Текст книги "Section 31: Rogue "

Автор книги: Andy Mangels

Соавторы: Michael Martin
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“Have the Chiarosan authorities made any progress searching for survivors?”

“They have been conducting searches ever since the delegation from the Slaytonfailed to arrive in the capital city. However, the authorities report that no Starfleet personnel have been located anywhere on the planet’s surface, either on the Dayside or the Nightside.”

“We can’t give up on them, Mr. Data,” said Picard. “Continue searching for survivors any way you can.”

A voice came from behind them. “There are other concerns, Captain.” Picard turned to see Ambassador Tabor, standing just outside one of the turbolifts. He had not heard the doors open, nor did he know how long the ambassador had been standing there.

“With all due respect, Ambassador, the Chiarosan negotiations can–”

“Captain, was not your primarymission to this system a diplomatic one?”

Picard seethed inwardly, resenting the ambassador’s intrusion. “Yes, it is. But there are missing Starfleet personnel who may be alivein an extremely hostile environment.” He pointed to the aurora‑swept surface of the planet on the viewscreen, the backdrop to the floating debris from the Slayton.

“I’m well aware of that, Captain. One of those missing is an old friend of yours, and of Vice‑Admiral Batanides. But since there seems to be little you can do at the moment to expedite the search, the preparations for my mediation between First Protector Ruardh’s government and Falhain’s dissident faction should take precedence. It’s entirely possible that the Slayton’s survivors are safe and sound in the company of the Chiarosan rebels.”

Such a development didn’t quite fit with Picard’s notion of “safe and sound.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the ambassador’s words. He turned, addressing Riker.

“Number One, prepare a shuttlecraft. We’ll depart for the planet just as soon as it’s ready. We’ll be arriving a little early for the peace talks, but we can spend the extra time searching for survivors.”

“Here’s hoping we’ll find out what happened to the Slaytonby talking to her crew,” Riker said, as he left for the shuttlebay.

“Amen to that, Number One,” Picard said quietly to Riker’s back. He turned again toward Tabor. “I trust this will be acceptable to you, Ambassador?”

“Certainly, Captain,” Tabor said, smiling graciously. “It seems you have devised a wonderfulsolution.”

“I’ll be in my ready room,” Picard announced curtly, and exited the bridge.

Chapter Four

The search had proved fruitless, with not a single trace of wreckage from the Archimedes–nor any combadge signals–showing up on the sensors, even once the Enterpriseshuttlecraft Brahehad gone below the worst of the roiling atmospheric storms. As Picard and his away team traveled to the Chiarosan capital, sensors had picked up faint traces of energy signatures which couldhave belonged to Starfleet weaponry, but the ion‑charged air had dispersed the particles so much that nothing conclusive could be found. Still, Picard was wary, remembering Marta Batanides’s assertions that the rebel factions were using stolen Starfleet weapons.

The shuttle had been joined by a Chiarosan escort as it neared the capital city, HagratИ, a glittering collection of low‑built monolithic towers and spires. The ships had threaded their way between the buildings, flying just above the tallest of them; since the winds buffeted the shuttle even at this low altitude, Picard understood why no building stood higher.

The tallest of them appeared to be religious temples or churches; when the captain had mentioned this, Tabor confirmed that the Chiarosans worshiped multiple deities, and that the more affluent were seen as blessed by the gods. Religious classism,Picard thought, glad that Earth’s society had long ago evolved beyond such artificial stratification.

Throughout the city was a vast tangle of pipes and aqueducts, which Picard guessed carried water from whatever processing stations or reservoirs existed. He suspected, given the planet’s known shortage of agricultural resources, that the most heavily guarded buildings they had passed on the outskirts of HagratИ might be the water‑pumping stations, vapor‑extraction facilities, and soil‑enhancement plants.

Upon landing, Picard’s team–Commander Riker, Data, Counselor Troi, and Ambassador Tabor– disembarked from the Brahe,and were greeted by an armed escort, each carrying bladed weapons hung from ornate sashes. Picard tugged at his formal dress‑uniform tunic, straightening it, as a female Chiarosan stepped forward, from behind several of the guards. “I am Senator Curince. Welcome to Chiaros IV.”

Picard smiled slightly, gesturing to his companions. “I’m Captain Jean‑Luc Picard, of the U.S.S. Enterprise.This is my first officer, Commander Will Riker, and two other members of my senior staff, Lieutenant Commander Data, and Counselor Deanna Troi. And this gentleman is Federation Ambassador Aubin Tabor.”

Tabor stepped forward and performed a complex series of movements with his hands before bowing almost imperceptibly, his formal robes shimmering slightly as the light caught their metallic threadwork patterns. “I apologize that I cannot greet you with the grace of your people,” said Tabor, “but my joints have never been as limber as yours, Madam Senator.”

Senator Curince evinced a sharp‑toothed grin, obviously impressed. “Your greeting is appreciated nonetheless, Ambassador.” Her gaze took him in for a moment more, then she turned her head slightly toward Picard, ignoring his other officers completely. “Were your ship’s instruments able to find any trace of the missing diplomatic shuttle?”

“No, Madam Senator,” Picard said. “I’m afraid the atmospheric turbulence of your world limits the full range of our sensors.”

Curince raised an eyebrow, and said, “Our planet is a harsh and unforgiving one. You are among the first members of any . . . weakerspecies to ever visit its surface.”

Picard offered a wan smile, unsure whether to feel insulted or not. His eyes shifted over to Tabor, who was smiling calmly.

A Chiarosan assistant approached and handed Curince a large electronic tablet, mounted on which were a display screen and a number of blinking buttons. She looked at it briefly, then held it out to Picard. “This device contains all the data we have on your missing shuttle, and on the apparent use of Starfleet weaponry against our defense troops. Our comm tellers transmitted the files to you previously, but given the effect that recent storms have had on our communications relay, it was decided that an uncorrupted transmission recording might aid you in your search.” As Picard prepared to take the device, she added, “If you need one of our people to help you interpret the use of the recorder, we can provide a technician.”

Picard gave another polite smile. This woman is really taxing my patience.“Thank you, Senator. We have excellent technicians on our ship. As generous as your offer is, I’m sure we will be able to decode the files ourselves.” He turned and handed the machine to Data, almost imperceptibly rolling his eyes. Only his crew saw the gesture.

Curince spoke again. “I also apologize that we are not meeting in the capitol building. The rebels refused to negotiate in a place that was completely under the rightful government’s control. We will, instead, be meeting in a private arena, whose location is being decided upon as we speak.”

“Will both First Protector Ruardh and Grand General Falhain be present at these negotiations, as planned?” asked Tabor.

“Yes. As will the Romulan diplomatic delegation. Their own ship arrived a few hours ago.”

“Ah,” said Tabor, bobbing his head agreeably. “I trust that they have sent their best diplomats?”

“The leader of their group is a woman named T’Alik. I do not bother to remember those of her subordinates.”

“T’Alik can be very persuasive,” Tabor said soberly.

“I think she will not persuade our First Protector much,” Curince said. “The Romulan presence is tolerated only because they have not struck against us. They claim neutrality, but Falhain’s minions–the so‑called ‘Army of Light’–have allied themselves politically with the Romulans. We feel that taints the Star Empire, showing them as the enemy of the duly proper government of our world.”

One of the Chiarosan escorts let out a discreet clicking sound, holding up a smaller version of the padd‑like device Curince had given Picard. The senator looked at it briefly, then back to the landing party. “The location has been announced. Security will be minimal, so it is our fervent hope that Falhain’s people will act honorably in this matter.” She paused for a moment, before looking pointedly at Tabor and Picard. “I am hopeful that the presence of an outside arbiter at this meeting–and that of the Federation–will allow for a sense of security, and begin a closure of this difficult rift among our people.”

Tabor smiled warmly. “Madam Senator, I believe I can promise you that the dИtente that we are about to inaugurate today will change the future of Chiaros IV–for the better . . . and forever.”

Picard stared at Tabor for a moment. He hadn’t liked the ambassador much, but he had to admit that the man had both charm and a persuasive demeanor. Perhaps he couldhelp to bring an end to the Chiarosan political struggle.

As they stepped forward, Tabor leaned in toward Picard and whispered. “Senator Curince is telling the truth about the Archimedes.At least as far as she knows.” Picard did not need to question how the Ullian ambassador was aware of what Curince knew or did not know. He also knew that Ullian telepathy tended to be more intrusive than one of Troi’s empathic scans.

Picard wondered: If the man would enter the senator’s mind with so little compunction, then what else might he be capable of?

Curince didn’t explain what their meeting place had once been used for, and neither Picard nor Tabor asked. The circular arena had many columns and benches in the main part, with shadowed recesses and rows of stadium seating rising up on every side. Although it seemed almost like a sporting or gladiatorial arena, Picard was under the impression that it might actually have been used for lectures or debates of some sort. Given the visible dust, it had not been used in quite some time.

Standing in the well‑lit center of the arena was First Protector Ruardh and her bodyguards, while the perimeter of the room was ringed with a dozen or more soldiers. A stately matron, Ruardh was wearing an auburn dress that complimented the long plaited braid of brownblond hair that curled down her shoulders. The dress was split in the center, wrapping around each leg, allowing for more ease of movement.

Senator Curince introduced Tabor to Ruardh, and the ambassador performed the elaborate hand greeting again. Picard stepped forward as his own name was called, bowing slightly to the Chiarosan leader. “I’m sorry that I cannot greet you in the manner of your people, First Protector,” he said, echoing Tabor’s earlier comment. He also knew better than to introduce his “subordinates” this time.

“No slight is taken, Captain. And your very presence here suggests to me that you will be much more . . . successful than the previous delegation the Federation sent.”

“Captain Picard is often successful, First Protector,” said a strong voice. A robed Romulan woman stepped toward the group from a side entrance, three other Romulan functionaries at her sides. “He commands Starfleet’s finest warcraft, the vaunted U.S.S. Enterprise.He brings you a honey‑tongued diplomat in a vessel that could level your city if he commanded it. Small wonder you would choose to ally yourself with the Federation; but can you truly trust a people who are so weak that they lose ships and weapons one day, then arrive in a battleship the next?”

“I know that I cannot trust the Romulans, Ambassador T’Alik,” Ruardh said, her head swiveling to the side. “You have chosen to ally yourself with those who oppose me.”

“We have not chosen either side, Protector. It is not ourweaponry that your opposition has used against you,” T’Alik said, her haughty gaze moving toward Picard and his crew. “We have offered the rulers of Chiaros IV the protection of the Romulan Star Empire. It is youwho have chosen to side with the Federation. You might, upon further consideration, choose to ally yourself with us. That is ourhope.”

Picard looked to Tabor to see if the man was going to respond, but Tabor’s gaze told him to let the matter alone. As if cued by T’Alik’s speech, the rebel Chiarosans melted out of the shadows in the arena, their triple‑jointed forms moving lithely and almost soundlessly. Ruardh and her men did not seem surprised–and the Romulans’ preternatural calm implied that they expected the intrusion–but the Starfleet officers didn’t disguise their own jumpiness quite as well. With the rebels now ringing the outer perimeter of the arena, Picard felt like prey–even more so, given that both the rebels and the bodyguards were all heavily armed.

A few of the rebels parted, allowing a tall, blondhaired Chiarosan to stride forward, a shorter dark‑haired man trailing him. “Ruardh!” the blond snarled. “I halfexpected you to renege on our meeting.”

The matronly Chiarosan leader stared impassively at the light‑haired rebel. “And I had expected you to attack rather than to negotiate, Falhain.”

Aubin Tabor stepped forward, holding his hands out, palms facing upward. “It seems that both sides have come in good faith, despite any preconceptions either had held toward the other. Shall we proceed? There is precious little time remaining–three days, in fact– before the Chiarosan referendum begins.”

Falhain turned his head, his crystalline eyes narrowed and steely. “You must be the Federation ambassador, come to convince us of the rightness of Ruardh’s cause.”

Tabor bowed his head slightly, and again performed the complex series of hand‑gestures that Picard had seen twice earlier. “I am Aubin Tabor, Grand General Falhain. But I am not here to champion Protector Ruardh’s cause, only to find a pathway to peace between your faction and hers.”

The darker rebel by Falhain’s side spoke up then, his voice challenging. “As far as we know, your Federation’s laws forbid you to interfere with indigenous cultures. Why do you meddle with ours?” The man looked briefly at T’Alik and her contingent, who stood to the side, passive.

Tabor smiled benignly, his voice not rising at all. “You speak of the Prime Directive. A wise and wonderful rule, but it is not the onlything that governs us, just as one law is not all that governs you. And because we have been askedto intervene on behalf of the legal government of Chiaros–”

“Legal?”Falhain shouted then, taking a menacing step forward. Picard gave a quick glance over to Riker, who had taken a defensive stance. Riker stood down after Picard’s gaze traveled to the face of Deanna Troi. Her dark eyes were intent on Tabor and the two Chiarosans as she appraised their intentions. The captain was relieved to note that the counselor seemed to find the natives’ emotions more accessible than those of the ambassador. Seeing no immediate alarm on Troi’s face, Picard relaxed a bit.

“Does the Federation know how the ‘legal’ Protector keeps hold of her throne?” Falhain continued. “Are they aware of the thousands of Chiarosans she has ordered slaughtered, the villages she has commanded to be burned, the children she has willed to be eviscerated? The dry riverbeds of Chiaros now run gray with her victims’ lifeblood.”

Ruardh looked appalled. “You exaggerate, Falhain, as always. You were the one who left my service, just as those who follow you made their choice to embrace political dissidence.” She turned her back on Falhain, though her head swiveled to remain looking at him as she walked behind one of the desk‑style platforms nearby. “You paint me as a monster, and yet where is the proof of my alleged atrocities?”

Tabor stepped forward, his voice soothing. “Protector, General, we need to focus on the matters at–”

“You think that this is notthe matter at hand?” Falhain reared back, and Picard realized that his full height was more imposing than he had originally imagined. His brows furrowed, and his sharp teeth glistened as he spat his interruption. “The government that the Federation has allied itself with has been practicing genocide.It is not enough that their raiding parties remove our precious soil and water, leaving the outland villages to choke on dust–they also murder any who have the courage to gainsay their greed, whether armed or not. Our fight is not about politics. We struggle for our very survival!”

The dark‑haired aide to Falhain reached behind his back, his arms swiveling impossibly in his shoulder sockets. As the Chiarosan bodyguards defensively unsheathed their weapons, he removed a device from a satchel he wore on his back and displayed it in front of him. It was less than half a meter tall, with three short legs at its base, and a circular lens at its top.

“You ask for proof, Ruardh?” Falhain swiveled his head toward Picard and his officers. “No doubt your Starfleet allies are equally suspicious of mymotives, having heard only yourarguments to the Federation. Here then are the records of your monstrous deeds. Grelun?”

Responding to Falhain’s command, the dark‑haired warrior touched a recessed space on the device, which he had placed on the floor. A flickering light shot up into the air, before coalescing into a three‑dimensional, fullmotion image of a village. Homes were burning, as their inhabitants tried to put them out. Chiarosan troops, in military garb, were attacking the villagers, killing many of them. Picard winced to see that many of the victims were women and children.

Data leaned toward Picard and Riker, his voice carefully modulated so that it was not heard by the others. “It appears to be a holographic projection, sir.”

“That I can figure out for myself, Data,” Picard whispered. “What I need to know is whether or not these images are genuine.”

“Understood, sir.”

The first image dissolved into another image, this time of the Chiarosan soldiers leading villagers down a road. Their captives–people of all ages–were bound, with halfmeter tethers holding each of them together from neck to neck. That hologram changed to another, this one showing a soldier bayoneting an older man in the back as he stood at the edge of a long trench dug into the soil. Lying in the trench were the bodies of many others, their gray blood oozing from wounds in their backs or sides, or from slit throats. Thick clouds of insects buzzed above the corpses.

Data leaned in again. “While it is possible to forge any scene with holographic technology, I believe these images are taken from real events. The slight focus problems and partial blockage in these images implies that the person or persons recording them were in concealment.”

But a clever forger could fake that as well,Picard thought. Still, it did seem real enough to raise his concern.

Picard stepped forward, tugging at the bottom of his tunic. “General Falhain, I believe we have seen enough for the moment. Despite your conviction that we are siding wholeheartedly with Protector Ruardh, it seems that some doubt has been raised about the manner in which she governs her people. None of these images, nor this information, were everpresented to the Federation Council–”

“There’s a good reason for that, Captain,”Ruardh said, imperiously spitting out the final word as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. “The reason is that these images are partially a fabrication, and partially the work of Falhain himself. As you are aware, Falhain used to lead my royal troops, and many of the regiments are still faithful to him. He commanded his men to commit these crimes, then accused me of giving the orders.”

“You dareimply that this is mywork?” Falhain bellowed. “You are known by the people as the ‘Ashen Ruler,’ for the blood that creeps up the trains of your gowns. I left your service after your political mandates began afflicting the outlanders with furtherhardships– where goods could be sold, how the clans could support each other, where we could live, and how many of us could continue to eat and drink. Your parliamentary decisions filled the prisons with the desperately poor and the infirm. I have opposed you in the streets and in the shadows ever since these injustices began. But I have never, neverkilled an innocent!”

Tabor stepped forward, his voice louder, but still soothing. Picard could tell that he was trying to exert some calm control over the situation, which was quickly deteriorating. “General Falhain, Protector Ruardh, please.This wall of recrimination and accusation cannot stem the tide of unrest amongst the Chiarosans. The referendum begins in three days, and it is the people who will decide then whether your planet becomes a part of the Federation, or falls under the control of the Romulan Star Empire.”

“And who will vote in an election that threatens their lives and families?” asked Falhain. “The rebels are not allowed to vote or they will be incarcerated or executed. And are you truly so naive as to believe that a ruler who so oppresses her people would allow for a true and just election?”

Falhain gestured over toward T’Alik and her contingent. “And as for the Romulans, they do not appear overly interested in any struggle of Chiarosan against Chiarosan.”

Picard shot a quick glance at Troi, who shrugged slightly. She can’t tell whether that’s true or not,he thought.

“Then why do you suppose they want this system?” Picard said to Falhain. “In my experience, the Romulans never do anything just because it helps someone else. They are conquerors. What makes you so sure that they will not enslave your entire society if the Chiarosans choose not to ally themselves with the Federation?”

Falhain looked to Picard again, one eyebrow raised. “Your question is rather pointless, is it not, Captain? If the Romulans were going to conquer us, why have they not done so before now?”He paused for a moment, seemingly for the question to sink in, then continued. “I am not a blind man, Picard, nor one who is easily convinced in any argument. The Romulans have neither hindered nor aided us in our battles. My belief is that their chief concern in whether or not Ruardh continues to rule is that they wish to expand the boundaries of the worlds that are a part of their empire, and to stop the creeping expansion and domination of your people. If the referendum moves to Ruardh’s wishes–toward acceptance of Federation membership–the Empire will ultimately lose. If the people’s willwins out, and we rejectthe Federation, then we will be able to continue to chart our own destiny, free of an oppressive outside structure which would support a government that kills its own children!”

Tabor held up his hands to call for order, and Picard broke his eyes away from his steady gaze into Falhain’s. Behind him, and to his side, he saw Deanna Troi’s expression change dramatically, from one of concern to one of pain and shock. Suddenly, she leaped forward, pushing Picard to the ground. A sizzling beam of energy sliced through the air where he had been standing seconds before.

And then all hell broke loose. From the top of the arena, disruptor fire rained down upon the Chiarosan leaders, the Romulans, and the Starfleet personnel. The second blast struck one of Falhain’s rebels in the chest, leaving a smoking crater in his furred skin as he toppled backward. In moments, the Chiarosans–on both sides of the political spectrum–had drawn their scimitar‑like swords, or other bladed weapons, and a melee erupted.

As Troi dove toward a bench, a disruptor blast searing the marble floor by her feet, Picard rolled to one side. A Chiarosan rebel turned and saw him, and raised one scimitar above his head to strike a killing blow. Picard kicked his foot up between the warrior’s legs, and the impact had the desired effect. Picard rolled again as the rebel’s now‑unsteady swing missed its mark. A sharp whistling sound went over the captain’s head, as a nearby Chiarosan used his own blade to chop off the sword arm of the attacker, burying the metal into his foe’s chest. The severed Chiarosan arm flopped down on top of Picard, still clutching its curved weapon.

The captain quickly wrested the scimitar from the hand’s grasp and stood in a defensive crouch. In his mind, Picard cursed the rules of Federation diplomacy that forbade weapons, leaving himself and his officers the only ones unprotected in the fight. He searched for his friends in the melee, but couldn’t spot them. Nor could he see Tabor.

The fighting was loud and brutal, and inhumanly fast. The soldiers and the rebels were interlocked in savagery, their guttural yowls and clanging steel blades creating an awesome din. Picard spotted a soldier advancing on two of the Romulans, holding his weapons in both hands. The captain launched himself at the warrior with a yell, but one of the Romulans was killed before he could cover the distance.

The Chiarosan swung one sword high, and the other low, but Picard ducked and brought his own blade to parry the lower blow. Picard kept the blades in contact and forced both to swing to one side. Before the warrior could recover, Picard brought his weapon down again. It connected with his opponent’s wrist, and the lightly furred hand was cleanly separated from his arm.

The attacker howled, and slashed at Picard with his remaining scythe. Although his aim was unsteady, he still managed to connect, the tip of his weapon slicing through Picard’s tunic and slitting his upper chest. Suddenly, the Chiarosan howled and crumpled forward, a saber wound bleeding at the base of his spine. Behind him was one of Ruardh’s bodyguards, who gave Picard a brief glance of respect before turning to fight another of the rebels.

Picard sensed a presence behind him and turned, his blade at the ready. He relaxed only slightly when he saw that it was Data, now holding a Chiarosan sword himself. He had no doubt that the android’s reflexes allowed him to fight valiantly, but as he put a hand up to his own bleeding chest, engaging in more battle was not on his mind.

“Data, access the shuttle’s onboard computer and beam us out.” Data used his free hand to punch several buttons on his tricorder, while Picard scanned the arena to see if he could spot Riker or Troi or Tabor; he still couldn’t see them through the fighting hordes. Picard tapped his combadge, and yelled to Riker, but the din was too intense for him to hear if there was a reply.

“I’ve got it, sir.” As Picard looked toward Data, two Chiarosans toppled toward them, caught in a mutual death grip, each skewered on the other’s blades. “Energizing.”

And in a moment, Picard was back aboard the shuttlecraft. He tumbled off the transporter pad, still flinching from the two warriors who had been falling toward him. Data squatted on a nearby pad.

“Where are Will and Deanna? And Tabor?”

Data scrambled over to the transporter console, and punched a few buttons, moving his fingers downward in a swift motion on the touchpad. “Attempting retransport now, Captain.”

The familiar sparkle of the transporter shimmered on three pads, but what materialized wasn’t Picard’s first officer and counselor. Instead, their combadges clattered to the floor. On the third pad was Tabor, his back to them as he stood, hunched over. He turned toward them, stumbling, his right hand holding his throat, his left hand at his chest.

Tabor’s legs could no longer hold him, and he fell forward, his left hand moving forward to break his fall. Picard heard a chilling sound when the ambassador hit the floor, as the point of a Chiarosan dagger pushed up through Tabor’s spine. Data and Picard turned Tabor over, only to discover purplish‑crimson liquid spilling from between the diplomat’s fingers.

“We’ve got to get him to the Enterprise,”Picard said. “Data, get us out of here.”

As the android moved to the shuttle’s flight controls, Picard tried to apply firmer pressure to Tabor’s neck wound, holding his head upward. The knife still jutted from his chest, but Picard knew better than to try to remove it before getting him back to the Enterprise.Crusher could save him, if anyone could. He silently cursed the fact that shuttles did not come equipped with Emergency Medical Holograms, and vowed to bring that up with Starfleet Command in his next report.

Entering the stormy atmosphere, the shuttle lurched from side to side. Picard braced himself with one hand, trying not to let Tabor move too much. Tabor’s left hand grabbed weakly at Picard’s tunic, pulling him down. The ambassador was trying to say something, though the sounds coming from his mouth made Picard’s skin crawl. He leaned in closely, listening.

“Fal . . . Falhain . . . is . . . dead.”

What had seemed a heated debate less than ten minutes ago had just ended more horribly than Picard could ever have imagined. Falhain, the leader of the rebels, was now a martyr. Ambassador Tabor lay dying in his arms. Riker and Troi were missing, and possibly killed as well. The Chiarosan government–however corrupt– might soon fall to the Romulan Empire. And there was still no sign of survivors from the Slayton.

These are the times that try men’s souls,he thought ruefully as the shuttle sped into orbit.

Chapter Five

Hawk sat in the darkened quarters, the soothing voices of a Celtic choir washing over him from the computer speakers. Sometimes it felt odd to him, hearing the ancient songs and melodies of his pre‑Martian forebears–the bohdran and the oud and the harps–reverberating in the pristine starship environment. He did feel, however, that the juxtaposition of his life now, traveling the stars with the lives of his ancestors, the nomadic Celts who explored ancient Europe, created a comfortable overlap. Exploration was in his blood.

But is espionage?

Following his meeting with Ambassador Tabor in the arboretum, Hawk had eaten a meal–alone in a storage bay–and then wandered the corridors of the ship. He purposely avoided walking anywhere near work stations of crewmembers he was friendly with; he didn’t really want to talk to anyone. Ranul hadn’t contacted him on his combadge, but he knew that eventually, he would.