Текст книги "Twilight "

Автор книги: David George

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

“Sometimes,” she finally said, looking back up at Taran’atar, “bed rest does bring health.” She clamped her hands together in front of her in something of an apologetic gesture.

“Not for us,” Taran’atar said. “Once our fitness for combat is sufficiently restored, a return to duty is required.”

“Required by who?” Kira asked, but she already knew the answer: by the Founders, and by the Vorta acting as their agents. But Taran’atar offered a different response.

“It is our nature,” he said. Kira could not argue that; the Jem’Hadar had been genetically engineered, and were specifically bred, for warfare. “If necessary, “he continued, “there can be an appropriate reduction in rank.”

Kira glanced back down at her console as a notion occurred to her. She jabbed at the deactivation touchpad. The panel beeped and the screen went blank. Then she walked out from behind her desk. “Well, then,” she said, smiling wryly, “I guess I’ll just have to demote you to second.” The Jem’Hadar used simple ordinal designations to signify position, she knew. Although she had never spoken about it with Taran’atar, she had always assumed that he had carried the rank of first, by virtue of his long life and his status as an Honored Elder among his people; he was twenty-two, ancient by Jem’Hadar standards.

Her remark about reducing his position had been intended as a joke, but Taran’atar did not smile, and Kira realized that she had never seen him do so. She wondered if he even possessed the capability; perhaps Jem’Hadar lacked the requisite musculature. She studied his features as she stood before him. The rough, pebbled texture of his hide, the bones protruding like horns from the center of his forehead and around the top of his head, and the smaller bones, almost like teeth, encircling his face, all composed a visage on which Kira could not even picture a smile. The thought saddened her in a profound way; even during the horrors of the Occupation, there had been sporadic laughter and humor and joy, slight victories in life, love, and friendship. For anybody, even a Jem’Hadar soldier, not to experience any of that during their lifetime…

When Taran’atar said nothing, Kira chose to return to the initial subject of their conversation: she would not permit him to engage in a holosuite combat program for the next ten days.

“I am sufficiently healed,” he protested.

“Sufficiently, perhaps,” she said. “But Dr. Tarses thinks there’s a greater chance of you getting injured now than there would be if you waited another week.” Kira decided as she spoke to trim the ten days down to seven, a compromise between the doctor and the soldier.

“I am a Jem’Hadar,” Taran’atar said. “I am meant to battle. When there is no battle, I must prepare for the next one.”

As Kira looked at Taran’atar, she experienced something that surprised her: she felt sorry for him. Although he had been on the station for a while now, it seemed clear that he was still out of place here. Kira wondered how she would feel if she were forced to live in an environment so alien to her, and further, how she would feel if she were not permitted to do the things that helped fulfill her needs. And then she realized that, because of the Attainder, she did know something about the latter.

At the same time, she would not jeopardize Taran’atar’s health by allowing him to do battle—even simulated battle—before it was safe for him to do so. “You can run your holosuite programs as long as you only observe and don’t participate,” she said, attempting to find some middle ground. “Would that help you prepare for combat?” She moved back behind her desk and sat down.

“Mental preparation is vital,” Taran’atar said, “but I have programs for that purpose.”

“I’m sorry then,” Kira said. She tapped the resumption touchpad on her computer interface, intending the action as a signal that she considered the conversation at an end. The panel beeped, and the image of the green elliptic course, originating and terminating at the Gamma Quadrant terminus of the wormhole, blinked back onto the display.

Taran’atar did not move. Kira peered up at him. “Something else?” she asked.

“I would be interested in observing you in combat,” he said.

“You mean Bajorans?”

“I mean you, specifically, Colonel,” Taran’atar said. “I can create a new simulation for you.”

Kira did not typically use the holosuites, preferring to engage not in virtual activities, but in real ones. In the past, she had occasionally been persuaded to accompany Jadzia, and she had gone to Vic’s several times with Odo, but as a rule she stayed away. To Taran’atar, she said, “I don’t think so.”

He nodded, acknowledging her rejection, then turned and headed for the door.

“Wait,” she called after him. Taran’atar stopped and turned back to face her. As she regarded him, she found that she really did empathize with him, since he was being denied the ability to practice some of the daily activities of his life. And she also realized something else: that Odo had sent Taran’atar here not just so that he could gain an understanding of life in the Alpha Quadrant, but also so that the people of Deep Space 9 could come to know him. Perhaps, Kira thought, she should make more of an effort to get to know this visitor to the station.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

Kira looked out between the twisted roots of the old tree. The rain had finally stopped, too late to make much difference to her, but the absence of lightning would allow her to approach her destination with less chance of being seen. Her eyes had attuned to the constant darkness now, and as she recovered from her experience in the stream, she scrutinized both the copse and the structure. As best she could tell, nothing moved in the trees, but she thought she saw a flicker of motion past the opening in the structure.

Kira turned and dropped onto the wet ground, leaning back against the contorted root system of the dead tree. She pored over her options. Given the paucity of information she had, her inclination would normally have been for further reconnaissance. In this instance, though, time played a role—she had already spent several hours here after her shift, and she had yet to have dinner—as did her preparation and equipment for the operation, both of which were noticeably lacking. As night arrived—or continued; the darkness of the storm effectively masked the time of day here—the temperature would drop even further. With no attractive alternatives, Kira decided that she needed to act sooner rather than later.

She reached down to her hip and unfastened the top of the sheath attached there. She grasped the haft of the knife Taran’atar had provided her and pulled the blade free. It fit her hand well, she noticed, something she had not bothered to test when she had strapped it on prior to the simulation. She made several different movements with it now—jabbing, slicing, throwing—then reversed it in her fist and drove it downward in a plunging motion. The contours of the handle rested snugly in her grip either way it was turned, and the balance of the blade made it feel less like something she was holding and more like an extension of her arm. Taran’atar had not merely provided her with a knife for this mission, she realized; he had designed and fashioned a personal weapon especially for her.

Kira pushed away from the roots of the tree and rose back up into a crouch. She turned and peered again at the structure. She put it at forty to fifty meters away, over even ground, though there looked to be a slight rise leading up to it. Several bushes and large rocks and another dead tree lay strewn about the landscape, but Kira mapped out a relatively direct route to the structure.

“Victory is life,” she whispered again, and jumped up. She ran into the open and forward, taking long strides in an effort to reduce her number of steps, and thus diminish the possibility of tripping on something unseen on the ground. She maneuvered around a couple of bushes and a cluster of large rocks, then leaped over the other fallen tree. The cold air inflamed her throat, each breath feeling as though she had inhaled a mouthful of gravel.

Kira skirted another bush, and her foot came down hard on the edge of a rock. Her ankle twisted beneath her, and she allowed her body to fall in that direction. She bent at the knees and threw her arms wide, instinctively shifting her weight to avoid sprawling. Somehow, she managed to retain her equilibrium. She looked up to regain her bearings and saw that the structure sat only fifteen meters away.

A few steps farther along, Kira strode upward as well as forward, anticipating the slope she had spied earlier. Her foot came down solidly on the incline, allowing her to maintain her gait. She raced ahead, her eyes squinting to make out the opening in the wall of the structure.

The ground leveled off again, and Kira changed her course slightly, adjusting her heading for the center of the opening. Two steps from the structure, she lunged downward, her hands coming up in front of her like those of a diver about to enter the water. With her final step, she drove her foot hard into the ground and thrust her body through the opening, spinning around onto her back as she did so.

Kira recognized the feel of damp earth below her as she landed inside the structure and skidded toward the far wall. Even before she stopped sliding along, her hand came up with the knife, prepared to defend herself at close range or to throw it. Her head turned to the left as she scanned that side of the structure, then to the right as she searched the other side. The darkness made it difficult to see much, but Kira perceived no forms and no movement inside.

Whirling around on her backside, she pumped her legs into the ground and pushed herself into one of the corners adjacent to the opening. If anybody attempted to follow her inside, she would be able to defend the entrance from there. Her arm remained poised above her shoulder, ready to strike with the knife as necessary.

Nothing happened.

Kira regulated her breathing, bringing it under control after her sprint into the structure. She continued scanning her surroundings, squinting in the darkness and listening for any sound, trying to be sure she did not miss anything. She kept her arm raised and the knife at the ready.

Still nothing.

She considered the trees outside once more, and the potential for somebody to conceal themselves within the copse. She breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh. She was cold and achy and hungry, and maybe it was about time that she—

Something shifted behind her. Kira felt it at her elbow, the slightest movement, but she was certain she had not imagined it. She leaned forward, away from the walls, preparing to spring ahead, turn, and deal with whatever she found. Kira tensed, about to move, when something above seized her attention. She looked up to see a patch of clouds scudding across the night sky overhead, and her mind had just enough time to process the incongruity before the shadows descended on her.

All at once, Kira was surrounded and covered, dozens of amorphous shapes pushing in on her. Something slid painfully around the fingers of her hand, and she felt the knife slip from her grasp. She tried to bring her hands down to her sides so that she could push herself up off the ground and toward the opening, but something blocked her arms. Suddenly, something cylindrical slithered around her neck and began to tighten, like a large snake constricting its prey. Kira flailed wildly. Two or three of the shapes fell away, but too many remained. She forced her arms down enough so that she could claw at the slimy shape around her neck, but the pressure on her windpipe increased. Quickly, it became difficult to breathe.

“Computer,” came a voice, “freeze program.” Around Kira, all motion stopped, and the shape around her neck eased its grip. “Increase light to daytime level,” the voice said. Kira closed her eyes as the light came up, letting her dilated pupils contract. After a few moments, she opened her eyes. Taran’atar stood just beyond her feet, gazing down at her. “You have failed to reclaim your life,” he said.

With a measure of frustration, Kira reached up and pulled the shape from around her neck. The structure no longer existed around her, she saw; the trees were visible behind Taran’atar, and above, the sky. She looked down and saw a mass of nebulous forms she could not immediately distinguish, because their coloring so perfectly matched the dark brown of the earthen floor. As she studied the scene, though, she picked out the individual figures of at least a score of creatures, and she could see that there were many times that number all around. They resembled jellyfish, but with more substance to them; long, thick tendrils extended from flattened spheroid bodies. Kira pushed and pulled the creatures from atop her and rose to her feet. “I assume these are the Rintanna,” she said.

“Yes,” Taran’atar confirmed. “They are communal chameleons, often working together to capture or ward off foes.”

“There was no structure,” Kira said, chagrined. She had been correct about the oddity of the flat roof; it must have been composed of numerous Rintanna clinging to each other. To Taran’atar’s credit, his expression remained neutral and he said nothing more, neither gloating at Kira’s defeat nor patronizing her with any suggestion that she had done well. “They must be very strong,” she said.

“Yes.”

Kira looked down at the creatures, then bent and lifted one from the ground. It weighed less than she had expected—with several of them on top of her, they had seemed heavier—and its flesh had an elastic quality about it. She handed the creature to Taran’atar, who did not reach out to take it from her. “Here,” she said, shaking the Rintannan. Taran’atar plucked the creature from Kira’s hands, a quizzical look appearing on his features. “I captured a Rintannan for you.” She turned and stepped over the creatures, finding small patches of ground where she could place her feet, finally clearing the area back into open ground.

“No,” Taran’atar said. “You did not.”

Kira peered out over the landscape, back over the area she had traveled. Even in daylight, the terrain looked difficult to navigate. Her gaze followed from where she stood—she could see the tracks her boots had left in the wet ground as she had run up to the “structure”—back to the downed tree she had hidden behind, and then to the overflowing stream; even frozen in the holosuite matrix, the foamy, choppy water appeared treacherous. Above the stream perched the ridge, and towering up behind it, the steep canyon wall down which she had descended.

“I’m reclaiming my life right now,” she called back over her shoulder. When Taran’atar did not respond, she turned to face him. He no longer held the Rintannan. “Not bad,” she said, pointing with her thumb back the way she had come. “Just a few hours to reach here, with no tools, and no data about the area or the aliens.”

“You failed to attain your objective,” Taran’atar said quietly. “Your life would not have been reclaimed.”

Kira stepped forward. “Maybe if I’d had more information—or anyinformation—about where I was going, or what I’d be facing, or if I’d had even a tricorder with me—”

“Not all missions are carried out under optimal conditions,” he said.

“Optimal—?” Kira said, incredulous. She was not angry, but she felt that she had been given a goal virtually impossible to achieve, hamstrung by having neither enough information nor the necessary tools to accomplish the imprecise task set her. “Who would go on a mission without knowing something about what they were doing, or where they were going, or why they were doing it?” As quickly as the words had left her mouth, though, she knew the answer: Jem’Hadar would go into any battle, under any circumstances, if the Founders told them to do so. And what would I do,Kira wondered, if the Prophets appeared and wanted me to embark on some unexplained mission?She knew the answer to that too.

“I’m just frustrated; it’s been an uncomfortable couple of hours,” Kira explained, grateful that Taran’atar had not responded to her outburst. “You know, there’s more to see on Deep Space 9 than ops and the holosuites. Maybe you should visit some other—”

A voice emerged from the comm system, interrupting her. “Ops to Colonel Kira.”She recognized the voice as that of Ensign Selzner.

“This is Kira,” she said, looking up out of habit. “Go ahead.”

“Colonel, we just received word from Commander Vaughn,”Selzner announced. “The convoy has returned from Torona IV.”

“Is the commander back aboard DS9 yet?” Kira asked. Defianthad been gone for a week on its mission to retrieve the Europani refugees from Torona IV, during which time Vaughn and his crew had run into difficulties with the Jarada. The commander had sent an encoded message to Kira briefly describing the trouble, and now she wanted a detailed report. The crew had suffered three casualties, she knew, one of them serious, though fortunately none had died.

“No, sir,”Selzner replied. “Commander Vaughn reports that theDefiant and theTrager will be back at the station in about an hour.”

“The Trager?”Kira repeated, looking over at Taran’atar. He met her gaze with an expression of suspicion, which she knew must have matched the look on her own face. She was unsure why the Cardassian warship would be accompanying Defiantto Deep Space 9, though it seemed clear that it must have aided in the mission to Torona IV. The commander of Trager,Gul Macet, had offered and then provided similar assistance during the evacuation of Europa Nova. Afterward, during the period Kira had been thought lost in the Delta Quadrant, Commander Vaughn had invited Macet to the station, and Tragerhad indeed been docked at DS9 when Kira had returned. At no time, though, had Macet or any of his crew come aboard; Vaughn had authorized some repairs to the battle-scarred vessel, and it had departed shortly after Kira’s arrival back on the station. Apparently, Macet had taken Tragerto join Defiant.

“Yes, sir,”Selzner confirmed. Kira considered contacting Vaughn before Defiantgot back to DS9 and asking him for an explanation, but she opted to trust his judgment. He had served as her executive officer for only a short time, but he had already demonstrated intelligence and perceptiveness, as well as a level head.

“All right,” Kira said. “I’ll be up to ops shortly. Kira out.” The comm channel closed, leaving her peering at Taran’atar, the distrustful aspect still decorating his face. She had seen that same look on the Jem’Hadar when Macet had first contacted her aboard Euphrates,back at Europa Nova.

“You are right not to trust him, Colonel,” Taran’atar offered.

“Maybe,” Kira said. “Macet helped us at Europa Nova, and he’s apparently helped out at Torona IV too, but…his continued presence around DS9 and Bajoran operations…it makes me nervous.”

“He is an admitted traitor,” Taran’atar said simply. And that was part of Kira’s problem. Macet had told her that he had fought in Damar’s resistance against the Dominion, and if that was true, it validated Taran’atar’s characterization of him; he had been a traitor to the Cardassian-Dominion alliance. But if Macet had been a turncoat, then it also meant that he had swung his loyalties to those Kira herself had supported. To complicate matters further, Macet was also a member of Dukat’s family. All of which combined to make it difficult to determine either Macet’s true intentions or his true nature.

“I know,” Kira told Taran’atar. “I know.” She glanced down at herself, at her muck-covered uniform and hands, and decided that she had indulged Taran’atar long enough. “Computer,” she said, “end program.”

Around her and Taran’atar, the world of the Rintanna faded out of existence, and with it, the holographic mud that had been clinging to her uniform. She started for the door, but then something occurred to her. She turned and immediately saw what she was looking for, sitting a couple of meters away on the floor of the holosuite. She quickly retrieved it. “Thank you for this,” she said, holding up the knife for Taran’atar to see. He inclined his head in response.

Kira slipped the knife into the sheath at her hip and headed for ops. Somehow, it seemed appropriate that she had armed herself before going to deal with the arrival of Macet.