Star Trek: Vanguard: What Judgments Come

by Dayton Ward

  “Lieutenant T’Prynn,” he said as he approached her. “What a pleasant surprise, meeting you here.”

  T’Prynn’s initial response was to raise her right eyebrow, though she offered no rebuttal to his comment. Instead, she asked, “Were you successful?”

  “I think so,” Pennington replied, sticking his hands into his pants pockets. “I managed to slip the code phrase you gave me into our conversation. I don’t think the bartender or anyone else who might’ve been eavesdropping took anything from it.” He had no idea why T’Prynn would instruct him to ask Reyes if the man wanted to send a message to his mother, who so far as Pennington knew had died nearly three years earlier. Despite his uncertainty, he had done as the Vulcan intelligence officer asked, the whole reason for his venturing aboard the Omari-Ekon being to meet with Reyes and make that request on her behalf. It was obviously a signal of some kind, as had to be the case with Reyes’s response. “The commodore said that he’d be in touch with her soon.”

  Nodding in approval, T’Prynn said, “And you’re certain your actions were not understood to be anything more than a casual conversation with Mister Reyes?”

  “I don’t know about that,” the journalist replied. “I mean, I know we were overheard, and there’s no way the bartender wasn’t a spy for Ganz or one of his lieutenants. However, I was careful with what I said, and the commodore was very guarded.”

  “Was he under guard, or accompanied by any other escort?” T’Prynn asked.

  Pennington shook his head. “No, but I’m sure they’re watching every move he makes.” Wondering where all of this might be heading, he frowned. “You’re not thinking of trying to snatch him off that ship, are you?” Was Reyes’s response to the code phrase a call for help? Did he perhaps possess some information T’Prynn sought?

  All this cloak and dagger bollocks makes my gut ache.

  Rather than answer his question, T’Prynn instead said, “Thank you for your assistance, Mister Pennington. Your efforts are most appreciated.”

  “Whoa,” Pennington said, holding out a hand as the Vulcan turned to leave. “That’s it? What the hell did I just do?”

  “You provided information that may well prove quite useful,” T’Prynn replied. “However, I’m sure you understand that discussing this matter any further risks violating the station’s operational security. Now, I must return to my duties, but when you check your station credit account, you’ll note that your apartment’s rental fee has been paid for the next six months. Consider it a small token of our appreciation for your efforts.”

  Caught off guard by the intelligence officer’s abrupt dismissal, Pennington said, “So, you just used me as a go-between, and now you’re paying me off? After all we’ve been through, that’s how you treat me? What if Ganz or his men had decided to drag me into some back room or toss me out an airlock?” Or worse, he mused, recalling what his unlikely friend, Cervantes Quinn, had told him about Ganz’s treatment of the Sakud Armnoj, one of several accountants employed by the merchant prince. After the crazy—and quite nearly fatal—adventure Quinn and Pennington had undergone to retrieve the insufferable Zakdorn and bring him to Ganz, the Orion had, according to Quinn, “disappeared him with extreme prejudice.” Quinn had not elaborated, and Pennington had never quite summoned the will to want to know the details.

  “The risk to you was actually quite minimal,” T’Prynn answered. “Neera would not allow Ganz to take any action which might endanger the relative protection their ship receives merely by being docked at the station.”

  Pennington scowled. “Right, Neera.” He recalled what T’Prynn had told him about the truth behind Ganz’s organization, and Orion women in general. According to the Vulcan’s intelligence-gathering efforts, Neera was the true head behind Ganz’s criminal enterprise, allowing her lover to act as its public face while she pulled his strings from a position of relative anonymity. It was a startling revelation, given the common perception of Orion females and their role in the supposedly maledominated culture. “Something tells me that if she wields that kind of power, she can order the removal of a bothersome journalist without too much trouble.”

  T’Prynn’s eyebrow cocked again. “In that unlikely event, we would have ensured that any funeral expenses were addressed.”

  Releasing a chuckle, Pennington replied, “Good to know. With friends like you, and all that.”

  “I really must return to my duties, Mister Pennington,” T’Prynn said, once more turning to leave. “Thank you again.” She said nothing else as she entered one of the nearby turbolifts, but her eyes met his, and he could swear he caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth just as the lift doors closed. Once she was gone, Pennington stood alone in the corridor, shaking his head in disbelief.

  No matter how long he lived, he was certain he never would understand that woman.

  2

  I must be out of my mind.

  Sitting at a quiet table in one corner of the central bar on the Omari-Ekon’s gaming floor, Diego Reyes feigned indifference as he sipped his drink and watched the comings and goings of various patrons. Though most of the customers, humans as well as representatives of more species than he had fingers to count, appeared to be civilians—residents of Vanguard or crew members from the different freighters and other transport craft currently docked at the station—Reyes also noted a dozen or so Starfleet uniforms sprinkled among the crowd. No one he saw appeared to be taking any notice of him, but he did not rule out one or more of Ganz’s people watching his every move. The Orion merchant prince was not about to let him wander about his ship with anything more than a semblance of freedom and autonomy. Reyes expected even that illusion to vanish the instant Ganz decided there was nothing more to be gained by the presence of a disgraced Starfleet officer who now lived as a fugitive from Federation law.

  He had considered surrendering himself, but almost as quickly dismissed the notion. As much as Ganz might not want him on his ship, he likely found the idea of Reyes blathering everything he knew about the inner workings of the Omari-Ekon and its crew to Admiral Nogura even less appealing. The former commodore knew how things likely would play out; he would suffer some kind of unfortunate accident or simply disappear altogether without explanation. The chances that Reyes would be able to leave the ship before being captured by Ganz’s men and suffering such a fate were slim at best.

  Calling for transport would also not be an option. Even if Ganz did not employ sensor-scattering technology as well as transporter inhibitors throughout his ship, Federation regulations prevented such incursions into sovereign territory without the home government’s consent. Any attempt to retrieve Reyes, even if he signaled for such an extraction, would create an interstellar incident not needed by the Federation or Starfleet, and least of all Admiral Nogura. Retrieving one wayward fugitive was not worth the political fallout that would result from such brazen action.

  So, the trick seems to be making me worth the effort.

  That seemed to be the thinking, if what Tim Pennington had conveyed to him was to be believed. It had taken Reyes a moment to comprehend the code phrase the journalist conveyed to him, couched as it was in the question he had asked about Reyes wanting to have messages dispatched to anyone. T’Prynn had managed to get a message to him soon after the Omari-Ekon’s return to Vanguard, letting him know that the key phrase was one that might be given to him at some point, should the intelligence officer have need to communicate with him. By asking if he wanted to dispatch a message to his mother, T’Prynn was asking Reyes if he was willing to act as a covert operative on Starfleet’s behalf while living aboard the Orion ship. Reyes was sure she would make such a request only if she believed he could provide information unobtainable by other means, and he had hesitated only a moment before offering a response that he knew T’Prynn would interpret as his willingness to collaborate with her. There was no way to know at this point what the Vulcan might be after, and that likely was by design, in o
rder to insulate Reyes as much as possible should his activities be discovered and he was interrogated or even tortured by Ganz’s men.

  Well, there’s something to look forward to. Grunting in approval of his own observation, Reyes punctuated the thought by tossing back the last of the Aldebaran whiskey in his glass, wondering when or if the infernal concoction might take to eating a hole through his stomach lining. He cast one last look around the bar, deciding that no other familiar faces—enemy or ally—were lurking among the crowd, partaking of the gambling tables, the bar, or anything else the gaming floor might have to offer. Reyes inserted his credit chip into the payment slot at the center of the table and allowed the bar’s computer to extract from his account the payment for his bar tab. That bit of business concluded, he began making his way across the gaming floor, ignoring the calls from dealers at numerous tables and the suggestive looks and gestures of the various provocatively dressed women, as well as a few men, milling about the room. None of the wares offered by Ganz’s legion of vice enablers interested him, for personal as well as practical reasons. The last thing he wanted was to engage in any activity—gambling, drinking to excess, or finding temporary solace in the company of an escort—that might place him in a vulnerable position and provide any sort of leverage for Ganz to exploit. He had enough to worry about without looking for additional trouble.

  Trouble, however, had a knack for finding him.

  “Human.”

  The voice, low and measured, came from behind Reyes, and when he turned to face the speaker he found himself staring into the face of an Orion male. Unlike the security guards, who were big and muscled and wore clothing to accent their physiques, this Orion was dressed in a simple if well-tailored suit of a style Reyes had seen favored by Deltan males. Reyes had seen him before, usually talking with employees on the gaming deck, and recalled that his name was Lekkar, an accountant or floor manager or some other sort of administrative cog in the wheel of Ganz’s organization. He was not an enforcer or “lieutenant”—his mode of dress suggested a low-level supervisor in the Omari-Ekon’s food chain—though it was possible he might be carrying at least one weapon concealed on his person. He probably fancied himself someone of greater importance, if only in his own mind, which might make him dangerous.

  Getting cynical in your old age, aren’t you?

  “Yes?” Reyes asked, keeping his tone casual and doing his best to affect a pleasant demeanor. “I already told the hostess I wouldn’t be staying for dinner.” As he expected, Lekkar said nothing, though the clenching of his jaw was enough to convey that he did not enjoy being compared to one of the bar’s common employees. It was but one of numerous subtle verbal jabs Reyes had employed during his prolonged stay aboard the Omari-Ekon, which did little to enhance his stature in the eyes of Ganz and his people, but was enough to offer Reyes some measure of amusement from time to time.

  The Orion was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, though Reyes doubted he was actually holding a weapon. Not here, in public on the floor. That would be bad for business. If there was going to be anything untoward taking place, it would happen elsewhere, away from curious eyes.

  “You were talking to that Federation journalist,” the Orion said, glaring at Reyes.

  After Lekkar said nothing else, Reyes prompted him with a gesture. “And?”

  “And I want to know what you two were talking about,” Lekkar replied.

  Reyes shrugged. “I’m not sure how that’s any of your business. We’re friends, we haven’t seen each other in a while, and we were just doing a bit of catching up.”

  Appearing less than impressed with this answer, the Orion’s expression hardened even further. “He’s a journalist,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the conversations and laughter of nearby patrons.

  “Yes, you mentioned that,” Reyes said. “Can I go now?”

  Any pretense of tolerating the direction this conversation was taking disappeared as Lekkar stepped closer. “No. In fact, I think you need to come with me.”

  “Where would we be going?” Reyes said, not surprised by this development, but also not liking it. Out here, in front of customers, he was reasonably safe. Once away from the public areas and on their way to some dark room in the depths of the Omari-Ekon’s Byzantine network of corridors, Lekkar might well decide to try something more than simply talking to him.

  When the Orion spoke this time, there was a definite hint of menace in his voice. “Listen to me, human. You’re coming with me, one way or another. Do so willingly, and we may be able to look past any transgressions you may have committed. Force me to engage security, and the consequences will be severe.”

  “There’s just one problem with that,” Reyes said, adding a new edge to his own words. “You and I both know you’re not in charge of much more than making sure there’s booze behind the bar and toilet paper in the bathrooms, neither of which I need right now. So, unless you’re acting on behalf of someone with more pull around here, I’ll be going now.”

  As he expected—indeed, as he hoped—Reyes felt the pull of a hand on the left sleeve of his jacket just as he was turning away from Lekkar. He felt the Orion’s fingers beginning to tighten around his forearm, which was all he needed. Guided by instinct, as much as years of training to the point where such actions were all but reflexive in nature, Reyes whirled back toward Lekkar. He twisted his left arm so that his left hand now found purchase on the Orion’s arm, at the same time stepping closer just as he noted his opponent’s other hand reaching for something beneath his jacket. Before Lekkar could retrieve whatever weapon he had hidden there, Reyes lashed out with the edge of his other hand, catching the Orion in the throat.

  The effect was immediate, as Reyes felt Lekkar’s hand loosen its grip on his sleeve as he staggered backward, coughing and reaching for his wounded throat. As he stumbled, something long and shiny fell from his other hand, and Reyes heard the clatter of metal against the deck. Lekkar fell against the bar as well as a brawny Tellarite who was sitting there, dressed in khaki overalls that Reyes recognized as being from one of the civilian transports currently docked at Vanguard. The husky freight-hauler growled his displeasure at Lekkar, who was oblivious to the offense he had caused, occupied as he was with rubbing his throat and trying to catch his breath. Despite his dislike for the Orion, Reyes was happy he had not killed him, as that was not his intention. Making the irritable lackey pause and consider his decision to start a confrontation, along with any other questionable life choices, would be sufficient for the message Reyes wanted to send to other members of Ganz’s organization who had to be watching this quarrel.

  Seeing the disapproving look on the bartender’s face, Reyes held up empty hands to demonstrate he was carrying no weapons. “Self-defense,” he said, before pointing to the long, nasty-looking blade with its serrated edge that still lay on the deck near his feet. “He pulled a knife on me.” This actually seemed to placate the bartender as he reached for an intercom switch set into the wall behind the bar and spoke into the panel. Reyes could not hear what the Orion was saying, though he guessed someone in a position of authority was being notified. The bartender touched the panel again to deactivate it, then returned to the bar and produced a new glass, which he filled with the same Aldebaran whiskey Reyes had been drinking earlier.

  “On the house,” the Orion said, gesturing toward Lekkar, who had pulled himself to his feet long enough to make a hasty retreat from the bar. “I never liked him, anyway.”

  3

  In his private office, Ganz looked at the computer display monitor that occupied one corner of his expansive desk, trying to decide whether he preferred it with the rather large hole that now dominated the center of its screen.

  “You really should stop doing that,” said Neera, Ganz’s confidante and lover—and employer—from where she lounged on a sofa positioned along the office’s far wall. Dressed in a silky red robe that left her arms and much of her legs exposed, she held a wine g
oblet in her left hand, while her right toyed with the knot of the robe’s belt at her slim waist. “Do you have any idea how much those things cost?”

  His mood still foul, Ganz shrugged as he rubbed the knuckles of his right hand, which still stung from the impact of his fist against the computer terminal. “It’s therapeutic.”

  “If it’s therapy you want,” Neera said, her lips forming a teasing smile, “then you should hire a private counselor.”

  Ganz indicated the destroyed computer monitor. “This is easier, and I don’t have to worry about it repeating anything I say in confidence.” The faint aroma of her perfume caught his attention, and he eyed her for a moment as she reclined on the couch. “Besides, I have you for therapy.”

  “True enough,” Neera replied before taking a sip of her wine. “So, what is it that has you so upset?”

  Stifling the urge to emit a growl of frustration, Ganz stood up and began to pace the length of the office. “I just reviewed security footage of the gaming deck. Lekkar took it upon himself to confront Reyes.”

  Neera frowned. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m having Tonzak bring him up here.” The security footage from the gaming deck had not included an audio recording of the exchange between Reyes and Lekkar, though it had with stark clarity captured the physical altercation that had transpired. The visual record showed with certainty that Lekkar had initiated the brief scuffle, but despite his greater age and presumably lesser physical strength, Reyes had brought the skirmish to a quick conclusion with the speed and efficiency Ganz expected from someone with Starfleet close-combat training.