about the truth of what had
happened on Outpost V-4 and the extent to which Starfleet Intelligence might be implicated, Dax forbore pressing further. To do so might imply that the admiral was also party to . . . what had he called it? A “hasty and ill-judged act.”

“There’s also the question mark hanging over his state of mind. Are we sure it’s in Alden’s best interests to expose him to further stress?”

“We’re all stressed. We’re in the middle of a crisis. We need every hand on deck—”

“Have you read the report of my ship’s counselor?”

“I have. But seriously, Dax—has she spoken to Alden at any length?”

“Not at length, no, sir.”

While Alden had been in the brig, Hyatt had taken the opportunity to speak to him, but even a counselor as experienced as Susan Hyatt would need a considerable length of time to work with a man like Alden. Trained interrogators were among the most difficult patients, as Ezri Dax had cause to know, and all Alden had to do was sit there and say nothing. Susan Hyatt was probably canny enough to get through eventually, but certainly not without time—and they were running out of time.

The fact that he wasn’t talking troubled Dax.
Was Peter under orders?
That thought troubled Dax even more. Heldon’s rebuke that Alden’s active status spoke badly of Starfleet’s concern for its people weighed heavily in her mind. Was it simply that he was indispensable for this new mission? What would Peter Alden say if somebody ordered him to talk?

“Well,”
Akaar said,
“when your counselor
has
spoken to him at length, I’ll read that report with interest. In the meantime, you have an experienced officer at your disposal. You’ll be needing him over the next few days. Akaar out.”

Let’s hope he’s fit for duty, then,
Dax thought.
Or as fit as the rest of us.
But “needing him”? Dax didn’t like the sound of that. Not given what she suspected of Peter Alden’s particular areas of expertise.

•   •   •

“Cory!” Efheny said in horror. “What are you
doing
here?”

Hertome swung around and grasped Corazame by her wrists. She struggled against him for a while, until he ordered sharply, “Ret Corazame! Stop this at once!”

Her conditioning ran deep. She stopped, and hung her head, and gestured an apology as best she could with her trapped hands. Efheny, moving carefully around Hertome, came closer.

“Cory, why are you here? You shouldn’t be here.”

Corazame looked up at her with big, fearful eyes. “I’m here to look after you, of course.”

From within the cover of the audio disruptors, Efheny heard Hertome laugh. She hated him more than ever.

“I woke in the night,” Corazame said. “You’d gone. I was worried that he . . . the Ap-Rej . . . I was worried he’d done something to hurt you, so I slipped out and saw you leaving the boat. Then I understood.” She
looked at Efheny with reproachful eyes. “Oh, Maymi! You shouldn’t have lied to me. You know I would have understood. I knew you’d be meeting him, so I followed you. Maymi, listen to me, please! I don’t know what he’s said to you, but it isn’t true. You can’t get away. There’s nowhere to go. Where would you go? You can’t live beyond the cities. Nobody can live out . . . out here, in the wild.”

“Cory, it’s not like that—”

“I know he’s said he loves you, but he’s lying! Maymi, you have to stop this before it goes too far and you’re lost for good. They’ll decommission you. You’ll be null! It’s not worth that. And you don’t have to do what he tells you—”

“Cory, we’re not lovers. We were never lovers.”

Corazame looked at her in confusion. “Then why did you say you were?” She glanced uncertainly back at Hertome. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”

From within the audio-disruption field, Hertome said, “Are you going to tell her? Or shall I?”

Efheny didn’t answer. She walked over to where she’d left her branch on the ground. Picking it up, she went to the
keteki
tree under which she’d waited for Hertome. Then, in a sudden frenzy of rage and frustration, she beat at it, hard, with the branch, screaming and cursing. When she was done, she turned back around.

Hertome was watching her in fascination. Corazame, however, was sitting on the ground, weeping, with both arms wrapped around her head, as if
that meant that somehow she couldn’t be seen. Stupid, stupid little Cory.

“Finished?” Hertome said.

Efheny blinked.
Yes.

“We’ll travel together from here on, Mayazan. Otherwise, you know what I’ll do. I’ll go back to the boat, and this one”—he gestured down to Corazame—“this one will be coming with me. When the enforcers take me, they’ll take her too.”

“You’re not going to put one finger on her,” Efheny said, stepping toward him.

She stopped. High above them, but coming closer, was the clear
chik-chik-chik
of an air car.

“Enforcers!” Hertome hissed. He dived for cover, pulling Corazame with him, and Efheny flattened herself against the tree. The air car came close enough overhead to set the leaves of the
keteki
tree shaking but swept past and away across the island. When they were sure it had gone, Hertome came back out, dragging Corazame along with him. Slowly, Efheny went toward him. She did not meet Corazame’s frightened and questioning eyes.

“I imagine,” Hertome said, “that you’re following a visual display toward the pickup point. So we’ll follow you. What happens when you get there?”

“There’s a portable transporter hidden up there,” Efheny said. “I have to activate it by a certain time to ensure the pickup takes place.”

“Where’s it hidden?”

“Farther up the hill.” She nodded at Corazame.
“Look, Hertome. Alex. You’ve got what you want. You can let her go. Send her back to the boat. She’ll probably get in trouble for going off alone, but she won’t face more than a few extra work shifts and Karenzen will make it bad enough for her. She’s suffered enough. Let her go.”

“She’ll tell the enforcers where we are. She won’t be able to help herself.”

“Not if I ask her not to. Come on, Alex. This is between us. Besides, you know what she’s like. She’s a little fool. One night outside and I bet she starts screaming loud enough to bring half the Tzenkethi secret service down on us.”

She thought for a moment she had him, but he shook his head and pushed Corazame forward. “No. This one is my insurance policy. You try anything, I’ll hurt her. You try to hand me over to the enforcers again, and she comes with me. She can go home when I’m on my way home.” He gave a grim smile. “Lead on, Mayazan.”

14

3 DAYS TO WAR . . .

GLINN RAVEL DYGAN, PERSONAL LOG
I’ve never been ashamed to be Cardassian—until today. Sure, it’s not as if we’re the most peaceful people in the Alpha Quadrant, but those of my generation weren’t responsible for that aggression and we’ve been doing our best to stop that from ever happening again. But what do you do when your elders seem to be heading down that same path? How do you stop them? Detrek said to trust her. I’m not sure I trust myself anymore.

N
early six hours from the border between Cardassian and Tzenkethi space, the
Aventine
rendezvoused with a slick, small Cardassian cruiser heading their way. Once communications were established, an operative from the Cardassian Intelligence Bureau who offered the name Hogue Nekelen asked permission
to come aboard. Dax was watching as her transporter chief, Spon, activated the controls.

Nekelen, when he materialized, turned out to be small and slick, not in uniform but impeccably dressed in the rich dark colors that Cardassians favored. His black hair was trimmed short, in the new fashion that had taken hold since the Dominion War (the regulation longer, military style had for some reason fallen out of favor). He did not delay in briefing Dax on their mission.

“We have an undercover agent in urgent need of extraction,” Nekelen explained, as Dax led him to the nearest conference room. “But time is of the essence in this mission, and at the request of our ambassador to your world, your president has kindly offered the fastest ship at her disposal in order to assist us in completing the extraction in time.”

“An undercover
spy
?” Dax couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. A blockade of the Venetan system was under way with ships from three fleets massing on the border and preparing for open war, and
Aventine
was being sent on a fetch-and-carry run? Or had Ambassador Garak not quite forgiven Ensign Dax for her clumsy attempt to cure his claustrophobia all those years ago? “Well, Nekelen, does the ambassador know that Starfleet is on a war footing?”

Nekelen’s icy smile didn’t reach his eyes. “With the greatest respect, Captain Dax, we are not yet at war. There are three days, are there not, before the Tzenkethi ships reach the Venetan border?”

“Yes—”

“—which gives us
ample
time to our destination and back so that you might participate in the latest brouhaha besetting our already bedeviled alliances.”

Brouhaha?
Bedeviled?
Were all Cardassian spies sent on a special course so they could sound like Garak? Wasn’t the Obsidian Order supposed to be defunct? Or did they model themselves after Garak as a matter of course? Fair enough if they did, Dax acknowledged. If anyone could be called the winner of the deadly game played by the Obsidian Order, it was surely her ever-smiling, never-shabby former client and current ambassador to the Federation, Elim Garak. No doubt his legend and mystique would endure. And no doubt he was delighted that this was the case.