by Ilsa J. Bick
Garrett saw the indecision flash in Halak’s eyes, and then understanding. His tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed, hard. She waited.
“All right. But, Captain, please understand that whatever I left out,” his eyes darted away, but not before Garrett read his shame, “I did it to protect innocent people. I did it. ...”
“You let me be the judge of whether you acted wisely, or not,” said Garrett. “Go on.”
Using the back of his hand, Halak swiped at perspiration beaded on his forehead. Garrett saw sweat trickle down his left temple. “I have to start from the time we hit the market.” When Garrett waved for him to continue, he said, “Ani and I had a talk, in a café. She wanted to know more about my past, who I was there to see. I told her about Dalal. Dalal was a woman who worked for my father.”
Briefly, he sketched in the details of his childhood on Vendrak IV. “When my father died, Dalal took over. She made sure I buckled down, and it’s because of her that I ended up in Starfleet. Like I told Ani, I owe Dalal a lot. Why Dalal ended up on Farius Prime, I don’t know. But when she called, I came.”
“And then?”
“And then, on our way to her apartment, we were jumped.” Halak closed his eyes, spoke through teeth that were clenched tight. “Yes, I lied. Three men—I’d never seen them before—attacked us. One of them grabbed Ani. She fought, bit him on the hand, and he knocked her against a wall. I didn’t see all of it because the other two had gone for me.”
In a monotone, Halak recounted how he’d been stabbed. “And then Ani grabbed my phaser and she shot one of them. The one with the knife.”
“A phaser.” Garrett’s voice was thick. “So you did have a phaser.”
“Yes. My own weapon.”
“Do we have it registered?”
“No.”
Garrett closed her eyes for a brief instant. “Halak,” she said, exasperated. A finger of pain dragged across her right temple, and she knew a headache was on its way.
She flicked a finger—a signal for Halak to continue—and then she listened with a growing sense of unreality as Halak told about stumbling up to Dalal’s apartment with Batra, and how Dalal had patched him up, given them a change of clothes, and fed them. When Halak paused, Garrett said, “And why did Dalal want to see you?”
Halak looked at his hands. “You know, after all that, she didn’t say. Maybe just to check up on me. I don’t know.” His eyes drifted back to Garrett’s. “Anyway, we talked. I tried to get her to leave Farius Prime. She wouldn’t. In the end, because we’d missed our return transport, Dalal offered to set us up with someone she knew. Dalal lives on Gemini Street, not far from the spaceport. So we, Ani and I, went to meet up with this fellow, name of Matsaro.”
“The Bolian.”
“That’s right. Obviously, he knew we weren’t natives and he said that his shuttle wasn’t registered and that he’d stowed it in one of those old abandoned mines in the Katanga Mountains. I didn’t like it, but I wanted to get Ani off the planet and I knew I had to get better medical attention than Dalal was able to give. So we went with him. I had my phaser. Ani had the knife. We went by aircar. There was a shuttle waiting, just like he said. But then, at the last second, he turned around and demanded credits. When he found out we didn’t have any—our credits had been stolen—he threatened to kill us. He had a pulse gun, and he took my phaser. Then he started marching us over the rocks toward one of the old mine entrances. I think he figured to hide our bodies there. Anyway, there was a lot of loose rock, and the going was rough. Ani fell, twisted her ankle.”
“And?” Garrett asked.
Halak raised his face, but Garrett saw that he was far away, looking at the memory. “He wouldn’t let me help her. When she couldn’t get up, the Bolian reached down, and that’s when Ani,” his voice broke, “that’s when she stabbed him.”
“He didn’t know she still had the knife.”
Halak’s face was a study in misery. “That’s right. And then, before I could get there, he shot her.” A single tear rolled down his right cheek. “There wasn’t anything I could do, Captain.”
The room was silent for several moments. Then Garrett cleared her throat. “What happened next?”
Halak tore his gaze away from the memory and looked straight at her and said in a voice as flat and matter-of-fact as if they were discussing a duty roster, “I killed him. I grabbed a rock and I smashed his skull. I beat him until he didn’t have much of anything left you could call a head. Then I put him back into his aircar and programmed it to crash into the Galldean Sea. I tossed the pulse gun and my phaser in there, too. And then I put Batra in the shuttle and ... well, you know the rest.”
Garrett nodded, digesting what she’d heard. If Halak was to be believed, he’d killed in self-defense. His story certainly explained the discrepancies Stern had found. “But why didn’t you come forward with this earlier, Commander?”
“Because, Captain, I was worried about Dalal, about implicating her in any way.”
Garrett spread her hands. “But how would she figure in?”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly,” said Halak. “I guess I panicked.”
That struck a false chord in Garrett. She frowned. Halak was impulsive, and he was passionate. But Halak didn’t panic. With a sudden pang of dismay, she realized that she’d believed him—until that moment.
“Captain.” It was Burke, again. “Captain, please, may I say something?”
Garrett didn’t see how she could refuse now. “Does it have direct bearing on what Halak’s just told us?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Proceed.” Then, as Burke opened her mouth, Garrett added, “You take one detour into hypotheticals without convincing me you need to go there, and I’m shutting you down, Lieutenant.”
Burke’s voice was smooth as velvet. “Understood, Captain. I’m just going to deal with facts.”
She swiveled her chair toward Halak. “You say you went to see a woman named Dalal?”
Halak’s black eyes were wary. “Yes.”
“On Gemini Street?”
“That’s right. I said that before.”
“Yes, I know, and that’s what puzzles me, Commander.” Burke inclined her head toward Sivek; the Vulcan hadn’t said one word thus far. “Puzzles us, actually. You see, we checked out the name and the address you provided. Commander,” Burke used his title almost regretfully, “there is no such woman. There isn’t now, and there never has been.”
Garrett started. “What?”
Alarmed, Halak sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?”
Burke was unruffled. “Precisely what I just said, Commander. There is no Dalal. She’s a story you made up to cover your real motive for visiting Farius Prime.”
“No,” said Halak, half-rising from his seat, “no! That’s not true!”
Burke looked at Halak askance. “You really aren’t in a position to be telling me about truth, Commander.”
“Burke! No, Halak.” Garrett put out a hand as if to restrain her first officer even though she couldn’t touch him. “Sit. Down. Now.”
“But, Captain ...”
“Am I speaking Klingon?” Garrett flared. “I said, sit down and be quiet, mister!”
She flashed an angry look at Burke. “Burke, I warned you. I won’t have you inciting my officers. If this is a crazy theory ...”
Sivek interrupted, but he did it so smoothly, his interruption sounded as if it had been by invitation. “It’s not theory, Captain. I have verified Lieutenant Burke’s information through the V’Shar. Dalal does not now, nor has she ever existed. She is a convenient, though necessary, fabrication.”
“That’s crap!” Stern said. “You heard the man! I told you I found evidence that he’d been patched up! What, you think Halak bandaged himself?”
“Doctor,” said Sivek, and if Garrett hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the Vulcan purred. “The fact that C
ommander Halak’s wounds were tended to is not in dispute. It’s obvious that they were. But it does not logically follow that the person who treated Commander Halak was in fact the woman he claims.”
“And you have a different theory?” asked Garrett.
“We do,” said Burke. “Captain, I think that if you’ll allow me some free rein here, a little leeway, I’ll be able to shed some light on any nagging issues that remain.”
“Go. Make it good, Burke.”
Burke scraped back her chair and stood. Crossing her arms, she approached Halak. “Commander, I just told you that this woman Dalal doesn’t exist. We checked it out.”
“Then they did something to her,” said Halak. The color in his face had drained away until his eyes looked painted on. “They did something.”
“They, Commander? What they are you referring to?”
Halak made a nondescript move of his hand. “I don’t know. Just an expression. But she lived there. She was there.”
“Perhaps.” Burke injected just enough skepticism into her tone so it was clear she didn’t believe a word. “But let’s leave Dalal aside for a second, all right? I want to focus on something else, something earlier in your career. Let’s talk about the Ryns, Commander.”
“The Ryns?” Halak’s voice registered his surprise, and Garrett saw his eyes shutter, his face close, like containment doors slamming down during a warp core breach. “What do the Ryns have to do with anything?”
“A great deal, I think. After your Ryn mission, you were removed from the Barker, weren’t you?”
“No,” said Halak. “I requested a transfer. Captain Connors agreed with my reasons.”
“And those were?”
“Captain Connors understood that some of the crew might look at me differently.”
“And why would that be?”
Halak flushed a deep crimson. “I think it’s all in the record, Lieutenant.”
“Yes. Why don’t you tell us again anyway?”
“Because of my actions in the space around Ryn III, two of my crewmates died. If you’ve read my record, then you know that a formal inquiry was held and I was cleared of any culpability. Still, I was the first officer. Those men died on my watch. I would have died, too, but I didn’t. I knew that it would be hard for some of the crew to work well with me, given the circumstances.”
“Pardon me for seeming flip or naïve,” said Burke, “but if you were cleared, Commander, why did you think you had to leave? People do die in the course of their duties. It’s always regrettable when this happens, but still their deaths weren’t your fault.” She paused, probably for effect. “Were they?”
Halak’s jaw firmed. “No. But just because I know that intellectually doesn’t mean that others might not view it that way. I had my reasons for wanting a transfer. Captain Connors agreed with them.”
“Well, we don’t know what they were. Why don’t you tell us?”
Garrett said, “This is going somewhere, Burke.” Not asking.
“Yes, Captain, it is.”
“Well, instead of beating around the bush, why don’t you tie it up for me?”
“Of course, Captain. The tie-in is this: red ice.”
“Red ice?” Garrett scowled. “I’m not following you, Lieutenant.”
“Captain, we all know that both the Orion Syndicate and the Asfar Qatala are vying for control of distribution of red ice. We know that both crime syndicates are based on Farius Prime. It is also a fact that Commander Halak’s ostensible mission to Ryn III was to make contact with a middleman for the Orion Syndicate.”
“Captain,” said Halak.
Garrett held up a hand to stop him. “Burke, you’re not telling me something I don’t already know. This is a command concern. I knew about this when Halak requested a transfer; I knew about his mission to Ryn III, and I knew he’d been asked to investigate red ice distribution. So just what, exactly, are you suggesting? That Commander Halak’s previous encounter with the Ryns explains this? Ties in?”
Burke clasped her hands together. “Yes. Commander Halak’s primary goal was not to visit some old family friend. She’s another lie in a string of lies. But red ice is real, and I believe that Commander Halak did his job on Ryn III very well. I believe that he made contact with the Orion Syndicate on Ryn III; that he made a deal. ...”
Halak was up and out of his seat. “That’s not true!” He brought his fist down on the table. “That is not true!”
Burke talked over him. “And that Commander Halak’s involvement became known to the Asfar Qatala, and they moved to eliminate the competition.”
“That’s a lie! I’ve made my report,” Halak said. “I had nothing more to do with the Syndicate once I left Ryn III! Whatever you think you’ve found, it’s all a lie! It’s a plant and ... !” His mouth clamped shut, as if he’d realized he made a mistake.
“A plant?” Burke leveled her brown gaze. “How do you know I’ve found anything, Commander?”
“I ... I don’t know. I just said that. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Halak,” said Garrett. She didn’t know where this was going, but she knew, instinctively, there was more here than Halak was at liberty to say. Or defend against. No matter what his guilt—no matter if she believed in him or not—she had to keep him from making things worse. “Halak, stop.”
“Commander,” said Tyvan. “Listen to the captain. You need ...”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” Halak’s face contorted with fury. “You’re not the one she’s accusing. You don’t know what I need!”
“Well, I do know!” Garrett’s voice was like the snap of a whip. “Settle down, mister! That’s an order!”
“Captain,” Halak began. He stopped, closed his eyes. He gripped the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Captain, please. You’re going to sit there and listen to her lies?”
“As opposed to yours? Have you given us any choice, Halak?”
Halak opened his mouth. Shut it. His legs folded, and he dropped back into his seat.
After a moment’s silence, Garrett said, “Burke, you’ve got proof?”
Burke had watched the exchange without comment. “Yes.” Garrett heard Halak’s sharp intake of breath. She kept her attention focused on Burke. “You can produce it?”
“Yes.”
“Any objection if we let Halak tell his side of things?” Burke spread her hands. “Absolutely none.”
“Good.” Garrett turned to Halak. “Let’s hear it, Commander. The ball’s in your court.”
She added a silent emendation: Play it wisely.
Chapter 19
“There’s the perimeter beacon dead ahead,” Halak said. He was in the front seat, passenger’s side, and pointed through a spray of sleet pattering against the landskimmer’s windscreen.
“I see it,” said Strong, who was driving. He ratcheted up the landskimmer’s speed another twenty kilometers. The tiny craft shivered as the engine kicked in.
Halak heard the Doppler rise and fall of the beacon, and then their craft’s ping of acknowledgement. The beacon was a blur as they whizzed past. On instinct, he glanced up, scanning the underbellies of a layer of gunmetal gray clouds. No air patrols. Yet.
As if reading his thoughts, Strong said, “Now they come after us. Soon as they figure out the skimmer’s stolen.”
“Well, I think we outran them,” said Thex, his blue antennae wiggling with agitation. Using his forearm to swab away condensation that had fogged the chilled glass of the rear windscreen, Thex squinted. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Don’t count them out.” Halak’s teeth grated. The squeaky sound of fabric on glass set them on edge. “How much further, Strong?”
“Twenty kilometers, Commander.”
“That’s pretty far.”
“It was the best I could do. I didn’t want the city sensor grid picking up on our re-entry trail.”
“I know, I know.” Halak fidgeted. Wa
tched as the scenery scrolled beneath them. Once away from the coast, the terrain on Ryn III turned arid, the vegetation brown and sparse, dotting craggy hills scored by arroyos.
Halak dug his nails into a week’s worth of beard glazing his jaw and jowls and gave himself a good scratch. His nails rasped over stubble. Good God, but he’d be glad to get back to the Barker. First thing he’d do was stand under a steaming hot shower—real water—for a half hour (he didn’t care if he used up his allotment for the week) and then a shave. (Starfleet Intelligence thought they had to look the part of mercenaries down on their luck. So, the ratty clothing, the beards—all except Thex, whose cheeks were baby-smooth.)
He was antsy. Halak never had liked landskimmers. In the air, he could turn and fight. Air was like space: three-dimensional. Traveling a scant seven meters above the surface, with no room to really maneuver, made him anxious. Halak dug into his beard again, for want of anything better to do. “Just feels too far away. You’ve got a fix on the shuttle?”
“Shuttle telemetry’s coming in loud and clear. Lucky I didn’t crack her up, getting her out of parked lunar orbit and piloting via remote. She landed okay, though.”
“Good,” said Halak, knowing their situation was anything but. Having the unmarked, unregistered shuttle touch down without incident was about the only bright spot. He blew out a breath. He was sweating like a pig, partly from heat, the rest from nerves. He shrugged out of his khaki-colored jacket. Beneath the jacket, he wore Marassian wool pants and a throck-haired shirt: local civilian dress. They’d arrived in the middle of the local spring. The weather was like San Francisco in winter—brisk, cold, with a strong wind coming in off the water and smacking you in the face like an icy fist, and gushers of sleety rain that got dumped by heavy gray clouds every afternoon. But the landskimmer was small, warm, and close with the overripe odor of men’s sweat. Rivulets of perspiration dribbled from Halak’s armpits and crawled over his ribs. Reaching forward, Halak fiddled with a vent, angling cool air into his face.
