“Such an accusation cannot be allowed to stand!” Alizome cried. “Unless you withdraw it at once, I shall advise the Autarch to close your embassy on Tzenketh and expel all your diplomats.”
“Be quiet!” said Rusht, banging the palm of her hand against the table.
Everyone fell silent. Resting her hands flat upon the table, Rusht addressed Picard. “Will you withdraw your accusation?”
“No, I will not.”
“And will you order Captain Dax to send Peter Alden to Outpost V-4 and speak to Heldon—and Heldon alone!—to answer her questions?”
“No, I will not. But I have some questions for you, Rusht. Will you accept our offer, made in good faith, of alternative medical supplies? Will you ask your friends to turn their ships around?”
Rusht hesitated. Crusher, holding her breath, leaned forward in her seat. She could see the doubt in Rusht’s mind. She watched her look around the room, trying to determine whether there was any consensus to be found in the faces around her. Crusher could not tell what that consensus might be, but Rusht seemed to know.
“No,” Rusht said, “I will not.”
There were some aghast cries around the hall, but more, Crusher thought, there was a strong sense of approval. Rusht, whatever her personal misgivings, had done what they wanted her to do.
“Then regretfully,” said Picard, and again he seemed to be addressing the whole Venette Convention, “I must tell you that the militarization of Outpost V-4 will not be permitted. I have consulted Negotiator Detrek, and she has confirmed with her superiors, as I have with mine, that neither of our governments can allow those Tzenkethi ships to enter Venetan space. If the ships try to cross the border, they will be stopped, boarded, and their crews taken prisoner. Is this clear, Rusht?”
“It’s clearly an act of war,” said Alizome.
“It’s clear, Captain,” said Rusht. She looked very old now, Crusher thought, and bewildered, as if all the rungs on the ladder of her understanding of the world had suddenly collapsed.
“We’ll leave now, Rusht,” Picard said. “With your permission, I will take all Federation and Starfleet personnel with me on board the Enterprise.”
Rusht nodded her consent.
The Federation contingent departed, surrendering the room to Alizome.
12
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: 9 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 14 skyturns
FROM:
Captain Ezri Dax, U.S.S. Aventine
TO:
Admiral Leonard Akaar, Starfleet Command
STATUS OF TZENKETHI FLEET:
ETA at Venetan border: 5 days
ETA at Outpost V-4: 7 days
Dax went down to the brig and stood beyond the force field looking in. Alden pulled himself up into a seating position. They stared at each other across the barrier between them.
“So,” Alden said. “Made up your mind yet what you’re going to do?”
“No.”
“Ah.” He gave her a chilly smile. “So you still think I’m a potential saboteur?”
“You’ve not said anything to convince me otherwise.”
He stood up and slowly made his way toward her. Soon they were standing only a couple of feet apart. “In that case, you should hand me over.”
“It would prevent a war,” she pointed out.
“For the moment, anyway.” He licked his lips. “It won’t be the Venetans who interrogate me, you know. Whatever they say. The Tzenkethi will persuade them to hand me over. Trust me. They’re very persuasive.”
She waited for him to continue.
“Do you know how they treat enemy agents, Ezri? I do. I’ve seen the effects. They’ve no respect for anyone who is not Tzenkethi. We’re impure, sources of potential contamination.” He laughed. “How do you respect a virus? You can admire its complexity, you admire how well it works to achieve its ends, but even then you study it only to find out ways to defeat it. No, they don’t respect us. The higher echelons barely respect their lower grades.” He placed his hand upon the force wall and stared directly at her. “Did you know that there’s a caste of Tzenkethi bred not to speak? Can you believe that? The scientists decided that they didn’t need to speak in order to perform their functions. They’re the sick ones. It’s a sick society, a wrong society, a bad society. We’re right to oppose them and we’re right to hate them.”
Dax drew closer. They were face to face. “You are making a mistake,” she said, “if you’re still thinking of me as Ezri Tigan. I am Dax. I’m the sum of many parts. I’ve been a mother, a father, and the lover of both men and women. I’ve been a diplomat, a legislator, a pilot—yes, and a killer. I’ve seen countless friends die. I’ve outlived thousands of them—and still died eight times myself. I’m older than you think—and I’m much less patient than ever. If I can stop a war by handing you over, Peter Alden, you’d better believe I’d do it.”
He blinked. Suddenly he seemed very young—and very vulnerable. His face was pale and clammy. He turned away from her quickly, and sat down again, deflated. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. “Then go ahead and do it. It’s only what I expected would happen one day.”
She left and strode toward her ready room. She was sure that Heldon wouldn’t harm him, but she could not be certain that was true of the Tzenkethi. And while she trusted Heldon—trusted her more than she did Alden, whom she’d known for years—how long would Heldon be able to resist Tzenkethi pressure? Heldon had said that she was afraid. And that fear would be fertile ground for the Tzenkethi to work on, to persuade her to hand Alden over to them. That sickness, Dax thought. None of us are immune. Not even those of us old enough to know better.
Bowers came to find her.
“We’re done here, Ezri,” he said. “The talking’s over. A blockade of the Venetan system is about to begin. We’ve received orders to rendezvous with the Enterprise on the border.” He looked at her sympathetically. “You have to make a decision about Alden.”
“I know.”
They walked back slowly to the bridge. “As well as our ships,” Bowers said, “Cardassian ships are being dispatched to provide support. The Tzenkethi fleet is moving in response. As I say, you need to make a decision about Alden.”
They reached the bridge, where Dax gave the orders to set a course to rendezvous with the Enterprise.
“Commander Alden?” Bowers asked quietly.
On balance, Dax thought, Alden had probably planted that bomb. But she wasn’t going to leave it to the Tzenkethi to get the truth out of him. Besides, she had made him a promise before sending him on the mission to the starbase.
I won’t let you down, Peter.
“Commander Alden stays where he is,” Dax replied. “I’m not handing over a fellow officer.”
Bowers exhaled slowly. “An executive decision, Ezri?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t the one having to make it.”
“I think that’s what the extra pip is for, Sam.”
• • •
The Federation was leaving Venette. Glinn Dygan, uncertain of his immediate duty, stood by a wall in the atrium of the Hall of Assembly and tried to look inconspicuous. Not easy for a Cardassian in this place, particularly one of Dygan’s size and, worse, in uniform. The stream of people exiting the meeting hall and coalescing in gangs of two and three to dissect events shot him angry—even poisonous—looks as they went past.
It was a relief to see Doctor Crusher on the far side of the atrium. She waved in greeting and slowly pushed her way through the crowd toward him.
“Dygan,” she said, “the Captain asked me to find you. You’re with us.”
Dygan slowly exhaled. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “I’m not sure I co
uld—” He left his sentence unfinished, but Crusher nodded her understanding. He could not serve Detrek. “Well,” he said. “We tried.”
“Some of us tried.”
His face paled and he dropped his head. She touched his arm.
“Hey, it’s not your fault.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I can’t help feeling responsible for what my people have done here—”
“You can’t be responsible for that. Only for yourself. And you’ve acquitted yourself admirably. The problem was that some people came here wanting a fight. Not just Detrek. Alizome too. That’s all it takes.”
He nodded slowly and looked around the atrium. “I suppose we should leave. I doubt we’re welcome here.”
“I suppose so.” Crusher reached up to tap her combadge, but her hand stopped partway there. She was looking across the room. Dygan, following her gaze, saw Rusht.
Rusht was very frail. She walked slowly, leaning on Vitig for support. As she passed through the crowd, the Venetans fell back, opening up a pathway for her to pass through unhindered, murmuring their thanks and respect. Dygan dropped his eyes. He felt ashamed looking at her, as if he was in part responsible for her sudden decline.
“Dygan,” Crusher said. “Come with me. One last chance.”
She pushed her way purposefully toward Rusht. Dygan followed as quickly as he could. When they reached the two Venetans, Crusher said, “Rusht. Please. May I speak to you?”
Vitig glared at her. “Have you and your people not done enough damage already?”
“The damage so far is nothing compared to what we’ll see if we don’t stop this,” Crusher replied. “Rusht, I’m a doctor. I took an oath to cause no harm. I don’t know what your people know about war, but it’s terrible. Whatever horrors you’ve imagined, it’s a hundred—a thousand—times worse.” She was speaking very quickly. “I’ve sat by friends and been unable to do anything to save them. I’ve told other friends that their loved ones have died. Your worlds are beautiful, Rusht. Your people are gracious and wise—but in this respect you are innocents. I don’t want you and your people to see all that I’ve seen since I last came to your world.”
“Then go away and leave us in peace!” Vitig snapped. “Take your ships away from our borders. Let us be friends with whoever we choose—”
“Your friends mean us harm, Vitig,” Crusher said. “And if these medical supplies are indeed as innocent as they claim, then the secrecy and threat in which they’ve been cloaked sickens me. Do you know what navithium resins do to human flesh? I do. I’ve seen what the burns are like. I’ve seen the state of human lungs that have breathed in air thick with navithium. If you had seen that, you’d understand why we react with such horror even to the suggestion of such weapons close to us. My oath as a doctor—to do no harm—means I cannot simply go away and leave you in peace. Because the same courtesy is not being extended to me.”
The atrium had fallen silent. Dygan held his breath. Rusth, who had been listening quietly, but with attention, looked around. “Where is Alizome?” Her voice was weak and trembling. “Our friend should have the chance to reply to this.”
“Not Alizome,” Crusher said firmly. “These are your worlds, Rusht—”
Too late. Alizome, passing through the crowd like a streak of lightning, reached Rusht’s side. She grasped the old woman’s other arm. “Are they distressing you?” she murmured. “They should have left by now.”
“Alizome.” Desperation had crept into Crusher’s voice. “You can stop this. Please, stop it!”
“That is up to you, Doctor.” Her eye fell on Dygan. “You may wish to begin by curbing your Cardassian friends. This latest threat is surely beyond even that bloodthirsty people.”
“What threat?” said Dygan.
Alizome turned her cold gaze on him. “To attack Outpost V-15 if the blockade there is broken.”
“But that’s not a military base,” Dygan said. “Those people are civilians—”
“You should take that up with your castellan, Glinn Dygan,” Alizome replied.
“I don’t believe you,” Crusher said flatly. Vitig’s hackles rose.
“You’re accusing her of lying?”
“Yes,” Crusher said. “I am. I wonder if she’ll deny it. I wonder if she can.”
Alizome merely smiled. Then Crusher’s communicator chirped. Alizome, tightening her grip on Rusht’s arm, drew the old woman away. “You should take that message, Doctor. Better still, you and your allies should leave.”
• • •
The time had come. Neta Efheny listened to the soft sounds of sleeping that were coming from the bunk above her, and then, carefully, she eased first one foot out of the bed and then the other. Overhead, Corazame shifted. Efheny froze, but Corazame did not wake.
Subvocalizing instructions to her bioengineering, Efheny switched on her night vision to make the little room clear to her. She instructed her audio-disruption devices to come on, to mask any sound that she might make leaving the room. Then, carefully, she levered herself up from the bed. Movement was what would give her away. Fortunately Corazame, who had been in a state of high excitement since their meeting with Inzegil, seemed to have worn herself out recounting the tale to their fellow travelers, and she was fast asleep.
Efheny slipped across the room and out into the narrow corridor that ran between the Ata cabins. There was nobody in sight. She stole along the corridor toward the door that led out onto the deck. Shivering from the night chill, she hurried across to the bench where, for the past few skyturns, she had been concealing supplies. A small amount of food. A knife. A medkit. Everything else she carried with her. The map to lead her to the location was part of her visual display. The beacon built into her bioengineering would automatically send the signal for her pickup and would switch on shortly before she was due to be transported out.
Really, her superiors had thought of everything. All Efheny had to do was walk up into the hills and sit at the pickup location until her transport arrived. Once her extraction was complete, they would remove the small data recorder embedded above her left eye and take the data away to analyze. She would be given back her old body and her old life.
Efheny shivered again and quickly stashed her gear, then looked out from the boat. The previous evening they had come out of the winding passages between the coral caverns and docked against the small island that marked the midpoint of their voyage. Tomorrow, the boat would turn around and return to the city, taking its passengers back to their functions. But it would leave without Efheny on board. She was making her way inland, up into the hills. Her priority now was to put as much distance between her and the boat as she possibly could before she was missed.
An access ladder ran down one side of the boat. Efheny climbed down this and then—slowly, carefully—stretched out one leg so that her foot was touching the shore. For a moment, she hung in unsteady limbo, then she gathered her nerves together and made the jump ashore.
She landed with a thump and rolled flat onto the ground. Her breath came short and rapid. She listened hard but could hear nothing other than the gentle lap of the water, the creak of the old boat. After a few minutes like this, she was satisfied that nobody had heard her leave.
Time to go. Efheny stood up and looked ahead. Her superiors had chosen her exit point wisely: a few paces in front of her, a small wood of keteki trees would provide good cover for the first stage of her walk inland. She oriented herself with the pointer on her visual display and moved quickly and silently toward the trees. They were well spaced, keteki trees of this height needing room and moisture, allowing her to make good progress. Soon the boat was far behind her.
As she walked, and the adrenaline rush that had brought her this far began to fade, she reflected upon how easily she had slipped back into her role as an operative. How quickly the training kicked in, almost as if it was instinct, something you were born to. Even after so long undercover, you never forgot it, not really. It was etched into you�
�they made sure of that—like deep scores across your psyche. And yet the work itself . . . Efheny suppressed a sudden surge of laughter. It was like her cover job. Long hours of tedium followed by moments of gut-wrenching terror and high anxiety, when you thought you were about to be exposed, or when Karenzen Ter Ata-D was yelling your name. Thought of Karenzen made her think of Corazame, and Efheny felt a rare stab of guilt that, in arranging for Hertome’s reconditioning, she had condemned Corazame to Karenzen’s care. Poor Cory was in for a miserable time.
But that was not Efheny’s problem, not any longer, and she could not afford to let her mind stray back to the life she had been leading until recently. She turned her attention instead to her immediate task of getting as far as she could before morning. Cory was an early riser, and Efheny reckoned she had no more than a quarter skyturn before she was missed. So she set a good pace, and she did not let her mind drift back to everything she was leaving behind. She focused instead on her surroundings: the tall trees with their purplish bark and silvery leaves, the ever more distant whisper of the lagoon, the occasional bark of a night animal on the hunt. She listened for any sound that her absence had been noted, any alarm or hue and cry from the water’s edge. Nothing came, but the fact that she was listening was what counted. It meant that, within the space of about an hour, Neta Efheny knew without a doubt that she was being followed, that she too was being hunted.
• • •
“Commander Alden remains on board the Aventine, ” said Picard. “Has Admiral Akaar made his opinion on this known yet?”
“With respect to the admiral, if he wanted Alden handed over to the Tzenkethi, he needed to issue some instructions to that effect.” Dax ran her hand through her hair. The conspicuous lack of orders about Alden’s fate prior to the departure of the Aventine from Outpost V-4 troubled her, adding substance to her fears that Starfleet Intelligence might have been behind the attempted bombing of the base.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Brinkmanship Page 17
