“My door’s always open, Mace, you know that.” said Gar, with a rueful smile. “You stopped Tikka Rillio from beating me up when we were at school. The least I can do is watch over your spiritual well-being now that we’re older.”
“Tikka Rillio. Whatever happened to her?” The constable chewed his lip.
“She got herself a colonist husband and went off to Prophet’s Landing, had a whole pack of children, I believe.” He nodded to himself. “Easier to make something of yourself out there, where you don’t have to pick and choose because of your caste.”
Darrah smirked. “You should be glad you took to the church. She’d have carried you off with her given half the chance.”
Gar returned a wan grin. “Yes. She was a big girl.” He shook off the thought. “Anyway. Vedek Cotor asked me to come down and see about providing some spiritual comfort to our mutual friend in the cells.” The priest’s face fell as a thought occurred to him. “He didn’t injure anyone, did he?”
Darrah shrugged. “He roughed up Syjin a little bit. Nobody of consequence.”
“Now who’s being uncharitable?”
“Hey, you know Syjin. He’s never needed anybody’s help attracting trouble.”
Gar nodded. Darrah was right, as usual. Even when the three of them were boys at the temple school, it was Syjin who had demonstrated a knack for getting himself into all kinds of scrapes. Like Darrah, Gar’s parents had both been around when he was a youth, but the pilot had been orphaned at an early age, and that manifested itself in a disorderly streak a mile wide. “You’ll keep an eye on him?” said Gar.
“Don’t I always?” Darrah replied. “Hey, he gave me something. You like methrin eggs?” The police officer motioned to a black box on his desk and then paused as a tall and athletic woman emerged through the doors from the precinct’s upper levels.
“Don’t the Militia codes prohibit serving law enforcers from accepting gifts from citizens?” she said, arching an eyebrow at the box’s contents.
Gar felt a grin form on his face. “Hello, Tomo. You’re looking well.”
The minister’s adjutant bobbed her head, her close-cut hair catching the light. “Thank you, Prylar.”
Darrah was frowning as he turned the box to face Lonnic. “Okay then. Take what you want. Just save me some of the agnam loaf.”
She waved him away. “Keep it, Mace. I’m not down here to hassle you.”
Darrah shot the priest an arch look. “Huh. That’s a rarity.”
“Seriously,” she continued, and she said the word in a tone that made both men pause. The easy air of friendship between them fell away. It was immediately clear to Darrah and Gar that Lonnic wasn’t interested in their usual banter. “I’ve just been speaking to Colonel Coldri. He told me I should bring you in on this, seeing as the keep falls inside your patrol pattern.”
“In on what?” Darrah demanded. For his part, Gar was already certain of what the next thing out of Lonnic’s mouth would be.
“What do you know about the Cardassians?” she asked him.
Darrah shrugged. “Same as everyone else, I suppose. Ugly and pasty-looking, no sense of humor, eat a lot of fish.”
“That’s not too far off the beam.” She smiled without mirth. “They’re coming here.”
Gar saw Darrah go tense. “What, all of them?”
“It’s a diplomatic mission,” Gar offered. “A single ship, a formal first contact, that sort of thing.”
Darrah shot him a look. “You knew about this?”
He nodded. “Just before I left the monastery, Vedek Cotor told me. The Kai is going to be part of the group that greets them, and I’ll be serving as one of her pages.”
“Meressa’s going to meet the Cardassians?” The constable blinked. “Is that wise?”
“And not just her. Minister Jas is assembling a whole group of high-caste nobles to be at the keep when they land. Which brings me back to my original point.”
Darrah’s brow furrowed. “Why would aliens come to Korto? The capital’s only just over the mountains, why not go there, or to Dahkur?”
Lonnic explained quickly about the conversation she’d been witness to that morning, and Gar took it in, filling in the gaps in the terse briefing that Cotor had given him.
His old friend’s expression soured with each passing word. “Why am I always the last to hear about this sort of thing?” Darrah frowned. “Tomo, this is going to mean a lot more work for the both of us. I’m going to have to bring in more men to cover the additional security requirements, get Coldri to sign off on reinforcements…”
Lonnic handed him a padd. “Already done. The minister asked me who I’d recommend to handle the arrangements, and I told him you could do it.” She eyed him. “You can handle it, Mace, can’t you?”
Gar turned to the woman. “I think he was hoping to take some leave, spend some time at home…”
“Oh,” said Lonnic, and she reached for the padd. “If that’s the case, I’ll pass it to someone else. Proka Migdal, or one of the other district watch leaders.”
Darrah shook his head and held the device away from her. “No. No, I’ll deal with it. Nobody else knows Korto as well as I do. I’m the best person for the job.”
Lonnic and Gar exchanged looks, and the priest saw a flicker of understanding on her face. “Mace, if you’re due some downtime, take it. The precinct can run without you, you know.”
He watched the other man study the padd. “I can take a retreat some other time, the kids won’t mind. This is important. As much as I trust Proka, he’s not up to managing something like this.”
Lonnic nodded. “All right, then. The Cardassians will be here in two days, so I need a protocol for the arrival arrangements from you by tonight.”
Gar frowned. “Couldn’t you make it tomorrow? The Gratitude Festival starts tonight, at least let him have the evening off before you put a yoke on him.”
“Very well. Tomorrow morning. You can start thinking about it on the way to the docks.” She glanced at the chronograph display on her thumb-ring.
“Why am I going to the docks?” Darrah said warily.
Lonnic leaned over and tapped a panel on the padd, revealing a page of information. “The aliens have an on-planet liaison they’ve sent along as an advance representative. Minister Jas wants you to escort him up to the keep for a meeting at five-bells.”
The constable’s frown deepened, and he reached down to snap on his duty belt. “And I was kinda hoping today would be a slow day.”
“Seems like the Prophets have other ideas,” Gar offered.
“Isn’t that always the way?” Darrah threw the comment over his shoulder as he made for the stairs leading to the basement parking garage.
Darrah made good time from the precinct to the riverside docks, getting there just a little slower than he would have if he’d been coming in with a flyer instead of one of the Korto City Watch’s courier sedans. The skimmer wasn’t as fast as a flyer, that much was true, but it was a lot more well-appointed. There was a media suite and a wet bar in the back, so he understood, and the magnetodynamic suspension rode very smoothly. Darrah had never actually sat anywhere else but the driver’s seat, though. He had a way to go before he got to a rank that came with this kind of benefit as standard.
Securing the car on the dock apron, he brushed a speck of lint off his tunic and looked up in time to see the sleek hydrofoil settling in to the pier on a stream of white breakers. The boat had come from the city of Janir in the north, racing down the old canals to reach the naturally cut channel of the River Tecyr. Korto sat on a bend in the Tecyr where it turned westward toward the ocean, the wide green waterway flowing fast and strong down from the Perikian Mountains. In Kendra Province and other parts of Bajor, people still used the rivers for travel and shipping cargo, and it was a common sight to see skiffs and packets rolling quietly along under solar-charged fansails; by contrast, the hydrofoil was a brash, noisy conveyance, all speed and angry buzzing aquajets.
The boat bumped to a halt and settled into a wallow as crewmen scrambled to the pier to moor it securely.
Darrah saw the pennants flapping from the stern in the light breeze: two colored flags, one flying the city seal of Qui’al and the other the slightly gaudy clan sigil of the Kubus family. He had never dealt with anyone from that lineage before, but he knew the face of the man who stepped from the hydrofoil as well as any Bajoran who watched the newsfeeds. Kubus Oak, Minister for Qui’al and owner of one of the planet’s largest offworld shipping firms, strode down the pier and across the docks as if he owned them. The man seemed little different in the flesh to how he looked on the feeds: a round face with deep-set eyes, short and nondescript hair, clothes that favored offworld styles.
Two of the minister’s aides followed quickly behind. One was a mousy, slight man clutching a briefcase, the other a blunt-looking fellow who seemed to have been forced into a tunic a size too small for him. The second man had the unmistakable air of a soldier about him, and the constable could tell from his gait that he had a concealed holster in the small of his back.
Kubus stepped up, and Darrah opened the sedan’s door for him. The minister scrutinized the vehicle. “This is a skimmer,” he noted with a disdainful sniff.
“Your insight does you credit, Minister,” Darrah replied, without a hint of sarcasm. The man had said four words, and already Darrah was taking a dislike to him.
“I’d expected Holza to lay on a flyer for me, at the very least.” Kubus eyed the car, as if it were beneath him to climb inside.
“All on operational duty, sir,” Darrah said smoothly, “and not a one of them is as comfortable as this vehicle.” He gave a thin smile. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll have you to the keep on time.”
“See that you do, Constable,” said Kubus, finally getting in, his assistants following suit.
Darrah pressed the accelerator and took the sedan out through the back streets, avoiding the main thoroughfares where traffic would be thick and hard to navigate. On the dashboard monitor, he saw the stocky man, the bodyguard, peering narrow-eyed out of the windows, frowning at the tight lanes as the car threaded through them.
He skirted the industrial districts and the housing projects beyond the City Oval, flashing past the great steps that led to Korto’s bantaca spire and on to the loop roads up the hillside toward the Naghai Keep. Along the sides of the highway there was activity at every storefront, down every side road and boulevard. Banners and gales of flags were fluttering in place or being hoisted up for the start of the festival, and at every intersection there was a wide brazier. The better districts had ones plated in bronze or brass; the less moneyed wards of the city made do with simple iron cauldrons. Stalls selling scroll paper and quills were doing brisk business along with jumja kiosks and cook-wagons. Crossing over an intersection, Darrah caught a whiff of freshly made hasperat and his mouth watered.
He hadn’t really thought that much about the Gratitude Festival this year, not really, only in terms of being a constable in the City Watch, in terms of work and not family. His entire consideration of the event revolved around the dispensation of officers for the duration, of what flyers to have on standby, which known bag-snatchers and pickpockets to keep an eye out for. The phantom taste of the hasperat soured on his tongue as he thought of Karys, of Bajin and Nell. Would this year’s festival be like last year’s, when he had pressed a handful of litas into his wife’s fingers and went off to work after a few moments of standing with his children? Absently he remembered how Bajin had got sick last festival from eating too many toasted bean curd buns. He’d only found out about that after getting in as B’hava’el was rising, Karys making it clear in no uncertain terms that it was his fault it had happened.
Darrah pushed the thought away with a grimace and drove on. From behind him, he heard Kubus talking with the slight man. “What is that?” He was pointing at something out on the street. “A giant scroll?”
The minister’s aide nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s a quirk, a quaint tradition in some of the less sophisticated townships. Districts where the locals can’t afford to purchase individual renewal scrolls for each person will often pool their money to buy one single scroll of great size; usually a prylar from the local temple will take on the responsibility of writing all the people’s woes on the paper before it is burned in the brazier.”
Kubus grunted. “The whole point of renewal is that the contents of the scrolls are private. What you write on them is between a man and the Prophets. Who would want some inexperienced cleric knowing your troubles?”
“Some of the people may not be able to write themselves,” the aide demurred.
The minister’s face soured. “Surely Korto is not so parochial that its citizens are illiterate? If that’s true, then Holza is doing a poor job of stewarding the community.”
In the driving seat, Darrah’s grip tightened on the steering yoke. Perhaps when he put his troubles down on his renewal scroll tonight, there might be a space at the bottom to add the name Kubus Oak. Darrah deliberately let the skimmer jerk as he turned into the avenue through the ornamental gardens toward the high tower of the keep.
“Pardon me,” he said, with mock sincerity, as Kubus’s aide missed his mouth with a sip of water. Darrah had never been that fond of people from Qui’al, not since he was a teenager and the city’s springball team had stolen the pennant from Korto by using decidedly unsportsmanlike conduct. Kubus Oak was doing little to improve the constable’s opinion.
As he drew the sedan to a halt inside the ring wall, at the base of the portcullis, Darrah found himself wondering if there had been any point at all in dragging him off a vital assignment just to ferry this elitist out-of-towner up to meet Jas. It was a job any supernumerary could have done—perhaps not as swiftly as Darrah did it, thanks to his knowledge of the city streets, admittedly—not one for a senior constable.
He opened the door for Kubus, and the man exited the car without ever looking at him, moving off to be greeted by Lonnic, who threw Darrah a quick nod of the head. It was all about show, all about politics, and Darrah detested the cheap theater of it. Minister Jas wanted Minister Kubus to think he had great respect for him, so he arranged for a senior law officer to ferry him about like a common driver. I’ve got more important things to do.
He turned and found the slight man watching him, dabbing at the water mark on his tunic. “The minister will require transport back to the docks once his meeting is concluded,” he was told.
“Really?” Darrah folded his arms. “How long will that take?”
“As long as it needs to.”
“Is that right?” Darrah dipped into his pocket and took out the sedan’s control key. “I’ll tell you what. You tell Kubus, he wants to drive back, he can be my guest.” Darrah tossed the key at the aide, who caught it badly, fumbling. “Just make sure he doesn’t dent it.”
The constable strode away, out through the gates of the keep. There was a tram stop just outside the ornamental gardens, and the route would take him straight back to his home. If he was lucky, he’d get back there before Karys and the kids left.
With a warmth that was utterly at odds with the misgivings he felt, Jas Holza greeted Kubus Oak with a smile and a nod. “Minister Kubus, it’s a pleasure to have you in Korto. Welcome to the Naghai Keep.”
“Thank you, Minister Jas,” said the other man, “and let me be the first to wish you Peldor Joi,” he concluded, making the ritual greeting for the Gratitude Festival.
Jas showed him to a broad leather armchair. “Ah,” he replied. “A little early, perhaps? The celebrations here will not formally commence until I make the Presider’s address to the city tonight.”
Kubus smiled. “On the contrary, my friend, I think you and I have plenty to be grateful for at this very moment.” He nodded at his own statement. “Yes. The Prophets have favored us. They have handed us a great opportunity, perhaps even the greatest of our lives.” The other man glanced at Lonnic as Jas’s adjutan
t entered the room with a tray of deka tea and small refreshments. Jas took a cup, but Kubus waved her away, waiting until the woman had left them alone before he spoke again. “You understand my part in this?”
Jas sipped at his cup. “In the broadest of strokes.” What he knew of Kubus seemed to be confirmed by his first impressions of the man; the minister for Qui’al District was direct and self-assured. He had a firm face, with short, spiky brown hair, but Kubus’s eyes were sharp and watchful. Jas had expected no less. Although he had never dealt directly with the minister, he had often seen him in the council chambers and heard second-and thirdhand of the man’s business. That Kubus Oak was a shrewd speculator was well-known. One did not become the head of Bajor’s largest interstellar shipping agency without equal measures of cunning and intelligence. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” he added.
Kubus spread his hands, taking in the room around them. “I’ve always felt that most of my kinsmen on Bajor are inward-looking,” he began. “It’s a failing of our nature, I think. Too much effort spent on matters of the spirit, on habit and tradition. We risk becoming parochial. Do you agree, Holza?” He leaned forward. “I may call you Holza?”
Jas nodded. “Of course. Oak.” He licked his lips before replying. “In answer to your question, I suppose, yes, there is that possibility.”
Kubus continued. “It’s a big galaxy out there. Bajor’s just a small part of it, and we have to come to terms with that if our species is to continue to thrive. In the thousands of years Bajorans have had civilization, we have only made the smallest of moves into the ocean of stars around us. In galactic terms, we’re barely wading in the shallows, while other races we’d consider immature by our standards have great swaths of the quadrant under their aegis. We can’t afford to be insular in the face of that.” He smiled to himself. “I’ve made quite a good life for myself with this philosophy.”
“So I understand.” These sentiments were not anything that Jas hadn’t heard before, either through Kubus’s statements on the newsfeeds or from the mouths of other, less influential ministers who followed his lead.
Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Page 6
