Sisko tried to remember the last time he’d spoken with Rebecca. Due to the Robinson’s loss of contact with Deep Space 9, it had been longer than the three days he and his daughter normally went between messages. Was it when Rebecca was so anxious to finish talking so she could go out and play in the snow? he asked himself. It troubled him that he could not precisely conjure up the last image of his daughter he’d seen on the companel in his quarters.
Rebecca has been fixated on coming with me aboard Xhosa, Kasidy had told him in that message. It hurt terribly to think that Sisko himself had kindled Rebecca’s interest in space travel, in her mother’s cargo ship and his own starship. And she’d also enjoyed visiting Deep Space 9 when he’d taken her there.
Rebecca has been fixated, Kasidy had said.
Sisko opened his eyes. Rebecca’s been fixated. Did that mean that Kasidy had definitely decided to bring Rebecca with her? When she’d gone on her shipping run, could Kasidy have left their daughter back on Bajor?
Is it possible?
Hope sprang up within Sisko—a desperate, unconvincing mixture of expectation and self-delusion. He clung to it like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. He swung his legs from the bio-bed once more and hopped to his feet. The doctor, he saw, had moved across sickbay, to where he and a nurse ministered to another crew member.
Sisko strode quickly across the compartment and past the main surgical bed. He skirted a low rolling table filled with medical instruments, then passed through an archway and into the corridor that led to Doctor Kosciuszko’s office. Pleased to find the room empty, Sisko raced inside and directly over to the desk, where he turned the computer interface around to face him. He activated it with a touch. “Computer, open a channel to Bajor, Kendra Province. I want to speak to Jake Sisko.” If Kasidy hadn’t taken Rebecca with her aboard Xhosa, she likely would have left her with Jake and Korena.
“All extraship communications must be routed through the bridge,” replied the computer.
Of course, Sisko thought. In a crisis, the crew would limit communications. “Computer, override subspace security limits, allow extraship communications from this location. Authorization: Sisko kappa zero five one seven.”
“Security override accepted,” responded the computer. “Extraship communications permitted at this location.”
A rush of excitement buzzed through Sisko, but he hesitated. In that moment, between the despair of the past and the hope for the future, he could pretend that Rebecca had not gone with Kasidy, that his daughter had stayed with Jake and Korena, and that even now, she lived. But once he contacted his son, once he had confirmation that Rebecca had indeed traveled with Kasidy on Xhosa’s shipping run—once he knew with certainty, he could never not know. His daughter would be dead, and she would always be dead.
But he had to know.
Except he remembered that Jake and Korena had recently visited Earth. Their trip had been intended partly as a vacation, but also as an opportunity for Jake to reapply for admittance to the Pennington School. Are they even back on Bajor yet? If not, then Kasidy obviously couldn’t have left Rebecca with them.
“Computer, open a channel to Kendra Province on Bajor,” he said. He didn’t hear anybody behind him until she said his name.
“Ben.”
At first, Sisko felt sure that the voice had spoken inside his head. He understood that the loss of his wife and daughter had been too much for him, that something within him had broken. He didn’t move, couldn’t move. And then the computer asked him to specify the destination for his message, and that seemed to prompt him. He slowly turned.
Kasidy stood in the doorway.
Sisko’s jaw fell open. He blinked once, and again, then slammed his eyes shut for one second, two seconds, three. He knew that he had lost his mind.
But when he opened his eyes, Kasidy still stood there.
“Oh, Ben,” she said, and she rushed into his arms. He felt the warmth of her body against his, heard the susurrus of her breathing. He held her so tightly that he thought his arms might break with the effort.
“Kasidy,” he said. “What about—?” But he could say no more.
She turned her head against his shoulder to face him. “Rebecca’s on Bajor,” she said. “She’s fine.” Then she buried herself back in his embrace.
When they began to tremble together, Sisko thought that she had begun to cry. But then hot tears spilled down his own face. Where earlier he had felt hollow, relief filled every part of his being.
Ben and Kasidy stood that way for a long time.
September 2383
4
Tomalak sat in the only place he could reasonably do so: on the built-in, cushioned platform that ran across the width of the compartment’s inner wall. The space seemed comfortable enough, if spare: three featureless walls, a washbasin, a mirror, and elimination facilities with a small privacy screen. As a prison, it sufficed, though it did not impress him.
Neither did the woman across from him, on the other side of the force field that formed the fourth wall of his cell. Oddly enough, though human, she had a face that Tomalak found surprisingly Romulan. With dark eyes, high cheekbones, and straight bangs, she needed only an upsweep of her eyebrows and a sharpening of her helices to pass for one of his people, he thought.
No, not only that, Tomalak realized as she paced from side to side in front of his cell. She’d also have to sever the absurd length of hair she’d bound up in a tight wrap that stretched down her back. And she’d have to keep her mouth closed too, he thought, which forced the sides of his lips up in amusement.
“Have I said something humorous?” the woman asked.
“Not at all,” Tomalak said. “Though I wish that you would.”
The woman stopped walking and regarded him for a silent moment. “I wish I could, Proconsul,” she finally said, “but there’s nothing funny about the deaths of more than four thousand people.”
“Nor have I suggested that there is,” Tomalak said. “Especially since you tell me that more than a quarter of those were Romulan deaths.”
The woman resumed moving to and fro. She’d identified herself as a lieutenant and the head of ship’s security, but the foreign sound of her name had left Tomalak unable to retain it. “I don’t think I needed to tell you about the destruction of the Eletrix,” she said. “I think you already knew.” She enunciated her words in a mild accent that Tomalak did not recognize. “After all, when you headed into the Gamma Quadrant three weeks ago, you were a member of its crew.”
“And so I was,” Tomalak said. “But things change.”
“Do they?” the lieutenant said. “So are you claiming that at some point during your time in the Gamma Quadrant, you left your position aboard the Eletrix to join the crew of a Breen freighter, and that there’s nothing more to your story than that?”
“I must admit,” Tomalak said, “that does sound implausible for a man with such a distinguished career in the Imperial Fleet.”
Again, the woman stopped pacing. “You are welcome to treat this matter lightly,” she said. “But I can assure you that you will not be treated in the same fashion.”
“No?” Tomalak said, rising to his feet. “Am I to conclude, then, that I am to endure more of this ‘brutal’ questioning?” When the Defiant crew had first transported Tomalak over to Enterprise, the lieutenant had appeared at his cell to ask him about what had transpired in the Bajoran system. Her rudimentary interrogation had made it easy for him to say much but reveal nothing. For the next three days, the Enterprise crew had essentially left him alone, until the lieutenant arrived just a few moments earlier and renewed her questioning.
Tomalak strolled forward until he stood opposite the woman across the threshold of his cell, peering at her from close range. He could sense the energy of the invisible force field that separated them. “Tell me,” he said, “with your questioning, how am I to survive beneath the crushing weight of such imposed boredom?”
“You do
yourself no favors with your intransigence,” the lieutenant said. “Whatever your plan, you’ve failed. Instead, you face a long incarceration, with little chance of ever seeing your home again. If you’re bored now, just think how decades of imprisonment on Earth will feel to you.” The woman offered him a slight, tight-lipped smile. He gave her credit for so effortlessly mimicking his own expression. “Imagine the tedium of such an existence for a man with your distinguished career.”
Tomalak gazed at the woman, feeling a strong urge to reach across the short distance between them and wrap his strong hands around her delicate neck. Instead, with the force field preventing him from doing so, he allowed his lips to part in a broader smile. “I withdraw my earlier statement,” he said. “You do amuse me.” Without waiting for a reaction, he turned and moved deeper into his cell, but not before peering past the lieutenant and taking the measure of what he espied there. His cell fronted on a larger chamber, and he saw a single crewman—presumably another member of the ship’s security staff—sitting behind a freestanding console.
When Tomalak looked back at the lieutenant from just in front of the sleeping platform, he said, “You know, Starfleet security could learn a great deal from the Tal Shiar, who really know how to extract information from a subject. Or perhaps you could take lessons from the Breen; they’re a bit less subtle, employing their neural truncheons, but they do get results. There are even the Klingons, your own allies, and their blunt but useful mind-sifter technology.” Tomalak sat down once more. “Oh, but your Khitomer Accords ban the use of such devices.”
“That the Federation treats everybody, including its enemies, with a basic level of dignity and respect is a lesson the Romulan Empire could stand to learn itself,” the woman said with a trace of indignation. She started to say more, but then she stopped and looked to the side. A moment later, a familiar figure came into view.
“Lieutenant Choudhury,” Picard said, pronouncing the woman’s peculiar name. He did not spare even a glance into Tomalak’s cell, but addressed the security chief directly. “Have you made any progress with our detainee?”
The woman peered over at Tomalak. Picard did not. “He talks a lot, Captain, but he doesn’t actually say much.”
Picard seemed to consider that. “You should not count that as a failure on your part,” he said. “In my experience with him, your characterization is perfectly apt. Which is one reason that I’ve decided to speak with him myself.” Tomalak did not appreciate being referred to in the third person while present. “If you’ll drop the force field for me, Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
Tomalak waited for Picard to reprimand his officer for questioning his order, but it did not surprise him when the captain didn’t. Imperial Fleet discipline, Tomalak knew, differed markedly from that of Starfleet. It sometimes amazed him that the Federation even managed to maintain an effective presence in space, considering the laxness of their shipboard behavior.
“You may accompany me into the cell, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “But I don’t believe that our detainee will be any trouble.” At last, Picard turned his attention to Tomalak. “He prefers to oversee operations, not to sully his hands with actual work.”
If the captain’s comment had been intended to wound Tomalak, to soften his resolve, it failed utterly. Still sitting on the sleeping platform, Tomalak watched as the lieutenant drew her weapon from its place at her hip, checked its settings, then turned toward the console on the other side of the outer chamber. She gestured to the crewman stationed there, and a blur of white pinpoints flashed briefly along the cell’s wide opening as the force field deactivated, a low buzzing noise rising and falling with it.
Picard stepped into the cell. The lieutenant followed, and again gestured toward the crewman in the outer chamber. The force field frizzed back into place.
Tomalak watched the two officers with a measure of disinterest not entirely feigned. He did visualize overpowering them—the lieutenant first, so that he could commandeer her weapon—but even if he succeeded and then made it past the other security guard, where would he go? Where could he go? The vibrations in the deck, which had begun earlier that day, told him that the ship traveled at warp, and he thought it likely that Enterprise carried him deeper into Federation territory, not closer to the Empire.
“Liaison Tomalak,” Picard said.
“Liaison isn’t truly a title, is it?” Tomalak said. “At least, it’s not one that seems to bear a sense of much importance.”
“I don’t agree,” Picard said. “In the context of the joint mission between the crews of the Enterprise and the Eletrix, I think the actual position meant a great deal. It served as a means of familiarizing the two crews with each other, and of integrating their processes and personalities. In theory, the liaison would have facilitated understanding and friendship on a small scale, providing a model for something even greater.” Picard paused, and then raised his open hands palm up, conveying a simple feeling of frustration. “But then, we didn’t get to test that in practice, did we?”
“Such a pity,” Tomalak said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He’d forgotten just how much he despised the garrulous Picard. He looked down briefly, and used the movement to peek furtively over at the security chief. She hadn’t left her position by the force field, nor had her attention wavered from Tomalak; her weapon remained leveled in his direction.
“I agree,” Picard said, clearly ignoring Tomalak’s tone. “So how would you have me address you? Proconsul? High Commander? Your Majesty?”
“You flatter me, Captain.”
“I mock you, ‘Proconsul,’” Picard said, his features growing hard. “Except that you’re not a proconsul anymore. Or are you?”
“No, no longer proconsul,” Tomalak said. “No longer high commander. But perhaps if an emperor is ever restored to the throne . . .”
To Tomalak’s surprise, Picard moved across the cell and took a seat beside him on the sleeping platform, just an arm’s length away. “Bold words from somebody who seems to have been relegated to the position of errand boy,” Picard said. “Somebody sent along simply to ensure that somebody else accomplishes their mission.”
Tomalak understood that Picard meant to bait him, but he refused to allow it. “As you say,” he replied.
“Except that you didn’t even succeed at that task, did you?” Picard said. “The crews of the Eletrix, a Tzenkethi marauder, a Breen warship, and even a civilian freighter, all dead. All but you.”
“I did not understand the compulsion of the others on the freighter to take their own lives,” Tomalak said.
“Suicide, then?” Picard nodded. “You’re asserting that the freighter crew took their own lives?”
“What else?” Tomalak said. “Surely you do not mean to accuse me . . .”
“No, I don’t,” Picard said, “because that is not within my responsibilities. The task I’ve been assigned right now is to deliver you to the people who will examine the evidence and decide such matters. But I would suggest that any hand you might have had in murdering five crew members aboard the Breen freighter pales beside any complicity you had in the attack on Deep Space Nine.”
“If you will recall, Captain,” Tomalak said, “I was not aboard any of the vessels that attacked your space station or any of your starships. I was on a civilian freighter legally authorized to travel to and from the Gamma Quadrant through Federation space.”
“Again, that is for others to decide,” Picard said. “But be certain of the story you tell. The more lies that pass your lips, the more difficult it will be for you.”
“Lies, Captain?” Tomalak said. “What reason do the innocent have for lies? I cannot be held culpable if the crews of other ships attacked—or defended themselves against—your space station and starships. It is not my fault if the rest of the freighter crew chose to end their own lives rather than face capture. That is what some people do.”
“Indeed,” Picard said. “Clearly the commander of the Eletrix f
elt that way.”
Tomalak shrugged. “That is often the Romulan way.”
“And of course, she also destroyed whatever precious cargo you were bringing back from the Gamma Quadrant.” Picard leaned forward then, so close that Tomalak knew that he could seize the captain’s neck and tear the life from him before the lieutenant could even fire her weapon. “Unless the destruction of the Eletrix was meant as a distraction,” Picard said quietly. “A ploy to lead us away from the true cargo, which you carried aboard the Breen freighter.”
Tomalak smiled. “You are imaginative, Captain Picard,” he said. “But I also have no doubts that Starfleet has already torn the freighter apart, and since there was no such cargo, I’m equally sure that you did not find anything.”
Picard returned a smile of his own, which unnerved Tomalak. “About that, you are wrong. It is true that we did scour the Breen vessel, but we did not find nothing.”
Tomalak felt genuinely puzzled. “You are either a liar or a fool,” he said. He could not tell Picard that the massive, complex machinery they had acquired from the Dominion had been in Eletrix’s holds, not those of Ren Fejin. “The freighter carried no cargo back from the Gamma Quadrant.”
“Didn’t it?” Picard said. The bluff could not have been more transparent to Tomalak, and yet the captain seemed completely believable.
Picard rose and started toward the force field. In the instant he turned his back, Tomalak again envisioned putting a swift and welcome end to his life. But he also knew that the time for escape had not yet come. In the end, he knew that Sela would see to his release, one way or another.
When Picard reached the front of the cell, he motioned toward the security officer in the outer chamber, just as the lieutenant had earlier. When the crewman had deactivated the force field, Picard stepped out of the cell and motioned off to the side. Another officer—a thin woman with wavy blond hair—then followed him back inside, and the force field reactivated behind them. Unlike the lieutenant, she did not carry a weapon at her hip, but rather a small pouch of some kind.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 10
