“Why?”
“Why? Sometimes you ask the strangest questions, Maymi. Why do you think? Because putting loyalty toward other members of one’s grade first isn’t right. First we must be loyal to every Ap-Rej, and through them loyal to our beloved Rej himself. They speak for him, after all.” At that thought, Corazame shivered. “I hope we’ve done the right thing. But I’m sure,” she lowered her voice before saying the almost unspeakable, “I’m sure that Hertome is in the wrong.”
After two skyturns, Efheny and Corazame received a response from the enforcers, conveyed through hand signals via an Ata-EE who served their part of the ship. They were instructed to come to the front of the boat and present themselves to their superior. As they passed through the locked doors that separated the Ata quarters from those of their superiors, Efheny saw that Corazame was trembling with barely suppressed fear. She herself had conflicting emotions. There was the constant fear of discovery and the particular anxiety arising from exposing herself to the direct scrutiny of an enforcer. She had not come close to one before. What if they were equipped or trained to see straight through her cover? At the same time, Efheny was excited by the prospect of the unusual encounter in which she was about to participate. It would be a test not only of her expertise as a field anthropologist in correctly gauging the interaction but also of her nerve as an operative. It would give her confidence for the coming few days, and if all went according to plan, it would rid her of the problem of Hertome for good.
The Ata-EE server directed them to the enforcer’s room. They entered and knelt at once, dropping their heads respectfully and gesturing their submission and desire to please. From the sound of movement above, Efheny knew that someone was standing on the anterior deck closest to them. As demonstrations of superiority went, it was fairly obvious, but nonetheless effective. Between the enforcer’s display and the instinctive physical responses bred into her, Corazame was almost weeping. Efheny instructed her own bioengineering to give a similar impression.
“I am Inzegil Ter Mak-B,” the person above said. She had a low voice with unusual intonation, presumably as a result of speaking to them in a dialect that was not her own. “You may raise your heads and look at me.”
Efheny, bending her neck to an uncomfortable position, looked up along the anterior deck. Looming over them was a tall woman with steely silver skin, wearing the dark uniform that all Tzenkethi knew and feared.
“Which of you is the Ret Mayazan?” said Inzegil.
Efheny, not yet granted permission to speak, signaled that was her name and status.
“Ret Mayazan,” said Inzegil, “you and your friend must understand that you have made a serious accusation. If I decide that your accusation is unfounded, this could result not only in your reconditioning but also in your declassification to null. This is your last chance to withdraw your charge against an Ap-Rej. Do you wish to do that?”
Corazame stifled a tiny cry. But neither of them spoke. Inzegil made an imperious gesture. “Then say what you must, Ret Mayazan.”
“Ap-Rej,” Efheny murmured, hoping that she was keeping her voice sufficiently low, “this one humbly offers gratitude for the leave given her to speak. This one offers her loyalty to her Ap-Rej and through her to her most beloved and exalted Rej . . .”
“I’m quite sure of your loyalty. Tell me your complaint.”
In quiet, carefully phrased words, Efheny told Inzegil the same story she had told Corazame: that Hertome was making demands on her that she believed were not permitted and consequently she begged her superior’s protection from him. She finished by acknowledging that the situation was not within her abilities to judge, and that was why she had asked permission to speak today. Her tale finished, she fell silent and waited for Inzegil to reply.
Throughout, the Mak enforcer’s demeanor had been austere and serious. When Efheny finished speaking, Inzegil sighed and paced along the anterior wall toward them. The steely glitter of her skin was almost dazzling this close. Efheny’s eyes began to water.
“My colleague and I had already observed the Ter Hertome’s odd behavior toward you,” Inzegil said. “We’ve been waiting for you to approach us. After two more skyturns, you would have been summoned before us and asked to account for why you had not called upon our superior judgment in this matter.”
Coming closer, Inzegil put her hand first upon Corazame’s head and then upon Efheny’s. It was a kindly gesture, like an adult to a child, although Inzegil could not have been much older than either of the Atas before her. Some biological process must have been at work, because Corazame was immediately comforted. Her sobs subsided. But Efheny also felt oddly reassured by Inzegil’s touch.
“You and the Ret Corazame have behaved appropriately,” Inzegil said gently. “Your plea has been heard. I shall summon Hertome Ter Ata-C before me to answer my questions.”
She dismissed them both, and they backed out of the room with their heads lowered. Once they were past the dividing door and safely back in the Ata quarters, Corazame began to cry. Efheny put her arm around her. Not long now, Hertome, Efheny thought as she shakily soothed her terrified friend. Not long now and you’ll be troubling me no more.
• • •
Crusher, Picard, and Jeyn waited silently in their suite for Madame Ilka to come to see them. There was little that could be said. They all knew how much was riding on Ilka’s meeting with Vitig. If Ilka couldn’t persuade Vitig to speak to them, they knew they would be leaving Venette very soon. And then what? Crusher shifted uneasily in her seat. And then starships heading toward the border. Starships from at least three powers within the Khitomer Accords. These ships would be met by Tzenkethi ships, no doubt, sent to help the Venetans in their plight. This would almost certainly bring out the Klingon fleet. (Bacco was surely speaking to the Klingon ambassador right now to remind him of his government’s treaty obligations.) And that would surely provoke the other Typhon Pact members to action . . .
Crusher rested her head on one hand. Three small systems, but they just happen to be in exactly the wrong place. And that makes them enough to take us all to war. She sighed and checked the time. Our last chance for some kind of diplomatic solution. Our last chance to talk it out. But how did it ever get to this? How did we get from nearly bringing the Venetans into the Federation to quarrels over solvents and resins and the long dreadful night before war? What went wrong?
The chime on the door rang. Jeyn jumped up to respond. Ilka entered, her expression somber. None of the three Federation representatives looked at each other.
“I do have some good news,” Ilka said, taking the seat offered by Jeyn, “but you won’t like the rest of what I have to say.”
“If there’s any good news,” said Jeyn, “we’ll take it. We’ll take anything right now.”
Ilka folded her hands in front of her on the tabletop. “I saw Rusht and Vitig. Alizome was there too, I’m sorry to say. We’d barely begun to talk when news of this bomb on Outpost V-4 emerged. The three of them disappeared for several hours.” Ilka glanced around at the three of them, unable to mask her annoyance. “Not the best start to our conversation, from my perspective. I assume the thing wasn’t yours?”
“If it was,” said Picard, equally testily, “it wasn’t authorized.”
“Or not officially authorized, at least,” Ilka retorted.
“Ilka, please,” Crusher said softly. The Ferengi woman, turning her way, gave Crusher a sad smile.
“Well,” she said, “having got off to that dreadful start, when we reconvened I was rather at a disadvantage. Even more so when Rusht announced immediately that she intended to speak to you all tomorrow morning—”
“But that’s excellent news!” Jeyn cried. “Madame Ilka, I’m not sure we can thank you enough—”
“Don’t start thanking me yet,” Ilka said bluntly. “I haven’t finished. That’s the good news, although what exactly Rusht has to say to you, and whether or not you’ll be given the opportunity to reply, I
don’t know.” She sighed and closed her eyes briefly.
Here it comes, thought Crusher. The bad news.
“My government,” Ilka said, “was extremely concerned to hear about the bomb on Outpost V-4.”
“In fact we have no proof that such a thing exists,” Picard said. “Only a report from Heldon—”
“Her word is good enough for me, Captain Picard,” Ilka said softly. “And certainly good enough for my government. Which, as I say, was most concerned to hear about it, and most eager to disassociate itself from it—”
“Naturally,” said Picard, “anyone would. President Bacco has already issued a statement conveying her shock at the news and assuring the Venetans of her desire to discover the guilty parties, whoever they may be. I don’t doubt she’s ready to give the same assurances to your ambassador.”
“Unfortunately, those assurances would be coming too late. My government, on realizing that its direct channel to the Tzenkethi and the Venetans was still open despite this news”—Ilka touched her chest—“instructed me to make an agreement with the Venetans that secures Ferengi interests. This I have done. The removal of our people from Venette has already begun, and we are in the process of coming to an agreement over the lease of the Venetan base on our border, particularly on the matter of there being permanent Ferengi observers in place. Both Rusht and Alizome were eager to discuss possible concessions—”
“Well, of course they were,” said Jeyn angrily. “You’ve done a deal at our expense!”
“Ambassador Jeyn,” said Ilka quietly, “I’ve done what my government instructed. You would have done exactly the same.”
Not at the expense of our allies, Crusher thought. She felt bitter, angry . . . betrayed, even. And foolish. She thought she’d made a connection with Ilka. It seemed she’d been badly mistaken. When Ilka gave her an apologetic look, Crusher turned away.
“Does your government understand, Ilka,” Picard said, “that this is not a guarantee of protection for Ferenginar if war does indeed break out? The Typhon Pact will not distinguish between those members of the accords that stood firm and those that did not. More likely you have presented yourselves to them as weak.”
“Maybe,” said Ilka, “and maybe not. That is a risk my government is apparently willing to take. Tsch! None of us wants war, Captain. I believe that even of the Tzenkethi. Yet nobody seems prepared to say ‘Stop!’ Perhaps this will serve as the wake-up call we all need.”
“I hope so, Madame Ilka.” Picard rose from his seat. “We should not keep you any longer. No doubt you have a great deal to do. Thank you for your efforts on our behalf.”
Ilka, with a rather shaky sigh, stood up. Picard offered his hand freely. Jeyn, reluctantly, did the same.
“Well, my friends,” Ilka said, “I know that this is hardly the news you were hoping to hear, and it is a matter of very deep regret to me that I have to be the one to bring it. I’ll be joining our people at our embassy now and leaving with them tomorrow.” She glanced at Crusher, who had remained seated. “I sincerely hope that the Great River brings you all in time to a safe haven.”
Ilka turned and headed toward the door. After a moment, Crusher followed her out.
“Ilka,” she called after her. “Wait a moment.”
Ilka turned. “Beverly,” she said with a small sad smile.
Crusher was about to say something angry but then stopped. Was that fair? Ilka was a diplomat, a representative of her government—and, more than that, she was a Ferengi female, who was going to have to prove herself again and again for the whole of her life. Ilka was always going to be the first one through. She was always going to be the one people would watch, and if she ever made a mistake, they would say: See? We knew females could not cope. We knew they were not smart or clever or able enough. We should not let more of them through. This one was enough.
Crusher stretched out her hand. Ilka hesitated for a moment, then smiled and took it.
“I wanted to say that you’re going with my warmest wishes,” Crusher said. “Best of luck for the future.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’m glad that you of all people are able to understand.” Ilka grasped Crusher’s hand between both of hers. “Go safely.”
She gave her brilliant smile and left. Crusher, returning to Jeyn’s suite, thought, I do understand why you had to do this, Ilka. But how could you bring yourself to argue a case that you didn’t believe?
Picard said softly, “It’s a doctor’s privilege to serve a higher purpose. Soldiers and diplomats—we serve imperfect masters of imperfect worlds. But we strive toward the good. Don’t judge us too harshly, Beverly.”
11
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: 12 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 17 skyturns
FROM:
Captain Ezri Dax, U.S.S. Aventine
TO:
Admiral Leonard Akaar, Starfleet Command
STATUS OF TZENKETHI FLEET:
ETA at Venetan border: 6 days
ETA at Outpost V-4: 8 days
If the voyagers had been enthralled at the news that two lowly Ret-Es had sought an audience with the Mak enforcers, it was nothing compared to the news that the Ter Hertome had been called to answer to an Ap-Rej for charges made by his inferiors. Again, Efheny found herself uncomfortably at the center of attention. Any operative balked at being the object of so much interest, and she could only hope that this brief period in the limelight would be over before she had to make her getaway.
Barely a quarter of a skyturn had passed since she and Corazame had seen Inzegil. Now they made their way again through the dividing doors and were brought to the enforcer’s room. Entering, their heads bowed and making appropriate gestures, Efheny was startled to see that Inzegil was standing on the inferior deck rather than positioned above their heads as on the previous occasion. She was still taller than them both, and her shimmering skin, her dark uniform, and the sleek weapon at her hip reinforced her authority over them. Over Hertome too, Efheny hoped.
“Enter,” said Inzegil. “Do not kneel.” She gestured to one side of the room. “You may sit there. You are granted permission to listen to the conversation between two superiors that will soon be happening in this room.”
They went over to the corner that Inzegil had indicated and curled up their legs beneath them. Inzegil strode across the room and up to the anterior deck, taking her position there once again.
“Bring in Hertome Ter Ata-C,” she ordered an unseen server.
The door opened, and Hertome entered. As another Ter, empowered to give orders, he was not required to kneel in Inzegil’s presence. Instead, he signaled his inferiority in functional echelon and genetic grading from his stance and his dimmed skin tones. He stood with his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back. Efheny had never seen him so humble. She wondered how long the erratic human behind Hertome’s face could keep this up.
At Inzegil’s command, Hertome gave his version of the story: that the Ret Mayazan had been the one to approach him, and that he had repeatedly tried to regulate her behavior and guide her back to a proper course. He regretted his failure in this respect and offered his humble apologies to Inzegil.
When he was done, Inzegil walked a few steps toward him along the anterior deck. Efheny held her breath. Both stories were a pack of lies, of course, but which of them was the enforcer going to believe?
“I have listened to all your accounts with interest,” Inzegil said. “And, of course, I consulted psychometric test scores and work assessments for all three of you.” She gestured but did not look at Efheny and Corazame in their corner. “Both the Rets have performed their assigned tasks in exemplary fashion,” she said, “no more and no less. They show a clear understanding of the nature and l
imits of their function. But in your file, Hertome, I see occasional but worrying notes from your superiors about your overassertiveness. You will not be aware that on one occasion you were very close to being recalibrated down a grade.”
This came as no surprise to Efheny. Humans, she thought. Unreliable. Not suited for this kind of work.
“Only the efficiency of your unit prevented this happening,” Inzegil said. “You may show them gratitude for their loyalty.”
Hertome obeyed, giving Efheny a cold stare as he did so.
“Even if your story were true, Hertome,” Inzegil continued, “then at the first approach from the Ret Mayazan, you should have recommended her for monitoring and perhaps even reconditioning. At the very least, you should have ensured her redeployment from your unit, to prevent her coming into daily contact with you and allowing her childish fantasies to flourish.” She moved farther around the anterior deck until she loomed over him. “And if you were uncertain as to whether you were within your authority to instruct her, you should have consulted a superior. That is why you have superiors. You are not equipped to make such decisions alone, and you are not expected to make such decisions alone.”
She altered her stance to something more formal. She was about to give judgment.
“I am not inclined to believe your story, Hertome,” she said. “That concerns me deeply, since it means that you have lied to me. If I could prove this, I would be empowered to decommission you immediately. Here and now.” She touched the weapon at her hip. “But since your files show that you have been a hard worker and so in your own way have served our Rej, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Here are your instructions, Hertome Ter Ata-C. At the next stop, you will leave this voyage. You will be met and escorted from there to commence fifty skyturns of reconditioning. That should be sufficient to remind you of the limits of your authority and the proper nature of your functions. I will not recommend any recalibration, but you should bear in mind that your C grade now carries a query alongside it. What do you have to say?”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Brinkmanship Page 15
