Текст книги "Days of the Vipers"

Автор книги: James Swallow

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

Dukat stood over the unconscious form of the Bajoran law officer and his fists tightened. He wanted to haul the man off the ground and beat an answer out of him.

“Do you know him, sir?” Orloc asked.

The gul ignored the question and pushed the glinn out of his way. “Wake him up,” he snarled. “Find out what he knows! Now!” Dukat strode out of the hangar to the line of hovering skimmers. He slapped at his comcuff. “Tunol! Status?”

The reply he got stoked his annoyance even higher. “Sir, sensors have lost contact with the target vessel. There was an energy surge in low orbit and then it just vanished.”

“Ships don’t vanish, Dal,” he barked. “They cloaked. Recalibrate sensors and get me a trail. I want it this very second!” He cut the signal before she could reply, but a heartbeat later the communicator signaled an incoming message. “Dukat,” he growled.

“Oh, Skrain.”Ico’s voice was cold. “I am so disappointed in you.”

23

Outside the shack the encampment used as its infirmary the congregation gathered and muttered darkly. Bennek could hear them through the thin metal walls—not things they were saying, not the words that they used, but the sense of them. The mood of the Oralians was one of fear and confusion, and it hung over the ragged settlement like a waiting storm.

The airtruck was out by the perimeter, the engine still idling and the cab door hanging wide open. The driver was a youth the cleric remembered as being from Culat, and he sat on one of the collapsible metal-framed canvas beds, weeping. Bennek and a woman named Seren, who had been a nurse before she had found the Way, were the only others in the hut.

Between choking sobs and gasps of air, the young man parceled out his story in broken pieces. The docks, the three men. The guns. Urad’s execution. The others, lost and likely dead. And Tima. Tima…

Bennek expected a sudden torrent of emotion to flood over him, but there was nothing. He felt numb all over, disconnected from the moment. He tried to remember Tima’s face, the scent of her skin, but it fell away from him, memory denying him. The youth kept speaking, but the cleric heard nothing. His focus slipped away as he tried to enclose the thought in his mind. Tima is dead. Tima is dead.But they were just words, meaningless words.

“Who would do this?” Seren demanded, her voice strident and furious. “Why would the Bajorans strike at us? We have always shown them honor and respect!” She spat on the dirt floor. “Why have they turned against us?” The nurse glared at Bennek. “That vedek, Gar…He must have done this, he must have sent the killers!”

Bennek shook his head, but she didn’t acknowledge his silent denial.

“Th-they called us filth,” stuttered the boy. “I was so afraid. I had to run…but the others…” He choked off his own words with a moan of guilt.

“You did the right thing,” insisted the nurse. “If you hadn’t come back to warn us, we would never have known this was coming.” She turned to Bennek. “We must be ready, they’ll try again!”

Bennek got to his feet, his balance lost, lurching. He tried to breathe, but the air in the hut was suddenly stifling. The cleric pushed away and out into the morning. The Oralians outside parted before him, their uncertainty plain upon their faces. He was aware of Seren following him out, her voice cracking as she repeated the boy’s words. A wave of shock radiated out around him as the congregation assimilated the horror of it, and in moments that disbelief re-formed into fury. Bennek glanced around and saw it igniting in the faces of his people, but still he could feel nothing himself. He clutched at his chest. The priest felt as if he were hollowed out, every emotion and moment of life inside cored from his being. Tima is dead. Tima is dead.

“Are we going to tolerate this?” Seren was shouting. “We are forced out here to live on the charity of others, and then these scum attack us at our very weakest? They burn down our homes, try to starve us, and we do nothing!”

Bennek heard her words and shook his head again, but it was a feeble gesture and it went unnoticed. Too late he saw it: the followers of the Way had been pushed as far as they were going to go. Oralius and her peace were no longer enough for them.

“We have to strike back!” said the nurse, and a chorus of assent went with her cry. “Fight for the Way, defend ourselves!”

The cleric searched for some parable, something from the Recitations to rally them away from anger, but like everything else, like Tima, that had suddenly been taken from him. Bennek’s hand came to his face, and he felt wetness on his cheeks.

He heard his name being called. The youth was behind him, screaming and pointing into the distance. They turned as one to see the lights approaching the encampment from the direction of the city—skimmers and flyers, dozens of them aimed directly at the Oralian settlement.

Bennek walked to the perimeter, to the bare patches of earth haloing the encampment. Dozens of men and women dismounted from the vehicles, all of them Bajorans, all of them mirroring the same hard need for retribution as his congregation. Many of them carried makeshift weapons, cudgels, and stunners. From the lead skimmer came a trio of figures in the robes of the church of the Prophets. Bennek saw Vedek Arin at the head of them, the Bajoran’s eyes flinty.

“What do you want?” demanded Seren, and the Oralians snarled and growled in her support. “Come to finish off the rest of us?”

The cleric searched the faces of the new arrivals, looking for men in docker’s overalls, and found none; instead he saw hate on every face, the burning need for someone to blame, to find an outlet for a mass of stored-up hurts and lingering affronts.

Some of the Bajorans shouted out hard words in reply to the nurse, but Arin silenced them with a sharp wave of his hand. He glared at the Oralians. “Bennek,” he grated, “why have your people done this to us? After all the hospitality Bajor showed to the children of Oralius, in the name of the Prophets, why?”

It was the last thing he expected to hear, and the cleric was bewildered. “What are you talking about? What did we do? What did youdo, Arin? You murdered our people!” And then, in that instant, as the words left his mouth the hollow inside him filled with a pure, burning sorrow so powerful he could barely contain it. “Tima is dead!” he moaned. “My followers have been slaughtered!”

Arin shook his head, and Bennek wanted to weep. “I know nothing of that,” retorted the vedek. “The temples, Bennek! In Korto and Ashalla and elsewhere, your people have attacked our places of worship, setting them afire!” The Bajoran mob reacted to the words, violence bubbling below the surface of their every breath and movement.

“Are you insane?” demanded Seren. “Our people are all here,Vedek! Starving and sick because of what your kind has done to us!”

Arin ignored her outburst. “Bennek, listen to me. If you have any shred of integrity, you will do as I say. Submit to my custody, bring your people with us back to the city and answer for this crime. Do this now, or else I will not be responsible for what takes place.”

Seren pushed past Bennek. “Your custody? What does that mean? We won’t willingly chain ourselves for you. What law are you invoking, what proof do you have—”

“Seren, be silent,” Bennek snapped.

The vedek’s face flushed crimson. “This a matter above the legality of men. This is a matter of the holy temple! You must submit, or else you will—” Arin’s voice was silenced as a fist-sized stone shot out from the lines of the Oralians and struck the Bajoran priest on the temple. The impact dropped Arin to the dirt, a livid wound leaking blood down his face.

Bennek turned and saw the young driver shouting out his hate, and he knew who had thrown the missile. Around him the Oralians erupted into a sudden hostility born of desperation; in turn the Bajorans cut loose and surged forward, the attack on Arin giving them the reason they needed to abandon the last vestiges of civility and retaliate.

The cleric stumbled back toward the encampment as the two groups collided with a clatter of violence. Stones and fire rained down toward him, scattering across the dull earth. Something impacted him hard across the small of the back and he stumbled forward, tripping over the ropes of a bubble-tent and falling to his knees. The confrontation was raging all around. He crawled, trying to drag himself from the melee, and every action was punctuated by a single thought. Tima is dead.

Hands grabbed his arms and pulled at his sleeves. He looked up and saw the young man. “You have to run!” he cried; there was no sign in his eyes of an understanding that it was his moment of insanity that had started this madness. “For Fate’s sake, you have to go!” The young man thrust a leather bag into his hands, and Bennek felt familiar shapes through the soft hide. “Keep them safe! But go, just go!”

The youth propelled him to his feet, out toward the far edge of the camp. Some animal reaction was triggered, and Bennek ran into the wilderness, heedless and out of control, clutching the bag to his chest.

The Bajoran politician attempted to conceal his discomfort at the two armored glinns who escorted him into the room, but he made a poor job of it. Ico inclined her head, and the soldiers gave her a curt nod and retreated from the chamber, sealing the security door behind them. She smiled. “It’s so good of you to come at this early hour. I know it’s a long trip to Dahkur.”

Kubus Oak recovered a little of his poise and nodded. “Nonsense. It’s never an unpleasant task to be in your company, Rhan.”

Ico studied him as Kubus tried to hide the fact that he was glancing around the woman’s office like a trapped animal searching for an exit. Does he think I brought him here to terminate him, perhaps? How amusing.The man’s false front of cool affability was slipping around the edges. Ico had made sure that Qui’al was isolated from some of the more incendiary activities she had set in motion today, but still the city-state’s leader could not have been ignorant of what was going on elsewhere on his homeworld. She decided not to speak, and steepled her fingers over her desk instead, watching him steadily.

After a few moments of silence, Kubus couldn’t resist his natural compulsion to fill the silence and gestured toward the animated situation map on the wallscreen. “That word…” He peered at a disk of Cardassian characters. “Terok.I’ve seen it several times on your documentation. What does it mean?”

“Your grasp of our language is improving, Oak. Well done.” She gave him an indolent nod, a teacher praising her student. “I suppose it will harm nothing to tell you.” Ico stood and rounded the desk. “It is a unique designation for your world. The Central Command generates one for every planet that joins the Union as a colony, client, or…associate. In our classified documentation, we refer to Bajor as Planetary Ident: Terok.” She smiled again. “Do you see how much I trust you? If any other Bajoran knew that information, I would be forced to sanction them.” That she made the comment so casually was enough to make the man pale slightly. Ico moved to hover next to him, in front of the moving play of her great game.

“I…am flattered,” he managed. “If I might ask, why did you demand my presence?”

“I don’t make demands, Oak,” she said lightly. “I only requestor suggest.Demands are made by those who have left themselves with no other options.”

He looked at her, and this close to him, she could make out the thin sheen of sweat on his face. Finally, the questions that must have been boiling up inside him since the moment he left Qui’al bubbled to the surface. “Rhan, what is going on?” He pointed at the map. “Civil unrest and reports of violence in a dozen cities. People going missing. Confusion and disorder.”

Her manner grew colder. “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough to you. You were told that certain conditions would need to be brought into being, correct?”

Kubus nodded woodenly. “And I’ve helped you establish some of them. But this…” He sighed. “There’s much more going on than I was aware of.”

She laughed. “Of course there is.” Ico saw the momentary look of betrayal on his face. “Oh, dear Oak. Are you upset that you were not given the full dimensions of our strategy? Please understand, it was not an attempt to slight you.” She wandered away. “I was keeping you focused. Safe, in a way.”

His lip trembled; he was as disturbed as she had ever seen him. “Safe?” Kubus replied, his voice rising slightly. “Safe from the knowledge that you would burn churches or land legions of troops under cover of darkness?”

“Are those things important?” she asked him. “The operation moves forward, and it will benefit Bajor as much as it does Cardassia in the long run. You know that.” Ico sighed. “But never forget that we move at Cardassian behest, not Bajoran. We all have parts to play.”

“I would have preferred to be better informed,” he said tightly.

“As would we all.” Ico’s reply was airy. She shook her head. “I don’t understand your reticence. There was none of this a decade ago when I first came to you with the offer of partnership. And before that, in your many dealings with Cardassia on a trade footing, you never once showed this level of reserve.”

“Things change,” he managed.

“They do,” she agreed, “and I always work to ensure that they change in ways that benefit me.” Ico crossed back to him and ran a gray hand over his cheek. The Bajoran’s skin was pleasantly warm. “Haven’t we always told you that your role would be one of the most important in shaping Bajor’s future? And this day’s work is a necessary step toward it.”

She sensed the change in him; all Kubus had needed was a little stroking to keep him centered.

“Lale has shown some recalcitrant behavior in recent weeks,” he noted. “I don’t think he wants to leave the First Ministry.”

“What Lale Usbor wants is of little interest to Cardassia,” Ico said, with more bluntness than she intended. Covering her tiny lapse, she spoke on. “But this is a delicate time, Oak. We enter the final act, but it has become complicated by some outside interference.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

A nod. “And that is why I brought you here today, so that you will know.” She inclined her head. “Those fools in the United Federation of Planets are taking an undue interest. Rest assured that the Union has gambits in place to retard their meddling, but it is important that in the next few days your fellow members of the Chamber of Ministers—the ones of weaker character, that is—do not panic and run to the Federation.”

Kubus nodded slowly. “That would be a mistake.”

She released another smile. “It pleases me to see that you and I are still so close in our intentions.”

“I’ll keep the other ministers in line.” The man’s confidence returned at full force now that he was back on more familiar ground.

“You’ve done well to date,” Ico noted, “although I have had some concerns regarding your control over the actions of Jas Holza.”

“Holza?” Kubus mocked. “He’s a spent force, too weak to defy me. He’ll tow the line or else run to Valo with Keeve Falor and the rest of the exiles. Either way, he’s not an issue.” He bowed slightly and stepped back. “I’ll…take my leave, then?”

Ico came close to him and touched him again. “No,” she husked, “I think not. Perhaps, Oak, perhaps I will make a demand of you.”

She relished the moment of fear in his eyes as her hands strayed to the buttons on his shirt. Today will be a busy one,Ico told herself. I can justify myself this one little diversion before I return to it.

Darrah Mace sipped the cup of water and swallowed hard, trying to keep the fluid in his gullet. The echoing resonance of the phaser stun would be lingering for a good while yet. By rights, he should have taken some time to lie down, to let his body relax and gather itself; the Cardassians had other ideas, however. They woke him using harsh chemical stimulants and held him for an hour in the hangar, recording everything he said about the escaped fugitives.

At one point, one of the alien soldiers asked him if he was trembling because of a delayed reaction to the stun blast. He lied and said yes. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them it was rage that had wound him so tightly that he wanted to rip the throats out of every one of them. Everything the blond woman said was there at the front of his thoughts, hard as diamond. It took every bit of Darrah’s self-control to say nothing, to play dumb.

Eventually, they released him. By that time, most of the other Cardassians in the pursuit group were gone anyway, summoned away by their commander. Dukat,Darrah told himself. It was him.The gul appeared to have problems of his own, nursing his own fury at being denied the Starfleet women. Dukat ignored Darrah and let his junior officers supervise the interrogation. He could feel the disdain oozing from the Cardassian. He didn’t even recognize me. I was just another Bajoran, just another impediment.

“Are you all right, sir?” asked Myda.

He glanced up, coming back to the present. “I’m okay.” Darrah had returned to the precinct to find the usual controlled chaos of the place strangely absent. The station house was almost empty, with desks left untidy and monitors still ticking over. “Where is everyone?”

“Gone,” she said wearily. “We had to activate every officer in the city. You saw it on the streets. It’s out of control.”

Darrah nodded grimly. Korto was slipping into lawlessness and anarchy. The roads were choked with terrified people trying to flee, angry people looking for a fight, and criminals using the cover of unrest to loot and pillage. “You contacted the command precinct in Ashalla?” She nodded. “You told them what’s happening here?”

“I sent a priority alert,” she explained, sitting down on the desk next to him. “Asked for emergency support units. But they told me there was no one to send.” Myda sighed.

“This is happening all over Bajor, sir. We’re on our own.”

“Kosst,”Darrah swore quietly. “How are we supposed to keep this together?”

“It gets worse,” said the woman. “Our people are dropping off the grid. No answer on comms.”

Darrah sagged in the chair and listened to the odd quiet of the precinct house, the faint clicks and beeps of the unattended computers. A law officer not responding to signals from home base was usually a sign that they were incapacitated, or worse—but he had a creeping feeling that a lot of the men going dark were abandoning their posts. Can I blame them? If you knew how widespread this was, what man wouldn’t want to look to the safety of his own instead of protecting strangers?A bleak smile touched his lips in a moment of self-recognition.

He looked at the woman. “Why are you still here, Myda?”

She understood the question. “My family will be okay, sir. I have a job to do.”

Darrah let out a bleak chuckle. “I used to think that.” He waved her away. “Go on, get going. Make sure they’re safe.”

Myda shook her head. “I won’t. I’ll make them safe by keeping a lid on this. Out there I’m just one more person. In here, I can make a difference.”

Darrah got to his feet. “For the sake of the Prophets, I hope so.”

She followed him to the dispatch console. “It’s a pity you didn’t get to the port in time to stop those fugitives,” said Myda. “Maybe they had something to do with all this.”

“Maybe,” he said flatly. On some level, he was still trying to assimilate what the women had told him. He grimaced as he realized he didn’t even know their names. The lawman took the tricorder from his belt and studied the data string the operative had entered there. The Cardassian who had held him hadn’t recognized what it represented.

“You have something there, sir?” asked Myda.

“Damned if I know,” he admitted. Something else was bothering him, along with the hundreds of other issues pressing into his thoughts: How had the Cardassians known that they would be at the port, at that hangar?He felt a cold sensation creep through his gut. Is that why they let me go? Because Dukat or one of the others is monitoring the precinct? That must be it…

“Mace!” They both turned toward the sound of his name, and the lawman’s face clouded as he recognized a familiar figure scrambling over the duty officer’s desk. He was dragging a heavy pack with him.

“Syjin? What are you doing back here?”

The pilot came over, his usual breezy manner gone. “Never mind that,” he snapped. “I have to talk to you, right now.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Bajor’s falling apart all around us,” Myda retorted. “And this area is off-limits to civilians.”

Darrah waved her away. “It’s okay, Myda.” He shot Syjin a look. “You said you were getting out. It’s a mistake coming back to Bajor. People are taking any ship they can find to get offworld.”

“I didn’t land at the port,” the pilot explained, speaking rapidly. “My bird is still in low orbit. I beamed down.” He held up the pack. “You need to see this, Mace, and right now.” Syjin shot Myda a look. “In private, I’d say.”

Darrah frowned and beckoned his friend toward his office. “In here, then.”

Syjin closed the door and dropped the bag on his desk. “Take a look.”

Inside was a battered cylindrical data module, the kind the Space Guard fitted as a redundant memory core aboard their ships. Darrah leaned in and read the identity plate fused to the dense metal. One word made his breath catch in his throat. “Clarion?That was the ship—”

The pilot nodded. “The ship that Lonnic Tomo was aboard. One of the lost reprisal fleet.”

The lawman ran his hands over the surface. It was undamaged. He started looking for output ports. “Where did you find this?”

“The Ajir system, a clump of dead planets off the main trade lanes. Look, that’s not important. What is important is that this thing is still in one piece. Whatever happened to the Clarionand the rest of those ships, it’s in here.” He tapped it with a finger. “I tried to connect it up to my bird’s mainframe, but I couldn’t get into the logs. I need a more powerful machine and someone with the clearance to get access…” He looked at Darrah and trailed off.

“And you figured a police officer would be just right?” Darrah studied the unit. The Starfleet woman’s words echoed again. You already know the answer.He thought about the attack, about Lonnic and the ships that had never come home. “The truth is in here,” he breathed. “Fire’s sake, Syjin. Do you understand what you’ve found?”

He shook his head. “Not really, Mace. That’s why I brought it to you, because you’re smarter than me. You always know the right thing to do.”

Darrah reached for a connector cable and then halted. “If the Cardassians are monitoring the precinct’s datastreams, they’ll know the moment I hook this up.”

“What do they have to do with this?” Syjin asked.

Darrah ignored the question and studied the device for a long moment; then he got to his feet and put it back in the pack. “Come on. We can’t do this here. We have to use an isolated system, one with no connection to the planetary data network.”

“Where are we going to find something like that?”

Darrah grabbed his coat and weapon. “I know where.”

The image was blurred slightly by the motion of movement in the second it was captured, but light-intensification subroutines built into the viewscreen had cleaned up the sillhouette enough for any observer to be certain of what they were seeing. “A Janad-class tank,” said Nechayev. “All it was missing was a crew and the will to use it.”

Across the Gettysburg’s briefing room, at the far end of the conference table, the young lieutenant with the serious expression gave a low gasp. “Oy. They’re loaded for bear.”

The Vulcan woman to Nechayev’s right nodded. “An accurate estimation, Lieutenant Gold, if overly colloquial.” She glanced at Nechayev. “You are certain that the vehicles were ready for deployment?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind, Commander. And let’s not forget, my report covers only one enclave location. There’s a dozen on Bajor, each potentially concealing similar weapons stores.” She paused and winced, rubbing her eyes.

Captain Jameson, who had remained largely silent during her debriefing, leaned in. “Lieutenant, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, sir,” she lied. “Fine” was actually quite a long way from how she felt right now, and there had been a moment out there in the black aboard the Kaskawhen Nechayev had thought she would never feel anything again.

Jekko’s courier, its systems finally overwhelmed by the enormous power drain placed on them by the vintage cloaking device, had finally given out. The cascade shutdown had wrecked everything, fusing the systems and terminating life support. Nechayev and Jones climbed into the decrepit emergency environmental suits in the ship’s locker and waited for the ice to start forming. Jones slipped into unconsciousness first, as the cold, hard stars wheeled around them. Nechayv tried to stay awake, clutching her phaser in numb fingers, but she followed the other woman into blackness as hypothermia reached in and took hold.

The Gettysburghad found them soon after, as Commander T’Vel had told her, homing in on Nechayev’s encrypted recovery beacon. The Kaskawas in the starship’s shuttlebay, a few decks below them, being picked over by the engineering crew. Nechayev felt a flicker of guilt; the little vessel had killed itself saving their lives, and it deserved a more noble fate.

“Are you sure you don’t want to return to sickbay?” said Jameson. “We can resume this at a later time.”

Sickbay.She’d woken up on the biobed gasping for air and panicking, dreaming of snakes. Jones was still down there, sleeping off her recovery. “No, sir,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Captain, with all due respect, this can’t wait for a later time. We have to act now.”

Jameson and T’Vel exchanged glances. As an operative for Starfleet Intelligence, Nechayev was used to the idea that there would be information that she was not privy to. The concept of “need to know” was integral to being a good operative. As such, she’d learned to recognize when her superiors were holding something back. Nechayev glanced around the room; as well as the captain and his executive officer, she was flanked by Gold and Gettysburg’s chief of security, an Andorian female named sh’Sena. She hadn’t had the opportunity to get to know them beyond the most cursory of conversations; in her experience, starship crews tended to be tight-knit groups who didn’t exactly resentthe presence of an intelligence operative on temporary assignment to their vessel, but they didn’t welcome it either. Of them all, sh’Sena was the only one Nechayev had spent any time with, mostly during the mission preparations before she and Jones had been inserted on Draygo. The Andorian’s mood read wrongly to Nechayev’s trained eye. Something has happened. While we were undercover, something happened.

She turned back to Jameson. “What’s changed, sir?”

The captain folded his arms. “Tell me your mission objective, Lieutenant.”

“Covert assessment of the political situation on Bajor.” She reeled it off automatically. “Primary mission goal: make contact with a local asset in the employ of Bajoran exile Keeve Falor, evaluate all available intelligence, and exfiltrate.” She sighed, ignoring for a moment that the planned silent departure from Bajor had mutated into a headlong race with Cardassian guns chasing them all the way.

“And what was the purpose of that mission?”

“We were sent in there to answer a question.” Her tone stiffened. “Is the Cardassian Union going to forcibly annex the planet Bajor?” She jerked her thumb at the still image of the tank. “Well, sir? You tell me.”

“I’d say the answer is clear,” Jameson replied. “And the next question becomes, what are we going to do about it?”

Nechayev read the reply in his eyes and she went cold. “Nothing.”

The captain nodded. “That’s right. Starfleet wants us to stand back and maintain a safe distance. We’re to observe and conduct signals intelligence for the moment, but no more.”

Nechayev blinked and leaned forward. “Sir, I’m not sure if you understand the gravity of the situation. I was down there, I felt the mood of the people. They’re on a knife edge.” She shook her head. “Captain, a man died so I could bring this information out safely! He gave up his life without hesitation because he thought we were going to help his world.” The agent tapped the tabletop. “We have a window of opportunity here. Bajor is one step away from governmental collapse, and the Cardassians are giving them a push! We can stop that, but we have to move on it right away!”

“Without a direct mandate from the Federation Council, we’re not going back in,” Jameson said flatly.

Nechayev was the veteran of a dozen clandestine missions. She was highly trained, one of the best field agents in the division. She understood that dispassion was an important factor in maintaining the clinical distance required to be a covert operative. And yet, as she sat and listened to the Gettysburg’s commander cut off the last hope for Bajor, something inside her snapped. “I can’t accept that,” she retorted. “Those people are in clear and present danger. We can’t just walk away!” The outburst surprised everyone, Nechayev included. It’s Gwen; all her wide-eyed naïveté has rubbed off on me.

“But we will,” said T’Vel, “because we must.” The Vulcan glanced at Jameson, seeking permission, and he nodded. She continued. “Starfleet Intelligence has discovered that the Cardassian Union is operating a concealed listening post withinFederation space, from a moon in the Delavi system. To use your term, Lieutenant Nechayev, that outpost represents a clear and present danger to the hundreds of Starfleet vessels and colonies that operate within its detection range.”

“Command is drawing up an assault plan as we speak,” added sh’Sena. “Once in place, we’ll take the outpost and neutralize it.”

“But in the meantime we have to keep our hands free of the Bajor Sector,” said Jameson. “The Cardassians know we’re sniffing around. If they think we’re coming into the area in force, they’ll go dark. You know how they work; the Delavi outpost will be abandoned and they’ll set up somewhere else, somewhere we don’tknow about.”