Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

In the halls of the embassy of the Cardassian Union there was a skeleton crew on duty on the upper levels, soldiers guarding the doors to keep the place secure, but no staff members at the checkpoints or on the office tiers. All of them were a dozen levels below, in the emergency bunker along with the command staff and Jagul Kell himself. All of them but Rhan Ico.

The embassy was replete with protected chambers, a monument to the Cardassian obsession with paranoia and security, but the room that Ico stood in was the most secure of them all, constructed to tolerances and designs that were so secret no living being had a hand in fabricating them. It existed on no plans for the building; there was no door, so access was only via a hidden transporter; it had nothing to connect it to the outside world. The machine-manufactured room was a module that, like the rest of the building, had been made whole on Cardassia and shipped to Bajor to be beamed into place. The walls were laced with complex circuits that could defeat a million kinds of listening devices and sensors. Ico had even heard rumors that the panels contained a bio-neural matrix based on cultured Vulcan brain tissue, which could fog penetration by telepaths. She was confident that no one on the planet could know what was going on in here.

The folded-space transporter unit before her completed its phase-shift cycle with a hiss of displaced molecules and commenced the reintegration process. Inside the sealed receptor capsule a shape began to take form, and she pressed her hand to the transparent wall of the pod. A cool smile unfolded on Ico’s lips. It was a genuine emotion on her part, a rare thing for the woman. Certainly, it was not something she would have exhibited in the presence of anyone else. But here, in the room, she was utterly alone, and so she could drop her pretense for a short time. It was, in its way, refreshing.

The transporter completed its work, and the capsule opened to her. Ico reached in and ran a hand over the careworn wooden case that lay inside. Intricate scrollwork in an ancient Bajoran ideogram script framed the planes of the box, looping around convex oval lenses set in the sides of the container. The carved wood was warm to the touch. For long moments Ico’s fingers dithered over the small iron latch on the front of the container. The glow of the object inside the ark cast a honeyed illumination that scintillated, compelling her to open it.

“And this is what drove Hadlo to his folly,” she said to the air. Ico smirked and pushed aside any thoughts forming in her mind that she might actually give in to the same curiosity. Instead, she gathered up the box and placed it inside a padded cargo container, pausing only to seal it with a beam tool and tag it with an encrypted transporter locater. “The first of many,” Ico said to herself.

A faint rumble made her look up at the ceiling. The bombardment of Dahkur had started. She returned to her work, secure in the knowledge that she was in no danger.

The Cardassian warships dropped out of warp inside the orbit of Jeraddo, shedding velocity in flares of rainbow radiation. The maneuver, like every other event in the sequence, was a precisely timed, perfectly choreographed display to present the right image to the Bajoran ships still drifting damaged inside visual range. Their firing grids pulsing, the Kashaiand the Daikonfell toward the Tzenkethi marauder like swooping raptors. Disruptor bursts arced through the vacuum around the teardrop starship, flashing off the force shields.

“Phase three initiated,” said the glinn, gripping the helm console as the marauder shook under the impacts.

The thought had crossed Dukat’s mind that if Ico or Kell or any one of a dozen other enemies he had made wished to end his existence, this was an opportune moment for him to do so. All that was needed was someone able to exercise the right amount of influence over Dalin Tunol, to have her turn her aim away from showy near-hits to a direct shot at the Tzenkethi command tier; but Dukat was not concerned. He had picked Tunol for her loyalty and her intelligence. The woman had placed her banner by Dukat’s because she knew the kind of man he was. Driven and ruthless, and in the Union such an officer would make his mark or die trying. He had known Tunol was of the same stripe from the moment she was assigned to his vessel.

The ship rocked again, and a plasma conduit ruptured across the bridge, spitting sparks and white gas. “Are the charges set?” demanded the dal.

The glinn nodded. “Countdown is under way, sir. Awaiting your final orders.”

“Disengage from ground attack mode and return fire. Simulate damage to the targeting sensors. I don’t want any serious hits on either craft.” He got to his feet and tapped his comcuff. “This is the dal. Operations team, secure stations and gather at the designated transport points. You have one metric, mark.”

“Next run, incoming,” The glinn was pale; the prospect of taking fire clearly didn’t agree with her.

“Drop the shields after the first volley.” Dukat watched the time dwindle on his chrono. “Make it look like a cascade failure.”

A blue light on his bracelet blinked once, twice. Tunol’s signal.The tingle of a matter transporter prickled his skin as clouds of orange energy snatched away the Cardassian crew, making the ship lifeless for the second time.

The Kashairolled away from the marauder, spitting energy bolts as it veered off. The Tzenkethi ship, suddenly ponderous and wallowing with none of the agility it had exhibited before, spun a lazy turn as if it were making a halfhearted attempt to place its main gun on the light cruiser.

It was the Daikonthat dealt the blow that signaled the end of the marauder’s performance. Concentrating every iota of energy in the ship’s spiral-wave disruptors, the Cardassian vessel ripped into the Tzenkethi fuselage, tearing away great divots of hull metal. Something critical failed inside the marauder; in the space of a microsecond orange spheres of explosive detonation appeared in the spaceframe at the bow, the stern, in the warp core, in the central tiers. The Daikonveered away as the Tzenkethi ship became a tiny, fleeting sun, an expanding ball of flame consuming the marauder and the secrets that it had so briefly concealed.

Tunol climbed out of the Kashai’s command chair and surrendered it to Dukat, but the dal waved her away. He had come straight to the bridge without pausing to throw off his environmental suit, and he had no wish to take his place unless he was in a proper duty uniform; but he wanted to see the Tzenkethi ship die, and there it was on the main viewer, consuming itself in fire.

“Mission accomplished,” said Tunol, with the hint of a grin.

“A performance worthy of the grand theater itself,” Dukat replied. “You played your part well.”

Tunol nodded. “The transporter signatures were masked beneath the discharges from the Daikon’s weapons. Any sensors directed toward the engagement from the planet’s surface or the surviving ships will see nothing to contradict the evidence of their own eyes.” Tunol’s grin returned. “A dangerous invader, brought down by Bajor’s bold comrades in the Cardassian Union.”

“Misdirection,” mused the commander. “What the eye sees and the ear hears, the mind believes.” He could see that Tunol wanted to ask him why,she wanted to know more. Dukat knew she was intelligent enough to piece together the reasoning behind the mission by herself, but now was not the time to bring her deeper into the circle he had forged with Ico and Kell. He grimaced. No. That alliance was made in order to bring this to pass, and now it is done. I have no more need of it.

Dukat left the bridge for his duty room, turning his back on the screen, the flaming wreck, and beyond it, a scarred and terrified Bajor bleeding from ugly wounds across its landscape. The hatch closed behind him, granting him privacy to discard the environmental suit.

The deception was complete. Dukat detached his thick gloves and stared down at the gray skin of his bare hands. I have steeped myself in the blood of thousands of Bajorans,he told himself. How many of their deaths now lie at my feet, how many in the prosecution of this duty have I taken?

He took a breath. “Necessity has a price,” he said to the empty room, “and one day, they will thank me.” Dukat found his chair and sat down, nodding at the rightness of his words. “What I have done today was as much for Bajor as it was for Cardassia.”

Darrah brought the flyer in over the city low and fast, banking and turning to avoid heavy clouds of black smoke and the thermals from burning buildings. Many of the elevated highways and tramlines were broken or toppled off their piers, and the streets were choked with rubble and the shifting masses of people. He saw automated fire tenders dodging back and forth, spraying retardants over the worst infernos, but there was so much destruction, it seemed almost pointless for them to try.

The pattern of the firestorm was strange; some parts of the city had been left untouched by the bombardment, city blocks and tenements standing without injury next to blackened canyons scored through the residential district. Sunlight, where it made it through the cowl of smoke, glittered and flashed off broken glass lying in drifts through the streets. The ornamental park near the orphanage was a smoldering patch of black ruin, the aviary domes cracked open like mouths of broken teeth; the devotional tower in the dressmaker’s district had broken along its length; there was a heap of metal spines and dull flakes of drywall where the night market was supposed to be. Every scene of devastation bled into another.

Darrah felt cold, chilled to his very core. The sights that lay before him were unreal; he had to struggle to process what he had seen. The city– his city—and the streets he had grown up in, that only a day ago he had walked upon, were passing beneath him shattered and thick with ash.

The falling plasma blasts, dropping from the heavens like the spears of a vengeful god; it was as if it were happening at a great distance from him, like a dream. I will wake and this will all be a phantom. I am in bed with Karys and none of this has taken place. Prophets, please, make that the truth and this horror the lie.

In the copilot’s seat Proka was hunched forward with a hand communicator pressed to his ear, breathing hard and cursing under his breath. The constable was working the dial on the channel selector, skipping across the emergency frequencies. “They hit targets in Lonar as well. Even got some shots as far east as Dahkur.” He was grim with the import of his words. Darrah could just about hear the tinny wail of a distant voice crying over the link into Proka’s ear. The lawman shifted the frequency dial back to the local channels.

Darrah tried not to listen. He tried to stay in the here and now, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know the full extent of the attack. Both men had seen the blaze in the sky, the day-sun that had guttered and died far above them. The invaders were gone, but the shock wave they had created would continue to echo around Bajor for hours, days, years.

Proka repeated what he was hearing. “Kendra…The monastery is gone, totally obliterated. Most of the residents got out, but many are missing and presumed dead. The shrine was buried…” He blanched. “They’re saying…They’re saying that the Orb of Truth was destroyed.”

Gar Osen’s face flashed through Darrah’s thoughts. “I shouldn’t have taken him back there.”

“He might have made it out,” Proka offered, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“I shouldn’t have left him.” Darrah went hot with anger.

“I shouldn’t have left any of them!”He wrenched the controls around, sweeping though a bank of wood smoke, and threw the flyer toward the residential districts along the hillside road. His house stood out among the others, among the buildings with their broken windows and wind-ravaged roofs. The lawman’s heart leapt; the buildings showed only the signs of shock damage and none of the awful effects of the firestorms and plasma strikes.

Darrah put the flyer down on the ash-coated road and threw off his safety restraints.

“Boss, what are you doing?” said Proka.

“Get out of here,” Darrah snapped at him, and he vaulted out of the hatch toward the ruined fascia of his home.

The oval front door was halfway down the entrance hall, where it had been blown off its hinges. There were fans of glass radiating out from every window facing toward the ruined city. He saw streaks of blood, still fresh on the wall, and Darrah’s throat tightened, silencing him. He had come across sights of violence and destruction over and over throughout his career, in crime scenes all across Korto, but the calm and professional detachment that he fell into there was lost to him. This was hishome, it was the sight of an atrocity that had bled in from the city, a crime on a scale so large it was beyond him to deal with it.

He couldn’t bring himself to call out the names of his wife and children; he was too afraid to do it, for fear that his only reply would be silence. The blood! The blood on the wall, whose is it?Karys’s, Bajin’s, or Nell’s? Was one of them up ahead in a room, or sprawled out in the yard, knifed by a piece of flying debris?

“Hello!” He shouted it out, finding the strength to push the word out of his trembling lips. “Who’s there?”

He entered the kitchen just as Nell called back to him. In the shambles of the room they were all there, frozen in a tableau. Every detail of the moment etched into Darrah’s mind like acid burning steel, fixing the image: Nell, an adhesive bandage covering her cheek, red dots spotting across the shoulder of her white cotton dress, the streaking of dirty tears down her perfect little face; Bajin, shocked into silence at the far door, two bags stuffed with clothes in his arms, his expression ragged with fear; and then Karys.

His wife exploded toward him, and she hit Mace hard across the cheek, the slap stinging him with the force of the impact. He recoiled, not so much from the attack as from the look of pure fury on her face. Karys swore at him and threw another swipe, but he caught her wrist. She spat and tore away from his grip, shoving him back with the heel of her free hand. “Bastard!”The word was caustic.

“Karys, you’re all right, I—”

“Shut up!” she bellowed. “Don’t speak to me! Don’t say anything, you don’t have the right to say anything to us!” Karys gathered up Nell, as the girl started to cry. “You left us here alone!”

Mace swallowed a gasp of breath. “I had to…The minister’s family, we had to get them to safety…” The words sounded weak in his ears. “No, it’s just…I didn’t know this was going to happen.” He cast around at the destruction. “I never would have—”

His wife cut him off with a savage glare. “You left us here, Darrah Mace.” Ice gripped his heart. “You put your job before your family, like you did before, like you always do!”

“I didn’t know this was coming!” he shouted back at her. “You have to believe me!”

She was retreating away from him, taking Nell and moving to Bajin and the bags. Mace read the intentions in her expression before she said another word, and he shook his head. Karys nodded tearfully, denying him. “Yes, Mace, oh yes. We can’t stay here anymore. We’re leaving.”

He took a desperate step toward her. “Where can you go?” he cried. “The city is in chaos, there are thousands of frightened people out on the streets! You think it will be any better in Ashalla with your mother?”

“I’m not going to Ashalla,” she snapped back at him.

“I told you before, I can’t live here. Ships will be leaving.” Karys was guiding the children to the door, and Mace felt his heart tearing open as Nell and Bajin followed their mother, casting sad and piteous looks toward him.

“I’ll come with you,” he said desperately.

“No,” she shot back. “You’ve let us down too many times. I’m leaving, Mace. I’m going to the Valo colony.”

Everything Mace had been terrified of losing he had found safe, only to have it snatched from him. “Karys, please!”The pleading became a shout that made the children flinch.

On the threshold of the broken doorway, his wife threw a harsh glare at the wounded city beyond. “You care more about Korto than us, you always have. Now you can keep it.”

They left him there, mute among the ruins.

17

When the central tower of the Naghai Keep had been constructed, the level below the battlements was known simply as the upper hall. An open space, studded with pillars supporting the roof and the ramparts above, in the days of the Republics it had been where the lord of the castle held his court, the high arched windows that ringed the room allowing him to look out over the region and see the breadth of his realm. In the centuries since that time, the upper hall had been used for many other things, but today it had turned back to some echo of its original purpose. In a mirror of the layout in Ashalla’s Chamber of Ministers, a triad of tables were set out across the room, and Lale Usbor sat in the spot where Jas Holza’s great-great-great-grandfather had once held domain. Several of the chairs were empty, in memorial to the men and women who had perished in the attacks.

The windows had been replaced only days earlier, and in some places the old polished wood of the floors was still scored where shock wave damage had ripped the aged surface. There was nowhere outside the keep where one could look and not see the devastation wrought in the aftermath of the Tzenkethi incursion. Behind Lale was the main mass of Korto, the proud spires and glittering domes broken and wounded. Here and there floater platforms from Cardassian military engineering squads dithered over sites of importance: the power station, the water purification plant, the central hospice. It had been raining earlier in the day, and the smell of dead fires was heavy in the air. The rainfall sluiced down in streaks of gray, tainted by the ashes that had been thrown into the sky. It would be months before the atmosphere worked the effluent from the attack out of its system; for now, each time it rained, it was a fresh reminder of the assault on their world.

Jas studied the city and felt within for some kind of emotional reaction to the wrecked vista; he could bring back only a cold fury, a detachment to the sight he saw before him. In the weeks since the attack, the deadness had grown worse. In moments of privacy, he had been able to conjure some flashes of emotion when Lonnic Tomo’s face was there in his thoughts, but for the most part Jas was consumed by a dark, numbing anger. He saw the same feeling reflected in the faces of other ministers, those of them who weren’t too afraid to step outside of their homes, or who flocked like whipped children to the sides of Kell and the Cardassians when they arrived with repair crews and emergency relief supplies, pathetic in their gratitude. They were a microcosm of Bajor as a whole. The people were torn between two polar sentiments: a fierce mixture of furious anger and dull shock at the murderous lethality of the attacks; and, in lesser numbers, a gratefulness toward the Cardassians who had put themselves in harm’s way in order to destroy the Tzenkethi invaders. Resentment was on every street, the hard need for retribution burning in the eyes of every man and woman.

With the Chamber in Ashalla sealed closed while engineers worked to make the old building safe, the First Minister had chosen the Naghai Keep for the site of this assembly so that everyone could look out and see the harsh realities of the matters they were here to debate. Jas took his seat, pausing for just a moment to rest a hand on the empty chair to his right. He had yet to name a replacement for Lonnic as his adjutant.

“The Tzenkethi Coalition has formally stated that they did not order the bombing of the Lhemoror the attack on Bajor,” said Jagul Kell, arching his hands over the table. A wave of derision followed his statement. Jas watched the Cardassian carefully. Offworlders had been granted access to the assemblies many times in the past, but today was the first time that an alien had been given formal permission by the chamber to take part in the debate. Kell sat at the benches as if he were a minister, and Lale was giving the man the same degree of respect and consideration he would give any Bajoran official. It was unprecedented, and yet no one had been able to stir up a majority to prevent Lale’s introduction of the alien. Kell let the reactions of the ministers fade before continuing. “The statement is, as I warned you, exactly what we expected. Furthermore, they state that any such attacks, if they were indeed committed by Tzenkethi citizens, were the exploits of renegades and therefore beyond their control.”

“They lie to our faces?” spat a minister from Hedrikspool.

“Do they take us for fools?”

“Finally,” Kell concluded, “the Coalition’s governing body wished it to be known that they will consider any attempt by Cardassian or Bajoran citizens to take reprisals against Tzenkethi property or nationals as an act of war, and they will retaliate in kind.”

The minister banged the table with a balled fist. “War?They started this! These creatures attack us and then make threats? We should blast them from space!”

“Minister,” said Lale, cutting off the other man. “We all feel as strongly as you do. Everyone on Bajor has lost a friend or a family member in the cowardly attacks four weeks ago. We all want to see a price paid for that violation, but I called this session of ministers to Korto for a reason.” He pointed out of the window. “This city was the first to be struck. It is a symbol of the great hurt done to Bajor. Look at it.” There was a moment of silence as all the ministers did as Lale asked them. “Even with the help from our Cardassian friends, this city and the other settlements that were struck, at Janir and elsewhere—all of them need our every effort to rebuild. So I ask you, do we direct our energies to seeking revenge or to ensuring that we have clean water and shelter for those who were fortunate enough to survive the attacks? Do we bury our dead and sing the chants for them or do we let their spirits falter while we take up arms?” The last question was directed to the priests gathered at one end of the triangle. Vedek Arin nodded sagely at Lale’s words.

“And what if another attack comes?” Kubus Oak’s words carried down the length of the hall. “How will we defend against it?”

Lale laid his hands flat on the table. “Bajor must heal before she can unsheathe her sword,” he replied firmly. “I will not set this world down a path to conflict with an enemy we do not even know, without first staunching the wounds we have suffered!”

Kubus nodded. “There is merit in your words, First Minister. A battle joined in the heat of passion offers the chance for mistakes. If the Tzenkethi that attacked us were indeed renegades, we would make a new enemy of the Coalition.”

“Precisely,” said Lale. “And that is something we cannot afford. No, even though the desire for reprisal burns in all of us, we cannot…we mustnot act rashly.” He glanced toward General Coldri. The officer was still wearing a healing patch across his face, the result of an injury suffered during the Tzenkethi attack. “Our last attempts to do so may have led us to this place. We must tread carefully.”

Kell cleared his throat. “The Cardassian Union will gladly assist the people of Bajor.”

For the first time, Keeve Falor spoke up. He had been watching the unfolding conversations with a fixed grimace. “How will you do that, Jagul Kell? I would very much like to know.”

The Cardassian inclined his head in a nod, ignoring the open challenge in the other man’s words. “My people died in the bombing and during the attacks, Minister Keeve, and that makes this a matter for the Union as much as one for Bajor. Your planet is vulnerable,” he said, “and as Minister Kubus stated, while you go about the important task of rebuilding, who will defend you?” Kell gestured toward Coldri and Jaro Essa, who glowered back at him. “The majority of your Space Guard flotilla is spread thinly across your colonial holdings, and many of the ships based near Bajor are in dry dock or incapable of meeting another attack.”

“If another attack comes, we will fight to the last man,” grated Coldri. Jas heard the tension in the general’s voice. Coldri felt the responsibility for the aftermath of the attack, and he burned with the ignominy of his failure to prevent it.

“To the last man,” repeated Kubus, “and what then? Bajor will be open to more assaults, worse than before.” He shook his head. “No. Pride has kept us from this for too long, and now we are paying the price for it.”

Lale nodded. “Minister Kubus is correct. That is why today I propose an advancement into our partnership with our friends from Cardassia. I will accept Jagul Kell’s offer of military support to bolster the security of the Bajor system.”

“A squadron of Galor-class warships and attendant support,” Kell said smoothly. “Enough to react to any threat across the B’hava’el system in a matter of moments.”

Jas blinked. More Cardassians? Can that be right?He glanced around, and to his shock, he saw that almost all of his fellow ministers were nodding in agreement with Lale’s words. It was only Keeve Falor who looked on grim-faced and defiant.

“Kubus,” said Lale, “you have offered some of your holdings on the moon Derna as a site for the squadron to deploy a command outpost?”

The minister nodded. “I have—” but he was cut off as Jaro Essa stood up abruptly.

“A military base?” The major’s normally stoic expression cracked. “First Minister, are you actually proposing that we grant an alien government the right to establish a military facility not just within the boundaries of our star system, but on a satellite of the homeworld itself?” He shook his head. “Do you expect the Militia to accept this diminishment of our authority without protest?”

Lale’s voice hardened. “What I expect,Major Jaro, is that the Militia will do exactly what the Chamber of Ministers orders them to do. This is a democracy, not a military dictatorship, and we will do what is right for Bajor. The pride of the Militia is a consideration that comes a very distant second.”

“This is a mistake!” Jaro snapped, glaring at Kell.

“It is,” growled Keeve, unable to remain silent any longer. “I am in agreement with the major. How can we conscience this?” he demanded. “Lale, you are giving an alien navy a foothold at our very door! Have you learned nothing these past weeks?”

“The Cardassians saved our planet from destruction,” Kubus retorted. “Without their intervention, the Tzenkethi ship would have laid waste to every settlement, not just a handful! This mutual defense pact will strengthen our world! The Tzenkethi won’t dare attack us again if they know we have the Union on our side. And when we are ready to seek reprisals—”

“No!” Keeve slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, and the sound was so loud it made Jas jerk back in surprise. “I reject this idiocy, in the name of my clan and my place in this ministry! I will not place my name to this proposal, I deny it.”

“On a matter of this import there must be consensus,” Lale warned. “If you reject this, Falor, you will have no voice in the assembly.”

Keeve shoved away the chair behind him and strode into the middle of the hall. Jas saw his adjutant and the keep’s watchmen react with concern; the minister’s rage was so towering it seemed very possible he might strike Lale. “What assembly?” he roared, casting around. “Do you mean this pathetic rabble of frightened, cowed children? Month after month I have sat here and watched the erosion of Bajor’s government under the slow greed and self-interest of men like you!” He stabbed a finger at Lale, at Kubus, and the First Minister’s most vocal supporters. “What have you done but sell our world piecemeal to these aliens?” He rounded on Kell, but the Cardassian was impassive. “Their so-called enclaves in every city, their soldiers and priests infesting our streets, trampling over our culture, our women?It is Cardassians that are leading the rape of our lands with mining and overfarming to feed their planets, it is the Cardassians that brought the Tzenkethi to our world, and what do you do?” He turned back to Lale. “Will you give them Bajor?” He shook his head, his rage ebbing like the tide. “I…I will not remain here to see my homeworld become nothing more than another annexed colony of the Cardassian Union. Do any of you have the courage to stand with me?”

Keeve’s gaze fell on Jas, and he felt his heart shrink in his chest. His jaw worked, but no words emerged. He broke out in a cold sweat, cursing himself for his weakness once again. His eyes fell to the table, and his hands spread upon it. Ashes and blood,he told himself, so much and yet so little has stained me.

“I thought as much,” Keeve said, after a moment. He looked away and addressed the room with a bleak ferocity.

“You will, all of you, live to regret the choices you make here today.” The politician turned his back on the hall and strode out of the door, never looking back.

There was a long silence before Lale spoke again, his usual tone of neutrality once again in place. “If there are no more comments from the floor, then I move we call for a consensus on the matter of the extended military pact with the Cardassian Union.”

Keeve Falor glanced to his side as Jekko caught up with him, concern plain on the face of his adjutant. “Sir…” began the man, rubbing at his thin beard.

“Where is my family?” Keeve cut in.

“On the ship, sir. The baggage as well. The freighter’s captain told me he’s ready to break orbit the moment you come aboard. He’ll have you at Valo II in a couple of days.”

“Good.” Keeve nodded, striding out of the keep and across the courtyard. “I’ll take the shuttle straight there from the port.”