Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

“Yes,” said Gwen, gathering herself. “Hello. My name’s Wenna. I’m from Relliketh—” She stopped. “Right. Sorry. Don’t volunteer information.”

“Better.”

The dark-haired girl studied the other woman. “And what about Lieutenant Alynna Nechayev of Starfleet Intelligence? Where is she?”

“My name is Alla,” said Alynna. “I don’t know this Nechayev woman you’re talking about.” There was a weariness in her words. “She must be some kind of ghost.”

From the ramp of his ship in the neighboring hangar, Syjin watched the two women walk off and cocked his head, wondering. The shorter one is pretty, in a rural kind of way. The other one, though, too much like hard work. I know the type.

The loading chief, a large dark man named Wule, crossed over to him, wiping grease from his fingers. “Ho,” he called. “That’s the last one off. You’re clear to lift once Traffic Control gives you the go.”

Syjin nodded. “Thanks. I just hope the Cardassians don’t decide to stop and search me again. That’s why I hardly ever come back here these days…” He shook his head. “Every time I return to Bajor it’s like…like I’m visiting a sick old friend, and he’s closer to death each time.”

“It’s what things have come to,” Wule agreed. “Not like the old days. I can’t remember the last time I saw you lift empty.”

“Not empty for long,” Syjin insisted. “I got a gig. I’m picking up some cargo.”

“Coming back here with it?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” He smiled briefly. “Don’t sweat it, I’ve got a little something for you, if you smooth the way with customs for me.”

“What?” Wule eyed him.

“Agnamloaf. I know you love it.”

The dock chief nodded eagerly. “Say no more. Just don’t get jumped by the spoonheads when you come back, though. They catch you with proscribed goods on board and you’ll be disappeared…”

“It’s food, not particle cannons,” mocked the pilot.

“Hardly worth spacing me over.”

Wule gave him a grave look. “Don’t be so sure, my friend, don’t be so sure.” He paused at the threshold. “Where’s the rendezvous? You know the Cardies have upped their patrols out past Pullock.”

Syjin nodded, running through his preflight checks. “I heard. That’s why I’m going to be nowhere near the Badlands.” Wule threw him a salute, and the hatch slammed closed behind him.

The destination for the rendezvous with his Ferengi contact had been chosen at random and transmitted on an encrypted channel. Grek, the lop-eared little troll, had a cargo of some of the best rare edibles this side of the Orion sector, and Syjin had buyers all over Bajor ready to purchase them. Although it was bad for everything else, at least in this case the Cardassian presence was good for making such trades scarce, and therefore more lucrative.

He glanced at the navigator matrix and punched in the coordinates. Grek would be waiting for him in orbit around a gas giant, in some nondescript, uninhabited system called Ajir.

They walked for a while, out of the port and into the city proper beyond. Gwen Jones had to rein herself in, stop herself from gawking like a sightseer. Outwardly, she played the part of a Bajoran girl from the south with somewhere to go, something to do. Inside, Jones wanted to stop and look at everything. She had been studying the Bajoran culture for some time, and it fascinated her. Not in a million years had she expected to be plucked from her predictable work at the Office of Cultural Analysis and thrown directly into a covert surveillance mission, with only a taciturn field operative like Nechayev for company.

But now she was here, on Bajor, seeing in the flesh all the things that she had read about in reports and purloined pieces of alien literature. She wanted to stop, to take a tram to the bantacaor visit a temple, to try real hasperator go to the parks and see the mirror lakes…

“Eyes front,” said Nechayev quietly. “Quit staring. This isn’t a field trip.”

Jones nodded. It was anything but that. From what her briefing had told her, the Federation had been conducting clandestine cultural observation of Bajor for many years, dating back to just before the outbreak of border skirmishes between the UFP and the Cardassian Union. It was only in recent times, with the shift in the political axis between independent Bajor and the expansionist Union, that the Federation Security Council had decided to take a closer look at what was taking place in the B’hava’el system. More Cardassian ships meant it was harder to insert passive probes to monitor the circumstances there. What was needed was “human intelligence,” or, as Nechayev had described it, “eyes on the ground.” Jones didn’t know the full extent of things—her clearance level wasn’t that high—but she’d picked up a few hints from her mission orders. She knew that Bajoran exiles on Valo II and other colonies were agitating for intervention on Bajor, and that Starfleet had to be giving the idea serious consideration or else she and Nechayev would not have been here; but the interstellar political climate was complex, and as time went on, there seemed less and less chance that the Federation would become openly involved.

Nechayev halted at an empty tram stop and made a show of looking at the timetable. “We’re not being followed,” she told her. “And three Cardassian skimmers passed us on the way without even giving us a look. I think we’re clean.”

“What now?” Jones asked.

“Now we locate our contact, and we get the data we need.”

“Do you have a name?”

Nechayev nodded. “Jekko Tybe.”

“You look well.” As soon as Mace said it, he felt awkward. The hiss of subspace interference whispered around his precinct office for the second of delay it took the signal to reach the Valo II relay.

Karys gave a rueful smile. “I wish I could say the same thing about you, Mace. You look tired.”

“It’s just work,” he said, and regretted it instantly.

“It usually is,”she replied. “ So. What do you want?”

“I had some time,” Mace lied.

“Time?”she repeated. “All civilian subspace communications traffic into B’hava’el has slowed to almost nothing. I hear the Cardassians are blocking all but the military channels.”

He nodded. “And they screen everything else. It’s part of the security program, looking for sedition or alien infiltrators.” Mace nodded at the screen. “But I have some pull.”

“You’re abusing your authority to appropriate airtime to call your family,”she replied. “Does that count as seditious?”

“Damned if I care.” He sighed. “I just…” He wanted to tell her that he had beaten a man down and it didn’t bother him one bit, that suddenly all he wanted was to see the only good things in his life and make sure they were still there; but he kept that closed off. “I wanted to check in with you, see how Nell and ’Jin are doing.”

She saw the lie but she didn’t call him on it. “Nell’s met a boy. He’s polite. Bajin has been very brotherly. He thinks I don’t know that he threatened all kinds of trouble if Nell’s heart gets broken.”

A smile crossed his face. “You tell them I love them.”

“Every day,”she told him. “They miss you. And so do I.”

The last words brought him up short. “You do? I thought the divorce put an end to that kind of thing. I just thought you would have, you know…” He trailed off.

“Found someone else?”Karys shook her head. “It’s funny, isn’t it? When we talk now, we just talk. We don’t fight. And all it took was for me to fly a dozen light-years away from you.”

He nodded slowly. “Best thing that’s ever happened to our relationship.” He sighed. “Come on, Karys, we were killing each other here. The distance stopped us tearing ourselves apart.”

She was silent for a while. “ I still think about the day of the attacks. Standing by the broken windows, wondering if you were all right.”

“I’ll say I’m sorry again, if it will help.” He blew out a breath. “I felt the same. I felt like my life had been ripped away from me.”

Karys leaned closer to the screen. “You can come here. You should come here, before it’s too late, before the trickle becomes a flood.”

“What do you mean?”

“More people are arriving each week, Mace. The colony used to be a few hundred thousand, now it’s ballooned to twice that. Life’s not easy here…”She sighed again. “But it is a kind of freedom. Come and see.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. If I leave now, this city will fall apart. They look to me, Karys. Proka and the others, they look to me. I have to hold it together, and for Lonnic’s sake and Jarel’s and everyone else’s, I have to make things right.”

“You don’t. You could just leave tomorrow. You could walk away, Mace, walk away and let it burn.”

“You know me,” he whispered, “you know who I am. You know I can’t.”

“What I know is that I don’t want my children to grow up with a dead father.”She reached for the disconnect key. “Be safe, Mace.”

The screen went dark.

Darrah lost track of time as he stared at the inert monitor, turning Karys’s words over and over in his mind.

Stay or go.It seemed like such an easy choice.

Finally, there was a rattle as his door slid open and Proka came into his office, his expression grim.

“Boss, there’s been trouble at the Oralian camp.”

Darrah glanced at him. “So deal with it,”

“Bennek raised the alarm. He wants to speak to you, and you only.”

He sighed. “What kind of trouble?”

“Someone tried to firebomb it again. Couple of minor injuries, no fatalities.”

The chief inspector got out of his chair. “What does he think that I can do about it?” Proka began to speak, but Darrah cut him off with a wave of the hand. “No, no. Don’t say anything. I know the answer.”

The two men marched out to the landing pads and took the first fast flyer, out over the city limits and into the plainsland.

19

Kotan Pa’Dar heard his name called as he crossed the docking annex. He had developed a manner of walking, whenever his duties forced him to visit Derna, in which he kept his head down and made as little eye contact with the soldiers and officers there as possible. The last thing he expected was to be waylaid heading back to his shuttle.

But the voice put him off his stride; it could be only one man, someone he hadn’t expected to see again. He turned to find Skrain Dukat studying him, the gul gauging him with all the warmth he might have shown to something he had scraped off his boot. There was no sign of the man that had befriended him aboard the Kornaireall those years ago. That intense, inquisitive young soldier was gone and in his place was someone that embodied the very model of a Cardassian officer. Arrogant and disdainful, striding about the galaxy as if it were his property.

“Kotan Pa’Dar,” Dukat repeated. “You are still here.” He said it as if the fact amazed him.

“Gul Dukat,” he replied. “I wasn’t aware you had returned to Bajor.”

Dukat’s gaze took in Pa’Dar’s ochre-colored tunic and the administrator’s tabs running along the edges of the seams. He smirked, as if in response to some private joke. “It seems you’ve had a change of vocation since we last met.”

Irritation ticked at a nerve in Pa’Dar’s eye, but he said nothing, only nodding.

The officer came closer. “What happened to your promising career as a scientist?” He reached out and fingered the tabs. “These are the grades of an administrator, a politician.”

“I…I found a calling that better suited my skill set.” Pa’Dar’s skin darkened. He refused to allow Dukat to slight him over his difference in circumstances.

“Ah,” allowed Dukat, “and here I was, wondering if your family had finally pressured you into dropping your dalliance with the sciences, at long last.” He shook his head slightly. “They did so dislike the choices you made, didn’t they?” He smiled briefly. “Odd, though. I would have thought you would have returned to Cardassia. Certainly there your family would have made far more…interesting options open to you.”

“I have duties here.”

“On Derna?” Dukat asked lightly.

“On Bajor,” Pa’Dar said, his tone hardening. “I am assisting in the administration of the enclave in the Tozhat region.”

“A civilian, in such a role? I’m surprised Kell permitted that.”

Pa’Dar’s gaze dropped. “As you noted, my family does have some influence.”

Dukat laughed coldly. “And what have you achieved in Tozhat? Do the Bajorans there appreciate the softer hand of a civilian over a soldier?”

“I worked to show a compassionate aspect to the Cardassian-Bajoran alliance, if that is what you mean, yes,” Pa’Dar bristled. “Someone has to.”

“Alliance.” Dukat picked out the word and mocked it. “That term is an empty vessel, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise. The notion of such a thing is pointless.” He shook his head. “I saw you walking there and I wondered how much you had changed, Kotan. I’m beginning to think that you have, but not for the better.”

“I look at you and I think the same.” His reply was clipped.

When the gul spoke again, the air between them chilled. “Don’t make the mistake of getting too close to the aliens. They don’t need friends, Pa’Dar. They need masters, and when Bajor formally becomes a client world of the Cardassian Union, it will be our duty to take on that responsibility. For their good, as much as ours.”

“Only Cardassia knows what is best for Bajor, is that what you are saying?”

“Of course,” said Dukat, as if any other suggestion was idiotic. “It will only be by the Union’s benevolence that Bajor can advance. Otherwise, they will remain stagnant.” He cast a glance at the crescent of Bajor, huge in Derna’s sky. “The evidence is all too clear. A decade Cardassia has been here, and what has been done? The lethargy of these aliens is like a taint, infecting all who come to this world.” He shook his head. “But that time has passed.”

He’s talking about an invasion.The insight hit Pa’Dar like a splash of icy water. “Dukat,” he said, the words bubbling up from inside him, coming from a place that he had tried to seal away, tried to deny. “I know what you’ve done to these people. I’ve seen the edges of it, I am not blind. The stranglehold Cardassia has placed around Bajor’s throat, the Tzenkethi and the threats—”

“Be very careful of what you say next,” the gul warned.

“Don’t say something you will regret…something that might force me to make an unfavorable choice. You are far from home, Kotan. Remember that.”

The cascade of accusation he was about to unleash stalled in his throat, and Pa’Dar fell silent for a long moment, a sudden awareness of how distant the protection of his family was from him. Finally, he summoned some courage to answer back to the other man. “You and I, Dukat, have nothing more to discuss. Perhaps once I thought I knew who you are, but I see now that all we have are viewpoints in stark opposition.”

Dukat’s voice dropped to a hush. “I am genuinely saddened to learn you feel that way, Pa’Dar. As a nod, then, to our former friendship, I will tell you this. Don’t place yourself in conflict with me. You won’t win.” He turned away. “Go back to Bajor, back to Tozhat, and smile your smiles to the natives. You’ll see how much coin that earns you when we take this world for ourselves.”

Pa’Dar tried to find a way to respond, but nothing came. He glanced around him and saw nothing but soldiers, men in black shining armor, moving on errands and toward missions he had no influence upon.

The police flyer settled to the ground, thrusters throwing out a wave of rust-colored dirt as the motors died. Darrah Mace stepped down from the hatch and caught a breath of the dusty air, the moisture draining instantly from his mouth. Out here, in the middle of the plains where B’hava’el beat down from a cloudless sky, the heat was a heavy blanket. Darrah tugged at his collar.

The Oralians coming out from the shanty made little trails of ruddy dust as they walked. The dull, unkempt earth beneath their feet was sun-bleached and eternally dry. Nothing had grown out here for years, not since the attacks; one of the plasma bolts dropped on Korto had gone wide and scored a huge black oval in the grasslands, killing every plant that thrived there. In the aftermath the ground had remained dead, as if it were cursed. No one had wanted it. No one but the Oralians, who had nowhere else to go.

Darrah glanced over his shoulder to the west. The Cardassian enclave was visible at this distance, a large low construct of dark metals and thermoconcrete, extending ever closer to the outskirts of Korto. He hadn’t been inside the walls of the cordoned community, not since the changes that had come after First Minister Lale’s reelection. Kubus Oak’s aggressive lobbying had pushed through the laws that now made Cardassian-owned land de facto Cardassian sovereign territory, and no amount of demonstrations or civil disobedience courtesy of the Circle had stopped it from happening. Every enclave an embassy,he thought, every embassy a place for them to do whatever they want to.

And those laws had seen an end to the Oralian presence in the enclaves as well. The walled zones were designated for use by Cardassian military, trading and civilian concerns only; theological groups were not accommodated. Darrah walked toward the approaching figures and the ragged collection of old bubbletents and ramshackle buildings behind them. The Oralian Way lived on charity now, on handouts from the Bajoran church and the smallest subsistence grants from Cardassia Prime. He sighed. These people, they’re dying out by the ticks of the clock.

“Chief Inspector Darrah,” said the woman leading the greeting party. She rolled back her threadbare blue hood and gave him a nod. “Thank you for coming.”

Darrah returned the gesture. “Tima.” He pushed away the moment of disquiet he always felt at seeing a Bajoran dressed in the robes of an alien faith. “It’s been a while since we last spoke.” His eyes were drawn to her right ear; it was bare of any adornment.

“Three years,” she agreed. “At the great wake for the kai.”

A memory flashed in Darrah’s thoughts. Three years? Has it only been three? It seems like forever.He recalled Tima’s face on that day, when all of Korto became hushed in memorial for Kai Meressa’s passing, her sorrow bright and shining. The wall of silence that hung over the city, the views on the streetscreens of the kai’s funeral procession, moving in solemn lockstep down the Avenue of Lights in Ashalla.

Three years Meressa has been gone, and still no one has taken her place.But then again, Darrah thought of Vedek Arin and took some comfort that the irresolute priest from Kendra hadn’t ascended to that sacred high office. Bajor’s Vedek Assembly was still divided over the kai’s replacement, over the Oralians, over everything, and the schism in the clergy spilled over into the lives of ordinary Bajorans. It was difficult to seek truth and solace at temple when the priests within it had no consensus of their own.

“This way,” said Tima, leading Darrah and Proka back toward the grubby little settlement. Bennek was waiting for them at the edge, and at a respectful distance other Oralians watched from beneath their hoods, naked suspicion in their gazes.

The Cardassian bowed slightly. “Before we discuss this, I want to show you first what was done.” Bennek took them toward a hut built out of an old cargo pod. The wind changed, and Darrah smelled rotting vegetation and the tang of ashes.

“You’re limping,” said Proka, gesturing at the cleric’s leg, which he favored as they walked.

“It’s nothing,” Bennek replied. “I was burned when I ran to put out the flames. I’ll heal.”

“Should you be walking on it?” asked the constable.

“This is more important,” he replied, and pulled open the door of the pod.

A cloud of dirty white haze rolled out from the inside of the container, and Darrah covered his mouth with his hand at the stink of it. Inside he glimpsed mounds of blackened matter, some of it still weeping smoke where it smoldered. He stifled a cough. “What’s this?”

“This,” said Tima, “was all the food we had stockpiled from the donations we have been given. Surplus from the katterpodfarms in the valley, loaves of mapabread given to us by the monks from Korto. All destroyed.”

“They came out of the night, as they always do,” said Bennek wearily. “They threw crude firebombs, and they deliberately targeted the food stores.”

“Did you see anything?” asked Proka, holding up his tricorder to record any statements. “Can you describe them?”

“The same as every other time.” Tima turned bitter.

“Clad all in black, faces covered.” She spat and pointed at the distant enclave. “It’s the Cardassians!”

Bennek frowned at her outburst. “We don’t know that—”

“It is!” Tima yelled, her anger breaking out. “They want to starve us to death! They hate the Way!”

Darrah held up his hands to silence her. “Calm down. Throwing accusations around without any proof will do none of us any good.” He sighed. “One thing at a time. How are you going to feed your people?”

The cleric sagged, as if the weight of the question was too much for him. “I…do not know. I will find a way.” He sighed. “We have so many here now. Almost all of the pilgrim groups remaining on Bajor have come to this place, so that we have safety in our numbers.”

Darrah nodded. After the Oralians were evicted from the Cardassian enclaves, shantytowns like this one had sprung up all across the planet; but many of them had been suddenly abandoned, or fallen victim to mysterious fires. He studied Bennek and found himself wondering exactly how many followers of the Way were left.

“How are you going to keep us safe?” Tima demanded.

“Or do we have to take the law into our own hands?”

“Let’s not start down that road,” said Proka sharply.

“We’ll investigate this.”

“Like you did the last time, or the time before that?” she said bitterly. “Have you ever been able to find a culprit? Or is it that you don’t want to?”

“Tima, that’s enough!” Bennek broke in. “These are honorable men, and they’re doing the best they can.”

“But it’s not enough,” Darrah admitted. “She’s right, Bennek. No witnesses, no leads, no suspects. And with the unrest in the city, I can’t afford to leave men out here to guard you.” He frowned. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you guarantees, but these are dark times and people are angry, they’re frustrated.”

Proka nodded grimly. “They’re lashing out at anything and everything.”

“Everything?” Bennek leaned back, resting on his uninjured leg. “Why, then, does it seem that it’s only the children of Oralius who are being attacked?” He shook his head. “Have any temples of the Prophets been set alight? Have any priests of your faith been murdered, Chief Inspector? Can you tell me what I must do to stop it?” He gestured toward Tima. “Is she correct? Must we shed blood ourselves?”

Darrah gave him a hard look and responded with his own questions. “Is that what you want to do, Bennek? Have you been making plans to do those very things?”

The cleric jerked as if he had been struck. “Of course not! The Way is a religion of peace…” He faltered for a moment, as if remembering something. “Peace,” he repeated. “Violence is anathema to Oralius.”

“There are rumors that you think differently now,” said Darrah, earning him a sharp look from Proka. “I’ll tell you this, even if some think I’m tipping our hand to do it. On the streets, there’s talk that desperation is driving you toward a holy war. A religious coup, with Oralius unseating the Prophets here in Korto District.”

Shock paled the Cardassian’s gray face. “That is insanity! That we would strike at those who have given us succor when our own world turned us out…. The very idea sickens me!” He wobbled as he stepped forward. “Look around! Do you see the hungry men and women, the children and the lost ones, come to huddle together?”

Darrah found his eyes drawn to the hooded Oralians all around them, all silent and afraid.

“Can you see a holy army here?” cried Bennek. “We barely hold on to life, Darrah Mace! We have no strength to take it from others!” He sagged back, the outburst having drained him. The cleric’s injuries had clearly hurt him more than he had been willing to admit.

Darrah glanced at Proka, fighting off the despair that threatened to settle on him. “Let’s go. There’s nothing else we can do here.”

Dukat paged through the padd, musing as his crew worked quietly at their bridge stations. The report displayed the current deployments and flight operations status for every Cardassian ship in the Bajor Sector, and it made for interesting reading. Getting the information out of Kell had been difficult, and now he had it in his hands, he saw why. The jagul had been remiss, allowing too many ships to be placed too far out from the primary objective, which was Bajor herself. A tighter noose is required,he told himself, making notes on redeployment orders. He halted, halfway through. Of course, whatever orders I give, Kell can countermand on a whim. It would be like him to do that, just to spite me.Dukat sighed. What games are being played at Central Command that allow that fool to remain at his post here?He knew the answer; like so much of Cardassia’s infrastructure, the military was rife with nepotism and partiality, and the Kell name held much sway. Ten years. Ten years he has been here and still the flow of commerce from Bajor is a trickle. Still people on the homeworld are going hungry.A hard edge of memory cut into him as he thought of Athra, and of the son he had never seen. Never again,he vowed. Never again—

“Gul?” Dal Tunol turned from her station. “Signal from the orbital picket. There’s a ship moving out of the authorized transit corridors, refusing to answer hails. I’m getting no read from its transponder.”

Dukat raised an eyebrow. “Some criminal attempting to circumvent the customs net,” he offered. “Can’t these Bajorans keep control of their own airspace?”

“There’s a Militia vessel in the area,” said his first officer.

“We can let them deal with it.”

He put down the padd. “No. Let’s show the locals how to do the job properly.” Dukat stood up. “Put us under power, Tunol. We’ll consider it a drill.” And I need a distraction to amuse me.

“Complying,” she replied.

The decks hummed slightly as the cruiser’s impulse engines came online, and on the main viewscreen Dukat saw the view shift as Bajor’s surface dropped away. “Tactical. What’s the target?”

“A bulk freighter,” came the reply from the gunnery station. “Configuration matches a Xepolite class six transport.”

Tunol snorted. “I thought all those ships had been withdrawn from service. Hardly a fitting challenge for a Galor-class cruiser.”

“No accurate sensor read on internal structure or life signs,” said the gunner. “They have a detection mask in place.”

Dukat watched the scanners and saw the energy distribution peaking. “That appears to be a power surge. Our friend here thinks he can run.”

Tunol placed her finger to a communicator bead in her ear. “Gul, the Bajorans are signaling. They want us to stand down from the pursuit.”

“I’m sure they do.” Dukat nodded at the gunner. “Put a shot across the Xepolite’s bow.” Over the keening of a disruptor blast, he turned to Tunol. “I suppose we should follow the letter of the law and warn them.”

She nodded and opened a channel. “Xepolite freighter, this is the Cardassian Union warship Vandir.Cut power and stand to, or the next shots won’t miss.”

Dukat smiled approvingly. “Very succinct, Dal.”

“Vessel is slowing,” said the gunnery officer, with a hint of disappointment.

“Target his engines,” continued the gul. “Burn them off.”

“Sir, he is complying,” began Tunol.

“That’s correct,” said Dukat, “but Xepolites are a changeable sort. Let’s make sure he doesn’t have second thoughts.”

On the screen, disruptor bolts ripped into the freighter’s warp pylons and cleanly severed the engine nacelles.

“I’m tired of drifting here in orbit while Kell ignores us.” Dukat dropped the padd on his chair, his concerns forgotten for the moment. “I’m going to lead the boarding party. You have the ship, Dal.”

They waited for the two-bell tram and climbed up to the top deck as it clattered through the streets of Korto. Jones did as Nechayev told her, taking the vacant seat at the front, while Nechayev placed herself farther down and to the right. She had a good view there; she could keep the rookie in sight and still observe the rest of the passengers without making it obvious. Not that there were a lot of them. At this time of day, the tram was only a third full, and mostly with the elderly going out to temple.

When the man tapped her on the arm, she clamped down on her unease like a vise. “Pardon me,” he said, “do you know if this route crosses the Edar Bridge?”

She shook her head. “I don’t usually ride the tram.”

He nodded. “It’s a better day to walk, don’t you think?”

The trigger phrase.Nechayev turned slightly so she could see him. “These are new shoes. I’d prefer to sit.”

The other man smirked. “Who is it who comes up with these codes?” He offered his hand. “I’m Jekko.”

She ignored it. “You were supposed to make contact with her.” She nodded at Jones, who threw her a confused look in return.

“No, I was supposed to make contact with you. She’s the analyst, yes? You’re the agent.”

“Perhaps she’s the agent, and she’s just good at pretending to be a civilian.”

Jekko’s smirk turned cynical. “Somehow I don’t think so.” He glanced around. “So. Where’s your starship, Starfleet?”

“Very far from here.” Nechayev glanced out the window, as if she were bored. “We’re here because Keeve Falor reached out through back channels to the Federation Council. He said you’d have something to show us.”

Jekko bristled at her tone. “Isn’t a covert military buildup of Cardassian troops on Bajor enough to stir your interest? It’s not just ships in orbit or the outpost on Derna. We have intelligence on stockpiles of weapons, combat vehicles, strategic matériel.”

“That’s your assertion?” said Nechayev. “We know about the starships. Ground forces, that’s a different matter. How exactly do you suggest that the Cardassians could move an invasion force onto Bajor without the general population becoming aware of it?” She shook her head. “Keeve’s claims need a lot of backing up, if Starfleet is going to take them seriously.”