Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 28 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

53

The words on the data slate taunted her. They danced before Desai’s eyes, remaining sharp and distinct as they hovered defiantly before her, refusing to be washed away by her tears.

TransportNowlan destroyed. Suspect attack by pirate vessel. No survivors.

It was a preliminary report, received from the Federation News Service, courtesy of the station’s main computer, and offering no details about the identity or allegiance of the attacking vessel. Admiral Nogura had arrived at her door before she read the article, to inform her personally about what had happened. Unfortunately, he had possessed only slightly more in the way of helpful information. The Nowlan’s disaster recorder buoy had been detected by the U.S.S. Gloucester,a Starfleet ship on long-range patrol in the Taurus Reach, its contents transferred to the vessel and then transmitted to the nearest Federation starbase—Vanguard. As for the recorder, the last log entry captured by the recorder before its launch from the ill-fated transport had been entered by the ship’s commanding officer. It contained no clues to the reasons for the attack.

Nogura departed at her request to be left alone. Desai lost count of the number of times she had read the FNS article. Her entire world shrank to nothing more than the compact screen before her, time ceasing to have any meaning as she commanded the device to provide new information. Instead, the data slate tortured her with the same soulless words and callous turns of phrase.

No survivors.

Tears streaming down her face, Desai threw the data slate across the room, and its molded polymer housing splintered as it slammed into the far wall before dropping to the carpeted floor of her quarters. She brought her knees to her chest and rolled to one side on her sofa, curling into a protective fetal ball.

Diego.

It was ludicrous, but she was certain she still smelled him, on her clothes, in her hair, on her skin still damp with sweat in the wake of their final night of passion. Raising her head, she looked to the end table next to the sofa and saw the framed photograph she had taken of him months earlier. She had caught him in a rare quiet moment, sitting on the grass somewhere in Fontana Meadow—part of the station’s terrestrial enclosure—looking down at something that had caught his attention. The corners of his mouth were turned upward in a wistful smile, as though he was enjoying a private joke. It was one of the few occasions when he had not appeared consumed by the burden of command, awash amid the dozens of decisions that had seemed to dominate his every waking minute. Desai never had asked him what he had been thinking just then, electing instead to allow him that fleeting moment of peaceful inner reflection.

And now, of course, she never would know.

Desai buried her head in the sofa cushion, unrelenting emptiness reaching out to grip her. It crushed her heart, driving her into a vast pit of darkness. She was alone here, plummeting ever deeper and making no effort to arrest her fall. What was the point? There was no one to save her and no one waiting for her upon her salvation. So be it.

The door chime sounded, intruding on her grief.

“Go away.”

A second chime echoed, wailing for attention. She repeated her call to be left alone, but the door only offered a third signal. Then the door opened, and Desai snapped to a sitting position, her anguish replaced—for the moment, at least—with anger.

“What the hell do you want?”

It was not until she hurled the question across the room that she realized who stood in her doorway. Ezekiel Fisher regarded her from the threshold, his dark eyes narrowed in concern, his mouth pressed shut in an expression of resolve.

“Rana,” he said, stepping into the room.

“How did you get in here?” Desai asked, reaching up to wipe her eyes.

Fisher cocked his head toward the door. “Emergency medical override. One of the benefits of being the head doctor around here.”

Not in the mood for Fisher’s laidback banter, Desai pulled herself from the sofa. “I want to be left alone, Fish.”

“I can understand that,” the doctor replied, standing just far enough inside the room so that the door slid closed behind him. “I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”

“Holding up?” Desai nearly spat the words. Then, realizing that her friend meant well, she reined in her follow-up response and paused, drawing a heavy breath and slowly releasing it, working to bring herself under some semblance of control. “I honestly don’t know.” Shaking her head, she moved toward the small kitchenette in one corner.

Fisher shrugged, stepping toward her. “That’s normal.”

Sighing, Desai turned to look at him, for the first time noting the dark circles under his eyes and the unmistakable look of sadness clouding his features.

He knew Diego longer than you did, after all.

A sudden wave of guilt washed over her. Ashamed at her selfishness, Desai felt new tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, God, Fish, I’m so sorry.” She reached out for him, pulling him to her and burying her head in his shoulder. She felt the older man’s arms wrap around her, one hand resting gently at the back of her head. Fisher said nothing, standing in silence as she began to cry all over again.

Pulling away from him, she wiped tears from her eyes. “Have you heard anything new?”

Fisher frowned, shaking his head. “No. They’ve sent the Endeavourto investigate, but it’ll be a while before they know anything.” He paused before adding, “If ever.”

“But they’re certain it was pirates?” she asked, stepping away from him and reaching for the glass of water she had left on the kitchenette counter. “Not the Klingons or even the Tholians?” Admiral Nogura had already told her as much, but without anything in the way of hard evidence, she was unwilling to rule out any possibility.

“Nogura told me the same thing he told you,” the doctor replied. “The ship that discovered the wreckage found no indications of Tholian or Klingon weaponry. The Tholians have denied any involvement, and you know that if the Klingons had anything to do with it, there’s no way they’re staying quiet.”

Taking a sip of water, Desai was forced to agree with Fisher’s reasoning. The Klingons had put a price on Reyes’s head, but that was for a live capture in order for him to be judged by what passed for their court system. From what little information she had been able to find about the empire’s judicial practices—drawn from the logs of a Starfleet captain who had faced trial, conviction, and sentencing at the hands of a Klingon court more than a century earlier—Reyes might well have been spared a worse fate.

Small favors and all that.

Fisher moved toward the counter and the carafe of water. He reached for another glass and paused as his eyes fell across another data slate she had left sitting near one corner. The contents on its screen were legible even from where she stood, so she knew the doctor also could read them. He looked up at her, frowning.

“You’re resigning?”

Shrugging, Desai replied, “I was considering it.” She took another sip of water. “It was an option for being able to continue acting as Diego’s lawyer while he served his sentence and we pursued the appeals process. I’d already placed a request to Starfleet Command for a change of duty to one of the JAG offices on Earth or at least somewhere in the Sol sector.” She had wanted an assignment that would put her near him, for professional as well as obvious personal reasons. “From what I’ve heard, such assignments are hard to come by, so I started researching civilian law firms.” She had found one candidate in particular that held an appeal, a small, one-man operation based in Los Angeles on Earth. The lawyer apparently specialized in Starfleet as well as civilian law, having successfully represented the captain of the U.S.S. Enterpriseduring his recent court-martial. Though the lawyer appeared unwilling to take on a partner, Desai had figured there was nothing to be lost by sending a query and gauging his interest.

Fisher released a small chuckle. “You? Come on, Rana. We both know you’ve got Starfleet in your blood. You might be a lawyer, but you’re just as much an explorer as any ship jockey flying off to unknown worlds. Didn’t you say you wanted to make good law rather than just serve it? You can’t do that from an office on Earth.”

“It wasn’t about any of that,” Desai snapped, regretting the force of her words as soon as she spoke them. Offering an expression that she hoped would communicate her apology to her friend, she said, “I just wanted to help Diego, any way that I could. If that meant resigning from Starfleet, then to hell with it. I…” She stopped, blowing out a resigned, tired breath. “I just wanted to be with him, Fish. If he was going to have to go through that, I wanted to be there with him.” Casting a dismissive wave toward the all-but-forgotten data slate, she shook her head. “Not that it matters anymore.”

Leaning against the counter, Fisher regarded her with that familiar paternal glint in his eyes. “So, what are you thinking of doing now?”

Desai groaned in exasperation. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having at this moment. “God, Fish, I really don’t know.” She waved a hand in the air to indicate her surroundings. “Are we just supposed to go on with our lives out here like nothing happened? Continue keeping the secrets and the lies that brought us here in the first place?” How many lives had been lost? The crew of the Bombay.Those who had died on Erilon and Jinoteur IV, to say nothing of Gamma Tauri IV. Uncounted Klingons and Tholians, as well as innocents on other planets throughout the region. Ming Xiong. Diego Reyes. The list was far too long already and would likely only grow in the coming days, weeks, and months. No matter how well intentioned the cause had been, many, if not most, perhaps even all, of those who had perished had done so in service to a lie. Perhaps Diego’s court-martial had served to make more people aware of the tremendous cost that had been exacted out here, and maybe things could change for the better. It was even possible that Desai herself might find some way to continue contributing to the ongoing effort.

“Rana,” Fisher said after a moment, “if anything good is coming from all of this, it has to be that Diego opened a lot of people’s eyes about what’s going on out here. He may have broken Starfleet regulations, but you and I both know that what he did neededto be done. If what he did gets us to step back and reexamine those lofty ideals we’re supposed to hold in such high esteem—gets us to take a long, hard look at ourselves and just what the hell we’re doing—then it won’t be a wasted effort.”

He placed his hand on her arm. “But for that to happen all the way out here, out of sight and potentially out of mind, it’s going to take good people who know the truth to stick with it. Why do you think he let you in on the big secret in the first place? He wanted people he could trust to do the right thing watching his back.”

Though Desai had not agreed with everything Reyes told her when he revealed to her the secret mission to which he and Starbase 47 had been assigned, she knew that he had confided in her so that she might ride herd on his conscience. She had done her best to do just that, despite knowing that there were some secrets he would not share with her. Those came later, of course, after he had taken the actions that had led to his removal from service and…

Enough.

“I don’t know, Fish,” she said, feeling the pit of emptiness once again within her.

She felt Fisher’s hand on her arm, his grip firm and comforting. “Besides, regardless of what happens with the Shedai, or even the Klingons and the Tholians, the fact is that the Federation is pushing out this way. More colonies, more trade routes, a larger Starfleet presence. They’re going to need some good law and good lawyers to help make it.” He smiled again. “Diego would want you doing what you love, you know.”

“Maybe,” Desai said, offering a noncommittal shrug. None that resonated within her as it once had, the way it once had called to her. At the moment, none of that seemed important.

Though her career had always been the driving force in her life, Desi now found herself longing for the man she loved, along with a life that might have been.

What the hell do I do now?

54

Ganz stood naked at the foot of the oversized round bed in his opulent private suite aboard the Omari-Ekon,gripping the Andorian by his throat. He held the would-be assassin nearly a meter off the deck, the fingers of his massive right hand closing around the Andorian’s windpipe. It required every iota of his formidable willpower to keep his temper in check as he watched the life drain from his assailant’s face. The Andorian was doing an admirable job of fighting for his life, striking out at Ganz’s muscled arm with ever-waning strength. He reached for the hand at his throat, fingers clawing in a futile attempt to loosen Ganz’s grip. His boots kicked out at the Orion’s body, but Ganz ignored the weak, frantic blows. Finally, the Andorian’s arms fell to his sides, and his body went limp. Satisfied that his attacker was dead, Ganz let the body fall to the floor of his bedroom.

On the other side of the room, Neera was examining the area behind a large, ornate Orion tapestry, from which the Andorian had emerged from hiding in his ill-fated attempt to kill Ganz. She also was nude, having been forced from bed along with Ganz by the sudden appearance of the assassin from behind the tapestry. Moving aside the wall hanging, Neera grunted something inaudible, though Ganz still could make out her irritation.

“You won’t find anything,” Ganz said, feeling his own anger beginning to mount. He crossed the room to a waist-high polished black bureau and reached for the communications panel set into its surface. He pressed one of its two buttons, the one linked to a similar panel mounted outside the door to his quarters. “Get in here. Now,” he growled into the unit.

He had only just retrieved a silken blue robe from where he had cast it across the end of the bed and begun wrapping it around himself when the door to his private chambers slid aside, and the bodyguard stationed outside his quarters came rushing in. He was a muscled Orion male, dressed in leather pants and boots and wearing a disruptor pistol in a holster on his hip. Rather than a shirt, he favored a pair of bandoliers strung in crisscross fashion across his chest.

Upon entering the room and seeing the Andorian’s body, the guard recoiled in surprise, brandishing his weapon and leveling it at Ganz. The merchant prince found himself staring down the disruptor’s gaping maw, not scared so much as he was angry with himself for not seeing this coming,

“Jahno,” he said, looking past the weapon to the face of the guard wielding it. He indicated the dead Andorian with a dismissive wave. “You betrayed me for this piece of filth?” There had to be more to it, Ganz knew. Someone else had dispatched the assassin—likely one of his many rivals—and the Andorian had co-opted Jahno to help him get through Ganz’s security. For a moment, Ganz wondered how many other people currently in his employ might be working for one of his competitors.

Before Jahno could answer, something whipped past Ganz’s left ear, and he saw a thin silver blade embed itself in the guard’s right shoulder. Jahno shrieked in pain, his eyes wide with terror as his free hand reached for the knife. Blood streamed from the wound, running down his bare chest and right arm. Then Neera was lunging across the room, her lithe nude body slamming into Jahno and driving the guard to the floor. She reached for her knife, ripping it from his arm, intensifying the flow of blood.

“You traitorous pig,” she spat, glowering down at him as she sat astride him, the edge of the blade tracing a line across his throat. “I’ll gut you like the worthless animal you are.” Reaching for the disruptor Jahno had dropped, she placed the muzzle of the weapon in Jahno’s right ear.

“Who are you working for?” Ganz asked, stepping closer. He nodded toward the dead Andorian. “Who sent him to kill me?”

Jahno was trying yet failing to stem the flow of blood from his shoulder. His expression was a mask of anguish and fear as his gaze shifted between his employer and the person who held his very life in her hands. “I don’t know who hired him,” he hissed between gritted teeth. “He was the only one who paid me. I never talked to anyone else.”

“You’re lying!” Neera said, emitting a feral growl as she poked the point of her knife into the wound. Jahno’s body jerked, and he cried out in pain.

Leaning closer, Ganz said, “So, you’re saying this one person gave you enough money to turn you against me?” Perhaps Jahno really did not know who was behind the assassination attempt. In truth, Ganz did not care. What unnerved him was the apparent ease with which one of his people had been turned. The Andorian, whoever he had been, was nothing more than a tool employed by one of the numerous enemies Ganz had made over the years. Torturing Jahno, himself nothing more than a pawn no matter who paid him, would be a waste of time.

“Finish it,” he said, glancing to Neera. He stood in silence as his lover drew the edge of her blade across Jahno’s throat. The Orion responded with a gurgling sound as blood flooded his esophagus and he inhaled it into his lungs. His body convulsed in a series of violent spasms, and his eyes bugged out of his head.

Rising to her feet, Neera stood over him, watching him suffer for several seconds. Then, without looking to Ganz or even speaking a single word, she aimed the disruptor at the guard, thumbing the weapon’s power level before pressing the firing stud. A harsh, brilliant orange burst erupted from the disruptor’s muzzle, enveloping Jahno. The hellish energy tore apart his body at the molecular level, erasing it from existence in the space of a few heartbeats, his cries of agony echoing about the bedroom as his body disintegrated.

“That’s the third time in less than a month,” Ganz said, grunting in mounting irritation as he moved back to the bureau and poured himself a glass of Altair water from a crystal carafe. Compared with the Andorian, the two previous attempts had been amateurish, with both prospective assassins detected in the midst of conducting their initial reconnaissance while posing as patrons on the Omari-Ekon’s gaming deck. Zett Nilric and his subordinates had taken care of them without attracting attention from any of the other customers, though neither had provided the names of their employers before dying. Ganz had no way of knowing if he was being targeted by one rival or several.

“It’s not as though you’ve never had people after you before,” Neera said as she crossed to the bathroom for a washcloth to wipe the blood from her knife. Satisfied that the blade was clean, she returned it to the scabbard stitched inside the robe she had been wearing before retiring. Rather than donning the robe itself, Neera chose to recline naked across the bed. “You had to expect that some of your enemies would step up their attempts once we left the station.”

Ganz nodded from where he stood next to his bureau, having dispatched a message to Zett Nilric to send two new guards to be stationed outside his quarters. He was forced to agree with his lover’s assessment. From the moment the Omari-Ekonwas forced to surrender the relative safety that came with being docked at Starbase 47, his rivals would have been planning ways to eliminate him. Destroying the ship itself seemed like the easiest way to accomplish that goal, but Ganz knew that to most of his competitors, the trading vessel was worth more if captured intact.

“They’ll only get bolder,” he said, watching the low lights play over Neera’s glistening jade skin as she rolled onto her stomach.

“Even with Starfleet stepping up their patrols?” she asked. Propping her chin on her folded arms, she looked up at him.

Ganz nodded. “Absolutely. I’d do the same thing.” In the wake of the destruction of the transport vessel bearing Commodore Reyes to Earth, Starfleet had stepped up its boarding and inspection of merchant vessels operating in Federation space. More than a few “independent contractors” had found their ships impounded and themselves arrested after being caught ferrying contraband. “I know how to beat Starfleet at its own game.”

“You’re not the only one,” Neera replied, her tone one of caution. “You’re not even the best there is.” Then she offered a leering smile. “Though I’ll admit you do possess formidable skills, in a numberof areas.”

Smiling at the overt innuendo, Ganz nevertheless remained restless. “It’s not just my competitors, of course. You see how easily Jahno was turned. How many others might be in line behind him?”

Neera shrugged. “What about Zett? If anyone stands to gain from your untimely demise, it’s him. I’ve told you before that I don’t like him.”

“And I’ve told you that I don’t like him, either,” Ganz countered, taking a seat next to her on the edge of the bed. “But he’s loyal.” Reaching out to stroke her hair, he added, “Besides, I think he’s scared of you.”

“If he’s not,” Neera said, rolling onto her side to face him, “then he should be.” She laughed at her own joke. Ganz always liked the sound of her laugh.

After a moment, he said, “I think we need to rethink Nogura’s offer.”

Neera frowned. “You’re assuming he’s willing to let you return to the station at all. Simply agreeing to his offer now won’t be enough, not after the way you turned him down the first time.” Her arm moved until it rested on Ganz’s thigh. “You need to present him with something he does not have, cannot get through other means, and cannot refuse.”

Now it was Ganz’s turn to smile. “Always the shrewd one, but there’s something else to consider. We have to be careful how we approach this. If anyone finds out, they’ll think we’re selling out to Starfleet.” Such a perception, unfounded or not, would be a death knell for his various lines of business.

“Then we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Neera replied, running her hand across his leg. “So, what do you intend to offer Nogura?”

“There’s really only one thing he’ll view as having any worth,” Ganz said, “and we both know what it is.” Something that—if the information given to him at the time he took possession of the item was correct—would prove invaluable to continuing Starfleet interests in this region of space.

Releasing a tired sigh, he said, “Contact Tujeta Larn on Arcturus. Tell him to pull it from whatever hole he’s buried it and get it here as soon as possible.”

“Very well,” Neera replied, nodding in approval, “but it can wait a while, can it not?” Her fingers delved beneath the folds of his robe.

Ganz smiled as he lay back on the bed and allowed Neera’s hand to continue its unfettered wandering, overcome as always by the raw magnetism she exuded with every fiber of her being. “I suppose it can.”