I believe I am starting to warm to Y'Nadan.
True, the Hazari spokesman is loud and arrogant, taking up one end of the Brathana's conference room as though he owns it. But he is also practical, and he shows the right attitude towards dealing with the Vaadwaur.
"And I say, knock his head off his shoulders and use it for a door stop!"
"Rrueo agrees," I say. "But first we must find him, and we have little to go on."
Y'Nadan glares at the other two Hazari in the room. N'Drask sits quietly at the conference table, his eyes darting occasionally from side to side. Ge'Sirn, beside him, is a slumped, sullen shape. "You two have any ideas?" Y'Nadan snaps. "You brought him here, after all."
I let my psychic senses feel the room. Y'Nadan's mind is a force, constant and powerful, like a tidal bore. N'Drask... N'Drask's mind is active, and ingenious, but it is like a mechanical engine - finely crafted, highly tuned, but in the end it answers to another's hand on the controls. For all his abilities, N'Drask is a follower at heart.
And he follows Ge'Sirn, whose mind is as sullen as his body, a dark thing squatting in a briar-like tangle of plots and possibilities. Had I time, and interrogation devices to hand, I might unravel those plots and uncover whatever truth lies within him. But I do not have time, and our diplomatic relations with the Hazari would not permit it in any event.
Now, Ge'Sirn stirs, and the tangles in his mind shift and darken. "We didn't know," he says in sulky tones. "We thought we'd seen him off. But, well, we've got tactical scans of that ship, we can reconstruct his warp signature -"
"Timor has all that is needed, there," I say. Though the science vessel is in sorry shape after the battle, and M'eioi is overseeing the urgent repairs. "It is doubtful we could track the warp signature through Underspace, though, even if the Turei can be persuaded to allow us access."
"Yeah," says Y'Nadan, "but we can pick it up again once they leave the Underspace, and there are two likely exit points near here. We can cover both, if we split our forces up a bit -"
"Rrueo does not like to divide an already small force -"
"I figure on sending a pair of Hazari ships with each one of yours. That still gives you a bigger force than you had when you started, right? Hazari Intelligence has a file on this Tuarak," he adds in dark tones. I did not even know the Hazari had a centralized intelligence agency, though there is no valid reason why the idea should surprise me.
"What does it say?" I ask.
"Tuarak is a former Overseer of the Supremacy, and a right-hand - thug - for one of the higher ups, High Overseer Kabol. But Kabol turned out to be infested with a neural parasite, and all his staff were downgraded in the clear-up, even if they weren't infected themselves. Tuarak went - independent. He took one ship, the interdictor cruiser we saw here, and as many loyal followers as he could scrape together, and he's been working ever since as a privateer. You Klingons have similar setups, right?"
"It is not unknown." And this explains some of what I felt in Tuarak's mind - the pride, the poisonous grievances. "If this is correct... then Tuarak is a man with much to prove, and little to lose," I say. "Such men can be dangerous adversaries."
"Yeah," says Y'Nadan, "but I don't care how motivated he is, he only has one ship, your Alphan friends gave it a proper pounding, and we need to catch up with him before he can make repairs. Sound like a plan to you?"
"Indeed," I say. I do not know if Pexlini will approve of this plan, but it will do no harm to present my self-proclaimed new commanding officer with a fait accompli. "Though there is one other possible lead we should investigate - this name Rrueo heard, Nessick."
At the sound of that name, the briars of Ge'Sirn's mind all tremble as if in a high wind. No time to be subtle; I turn to him with fierce eyes. "You know that name. How?"
If he did not already know I was a telepath, he does now, and the tangles of his mind contract into a hard knot. I could break it... given time and opportunity. "I don't know for sure if it's the same guy," he says in guarded tones. "It's just the one name, after all, but -"
"Spit it out!" snaps Y'Nadan.
"I've had... dealings... with an information broker by that name," Ge'Sirn mutters. "Octanti. Never met him - talked by subspace radio - but some of his info's been pretty reliable. If it's the same guy, I might have some idea where he is - backtracking from signals records, that kind of thing. If it's the same guy. It's a big galaxy out there, know what I'm saying?"
"Still, it's a possibility," says Y'Nadan.
"Rrueo concurs. It should be investigated. While repairs to Timor and Ostankino are completed, Rrueo will take the Brathana out... obviously, Rrueo must take Ge'Sirn with her."
"Obviously," Y'Nadan echoes.
Ge'Sirn folds his arms across his chest. Sparks are flickering in the tight knotwork of his brain. "Not without my ship," he says.
"Or mine," N'Drask adds. Yes, indeed, Ge'Sirn holds the key that sets N'Drask's motor running. I narrow my eyes at them both.
"Oh, it's reasonable," says Y'Nadan. "You could use the added firepower of their ships, anyway."
This is true... but Ge'Sirn has something in mind, and I do not know what. "Rrueo is not anxious to have the protomatter device turned against her," I say slowly.
"Oh, use your fuzzy head," Ge'Sirn snaps. "I can't use the protomatter device, can I? Tuarak has it."
"You expect Rrueo to believe that you cannot manufacture another?"
"Of course I can," says Ge'Sirn. "Can churn out a dozen of 'em before my replicator runs out of specialist materials. But I've got no protomatter. The whole reserve was in the actualizer when Tuarak took it. Scan my ship. You can confirm that."
"Rrueo will do so. Well, then." I rise to my feet. Something is still worrying me about Ge'Sirn. "Starfleet's ships need repairs. Rrueo is ready to take the Brathana out within the hour, though." I fix Ge'Sirn with what I hope is an intimidating stare. "Do not waste Rrueo's time."
---
"It sounds OK to me." Pexlini is shuffling across the Brathana's command deck, evidently in pain - from the vascular protoplasers and the rapid-healing agents administered to cure her various acceleration injuries, I would judge. Such healing can be swift, but there is always a price to pay.
"Rrueo does not trust Ge'Sirn," I say.
"Well, heck, who does?" says Pexlini. "That's why I'm locking the Hazari up neatly with a contract. Cooperation on returning the actualizer, conference afterwards with Federation and Empire representatives to decide what to do with the damn thing, standard no-hostile-action-against-friendly-perso
"Rrueo... supposes that will suffice. The Hazari honour their contracts." I frown. "Federation and Empire? Not Republic?"
Pexlini shrugs. "It'd take too long to get the Roms into the loop, and besides, what are they going to say that we won't? We'll tell them all about it once this has blown over - and when we've got our secure comms back. This Nessick," she adds, "sounds distinctly interesting to me."
"What the Romulans do not know will not hurt them," I mutter.
"Dead right," says Pexlini. "By the way, the same thing goes for those discreet listening devices I've got stuck to N'Drask's ship. I'm gonna pass the details over to your comms people, you never know when that sort of thing will come in handy." She moves off towards Oschmann at the comms console; her movements are rapid, but stiff. I follow, my tail switching - my disquiet is still there.
Oschmann looks up as Pexlini hands her a datapad. "So," the human renegade says, "what's the story here, exactly?"
"Pexlini is familiar with the Hazari and is therefore handling negotiations with them," I say. It seems a reasonable enough pretext - I have, obviously, not announced Pexlini's real status to my crew.
"Doing pretty well out of it, too," Pexlini says. "Got myself a neat little bonus -"
"No doubt," says Oschmann in frosty tones. She eyes the Talaxian with undisguised suspicion.
"If it comes to that," Pexlini says, "what's your story, anyhow? How come you're in with the lumpy forehead mob?" Clearly, tact is not part of her cover story.
Oschmann glares at her. "I'm sure you can look it up for yourself," she snaps.
"I dunno. All I've got is Cynthia Carlotta Oschmann, resigned after being censured by the Inspector General. Doesn't tell me much - and I don't exactly have a pipeline into Starfleet's personnel files, do I?" True, though disingenuous, I note.
"Carlotta Cynthia," Oschmann spits. "Personnel never got round to fixing that - not that it's Starfleet's only mistake. You want to know the story?" She swivels in her seat to glare full-face at Pexlini. "Sidoneus Zeta was a system on the verge of interstellar contact, only one political faction there had already made interstellar contact without knowing it. The Ferengi - well, one consortium within the Ferengi Alliance. Their agents were bringing in new technological innovations, giving their chosen faction an edge. I made an agreement with another faction to provide equivalent technical information to them, enough to level the playing field. There was precedent for it - James Kirk, at Neural -" Her voice has risen to a shout.
"IG's office didn't agree, huh?" says Pexlini.
"Stupid," says Oschmann. "And - dishonourable. So I joined a military where honour still has some meaning."
"OK," says Pexlini. "Kinda see your point, I guess." Oschmann's mind is burning with remembered grievance - and, in the burning, her inchoate suspicions of the Talaxian have been forgotten. No doubt that is for the best.
"So what're your plans now?" Pexlini asks me.
"There are three leads - Nessick, two Underspace exits. We have three ships, and whatever backup the Hazari contract specifies. Dividing our forces never appeals to Rrueo, but in this case, time is of importance."
Pexlini nods. "So, I guess, you want to take Ge'Sirn and N'Drask and follow their lead on Nessick, while M'eioi and I complete repairs and head for the Underspace loci?"
"This seems a sound plan to Rrueo. Perhaps not ideal, but sound enough."
Pexlini nods again, this time enthusiastically enough to set her topknot bobbing. "OK, let's do it, then. Unless you want another set of Hazari - ?"
"Ge'Sirn knows the coordinates, and so Rrueo must have him. Ge'Sirn will want his supporter N'Drask, and Rrueo thinks we want him too, albeit -" I point to the datapad on Oschmann's console "- for different reasons. The Hazari have limited manpower after the bombardment, so Rrueo should not further deplete the forces available to Pexlini and M'eioi." I snarl. "We will just have to hope that Ge'Sirn holds true to this new contract."
---
Hours pass. Hours pass, and I worry, without clearly knowing why.
Our ships speed between the stars, Brathana leading, N'Drask following, Ge'Sirn's ship with its weird parti-coloured hull bringing up the rear. The harlequin coating on the Hazari's ship is purely cosmetic, I have been assured. I do not know whether to be concerned or comforted by the idea that Ge'Sirn's ship remains fully operational.
"Approaching the designated coordinates now," Toriash reports. I sit up straight in the command chair.
"Stand ready to drop out of warp. Do we know anything of this locality?"
"Nothing on the Delta Quadrant intelligence files," Oschmann answers.
Those files are a few known hard facts, supporting a mountain of conjecture, surrounded by a vast ocean of absolute ignorance. "Any information on sensors?" I demand.
"Long range scan shows... some sort of object," says Toriash. "Details are unknown, as yet."
"Drop out of warp," I order. "Approach it. Cautiously."
"Shields or cloak, sir?" asks K'Rokok.
"Shields. Rrueo wants protection more than stealth. We will need to run active scans in any event. Inform the Hazari."
Brathana shudders slightly as she drops to sublight speeds. I lean forward, studying the console displays.
"Metallic. Evidence of power sources...." But no life signs - not visible yet, at any rate.
"My thoughts would be, a communications buoy," Toriash rumbles.
"Possible. The Hirogen use such.... Maintain constant vigilance. Three-sixty degree spherical scans at maximum intensity. Rrueo has no wish to be distracted again by the Hirogen."
"Their comms buoys have life support capacity for a limited crew," Oschmann observes.
"True. A caretaker staff on station would be a wise precaution for anyone, so far from the nearest habitable world...." The buoy - or whatever it is - is in deep space, light-years from the nearest star. I do not even know where the nearest habitable world is, from here. But there are still no detectable life signs.
"Perhaps this Nessick is not at home," K'Rokok suggests in a sour voice.
"Then he will not mind if Rrueo makes herself comfortable and awaits his return," I muse.
"Sir -" Toriash shifts uneasily on his seat.
"What is it?"
"Perhaps nothing." The big Gorn leans forward to peer more closely at his console. "My scans caught a flash, a flicker - not from the object -"
"From where, then?"
"Attempting to refine now, sir." Toriash's shoulders are hunched, his massive talons almost caressing the console. "It looks like... coherent light. Scattering off some particulate debris in space... somewhere behind us...."
Coherent light. A laser beam, encountering some tiny speck of interstellar dust.... But there is nothing behind us, save the two Hazari ships -
My ears fold flat to my head, and my fur bristles. "Red alert. Come about, now."
"Sir?" says K'Rokok.
"Laser link. Secure comms, between Ge'Sirn and N'Drask. If they do not want us to hear what they are saying -"
Brathana dips and swings around -
Not fast enough. White-gold flashes of light streak from the two Hazari ships; corrosive plasma cannon fire, rapid and high intensity - and targeting us.
Shudders run through the ship. There is a brief flash-bang of a transient surge on one console - but the Hazari are aiming their fire precisely, very precisely. Overloaded at one point, our shields flicker and fail, and the plasma barrage proceeds unimpeded into our starboard nacelle.
"Return fire!" And Brathana's disruptors lash out, raking along the Hazari ships' shields.
But it is too little, too late, and I can only watch helplessly as Ge'Sirn and N'Drask turn and vanish into warp.
"Damn him to the fiery pits of Gre'thor!" I screech.
"Starboard nacelle is down," K'Rokok reports gloomily. "Unable to establish warp field. I will have a repair estimate soon -"
"Why did they not try to finish us?" Toriash asks.
"Contracts," I spit. "Pexlini insisted on a standard clause in their contract. No hostile action against personnel. But our warp drive is not personnel. They hold to the letter of their contract - and now they must be on their way to Nessick's real location."
There is an ugly silence on the bridge for a moment, broken only by a hiss as the automated fire suppressors deal with that console.
"There's still one possibility, sir -" Oschmann begins.
"Yes. The tracking devices on N'Drask's ship. But we can do nothing about that until our warp drive is operational again." I claw at the air in exasperation. "Signal the Ostankino and the Timor. Perhaps they will be able to intercept Ge'Sirn in time...."
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