Obsidian Alliances

by Peter David

  Quickly, Seska said, “Harry didn’t interrogate him, they just talked, and it was at my request. He has a good sense of when someone’s telling the truth, and I wanted to gauge his feelings on it.”

  Angrily, Chakotay said, “Kim is not yours to order, Seska, understand? If you ever do an end run around me again like that, I’ll make you regret you were ever born.”

  Seska sneered. “Don’t pull that on me, Terran—you need me.”

  “Only as long as you follow my orders. If you can’t, then you’re useless to me, and I tend to kill things that are useless to me. Understood?”

  After staring at him defiantly for several seconds, she finally nodded.

  “Good. What did Harry ask him?”

  Shrugging, Seska said, “Some simple questions, and some trick ones. Harry thought he was telling the truth. And he also said he’d know for sure if you’d let him loose.”

  “Right now,” Chakotay said in a hard voice, “the only person I’m inclined to let him loose on is you. There are a lot of people who’d be perfectly happy to shoot you on sight, Seska, just because of what you look like. And right now I’m one of them. So don’t tempt any of us.”

  With that, he angrily turned on his heel and walked away. He needed to find a certain Vulcan.

  He found Tuvok in the mess hall, opening one of the ration packs they’d stolen from a raid on a derelict K’Vort-class ship they’d found in the Badlands. There had been very little that Tuvok would eat in those packs, as he had at least made an effort to conform to the ancient Vulcan tradition of vegetarianism, but practical reality had made that particular stricture a difficult one to maintain of late.

  Not that Chakotay gave a damn. He sat across from the Vulcan just as Tuvok dabbed some of the purple paste that was in the pack on his finger. “May I help you, Captain?”

  “Yes, actually—you can stop going behind my back.”

  To his credit, Tuvok did not equivocate. “My apologies, but I felt it was necessary to garner support among the remainder of the Geronimo crew before approaching you with the necessity of rescuing Mister Neelix’s paramour.”

  Smiling wryly, Chakotay asked, “So should I expect Annika to be pleading with me next?”

  “No. I do not feel that Ms. Hansen possesses enough interest in the particulars of the rebellion to be worth the attempt to gain her support.”

  Chakotay silently agreed. Annika was all sass and smarts, but didn’t question very much. The real surprise was that she was part of the rebellion in the first place.

  “Look, I don’t disagree with you, Tuvok. But we have one big problem. We—”

  “—do not know her current location. Yes, that is true. However, Ms. Seska is currently inquiring among her remaining contacts, and—”

  “—and she’s found something.”

  Chakotay turned to see Seska entering the mess hall and making a beeline for their table. “You’ve found something?” he asked.

  She gave Chakotay a dirty look, then regarded Tuvok. “I just got a squib from a friend of mine who runs one of the comm relays in the Chin’toka system. He’s picked up comm traffic between the Bak’rikan and Ardana.”

  Tuvok’s eyebrow climbed his forehead. “Indeed?”

  “I don’t get it,” Chakotay said with a frown. “Ardana’s a barren rock now. They squeezed that place dry of zenite, what, fifty years ago?”

  “Fifty-one-point-nine,” Tuvok said. “However, in recent times, the Alliance has repurposed the city of Stratos on that world to serve as a base for scientific research.”

  Still looking only at Tuvok, Seska said, “Last I heard, they had just put some Klingon-Terran halfbreed in charge.”

  That got Chakotay to sit up on the bench. “That halfbreed wouldn’t be named B’Elanna?”

  Now, finally, Seska turned back to Chakotay. “I think so, yes. You know her?”

  “By reputation, from Harry and Kate. She was the Intendant of Cestus III when those two escaped. They dropped a building on her head, but we’ve heard rumors that she survived that. I’m amazed she survived the Alliance, though.”

  Seska snorted. “If she made it as far as an Intendant as a halfbreed, whichever of her parents is the Klingon must be very influential for her to even survive to adulthood, so she probably had someone scratching her back with the Regent.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. That’s where Evek went right after he left the Badlands, breaking a rendezvous with Gul Jasad at Elvok Nor.”

  Chakotay rubbed his chin. “He must know what he has.”

  Tuvok said, “If the Bak’rikan is headed for Ardana, it’s possible that Gul Evek wishes to verify the alien woman’s telepathy before turning her over to the Alliance. Complete testing for such abilities is beyond the purview of a ship of the Bak’rikan’s class.”

  “Evek and Jasad hate each other,” Seska added. “Evek wouldn’t want to risk Jasad taking credit.”

  Nodding, Chakotay said, “All right, I’m convinced. We’ll go get her. But we’ll need everything you can give us on Ardana.”

  Seska got up. “Whatever you say, Captain,” she said with a sneer, and departed.

  Again, Tuvok’s eyebrow rose. “I take it that you and Ms. Seska had a disagreement?”

  “Something like that.” Chakotay rose. “Next time, Vulcan, just tell me what you want. I’m sick of people going behind my back.”

  “Again, Captain, my apologies. It will not happen again.”

  7

  Atelepath? You’re sure?”

  Evek ground his teeth. He stood across from Supervisor B’Elanna alongside Doctor B’Oraq. The halfbreed’s hideous face—a mixture of the worst elements of her Terran and Klingon heritage—was framed by a glorious view of the planet Ardana that Evek would have been in much better condition to appreciate without the dispiriting effect of the supervisor’s presence. He had beamed down to Monor Base from the Bak’rikan with the doctor because B’Oraq had claimed friendship with the supervisor.

  “No,” B’Oraq said, tugging on her braid, “we’re not. That’s why I recommended we come here. The equipment we have on the Bak’rikan can only prove that there is the potential for telepathy. But I knew you were doing experiments in that regard—and you’d almost have to have better diagnostics than we do.” The latter was said while leaning forward with an almost conspiratorial tone.

  B’Elanna laughed, a sound that made Evek’s spine ache. “Understandable. But I’m not sure why you came to me, as opposed to one of the closer bases. There are at least two facilities closer to the Badlands than Ardana.”

  Evek stepped in. “The doctor told me much of your work here. For so important a matter as this, I thought it prudent to make the most accurate determination possible.”

  Nodding thoughtfully—though Evek doubted her mind to be all that full of thought—B’Elanna said, “I see. Very well, have the specimen beamed to Laboratory 3. That’s where Doctor Zimmerman is working.”

  That didn’t sound right to Evek. “Zimmerman sounds like no Klingon or Cardassian name of which I am aware.”

  “No reason why it should,” B’Elanna said with a smile. “Doctor Zimmerman is a Terran—and also is the one who’s made the most progress in developing telepaths of anyone in the Alliance.”

  Glaring at his doctor, Evek started to seriously doubt the efficacy of this plan. “Supervisor,” he said, trying to give B’Elanna as bland a look as he could in order to conceal his growing disgust, “I would prefer it if a Klingon or Cardassian performed the examination.” That was half a lie—he trusted Klingon scientists even less than Terran ones, since the latter were motivated to perform well by the alternative of the mines being dangled before them. But he felt he should play to his audience, as it were.

  “I’m sure you would, Gul Evek. I’m sure you’d also prefer that Glinn Seska was still your first officer instead of gallivanting around the Badlands with the rebellion. Sadly, we live in an imperfect galaxy, so you’ll just have to settle for Zimmerman
.”

  Before Evek could respond to that, B’Oraq said, “I’m sure he’s the right man for the job, B’Elanna, thank you.”

  “Of course. And I’m willing to overlook the breach in protocol for your sake, Doctor. You did my mother a great service, and that’s not something I forget.”

  That got Evek’s attention. B’Oraq had only said that they were old friends.

  B’Oraq offered an inclination of her head. “It was my pleasure, Supervisor. Your mother is a great woman, and so dishonorable a death would have diminished the Alliance.”

  “Yes.” B’Elanna rose. “Very well. Have the specimen transported. Doctor, you will meet me for supper tonight—we’ll catch up.”

  “I would like that very much,” B’Oraq said with another inclination.

  “You’re both dismissed.”

  Evek ground his teeth some more at that. He was a gul in the Alliance fleet, not some toady to be “dismissed.” But he wisely said nothing. For all this woman’s bluster, she was still Evek’s best shot at redemption—or rather, this Zimmerman person was. Still, better either of them than Jasad.….

  Turning on his heel, Evek departed B’Elanna’s office and headed straight for the transporter platform, neither knowing nor caring if B’Oraq followed him or not.

  “They think she’s a telepath?”

  B’Elanna found herself once again torn between admiring Zimmerman’s effrontery and wanting to stab him in the eye for it. “They’re not sure. Doctor B’Oraq found elevated levels of something or other in her brain that indicated the possibility, but that was as far as her own testing facilities could go.”

  “Where’d they find this woman, anyhow?”

  “In the Badlands, while chasing a rebellion ship.”

  “What’s a telepath doing in the Badlands, of all places?”

  “I don’t know,” B’Elanna said slowly. “Possibly the rebellion found her, in which case it behooves us to learn the truth. Or, rather, behooves you. I want a full workup on the alien by this time tomorrow.”

  “What about—?”

  “Nothing else matters,” she said emphatically before the Terran could start whining about whichever of his tiresome projects was at a “critical stage.” Scientists always said that whenever you interrupted them, and she was well and truly sick of it.

  “Very well, Supervisor,” Zimmerman said in a put-upon tone.

  “Out.” B’Elanna closed the communication.

  Letting out a long breath, she turned her chair around and looked out over Ardana. Even fewer lived on the surface than in the cloud city. A few small townships, shadows of their former selves, dotted the landscape. The towns somehow managed to sustain themselves and pay their taxes, so the Alliance left them alone. At least one township thrived on gambling and rest facilities that were used by the remaining citizenry of Stratos when they felt the need to have a planet beneath their feet but couldn’t afford to travel offworld. B’Elanna had never made use of those facilities herself. Rank had its privileges, after all, and if she wanted to rest or relax, she had levels seven, eight, and nine of Monor Base.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking back on the pleasure her favorite Terran’s screams provided her—a pleasure that increased a hundredfold when she felt his sweat-drenched hands on her naked body. He was always best at pleasing her, and she knew that she would keep him forever.

  Her fond recollection was interrupted by a communiqué coming in. She prepared to give Vralk a tongue-lashing for interrupting her when she realized that it was on her private line, the one that bypassed operations. Only two people in the galaxy ever used that channel. One was the Regent—or one of his underlings—who had direct access to any communications console in the Alliance. The other was her mother.

  B’Elanna wasn’t sure which option she preferred less.

  Activating the comm on her end, she saw the screen on her wall light up with the perpetually scowling face of Miral. “Greetings, Daughter.”

  “Mother,” B’Elanna said with a mixture of relief and apprehension. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Several things, actually. First of all, why have I received notice that you have requested a replacement scientist?”

  Sighing, B’Elanna thought sourly, Bad news travels quickly, it seems. “Kurak is dead.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “She challenged me; she lost.”

  Sounding dubious, Miral repeated, “She challenged you?”

  B’Elanna leaned forward. “I am not a liar, Mother.”

  “Of course you are, Daughter, don’t be foolish.”

  “There were witnesses, Mother,” B’Elanna said tightly, “including Moset.” B’Elanna knew that Miral would not trust the word of one of B’Elanna’s Klingon guards or of a Terran—while she’d accept many a Terran into her bed, she’d not trust one’s word, not entirely without reason—but Moset was a respected Cardassian scientist, and his word would carry weight with her.

  “Very well. In any event, I also have news: I’ve been promoted. The Regent has generously granted me the post of Intendant of Earth.”

  For three seconds, B’Elanna’s mouth moved, but words would not form. This was a most unexpected piece of news. “You’re leaving Qo’noS?”

  Miral nodded. “Apparently, the Regent feels that B’Etor would be more useful to him on the homeworld.”

  “More useful? I wasn’t aware the Regent’s private life was now fodder for euphemism.”

  At that, Miral laughed. “Indeed. In truth, I do not know if Worf is taking B’Etor back to his bed. The relations between the House of Mogh and the House of Duras have always been…tumultuous.”

  “To say the least.” B’Elanna had heard rumors that the Regent himself fancied Miral. But Miral hadn’t slept with a Klingon in years, and B’Elanna doubted her mother would start now, even if it was with the Regent. She was simply too much a slave to her passions.

  Thinking of the lower levels, she added to herself, A problem I can sympathize with.

  In any case, it was quite likely that the Regent grew tired of Miral’s lack of response, and so re-fired the urge in his loins for the sister of Duras, who had been his bedmate for years before she was “promoted” to Intendant of Earth, a change in position that everyone assumed to be due to B’Etor’s inability to provide the Regent with a son.

  If Mother is being exiled to Earth, she may be less of an asset than she once was. Now Evek and B’Oraq’s stumbling on that alien woman was even more fortuitous. It is long past time I made my own way.

  Speaking of whom… “By the way, Mother, we have guests on Ardana, and one of them is an old friend.”

  “Oh?”

  “The Bak’rikan has pulled into orbit with some specimen they want us to examine,” she said dismissively. If Miral was no longer on Qo’noS, her usefulness was reduced, and therefore B’Elanna had little to gain by sharing news of Evek’s prize with her. Besides, like Evek, she didn’t want knowledge of it to spread until they had confirmation that she was everything B’Oraq hoped she was. “That vessel’s head doctor is B’Oraq.”

  At that, Miral’s face brightened. “B’Oraq! How is she faring?”

  “She’s assigned to a Cardassian ship, so probably not all that well. Worse, she’s assigned to Evek.”

  “The traitor himself. How ignominious. I should have a word with General Martok, see about having her reassigned. The woman who saved my life deserves better than to serve with that petaQ Evek.”

  B’Elanna said nothing. Seven years earlier, when both Miral and B’Oraq had been on Cestus III, Miral had fallen ill. None of the physicians on Cestus—all Cardassians—could find a cure. It was B’Oraq who had found a treatment, one that boosted Miral’s own immune system enough for her to fight off the illness herself.

  When she later heard of B’Oraq’s assignment to the Bak’rikan, B’Elanna often wondered if it was because B’Oraq had embarrassed so many Cardassian doctors, at least one of whom wa
s brother to a legate, that her requests to be posted to a Klingon base or ship were denied, instead being dumped onto the traitor’s vessel.

  Not that it mattered. B’Oraq had saved Miral’s life. That put her in B’Elanna’s mother’s debt, a debt the physician no doubt was calling in now to help her and her Cardassian master regain some lost prominence.

  “Well, I must be off, Daughter,” Miral said. “I will be leaving for Earth on the Negh’Var tomorrow morning.”

  “Quite an escort,” B’Elanna said. The Negh’Var was among the cream of the Klingon fleet.

  “Indeed. Good-bye, Daughter. Give my regards to Doctor B’Oraq.”

  With that, Miral’s face faded from the screen.

  “I will, Mother,” B’Elanna said quietly, then rose and headed for the lift, ordering it to level seven. She suddenly found herself full of nervous tension she wanted to work off before supper.

  • • •

  “Where is the entrance to the Ocampa city?”

  Kabor kneels in front of her, smiling as he uses the metal tool to shatter the bones in her fingers even as Jabin asks the same question he always asks, the one that she never answers.

  “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll get you out of here somehow. Just be patient.”

  Neelix stealing a moment with her behind the Kazon-Ogla’s back, promising a rescue she fears will never come.

  “Those are just stories, Kes, legends told of a time that never existed.”

  The Ocampan elders think that being over eight years old somehow gives them wisdom, yet they refuse to question any of the assumptions about the Ocampa that had accreted over the decades.

  “Where is the entrance to the Ocampa city?”

  Jabin keeps asking the question.

  Kes keeps refusing to answer.

  The pain never ceases, agony piling on agony.

  “Where is the entrance to the Ocampa city?”

  She keeps thinking they have run out of ways to hurt her. They keep proving her wrong.

  “Where is the entrance to the Ocampa city?”

  Stop hurting me! Stop the pain, please, I’ll do anything!