“I have nothing to discuss with you,” she said dismissively. She snapped a law book closed and shoved it back on a shelf behind her desk where other old-fashioned volumes were stored. Thumbing a switch, Asarem made a show of pulling up her schedule. “I have state business to attend to, Colonel.”
“Oh, I don’t believe you do.” Kira reached across Asarem’s desk and turned off the desk screen. “Just what the hell were you thinking when you shut down the talks today? What’s all this about waiting for Bajor to adopt the Federation’s treaties with Cardassia?”
“It’s a logical move,” Asarem said, shoving Kira’s arm off her desk. “Transitioning an entire planetary system into a completely new governmental form involves a lot more than making sure there aren’t hurt feelings between neighbors.”
Kira clenched her fists. She so wanted to punch something, but her hothead days were behind her. Keep a steady course…“This thing between us and Cardassia—this is our issue to resolve, not the Federation’s. Passing it off for them to handle is cowardly.”
“I resent that characterization.” Asarem left her desk and exited down a private corridor.
Kira followed. She wished she could tie Asarem to a chair and force her to see reason, a tactic that worked effectively in the Resistance, but might earn her a court martial if she employed it here. No, she had to play by the minister’s rules.
Asarem spoke to Kira as she walked. “Waiting to take on something of the magnitude of normalizing Bajoran/Cardassian relations until after the Federation is pragmatic. Why make promises we might not be able to keep once the Federation is in charge? Why duplicate efforts? We need to use our time to help Bajor.” She turned into a side room, likely a records office. Pulling a stool out from beneath a desk, Asarem climbed atop it and started browsing the countless rows of padds, books, and scrolls.
Kira hopped up on the counter closest to where Asarem stood. “Bajor will never heal until we deal with the mistrust festering between us and Cardassia. We’ll come into the Federation weak. We’ll be hiding behind our mother’s skirts.”
“You’re free to assume what you want, Colonel, but the decision is made.” She removed a scroll and jumped off the stool. “It’s not negotiable.”
How could Asarem treat Bajor/Cardassia relations with the same indifferent concern that one might reserve for street signage? Kira grabbed Asarem by the shoulder. “This is wrong!”
With a swift elbow shove, the minister dislodged Kira’s grip. She spun around, eyes blazing. “How dare you! You have no idea what this is about.”
“I don’t? Because it’s pretty damn obvious what’s happening here!” Kira shouted.
“You think you know it all,” Asarem said through gritted teeth. She stepped closer to Kira. “You’ve always been that way. So self righteous. Well this time, you’re not even close.” Turning on her heel, she half walked, half ran from the records room. Shoulder to shoulder, the women raced down the hall, surprised aides ducking out of the way right and left.
“If you do, as you claim, have Bajor’s best interests at heart,” Kira said, “then you and I want the same things. But from where I’m standing you and I couldn’t be on more opposite sides.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Kira.” She laughed bitterly. “The irony of all this is that you and I are on exactly the same side down to the last detail.”
Kira halted in her tracks, wondering if in her anger she’d missed something Asarem had said previously, because she believed she’d just heard Asarem say that they were on the same side. How could that be? None of this makes sense. She knew what she’d seen during the talks, what she’d read in the transcripts.
Seeing the puzzled expression on Kira’s face, Asarem laughed again. “You should see yourself, Kira. It’s almost worth putting up with your attitude to see how confused you look right now.” Asarem grabbed Kira by the elbow and dragged her into the closest vacant room. When she was assured they were alone, she explained, “Yes, Colonel. It’s true. I want peace with Cardassia. I came to these talks prepared to negotiate—to give probably more than Ambassador Lang would ask for. And you know why I didn’t? Because I was ordered not to.”
Still convinced Asarem had an angle, Kira said suspiciously, “Ordered?”
“Shakaar instructed me to take a hard-line position,” Asarem explained. “He told me to make it, in his exact words, ‘as difficult as possible’ to find reconciliation.”
“Shakaar wouldn’t do that.”
Shaking her head, Asarem plopped down in a chair and sighed resignedly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Considering your history with him.”
Forcing herself to consider that Asaraem was being truthful with her, Kira tried to visualize the talks from the minister’s perspective. How aggravating it must be to have to sit, day after day, representing an agenda not of your own making. Kira imagined that spinning fabrications, deliberately blocking legitimate dialogue would take a toll on a person of integrity; an alibi existed for Asarem’s seeming unreasonableness. But what was Shakaar trying to do?“If that’s true—” she looked directly at Asarem.
The minister met Kira’s eyes. “Then he lied to you.” She let her words linger between them before offering further explanation.
A tightening in her chest made the air in the room feel too thin to breathe; the implications of Asarem’s accusations were staggering. Kira rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. Asarem waited while Kira struggled to formulate a response. Finding that quick explanations for the inexplicable proved futile, Kira said nothing. She didn’t know what to say.
“If you don’t believe it, go to him,” Asarem said, not unkindly. “He comes back tomorrow sometime. Ask him. See if he’s brave enough to be honest with you.” Soundlessly, she left Kira alone in the half light to struggle through what she’d do next.
She was sitting there still when Ro’s urgent page found her.
19
Talk about your circadian rhythms being off.
Not long after being snatched off the Defiant, day and night blended together for Nog. Constantly wearing a hood would do that to a person. He vaguely recalled being woken several times. After the gag was yanked out of his mouth, someone held up water for him to drink and shoved stale kelp cakes into his mouth. Given a choice, Nog would have passed on the kelp cakes.
While he couldn’t see, his already superior auditory abilities were significantly heightened. He heard every opening door, could count the number of Yrythny passing by and understand most of the conversations. If what he picked up from eavesdropping was true, the Avaril’ s general population wasn’t aware he’d been stowed away in a storage closet near engineering. He knew he was close by engineering from the tone of the plasma coursing through the conduits, the rhythmic percussion of the warp core. The engines’ presence comforted him.
Whoever his captor or captors were, they went to significant lengths to avoid being identified, utilizing different clothing, shoes, scents and never speaking when he might overhear. Consequently, he had no idea what his ultimate destination might be. Whether he was fated to be held hostage for ransom, killed, or sold to be the cabin boy for some Cheka general, Nog wasn’t sure. If killed, he hoped his kidnappers would have the decency to send his body to Commander Vaughn. His father, at least, ought to have an opportunity to profit from Nog’s misfortunes. The desiccated remains of the first Ferengi in Starfleet had to be worth something. Sobering thoughts for a young Ferengi.
While he might not know what time of day it was, Nog heard feet shuffling in the corridor at every shift change. Vanìmel is a day away, give or take six hours, accounting for the time I was knocked unconscious. With any luck, my present circumstances are a misunderstanding and my gracious hosts will put me in touch with Commander Vaughn as soon as we touch down.
The pitch of the warp engines vibrating through the deckplates suddenly dropped to nothing; Nog heard the impulse engine attempt, unsuccessfully, to engage. Given the back up systems o
n Avaril, impulse should be available soon, but not for another fifteen minutes or so. The Avaril was adrift. The expected panicked footsteps rushed up and down the corridor. Still no engine. Nog guessed at least ten minutes had passed since the warp core failed.
The storage closet door swished open. Hands grabbed at Nog, hefting him into the air. A Yrythny threw him over a shoulder, the gag stopped his protestations; his bound hands and feet prevented him from fighting his way free. The hood stayed in place, but Nog discerned the general direction his captors took him: a quick transport car downward. The air on the lowest decks had a dank, dusty quality. Hazarding a guess, he was being hauled to the Avaril’s shuttlebay and taken…he had no idea. There were two Yrythny in his party; neither of them spoke. Doors opened and shut until the distinctively hollow sound of footsteps on metal gratings confirmed Nog’s suspicions. A pause while the group waited for a shuttle’s doors to open. Nog was thrown, like baggage, into the rear of the craft. He listened as switches flipped, engines activated, a preflight diagnostic run. He had no clue how long they would idle in the shuttlebay or where he was being taken, but he suspected it had to do with the tricorder holding the cloaking specs (actually a homing beacon—very clever). Nog put his faith in the Great River, hoping that once again it would provide in his hour of need.
* * *
With Defiant maintaining its cloak, Vaughn sat on the bridge, watching the pieces of the chessboard move into place. He would make his move when he was ready and not a moment before.
All eyes watched as the Avaril continued plodding toward Vanìmel while the Cheka ship maintained a parallel course beside her. The main viewscreen displayed a computer-generated graphic of an uninhabited planetary system where Bowers had projected the Cheka would intercept the Yrythny.
The first piece fell into place when the Avaril, a green ellipse on the screen, tumbled out of warp, and stalled. The Defiant’ s scans indicated internal engineering problems—not even impulse engines could be activated. She was stranded.
“The Avaril is transmitting a request for emergency assistance to Luthia control. They suspect internal sabotage to their engines,” Bowers reported.
“Continue to monitor communications, Lieutenant,” Vaughn ordered. At least initial appearances indicated that J’Maah hadn’t sold them out.
The Avaril had only minutes to cope with their misfortune before the Cheka warship Ston’yan, a diamond-shaped graphic in red, rumbled into position off the Avaril’ s port side.
“Ston’yan dropping out of warp and powering weapons. Avaril unable to activate defensive shielding,” Bowers announced. He looked up at Vaughn. “Showdown at the O.K. Corral.”
Vaughn laughed grimly, wishing this could be settled with the sheriff and the black hat dueling with Colts at high noon. Here we go, he thought, rising from his chair. “Sound red alert. All crew to battle stations. Ensign Tenmei, ahead full, course one-nine-seven mark two.” It was a trajectory that would place them dead center between the Avaril and the Ston’yan.
“Avaril, twenty-six million kilometers,” Prynn announced.
“Steady as she goes, Ensign. Any sign of attack from the Cheka, Mr. Bowers?”
“No, sir. The Ston’yan remains on alert.”
On the outside, Vaughn remained composed. No need to add to the anxiety of his crew; on the inside, he held his breath. Within minutes, they would know whether they had a chance at rescuing Nog.
“Avaril one million kilometers,” Prynn announced.
“Take us out of warp,” Vaughn ordered. “Maintain cloak.”
Rahim looked up from sciences. “Avaril shuttlebay doors have been activated. Sensors detect the launch of one Yrythny shuttle.”
A third spacecraft graphic, a smaller version of the Avaril’ s green circle, appeared.
“Scan the shuttle, Ensign.” This is it. Vaughn thought.
“Two Yrythny life-forms—” Rahim paused to smile. “—and one Ferengi.”
Vaughn turned to Leishman at engineering. “Transporter lock?”
Leishman studied her panel and shook her head. “Not possible. We should be able to knock out their shields, but whatever inhibitor field they were using before is now encompassing all three shuttle occupants. Looks like it’s plan B, sir.”
Vaughn turned to conn. “Ensign Tenmei, follow course two-one—zero mark zero and bring the Defiant within ten thousand kilometers of the Yrythny shuttle. Lieutenant Bowers, power phasers and prepare to drop cloak on my mark. Ensign Leishman, report to transporter bay one.”
The tall engineer vacated her post and started for the exit.
“Good luck, Mikaela,” Vaughn said as she crossed close to his chair.
“Yes, sir,” she said with a wink. “I’ll give ’em hell.”
On the viewscreen, Vaughn saw the shuttle, just a little bigger than its Starfleet analog, cross the expanse between the two ships, dwarfed by the massive Avaril and the equally formidable Cheka warship. At the requisite distance, Prynn adjusted the Defiant’ s course, bringing her parallel with the shuttle.
“Chao to the bridge. Ensign Leishman is ready to transport to the Yrythny shuttle.”
Vaughn didn’t hesitate. “Drop cloak, Lieutenant Bowers. Target the shuttle’s shield generators and fire phasers.”
“Phasers firing sir,” Bowers said.
Green circles rippled and winked out around the Yrythny shuttle, indicating a direct hit. “Shuttle’s shields are down, sir,” Bowers reported.
“Energize, Chief!”
“Ensign Leishman is away, sir,” Chao replied over the comm.
Vaughn sat back down. Now that we’ve crashed the party, let’s see who tries to throw us out first.
Sensors told Ezri that the Avaril was having technical trouble and that the Cheka warship had powered weapons. Looks like an ambush, she thought helplessly. The Sagan’ s weapons might divert the warship’s attention for a minute, but ultimately, she could do nothing to help the stranded Yrythny vessel.
“What now, Jeshoh?” Ezri said.
“We wait.” He sat stiffly in the chair beside her.
“Fine. All stop, Shar.”
As the Sagan held position, Keren left her seat, dropping down to crouch beside Jeshoh. She rested a hand on his leg and tried gazing up into his face but he twisted away from her. “My whole life’s work has been about helping all of my people. Not myself. Please don’t keep me from helping them,” she pleaded.
“Sit down, Keren. We’ll talk when this is over,” he said gruffly.
“Jeshoh, we can stop this now. Let’s dock on the Avaril. Turn in the terrorists. They’ll reduce our punishment.”
“Yrythny shuttle launching from Avaril,” Shar reported. “It’s moving toward the Cheka vessel.”
“Please, Jeshoh—” Keren whispered.
“Wait for a signal from the shuttle,” Jeshoh ordered.
“I’m monitoring communications channels,” Ezri said. A cursory survey revealed the Yrythny shuttle wasn’t transmitting, but jamming the Sagan’s inquiry. Something’s not right here.
“We should be receiving instructions by now,” Jeshoh said, jumping from his chair and pacing. “I wonder—”
“Lieutenant, look,” Shar said excitedly. “The Defiant!”
Keren scrambled to her feet, crowding next to Jeshoh so she could see the console screen. Keen in her focus, Ezri gasped when Defiant’ s phasers took out the shuttle’s shields.
Jeshoh slumped forward. “It can’t be…”
“Were I to hazard a guess,” Ezri said, “I’d say your deal is off.”
“No!” Jeshoh slammed the console. “No!”
Anticipating the Cheka’s displeasure with Defiant’ s appearance, Vaughn made a preemptive move. “Tactical, raise shields and ready phasers.” Vaughn said. “Ensign Rahim, monitor all transmissions between the three ships. Audio feed over the comm system.”
“—a direct hit to our shield generators. You have to help us!” the panicked Yrythny voice said.
“We have the cloaking specs and an engineer who can install and replicate the technology.”
“What about the eggs?” came the vibrating Cheka voice.
“—the Defiant off starboard—” static disrupted the transmission.
Vaughn searched his memory to place the Yrythny voice; he knew he’d heard it before.
Ensign Permenter suddenly looked up from the engineering station, where she’d replaced Leishman, recognition written on her face. “That was—”
Tlaral, thought Nog, wondering why he hadn’t pegged her before. For his money, he thought it would be Minister M’Yeoh. No one in a position like his was that incompetent unless it was for show. But he hadn’t had any latinum riding on the deal so he’d live with the disappointment.
I’m being traded to the Cheka. In exchange for what? What do the Cheka have that the Yrythny want? Uncle Quark always says the four hungers are food, sex, power and money, not necessarily in that order. But because money can buy food, sex, and power, money trumps them all. If I’m the money, the Yrythny are trading me for…Wait. Not all Yrythny are in need, Nog amended his thought. Only the Wanderers because—
They want weapons. To push Vanìmel into a civil war. If they can’t wrangle their rights legally, they’ll take them by force.
The shuttle’s control panel beeped like crazy. Before he could guess what might be happening, the shuttle rocked a second time, tipping from side to side and acrid smoke filled the cockpit.
“We’ve lost our shield generators. Grab hold of—”
Suddenly he heard the whine of a Starfleet transporter beam.
“We’ve been boarded!” Tlaral shouted. “Get—!”
Feet hit the deck, followed by scuffling, rustling, clattering and a thud. Nog hitched along the floor toward the rear of the shuttle to avoid being dragged into the fray. Having heard the Yrythny use the word “defiant” he hoped it meant Vaughn was close by. For now, however, as much as he wanted to believe he had friends aboard, he couldn’t be sure. Braced against a metal corner, he pushed his wristbands against the edge.
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