“I know that, Peter. I won’t let you down either.”
• • •
Ilka invited Crusher to her suite as soon as she received her request for a meeting. “I must apologize if I’ve woken you,” Crusher said on entering the room. The lighting had been lowered and Ilka had a faint air of dishevelment about her. Her usual meticulous dress and careful adornment were nowhere in sight.
“No, you haven’t woken me,” Ilka said, pointing toward her desk, where padds and other data files were piled up. “I wonder, are any of us sleeping tonight? I’ve been in near-constant communication with my government, and I’m sure that’s been the same for you and your colleagues too.” She gestured to Crusher to sit down, and, with an instruction to the computer, the lamps came gently to a slightly brighter level, like woodland in the late afternoon. “But how can I help you, Beverly? I know it’s been a difficult day for your team. Is there anything that I can do to help?”
“I hope so. We’re stuck, Ilka,” Crusher said frankly. “I went with Dygan to speak to Vitig, but Alizome was there, and she prevented any meaningful dialogue from taking place. No, actually, let me be scrupulously accurate about what happened: Alizome sabotaged the meeting.” And I was an easy target.
Ilka clicked her tongue. “A malign influence, that one.”
“You said it. Anyway, there’s no way now that any of our senior representatives will get anywhere near the Venetans, and in fact I doubt they’d willingly see any of our junior members again, myself included.” Crusher leaned forward, her hands falling open on her knees in a gesture that was half hopeless, half supplicatory. “Ilka, you’re the only remaining lead negotiator who has anything remotely like a channel open to the Venetans. You’re the only senior representative here from a Khitomer power who isn’t implicated in this whole spying farce. The Venetans are angry with the Cardassians for spying on them, and angry with us for spying on their friends. But I haven’t seen any accusations flying around about your government yet.”
“So you want me to speak to the Venetans on your behalf?”
“If you think you’re able to do that.”
Ilka sat back in her chair. She tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. “If I do meet with Rusht and Vitig, what do you want me to say?”
“Try to persuade them that they have to reopen formal negotiations. If ‘formal’ is the right word for what’s been going on. But it’s better than all this.” Crusher held up her hands helplessly.
“This?”
“Talking through back channels. Sending messages through each other. You have children, don’t you, Ilka?”
“Yes, I do. Four.”
“Then you know what children’s games can be like. That’s what I feel we’re trapped in now.”
Ilka smiled, and Crusher knew she understood. Pressing her advantage, she went on, “It’s only adding to the hostility and the suspicion that we’re all feeling. If Rusht and Vitig would only listen, we and the Cardassians are ready to talk. Apologize if necessary. After all, we’re all smart, experienced people. I’m sure we can come up with a way of apologizing that doesn’t make us feel like we’re down on bended knee pleading for favors. What do you say, Ilka? Will you go and speak to the Venetans for us?”
To Crusher’s dismay, a frown crossed Ilka’s face.
“Should I be preparing myself for a no?”
Ilka stood up and started pacing the room. At first, Crusher thought it was simply evasiveness or nervousness, and then realized that Ilka was checking for recording devices. But surely the Venetans would not do that? And Ilka must have taken precautions already in case the Tzenkethi were listening? When the Ferengi woman finished her circuit of her office, she sat back down next to Crusher and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice.
“I’ve already hinted to you that there are divisions within my mission, Beverly,” she said quietly.
Ah. Not her opponents. Her own people.
“We may be showing a united front to the outside world, but we are not as one among ourselves. Several of my juniors”—she bared her teeth briefly, and Crusher suspected she would prefer to give them a different, less anodyne description—“are pushing me to take a more independent line. They believe that our association with Detrek is an embarrassment for the Ferengi Alliance and that our interests would best be served by putting some distance between us—”
“But Detrek is our ally. For all the damage she’s done, that still counts for something.” A cold feeling ran through Crusher’s veins. Without Ilka, and with the Cardassians ejected from the room, the Federation would be on its own. “You’re not leaning that way, are you, Ilka?”
“No, no!” Ilka said quickly. “As you say, for all her faults, we have signed a treaty with the government that Detrek represents, and so we have obligations to her and her people. My position is clear—we must back up our allies, particularly the Federation. But although I am head of this mission, I am not the only power within it . . .” She held out her hands.
Crusher understood how awkward Ilka’s position was. There were plenty on Ferenginar who did not think a female was suited for high office and were looking for any failure on her part to prove that no female could be trusted with such responsibilities. Any misstep or wrong decision on Ilka’s part would not only end her own career but also might do irreparable damage to the many females following her. Agreeing to speak to the Venetans on behalf of the Federation and the Cardassians would be deliberately going against an opinion held by many on her team, and no doubt they would not forgive her.
Crusher opened her mouth to take back her request, but Ilka spoke first.
“I’ll go,” she said quietly. “If I don’t do this now, they’ll only find some other way to undermine me. If my own people are set on destroying me, I might as well go down for my principles as for anything else. I’ll contact Vitig immediately and ask her to meet me within the hour.”
Crusher felt a weight lift off her. She knew she could trust this clever, gifted woman. She offered her hand, which Ilka clasped.
“Thank you,” Crusher said.
“It is my pleasure, Beverly. I only hope that somehow the quiet voices of reason can keep going long enough to outlast noisier and less tolerant tones.”
“Keep an eye on Alizome,” Crusher advised. “It’ll be best if she’s not at the meeting, but if you can’t prevent that, then make sure she doesn’t get a chance to intervene. She’ll try to slander you—and your government. So keep watch.”
Madame Ilka bared her small white teeth. “Oh, I’ll be ready for Alizome,” she said. “I hope she’s ready for me.”
9
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: 17 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 22 skyturns
FROM:
Captain Ezri Dax, U.S.S. Aventine
TO:
Admiral Leonard Akaar, Starfleet Command
STATUS OF TZENKETHI FLEET:
ETA at Venetan border: 9 days
ETA at Outpost V-4: 11 days
It’s not the hours that get to you, thought Ezri Dax, as she waited on the bridge of the Aventine for news of Alden and Kedair, it’s the minutes. The too-slow, lengthening minutes . . .
There was a great deal that Dax loved about command, but this, she thought, was by far its worst aspect: the long dark wait watching the clock while colleagues put themselves in danger on your orders. Bad enough under normal circumstances, but worse when you weren’t one hundred percent satisfied that one of them was fit for the task you’d set him, and you knew exactly how high the stakes were.
Dax glanced again at the time. Alden and Kedair had been gone for thirteen and a half minutes. They were under a communications blackout, of course, but if everything was going according to the plan, then withi
n the next two minutes they would be approaching the medical facility through the service tunnels, whereupon Alden’s knowledge of Tzenkethi security systems would come to the fore. Dax agonized again over her decision to send him on this mission. Maybe this will be too much for him. What if he’s suddenly confronted by Tzenkethi? What if it seems like they’re going to attack him? Will he break? Will he crack?
Dax consulted the latest reports from Venette. It didn’t take her long to see how badly the situation there was unraveling. But rather than making her even more anxious, the news from Venette strengthened her resolve. This is going to be worth it, she told herself firmly. Diplomacy has been getting us nowhere. The Tzenkethi are trying to insinuate themselves into position on our borders so they can point biological weapons at us, and I won’t allow it.
A tap on her shoulder startled her out of her reverie.
It was Bowers. “It’ll be worth it, Ezri,” he said, quietly, guessing her thoughts as always. “And don’t worry. Kedair’s switched on for the both of them.”
“Thanks, Sam. I hope so.”
There followed another half hour of make-work, clock-watching, and nail-biting before the bridge heard from the transporter room that Alden and Kedair were back from Outpost V-4—and with the samples they’d been sent to get. Relief flooded through Dax as she hurried to meet them in the sickbay.
She met Hyatt in the turbolift, also on the way there.
“Well, Captain,” Hyatt said, “seems you got away with it. I’m glad about that. But let’s hope that Peter Alden doesn’t end up paying a high price for what you’ve just put him through.”
Alden, when Dax saw him, didn’t seem to be any worse for the experience. He was cheerful and bright-eyed (a little too bright-eyed? Dax fretted), and greeted her enthusiastically.
“Job done,” Alden said. “Hope we’ve got what we need now to prove to Heldon exactly what those bastards are up to.”
Helkara and Tarses were standing by to take the solvent samples and carry out their tests on them. Alden left to get some sleep.
Dax grilled Kedair. “How was he?”
“Fine,” said Kedair. “More than fine. Couldn’t have done it without him. He knew his way around those Tzenkethi security systems like a Ferengi knows the Rules of Acquisition. Anyone might think his life once depended on it.”
When Kedair had left, Dax asked Hyatt for her opinion. “What did you think? Did he seem okay?”
“Adrenaline alone will keep him going for a while yet,” Hyatt said. “It might be years before we see if there’s been any lasting damage. Hopefully he won’t be mid-mission.”
Another four agonizing hours passed before Dax got word from Tarses that their tests were complete. She headed back down to the sickbay, clean, white, and orderly. Tarses and Helkara had mixed news for her.
“The samples we’ve got are informative,” Helkara said, “but not definitive. Not all P96 solvents can stabilize navithium resin. But these particular samples can.”
“So what does that tell us?” Dax asked with a sinking heart. Surely the nerve-racking past few hours hadn’t been for nothing? “Anything new?”
“Nothing particularly new,” said Tarses. “We have not, of course, proved that the Tzenkethi ships must be carrying navithium resins. We have only demonstrated that the solvents stored on Outpost V-4 could be used to stabilize navithium resins.”
“Leaving us slightly more sure than we were before that they will be—but not certain,” Dax said. She slammed her hand against the worktop, sending a tray of medical instruments rattling. “Damn it!”
“And I’m not sure this is the kind of evidence that we could present to Heldon, Captain,” Helkara said. “For one thing, she might want to know how we acquired our samples.”
“In addition,” Tarses said, setting the instruments straight, “there are many other resins with which these solvents can be used, which serve the emollient function needed by the Tzenkethi and which are entirely benign as far as humans are concerned . . .” His brows creased as if something had suddenly struck him.
“What is it, Simon?” Dax urged. “What are you thinking?”
“Allow me a moment to think this through.” Tarses, deep in thought, continued making minor adjustments to the tray imperceptible to Dax’s eye. “The Tzenkethi claim that the air on Outpost V-4 is made unpleasantly arid by the compounds added to the atmosphere by the Venetans. Is that correct?”
“Well, that’s what they say,” said Dax.
“And, as a result, they need particular kinds of skin emollients in order to be able to live and work on the base. But if this is true,” Tarses continued, “then any emollient sufficient to the task would be suitable. And certainly Starfleet has many such substances at its disposal . . .”
Dax saw where he was going. “So why don’t we supply it to them? Could we do that, Simon? Could we really do that?”
“If we knew what kind of emollients were required, I could replicate enough for our immediate purposes. And Starbase 261 would have the resources to offer a larger, perhaps even permanent, supply.”
“And in the meantime we’d be able to make the offer,” Dax said. “An offer that Heldon would hopefully not be able to refuse.”
“The chief medical officer on Starbase 261 is an acquaintance of mine, Captain,” Tarses said. “I could have an answer from her very quickly.”
Dax contemplated the full implications of his idea. “It would seem like a friendly overture on our part,” she said. “And if the Tzenkethi refused, it would look suspiciously like they wanted to make sure that their own resins were on Outpost V-4.” She laughed. The whole plan was starting to look very attractive. The Federation would seem not only eager to find a peaceful solution but magnanimous too.
“There’s another reason the Tzenkethi might refuse,” Helkara said.
“Oh, yes?”
“Not to sound paranoid, but they might be afraid we were trying to poison them.” Helkara looked embarrassed. “I know it sounds bad, but I’m just trying to think through all the possible responses, Captain. They might accuse us of it, even if they don’t believe it to be true.”
“Which I assume it wouldn’t be,” Dax said. “At least, I hope the Federation hasn’t yet resorted to waging covert biological warfare on our enemies. But here’s another thought. If Heldon thought the Tzenkethi were implying that we might, it could lower her estimation of them.” Dax gave a decisive nod. “Get on to it, Simon. Find out exactly what we need to offer and how quickly we could produce it. We’ve got nothing to lose from this and a great deal to gain.”
• • •
Neta Efheny sat alone in a quiet corner of the boat, her hands resting on her lap, trying to steady her thoughts. The point where she would have to slip away was drawing ever closer, but Hertome Ter Ata-C had been keeping her under near-permanent surveillance. Only at night, when the Rets went off to their cabins, and the Ters to theirs, was she out of his sight.
Efheny knew too that she had attracted a great deal of notice from the other Ret Ata-Es traveling on the boat. Most of them were keeping their distance, uneasy about one of their number who was attracting such pointed attention from an Ap-Rej. Efheny knew their reasoning: whatever misdemeanors the Ret Mayazan was committing, they did not want to be implicated in any fashion. Only Corazame came near her, sitting down with her to eat at every meal, talking to her friend in a bright, overloud voice. And, of course, Hertome was keeping watch.
Efheny sighed and looked out from under the canopy down at the bright water of the channel along which they were passing. Perhaps this time alone was for the good, allowing her to clear her mind and run through her plans for her imminent pickup. She reached down and ran her hand through the sapphire water. And allow her time to savor this beautiful world before she left for good . . .
“Maymi?”
Efheny looked up. It was Corazame, of course, her staunch ally.
“Can I sit down?”
Efheny moved alon
g the bench to make space. “Of course, Cory.”
Corazame sat and then looked around quickly and anxiously.
“The Ap-Rej is eating,” she said in a low voice. It was wise, when you were outside, to assume that someone might overhear and report an inappropriately phrased statement. “Maymi, I have to speak to you. There’s no way I can speak to our Ap-Rej directly, but I have to offer you advice, and through you offer advice to him.” Her hand went instinctively up to her mouth, as if to cover over the outrageous implication that someone like her might be in a position to offer advice to a superior. “You must have seen that the situation between you has been noticed. You are taking terrible risks.” She seized her friend’s hand. “I am sure that one of the enforcers is watching you. I don’t know whether she noticed of her own accord, or whether one of the others alerted her—but, Maymi, you must take care!” Corazame pressed her hand. “I don’t want you to be sent for reconditioning. I’ve seen people afterward. They’re emptied! There’s nothing there. Yes, they sing and they work, but that’s all that’s left. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
Efheny dropped her head and squeezed out a few fake tears.
“Cory, I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “But this isn’t my doing. I told our Ap-Rej before we left that our meetings couldn’t continue. But he insists! He’s the one who followed me here. How do I refuse a superior? How are any of us to refuse?” She dropped her voice. “And I’m afraid that if I do refuse, he’ll approach the enforcers and tell them I’m disobedient, that I’ve refused to follow his legitimate requests . . . Cory, what am I supposed to do? I’m so frightened. I was flattered at first, to think that such a one would even notice one like me. But I’ve been a fool. What am I to do? What are any of us to do?”
Efheny wiped at her leaking eyes, hoping that she had made the story convincing and that she had said enough to plant the right idea in Cory’s mind. Beside her, Corazame sat deep in thought for a while. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, but firm. “I think you already know what we have to do, Maymi.”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Brinkmanship Page 13
