Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

The reception inside the Naghai Keep was, if anything, more opulent than the gathering laid on for the Cardassians on their first arrival. Dukat ate and drank nothing, feasting instead on his own frosty anger. Not for the first time, he wondered if Gul Kell was deliberately placing him in circumstances that would test the dalin’s patience. The dalin had grown increasingly withdrawn and sullen since his commander’s abrupt alteration of orders. One moment Dukat had been there on the bridge, ready to give the word that would take the Kornaireback home—he had Athra’s face in his mind’s eye, and the reality would be only a day or two away at high warp—and the next Kell had told him to stand down.

How many times had he run the holograph rod through the player since then? How many messages had he sent to his father, to the medical clinic in Lakat, without answer? Every day they remained here was like razors over Dukat’s flesh, the wounds worsened by the silence from the homeworld. Only communications of a military nature.He hated that phrase. And Kell, constantly pushing him and gently mocking him, denying him even a moment to step back from his duties and look to his family. For a Cardassian, it was torture, and Kell knew it.

Is he pushing me to see how much it will take to have me break?There was cold malice in his commander’s behavior. Kell knew as well as Dukat did that now that the Bajor mission was hailed as a success on the homeworld, Dukat would be rewarded for his part in it. The promotion he deserved would finally come to him; and so in one last attempt to spite his first officer, Kell wanted to make Dukat lose his control. He glared at the gul across the chamber. Nothing would make him happier than to sign off my last performance report under his command with a negative rating. I will not give him the satisfaction.

His comcuff chimed, and Dukat raised his wrist to his mouth. “Responding.”

“Skrain?”Although it went against military regulations, although it would have given Kell exactly the excuse to chastise Dukat if he had been aware of it, in sympathy to his plight, Pa’Dar had agreed to do what he could to assist the dalin in keeping lines of communication open to Cardassia. However, for the most part the man’s contacts at the Ministry of Science had been able to give him little more information than the censored government newsfeeds that played in the Kornaire’s common room.

But now the tenor of Pa’Dar’s voice made Dukat go tense. He heard something there that made his bones chill. “Kotan. What is it?”

There was a pause as the civilian tried to find a way to frame his next sentence. “Skrain…one of the adjutants from the medical division was conducting a survey this week, of the fallout from the situation in Lakat. They showed my colleagues records from the clinic…”

The room around him seemed to become hazy and indistinct. Dukat heard the rumble of his blood in his ears, the chatter of the voices merging into incoherence. His boots felt rooted to the spot.

“I’d left some messages to contact me if anything matched…if there were any names…”He sighed. “Your father ensured that the data would find its way to me.”

“Tell me,” Dukat said in a leaden whisper.

“Your wife was released from medical care four days ago. She has made a full recovery.”

“My son?” he demanded.

When Pa’Dar spoke again, it was as if the marble floor of the keep was yawning open to swallow him whole. “The data indicates…an unnamed male child of the Dukat clan perished from complications due to a lack of medical supplies. I’m so sorry, Skrain.”

Dukat blinked and for an instant the haze faded. He saw Hadlo leaving the chamber through the door to the east tower. Then he was moving forward, propelled by a building surge of heat in his chest, a furious anger that shattered the cold cage he had built to contain it. His hands tightened into claws as the raw need for revenge swept away everything else in his mind.

Darrah Mace turned the corner on the lower level of the east tower, grateful for the opportunity to do something as straightforward as a foot patrol. The pomp and circumstance of the reception and the announcement made him uncomfortable. Too many people, too big an area to cover adequately, too much chance that some moron would turn up and make trouble. There had been some posturing on the planetary comnet by a few of the usual suspects, from the crackpots to the more serious activists like the Alliance for Global Unity, all of them decrying the arrival of the aliens; but then there were just as many lunatic postings by people who welcomed the Cardassians, and some in ways that were less than seemly. With Colonel Coldri’s help, Darrah had put on extra security to ensure the offworlders were well protected from both the people who wanted them gone and the ones who wanted to bask in their glory.

Those thoughts fell from his mind when he almost collided with one of the black-armored aliens as he rounded a bend in the corridor. He jerked back with an automatic apology on his lips; then he recognized the face. “Dalin Dukat?”

The Cardassian blinked. He seemed distracted. “Constable Darrah.”

Something rang an alarm bell in Darrah’s mind. The seasoned lawman’s sense for people was giving him a warning, but it was difficult for him to map it to the alien’s body language. He didn’t know the Cardassians well enough to be sure, but there was anger in Dukat’s eyes. He looked as if he were moving with purpose, and the intention behind it was not a benign one.

“I’m looking for the cleric. Hadlo.”

Darrah nodded. “He passed me a moment ago. Going up to the guest chambers, I think.” He moved slightly so that Dukat couldn’t simply walk past him. Darrah frowned and took a chance. “You’re walking like you have a quarrel with the man.”

Dukat’s eyes flashed, and Darrah saw a wary mask drop into place over his expression. “I need to speak to him.”

In that moment, Darrah knew his instincts were correct. “Well,” he said, “don’t let me stop you, then.” He didn’t move, and Dukat stepped out to pass around him. “Strange, though,” Darrah continued. “Pardon me if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d spend much time at temple.”

Dukat took a few more steps and hesitated. “I’m not. I have unfinished business with the cleric.”

“Right.” Darrah watched him carefully. “Unfinished business.I see that kind of thing a lot in my line of work.” He chuckled dryly. “I guess you could say it’s kind of a flaw in the Bajoran character, if you get my meaning. We’re a passionate people, you know? Sometimes we get so angry about things we lose focus on everything else. Especially when it’s a matter of unfinished business.” The constable shook his head. “We hold those kinds of grudges forever.”

For a moment, he thought the Cardassian was going to say something to him. Instead, the alien turned away and walked up the stone steps to the upper tiers. Darrah blew out a breath, his hand over the phaser in his holster. If they kill each other, does that count as a diplomatic incident?

The door slammed open and Hadlo looked up from the flask of water on the table before him. He put down the half-full glass and presented the intruder with a smile.

“Dalin Dukat. Here you are again. You’re making a habit of this.” In the next second the insouciant expression on the cleric’s lined face was gone as Dukat’s hand clamped around his neck. He was forced to the window of the chamber, air tightening in his lungs. “What are you doing?” he wheezed. “Release me!”

“My son is dead because of you,” The other man bit out the words with icy, quiet fury. “You think you can play with people’s lives like pieces on a game board? What gives you the right?”

In spite of himself, Hadlo’s face creased in amusement and he began to laugh gruffly through the dalin’s viselike grip. “Can it be that an officer in the homeworld’s military is too unsophisticated to grasp the very nature of his own species? Are you that raw and untempered, Dukat, that you do not understand?” His laughter intensified, and the other man grimaced, shoving him away.

“I should kill you,” Dukat growled. “Crush the life from you and then do the same to those other spineless zealots who hang on the hem of your robes!”

Hadlo straightened himself, brushing dust from the front of his clothing. “But you won’t,” he replied, taking a sip of water. “The Oralian Way is the bridge to Bajor now. Iam that bridge, Dukat. If you have any loyalty to Cardassia, you will understand that. I will live, because it benefits Cardassia to have me live.” He eyed the officer. “And as much as you are your child’s father, you are Cardassia’s loyal son first, yes? As am I.” Hadlo put down the glass and walked to stand before Dukat. He tipped his head back to expose his neck. His hands were at his sides; the cleric presented the most open target for the dalin’s furious ire. “Make your choice, Dukat. What devotion sings loudest? Vengeance for a child that did not live or greater glory for your world and your species?”

The priest felt a stab of fear as he saw something harden in Dukat’s eyes, and he wondered if he had gone too far; but then the soldier’s tightened fists fell open and he turned away.

Hadlo sighed. “I regret the passing of your child. I promise I will dedicate a prayer to Oralius in his memory.”

Dukat turned back to throw him a look, his hooded eyes glittering. “We will talk of this again, priest. And on that day, your faith will not protect you.”

Evening was drawing in as Gar Osen wandered the ornamental gardens, turning the events of the day over in his mind. At the side of the reflecting pool, he saw a familiar figure, the sky-blue robes closed around Bennek as the Cardassian leaned over the shimmering surface, peering into the depths.

The alien cleric looked up as he approached. “Brother Gar. Hello.”

Gar smiled tightly. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the Oralian’s way of addressing the Bajoran clergy. “Bennek. I had thought you would be preparing for tomorrow.” He nodded at the distant construction. “You are joining Hadlo on his inspection of the enclave site, I believe?”

“I am.” The Cardassian seemed weary. Gar understood; it had been a busy few weeks. Part of him was still reeling. Barely a month ago, the offworlders had seemed little more than a distant idea, something that other people spoke of second-or thirdhand. Now they were here, on Bajor, and it seemed they would not be leaving anytime soon. “It’s so peaceful here,” Bennek said wistfully. “I cannot think of a place where I have ever felt such spirituality.” He looked back at the pool. “Cardassia has nothing to match this, Gar. As much as I love my homeworld, it has become a hostile place for our beliefs. I relish the chance to engage the Way in a place where I can honestly think upon it…instead of listening with fear for the sound of our persecutors’ footfalls.”

“I am glad we can help you…” Gar said warily. “The kai believes we can learn much from one another.”

Bennek nodded. “I have spoken to my brethren on Cardassia Prime. Pilgrim ships are being prepared. They will come to seek knowledge…” His voice dropped. “And perhaps, a small measure of sanctuary.”

How many?The question leapt to the front of Gar’s mind, but before he would voice it the alien came forward with one of his own.

“What would you do, Prylar, if your faith were in danger? If the Prophets were being threatened?”

Gar blinked at the sudden intensity of the query, and he answered without thinking, from the heart. “My faith is greater than I am. I would do whatever I had to do to protect it.”

Bennek looked up, and Gar could see his eyes were fixed on the distant site of the enclave. “Yes,” he whispered, “as shall I.”

FIVE YEARS AGO

2323 (Terran Calendar)

8

“My client categorically denies all charges.” The words were firm and clear, and they carried across the courtroom to Darrah Mace as he slipped quietly through the door.

The speaker was a thin, austere woman; she was of that indeterminate approaching-middle-age that Mace found so hard to pin down. Bajoran females got older in different ways than their men, and even after his years in the police service Darrah was never comfortable when he was called upon to guess a woman’s age. He usually ended up offending someone.

It was warm inside the windowless room; they were a level below the entrance atrium of the Korto City Watch Precinct, sandwiched between the duty offices and the holding cells below. In theory, the building kept all the city’s law and order operations under one roof; in practice, it was inadequate to the task. The poor ventilation was just one of the reasons Darrah didn’t venture down here that much. Since rising up the ranks to inspector status, there wasn’t often call for it. He needed a good reason to be here; and today his good reason sat in the dock, looking equally angry and mournful.

The public defender continued, and as she did so Darrah placed her face. Els Renora.She was an acid, waspish sort, but she did her job well. “I would point out to the court that scans of Captain Syjin’s ship revealed no traces of the materials he was accused of transporting. At best, what we have is circumstantial evidence of an alleged crime backed up by hearsay.” She drew herself up. “I move for a dismissal.”

A squat Cardassian got to his feet from the prosecution’s bench and wandered past the magistrate, gesturing at the air. “All those scans prove is that the accused is very good at cleaning up his vessel.” The alien lawyer sniffed. “The fact remains. Quantities of marajicrystals were found in the domiciles of pilgrims at the Korto Enclave. When questioned, they positively identified this man as the trader who provided them.”

“I’m a freighter captain, not a drug dealer!” Syjin snapped, his voice high and tight. “I never touch that kind of cargo!” He bared his teeth. “And I know the law! That stuff isn’t illegal on Bajor anyway, not that I would carry it, because I wouldn’t!”

The prosecutor gave him a sideways look. “No. But it isillegal in the Cardassian Union, and according to the terms of the alliance between our two worlds, the enclaves are classed as Cardassian territory, where our legal codes apply.”

Els shot Syjin a glare. “Be quiet,” she told him, “you’re not helping.”

“I counter the defense’s request with a demand that Syjin feel the full weight of that law and be turned over to Cardassian authorities for legal processing.” The prosecutor paused, letting that sink in. “I ask the magistrate this: Are you really willing to damage the goodwill that has built up between Cardassia and Bajor over the last five years for the sake of an untrustworthy—”

Syjin started to complain, but Els silenced him with a curt gesture.

“—and petty delinquent with a record of many criminal infractions? Release him to Cardassian justice, and the truth will be determined swiftly and immediately.”

The woman faced her opponent. “I think we’ve all heard about the swiftnessof Cardassian justice,” she said coldly. “But Captain Syjin is a Bajoran, and this is a matter for Bajorans to resolve.”

The magistrate, a heavyset woman with dark skin and a mane of gray hair, regarded Syjin severely. “Your point it well-taken, Ms. Els, but the conservator is correct. The captain has a record of many minor infractions, up to and including the transportation of proscribed materials.”

“We’re talking about simple food items here, Magistrate,” said Els. “My client’s past infractions, the most recent of which occurred more than four years ago, were minor deeds that incurred fines, not the transit of highly addictive narcotics, and he has answered for those.”

“Nevertheless,” continued the magistrate, “unless there are mitigating circumstances—”

Darrah was on his feet and striding forward. “I’ll vouch for him.”

Syjin’s face flushed with relief, and his defender’s eyebrow arched. “Inspector Darrah Mace of the Korto City Watch,” noted Els. “A highly respected law officer.”

“And a personal friend of the captain,” said the Cardassian. “Hardly a neutral voice.”

Darrah ignored the alien and looked directly at the magistrate. “I’ve known this man since we were children. He’s had his issues with the law—the Prophets know, I’ve been the one to arrest him once or twice—but Syjin’s not that kind of smuggler. The sort of crime you’re describing—it’s beyond his character to perpetrate.”

“Then how do you propose we deal with this situation, Inspector?” asked the magistrate.

“At the very least, he should be incarcerated and his vessel dismantled,” snapped the conservator.

Darrah continued. “I recommend a full investigation. Captain Syjin may retain his master’s license for the interim, but he should be prohibited from leaving the system until a conclusion is reached. The Watch will have his vessel held in impound.”

“What?”Syjin bleated, but in the next second he realized that Darrah was saving him from life in a Cardassian penal facility, and he fell silent.

The magistrate mulled his words for a long moment. “Very well,” she nodded. “Inspector Darrah, I’m releasing Captain Syjin into the custody of the City Watch. If your investigation comes up empty, he will be free to return to his business. If not, then we will reconvene and discuss sentencing.” She stood up. “This hearing is concluded.”

In the corridor Els approached him, with Syjin following behind. The pilot’s face was flushed with emotion. “Thanks for the assist, Inspector,” said the woman. “He’s lucky he has friends like you to look out for him.”

“You think the Cardassians will keep pressing this?”

She shook her head. “They wanted a quick and clean conviction, someone to blame the misdeeds of their own people on. You denied them that, so I imagine this whole thing will quietly go away…just like the Oralians they caughtwith those crystals.” She said the word in a way that told Darrah she had little faith in the veracity of the Cardassian prosecution.

“Damn spoonheads…” Syjin bit out the words. “Why did they pick on me? All I did was bring in some cases of yamoksauce!” He ground his teeth. “Kosst,if they take my ship I’ll have nothing!”

“Calm down,” said Darrah. “You’re grounded for a while, that’s all.”

Syjin met his gaze, and he saw fury in his friend’s eyes. “I’d never touch that filth, Mace. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, you idiot. Do you think I would have spoken up for you if I thought you were trafficking in drugs? I’d have sent you down myself!”

The shock and adrenaline of the moment made the pilot’s voice shaky. “I was a breath away from it. My own people would have given me up to the aliens, just to keep them happy! Is that how it is? Are the Cardassians making the law on Bajor now?”

Darrah and Els exchanged glances. Both of them had seen similar incidents recently, with the government backing down in favor of Cardassian interests when push came to shove. These days, it seemed more and more that the Union had a hand in things on Bajor. Darrah felt a stab of guilt; his own promotion and raises in pay had come in part from his work as security coordinator for the Korto Enclave. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Look, just be grateful. Go see Gar in the temple and thank the Prophets your luck is still holding.”

“I’ll do what I can to expedite the investigation,” added Els.

“Good—” Darrah’s words were cut off by the chime of his communicator. He tapped the badge. “This is Darrah, go ahead.”

“Boss, it’s me.”Proka Migdal’s voice grumbled from the air. “You wanted me to remind you about the pickup.”

Darrah frowned. “So I did. Thank you, Constable. Darrah out.” He glanced at Els and Syjin. “I’ve got to get to Ashalla, I’m handling Minister Jas’s protection detail today.”

Syjin took his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Mace. I’ll make this up to you, I swear it.”

Darrah gave his friend a nod. “You can count on that.”

The flyer was on the primary pad out behind the precinct building, and Proka had ensured that it was prepped and ready to go. Two officers from the constable’s division were already aboard, running last-second security checks. Unlike Darrah’s ochre tunic, they wore lighter shades, and each man had a dermal induction communicator adhered to a spot on their mastoid bone; the device allowed the bodyguards to keep both hands free while still in contact with the police comm net. Darrah slipped into the pilot’s chair and cleared his flight plan, taking the aircraft up in a swift vertical climb.

The flyer was quick off the mark, far more speedy than the older model aeros he had piloted after first joining Korto’s Watch. He glanced at the thruster controls and saw the circular operator pads that were distinctive of Cardassian-made technology. Ion thrusters, impulse drives, and warp engines were among the most popular imports from the Union. An indicator flashed on his panel, and Darrah eased the throttle bar forward, guiding the police flyer around in a half loop to turn it eastward, toward the Perikian Mountains and the capital city beyond.

Korto flashed past underneath, the sharp silver towers and the low golden domes catching the midday rays of B’hava’el. Darrah drifted to the edge of the flight corridor, humming over the open parks and the square emerald patches of the municipal lakes. The outer districts thinned and they passed the city limits; then a few moments later the flyer was nearing the Cardassian enclave. Immediately, a traffic warning signal blinked on Darrah’s panel, informing him to divert around the airspace over the area. Of course, as a law officer Darrah could have legally entered the zone without needing any of the clearances required of a civilian flyer, but without a good cause he would find himself up on charges for doing so.

Pivoting the aircraft so that he could watch the enclave roll by, Darrah studied the sprawl of the oval patch of thermoconcrete with its hard-edged structures. It had none of the poetry of Bajoran architecture; all the Cardassian buildings were squat and functional, hugging the ground, glittering dully in the daylight. What open areas there were within the outer fences were covered with wide smartplastic pavilions and bubbletents. In his dealings with the Cardassians and the Oralians—he found himself thinking of them that way, as two separate entities—Darrah had often been inside the enclave, but he had always felt he didn’t know the full extent of it. The space had grown in five years from the original square of land a few hundred tessipates in size, but the aliens seemed careful not to encroach toward Korto. The farmers whose plainsland fields they had purchased were happy to sell up, gaining a lifetime’s worth of money in one transaction, doubtless moving to the coast, where the weather was always fine and they didn’t have to grub in the dirt for a living.

The Korto Enclave was the first and it was the largest Cardassian holding on the planet; but it wasn’t the only one. The aliens had brought a new kind of prosperity with them, and several city-states were only too pleased to follow the model of Korto in order to have a taste of it. Qui’al, Kubus Oak’s district, had a sizable outpost; so did Tamulna, Hathon, Gallitep, and Karnoth, with the latest zone currently being laid down in Tozhat. Oralian pilgrim ships and Cardassian freighters were a common sight over Bajor, the reptilian shapes of the vessels moving in and out of the docking bays at the Cemba commerce station in high orbit. At the corner of his eye, Darrah saw a shape moving in the sky, dropping toward the port in Korto: a Cardassian cargo lighter. The aliens had been pressing the council of ministers for a while about Bajor’s customs regulations, citing the need to bring their ships straight down to the enclaves instead of passing through local port security. Darrah remained firm on that issue, as did a lot of the ministers in the capital; but he knew that nothing would prevent the aliens from using matter transporters to simply beam materials to the surface if they wished to. And what might they want to deliver that they don’t want us to see?

He shook off the grim thought and angled the nose of the flyer toward the eastern horizon.

Lonnic Tomo’s gaze drifted up to the observation galleries above the forum’s floor, and she was surprised to see there was hardly anyone up there. Certainly, she’d expected there to be correspondents from the media services, but instead there were only a few official faces, security personnel and the like. On her level, in the center of the triangular space that was the focus of the Chamber of Ministers, Kubus Oak was gesturing and talking in that hard-edged, gruff voice of his. Security had been tightened once again, and Lonnic wondered if he was disappointed his performance would not be broadcast planetwide. To say that Kubus enjoyed the glare of publicity was an understatement; he basked in it, and he knew how to use it to his advantage, unlike her employer, who sat quietly before her between Kalem Apren, the minister for Hedrikspool, and the young Militia officer Jaro Essa. Jas Holza kept his own counsel more and more these days. At times Lonnic felt they were just drifting, going where the winds of Bajor’s politicking took them.

“Five years,” Kubus said, the glimmer of a smile on his lips.

“Hardly the smallest blink of time when measured against the great legacy of our civilization’s history. And yet, in that small span, so much has happened to change the way that Bajor sees her place in the universe.” He spread his hands. “I’m not afraid to say that we were in danger of becoming insular. Inward-looking and stagnant. But the Union trade alliance we forged and the clergy’s historic enclave partnership brought new understanding to our planet.”

Kubus walked toward the apex of the triangle, to the short bench where the First Minister and his adjutants sat. Lit from behind by a single thin window that let in Bajor’s daylight, Lale Usbor was the picture of studious, careful thought. He was nodding in all the right places, giving exactly the right impression at exactly the right time. How such an unremarkable man ever made it to that high office I’ll never know.But that was a lie; Lonnic didknow. Lale became First Minister after Verin Kolek’s landslide defeat, and that had been on the back of the pro-expansionist, pro-openness, pro-Cardassian factions guided by Kubus, Jas, and the ministers swayed by the bright-eyed words of Kai Meressa.

Lonnic’s eyes fell on the woman, seated across the forum with several other figures from the Vedek Assembly. Five years, and the time had not been kind to the kai. The vital and passionate priest that Lonnic remembered from the Korto Enclave’s dedication ceremony was a shadow of her former self, pale and drawn, in robes that seemed to swamp her. Once in a while, she would speak and there would be flashes of the old Meressa, but for the most part the kai allowed her adjutant Ranjen Arin to speak for the church. Lonnic looked away. Yerrin syndrome was an uncommon illness and it didn’t kill you all at once. Meressa had promised to continue to fulfill her role as kai for as long as she was able, and for that at least Lonnic was thankful. She couldn’t imagine someone like Arin taking her place. He was too easily swayed by the currents of popular opinion.

“Can anyone deny that our stronger relationship with our Cardassian neighbors has notbeen beneficial?” Kubus was asking. “The aftermath of the hurricanes that struck Musilla Province last year would have claimed many more lives, if not for the advanced medical technology our first responders now possess. We have new sensing systems. Cardassian-designed warp cores give our starships greater reach.”

A man with a shock of dark hair and a thick brow made a derisive noise in the back of his throat; it wasn’t loud, but in the clear air of the chamber it was enough for everyone in the room to hear it. Kubus paused and turned to face the other politician. “Minister Keeve Falor seems to have something to say,” he said, with an arch sniff.

Keeve. Lonnic had heard the man speak several times and had been impressed by his directness and refusal to compromise. She might have been able to admit that she admired the minister a little, if not for the fact that he had become a persistent thorn in the side of the pro-alliance factions. Keeve embodied the character of many ordinary Bajorans, the son of a merchant who had married into a higher D’jarraand used his connections to get him elected to public office. He was a staunch nationalist, adamant that Bajor should be free to choose its own future unfettered by alien influences. Kubus liked to paint his opponent as a reactionary in the mold of former First Minister Verin, as a borderline xenophobe, but in reality Keeve was nothing so unsophisticated.

“You say Bajor has benefited, Minister Kubus,” Keeve replied, “but perhaps it would be more honest to say that the city of Qui’al, the Kubus clan, and their allies have benefited the most. Those technologies of which you speak, yes, they did help our people at Musilla, but where were they during the mine collapse at Undalar? What good did swifter ships do for the colonists who were forced to abandon the Golana settlement?” Lonnic saw Jas stiffen at the last statement, but her employer said nothing. Keeve continued. “Perhaps these circumstances were not given greater priority because they were not interests of yours.”

“Minister Keeve,” said Lale. “That is quite an inflammatory statement. I would be careful to cast such aspersions in this august forum. The issues behind the Undalar accident and the withdrawal from Golana are well documented, and they had nothing to do with Minister Kubus.”

“That, sir,” Keeve said tightly, “is a matter of perspective.”

For an instant, Lonnic’s attention was drawn away by someone moving in the gallery. She saw Darrah Mace enter and take a seat next to another man in a Militia uniform.

“Commander Jekko,” Darrah said quietly, giving the other officer’s hand a firm shake. “Are you well?”