Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

“Sir,” Jekko began again, “what you just did—”

Keeve halted and looked the other man in the eye. The snarling fury the politician had demonstrated in the hall was gone now, and in its place was a cold, controlled manner. “You think I was wrong to walk away? You think I made a mistake?”

Jekko shook his head. “I haven’t been in your service for a good decade and more because you’re the kind of man who makes mistakes, sir. Frankly, I don’t think Keeve Falor has ever made an ill-considered choice in his entire life.”

Keeve smiled slightly. “I’m flattered, Jekko.”

“But this…You were the only one who had the steel in you to stand up to Lale and Kubus and those spoonheads. Now you just walk away, and you let them have what they want? Where’s the sense in that?” He leaned closer. “I trust you, sir, but you have to explain it to me. How does running make this right?”

Keeve’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never run from anything,” he said firmly. “But only a fool fights a battle he can’t win.” He jerked his chin at the keep. “You’ve seen how it is in there. Lale has the scared ones scared and the greedy ones bought. Even the men who might stand up for something are so beaten down they can’t straighten their backs anymore.” He shook his head. “No. If I stay here, I’m a threat. If the Cardassians can make this happen, they won’t give pause to removing me or my family or my whole damn clan.”

“The Cardassians?” repeated Jekko. “But it was the Tzenkethi who attacked—”

“Perhaps,” said Keeve, “but the result was in the Union’s favor. As much as I hate to leave my homeworld in the care of cowards, I need distance. Valo II is far enough away to be safe. Out there, I might be able to do something to stem the tide of this insanity. On Bajor, I’m just a target.”

Jekko nodded slowly; he could see the logic of his master’s words. “The fight’s not over yet,” he said firmly. “Whatever Lale decides in there, the Vedek Assembly still has a considerable influence. The clergy could overturn his edict. It’s happened before.”

“Only in matters that affect the spiritual life of Bajor.”

“This doesn’t?” Jekko snorted. “It affects everyone on this planet, if they go to services or not! Kai Meressa won’t let it pass without comment.”

Keeve’s lips thinned. “The Kai…As much as I hate to say it, but I’m afraid she is in no position to oppose Vedek Arin. Her sickness grows worse, and the shock of the attacks has done little to aid her recovery.”

“She’s not with the Prophets yet,” Jekko insisted.

“Where there is life, there is hope.”

“I hope you’re right.” He put a hand on Jekko’s shoulder. “In the meantime, I need you to stay here after I depart. I’m putting you in charge of all the remaining Keeve clan holdings on the planet. I want you to be my eyes and ears…”

Jekko found himself nodding. “All right.”

“This isn’t the end of this, you understand me?” Keeve looked up into the sky and frowned. “This isn’t the end at all. There’s much worse to come.”

“They’re coming!”

Hadlo didn’t recognize the voice of the woman, but the raw panic of the cry was plain. In the corridors of the old cargo lighter, women and children in desert robes, men in penitent’s rags, and clerics in blues and yellows all mixed together in a screaming, frantic mass. The old priest had to use violence to get through their numbers, shoving them aside to make his way forward.

He fell hard as the ship rocked again with another impact, the metallic decking biting into his knees. There was a child’s scream and the wet snap of bone as a young boy broke a limb behind him. Hadlo did not stop to minister to him; there were matters of far greater import to deal with. He went on, adrenaline driving him, making his old muscles tight with pain.

Hellish light spilled in through the grimy portholes in the ceiling of the corridor, beyond them the sight of twisting, writhing hurricanes of yellow-gold energy. They were still inside the sector of space the crewmen called the Badlands, but the constant plasmatic storms had provided poor cover for the Oralians. In the hectic flight from Cardassia, they had not had the luxury of choosing the best men to ferry them. Two ships had been destroyed by the storms in the first day, streams of glowing fire consuming them when they ventured too close. The planetoids Hadlo had been told would serve the Oralians as a hiding place turned out to be barren and airless rocks, warrens of stone that had no functioning life support, no shielding from the constant flood of radiation that bathed everything in the Badlands.

It had been Hadlo’s choice to stay on the ships, in the ragged flotilla of transports that were all they could muster. His choice—just as it had been his choice to leave countless adherents to the faith behind when the ships had been filled. The cleric saw their faces in the people around him, when he closed his eyes, every night in his dreams. He saw them through the portholes, watching as the last ship lifted off, leaving them to the mercy of a military that had named all of them dissidents and terrorists.

Hadlo pushed on, batting away hands that grabbed at his robes, ignoring the pleading cries. The compartment was just a little farther away.

Red light blazed through the windows and tore a scream from the refugees. He glanced up and saw dying energies falling back on themselves, consuming the gunmetal cylinders of the big bulk tanker; there had been at least seven hundred Oralians on board that ship.

The cleric couldn’t see the vessels that had fired the killing shots, and he tore himself away, moving again, pushing and snarling at the living tide around him. At last he was at the hatch and he forced it open. Hadlo closed the door behind him and sank to the floor just as another blast buffeted the lighter.

He dragged himself into the chair before the communications console, his hands shaking. How did they find us?The question rolled through his mind. The Badlands are an uncharted wilderness…This cannot be chance…The answer brought a sour taste to his mouth. Betrayal, then! Someone sold our lives for their own! Of course!One of the ship crews perhaps, or an Oralian who had fallen from the Way and lost faith.

Hadlo tried to work the controls, but his hands were shaking. In his nostrils there was the stink of ashes and blood, and he felt a sudden rasping tightness around his feet and ankles. He did not dare look down for fear of seeing the vipers coiling around him. “The vision!” he cried. The dream granted to him by the Orb was returning again.

Reality hazed and flowed like rain across a windowpane. Rough caresses over his legs and bare feet, a touch like old dry parchment. The snakes burying him, ashes and fire and the wind like razors, the screaming hooded faces—

Hadlo slammed his hands on the console and shouted, “No! Oralius, I beg you! We cannot perish unknown in this place! I must…I must be heard!” The cleric punched at the controls, fear robbing him of reason. “Bennek! Bennek, do you hear me?” He stabbed at the transmit key. Nothing but snarling static answered him, and the ship howled as more shots struck it. Lights flickered as the power trembled toward darkness.

He dropped to his knees. There would be no worse fate than this one, he realized. To die unrecorded and unremembered, all that he had done for his faith swept away in a plume of nuclear fire. I will not die in silence! I must be heard!

“Oralius… Oralius?”He shouted the name. “Prophets! Do you hear me? Have you all abandoned me? My love is for you both—”

“There are no gods here, Hadlo.”

The voice made the cleric jerk back with fear. “W-who?”

Laced with interference, the words hissed from the communicator console. “It took me a while to find you, Hadlo. But I told you this day would come, do you remember?”

He scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the porthole in the wall of the lighter’s hull. Outside he saw two shapes moving slowly, circling the vessel: Cardassian warships. “Dukat?” Hadlo said the name like a curse.

“You are no more use to Cardassia, priest. Your gods have forsaken you. Your faith will not protect you.”Hadlo could almost see the smile.

“No!” He lunged at the console. “The Way is eternal, it cannot be destroyed! You must not do this, Dukat! The path to the fire and the burning cities, this will bring that to pass! I have seen it, I know the future—”

But the signal had already ceased, and outside a salvo of disruptor bolts reached down to tear the freighter apart.

It was a simple memorial, one among hundreds of others. There were funerals taking place every day in a dozen cities, and even as Darrah bent to run his fingers over the arc of Lonnic’s headstone, the sounds of ritual chants reached him from across the ornamental gardens. In a moment of open grief, Jas Holza had ordered that part of the keep’s grounds be consecrated as a place of rest. Markers had sprouted up overnight, and here in this eastern corner there were places for those who had perished in the reprisal fleet at Ajir. Nearby a woman and a young dark-haired boy stood holding duranjalamps in front of the stone etched with Li Tarka’s name. The woman was crying, but the look on the boy’s face was firm with determination as he laid a prayer paper at the foot of the arch.

Darrah rested his hand on the sun-warmed stone and thought of Lonnic Tomo. One more loss among so many.He took a breath, and it shuddered through him.

“Sorry about your friend.” Syjin put his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable to be among the dead.

Darrah stood. “Thanks.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Why are you here?”

Syjin nodded at another arch. “Paying my respects, like you. The engineer on the Kylenused to crew with me.” He blew out a breath.

“I didn’t bring any papers,” Darrah said quietly. “Didn’t come here to see Tomo, really. I want to talk to Osen.” He jerked a thumb at the keep behind them.

“They made him a vedek, I heard.”

“Yeah. A lot of priests died when the monastery fell, Cotor and a lot of others. Arin had Gar pushed up the ranks to fill the gaps.” He sniffed. “But now he’s got duties, what with the monks from Kendra being rehoused at the keep for the interim…”

“And he doesn’t have time to talk to an old friend?”

“Yeah.” Darrah nodded again. Gar’s refusal to even see the inspector wasn’t like him. He thought about that stormy night again, of Gar’s wild claims. It was one more element of a growing disquiet that hung around the lawman like a cowl of smoke.

Syjin kicked at a loose stone. “Listen, uh, Mace. It’s best you hear this from me before someone else tells you. I don’t want you to get mad or anything, okay?”

Darrah looked up at him and said nothing.

“Karys and the cubs? It was me, okay? She came to me and she asked me to take them to the colony on Valo II. I didn’t put the idea into her head or anything, but I got them offplanet.”

A flare of anger burned bright and then died just as quickly. “No. It’s all right. I’m glad it was you. You don’t need to be sorry. I feel better knowing it was someone trustworthy who did it. Thank you.”

“Trustworthy.” Syjin smiled a little. “That’s not a term many apply to me.” The smile faded. “She cried all the way there, you know. She wasn’t doing it out of hate. It’s just…I don’t think she can take it here anymore, and she’s not the only one. People are leaving in droves.” The pilot sighed. “Look, I’m taking some more folks out in a couple of days. There’s space for you as well, Mace. Just pack a bag and come. You could patch things up, you’re a smart guy. You could—”

“I can’t,” Darrah said quietly. “I want to, but I can’t.” He looked up and out over the city. “I can’t leave all this undone, Syjin. Something’s wrong here. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure of it.”

The pilot gave a bitter laugh. “Sure it’s wrong! Bajor’s being pulled apart around us. But we’re just ordinary men. What can we do but get out while we still can?”

Darrah shook his head. “I’m not going to walk away from this. The attacks, the Cardassians, it’s all converging. I can see it in the air. Someone has to follow this as far as it goes.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

He shot Syjin a look. “Because who else is going to do it? I can’t follow Karys to Valo knowing this is behind me.”

“She won’t wait forever,” said the other man, after a long moment.

“I know.” Darrah nodded and looked up into the sky.

“But I have a job to do. The truth about what’s really going on is buried out there somewhere, and I’m going to bring it to light.”

Bennek awoke with a jerk. Beside him, Tima shifted beneath the sheets and mumbled something incoherent. The cleric felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if something in the room had changed without his knowledge. He moved slowly so as not to disturb the sleeping woman. His hand was touching the tab for the lamp when he saw the shape of a man-shadow across from him, in the old wicker chair.

“Don’t,” said Dukat, barely a breath above a whisper.

“You’ll wake the Bajoran.”

Despite the blood-warm heat inside the enclave blockhouse, Bennek’s skin prickled with a sudden chill. “What…Why are you in my quarters?” He hissed back, shooting Tima a furtive glance. He felt sick; how long had Dukat been there? Hours? Had he seen them together?

As if he intuited Bennek’s train of thought, Dukat’s next words had a smile in them. “She’s quite attractive, for an alien. As time passes, I’m finding it easier to understand the allure of their women. Tell me, cleric, should I try it for myself?”

“You won’t touch her,” Bennek husked, teeth bared.

“No?” There was a soft clink and the shadow moved, helping itself to some of the kanarleft in a decanter on the table. “Hm. A fair vintage, if somewhat functional.”

Bennek eased himself to the edge of the bed. He glanced at the inert lamp, wondering if it would serve him as a weapon if the soldier tried to attack him.

Dukat drained the glass and set it down. “While you have slept, Bennek, while you have dallied here with your masks and scrolls, things have altered. I’m here to tell you about the change in order.”

“Change?”

A nod. “Oh, indeed. I’m afraid that Hadlo has gone to join Oralius. He and all the dissidents who fled Cardassia rather than cooperate with the authorities.”

The priest felt an odd flutter in his chest. “He’s dead…”

“They all are. Your church, such as it is, no longer exists beyond the surface of this planet. All that remains of the Oralian Way is now on Bajor, and you are their leader.” He paused. “Take a moment, Bennek. I understand this is a lot to process all at once.”

The bedsheets bunched in his hands, and Tima murmured again, turning away from him. “You did this.”

“Does that matter? All that is important now is your responsibility. To your faith, to your followers, to the pretty sleeping Bajoran, to your own life. If you want any of those things to last to the dawn, then you must understand that.”

“You’re lying,” Bennek whispered.

Dukat leaned forward, and Bennek caught a glitter of light from the man’s dark eyes. “Don’t be foolish. I’ve never lied to you, Bennek. I have no need to.”

The priest took a shuddering breath. Dukat was telling the truth, it was there in every word he said. Bennek tried to take it all in and gasped. If it’s true…If we are all that is left of the Way, then what must I do?He recalled Hadlo’s words in the library, his exhortation to protect the faith at any cost. Finally he looked again at the shadowy figure. “What do you want of me?”

Dukat smiled in the dimness. “The preservation of what you hold balances on that most Cardassian of traits, Bennek. Obedience.” He got up slowly. “You have the ear of poor Kai Meressa. Convince her that the defense pact will benefit Bajor. Ensure she does not try to sway the Vedek Assembly toward a veto.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Then it will not go well for the last children of Oralius.” He turned his back on the assignation and walked quietly toward the door.

“I have your word?” Bennek hissed, and got a nod in return. “But where are you going?”

Dukat hesitated. “Home,” he explained. “Central Command has seen fit to reward me with a promotion for my service to the Union.” He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze like iron. “But don’t worry, priest. This planet interests me. I’ll be back.”

ONE MONTH AGO

2328 (Terran Calendar)

18

“The power that moves through me animates my life,” said the Cardassian woman, her hands spread to the dull sky. “It animates the mask of Oralius, to speak her words with my voice—”

The burly, balding man at the base of the bantaca’s steps shouted at the top of his lungs. “Take your voice somewhere else!” A growl of approval came from the crowd of Bajorans standing with him. “Go back to your shantytown! The Prophets don’t want you here, spoonhead!”

“This is going to ignite,” said Proka, from the side of his mouth. “You want me to defuse it?”

Darrah ran a hand through his hair and frowned. “No. If we cap this here today, they’ll just blow off steam somewhere else, maybe when we’re not around. Let it play out.” The chief inspector kept close to the parked police flyers, his eyes ranging over the handful of Watch officers that had been assigned to keep order across the City Oval. Not enough,he told himself. There’s never enough of us.

“At least we don’t have to stand side by side with Cardie troopers,” Proka hissed, picking up on his commander’s thoughts. “I’m so sick of that ‘Cardassian citizen, Cardassian jurisdiction’ crap.”

Darrah nodded and said nothing. What am I doing here?He asked himself. He had a small but clean office back in the precinct that he hardly used; instead he was out on the street, ghosting the foot patrols and the airborne units like he did every day. His men liked to say that Darrah Mace was “hands-on,” but there was more to it than that. He was driven. “Can’t stem the tide from behind a desk,” he said aloud.

“Boss?” said Proka.

Darrah indicated the bald man. “We got anything on mouthy over there?”

The senior constable nodded, reading from a padd. “Couple of alert flags, suspected involvement with the Circle. Nothing we can prove, though. Cardassians pulled him for allegedly making trouble out at the enclave, but nothing came of it. I think that’s where he might have lost the finger.”

He looked and saw that, indeed, the bald Bajoran had no index finger on his right hand. “Huh. No wonder he’s pissed at them.”

“That’s why he’s here with his friends. Cardassians don’t give a damn about the Oralians, which makes them a soft target.”

“And to the Circle, a Cardassian is a Cardassian is a Cardassian.” The activist group, under its more grandiose title of Alliance for Global Unity, had grown from a minor impediment to a thorn in the Militia’s side over the last five years—a matter not helped by the fact that many Militia officers quietly sympathized with the militant isolationists.

There were maybe a dozen of the Oralians at the foot of the spire, holding one of their interminable recitations. Darrah scanned their faces, noticing that there were a couple of Bajorans among the Cardassians, swaddled in the pastel-colored robes. He still found it strange to imagine that a Bajoran could find any meaning in an alien religion, but the choice wasn’t for anyone else to make for them, despite what the Circle’s propaganda leaflets said.

The woman was trying to go on. “Oralius is the Way of love,” she was saying. “Her path parallels that of your Prophets, can you not see that?”

It was the opening the bald man wanted. “I’ll tell you what I see, offworlder! I see you masked fools here in my city, trying to take us from the side of the Prophets!” The crowd grumbled in agreement. “It’s your kind who are turning Bajor into a ghetto!” He waved his hand toward the mountains. “Who was it that made me lose my job at the ore works, when they came and bought out the mines to strip them bare? Cardassians! Who is raping our lands, paying off the greedy with your damned technology? Cardassians!” The man stepped forward, shooting a look at the police presence, clearly gauging his chances. “We have to listen to the newsfeeds telling us that our Cardassian friends are keeping the Tzenkethi at bay from that snake’s nest of yours on Derna, but what is really going on? Our ministers are selling out our world to Cardassia and tightening the noose around our necks!”

“The followers of the Way have nothing to do with the Cardassian Union anymore,” said the priest, her voice taking on an angry tone. “If you cannot see past the color of my skin to that fact, then nothing I can say will convince you otherwise!”

The man laughed harshly. “Then we agree on something!”

“Get ready,” Darrah said quietly. This scene had played out so many times, he could predict the moment the flashpoint would come with uncanny accuracy. The bitter thought made him sullen. Confrontations like this one were repeated all over Bajor; they had become a matter of everyday life, surges in the slow-burning discontent that underscored everything. Five years,Darrah thought, five years and no reprisal of any note as payment in kind for the attacks. Is it any wonder that everyone is still angry, still searching for somewhere to direct the anger?

The man stabbed a finger at the Bajorans in Oralian robes. “And you! You’re the worst, willingly giving yourselves over to them.” He glared at the priest. “You’re polluting the faith of our people, indoctrinating our kind!”

“It’s not like that at all,” argued one of the converts.

“Be quiet!” roared the man. “You’re traitors to the Celestial Temple!” He reached for a pocket, and his hand returned with a blunt club; behind him the crowd came forward.

“Now,” Darrah snapped, and Proka and his men reacted with a clatter of drawn phasers.

“Step back!” barked the constable, a pickup in his communicator amplifying his voice through the public address speakers on the parked flyers.

Jeers and catcalls erupted among the mass of people as Darrah stepped up to where the Cardassian woman stood, a pistol in his hand. He took a curl of her robes and pulled her toward him. She smelled of dust and the odd, metallic sweat of her species. “You need to take your acolytes and go,” he snapped.

“We have a right to be here,” she retorted. “The First Minister—”

“Right now,”Darrah growled, “unless Oralius wants more martyrs.”

She saw the iron-hard glare in his eyes and nodded, retreating back toward the rest of the hooded group.

“You see?” shouted the bald man, and he spat. “You see? Even the City Watch are against us!” He shook a fist in Darrah’s face. “Are you bought and paid for too, lawman? Is that your job?”

A hot flare of resentment shot through Darrah, and without warning he smashed the butt of his phaser down on the bridge of the bald man’s nose. It broke with a wet crack, and the protester went to his knees, a fan of blood gushing over his lips. “My job?” Darrah snarled. “You don’t know a damn thing about it.”

Dukat found the look of profound irritation on the senior officer’s face quite amusing. “Jagul Kell. Here you are.”

“It’s GulDukat now, isn’t it?” Kell retorted, crossing the room. “Get out of my chair, Gul.”

“Of course.” Dukat stood up and stepped away from the ornate desk. It was the same one Kell had used in the Dahkur embassy; in fact, almost everything in the jagul’s duty office was the same; doubtless the man had given orders to transfer all the trappings of his rank and pomposity to the naval base here on the Derna moon the moment it had been completed.

Kell’s irritation diminished as he took his rightful position. Dukat had deliberately come to the man’s chamber unannounced and taken his seat just to rattle his former commander; Kell was overly fond of making a performance out of his superiority, and if he could not assert his control over a meeting at the very start, it made him petulant and uncomfortable. Dukat’s amusement at scoring points on the man waned quickly, however; it was, in the end, a worthless exercise.

Kell eyed him. “I have a briefing in a few minutes. Whatever you want had better be something you can tell me quickly.”

Setting his agenda before I have even spoken,thought Dukat. He’s the same fool he was the day we set foot on Bajor.

“I noted your deployment to this sector with the Vandir,”Kell continued, giving him the smallest amount of attention he could. “I believe you have your assignments from Central Command already. Do you need some approval from me?”

Dukat shook his head. “Actually, Jagul, I am here to inform you of additional mission objectives in my assignment here at Derna Base.” The name made his lip curl. The facility on Derna was hardly worthy of the name; it was less an outpost than a series of revetments and temporary docks that ships could use between sorties. He imagined that more of the facility’s functions were turned toward the covert needs of the Obsidian Order than the Union’s navy.

“And those objectives are?” Kell demanded.

“Twofold. Firstly, to impress upon you Command’s desire to annex Bajor…something that in ten years you have yet to achieve.”

Kell’s eyes flashed with anger. “You share that responsibility with me, Dukat. Let us not forget whose plan it was that brought us to this state of affairs.”

“I provided you with an opportunity, Jagul. Command feels you have not fully exploited it.”

“Command is light-years away,” grated the other man.

“Things here are more complex than they might appear from an office on Cardassia Prime.”

“No doubt,” Dukat allowed. “Nevertheless, I am here to impress upon you that occupation must be formalized, and soon. If not, then other men may have to take your posting here.” He gestured around at the opulent office.

The jagul folded his arms, seething quietly. “And the second objective?”

“It appears that the United Federation of Planets has taken an interest in the situation on Bajor. They are considering open political opposition to our presence in the sector.”

Kell snorted. “The Federation? Toothless, posturing fools, all of them. Let them bray and talk about sanctions and their stern displeasure.”

“It would be unwise to underestimate Starfleet.”

The other man glared at him from behind the desk. “I am ranking officer here, and it will be my choice to decide what is and is not wise.”He gave Dukat a sharp wave of the hand. “You may tell Command that you have delivered your messages. Now get out of my office and return to your duties.”

Dukat nodded, letting the jibe roll off him. “I intend to do exactly that.”

The Xepolite transport touched down on the apron at Korto starport with a sound that was somewhere between the noise of a dying bovine and a case of cutlery thrown down a staircase. The ungainly ship, little more than a collection of cargo pods mated to a drive module, sagged on its landing gear and shed a cloud of rust fragments. The main hatch dilated in fits and starts until finally it was wide enough for the ship’s owner and his most recent passengers to disembark. The captain, like his vessel, was grubby but quite quick, and he followed the two Bajoran women down the egress ramp.

“So, here we are, home sweet home,” he sniffed, fishing a patched padd from his pocket. “And as such, if you would be so kind?”

“Thanks for the ride, Hetman Foroe,” the older female answered him, the one with the severe face and the shoulder-length blond hair. She seemed to do most of the talking, while the other one, with the large, nervous mouth and black, stringy plaits, hovered nearby. Over the course of their journey, he’d attempted to fathom the dimensions of the relationship between the two Bajorans with little success. Sisters? Lovers?He couldn’t find a pattern that fitted. Still, his curiosity about them was fading with the prospect of money changing hands. The blond woman tapped a code into the padd, releasing the second half of Foroe’s fee, and with that their transaction was complete.

“My pleasure,” he said, examining the string of digits. When he looked up from the padd, they were walking away with their bags over their shoulders. “Hey,” he said, jogging to catch up. “Now the business part is behind us, I’m curious—”

“No, we don’t want a drink with you,” said the older woman. What was she called? Al-something? Ally? Alo?

“Alla,” said the hetman, recalling her name. “I wouldn’t dream of it. No, it’s just that I was wondering about something.” He glanced at the dark-haired one. Her name is Wenna, isn’t it?“The thing is, most of the Bajorans I deal with are trying to get away from their home planet these days, what with the Cardassians and the unrest and all. But you two came all the way back here from a perfectly nice colony on Draygo. Why is that?”

“Our aunt is sick,” said Wenna abruptly. “We’re going to Relliketh to look after her.”

“Oh.” Foroe wasn’t convinced, but he had other prospects to pursue at the other end of the port. His contact would be waiting for him, and if he didn’t get there in time, the load he expected to be smuggling to Prophet’s Landing would be gone. “Well, I hope she gets well soon. And if you ever need a ride back to Draygo—”

Alla cut him off with a withering glare. “Oh, we’ll call you, count on it.”

As soon as the Xepolite was out of earshot, the older woman turned and shot her companion a look. “What have I told you?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

She frowned and flicked straw-colored hair from her eyes. “Don’t volunteer information. It’s a sure sign of an amateur working from a prepared legend. He didn’t need to know we were going to Relliketh. The bit about the aunt was enough.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant—”

She shoved the other woman up against the wall of a hangar. “What did you just say?” she hissed. “Did you just call me Lieutenant?”She mimed the shape of a pistol at her head. “Zap.You just got us both killed. If someone heard you slip like that, we’re blown, the mission is over.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” said the dark-haired woman, and she rubbed at the ridges on her nose. “This is all new to me. It’s not what I expected. I’m just an analyst—”

The blond woman slapped the hand away. “Stop that,” she said, and stepped back. “Look. You’re here for two reasons. First, because you’re the best available expert in xeno-anthropology and Bajoran cultural studies, and second, because that cute Welsh accent of yours is, by some quirk of interplanetary linguistics, not too dissimilar to the way they speak down in the southeastern provinces. While you are here, you are Jonor Wenna,you understand me? Because Lieutenant Junior Grade Gwen Jones doesn’t exist right now. She’ll stay that way until we’re done here.”