D’Nesh’s choice of epithets underlined her overconfidence. The Syndicate may have infiltrated Thoris’s campaign team, but Garos knew that the Andorian himself was a chan of integrity who had to be handled delicately lest he suspect how he was being used. Indeed, Garos was surprised he’d been so easily maneuvered to Babel in the first place. “But think of the sympathy he lost by exploiting the Rigel crisis for political points!” he told D’Nesh. “You Orions may see such crass opportunism as a matter of routine, maybe even admire it, but the Federation’s peoples look poorly upon it.” He sighed. “If you’d consulted me, I could have—”
Zankor scoffed. “Don’t be coy. You would’ve been happy to see me fail.”
“Yes, I would have—if you were the only one affected. What I was about to say is that I could have warned the Sisters that your plan endangered mine. That after Jofirek brought in Hua and his network, you were so pathetically desperate to prove your worth that you overreached, just as you always do, and didn’t consider the consequences.” He shifted his gaze within the Zami mask he still wore. “I would’ve thought you, at least, would have had the good judgment to consult your sister first, D’Nesh.”
Navaar pouted. “Sorry, dear, but I have to agree with Garos on this one. You should’ve kept me apprised of the specifics of your plan, so we could’ve coordinated with Garos.”
The middle sister stared, looking confused and betrayed. “I thought Rigel didn’t matter to you. That’s why you left it to Garos.”
“I never said it didn’t matter. Working in concert with our partners is what matters. The Malurians have the most at stake if Rigel is lost, so Garos was the one most motivated to solve that problem. But I always meant him to have our support if it was needed, because that’s how this partnership is supposed to work. We shouldn’t be undermining or obstructing our own allies.”
D’Nesh was still sullen, but her expression grew chastened. “You’re right, sister. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
Navaar’s eyes shifted to Zankor. “No. It won’t.” She gestured to an Orion male whom Garos recognized as Parrec-Sut. The tall, wiry Orion came up to Zankor and seized her from behind.
“What? What are you doing?” Zankor cried.
“I’m so sorry, Eldi,” Navaar said, reaching out and stroking her shoulder. “I do believe you sincerely meant to prove your worth to us, and I cherish your devotion. Unfortunately,” she went on with a coquettish frown, “the Federation now knows your syndicate was behind the shooting at Babel. That will lead back to you, Eldi. And it’s very important that we make sure the trail ends with you.”
“No.” Zankor gasped as she realized what was about to happen. She screamed and struggled as Parrec-Sut bodily removed her from the suite. Navaar gazed on with a mix of sympathy and grave disappointment. D’Nesh looked away, her features bitter and embarrassed. Maras giggled and clapped; she tended to find violence funny.
In this case, at least, Garos could agree. He smiled broadly as he contemplated what state Zankor’s remains would be found in—if they were ever found at all.
“That is such a shame,” Navaar sighed once the screams subsided. “This alliance was going so well, and now we have to sacrifice one of our major players, along with her entire network. Those resources and connections will be hard to replace.” She ran a hand through her hair. “And all because that gisjacheh Mazarite wanted to show up Jofirek. We’re supposed to be working together, not bickering and challenging each other.”
“You’re right,” D’Nesh conceded. She reached out a hand and brushed Navaar’s wrist. “I guess . . . this means we have to work all the harder to hold on to Rigel. Help Garos . . . so we all win.”
Navaar’s expression slowly warmed into a smile, and she clasped her sister’s hand gratefully. “Thank you, love. Yes. That’s exactly what we need.” Her piercing dark eyes turned back toward the visual pickup. “Garos, you have our full support from now on. You remain our most important ally.”
Garos granted her a courtly nod. “Thank you, Navaar. I appreciate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I have some damage control of my own to handle.”
“Of course.”
The screen went dark . . . and Garos growled under his breath, praying for the time when Raldul would be strong enough that he no longer needed to indulge those ludicrous green females and their childish seduction games.
He had to search the console for the intercom control. He really should remember its location by now, but the design was that confusing. “Bring in the prisoner, please.”
Garos rose to meet the human female as a pair of the Thamnos’ guards led her in, her wrists bound in front of her. “Welcome, Lieutenant Valeria Williams,” he said, spreading his arms graciously. The Starfleet officer didn’t seem to be in much of a condition to appreciate the gesture, though. She was bruised from the beatings that the Corthocs had futilely used to attempt to elicit more from her than her name, rank, and serial number, and she had been stripped to the flimsy cotton undergarment of a Zami female servant. He supposed her captors might find this alluring, for her mammalian attributes were not unlike those of the Three Sisters in their curvature and prominence, although the underlying physique was more tautly muscular. “I trust,” he said, “that your time in the Corthocs’ custody was not . . . excessively invasive.”
Her eyes blazed defiantly. “I taught them to keep their hands to themselves.”
“An impressive achievement, given the Corthocs’ appetites. I guarantee, however, that it would not have lasted. Sexual abuse is one of their favorite forms of domination.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Yes, and nobly attempted to intervene, so I gather. I applaud the effort—oh, rest assured, in case you were wondering, I am entirely indifferent to mammalian charms. Although that does not mean my own interrogation methods will be particularly agreeable.”
But Williams’s gaze had sharpened at the previous sentence. “The dancing lizard.”
“Excuse me?”
“And how are things in the Raldul alignment lately? Do I have the pleasure of addressing Dular Garos himself?”
Garos beamed. “Ahh, how refreshing—another intelligent female to talk to! If, perhaps, somewhat rude.” He gestured to one of the guards, who forced the woman into a seat and strapped her to it with a leather band around her waist. “I think you could stand a lesson in humility.”
Once the guards had secured her ankles as well, he instructed them to leave, preferring some privacy for what followed. He returned to the console and sent a signal. Within a minute, the screen lit up with the face of Rehlen Vons—or rather, the simulacrum thereof worn by one of Raldul’s finest impersonators, chosen for his facial and vocal resemblance to the late assistant director. “Mister Toric,” Garos greeted him. “Let me introduce you to Lieutenant Williams of Starfleet. She serves with your Mister Grev and Mister Kirk.”
Toric looked her over with a smarmy grin, simulating a prurient appreciation of her state of undress. “Charmed, young lady.” He was a good man, Garos thought, but fonder of such gratuitously sadistic flourishes than he needed to be. To Williams’s credit, she showed no sign of letting it get to her.
“Mister Toric, I’m eager to know—have your guests attempted to enact their plan to destroy the secret archives yet?”
“We overheard them finalizing their plans last night,” Toric replied. He then explained for the lady’s benefit: “We let them get this far so that it would have more impact when we punished them for the attempt.”
“Them?” asked Garos.
“Well, technically Mister Damreg only tortured the human prisoner. But the little Tellarite certainly got the message.”
Williams gasped, wincing and looking away. “Yes, that must be distressing to learn,” Garos told her. “That by choosing to rescue a stranger, you condemned your crewmate to be tortured.”
The Starfleet lieutenant glared with fury in her eyes. “The only ones responsible are you people. A
nd I swear I will make you bastards pay.”
Garos studied her, intrigued by the passion in her voice. “My, my, could it be that the hapless Mister Kirk is more than merely a crewmate?”
“He’s a friend,” she replied. “We’re all friends. That’s something I doubt you’d understand.”
Garos sighed. “How little you know me, Lieutenant. I count many friends among the members of my alignment and my crew. It pains me when I must sacrifice them for the sake of our goals. But I know they understand, as I do, that the good of Maluria surpasses all personal considerations.”
She peered closely at him for several moments, long enough that Garos decided he’d made his point and turned back to the screen. “I take it, then, that Ensign Grev has responded to this new . . . incentive?”
“Oh, yes. He’s broken the first layer of encryptions—enough to give us file headings and partial descriptions. We don’t have the secrets yet, but at least we know who and what they’re about, and we can make some educated guesses. I’ve already sent messages to various politicians on Two and Three, implying we know more than we do, and their imaginations have filled in the rest. They’ll do as they’re told.”
“Excellent, Mister Toric. See that the Tellarite proceeds with more alacrity from here on. Our bluffs can only achieve so much; if we’re to win Rigel II, we need proof of the secrets we hold.”
“I understand, sir.”
“That will be all.” Garos signed off, and the screen went dark.
After a few moments, he heard a strange sound from Williams. As he stepped toward her, the sound escalated into a tired laugh. “Perhaps the Corthocs did more damage than I thought. I wouldn’t expect Rigel’s plight to be so amusing to you.”
“No, it’s not that,” Williams said. “See, I just realized I know more about the First Families’ plans than you do.”
He waited, aware that she was making him ask. Finally he gave in. “What do you believe you know?”
Again that soft, knowing laughter. “You really think this is just about Rigel II and the Federation, don’t you? That the Families will blackmail the Trade Commission into rejecting Federation membership and seize control of Two in the process. And maybe if there is a war over Two, even a rebellion on Three, then that might prompt the Vulcans to vote no on membership anyway. Oh, you’ve figured all the angles.”
He retained his aplomb. “I did say I enjoy intelligent company.”
“Oh, if only I had some.” More chuckling. “They’re playing you, Garrie. The master manipulator, and you’re being conned by a bunch of feudal hicks.”
“Just say what you intend to say. My indulgence has its limits.”
She shook her head. “Dectof Corthoc was right. You lack imagination. You’re so used to thinking like a criminal that you assume the Families are content to be criminals too. That once they solidify Rigel II as a base for their activities, they’ll just go on with their usual piracy, and you can keep your lawless, Federation-free status quo.”
“Your deductions are interesting.”
“And yours are lacking. Think about it! The Families are absolute rulers on their world. They revel in their domination of everyone around them. Do you really think people who are used to being kings would settle for being pirates and gangsters? They don’t just want Rigel II, Garos. They want Rigel.”
Garos controlled his reaction. “An entirely plausible suggestion. But wanting is one thing, achieving another.”
Williams’s head shook in disappointment. “You’re not thinking it through. You know they already have the means. Think about what else they could do with the information in that archive. Don’t trust me, reason it out for yourself.”
Garos pondered . . . and, despite himself, expressed his thoughts aloud for her consideration. “Of course the secret archives have the potential to ruin businesses across the system. To throw the entire Rigelian economy into chaos.”
She nodded. “And destabilize the whole Kandari Sector and beyond. Economically, politically, even militarily.”
Including Maluria, he realized. He shook it off. “But how would that benefit them? They depend on that economy as much as the rest of us do. Mining and interstellar tourism are the basis of Rigel II’s economy—it would be worth little if that were taken away. Not to mention their shipping concerns.”
“It’s pronounced ‘piracy.’ ”
“As you will. Without active interstellar commerce, with a depressed economy or even system-wide warfare, their business would be severely undermined.”
“And that’s the root of your problem, Garos. You think they care about business. You think holding on to offworld trade is important to them. Garos, they hate outsiders. They hate it that their civilization’s dependent on the Jelna for all its advances since first contact. And they see more exotic species like the Chelons or yourselves as little more than livestock.”
“We are allies. Partners.” No doubt some of the Zami felt as Williams described, but he could not believe it of Retifel Thamnos, not after the time he’d spent in her company.
“You’re using them and you’d throw them out an airlock as soon as it was convenient. They’d do the same to you. In fact, I heard them brag about having dirt they could use to control you along with everyone else. ‘Make the lizards dance,’ they said.” He couldn’t look away now. “They don’t care if they control a healthy economy on an interstellar scale,” Williams said. “They don’t care if they have to throw away the profits they make from outsystem trade and tourism. They’re not that rational. They just want to be in absolute control, like it was in the bad old days. They’ll gladly settle for a smaller pond, because that makes it easier to be the biggest fish.”
Garos paced the room for several moments, contemplating. But he remained skeptical. “Granted, they could do as you say. But it comes down to your claim about their motives, their priorities. How do I know you speak the truth?”
“I’m sure you still have a mole or two with access to the Trade Commission. The Commission should have a record of the data files I sent back to my ship, the conversations I overheard in the Corthoc estate.” She shrugged. “Or find out yourself. I was able to infiltrate as a servant, go unseen and overlooked for a few hours, and find out all I needed about their real plans. You’re supposed to be the masters of infiltration—you really haven’t tried this already?”
Garos didn’t want to believe her. But he was a master of deception, and she would have to be extraordinary to fake such sincerity well enough to fool him. At the very least, he had to look into it.
“What a shame.”
He and Williams spun to face the door. There stood Retifel Thamnos sucking on her narcotic stick, flanked by the two guards from before—who had their weapons drawn on him. “Of course you’ll have to investigate her claims, Garos,” the Zami matriarch said. “It’s only prudent. And it’s only prudent of us to assume you’ll find she’s telling the truth. So I’m afraid we have no choice but to skip a few steps and kill you both now. We’ll make it look like she killed you and was then killed by our guards, so that your fellow lizards will be none the wiser.”
Garos stared at her for a long moment. Extraordinary indeed, he thought. Retifel had managed to fool him completely. Or perhaps he’d just been so starved for the company of a worthy female that he’d allowed himself to be fooled. Either way, he realized, it only increased his respect for her.
Though he was not about to concede the game. He chuckled softly, stepping closer to Williams, casually moving one hand out of their view. “And, what, you thought it was courteous to tell me first rather than shooting me in the back?”
“Well, we have to stage the scene properly, you know. But yes—for all that I know you’re a hideous reptile thing under that rather fetching mask, I have enjoyed the pretense that you’re someone worth treating as a person. Call me sentimental, but I wanted to say good-bye.”
Garos took what comfort he could from that as he placed his hand on Vale
ria Williams’s shoulder. “Good-bye,” he said, giving Retifel a last respectful nod as he worked the remote control hidden in his clothes. He felt the transporter beam engulfing him and the lieutenant, and he appreciated it greatly that the Zami were too dumbstruck by their disappearance to raise their weapons in time.
Unregistered Malurian shuttle, Poustof Hills, Rigel IV
Valeria Williams tried to get a leg beneath her once she materialized in a seated position aboard Garos’s escape craft. She just ended up with her ass landing on her foot rather than the deck, but it was something. She rose to her feet, hands still bound before her, but Garos was moving to the controls, not troubled by having his back to her. She looked around: sure enough, there was a barefaced Malurian underling covering her with a boxy bronze pistol.
But Garos had other concerns. He activated the shuttle’s comm system. “Tiroc, respond! Tiroc! The Families have betrayed us! Get out while you can!” There was the sound of a brief scuffle and cry from the speaker, then silence. Garos stared for a moment. “Damn them,” he muttered, then turned to the engine controls.
Williams took a careful step forward, minding the guard. “Garos. Why did you take me with you?”
The Zami-masked criminal was busy launching the ship, but once it had shot into the air (at some speed), he deigned to reply. “I seem to be having an epidemic of unreliable allies today. Those who haven’t betrayed me have proved fatally incompetent. You, my enemy, are the only one who’s actually been helpful. I thought I’d take a gamble that you might be again.” He shook his head, turning in his seat to face her. “Disappointing, really. Oh, don’t misunderstand, I’ve sacrificed many allies when there was a need for it, but there should be certain basic standards of professionalism. You should understand that, Lieutenant. You humans have a saying about honor among thieves, don’t you?”
Star Trek: Enterprise - 016 - Rise of the Federation: Tower of Babel Page 22
