“You’re saying I’ll be on my own.” The captain lifted one hand as if to pat his arm, but she stopped herself. “I know, Tuvok.
But we’ve been given this opportunity, and it’s essential that I go to negotiate.”
“I do not trust Agent Andross. He has cooperated only under direct coercion.”
“True.” Janeway slung her personal case over her shoulder.
“It’s fortunate we figured out how to apply leverage on the agent.”
Tuvok considered her carefully, noting the signs that told him she had made up her mind. “The Theolsians have a saying,” he told her.
“Consider the vulnerability of your back before you corner a desperate man.”
“I’ll try to be careful,” the captain sighed. “But, Tuvok, what other choice do we have? We must get the processor back, and as soon as possible.”
Tuvok bent his head in acquiescence. He had known the captain was not likely to relinquish this mission, and he had prepared special security measures for that contingency. His hand closed around the hypospray in his pocket. “The primary offensive weapon of the Tutopans would appear to be chemical nerve inhibitors. I have taken the liberty of consulting with Kes and creating an inoculation which should neutralize any gas used against you or Lieutenant Torres.”
Janeway raised her brows. “That’s more like it, Security Chief.
Something concrete, something I can rely on.”
Tuvok stepped closer to inject her. “This is perhaps the only factor you can rely on when dealing with the Tutopans.”
She touched her neck, apparently feeling a slight sting as the medication was absorbed into her bloodstream. “I’ll remember that.”
Janeway stopped in front of the turbolift, adjusting the strap of her case. She was glad Tuvok was carrying the heavier one. “Are you sure the turbolift system is reliable?” she asked. “I don’t want to start playing chicken with other lifts.”
“Chicken?” Tuvok enunciated clearly, as if he might have misunderstood.
“An old expression for an even older game of bravado.” Janeway passed it off. “I just want to make sure we won’t crash headlong into another lift.”
Tuvok briefly shook his head. “The turbolift system is operated by the network control computer. There is currently no link to the ODN, except through the direct audio nodes.”
“Fine, then,” Janeway agreed, stepping into the small space. “We won’t try to talk to anyone.”
She ignoring the memory of the recent malfunctions, forcing herself to relax and enjoy being whisked to the shuttlebay. She almost felt like the captain of a starship again, instead of some rodent burrowing through tunnels in the ground.
Yet her first sight of Andross’s transport gave her an unpleasant jolt.
It was parked in the shuttlebay in exactly the same position as the Kapon yacht had been—was it only this morning?
She tried to tell herself that the similarities between the designs were Tutopan in nature, not necessarily anything more sinister, but Tuvok’s warnings rang in her mind.
Tuvok met her glance, noting the same thing. He looked about as displeased as a Vulcan could, but Janeway wondered if anyone else would have known.
Torres was waiting next to the loading ramp, holding a bulky tool bag in one hand and a cylindrical personal case in the other.
Tuvok took the tool bag from the engineer despite her protests, and preceded them on board.
The transport was small, yet luxurious by anyone’s standards.
The padded floor absorbed the sound, while remaining firm beneath Janeway’s feet. The arched walls were cool blue, fading to white overhead where it was lit by a diffuse source. A casual grouping of recliners and cushioned benches didn’t come close to filling the space.
In the front, the crew were readying the ship for departure, while a young, smiling attendant gestured toward the rear. “Welcome aboard!
My name is Milla, assistant to Agent Andross.”
Janeway quickly introduced herself and the others, noting the woman’s carefully tended appearance and the way the cut of her jumper clung to her spare body.
Milla led them to the rear. “This chamber has been reserved for your use.”
Tuvok went in first. Inside the narrow compartment, there were two low couches. Janeway wasn’t sure if it was her own interpretation, but she counted on using one of those as a bed.
She ran her hand along the plush teal fabric, as Tuvok set down their bags.
Torres stumbled in after them, gaping open-mouthed at the silver scrollwork along the moldings. “Looks like a fancy jewelbox I saw once. I hope it can fly.”
“That will be enough, Lieutenant.” Janeway reminded herself to instruct the Klingon later on matters of discretion. Tuvok narrowed his eyes at several key spots, while Janeway memorized his careful indicators—that’s where scanners and optical recording devices were likely to be concealed.
Andross appeared in the opposite doorway, which obviously led to his private compartment. “My crew has signaled we’re ready to depart. If you’ll follow the assistant, Mr. Tuvok, we’ll be able to close the airlock.”
The captain accompanied Tuvok back through the main compartment.
Watching his eyes, she noted various other locations the security chief considered to be suspicious. She stood near the hatch as it shut, and her last sight of Tuvok standing with his hands clasped behind his back, made her wish she could have accepted his advice and brought him along. The final muffled clang of the airlock severed her from her ship.
Tuvok returned to the bridge to find that the commander had called together the senior officers.
Chakotay nodded as he entered the conference room. “Have a seat, Tuvok. I was just informing everyone of our latest problem.”
Tuvok accepted the news impassively, seating himself next to Tom Paris.
His other choice was to sit next to Neelix, and he usually avoided the little alien’s proximity whenever possible.
Kes and Ensign Kim were closest to Chakotay.
“I’ve spoken to Cartel supply,” Chakotay told them. “They are capable of providing us with chemical compounds once we determine the exact formula we need. However, in return, they want information regarding the situation on Min-Tutopa.”
“What situation?” Kim asked.
Tuvok told them, “Agent Andross mentioned that his government was undergoing a crisis pending the selection of a `Supreme Arbitrator’.”
Chakotay nodded. “I read your report. The Cartel probably knows more than we do, but they seem to feel we’re neck-deep in whatever political intrigue is going on in House Min-Tutopa.”
“We may be,” Paris muttered. “Whether we want to or not.”
“We’ve adjusted the bioshunts, but that’s not relieving the pressure in the gel packs,” Kim told them. “The doctor believes it’ll be necessary to treat the tissue chemically, beginning with a huge dose of corticosteroids.”
“I don’t trust the medical replicators,” Kes added. “They were barely able to supply enough antidote serum for the crew, and there were an unusually high number of single-bit molecular errors. Since we’re dealing with neural tissue, any deviation from a precise chemical formula could cause irreparable damage.”
“Understood,” Chakotay assured them. “I’ve been trying to negotiate with the various Houses, but they all told me to go to the Cartel.”
Tuvok believed he knew the reason. “The Cartel may be applying pressure on the Houses in order to compel us to come to terms with them.”
“I agree, and I don’t like it,” Chakotay said deliberately. “I want to find some other way to get what we need.”
“I already told you.” Neelix rocked back in his chair. “Other than the Houses or the Cartel, that leaves the darksiders.”
“Again?” Paris groaned. “That worked real well last time.”
“We don’t have to go back to the asteroid belt,” Neelix said.
“There’s bound to be darksiders in the Hub. We just have to find them.”
Paris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Then you better let me go.
I should be able to wrangle a chemical-supply contact out of someone.”
“That will not be necessary.” Tuvok wasn’t fooled for an instant.
Paris wanted to enter the Hub. “I will endeavor to locate the chemicals that are needed.”
“You?” Paris laughed out loud, almost insulting if a Vulcan could be insulted. “This isn’t exactly your type of territory.”
“On the contrary, it is my job as security chief to undertake a mission of this nature.” Tuvok wasn’t willing to explain his credentials to Paris. “If you provide me with the chemical formula, I will locate a supply.”
Paris appealed directly to Chakotay. “You can’t send a Vulcan to dicker on the black market! It would be like throwing Kes into a roomful of Cardassians—” “Hey, wait a second,” Neelix interrupted, glowering at Paris.
“Nobody’s throwing Kes anywhere.”
“I was just making a comparison,” Paris tried to explain.
“Well, don’t.” Neelix stroked Kes’s arm. “I don’t like to hear things like that. Even if I don’t know what a Cardas… dassen, a whatever it is.”
Chakotay held up his hands. “Please—let’s get this settled so we can get on with the repairs.”
Kim spoke up, “Kes and I were getting ready to test the bioneural tissue, but I can help get the chemicals—” “No, you get back to work on the computer.” Chakotay turned to the other side of the table.
“Tuvok, I want you and Paris to find these darksiders and locate a chemical supply. Between the two of you, you should be able to come up with something.”
“If you say so,” Paris grudgingly said.
Only a lifetime of control enabled Tuvok to nod agreement without discernible irritation. Even Paris’s wry expression seemed specifically designed to provoke him.
“We will return shortly with the contact,” Tuvok told Chakotay, attempting to set a good example. “If I may suggest, since our communications system is off-line, I would like to provide all personnel who leave the ship with closed-beam beacons in case there is need for emergency transport.”
“Good idea,” Chakotay agreed. “But use it only if you have to.
We don’t want the Cartel asking questions about our transporters next.”
The commander pushed away from the table. “Very well—let’s get to work.”
Paris couldn’t believe it—he was inside the hub at last, and who did he have as a companion? An uptight Vulcan whose main goal seemed to be to avoid all of the really interesting places. Even now, Paris could have been in the midst of the market throng below; instead he was stuck on an upper terrace, ordered to wait there until Tuvok returned for him.
Paris leaned his arms against the dingy railing, vicariously enjoying the hum and bustle that echoed into the high pointed ceiling. There were voices pitching their products, snatches of music and song, plenty of shouts and laughter. It was much better than that starched lobby at the base of their docking spire, but even though this market held the best possibilities so far, it still didn’t seem out-of-the-way enough for truly serious illicit dealings.
“I believe I have established contact with an individual who can help us,” Tuvok announced, joining Paris.
Only Tuvok could make a drug deal sound boring.
Congratulations,” Paris said dryly. “Where is he?”
If a Vulcan could be pleased with himself, Tuvok fit the bill.
“He will be along shortly.”
“Psst,” someone hissed behind them.
Paris casually shifted, bringing his tricorder into view. None of the Tutopans would know it wasn’t a weapon, and anything complex would be viewed with respect until proved otherwise.
A vague form drifted back into the shadowed hallway, one of the many openings to the endless warrens within the slanted walls of the Hub.
That’s where Paris would start his search if he was in charge.
“Is that the guy?” Paris asked from the side of his mouth.
Tuvok boldly stepped forward. “Mr. Ippi?”
“Ippi?” Paris repeated dubiously.
The figure beckoned, retreating farther. Clearly, Ippi wasn’t Tutopan, but in the darkness, Paris couldn’t tell what manner of humanoid he resembled.
“That is the contact,” Tuvok calmly announced. “Proceed with caution.”
“You bet.” Paris followed Tuvok into the hallway, pausing to one side until his eyes adjusted. He could smell the nervous sweat on Ippi even from this distance, and his pointed face was gray with station grime.
Obviously he wasn’t one of the lucky ones who could afford regular water rations to wash.
“Do you have the corticosteroids I requested?”
Tuvok asked politely. Ippi held out his hands. “What—you think I carry ninety quants of a drug on me?”
“Then where is it?”
“I go get it.” Ippi snuffled, wiping a hand across the tip of his beaked face. “You sure you want ninety quants? That a lot of drugs, spacer.”
“At least ninety quants,” Paris said firmly. “For a start.”
“Ninety quants should be sufficient,” Tuvok contradicted.
Paris tightened his lips. Tuvok had no idea how to barter with the underworld. You were always supposed to let them think you’d need them again, and again, and again…. “Let us know where to get hold of you later,” he added, ignoring Tuvok’s look. “Just in case.”
Ippi grinned, and Paris wished he hadn’t. His mouth was toothless and black inside. “What—you plan on dosing your ship water supply? Maybe someday when you out there, bored on a run?
Maybe you get things lively?”
“Actually,” Tuvok said before Paris could reply, “the chemicals are needed for the treatment of our computer core. Our processor was stolen.”
“Computer…” Ippi drawled. “Huh! I got some thing to tell about computer. There been odd thing lately with computer, if you can follow.”
“No,” Paris said sharply. “What do you mean?”
“What you give me for it?” Ippi immediately countered.
Again, Tuvok stepped in. “We will provide you with sufficient reward for any information you can give us. However, we would first like the ninety quants of corticosteroids.”
Ippi snuffled again, sneaking a look at Paris, having apparently identified him as the heavy. “I got to get it from Hummer, but first he need the credit.”
“No deal,” Paris instantly replied.