Fortunately, for all the Corthoc fortress’s technology, it still had live guards, and guards could be bribed. Well, one had been, though he proved unwilling to provide any assistance beyond what he’d been paid for. Once past the gate, she was on her own again. But so long as she maintained the meek, downcast manner appropriate to her servant’s attire, she could hopefully manage to avoid attention.
“You there! Girl!” Williams had made it all the way into the central complex before she got noticed. Not wishing to draw more attention, she froze and tried to act properly deferential as she turned. The bearded, potbellied, ornate-wigged dandy who looked her over matched the resistance’s descriptions of Fetrin Corthoc, the second son of the current patriarch and a man known for his cruelty and licentious appetites. Indeed, his eyes were roving over her in a way that made her feel unclean. “My, my, I haven’t seen that ass in here before. Ohh, fine sleek curves from the front, too. Mm, where have you been hiding, my dear?”
A fat hand pawed her chest roughly, and she restrained herself from breaking his wrist, reminding herself of the mission. There were limits to what she would tolerate, though, and she began planning her options in case his invasive attentions continued.
His other hand came up to her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. Once he got a good look at her, though, his face fell. “Oh. You’re older than this body makes you look.” He pulled away with the manner of a customer displeased by the merchandise. “Get away, then. Go.”
Williams hastened to comply, suppressing a shudder. If twenty-seven was too old for him . . . she didn’t want to think about it.
“Here,” came a hushed female voice. Seeing a plain, fortyish servant beckoning her toward a side corridor, Williams made her way over. “Aww, you’re a new one, aren’t you, poor dear?”
“That’s right,” she said, not wanting to give much away.
“Well, you were lucky. Fetrin may lose interest once you’re full-grown, but other Corthocs aren’t so choosy.” The maid lowered her eyes. “We learn soon enough to keep to the back passages, avoid attention as we can. At least it betters our chances, most of the time.” Looking more closely, Williams realized the woman had once been striking, before life in the lords’ service had worn her down. “What’s your name, pet?”
“I’m . . . Valeria.” Who here would recognize it as an Earth name?
“Denuri. Come, I’ll show you the way of things.”
Being found by Denuri proved a godsend. She wasn’t getting any closer to a computer terminal, but the invisibility that came from blending in with the servants, following their expected schedules and routes, and being perceived as little more than a household appliance gave her the opportunity to overhear a good deal of the gossip that the Corthocs engaged in as a favorite activity. Much of it was about gambling and drinking, the laughable ill fortunes of rival Family members, or the kind of sexual conquests that made it hard for Val to restrain herself from unleashing some Suus Mahna on the Corthoc men’s nether regions. But here and there she caught snippets of important information that even the house computers might not contain:
“I tell you, we haven’t even needed the code broken! Some people’s secrets are easy enough to guess. We’re making headway through bluffs alone. . . .”
“. . . Federation or no Federation, the Commission is still the root of the problem. They wouldn’t have considered bringing those aliens in if they weren’t already getting ideas about another ‘intervention’ on behalf of our poor, oppressed peasants. And the last thing we need is real support for these revolts . . .”
“. . . That fool outworlder thinks Two is the prize! These criminals, they have so little imagination. To think our ambitions could be as limited as theirs.”
“Filthy outworld creatures. I’ll be glad once we’ve put them all in their place—or in the ground.”
And what she couldn’t overhear directly from the Corthocs, the servants themselves had picked up, and they enjoyed gossip no less than their masters (plus Williams got groped less in the process):
“Well, my mistress said, ‘Why settle for one new ship? The whole company will soon be worth less than one of their ships is now. . . .’ ”
“. . . Then Master Vemrim threatened to send me out to die in the war. I was fool enough to talk back, ask what war. Thought I was in for a flogging, but he just laughed and said I could take my pick soon enough. . . .”
“. . . Lizards? Did he mean the tortoises?”
“I wasn’t going to ask Master Dectof, you can bet on that! ‘We’ll make the lizards dance, too,’ is what he said.”
It all suggested some very interesting things, and Williams made sure to record notes on her scanner when she got the chance. She’d need more information to piece the whole picture together.
To that end, she finally managed to convince Denuri to help her get a few minutes’ access to the house mainframe. The senior maid was able to arrange a minor kitchen disaster to draw the Corthocs’ attention for a while, and Val followed her directions to an appropriate terminal.
She was halfway into hacking through its user lockout with her scanner when she heard a slap and a cry—the cry of a fairly young girl. After that came a voice whose aggressive yet covetous tone she recognized.
Despite herself, Williams jogged out to the hall and peered around the corner. Fetrin Corthoc stood there, holding an adolescent blond girl by the arm. Val recognized her as one of the younger servants, though she blanked on the girl’s name, having disciplined her memory to focus on mission-relevant data. But Fetrin was determined not to let her go. He was stroking her hair, pulling at her clothes, laughing with twisted affection as she wept and pleaded.
Williams seethed, but duty held her back. This is everyday life here. I can’t change that. I can save the most people by getting that data, retrieving the archives. The greater good. She forced herself to turn away and start back for the computer room.
Behind her, fabric ripped and the girl wailed.
Twenty seconds after that, Fetrin Corthoc lay dazed and aching on the floor, struggling to right his bulk and screaming for the guards as Williams and the serving girl fled hand in hand. Val had resisted the temptation to hurt him as badly as she’d wanted; all that would have achieved was to make him more vengeful toward whatever other girls he got his hands on next.
No, I can’t save everybody. But I can help someone right in front of me—and what would I be if I didn’t? She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. Grev and Sam would understand.
With the guards alerted, there was no chance of getting to a terminal now. All she could do was help the girl elude pursuit—after donating her outer blouse so the poor child could cover up again. But once her initial adrenaline rush wore off, the girl hesitated. “Please . . . if I escape, my family will be punished.”
Val looked her over. “What’s your name?”
“Mindlen.”
“Well, Mindlen, I have contacts in the resistance. If we can get to your family, I can take them and you to safety.”
“The resistance?” Mindlen’s eyes lit up. “I thought they’d been crushed.”
“That’s what the Corthocs want people to think. But there’s always hope, Mindlen. The more that people like Fetrin try to crush it, the stronger it grows. Remember that.”
The girl set her jaw and nodded, a bitterly determined smile on her bruised face. “I will. Let’s go.”
Inspired by hope, Mindlen sure-footedly led Williams through the servants’ corridors. Once informed of the situation, Denuri ran interference to get them out the rear of the building and back to the gate where the bribed guard awaited. But he warned them that the guards had been called out to search and he could grant little in the way of a head start before he’d need to join the pursuit.
Indeed, Williams and Mindlen nearly ran afoul of the guards’ hovering skimmers a couple of times before they reached the girl’s home. En route, Williams told the girl where to meet her resistance contact in case they got
separated.
Mindlen’s parents were initially reluctant to abandon their home, but learning that the resistance survived—and seeing their daughter’s torn dress and bruised face—was all they needed to motivate them, even without the knowledge that the guards would surely be pounding on their door before long.
The family was just about to follow her outside when she raised a hand, stopping them in the doorway. A guard skimmer was turning onto the street and slowing down. “They’re here,” the lieutenant said.
Thinking quickly, she pulled the scanner from her pocket and handed it to Mindlen. “Make sure the resistance gets this—tell them it needs to get back to my ship, or to the Trade Commission. There’s urgent information in there.”
“But what will you—”
“I’ll lead them away. Once I have them occupied, you run. Fast as you can, no looking back. You understand? You have to get away.”
Mindlen nodded bravely, her lip quivering, and clutched the scanner to her chest. “I understand. Your box must be protected.”
Val reached out and stroked her cheek. “Yeah . . . that, too.”
She came out the door, knelt, and pulled a pair of fist-sized paving stones from the front walk. She jogged toward the skiff, crossing the street away from Mindlen’s family. “Hey!” she called, hurling one of the stones. It hit the side door of the skiff, its arc just too low to strike the driver. Williams cursed under her breath; she still hadn’t fully adjusted to the local gravity. But she’d gotten their attention. “Yeah, I’m talking to you! I have an urgent message from the United Federation of Planets!” She hurled the other stone, but the guards ducked this time. Still, she struck one on the shoulder.
That did it. Identifying herself as a Federation operative made her a high-value target, enough that the guards forgot about Mindlen and pursued Williams en masse as she ran down a side street. She dodged and weaved through the narrow streets, taking advantage of her much leaner cross-section and tighter turning radius to stay ahead of the skiff.
But then a second skiff descended in her path, the guards bringing their weapons to bear. She dodged as energy bolts tore past her, but the first skiff was blocking her retreat.
Williams took solace in that as stun bolts hit her from both sides and her consciousness faded. At least it meant that Mindlen had a chance.
10
Babel Station
“I’M SORRY, ADMIRAL, but it doesn’t look good,” Astellet ch’Terren told Archer. They were in Babel’s austere security section, Archer seated in front of ch’Terren’s desk while T’Rama stood alongside the lieutenant commander. A pair of Andorian guards hovered behind Archer’s shoulders. “Witnesses have confirmed seeing a figure in a Starfleet Command uniform and cap heading into that building before the shots were fired. Your backup uniform and cap are missing from your quarters, and we found a phase pistol power pack compatible with the model used to fire the shots.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Archer said. “I didn’t bring a phase pistol—this is a diplomatic conference! Obviously someone broke into my room last night, took my uniform, and planted the power pack.”
“Access logs show no unauthorized entry to your room—and one entry conforming to your voice key.”
“That must have been faked. I wasn’t even in . . .” He broke off.
T’Rama leaned forward. “Admiral, if you have an alibi, why not simply tell us?”
Archer was sorely tempted. But he had to believe that Hemnask wouldn’t hang him out to dry like this unless the consequences of revealing their relationship really would be as politically dire as she’d asserted. Not to mention that it simply seemed wrong to violate her privacy without her consent.
So the admiral chose another tack. “Do I really need an alibi? Think about it. Why would I wear my own uniform to sneak up to a rooftop and shoot at a presidential candidate?”
“It could be argued,” T’Rama countered, “that a Starfleet uniform would allow you to go anywhere without being questioned.”
“The esplanade isn’t exactly a high-security area. Besides, don’t you think a Starfleet admiral would have enough phase pistol practice to be able to hit his target?”
“Unless that admiral suffered from nerve damage that limited his manual dexterity.”
“Then that admiral would have the sense not to take the shot himself.”
T’Rama contemplated. “These are logical counterarguments. Yet your reluctance to provide an alibi remains an outstanding concern. It suggests you are protecting someone who has something to conceal.”
He rolled his eyes. “If I were, then I wouldn’t have let them go out on the esplanade in my uniform and use a Starfleet phase pistol.” Archer took a breath. “Look, there’s gotta be some other line of evidence you can pursue. Something that’ll clear me.”
“It is for us to determine the direction of this investigation, Admiral.”
Archer sighed, but said nothing more. After a moment, ch’Terren said, “I take it you have no further statement, sir?”
“You may take it and—yes, that’s correct.”
“Then I’m sorry,” the young Andorian told him, “but I have no choice but to confine you for the time being. We will continue to investigate, of course. But procedure must be followed.”
“I understand,” Archer told him.
Indeed, he could understand everyone’s actions—ch’Terren’s, T’Rama’s, even the shooter’s. The staged assassination attempt had clearly been meant to hurt the Federalists’ standing and undermine Rigel’s chances of admission, and possibly to worsen the existing divisions within the Federation.
The one person whose actions he couldn’t understand—the one whose actions hurt the most—was Sedra Hemnask.
June 22, 2164
U.S.S. Endeavour, orbiting Rigel VII
“I’ve located the ship,” Elizabeth Cutler reported from the science station. Thanien rotated the command chair to face her. “It’s in a mountainous region north of the main settled territories.”
“How far north?” Takashi Kimura asked.
“Not far. A few hours’ march from the nearest city.”
“Still,” Hoshi Sato observed, “that’s a strange place to set down. We know the Kalar shoot down intruders. Could they have crashed?” Thanien heard the concern in her tone: what if the abducted Pioneer crewmen had been on that ship?
The lieutenant shook her head uncertainly. “I can’t tell at this range. I’m only getting a partial read on the ship . . . it’s in a narrow cleft under an overhang, and there are refractory minerals around it that confuse my scans. Plus all the volcanic dust in the air reduces visibility.”
Thanien narrowed his eyes. “That seems conveniently well-hidden for a crashed ship. They may have evaded the Kalar’s artillery and landed there to avoid detection.”
The first officer stood and addressed Ortega at the helm. “Ensign, adjust our orbit for optimal line-of-sight on the vessel on our next pass. Altitude, two hundred fifty kilometers.” He turned to the tactical station. “Commander Kimura, prepare a team. Unless Lieutenant Cutler can offer a more definitive scan on our next orbit, I want you to proceed to the target ship in shuttlepod one to determine its status and occupancy.”
Sato leaned forward, frowning. “Sir, if the Kalar detect the shuttlepod—”
“A fast, low approach from the north may elude detection.”
“There are still other options we haven’t tried. We could send a sensor probe.”
Thanien feared the communications officer was letting her romantic relationship with Kimura compromise her judgment. He strove to appeal to her reason. “I’m concerned with the risk of tipping off the craft’s occupants, if any. If they are down there, and if they have our people, I don’t want to give them a chance to bolt, or worse. I want the team ready to strike as soon as possible.”
“Understood, sir. But maybe if we hail the Kalar, explain that we’re going after other intruders into their territory, we might co
nvince them not to fire.”
He threw Sato an impatient look. “Do you really think that’s likely, Commander?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“And it might alert our quarry if they’re monitoring our communications.” Thanien was growing weary of this. He’d tried to be patient with Sato, but her constant second-guessing was becoming excessive. He turned back to Kimura. “Commander, ready your team.”
The armory officer glanced briefly at Sato. Thanien recognized it as concern for his lover’s feelings rather than a challenge to his authority, but it was still reassuring when Kimura looked back to him and acknowledged, “Aye, sir.”
He left the bridge, and Sato gazed after him with concern and displeasure. Thanien kept an eye on her, hoping she would offer no further disruptions.
Veranith, Sauria
Four days ago, a riot had broken out before the Veranith Parliament Building, instigated by protestors condemning the government for allowing its people to die by the thousands in the name of a historical grudge against M’Tezir. Three days ago, with the riots threatening to escalate, the Parliament announced that it had formally requested medical aid from Basileus Maltuvis and severed its ties with the Saurian Global League. Two days ago, the Veranith Defense Force, aided by the M’Tezir troops that had arrived overnight, had begun evicting all non-Saurian residents from the country, officially to protect them from the unruly populace. The claim was not without merit; on the night of the riots, a Tellarite couple had been beaten nearly to death on their way to the Federation embassy.
Today, the evacuation had been declared complete, with all offworlders successfully and safely expelled from Veranith territory. However, if anyone were to check the records, they would show that a human named Albert Sims had conveniently left under his own power four days earlier, just before he would have been compelled to leave. Further records would show that he had applied for residency and employment in Lyaksti, the central state of the Global League. If the captain and first mate of the sea shuttle on which Sims had been registered as a passenger were questioned afterward, they would both confirm that he had indeed been aboard—though the captain might be hard to find, having suddenly come into an inheritance, retired, and turned over ownership of the sea shuttle to the first mate, fulfilling both their longtime ambitions.
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