Star Trek: Brinkmanship (26 page)

“May I at least ask,” said Dax, “where exactly this agent is right now?”

Nekelen looked almost pained to be asked such an obvious question. “Why, Captain! Ab-Tzenketh, of course. Surely you didn’t think we’d pull you away from the blockade for anything less?”

“Oh, no, of course not. Where else would I be? I’m just glad it’s not anywhere heavily defended or currently on high alert. Otherwise we might
really
be in trouble.”

Nekelen beamed at her. “Well, generally speaking, these things are simply a matter of planning and expertise. Which reminds me, I really must speak to Commander Alden as soon as he’s available. We’ll be
needing him, I suspect, if we’re going to get into Tzenkethi space and out alive.”

•   •   •

A red light pulsed brightly in the corner of Neta Efheny’s eye and then cut out. They’d reached the pickup point.

She stopped to look around. They were about two-thirds of the way up a hill, and there was little in the way of cover. Corazame, stopping behind her, said, “Maymi, I don’t like it here.”

Of course she didn’t. There was nothing to distract her from the open sky, the slope behind them, and the view out to the lagoon. Efheny thought it was beautiful, but Tzenkethi preferred to observe the natural wonders of their own world through holoscreens. “Don’t worry, Cory,” she said. “We’ll find somewhere to shelter. You won’t be out here for long.”

“Mayazan,” said Hertome from within the disruption field, “is this the place? Is this the pickup point?” He too surveyed the area, but with more professional expertise than Corazame could bring. “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be? It’s not the place I would have chosen. We’re far too exposed. Anyone coming this way by air would easily spot us.”

“I’m sure,” Efheny said. She pointed ahead. “Look, there are
cezik
bushes over there. They might offer some cover.”

At least, she hoped they would offer cover. The previous night had been grim: the three of them huddled together under a makeshift roof that Efheny and Hertome
had pulled together from leafy
keteki
branches. They’d all sat under it, sleepless, listening for air cars. Hertome and Efheny had combined their heat reflectors in the hope that they would cover Corazame too. It seemed to work. But in the early hours of morning, Corazame began to weep, silently but uncontrollably. Efheny had dosed her with calmers from the medkit. She’d been dozy and docile all day as a result, letting Efheny pull her and Hertome push her wherever they wanted her to be.

They walked in single file around the contours of the hill: Efheny in the lead, Hertome at the rear, and Corazame sandwiched between them. The bushes, when they reached them, turned out to be clumped around a wide hollow in the hillside.

Efheny slid down into the hollow and took its measure. It was not quite the height of the average person, but it was certainly wide enough to fit the three of them. And it wouldn’t be for long, of course. She tugged at the branches of the bushes. “We can make some cover with this,” she said. “Come on, Cory. I’ll show you what to do.”

As they worked, Cory seemed to wake up a little. She turned her back to Hertome and whispered to Efheny, “Why are we doing this, Maymi? We shouldn’t be hiding. They’re only going to find us. We should go back before that happens. Plead our case, plead for forgiveness. I know . . .” She glanced back over her shoulder. “I know that whatever you said before, Hertome must have forced you to come out here.”

“Cory,” Efheny said firmly, “nobody forced me to come out here. The sooner you get that idea out of your head, the better. We’re not going back. We’re stuck here for now, and we have to make the best of it. And right now that means building a shelter from these wretched
cezik
leaves.”

Once the task was done, they were all exhausted. They pulled their temporary canopy over the hollow, and Hertome and Efheny appraised their efforts.

“Well, it’s hardly the best camouflage I’ve ever seen,” Hertome said. “But it’s going to have to do.”

Efheny sat on the edge of the hollow and then jumped easily down. “Cory, come down. Come backward,” she said, seeing Corazame falter on the edge. “Kneel down and swing your legs around. Hertome will have your back until you’re sure I have you.”

Carefully, they helped Corazame. Hertome followed, needing no assistance. Silently but efficiently, almost as if they were partners, he helped her arrange the branches over them.

They sat squashed together in silence. The canopy of leaves shifted in the breeze, dappling the ground and their bodies with light and shade. Corazame laid her head down on her arms. Efheny checked her chronometer. Three and a half skyturns before her pickup. What was she going to do? It wouldn’t be long, surely, before Hertome realized that she had lied about the portable transporter. There was no such device. The ship that was collecting her would follow the signal coming from the data-recording implant embedded
above her left eye. She’d led Hertome into the middle of nowhere, with enforcers on his case and no means of escape. How long before he guessed?

“Mayazan,” he said quietly, “where’s the transporter?”

“I’ve got the coordinates,” she said. “I’ll go and find it as soon as it gets dark.”

He nodded slowly. “But you’re sure this is the place—”

She lifted her hand to silence him. “Listen!”

Corazame too had heard the noise. Craning her neck back, she stared up through the thin cover of leaves. “Enforcers,” she whispered, once the
chik
of an air car could be clearly heard. She put her head back down on her arms. “Oh, somebody help me! My beloved Autarch, forgive me!”

Hertome put his hand on her shoulder, but that made her trembling worse. “Don’t worry, Corazame,” he said. “I’m sure the Ret Mayazan knows what she’s doing.”

Efheny didn’t respond. She twisted her neck to follow the sound of the air car, relaxing only when she was sure it had passed them by and was heading out toward the lagoon.

They sat in silence for a while.
How did I get here?
Efheny wondered.
How did I find myself here, in this wilderness, with a dangerous human and a terrified girl? All I wanted to do was observe. All I wanted to do was live among the Tzenkethi, and serve Cardassia as I did . . .

“Do you have any water?” Hertome asked. “We’ve walked a long way today.”

Efheny gestured toward the bag she’d brought from the ship. “Don’t drink it all at once. We’ve three skyturns to get through. We might not be able to find more.”

He nodded and took one sip, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. He tapped Corazame on the arm and handed her the water bottle.

“Drink,” he ordered her. “Only a little, mind. I don’t think Mayazan planned for us all to come along on her little field trip.”

Fearfully, Corazame followed his example, taking one small sip and rolling it around her mouth. When she handed the bottle to Efheny, she gave her friend a gentle, pleading look.
Tell me what is happening?
Efheny turned away from that unintended but unbearable accusation. She huddled back against the wall of the hollow, closing her eyes. What in the name of the Blind Moon was she going to do about Corazame?

Hertome was his own problem. He’d taken his chances when he’d chosen to come along with Efheny. It was his own tough luck that he was going to be disappointed. But Corazame . . . Once Efheny was gone, she’d be on her own. It was only a matter of time before the enforcers searching the area caught up with her, and when that happened, Cory would find herself facing her worst nightmare.

Efheny shifted uneasily. You picked up bits and pieces here and there about reconditioning, mostly the whispers and gossip of the utterly uninformed. Pelenten in the unit said that he’d heard it didn’t hurt,
not unless you tried to resist. So the secret was not to resist.
Corazame . . . Corazame.
The real secret was not to require Re-Co in the first place. But poor Corazame wasn’t going to have that option. They’d find her and they’d take her away—this poor, gentle, loyal girl—and it would be Efheny’s fault. If Neta Efheny had never come into Corazame Ret Ata-E’s life, she would have lived in peace as the model Tzenkethi, hardworking and humble and happy with her station, with the memory of a fleeting love to carry her through when the days seemed too dreary, too tiring. Efheny could pretend to herself as much as she liked that Corazame wouldn’t get hurt. But it wasn’t true. Corazame was going to be destroyed.

The sun passed overhead. The afternoon dwindled and night came. Corazame fell asleep. Hertome fought sleep but eventually succumbed. But Efheny didn’t sleep. She watched her friend, and a great anger washed over her: not with Cory but with Hertome for putting her in this position. As quickly as the anger descended on her, it passed and weariness overcame her. In a few more hours, she would be on her way back to Cardassia. But Neta Efheny was so very tired. She wanted to lie back and sleep forever. Not in a few hours. Now.

•   •   •

As the air car swept over Velentur Island once more, Inzegil glanced at Artamer and frowned. The blinds on the air car’s side windows were shut, but he looked as glum as an EE server at the start of its shift. She should take him home.

Frustrated, she gripped the car’s controls. How long could it take for two Mak enforcers to find three Atas? Earlier, Inzegil was sure they’d found them. They’d picked up the trail of one of them, but then it suddenly disappeared, as if that person had acquired knowledge of how to move around unseen. But how would Atas have learned to do that? What else did Hertome Ter Ata-C know? How much of a danger was he to those two girls? With a sigh, Inzegil turned the air car around for one last sweep. Artamer groaned.

“Last one for tonight, Arty,” she promised. “We’ll start again in the morning.”

•   •   •

Watching Alden and Nekelen standing before a holodisplay in the observation lounge, making their plans to steal into Tzenkethi space, Dax understood why Alden had been restored to active duty. The knowledge of how to get them across the border, through to Ab-Tzenketh, and out again. How often must he have done this? When he’d gone undercover himself, or else collecting agents that he’d placed there . . .

“I assume we’ll be modifying the warp field to present the
Aventine
as a Tzenkethi vessel?” Alden said to Nekelen.

“I suggest we appear as a Venetan freighter, Commander, if it’s all the same to you,” Nekelen countered.

Alden pondered the suggestion and nodded. “I can see the sense in that.”

Dax asked, “Why Venetan? Why not Tzenkethi?”

Alden put his hands up on the table. “Under normal circumstances, I’d say Tzenkethi, but their border patrols will be on high alert. All shipping will be under close scrutiny, and they know their ships too well. But if we appear Venetan, any inconsistencies in their sensor readings can be put down to us being a ship type that they’re not entirely familiar with.”

“Besides,” said Nekelen, “it’s remarkably easy to lay one’s hands on information about Venetan spacecraft.” He pointed to one end of the holodisplay, where ship specifications were scrolling past, and sighed overdramatically. “One hardly knows what to do with such an embarrassment of information. What a strange little culture they are. One barely needs to spy on them at all.”

“Perhaps if we all did the same as the Venetans,” Dax said mischievously, “all this subterfuge would become unnecessary. Imagine it, Nekelen! No secrets, everything out in the open—”

Nekelen looked appalled. Alden merely smiled. “It’s a pleasant fantasy, Ezri, but there’ll always be someone with something to hide.”

“And long may that continue!” said Nekelen. “I’m far too old to think about embarking upon a new career.”

Alden laughed. It was fascinating to watch the two men together, Dax thought. How easily they’d fallen into conversation, gotten onto the same wavelength. It was almost as if Alden’s profession gave him more in common with this sly, dry little operative than
with the people who wore the same uniform as he did. And if Hogue Nekelen played the part of a CIB agent to perfection, surely Peter Alden’s performance was no less accomplished. Less crowd-pleasing, perhaps (Garak always did play to the balcony), but still polished. The intelligent, self-contained, solitary man on the verge of middle age, with a quiet charm that had certainly worked on Dax when he’d arrived on the
Aventine
—was it all presentation? Was it all a matter of self-control?

Where was the real Peter Alden? Dax wondered. Did he ever get the chance to exist? Or had he been left behind at the academy, when a ready-made role presented itself, like Ezri Tigan had almost disappeared under the influence of Dax?
But Ezri’s here,
Dax thought.
The fast talking, the curiosity about the world and others, the eye for the big picture rather than the detail . . .
That was all Ezri. Dax had just provided the foundation for her to thrive. Perhaps that had happened to Peter Alden too. Dax hoped so.

They crossed the border into the Tzenkethi system within the hour, on Red Alert and with the engine modifications in place. Alden came over to Dax, sitting in her bridge chair, and leaned over to speak to her. He kept his voice low so that nobody else could hear.

“I know you don’t trust my word any longer, Ezri, but I want to say that I understand why. I didn’t for a while. But I do now.”

“
Really?
” she gently rebuked him.

“And I want you to know that you can trust my experience, and you can trust my expertise.”

“Peter,” she gestured around the bridge, “I’m trusting you with my ship and my crew.”

“Most of all,” he said, “you can trust me when I say that I want to stop the Tzenkethi more than I want anything in this life.”

Yes,
thought Dax sadly, as he turned away.
That’s what I’m most afraid of.

•   •   •

Crusher watched on the viewscreen in her office as six Venetan ships inched toward the border, testing the waters and whether the Federation really would make good their outrageous, unbelievable threat.
They look so tiny. Like little pieces of handicraft, or children’s toys.