“Don’t fire,” said a weary voice. “It’s Renet Losig.” He slipped to his knees, and then to his hands, and finally down onto his side.
Jennica started over to the old man, but Veralla stopped her with a hand on her arm. She’d been in the gild long enough that she should have known better. “Wait,” Veralla said, just loudly enough for everybody in the clearing to hear.
Renet should have known better too, Keev thought. He hadn’t called out before he got to the encampment, nor had he used any of the key phrases that would have told the members of his gild that he had arrived on his own, or under duress, or with others following. And where is Synder? Keev wondered.
After several moments in which everybody listened for the sounds of others approaching, Veralla turned to Jennica. “Please restart the fire,” he said. He then turned on a beacon—Keev could only marvel at how he’d managed to get it to his hand so smoothly and without her noticing. He shined the beam on the fallen form of Renet.
The old man looked terrible. His clothing bore the scars of a difficult journey: loose, muddy, and torn. He trembled where he lay, as though the cool of the night had somehow gotten inside of him.
Veralla went to him, his hand up and holding the others where they stood—except for Jennica, who tended the coals and tried to coax a new piece of wood to catch flame. The gild leader paced cautiously over to Renet, squatted down, and examined him. Finally, in the penumbra of his beacon, he said, “All right,” and he waved everybody over—everybody but Altek, whom Veralla asked to stand guard. The rest of the group holstered their revolvers.
Carefully, they wrapped Renet in a blanket and brought him over to sit before the renewed fire. They gave him water and cleaned him up. Altek cooked up some of the leftover hara meat for him.
Though plainly still exhausted, the water and food did revive Renet a bit. Veralla must have seen that, because he asked, “Losig, are you all right?” Rarely did Veralla—rarely did any of them—refer to their comrades by their given names.
Renet looked at Veralla, and Keev thought that the old man might weep. She interpreted the deep emotion as a product of whatever he’d been through, as well as his apparent salvation. “I’m alive,” Renet said, his voice a rasp. “I’m alive, and that’s a start.”
“It is,” Veralla agreed, and he tapped a hand gently on the old man’s knee. “It is a start.” Renet seemed to want to smile, but his effort fell far short of convincing. Veralla waited a few beats, and then asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”
Renet looked away from Veralla—he looked into the fire, away from everybody. “Nogar’s dead,” he finally said.
Nobody gasped. At that point, they all must have been expecting the news. Keev certainly had been. That still didn’t stop her heart from hurting when Renet confirmed the brutal fact.
“A krelo bear got him,” the old man continued. The large brown animals typically didn’t travel that near the Merzang Mountains, but Keev had heard of a number of incidents with them through the years. “Nogar saved me.” Tears filled Renet’s eyes. Keev pitied him for what he must have seen.
Veralla nodded. Keev wanted to hear about the encounter, wanted to ease Renet’s burden by sharing it with him, wanted to honor the sacrifice that her fellow gild member—her friend—had made, but she knew that the question would likely have to wait. In the next moment, Veralla asked, “What about the freed Bajora?”
The question seemed to bring Renet back, as though he welcomed the focus on the man and the woman he and Synder had been tasked with delivering to the road to Shavalla. “We made it through,” he said. “Twenty-two days. We had no real problems . . . the man sprained his ankle, but not until late in the trip.”
Twenty-two days, Keev thought. Renet and Synder had departed more than fifty days earlier, meaning that the trip back had not only been obviously grueling for the old man, but also far longer than the trip out.
“What happened?” Jennica blurted out, as though she could no longer contain her youthful curiosity. “How did you get through?”
I can’t blame her curiosity on her age, Keev thought. I want to know too.
Renet peered across the flames at the young woman. “It . . .” he started, but again, tears filled his eyes. He looked down at his hands, which he twisted together anxiously. “It was awful,” he said. “Poor Nogar, he . . .”
“It’s all right,” Veralla said in a soothing voice. “Why don’t you get some sleep? You must be exhausted.”
Keev agreed. It must have been impossible for Renet to get much sleep with one eye open to watch out for more krelo bears. Not to mention having to travel alone all the way around the mountains and through the wood.
Renet nodded gratefully, and he let Veralla help him over to a bedroll. When the gild leader stood up again and moved back to the fire, Cawlder Vinik said, “Do you think—” Veralla interrupted by holding up a single finger.
“We’ll palaver in the morning,” he said. “We don’t need to make any decisions about anything tonight.”
As the other members of the gild took to their sleeping rolls, Veralla buried the fire. In the last flickering light of the flames, Keev read the expression on his face. If there had been any question about the course of action that the gild must take next, the death of Synder Nogar had answered it.
• • •
Beneath the light of three moons, the clusters of heavy machinery glowed as though their filthy daytime appearance had somehow been purified. The same could not be said of the great iron drill that some of the machinery drove, and that hung in a crosstie derrick as though daring gravity to take hold. The moonlight washed the unevenly angled wood of the gantry white, but at best it could only smooth the pitted contours of the screw-shaped apparatus suspended like a threat above the ground.
Nearby stood two shacks that appeared hastily constructed, and past those, a ramshackle privy. Of all the structures in the work camp, only the three wide, sheet-metal cylinders that collected rainwater gave any impression of endurance. So deep into the night that B’hava’el would rise in less time than it had already been gone, the mountaintop lay still.
Keev broke that calm when she streaked from a coppice and toward the rightmost of the three tanks, curls of narrow hose encircling one of her shoulders. She reached the cistern on the opposite side of the windowless shacks, out of sight of any workers who might happen to walk out to the privy. She threw down the coil of hose, tucking one end into the waistband of her pants. Where two of the metal panels that formed the water tank met in an edge joint, Keev began to climb. She wore thick gloves to allow her solid handholds along the raised seam, and the large bolts that bound the metal together provided her sufficient footing for her ascent.
When she had climbed high enough, Keev peered across the top of the tank, which had been covered by a metal grille. She pulled the end of the hose from her waistband and threaded it through the grille, feeding it down until she heard it plop through the surface of the water. She then lowered herself back to the ground, not wanting to jump for fear of leaving boot prints in the soil, and thus potential evidence that any troubles at the work site had been caused not by the local conditions, but by saboteurs.
Keev looked over to the machinery beside the derrick and drill, searching for the figure she expected to see there. In the waxy cover given by Derna, Endalla, and Baraddo—Baraddo, also known as the Prodigal, as one grade-school teacher used to make Keev’s class recite—she at first saw nobody. Then a hand waved, and she darted across the open space, pulling the other end of the hose with her, to where Altek squatted.
When she arrived, Altek pointed to the corner of the machinery closest to the derrick, where they had concentrated their efforts over the past weeks. He crawled in that direction, then pointed around the corner, something he had never done in the time that they’d been systematically trespassing at the work camp. Keev moved forward until she crouched beside him.
She stuck her head past the machinery and
gazed over at the derrick, the great drill hanging within it. Not knowing what to look for, she turned to Altek, who gestured toward the ground. It took only a moment for Keev to see what he obviously wanted her to see: a series of metal weights had been affixed to the far legs of the derrick. She hoped that meant that all of their efforts there had finally begun to have tangible results.
Drawing back from the corner of the machinery, Keev watched as Altek pulled up a tuft of grass. She pulled a beacon from her pocket and used it to look down. The hole that Altek had dug out with a manual auger reached down five or six arm lengths.
Keev glanced up at him for agreement and received it in the form of a nod. She immediately brought the end of the hose to her lips and inhaled deeply several times, creating negative pressure within the long tube. She then fed the hose into the hole and waited with an ear beside the opening. When Keev heard the trickle of water, she flashed her beacon into the hole. The water level rose more quickly than at any time in the weeks they’d been visiting the work site.
Keev handed the beacon to Altek, who shifted over to take a look in the opening. He nodded emphatically, clearly as pleased as she felt. The rapid rise of the water level in the hole suggested that the soil around it absorbed the liquid at a slower rate than it had been doing, and therefore that the gild had succeeded in saturating the ground there. Keev took back her beacon and pocketed it. She waited until the water rose almost to the top, then raced back along the length of hose and pulled it free from the tank. She grabbed its end and began wrapping it in big loops over her shoulder. Water spilled from the end, soaking her clothing, but she ignored the sensation as she walked back toward Altek while reeling in the hose.
Back beside the machinery, Keev saw that Altek held a charge in his hand. He had concealed the hole that she’d filled with water, and he’d exposed a second one. He looked at her questioningly and she nodded. He activated the charge, dropped it in the hole, and covered it back up. Together, they raced for the tree line.
When they entered the coppice, they ducked down behind the trunk of a tree. Keev gazed back at the work camp, though she knew she would neither see, hear, nor feel the small explosion that Altek had initiated. Beside her, he dug into his jacket pocket. He unraveled a thin white cord, placed one fitted end into his ear, and held a small cone at the other end against the ground.
They waited for only a few seconds before Altek removed the earpiece and began winding the wire around his hand. “It detonated,” he whispered. He put his listening device back in his pocket, and then the two of them headed through the trees, on their way back down the mountain.
They had gone only a few steps when a low-pitched sound rose up, sounding to Keev like the wild call of a wounded animal. She and Altek both stopped, then ran back to the edge of the work site. At first, Keev saw nothing unusual or out of place, but then she noticed that the machinery where they had just worked canted to one side. She also saw movement by the derrick—
No, not by the derrick: the derrick itself moved, leaning to one side. The machinery atop the ground that they had just sabotaged connected directly to the drill, and Keev saw that the drill listed as well. Clearly, the gild’s weeks of work had succeeded in weakening the ground and—
A loud crack shot through the camp. The derrick lurched farther to one side, and the drill followed. As though deciding whether or not to fall, the entire assembly teetered.
The door of the shack flew open and a man wearing long underwear appeared. He looked outside just as the derrick and drill toppled to the ground with what Keev considered a satisfying crash. Then she turned to Altek and said, “We need to go.”
It took them hours to get back to the gild, but when they did, they brought the good news with them.
Fifteen
Blackmer stood at the back of the auditorium, listening to the visiting heads of state talk about Deep Space 9, both past and present. He considered taking a seat—the theater hadn’t quite filled up completely—but it always made him uncomfortable to sit down at such events, even when not on duty. He liked to think that he’d been trained too well for that, but he understood that, in reality, his anxiety had developed during his first posting out of the Academy. At a reception for a visiting admiral on Starbase 189, he’d been chatting up another young ensign when a door opened and a Quist sped inside, terrifying everybody and nearly igniting a war with the previously unknown species.
What a way to make first contact, Blackmer thought, able to smile about the incident so many years later. At the time, though, the shock of seeing something so thoroughly unexpected like that, of being faced with an unfamiliar life-form that caused such fear and revulsion, had driven him to rethink his priorities. Although he hadn’t been on duty during the reception on Starbase 189, the overall security breach had bothered him so much that he’d resolved to take more care at similar events, even as a guest.
Captain Ro had invited the entire senior staff to attend the dedication ceremony, and they’d all agreed—including Blackmer. Later, though, he spoke with the captain and let her know that he’d prefer to sit at the back of the theater where he could, while enjoying the occasion, at least keep an eye on things. Ro paused a moment, perhaps questioning the security chief’s appeal, but Blackmer’s relationship with her had improved significantly since his first months under her command—he’d earned her trust and respect—and she granted his request.
Except I can’t even sit, he thought. Maybe because I just got off duty. Ten minutes before the start of the ceremony, he had completed a circuit of the theater, from the lobby to the stage, from the control booth to the wings, from the refreshers to the dressing rooms. Half an hour prior to that, he’d received a report from Lieutenant Commander Douglas—who had become his top deputy in security during the past year—after she’d done a preliminary inspection of the venue.
Blackmer tried to concentrate on the speeches, knowing he had no real cause for concern. Not only had he and Douglas swept the theater themselves, but his staff had the theater—and the entire starbase—well secured. Having half a dozen heads of state aboard certainly raised the pressure, but those officials also traveled with their own protection details, which helped mitigate the burden.
As the ceremony proceeded, Blackmer found the comments of the grand nagus the most personal, touching on Rom’s own years on the old station and how he’d raised his son there. Lustrate Vorat, Praetor Kamemor, and Imperator Sozzerozs all spoke of virtues—forgiveness and generosity and determination—while Chancellor Martok’s speech sounded . . . well, the most Klingon. First Minister Asarem followed all of those remarks with the most rousing address, bringing the audience to its feet. Had he not already been standing, Blackmer would have risen as well.
President Bacco stepped out onto the stage after the first minister. Blackmer had voted for Bacco in the last election, believing that she’d distinguished herself during her years in office as a solid leader and an exceptional diplomat and negotiator, particularly with respect to the Typhon Pact. She had avoided war without having to resort to appeasement, and her stance on—
A shot tore through the theater, a noise Blackmer had not heard often, but that he recognized at once. It sounded as though it had come from the center of the auditorium. He saw the president reel backward on the stage, and he knew that she’d been hit.
Blackmer drew his phaser and ran down the sloped aisle, peering into the middle of the audience. Just as he registered many people turning and looking toward the back of the theater, a second shot bellowed from somewhere behind him. He glanced at the president and saw her struck again, then turned and scanned the rear of the auditorium for the shooter. He heard a third shot at the same time he spied a flash of light—the spark of a firearm in action, he realized—in an opening high up on the back wall. Blackmer’s arm moved as of its own accord, bringing his phaser up, and he fired. The reddish-yellow beam streaked through the window, but too late: the security chief saw it strike the overhead inside the
theater’s control booth, missing the shooter.
But at least it might slow them down.
Two members of his staff, Cardok and Hava, appeared at Blackmer’s side. The security chief pointed to the three openings that looked out over the auditorium and stage from the control booth, which should have been empty during the ceremony; only the curtains and house lights were in operation, and they were controlled from offstage.
“The shooter’s there,” Blackmer told Cardok and Hava. “If you see movement, fire. I’m going up.” As the officers acknowledged his order, Blackmer raced back up the aisle. The house lights came on just as he pushed through the swinging doors and out into the lobby. He looked left and right, and on each side saw the two security officers he’d posted beside the access points to the second level. Each of his people clutched a phaser.
“Sir?” Ansarg called out.
“Stay there,” Blackmer yelled, pointing to his left, to where the Tellarite and her partner stood guard before the turbolift that led up to the next level. “Allow no one in or out.” The security chief sprinted in the opposite direction, toward the stairway. “Follow me, phasers up,” he told the two officers there, Shul and ch’Larn.
Blackmer took the steps two at a time, first to a landing, and then right, up to the long corridor that stretched between the top of the staircase and the turbolift. Beneath the urgent call of the red alert klaxon, which had begun to blare, he heard the footfalls of his people behind him. Blackmer stopped on the uppermost step, halting Shul and ch’Larn with a gesture. He took a quick look around the corner.
The corridor was empty. Three sets of doors stood closed along its length, all on the same wall. The two on either end of the corridor led to refreshers, Blackmer knew—he’d searched them himself when inspecting the theater—while the middle set opened into the control booth.
Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust Page 25
