Текст книги "Dawn of the Eagles "

Автор книги: Stephani Danelle Perry

Соавторы: Gene Rodenberry,Britta Dennison
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

The man laughed then, the threatening tilt of his countenance abruptly vanishing. “My dear, you sound so grim!” he exclaimed. “Of course you’ll be taken to Doctor Moset’s hospital. It’s a pity you couldn’t help us. But if you remember anything at all…”

Kalisi stood, dazed. Was this really coming to an end? “I’ll contact you, of course,” she said, though she did not know his name, nor even the name of this planet where he apparently resided. “But who…?”

“My name,” he said cordially, “is Dost Abor. If, at any time in the future, you remember anything at all about your friend, you need only to contact your father in order to find me.”

“Anything at all,” she promised, wondering now what had actually happened. Had she imagined the cold, the way his eyes had shone, watching her cry for her father? Had she imagined her own fear?

Any citizen of the Union could be called upon at any time to assist the authorities in matters concerning the good of home and state. Which authority—homeworld police, the Order, Central Command—didn’t really matter; authority got what it wanted. It seemed she’d been called upon, that was all.

Of course that’s all.Miras Vara had gotten herself into some kind of trouble. It made sense that someone would want to talk to her old acquaintances. And she didn’t know anything; she hadn’t even thoughtof Miras in years…

She forced a laugh at herself as the pilot beamed them back up to the shuttle. I should have been a writer of enigma tales,she decided. She’d been slightly inconvenienced, at worst, and she’d overreacted. That was all. But then—that cold, handsome smile.

Dost Abor, she thought. She’d remember the name.

OCCUPATION YEAR THIRTY-FIVE

2362 (Terran Calendar)

5

There was no more smoke, the explosion’s resultant fires having long since died, but everything smelled of burnt composite and chemicals, the stink rising from the blackened ground. There was nothing left of the house—scarcely even rubble. The Bajoran device, whatever it was, had reduced the Pa’Dar home to little more than a large heap of fine dust.

Kotan Pa’Dar stood at the edge of the site with his personal aide, scarcely able to look at the mound of ash. A slight breeze stirred the dust, and Pa’Dar felt his eyes and throat ridges ache, wondering if the bones of his wife and son were in that dancing tide of particles. It was a mere fluke that Pa’Dar himself had not been home when the attack had occurred. In the days that followed the incident, contemplating his life without his family, he had wished that he had been home, sometimes so fervently that he could not sleep. He wished he had gone with them, wherever they now were.

Yoriv Skyl, who had been Pa’Dar’s assistant and closest friend for the past four years, was now doing his best to provide consolation, but Pa’Dar found that he wished the other man would simply remain silent, as he could hardly bear to concoct responses for him.

“The others at the settlement continue to insist that your son may not have been here when the attack occurred,” Skyl said. “Every man in our vicinity has been instructed to look for an eight-year-old Cardassian child, and with so few of our children on this world, it will only be a matter of time—”

“Please, Yoriv. This isn’t necessary.” Pa’Dar found it ironic that his own house should be the one to be targeted. He had been sympathetic to the plight of the Bajorans almost since the beginning of his term; he had originally come to Bajor in the role of scientist, not conqueror, and during his reluctant political tenure had done his best to see to it that the Bajorans under his direct governance were treated fairly. But the terrorists did not distinguish, only worked to create the biggest impact with their violence. And who better to attack than an exarch?

Pa’Dar and Skyl were supposed to be discussing the particulars of a new dwelling that would be built here, directly atop the ruins of the old, but Pa’Dar was far from enthusiastic about the idea. He did not want to live on this spot anymore; in fact, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to live on Bajor anymore.

With that thought, his adjutant fielded a transmission that had come to his padd. It was Dukat—Pa’Dar knew it from the first silky word as the prefect greeted Pa’Dar’s aide.

“Yoriv.”

Skyl turned slightly, to keep Pa’Dar out of the frame. Pa’Dar watched impassively, sure that his assistant would know to keep him out of any exchanges with the prefect. Especially today.

“Hello, Prefect. Is there something I can do for you?” Skyl’s round face was the picture of helpful supplicant.

“Yes. You can remind Pa’Dar that the reports concerning drilling estimates in Tozhat were to be in my hands as of yesterday.”

“Prefect, perhaps you’ve not heard of the tragedy that occurred here four days ago—we are still dealing with the aftermath.”

“Of course I am aware of it,”Dukat said. “I am the one who ordered that the site be assessed right away for the approval of a new structure. I wanted the affair to be managed as seamlessly as possible, to allow Pa’Dar to put the incident behind him—after an appropriate opportunity to grieve, of course.”

“Yes, of course, and for that, I know the exarch is grateful. You’re most gracious, to extend such a courtesy when I know how you’re counting on that data…”

Skyl went on, handling the prefect with his customary aplomb. Pa’Dar was grateful for his assistant’s capabilities, for he himself had never been much of a politician when it came to handling Dukat’s demands—many of which Pa’Dar disagreed with directly. Pa’Dar had been acquainted with the prefect for a long time, and the rivalry and dissent between the two men had only increased over the years. It didn’t improve the situation that certain members of Pa’Dar’s family served on the Detapa Council, and it was no secret that the council was often in direct conflict with Central Command. As the civilian government started to exercise more influence over the military, Dukat’s position weakened—and he had Pa’Dar to vent his frustration on.

As Skyl continued to field Dukat, Pa’Dar had another look at the ruins of his home, and made a decision. Skyl finished his call and turned to Pa’Dar with apology in his expression.

“Business does not rest, Kotan. I will facilitate those reports for you—all that they will require is your thumbscan. None of it is of such consequence that you need to trouble yourself with it immediately.”

“Thank you, Yoriv. But if I may make an observation—it seems to me that you do my job even better than I do.”

Skyl looked worried. “I don’t mean to imply that your input is unnecessary, Kotan. I only meant that perhaps, at a time such as this—”

Pa’Dar interrupted him. “You misunderstand me, friend. My father insists that he can eventually get me nominated for a seat on the Detapa Council if I return to Cardassia Prime. There are two members of the council who will likely be retiring soon, due to their age…. I wouldn’t have considered it before now, but it seems to me that the Bajorans no longer appreciate my efforts here.”

Skyl appeared to understand, now. “And so…my services will no longer be required?”

Pa’Dar almost smiled. “They will be very much required, Yoriv, for I intend to recommend you as my replacement. I have little doubt that the prefect will approve, since it seems to me that your relationship with him is far better than mine has ever been.” He did not add that it was unlikely that any other, more experienced politician would want the position. Where once a man might feel that his political career could be secured by serving a few terms on Bajor, most now felt that it was not worth the risk. That skepticism was not likely to abate in the wake of this current tragedy.

Yoriv was speechless, and for a moment, Pa’Dar thought perhaps the other man didn’t wish to take the position. But Skyl broke into an earnest smile, a smile of gratitude, and Pa’Dar felt, for a moment, something almost like relief—but it was gone again with another slight breeze, the dust of his heart and home spinning up into the ever chill wind. If nothing else, the thought of leaving Bajor at last was of some consolation. That comfort was small indeed.

She was only imagining that she could hear the whistling of the wind outside, Kira knew. In fact, nobody in the Shakaar cell was sure what kind of weather was going on beyond the dense, soundproof rock, though they’d received a report that there was a strong storm front coming in. Unusual for this late in the spring, but deep in the cave, there was no way to confirm what was really happening out there. Refractory minerals in the surrounding hillside, so effective at concealing them from Cardassian scanners, likewise made their own tricorders useless, unless someone maintained a tricky relay system that would have to be periodically recalibrated from outside. Where the weather was concerned, it was easier just to crawl through the tunnels to have a look at the sky. Sometimes Kira looked forward to doing the weather report, just to glimpse the outside world, but she didn’t want to do it today. She was tired after another sleepless night.

Nobody went outside much anymore, and not for longer than absolutely necessary. After the detection grid had first gone online, they thought they had already defeated it; Mobara had come up with small individual devices that were supposed mask their biosigns, make them less distinguishable from the surrounding flora and fauna. The tech, as it turned out, wasn’t entirely reliable, a fact driven home during that harrowing week last year when Kira had been cut off from the rest of the cell for seven days while being hunted by Union troops.

More recently, Mobara had cobbled together a rig that generated a scattering field over a small area, making them invisible to the sensor towers, and within the field the cell was able to travel in small groups—up to a point. If someone happened to accidentally wander or be forced outside the perimeter of the field, Cardassians were usually upon them within minutes. That was how well the grid seemed to work.

Although, Kira reflected, it doesn’talways work. Even without Mobara’s gadgets, there were still times when Dahkur’s resistance fighters succesfully crept through the hills undetected, and Kira had often been among those lucky few. But unless and until they could discern a pattern to those failures in the grid, it was in the relative safety of the caves that they made their homes, living off emergency rations and making gradiose plans to knock out the sensor towers.

The few active cells left on Bajor were dealing with the grid in much the same way as the Shakaar, but her cell heard about those things only through word of mouth. They had lost long-range contact with the other resistance groups over a year ago, although nobody was sure how it had happened—probably just a communications tower on Derna that needed maintenance, and no way to get to it. The Cardassians’ anti-aircraft system was still fully functional, but that was an assumption only—one nobody in the Shakaar cell dared to challenge.

Kira set about boiling some water on the makeshift unit her cell used for a stove. This unit could produce heat without the danger of toxic emissions, as long as it was functioning properly. Drinking water was collected from a runoff point in an underground stream below them, one of the same streams that carried off any non-compostable waste and irrigated the artificially lit gardens Shakaar was always trying—unsuccessfully—to coax into producing enough food to make supply runs less necessary.

It was important to check the snowmelt every so often in the spring to ensure that the water levels were sound; they needed enough water to last them through the summer, but too much melt too soon meant they’d have a flood on their hands. The detection grid had turned even that tedious errand into a venture of uncertainty, and nobody had been able to check the rate of runoff in almost a month. Kira was all too aware of it every time she took a drink of water. Would this be the month they’d all die of thirst in this cave? Or the night they’d all drown in their sleep when the subterranean streams beneath them began to swell, filling the chambers with icy water?

The water in the pot began to bubble, and Kira tapped the contents of a Cardassian-issued ration pack into the little saucepan she was using. Most people ate these things straight, but Kira preferred to make a kind of soupy porridge from the crushed contents of the packets. It wasn’t what any Bajoran would call delicious—the Cardassians’ idea of food took quite a bit of getting used to—but you could live on it.

It was early, and the rest of the cell was still asleep, or possibly out in the larger chamber, grumbling about failed plans. Nothing had been going well lately, not for many months. Only a very few minor operations had been successfully carried out by the Shakaar cell over the last year, working in conjunction with what was left of the Kohn-Ma cell, a group Shakaar Edon didn’t always see eye-to-eye with. The Kohn-Ma cell had fewer qualms about “friendly fire” than did any other cell Kira knew about, even if it involved civilians—even if it involved children. Kira didn’t like it, but she had always taken it to be a necessity of fighting a war. Shakaar seemed to feel differently.

Kira ate quickly. She didn’t want to be scolded for having her packet of rations so early in the day. The cell members were each supposed to be living on just one of these things every twenty-six hours, but Kira had decided she’d make another run back into one of the local townships herself, tomorrow, after the storm cleared up, to resupply the cell with food and other necessities.

She didn’t know why, but she’d been the luckiest in her outfit as far as these supply runs went. Every time she reminded Shakaar or Lupaza of it, they’d insist that luck only went so far– “How do you know your number isn’t about to come up?”Kira insisted it was only because she was more careful than the others, the ones who hadn’t made it back, though she knew it was certainly not true. She could be just as clumsy as anyone else—last time she hadn’t made it back to the warren until long after the Cardassians must have found the false life sign and moved on to find her signal—but somehow, she’d made it clean.

Kira had just about finished her meal when she jumped at a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “Nerys!”

She turned to find that someone stood in the tunnel that connected with the northwestern entrance, the one used by the members of the Kohn-Ma cell. It was Tahna Los, a handsome but cocky young man who was not much older than Kira.

“You scared the kosstout of me,” Kira grumbled, and quickly finished her food.

“I need you for a minute.”

“You needme, eh?” Kira smirked, pretending to flirt. It always disarmed Tahna, who, despite his good looks, was notoriously clumsy with women.

“Really, Nerys, this is serious. Someone has to go and do the weather report in an hour. Biran wants me to do it, but I can’t get through those little tunnels like you can. All you have to do is look out—”

“I should have known,” Kira said. “Serious, huh? Please, Tahna. I’m busy.”

“Busy eating, as usual,” Tahna snorted.

“Well, maybe if I gain some weight, you’ll stop pestering me to slither through that little crack in the rock. Your cell should have widened that fissure a long time ago.”

“Biran says we can’t. He said if we try to open it any further, it’ll cause a cave-in.”

“Sure,” Kira muttered. “Fine, I’ll do the weather report. But this is the last time this month. I’ve done it four times in a row.”

Kira followed her friend through the hole that had been chipped away in the rock, reluctantly letting him pass into the arm that led down to his own cell’s hideout. She headed back through the winding passage until the ceiling abruptly dropped to the height of her chest, and she was forced to crouch. The rock scuffed her clothes, and dust crumbled into her hair.

It seemed to take an eternity to scuttle through the squat passage. She kept expecting to hear the wind soaring through the trees as she came closer to the tunnel’s mouth, but she heard nothing, and when she finally came upon the opening, she saw why.

There was no storm today. The sky had minimal cloud cover, and the air was moist, but warm. A perfect day.

And I’m spending it inside a hole in the rock.She squinted out at the sky, the blue color beyond the clouds so impossibly uniform. She did not want to go back inside. It was such a beautiful day, reminiscent of her childhood, and early summer days playing springball with her brothers.

She crouched there for a few moments before she found herself poking her head farther out of the tunnel, her neck and shoulders and waist following. She just wanted to stand up and stretch before reentering that cramped passage. She stepped out onto the ground, still wet from the rain the night before, and let her joints expand for a moment. Nobody had ever been caught this close to the tunnel; the kelbonite shielded them until they got to be a few paces away. Of course, there was always the chance of being spotted, but Kira felt certain that there would be no soldiers nearby. These days they were sent out only if the detection grid was tripped; otherwise, they stayed in their stifling barracks where they could…do whatever it was Cardassian soldiers did in their free time. Kira didn’t care to speculate.

She took a few steps forward, acknowledging a desire to run out into the open and enjoy the day, enjoy the natural beauty of her world. She inhaled deeply. She could smell the rain-soaked spice of the wild salamgrasses, the pitch from black rubberwood pines.

Maybe I should go home, too.

Not forever, just until they could figure out some way to beat the grid. Gantt had talked extensively about going back to his family instead of waiting around for nothing to happen. Some of the cells had disbanded, she knew, the members slipping back to their families, back to their old lives. But Kira didn’t accept that the resistance movement was beaten. It was a temporary setback; they’d find a way to—

She froze. A rustling in the trees, just ahead of her. She immediately ducked, crouch-stepped backward to the cave, eyes wide and watchful, and then she saw it—not a Cardassian soldier, but a lean cadge lupus, its lips curled back over its sharp yellowed teeth. Kira froze, and the animal licked its lips, its ribs showing, its belly undoubtedly empty. Would it follow her back into the cave? She didn’t want to chance it. She reached for her phaser—and it wasn’t there.

Don’t run.

She’d never faced one alone, but everyone knew basic safety. Never try to outrun a cadge lupus. You could try to charge it, make noise, make big movements; sometimes—often—that drove them off. Otherwise, look for the tallest tree you could climb and get off the ground. Kira acted. She lunged at the animal, swept with her arms, making the fiercest sound she could muster. Unfortunately, it came out sounding weirdly shrill and decidedly harmless. The lupus didn’t budge, only continued to growl at her, the grizzled fur on the back of its neck spiking with aggression.

If it leapt for her, went for her throat, she’d be dead. If it followed her into the tight cave, she’d be trapped, unable to run in the narrow passage.

Kira spotted a tall tree with low branches, not too far behind the animal. She didn’t stop to think, only took an enormous breath and ran for it. She sprinted so close to the lupus she could have reached out and patted its head. She must have confused it, for she reached the tree and was shimmying up the trunk before the beast came after her.

She reached a branch high off the ground, tried vainly to catch her breath as she perched on the peeling wood where it joined the trunk. The lupus paced the ground below, growling and whining.

Think.If the lupus went away soon, maybe she’d still have a chance to get back into the passageway before her biosign tripped the grid. But if not…she’d be better off letting the animal have her. Better that than bringing Union soldiers down on the warren.

How could she have forgotten her phaser? It was Tahna’s fault, catching her off guard while she was in the middle of cooking breakfast, trying to conceal her meal from the others in the cell—after this, she’d never eat more than her fair share in a day, she vowed it to the Prophets a hundred times over.

Finally, the lupus seemed to lose interest in her, and it skulked off silently into the forest. But Kira knew better than to move right away. It would stay close, watching to see what she’d do. How long should she wait? Half an hour? Ten minutes? How long until the detection system locked onto her—if it hadn’t already—and she’d end her life as a Cardassian practice target up in this ridiculous tree? She recalled her earlier thoughts, and decided that if the lupus meant to have her, so be it. It was better than the alternative. She edged toward the trunk of the tree, reminded anew that coming down a tree was a much more difficult undertaking than climbing one.

The clouds were creeping in, the perfect day beginning to turn into something else again. Fine droplets of rain had begun to fall by the time she reached the ground, and she dashed for the nearby cave entrance, squirming considerably as she fought her way through the hateful passage, imagining the creature slipping through the dark behind her. She would not be doing the weather report for a good long time after this. And the supply run? She’d be using the west entrance, thank you very much, no matter how risky it was said to be.

To her great dismay, Lupaza was waiting for her when she finally made it back to the primary chamber. The older woman held the remains of Kira’s ration packet in her hand. These wrappers were not composted—like most products manufactured by the Cardassians, they were made without consideration for the long-term impact of their existence. The wrappers were usually pitched into one of the streams, where they would wash up at a point not far from Dahkur town with the rest of the cell’s trash. Scavengers usually picked those things out and found ways to reuse them.

“Girl!” Lupaza exclaimed. “I’ve told you and told you…”

“I know, Lupaza, but I promise I’m not going to be hungry again until tomorrow. I feel a little sick, actually.”

“Where have you been? Weather report again?”

Kira nodded.

“What’s it doing out there? Rain, like they said?”

“Rain, like they said. You know—you’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m going back to bed.”

Lupaza shrugged. “I’ve always thought you were crazy, Nerys.”

“Thanks.”

Kira slid past the older woman and walked to the sleeping barracks, where the rest of the cell was still asleep. She settled down onto a wide pallet that held the slow-breathing forms of Shakaar, Latha, Chavin, and Mobara. Chavin was snoring. Kira wondered, as she tried to relax into elusive sleep, how she’d managed to escape detection this time. Without even a false life sign! Was it because she was too close to the kelbonite? Or was it really just luck? Probably, it was the kelbonite. Otherwise, wouldn’t the Cardassians have found their hiding place by now? Kira didn’t know, and she was too tired to properly consider. Her mind raced for a while before she finally started to drift, just as the others began to stir.

“Wake up, lazy!” Chavin chided her, pulling the blankets away, and Kira waved him off, too tired to challenge the insult. Thankfully, the others finally left, and Kira could sleep. She dreamed of a pacing cadge lupus, and a tree that was somehow sinking into the ground, lowering her to the animal’s waiting jaws.