In her heart, Antok knew she was clutching at straws. She had obligations, not just to history, but to the living. Lang was poised to become the chief academician. If she took this appointment, and these files came into the public domain, as they surely must eventually, it would harm the U of U. And what about the victims of this? Those children taken from Bajor, experimented on, and sent to live with Cardassians. Surely they deserved the chance to know the truth about their past? Perhaps there were mothers, back on Bajor, who wanted to know what had happened to their children.
Antok sighed. There were many difficult issues at stake here, and not all could be her responsibility. There was only one course of action. If a crime had been committed—and it was a crime to subject children to experimental treatment without consent—then it needed to be investigated. She had to go to the police. They could look at the files, decide whether there was anything that needed to be investigated, and proceed accordingly.
Decision made, Antok felt much better. She sent a message to Mikor to say that she was running late. She copied the files onto a data rod and switched off the lights. She locked her office door and headed down the corridor. There were a few students hanging around the common room (she waved back politely when they said “hi”), but otherwise the building was empty. She walked out onto the campus and went off to the skimmer park. She had just opened the door to her little skimmer and was about to get in when she felt someone put their hand on her arm.
“Don’t turn around,” a voice whispered in her ear. “No, don’t move! Listen. I know what you’ve found. Enigma. I know what’s in there. And you’d better keep quiet, Doctor Antok. Because I know where you live, and I know where those two little boys go to school. So leave it. Forget you ever saw it. Because I’m watching. And I’ll know.”
The hand moved away. Antok, too shocked to move at first, leaned against the top of the skimmer for a moment or two. By the time she had gathered her wits and turned around, there was nobody to be seen. The boys, she panicked, diving into the skimmer and locking the door. She called Mikor. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Kicking a ball around the courtyard. Evrek agitating for ikri buns—any chance you can get some?”
“Of course,” she said.
“You going to be much longer?”
She took a deep breath. “On my way.”
Antok decided that, after all, she would sleep on it.
* * *
Katherine Pulaski would be the first to admit that she had many flaws. She knew she was brash, abrasive, and that she rubbed people the wrong way. She knew that there were three ex-husbands roaming the quadrant who would tell anyone willing to listen what a goddamn pain in the ass their ex-wife was. She knew that ambassadors quailed, captains blanched, and admirals swore when her name came up. She didn’t deny any of this. But she knew other things about herself too. She knew she was a brilliant scientist, an inspired researcher, a staunch mentor, and—unlike many of her colleagues—a gifted lecturer. No mumbling with her head buried in her padd. When Katherine Pulaski walked up to the lectern, people paid attention. It wasn’t just that the content was good—although that was more than half the battle when talking to other scientists, who tended to be swayed by facts rather than performance. Pulaski had struggled through too many deadly lectures in her time. She believed in what she did, and she thought you should believe in it too, and she went out with all phasers blazing to convince you.
It helped that the Cardassians seemed to have taken her to their collective bosom. But leaving that aside, Pulaski knew within minutes that this was one of the best lectures she had given in her entire career. All of it came together: speaker, audience, and subject matter.
“I’m here as a doctor,” she said. “I’m here to talk about the nature of the task we perform as doctors. A human poet—and I know how people just love poetry—said, ‘Physician, heal thyself.’ So let’s talk about that. How do we practice medicine, and how do we conduct medical research, so that we do no harm? What are our responsibilities, not just to our patients, but to society as a whole? How do we keep ourselves whole, and healed?”
They loved it. They loved it all. They loved her style, frankness, and sense of humor. Pulaski wasn’t complaining. She was used to being admired, she was used to being obeyed. She wasn’t used to being loved.
When she finished, there was a long question and answer session, where she behaved herself and managed not to be drawn into anything related to war crimes or university appointments. “Give me a break,” she said to one questioner who tried to push her for answers. “Or, rather—give the Federation ambassador a break. She’s only been here a few weeks. I’ve caused enough diplomatic trouble today to keep her busy for the next few months. I’m here to talk about science. I’m here to talk about the risks in science.”
“But you’ve argued yourself science can’t be divorced from the political,” someone called out from the back of the auditorium.
“Of course it can’t,” said Pulaski. “But do no harm! Just try to do no damn harm! Let the politicians clear up the mess they make. That’s why they’re paid the big bucks.”
She realized, hearing the applause, that she’d been a hit. She found her fondness for the good people of Cardassia increasing significantly by the second. The reception that followed the speech, the kind of lavish and cheerful affair in which academics across the species specialize, only endeared the Cardassian people to her further. What’s not to like about having folks come up to you, sing your praises to your face, and tell you that was the best keynote they’d ever heard? People pressed drinks into her hand. Others asked for her racing tips. I am a mascot, she realized, somewhat drunkenly. I am a good luck charm.
She felt a tap on her arm and turned to find herself face-to-face with a Cardassian male, average height, rather intense eyes. “Hi,” she said. “How can I help?”
“I was looking for . . .” He had a slight stammer. “For Peter Alden.”
“Peter?” Typical Alden, stealing her thunder. “What do you want with Peter?”
“I guess, well, I guess that you could say I’m in the same field. I read his . . . his last paper. I was very interested.”
Pulaski looked around the room. She saw Alden tucked away in a corner with Efheny and pointed over to him. “There he is. He’ll be pleased you’ve read his stuff. So you should—it’s good stuff. Great stuff. He should have done it sooner, rather than muck about with that spy nonsense. Do you want me to introduce you?”
“No need,” said the Cardassian. He went off across the room but she lost track of him as another figure lumbered into view. It was Therok, smiling at her, and waving a glass about.
“Doctor Pulaski! A triumphant speech! Triumphant!” He grabbed another glass from a tray being carried past and pressed it on her. “And you managed to stay on message! Your ambassador must be very relieved.”
“I certainly hope so.” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “But go on, you can tell me.”
“I’ll tell you anything, dear lady.”
“Then tell me who you want as your successor.”
“Speaking confidentially,” he said, leaning in, and Pulaski thought, You’re drunker even than I am. “Speaking confidentially, I don’t care.” He burst out laughing. “Doctor, I’m heading off into retirement. I’ve given the best years of my life to the U of U. I saw it through its worst days under the old regime. I saw it through what we thought was its demise. I rebuilt it. Whoever takes over—they can do what they like. I’m done.”
Dimly, Pulaski became aware of Alden hovering at her elbow. Most unlike him: he usually had no qualms about inveigling himself into a conversation. “Peter! Come and join us. You remember Peter Alden, don’t you, Therok? My colleague from the Athene Donald.”
Therok gave Alden a bland smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said. Pulaski watched his eyes drift elsewhere. Ouch, she t
hought.
Alden smiled and offered his palm to Therok. “We met the other night, but it’s nice to meet you properly.”
“So it is, so it is,” said Therok, but he had long since decided he didn’t need to waste time on this individual. “Excuse me,” he said. “Old colleague I must catch . . .” He wandered off across the room, glass still in hand.
“Huh,” said Pulaski.
“Well,” said Alden, “he is a busy man.”
“Pleased with himself too.”
“He has reason to be,” Alden said, and took a sip from his glass.
“Hmm. Well.”
“You have something against him, Kitty?”
“Just defending your honor, Peter.”
“Bless you, Kitty, but I think my honor can take care of itself. What’s your problem?”
“I just think,” said Pulaski, “that if you can’t be bothered with the little people, you’re probably not so great yourself. That’s all.”
“I’m flattered to learn that I’m little people,” Alden said dryly. “But Therok doesn’t need to justify himself. He’s done enough for a lifetime. Rebuilding the university after the war. Keeping its reputation intact.”
Pulaski gave him a sharp look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, you said it yourself. It’s easy for research to get corrupted. Imagine what it must be like under a dictatorship,” Alden said. “There must be a lot of pressure for it to become all about weapons of war.”
“I guess we’re guilty of that in the Federation too,” Pulaski said.
“Maybe. But my point is if there are any scandals attached to U of U, Therok has avoided them.”
Pulaski watched the big man charm his way across the room. “Or he knows how to bury bodies.”
“Yes, the bodies,” murmured Alden. “This is Cardassia, after all.”
“Did you meet the guy I sent over to you?” Pulaski asked.
Alden gave her a puzzled look. “Which guy?”
“Someone who’d read your paper. Wanted to talk to you.”
Alden shrugged. “He didn’t find me. Must have decided I wasn’t worth it.” He smiled fondly at Pulaski. “Little people, remember, Kitty? We can’t all be big shots.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s a shame not to meet your only fan.”
* * *
Antok went to bed, but did not sleep. She read for a while, and turned off the light, and then shifted restlessly on her side of the bed. She lay with her eyes open, listening to Mikor’s breathing become slower and steadier as he fell into sleep. She twisted and turned. At length she got up. She checked on the boys, both deeply sleeping, and then went into the small living room, curling up on the sofa and trying to think what was the best thing to do. She heard movement out in the corridor and for a moment was shot through with terror. But it was only Mikor, crumpled and sleepy and tousled.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
She thought about saying it was nothing, but she had never lied to him. She had trusted him early on with her family secret, and he had not minded, and had become her mate.
“I learned something today, something horrible. I don’t know what to do.”
He came and sat beside her and picked up her hand, holding it between his and stroking the scales very gently. “Is it something to do with the war crimes report?” he said.
She shook her head. “No. Tangentially. Perhaps.”
He nodded. He could put two and two together. He was a smart man. Mikor knew she was working in the archives. He knew that the material she read sometimes concerned people who were still alive. “Mikor,” she said, “somebody threatened me today. Somebody threatened the boys.” She felt his hand tighten around hers, and then she felt him force himself to relax and begin stroking her hand again. “Someone came up to me in the skimmer park. I didn’t see his face. He told me to leave the files alone. He said he knew where we lived, and he knew about the boys.”
“All right,” Mikor said after a short pause. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a nightcap, and then we’re going back to bed. In the morning, I’ll take the boys out for the day, up into the country. And you will go and see the police.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I am. Threats about your work? Threats against our children? This isn’t the world we’ve struggled so hard to build! You know it isn’t! And I won’t have anyone getting away with this. We’ll tell the police, and we’ll get them to sort it out.”
They had their nightcap, as he’d said they would, and then they curled up together, and at last she slept, with his arms around her and their breathing in unison. When she woke, he and the boys were already gone, but he’d left a note.
Let me know what they say. I love you. Be brave. This is not the world we want.
And he was right, as ever, so she dressed and went to constabulary headquarters. She gave her name, and her place of work, and said she wanted to report a threat against her. The officer went off into a back room for a moment and then came out again.
“Could you come this way, please, Doctor Antok?”
She followed him through into a meeting room, where he asked to her wait. After a little while, he came back with a pot of red-leaf tea.
“Will I be waiting long?” she said.
He smiled brightly. “Hope not.”
She sat and waited. The room was comfortable enough, but rather sparse when it came to distractions. A small, oval screen on the wall gently burbled out news, but after a while she turned the volume down. She drank some tea. She waited. A message arrived on her personal comm from Mikor, with a picture of the boys in a roadside eatery, stuffing their faces with something sweet and sticky. She wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to take a picture of herself in this room, but she risked one anyway, pulling a face to make the situation comical. Then she waited, and she drank some more tea, and waited some more.
After about an hour, the shadow of a figure passed outside the door and halted. Antok heard voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then the door slid open, and a tall woman came in. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, but she did wear a small badge on her lapel with the insignia of the constabulary. Antok started to stand up, and the woman gestured that there was no need.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said. “I was across town. Has anyone gotten you something to drink?”
Antok tapped the pot of tea in front of her. It was still warm.
“Great.” The woman sat opposite, putting a cup down on the table in front of her.
“Do you want some more?” said Antok politely, gesturing at the teapot. The woman was about her age, Antok thought, perhaps a little older, although she had an air of authority about her that Antok could never pull off. She wondered who exactly this was. An investigator of some sort?
“No need. Coffee.” She gave a wry smile. “Mild addiction. Thanks, Starfleet.”
Antok smiled. Yes, they were about the same age. They had spent their formative years working alongside Starfleet and Federation personnel, and picked up a taste for their food and drink. Antok still liked the occasional curry. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t give it—sorry. I’m Arati Mhevet. I’m the chief of the city constabulary.”
Antok stared at the woman in alarm. The chief of the city constabulary was the most senior member of the police in the whole capital. Why was she here? “What is going on?”
Mhevet raised her hands to placate her. “It’s okay. You’re not in any trouble—”
“I sincerely hope not!”
“What I mean is—we don’t usually bring in the big guns for every visitor. The truth is, I’m keeping an eye on anything related to U of U. There’s a big decision ahead, and I think we all want to make sure that there are
no surprises coming.”
Antok took a breath, but she was still pretty alarmed. She’d come in to speak to someone about Enigma, yes. She hadn’t told anyone yet, and they’d brought out the police chief? “If you don’t want any surprises, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Okay,” said Mhevet, “let’s take this from the beginning. I understand you’ve been threatened, yes? Where’s your family right now?”
Antok explained what her husband had done. Mhevet listened. “All right, I understand why you did that, although it’s put them somewhat at a distance. I’m going to send someone out to look after them. Can you tell me why you’ve attracted this attention, Doctor Antok? Do you think it’s connected to your work for the war crimes report?”
Of course, that would be why Mhevet was here. “I’m afraid not,” Antok said. “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that . . .” Slowly, reluctantly, she took Mhevet through what she had discovered.
When she’d finished Mhevet sat back in her chair. “Okay,” she said. “Right.”
“I told you it was complicated.”
“And a pretty unpleasant surprise.”
Antok covered her face with her hands. To discover that Natima Lang, of all people, was implicated in the most unsavory kind of crime arising from the Occupation? Unpleasant hardly covered it.
“I read your book,” Mhevet said unexpectedly. “Incredible work. I wish I could persuade more historians to come over to the constabulary.” She looked wistful. “The U of U is turning out some pretty impressive researchers. You’d make great investigators.”
“What I need to know,” said Antok faintly, “is that I’ve made the right decision bringing these files to you.”
“You’ve made absolutely the right decision,” said Mhevet.
“And I want to understand what happens next.”
“Well that,” said Mhevet, “is a very good question, and one that I can’t entirely answer. Not least because the law on this will soon be in flux, not to mention the jurisdiction under which any crime might be prosecuted. Will it be Cardassian law? Bajoran? Federation? Was the crime transplanting these children from Bajor, or scrubbing their genes, or giving them false identities? I don’t think we know yet.”
Enigma Tales Page 9
