Deliberately, Hertome put himself in the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Let her past, Hertome. Or shall this one finish what she started with her Ap-Rej’s wrist?”
He took a step forward, as if ready to take her up on her challenge, and then they both froze.
There were footsteps in the corridor, coming toward them. They looked around, but there was no way out except for the single door through which they’d entered. They were trapped. Was this the moment that every one of their kind dreaded: exposure, arrest, everything that came after?
“This one regrets to inform her Ap-Rej,” Efheny hissed, “that she intends to tell her interrogators everything she knows about him.”
The figure coming through the door did not have the steely silver luminescence of an enforcer but the dulled glow of another Ret Ata-E. It was Corazame, Efheny’s fellow deck worker in Hertome’s unit. Seeing her workmate and her immediate superior together in the washroom, Corazame’s eyes widened in fright. Frantically, she signaled her deference to Hertome by further dimming the soft light emitting from her skin.
“This one . . . ,” she stammered, “this one . . . Ai!” she cried, backed away, and fled down the corridor.
Hertome said something that Efheny’s translator couldn’t quite catch—a curse, presumably—and then he turned to her.
“What now, Mayazan? What the hell now?”
• • •
In the end, Dax decided it was easier to return to the Aventine than to try to make sure that their communications would happen without scrutiny. She thought about making an elaborate excuse to Heldon as to why she had to go back to the ship but then decided to go for honesty.
“I trust you not to listen,” she told Heldon. “But I cannot wear this uniform and trust that the same is true for the Tzenkethi that are here on this base.”
Heldon soberly reflected on this. “I don’t believe you’re right about the Tzenkethi,” she said, “but I believe that you’re acting in good faith. That’s all I can ask from you.”
Excuses made, Dax went back across to the ship, taking Alden with her. They hurried to the conference room, where Leishman, Helkara, and the ship’s doctor, Simon Tarses, were waiting for them.
“Talk quickly,” Dax said. “I can’t stay away without it looking like there’s something serious going on.” She glanced at her three senior officers. “I assume there is something serious going on?”
“There is,” said Helkara, “but not what we thought.”
He quickly handed around a number of padds. Dax scanned through hers while Helkara began briefing her.
“Leishman and I carried out a number of long-range scans designed to detect the movement or presence of Tzenkethi weaponry in the area. It’s helpful to know that most Tzenkethi weapons leave a faint but distinctive trail of”—Helkara looked almost embarrassed—“sodium chloride.”
“Sodium chloride?” said Dax. “Salt?” She slumped into her seat. “You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not kidding you, Captain,” Helkara said earnestly.
“Makes sense,” said Alden, “if you’ve ever seen Tzenketh.”
“Makes sense?” said Dax.
“Lots of water,” Alden explained.
“All right,” said Dax. “Salt. Good. Fine. So we’re looking for . . . what? Too much salt in the area?”
“That’s pretty much exactly what we were looking for, Captain,” Leishman confirmed. “But we didn’t find it.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Dax, pressing the heel of her hand hard against her forehead. “Outpost V-4, being insufficiently salty, is not likely to have played host or currently be playing host to any Tzenkethi weaponry that we know of?”
“That’s right,” said Helkara. “However—”
“You say anything about pepper, Commander, and you’re in the brig.”
Helkara didn’t even blink. “I have no data on pepper,” he said. “What I am going to draw your attention to, however”—he leaned over to place his finger on a line of text on Dax’s padd—“is this.”
Dax saw blue figures, red figures, and green figures. Some of them were numbers and some were letters. Some of them looked suspiciously like they were upside down.
“Tell me what this means,” Dax said. “I’m a busy woman with a ship to run and a crisis to handle and I’ve surrounded myself with smart, dedicated people for the sole purpose of interpreting unintelligible squiggles for me.”
“It’s the chemical formula for a set of compounds generally known as P96 solvents,” Leishman explained helpfully. “Those figures mean that we’ve detected unusually high levels of these around Outpost V-4.”
“Again,” said Dax, “a little more interpretation will go a long way with me. Much like salt, in fact.”
“P96 solvents,” said Helkara, “are used to stabilize certain other compounds. One of them is navithium resin.”
Alden started. Dax, alert at once, said, “What is it?”
Helkara glanced at the doctor, sitting next to her, and sighed. “Simon, perhaps you could explain about the navithium resin?”
Tarses nodded. “Navithium resin, Captain, is a substance deadly to humans. Its most common use is in bioweapons.”
“Oh,” Dax said, and then she thought of the medical facility on Outpost V-4, staffed entirely by Tzenkethi. “Oh!”
“I knew it,” said Alden. He almost sounded excited. “I knew it!”
“All right, Peter, hold on a moment,” Dax said quickly and held up a hand before he could say any more. “Let me work through what’s going on here and what other explanations there might be.”
“Ezri, it’s obvious what’s going on—”
“Not to me,” Dax said sharply. Alden, frowning, looked ready to say something equally snappish back but then pressed his lips together, folded his arms, and walked slowly across the room, his back to the rest of them. Dax didn’t miss the surprised glances her three senior officers exchanged at the severity of her response. But it was critical that they got this right. Dax put the padd down on the table and pushed her hand through her short hair, trying to think clearly.
“All right,” she said. “So we’ve found nothing to suggest that there are any Tzenkethi weapons on or around Outpost V-4.”
“None that we know of,” Leishman confirmed. “I guess there could be a new generation of weapons that we know nothing about and can’t detect.” She glanced uncertainly at Alden. “But surely we have people on the ground finding out about this kind of thing, and that information would have cascaded through to us by now?”
There was a pause. “Commander Alden,” Dax said. “Can you confirm or deny this?”
Alden didn’t reply.
“Commander,” Dax said, calmly and firmly, “you’re here to offer the captain of this ship your specialist advice. Advise.”
Alden turned around slowly. His hands were clasped behind his back and he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. “Yes, we do,” he said crisply. “And yes, it would.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Dax said. Again her senior officers gave each other worried looks. “So,” Dax said, pushing forward decisively in her chair, “based on everything we know about Tzenkethi weaponry, we don’t think there’s anything hidden on Outpost V-4 right now. But while we were making sure of this, we discovered the presence of a compound used as a stabilizer for navithium resin.” She considered this. “But you didn’t find any actual navithium resin?”
“No,” said Helkara. “Although that would be hard to pick up on a scan.”
There was a pause. Dax propped her chin against her hand. Alden turned around and walked back to where she was sitting. He leaned down by her shoulder.
“Ezri,” he said quietly but urgently, “this is what we were sent here for. This is exactly what we were sent here to find. You said you wanted my advice. You need to listen—”
She swung her head up to look at him. “And what exactly have we found, Commander? Evidence of so
me solvents? What else can they be used for? Leishman, Helkara, what are P96 solvents used for other than stabilizing navithium resins?”
“Oh, all kinds of things, Captain,” Leishman replied.
“Hear that? All kinds of things. Their use might be obvious to you—and to Starfleet Intelligence—but I’ve not yet heard the evidence.”
She watched his hand clench into a fist. White knuckles. One slow, shuddering breath. What is this? Why are you so keen to push me to take such a hard line? Are you concealing something? Do you—and your superiors—know something you’re not telling me? Well, mister, you’re going to have to tell me if you want me to risk war.
“Ezri,” he said too softly, “have we just been over to the same base? Did we see the same things? I saw Tzenkethi engineers extending the capacity of the docking circles to cope with their warships. I saw Tzenkethi medics refitting a facility stocked with stabilizers for compounds used in bioweapons. Do I have to remind you of the proximity of this base to our borders?”
“You don’t have to remind me of anything, Commander!” Dax shot back. “You just have to show me proof.”
Alden pulled back as if bitten and went back across to the bulkhead. An uneasy silence settled on the room.
Dax took a deep breath and collected herself. “I’ve talked to Heldon,” she said. “I don’t believe she’d be complicit in something like this. In fact, I don’t believe the Venetans en masse would be complicit in something like this. Making Federation visitors feel uncomfortable? Fine. Leasing bases to Federation enemies to embarrass us? Yes, I believe they’d do that. But bioweapons?” She shook her head. “No. So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re not going to fling around accusations. We’re going to keep calm. Mikaela, Gruhn”—she glanced over at Leishman and Helkara—“go back to those scans and see if there’s anything else you can learn from them.”
Both officers nodded.
“Simon, any information you can supply about navithium resin, I’m sure I’ll find that useful.”
“Naturally, Captain.”
“Commander Alden,” Dax said.
A long moment passed before he turned around to face her.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Contact Starfleet Intelligence. Let them know what we’ve found. Tell them that we’re not certain yet whether it means anything. I want to know if there is anything they are not telling you . . . telling us. Have you got that?”
Suddenly he relaxed. “Yes, sir. Of course. I’ll get right onto it.”
“Good,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
She glanced around at the rest of her senior officers. “Thank you all. And while you’re all busy with that, I’m going to speak to Heldon. I want to give her every opportunity to explain what’s happening here before any of us does anything that we might regret.”
They left, somewhat subdued. Dax, exhausted, fell back into her chair. It’s bad enough fighting enemies, she thought. I don’t want to have to fight my friends.
6
FROM:
Civilian Freighter Inzitran, flagship, Merchant Fleet 9
TO:
Ementar Vik Tov-A, senior designated speaker, Active Affairs, Department of the Outside
STATUS:
Estimated time to border: 26 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 28 skyturns
Escort vessel D3 suffering engine malfunction. Maintenance crew dispatched.
To Dax’s astonishment, when she returned to Outpost V-4 to ask Heldon about the presence on the base of the solvents, the Venetan woman was completely frank in her response. Was there no subterfuge with these people? Did they have any secrets?
“Yes, we have a large stock of P96 solvents,” Heldon said. “They’re needed to stabilize certain resinous compounds that the Tzenkethi intend to bring here.” She gestured to her colleague, Entrigar Ter Yai-A, the Tzenkethi in charge of the new medical facility, who signaled his agreement.
Ask a stupid question . . . Dax thought. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alden shake his head and open his mouth. Hyatt quickly intervened. “The resinous compounds, Captain,” she said.
“Yes,” said Dax, also trying to cut Alden off. “Heldon, do you know what their purpose is?”
“Of course I do,” said Heldon. “Nobody brings anything onto this base without full disclosure. You must understand—as our Tzenkethi friends here understand—that this is still a Venetan base, operating according to our principles.”
“I do understand that,” Dax replied. “So, in the spirit of your principle of frankness, are you willing to disclose the purpose of the compounds to me?”
“Naturally,” said Heldon, and Dax was pleased to see a twitch of a smile. “Chemicals that we have added to the air here on Outpost V-4 make it comfortably breathable for our Tzenkethi friends. Unfortunately, they also make it rather dry for them.” She turned to Entrigar. “You’ll be able to explain this better than I can.”
“You’ve seen us, Captain Dax,” Entrigar said. “You’ve seen how complex an organ our skin is.” A pulse of lights passed across his pale blue flesh, as if to prove his words.
Dax watched in fascination. “This is part of how you communicate, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Entrigar said. “The resins are an emollient, nothing more. They’re needed to treat skin conditions likely to arise from the arid air quality here.” He turned to Alden. “You can confirm this, can you not, Commander? I understand that we are your . . .”—he lingered over the word—“‘specialism.’ ”
Alden almost audibly snapped. “Do you think we’re idiots? Ezri,” he said, turning to her, “this is ridiculous!”
“Peter—”
“How much longer are we going to carry on with this bloody ridiculous charade?”
“Commander, be quiet!” Dax looked over at Heldon, whose eyes had widened, pushing the dark stripes farther back up her gentle face and giving her an expression of considerable alarm.
“As for you,” Alden said, jabbing his finger toward Entrigar, whose skin crackled in response, “don’t think I don’t know what your game is!”
“Commander Alden. Outside. Now!”
Dax, grabbing Alden’s arm, practically shoved him out of the room. Hyatt followed them out into the cool, forestlike corridor.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dax said.
“What do I think I’m doing? Ezri, they’re assembling the materials to make biogenic weapons! They’re refitting a base to make it suitable for Tzenkethi warships! They are within strike range of Federation space! Why are you doing nothing?”
“I am listening to everything they have to say before I accuse them of intending to commit unimaginable crimes against us.”
“They are feeding you a lie! A lie so transparent, it’s practically an insult. I’m warning you, Ezri, don’t make me go over your head—”
“Over my head? You need to be careful about what you say, mister. You’re not in command here.”
“I warned you about the Tzenkethi.” Alden pressed his hands against his head. “I thought I could trust you, Ezri.”
There was a rising note of desperation in his voice that stopped Dax from replying. She glanced at Hyatt, who was gesturing with her hands, palms down, toward the floor: Calm it down. Calm it down. Dax eased her posture slightly and moved backward, making herself less threatening.
“You can trust me, Peter,” she said. “You can trust me to do everything in my power to try to stop a war breaking out. But I need to be able to trust you to keep your cool. Entrigar is playing you. Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you blow up.”
Slowly, Alden drew his hand across his face. “Of course. Of course. Damn it!” He slammed his hand against the wall, and the soft pliable material accepted the blow and absorbed it. “I should have seen it. Yes, yes, you’re right, Ezri. You’re right.”
Dax glanced at Hyatt. Better, she mouthed. A bit.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dax said
. “We’re all tired, and we’re all twitchy. But now comes the hard part. I need you to go back in there and apologize. I’ll follow you back in a moment, by which time I know you’ll have everyone in that room smiling again.”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll do that. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Tense days. Everyone’s tense.”
He pushed himself up from the wall and went back inside Heldon’s office.
“Captain,” Hyatt said, “a word in your inner ear . . .”
“Fire ahead.”
“Get Alden back on the ship. Now. He’s not helping.”
“You think?” Dax breathed out. “Look, can you give me a diagnosis?”
Hyatt raised her eyebrows. “Oh, come on. You trained long enough to know that I can’t do that. I’d need to sit down with him, talk to him, do some tests . . .”
“Right, and any suggestions on how I go about persuading him to do that? ‘Peter, I know we haven’t seen each other for a long time, but don’t take it the wrong way when I say I think you may be exhibiting symptoms of mild paranoia, and so Susan here would like a quick chat—’ ”
“You can order him, sir.”
Dax didn’t reply. She could order him, but she knew she wouldn’t. That would be too cruel.
“I can’t give you a diagnosis,” Hyatt said, “but at the very least, it’s my judgment that Commander Alden is suffering from stress, exhaustion, and tension, and as a result his reactions to the Tzenkethi are verging on phobic. That’s the best-case scenario.”
Dax sighed. “And the worst case?”
“At the worst, we have someone with incipient paranoia on our hands, for whom the Tzenkethi presence is a significant stressor. There’s the possibility that he might take preemptive action against them.”
“Preemptive action?” Dax said in horror. Visions of Alden running amok on the base ran horrifically through her mind. “Should I confiscate his phaser?”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Brinkmanship Page 8
