“All division leaders and senior officers to operational alert stations,” said the terse female voice of the ship’s computer.
“Arrival in the Bajor system in eleven metrics, mark.”
Lonnic Tomo balled her fist and began slamming it on the door of her patron’s chambers, fast and firm, over and over.
From inside she heard an annoyed grunt. “Enter! Enter!” The voice was clipped. “I know it’s you, Tomo! Get in here!”
She ran an ebony hand over her scalp, the close-cut fuzz of her hair tickling her palm, and then she pushed open the heavy nyawood door and went inside.
Jas Holza was shrugging on a jacket and trying to hold on to a glass of water with his free hand. The minister’s prematurely lined face was flushed with effort, his thinning hair unkempt. He had ordered Lonnic to let him rest until the afternoon, and this was barely the midday. His arrival back from Batal in the early hours of the morning had been a bad sign. The rain still coming down hard from the storm, his flyer had touched down in the courtyard of the Naghai Keep, engine noise echoing against the fusionstone walls of the ancient citadel. But Jas hadn’t debriefed his aide on his return as he usually did after such journeys, just barked at her to go away, telling her to come back the next day.
“What do you want?” he spat, and she knew it was bad. It took a lot to push Jas Holza into a bad mood, but when it did the storm that came after lasted for days. Lonnic wanted to ask about the events of the Batal trip, and she was sure that Jas thought that was why she had roused him; but those matters were of secondary importance now. The minister went to the window and turned the slats, letting in the air as he opened the doors to the balcony outside.
Beyond the narrow, tall windows of his chambers, the citadel gave him an unparalleled view of Korto’s cityscape on the river plain below. The keep had been the ancestral home of the Jas clan since Bajor’s Age of Enlightenment, and the minister’s D’jarra ensured that it was his family who had held on to the reins of one of the most fertile and productive districts in all of Kendra Province. But owning land was not the same as managing land, and Jas had less of the required skill that his forefathers had shown.
“Well?” He rounded on her. “Talk to me, Tomo! You’ve dragged me to my feet, you may as well make it worth something!”
“Sir, I have Colonel Li Tarka of the Militia Space Guard and First Minister Verin Kolek waiting on comm channel nine for you. There’s a matter of utmost importance that requires your immediate attention.”
Jas’s ire instantly dissipated. “Verin? Why is he contacting me? The next scheduled council meeting isn’t for days yet.” He blinked. “What do the Space Guard want?”
“It’s about the Eleda, the scoutship?” she prompted. The minister’s brow furrowed, and he orbited his desk, searching for something among the documents there.
“Eleda,” he repeated, dragging the name from the depths of his memory. “One of ours, wasn’t it?” Jas nodded to himself. “Yes. Old Rifin’s son was the captain, wasn’t he?” On Lonnic’s look of agreement he tapped a finger on his lips. “Yes, I remember. Terrible business.”
The Jas clan, in addition to owning land and mercantile concerns across Western Bajor, also ran a relatively successful asteroid prospecting business in the uninhabited systems throughout the sector. There was a small fleet of warp-capable survey ships that earned a decent turnover scanning for valuable ores that the larger belt-mining corporations could exploit. The Eleda was one of those ships, and it had gone missing a few months earlier out toward the Olmerak system. Bajor Traffic Control had declared it missing and presumed lost, and death benefit paperwork to pay off the crew’s dependents was already in the works. The loss of the scout was unfortunate, but not uncommon; asteroid prospectors in the Bajor Sector regularly fell foul of pirates, belligerent Tzenkethi, or just plain bad luck.
The minister worked to make himself look more presentable, taking a seat behind his desk to face the oval wallscreen across the room. “Did someone find the ship? Are the crew still alive?”
He was doing a good job of moderating his earlier bad mood. Lonnic could see her patron was already thinking about rescinding the benefits. “Uh, yes and no, sir. The crew didn’t survive, but someone found the ship.”
Jas nodded. “I see, Li’s people, was it?” He frowned again. “Olmerak is a bit of a way out for the defense fleet.”
She shook her head. “The Cardassians found the Eleda, sir.” The words sounded just as odd coming out of her mouth as they had when she’d first heard them herself, only a few minutes before she knocked on Jas’s door. “They’ve…come to return it. And the bodies of the dead men.”
The minister blinked, and for a moment his eyes went hazy as his vision turned inward. Lonnic knew that look; Jas Holza was a rather dogged political operator, and while his recent years had not been the most stellar part of his tenure as minister for Korto District, he still had the one skill that all politicians kept sharp—the ability to see an opportunity when it presented itself. He drew himself up and adjusted his collar one last time. “Tomo, put Verin and the colonel through, please. Let’s see what these aliens want, shall we?”
His aide nodded and tapped a control on her belt.
Jas Holza settled on his default neutral expression as the screen activated. The display was split into two live feeds, with Verin on the left and Li on the right. The minister’s eyes were drawn to Li Tarka first, the Militia officer all dark hair and intensity, his ghost-gray uniform stark against the command chair behind him. The colonel’s broadcast was coming directly from the bridge of his flagship, one of the Space Guard’s assault vessels that prowled the edges of the Bajor system. By contrast, Verin Kolek, representative for the Lonar Province and the current First Minister, was a careworn figure who appeared outwardly to resemble a kindly old grandfather. Verin’s aspect, however, belied a sharp mind in a hard man.
The First Minister wasted no time on any preamble. “Holza, there’s an issue at hand that requires your immediate involvement. This ship of yours…”
Jas nodded. “My adjutant has explained the situation to me.”
“Did you have any involvement in this?” Verin demanded.
“I know you’re ambitious, but making overtures to an alien interstellar power on your own authority is unacceptable!”
Jas licked his lips. “First Minister, Colonel Li, please understand I’m as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Believe me, I’ve already listed the Eleda as lost, whereabouts unknown.”
“You may wish to reopen that file,” said Li gruffly.
“As of this moment, my ship is shadowing a Cardassian battle cruiser at the edge of the system. They’ve transmitted detailed scans showing they have your scout and the remains of its crew on board.”
“They want to return them,” added Verin. “To you. Apparently, their technicians were able to recover part of the ship’s database, and they learned you were the Eleda’s owner and patron of the dead men.”
Jas found himself nodding. “That…that is correct.”
Li’s eyes narrowed. “The Cardassians have never done anything like this before, Minister Jas. They’ve always kept to their borders, stayed away from our core worlds. Any dealings we’ve had with them have always been through colonies on the fringes or third parties. The fact that a military starship from the Union has arrived in our home space is…unprecedented.”
The politician smothered a twinge of surprise. He was hearing something in Li Tarka’s voice that he had never heard before—apprehension. For most Bajorans, Jas Holza included, the Cardassians represented just one more aspect of the wide universe out beyond the edges of the Bajor Sector—unknown, alien, potentially dangerous. “Do you think it’s the vanguard of an invasion force?”
Li’s lips thinned. “One vessel wouldn’t pose a threat to us. I have a flotilla of raiders standing off rimward of the Denorios Belt that could be here in moments. We could ash a single cruiser if they made any aggress
ive moves.”
“And yet,” said the old man, “the Cardassians aren’t known for their spontaneous acts of diplomacy.” He glared at Jas from the viewscreen. “The commander wants to speak with you, because the Eleda crew were your men.”
Jas put his hands flat on the table in front of him and shot a look at Lonnic where the dark-skinned woman stood off to the side. Her face reflected the same concerns that he felt, but he schooled his expression carefully and did not show them. Taking a breath, the minister became aware of how delicate a circumstance he now found himself in. Verin’s annoyance was clearly stemming from the need to bring him into this situation, and he knew that the old man would do whatever he could to discard Jas as soon as the Cardassians had been mollified. Jas’s frequent opposition to Verin’s policies of late and his thinly veiled suggestions that the aged politician should step down had isolated him in Bajor’s political arena. If things had been different, he might have smiled at the discomfort the First Minister was exhibiting, but the matter was too serious to treat lightly.
If the Cardassians were here, coming as galactic neighbors and not at the head of a warfleet, then Jas was being presented with an opportunity that would never come again. With cold certainty, he knew that whatever choice he made in the next few minutes would alter the course of his political career forever. “I’ll talk to them,” he said with a nod.
“Holza,” rumbled the old man, his eyes turning flinty, “be wary. Don’t allow yourself to exceed your remit. Remember, your jurisdiction ends at the boundary of Korto District. Mine encompasses all of Bajor.”
“As you say, First Minister.”
Verin grunted and waved to someone off-screen. The view on Jas’s display shifted to allow a new window to appear; and there were the aliens. “Do I address Minister Jas Holza, patron of the scoutship Eleda?” There were three of them on the screen, the one in the center that spoke, another with a curiously slim face, and the last wearing what seemed like some colorful parody of a penitent’s hooded robes.
Jas had never spoken to a Cardassian before, only seen them in holos or still images. He found he couldn’t look away from the strange knotty lines of musculature around their necks and eyes. “I am he. I understand that I owe you gratitude for your recovery of my property and my employees. On behalf of Korto District and Bajor, I thank you. The families of the men lost aboard the Eleda appreciate your gesture.”
The Cardassian inclined his head. “I am Gul Kell, commander of the starship Kornaire. This is Rhan Ico, of our science ministry, and Hadlo, a cleric of the Oralian Way. We represent a diplomatic initiative from our ruling body, the Detapa Council.” Did he detect a slight air of disdain when Kell indicated the cleric? Jas filed that thought away for later consideration; at his leisure, he would go back over the recording of this conversation and sift it for subtle meaning. “We are returning your dead,” continued Kell, “and with that act of compassion we wish to make formal contact with your world and your government.”
“Then Bajor will welcome you,” Jas answered, speaking quickly to cut off any reply that Verin would have made. Now was the moment; now was the chance to put himself in the middle of this before the First Minister forced him back on to the sidelines. “I will welcome you. I govern the city of Korto, on the northern continent of Bajor, from a seat of great honor known as the Naghai Keep. If you will agree to it, Gul Kell, I would gladly invite you and your party to accept my hospitality as a small measure of thanks for what you have done.” He heard the sharp intake of breath from Verin’s side of the screen, but did not spare the old man a look.
The Cardassian commander nodded. “That is acceptable. We will reach Bajor orbit in two of your rotations.” The alien gave a curt nod. “Until then. Kornaire out.”
The feed from the other ship blinked out and suddenly Verin’s face was filling half the screen again. “Did I not make myself clear, Jas?” demanded the First Minister. “Your rank does not give you the right to set interplanetary policy for our world!”
“Forgive me, sir,” Jas returned. “I did only what any man would—I offered gratitude to someone who had earned it—”
Verin’s angry snort cut him off. “This matter goes far beyond your understanding! Don’t try to build up your importance by blind opportunism!”
“My eyes are fully open,” Jas retorted. He glanced at the Militia officer. “Colonel, I would ask that you have the aliens transport whatever remains of the Eleda and her crew to your vessel. Traffic Control will want to conduct a thorough investigation into the cause of the ship’s loss.”
Li nodded. “I concur, Minister. I’ll see to it. In the meantime, we’ll take the Kornaire on a slow, roundabout route in to the homeworld. That’ll give us plenty of time to scan her and prepare our orbital posture. Just in case.” He straightened in his chair. “Li out.”
Now the screen showed only Verin’s face. “You should have let me handle this, Holza,” said the old man. “You don’t have experience with aliens. I don’t think for one moment that you understand what you’ve let yourself in for.”
“You underestimate me, Kolek. You always have.” Jas reached for the communicator control on the surface of his desk. “Think of this as a chance to learn how wrong you are about me.” He tapped the keypad and the screen went dark.
Immediately, all the tension he had been holding in check flooded out of him, and Jas’s face flushed with color. Moderating the tremor in his hands, he snapped his fingers at Lonnic. “Fire’s sake, I need a drink. Give me a glass of that Alvanian brandy.” Tomo did as he asked, and he tossed back the contents of the tumbler with a single flick of the wrist. The smooth heat of the alcohol washed through him, smothering the churn of emotions. He eyed his assistant’s distant expression. “Tomo? Don’t drift off on me. This is important. I need you focused.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, with a wooden nod. “It’s just…I hadn’t expected…”
Jas helped himself to a refill and took his time with the second glass. “Neither did I. But then the hallmark of an intelligent man is the way in which he deals with the unexpected.” He studied the glass. “I think I dealt with that to our advantage.”
She nodded again. “It’s strange,” she began. “The one in charge, Kell. He introduced the one in the robes as a cleric.” Lonnic’s hand strayed to her face and touched the silver and gold links that hung from her right earlobe. “I’ve never heard of Cardassians having a religion before. I always thought they were…godless.”
Jas turned to the open window, and a slow smile emerged on his lips. “It would seem otherwise. I wonder what else we’ll learn about them?”
3
From the outside, the precinct house had the look of blunt, no-nonsense architecture. Compared to the other buildings in this quarter of Korto, the majority of which were built from dark woods and sand-colored stone, the precinct hunched low to the ground and peered out toward the highway like an angry face of rough granite. Prylar Gar Osen walked slowly toward it. It made him think of a pit wrestler, squat and unpleasant, while the rest of the buildings around it were stately and elegant. In fact, the police compound was the newest construction, the original—and in Gar’s opinion, far more graceful one—having been torn down and replaced when Jas Holza succeeded his father as minister of the district.
The priest crossed up the shallow steps and into the entrance hall. There were a few people spread out at the petitioning kiosks, but not enough to form a line. Gar threw a nod at the blond woman at the duty desk, and she beckoned him through the security gate. She bobbed her head as he passed; he felt a twinge of guilt at not remembering her name, and he should have, because she was a regular at the temple. He covered his mild embarrassment by producing the padd he’d been given by Vedek Cotor. “I’m looking for someone,” he began, offering her the device. “He was taken into custody this morning at the port.”
“Hey, Myda,” said a voice from behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll look after this guy.”
&nb
sp; Myda. That was her name. She flashed Gar a smile and walked away. He turned and there was Darrah Mace, that usual crooked half-grin on his face. “Brother Darrah,” he began in a mock-stern tone. “Have you deserted the Prophets? It’s been so long since I saw you at services, I thought you might have been struck down by some ruffian.”
Darrah cocked his head guiltily. “Sorry, Osen. I’ve been busy. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been visiting the precinct shrine.” He jerked a thumb at an alcove just inside the doorway where a small prayer banner was visible and candles burned slowly. “In this job, I need all the protection I can get, spiritual or otherwise.”
Gar nodded, sensing the air of weariness in his friend’s tone. “Have you thought about taking some time off?”
Darrah shot him an odd look. “Have you been talking to Karys and Syjin?”
The priest’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Syjin’s back on Bajor? I didn’t know. Perhaps I’d better send a comm to the shrine, tell them to put an extra lock on the gate.”
The constable frowned. “That’s hardly very charitable of you, Prylar. I’m sure he’d never steal anything from a holy place. He does have some standards.”
Gar smirked, following Darrah through the open space of the precinct’s squad room. “True. Is he well?”
The other man mimicked a set of scales with his hands. “So-so. He nearly had the paste beaten out of him this morning down at the port. Some jilted husband went off the rails, and—”
“Oh dear,” Gar’s hand went to his ear. “The husband. A stocky fellow, a Mi’tino?”
“That’s him. You know the man?”
The priest nodded. “He’s the reason I’m here. His father is a patron of the monastery, and we’ve been counseling the son about his, uh, relationship issues.”
“Personal counseling?” Darrah repeated. “That’s what hefty donations to the clergy get you, huh? Maybe I’ll stick a little more in the collection box next time I visit.”
Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Page 5
