by Dayton Ward
“Shall I signal Tantok Nor and inform them of our new mission priorities?”
Enkoa shook his head. “I’d rather wait until I have something impressive to report to Hanno.”
But she sent a signal anyway, on the bridge from her private console—just a vaguely worded report that would be enough to attract the jagul’s interest but not enough to explain the full scope of Enkoa’s ill-considered sortie. She covered her tracks carefully, ensuring that her commander would not become aware of her small duplicity.
She found it easy to do this, and on some level she marveled at it. Another Kein, the younger Kein aboard the Rekkel, the woman who then still had some rein upon her own bitterness, she would not have found it so effortless to lie and conceal. Every Cardassian grew up knowing that the currency of life was secrets, but inside the military there was a different creed—or so she had thought. The spirit of comradeship she recalled from her cadet days suddenly seemed like a childish fiction. This was the reality of military duty in Cardassia’s name: a lifetime of service among braggarts and fools, where the wiser commanders played games with other people’s careers and hoarded influence like coin. Kein chided herself for ever believing that the Fleet was a meritocracy. It was a hidebound morass of fealty and petty authority; it was everything about Cardassia she had joined the Fleet to be free of, everything she had rejected in her own family.
And now, only now when she was buried in it up to her neck, could Sanir Kein see the truth of that. Hate and frigid envy washed over her.
On the main screen, the cold blue sphere of the Setlik star grew larger as they made their approach.
The Lakar came in at warp two, down the barrel of the star’s solar winds toward the third planet. It was a large, dun-colored world with a few shallow oceans and mountain ranges that curled over the landscape like thin white talons. The Federation colony was on the smaller of two continental landmasses, down toward the more temperate regions of the equator. Nothing stood in orbit to challenge them, only the mute spheres of two weather-control satellites.
Kein watched the play of data from the passive sensors as they ranged over the local sector of space. She saw traces of energy that were common to the passage of ionic storms but nothing that resembled the residue of weapons fire. As she had suspected, if the probe had passed through the Setlik system, the damage it sustained had not come from an enemy vessel. She did not bother to commit this conclusion to her log; not yet.
“Scan the outpost,” Enkoa ordered. “Look for matches to the data we recovered from the probe’s memory core.”
“Acknowledged.” Lleye worked the scanner console, making no comment about the specificity of the dal’s order. Effectively, he had asked the glinn to find him an excuse to open fire.
Kein’s hand strayed to the scar on her brow, and for a moment an odd sensation rose in her thoughts. What was that? she asked herself. Reproach? Was there still some small element of the noble-minded recruit buried deep in there, saddened by her elder self’s bitterness? She shook the thought away, banishing it, staring back at the detector screen.
A reading from the aft sensor grid made itself known to her, and this one, Kein decided, was worth mention. “Dal. At extreme range … ghost images, difficult to interpret.”
“Where?” he snapped.
“Several light-years out beyond the edge of the Setlik system. They could just be false returns reflected off the solar radiation belts, or . . .” She trailed off, leaving Enkoa to supply the answers he wanted.
“Ships.” He paused, perhaps reconsidering his attack.
Kein noted the hesitation and pushed. “More intruder craft, perhaps. We won’t be able to identify them until they close, if they are indeed actual vessels.”
“Federation Starfleet?” asked Lleye.
Kein pushed again. “Perhaps we should withdraw.”
Enkoa’s hands gripped the arms of his command chair. “Glinn!” he snarled. “Report! Are the energy patterns visible down there?”
“Confirmed.” Lleye gave a single, slow nod of his head. “But there are conflicting readings, sir.”
“They’re obviously trying to mask the signature of the stockpiles.” Enkoa leaned forward. “It won’t do them any good.”
And with that, he smiled and Sanir knew they had stepped across the point of no return. “What are your orders, Dal?”
“Start by destroying those orbitals,” he began, the smile growing wider. “Then move to pinpoint salvos against all target locations.” Enkoa stood up, looming over the compact bridge. “Execute!”
The Setlik III colony had little in the way of defenses, only a handful of ground-based deflector shields and scattering field generators designed to protect the settlement from transporter bombs or a massed beam-in. There were no weapons there capable of reaching the Lakar’s orbit, only small arms in the possession of a dozen families and the armory of the local civil marshal.
There was enough of a warning for the hurricane sirens to sound. The planet’s harsh storm season meant that every large building had a shelter beneath it, and many of those who didn’t automatically seek cover stayed outside because the sky was clear, because the orbital satellites had said the day would be fine. These people were the ones who saw the amber streaks of lightning falling from above, screaming through the air with hissing shockwaves of plasmatic gas marking their passage. Then the buildings began to explode, the hydroponic farms and the grain silos vanishing in the sudden, star-bright liberation of matter to energy. It had been dry for several weeks, and secondary fires took hold, washing across the fields in a black tide of smoke.
Each time the bombardment seemed to be over, the cruelty of the pause between salvos was made worse. Disruptor blasts rained down in five-fold impacts, seeking out what at first seemed like randomly chosen locations.
Death came from the morning sky without pause, without reason, without mercy.
“Proximity alert!” cried Kein. “Signal traces are resolving … Two ships on intercept course, high warp. They’re coming in fast!”
The expression of cold intent on Enkoa’s face became a glare of annoyance, petulant at being interrupted; then a heartbeat later it became worry. “Break off the attack. Disengage and extend away!” He rose to his feet. “Stand by to go to warp—”
A warning klaxon keened across the command tier. “They’re right on top of us!” Lleye stabbed a finger at the main viewscreen as a warp-speed distended shape came out of nowhere, dropping to sub-light velocity in a punishing deceleration that flashed out around the craft in sheaves of spent luminosity.
The new arrival swept in underneath the Lakar and turned to place itself squarely between the escort and the surface of the third planet, blocking the path of any further bombardment. Slowing, it revealed itself, and Kein felt her heart pounding against her ventral ribs. The port manta-wing of the ship’s upper hull filled the screen with a wall of sand-colored titanium, and briefly a wine-dark sigil drifted past: the hooded shape of the Galor Banner.
“It’s the Kursa. . . .” husked the glinn. “Hailing us.”
Kein opened the channel without waiting for Enkoa to order it.
Jagul Hanno was abruptly there, his cut-granite face darker than she had ever seen it before. “Enkoa!” He spat out the name with undisguised fury. “Stand down! In the Union’s name, man, what do you think you are doing?”
The dal fought to keep his voice level, his knuckles turning white where he gripped his command chair. “There is an enemy outpost on the planet. A weapons stockpile. They were preparing an attack on the Dorvan—”
“You know this how?” demanded the jagul. “You, the commander of a mere escort, have access to intelligence that a fleet admiral does not?”
“I do,” Enkoa insisted. “I have learned certain facts . . .” He paused and swallowed hard. “We recovered a military probe and the data in its memory core led us to—”
Hanno cut him off again. “Show me now.”
Kein to
ok the command and transmitted a full download directly into Kursa’s computer core. From the corner of her eye she could see the sensor readout tracking the other Galor-class ship, Matrik’s Fell. From the energy glow issuing from the warp coils of both vessels, they must have made a dash to the Setlik system at emergency speed all the way. Not fast enough, though, she mused.
Hanno disappeared from the screen for long moments, and when he returned he wore the face Kein remembered from her ascendance ceremony. Cold and hard, fueled by something past rage, past duty.
“This is your motive?” The jagul’s lip curled in disgust. “Only this?”
“It’s enough,” Enkoa replied, and he blinked, as if he was surprised by his own sudden show of defiance. “Scan the outpost below.”
“You do not give me commands,” Hanno hissed. “I want you and your executive officer aboard the Kursa immediately.” The signal cut, returning the viewscreen to its default forward view. Kein could see the blades of the cruiser’s forward hull and beyond it, the curvature of Setlik III. Dark lines of color were just visible from plumes of wind-borne ash and smoke.
She looked past Enkoa; his face had taken on the pallor of corpse flesh. “Glinn,” she called to Lleye. “You have the bridge.”
“A-acknowledged,” said the junior officer, fighting down a stammer.
“Yes,” said Enkoa, after a moment. “This should not take long.”
A pair of enlisted men awaited them in Kursa’s transporter room, two garresh with holstered pistols on their belts. Enkoa gave them a wavering glance.
“Jagul’s orders, sir,” said the senior of the two. “If you’ll follow us?”
Enkoa glanced at Kein as they walked along the warship’s corridors. “What did he mean, only this?” The dal wrung his hands. “He’s not blind. He must have seen the same thing I did.”
He wanted something from her, she realized, something reassuring. Kein did not provide it. Instead, she walked briskly, in step with the two troopers.
The enlisted men waited outside as the dalin and dal entered the jagul’s duty room. It was bigger than the footprint of Enkoa’s private cabin and Kein’s combined, but the design was the same as the one aboard the Lakar. A desk, wall screens, chairs, but with a ceiling that did not feel as if it were pressing down upon her back. Kein stood a little taller, and once more schooled her expression into a mask of stony detachment.
Every muscle in Hanno’s face was corded and tight, wound hard like steel cables. He radiated anger to such a degree that Kein was concerned he might actually be moved to physical violence.
“Are you so eager to shed blood that you are willing to open fire on a civilian target?” The officer’s voice was low and loaded with menace.
“Sir, that’s only a cover. Setlik III is the staging post for an attack. I’m convinced of it.”
“Yes, you obviously are,” Hanno growled. He picked up a padd and brandished it. “And clearly it takes very little to convince you of anything.” He tossed the tablet across the desktop. “This intelligence is riddled with holes. It’s worthless, full of unsubstantiated facts and unconfirmed data.” The jagul pointed a thick finger at him. “You overlooked that, either through misguided fervor or outright stupidity.”
Enkoa’s mouth opened and closed in shock at the comment. “Sir . . .”
“Did you think that just because you bedded my brother’s flighty daughter you were granted some kind of special dispensation to ignore orders, Dal Enkoa?” He bared his teeth. “Did you mistake my civility toward you for leniency on my part?”
Before Enkoa could respond, Hanno turned the full force of his ire on Kein; but she was ready for it, and she didn’t flinch. “And you, Dalin.” He ground out the words. “You stood by and let this happen.”
“I did nothing of the kind, sir.” She kept her gaze centered firmly on a point somewhere beyond the bulkhead behind the jagul. Kein saw Enkoa react as if he had been slapped.
Opportunities arise, said a calm and metered voice in her thoughts. All that needs to be done is to let it happen.
“Explain!” barked Hanno.
“I expressed my concerns to Dal Enkoa over this break from orders on several occasions. He overruled me.”
“No,” Enkoa insisted. “You agreed with me.”
“I sent the signal that alerted Tantok Nor,” she continued. The moment the words left her mouth, a strange sensation filled her. Kein felt an immediate absence of rage, of all the irritation and disgust that had been her constant companions these past weeks. She felt light, buoyed on a wave of something strong and potent. Kein could feel the spite and resentment that she had been nursing all this time, flooding her, carrying her like a rising tide—a tide she would let Enkoa drown in.
“What signal?” said the dal. “I ordered no communications!”
Hanno’s expression shifted, and for a moment she wondered if he was aware of her thoughts, her intentions. Was it written large across her expression, her bone-deep loathing for foolish, foolish Enkoa? “The signal alerted us that the Lakar had diverted from its patrol pattern,” said the jagul. “At first I suspected an ambush . . .” He trailed off, then refocused, turning his ire back toward the other man. “I did not expect an officer of the Cardassian Union to attempt to start a war on his own!”
Enkoa’s hands moved. “The settlement conceals military equipment. The scans prove it!” His voice rose an octave.
Hanno’s tones became thunderous. “Those readings are from farming equipment! Experimental technologies invented by the Federation’s Vulcan cohorts, designed to planetform the surface of worlds like that one!” He stepped out from behind the desk and crossed toward them.
The dal blinked. “But … if that was known, then why was that information not in the Lakar’s data banks?”
“Because that information is known only to the Obsidian Order,” came the growled reply, “and it is known to me only because agents in my employ have stolen that data from them, along with other, far more important materials. Materials that allow me to maintain my position and status.” He glared at Enkoa, who withered under the jagul’s iron-hard gaze. “If that data was made widely available, the Order would become aware of a breach in their information security and would move to amend it. Now you have placed me in a very difficult situation, Dal. Your reckless actions will have consequences you cannot even begin to guess at!”
“No,” Enkoa insisted, “no. That’s not it at all.” He threw a look at Kein, desperation in his eyes, pleading with her to help him, even though she had thrown him to the hounds just moments before.
She enjoyed the thrill she got from ignoring him.
“You attacked the Setlik III colony without provocation,” Hanno pronounced, his voice becoming level and cold. “There were no Starfleet forces there massing for a secret attack. They were noncombatants, Enkoa. Even though the Federation are our adversaries, the malicious slaughter of civilians is something I will never tolerate under my command.” He looked away, revolted. “There were entire families down there. Their murder is unacceptable.”
“I am a soldier of the Union,” Enkoa insisted. “All I have ever wanted is to serve Cardassia and defeat her enemies . . .” He gasped, and Kein saw a fraction of the certainty he had shown on the Lakar’s bridge briefly return. “You prevented me from doing that, sir. I see nothing wrong in what I have done.”
Hanno accepted this with a nod. “Yes, that is clear. The error here is mine.” He reached up and Enkoa flinched, clearly afraid for one second that the jagul was going to strike him. But the officer simply reached for the rank sigil on the other man’s duty armor and detached it with a twist of his fingers. “I relieve you of your command, Laen Enkoa,” he said, grim-faced. “You are under arrest, pending a full investigation into your actions here.” Hanno touched a tab on his wrist communicator and the door opened to admit the two troopers. “Put him in containment,” said the jagul.
“But, my ship—” Enkoa protested, straining agains
t the grip of the soldiers.
Hanno nodded toward Kein. “It’s the Union’s ship. It was never yours.”
Then the door closed and they were alone. The jagul gave her that same measuring stare once again. For the first time, Kein matched Hanno and met his gaze, unafraid, waiting for him to speak.
She waited for him to admit his mistakes in choosing Enkoa over her. She waited for him to acknowledge that she was the superior, that it had been her intelligence, her daring that had saved the lives of the Rekkel crew, her loyalty to Cardassia that had alerted him to Enkoa’s irresponsibility. She waited for all these things to be said.
Hanno finally broke the silence and turned away from her. “Take command of the Lakar and bring it back to Tantok Nor.” He gave nothing else, dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
When Kein rematerialized in the escort’s tiny transporter alcove, she found Glinn Lleye waiting for her. He glanced at the other, empty transport pad and then back to her.
“Where is the dal?” he asked.
She pushed past the junior officer, heading for the bridge. “You won’t see him again.”
She rose into Tantok Nor’s operations center inside the open-walled elevator, drawing a few cursory looks from the staff on duty. A Kelrabi—a trustee of some sort, she surmised—backed away from the lift platform and allowed her to exit, clutching a tricorder to its chest in an unconscious gesture of self-protection. The alien took the elevator back down as she glanced around the domed chamber. A female glinn at the main systems table in the middle of the room looked up and nodded toward the raised upper level, to the copper doors of the station gul’s office. “He’s waiting for you,” she said.
Kein had never seen the other female officer before, and for a moment she wondered how the glinn knew her identity. But then news traveled fast on any military outpost; she wondered what they were saying about her on Tantok Nor behind her back, and she wondered about the glinn.
Did she already have an understanding of how hard a road she was on? What lessons was she learning from Kein and her conduct?
