The Wrong Box 13

"He has done what?" Melani D'ian's voice had progressed past anger, now, into a chilling calm.

"He has invited a number of merchant fleets and independent operators to join him in a mutual protection society," the Lethean said.

D'ian closed her eyes, kept them shut for a few seconds, then opened them again. "Mutir," she said, still in that calm voice, "are we talking, here, of the same Kalevar Thrang?"

"Yes, Matron," said Mutir. "At least, as far as we are able to ascertain."

Melani D'ian took a deep breath. She strode to the throne-like chair behind her ornate desk, sat down, and steepled her hands in front of her.

Mutir said nothing. He was dressed in nondescript leathers, and one side of his head was horribly scarred. In the dazzling luxury of D'ian's audience chamber, he looked very out of place.

"We could indicate to the, ahh, members of this society," he suggested, "that their decision is an ill-judged one. A policy of targeting their ships and cargoes would detract from Thrang's prestige -"

"No," said D'ian. "No. We will act just as we have done with other... protective associations. Make it plain that, if they pay their dues to the Syndicate, they will enjoy all the security they desire. And, once they feel secure, then it will be time to infiltrate our agents into their ranks. Thrang must make contact with his own organization... and when he does, we will take him."

"It would take time, Matron."

"No doubt," said D'ian. "Everything about Thrang seems to be taking longer than we anticipated." Her lustrous eyes seemed unfocused, staring into the distance. "And we are still no nearer to discovering his backers... there must be someone behind him...."

"Once we have him in our hands, Matron," said Mutir, "we will wring that truth from him, among others."

"Yes," said D'ian. "Once we have him." She shook her head, sending her dark locks tumbling. "There are other matters to attend to, in the meantime, I gather."

"Matron Viaya and Matron Delfin have been waiting for some little time," said Mutir.

"Delfin?"

"Now established as the successor to the lamented Matron Ch'eina."

"Another item on Thrang's account. Very well. Send them in."

Mutir touched his wrist communicator. After a moment, the doors to the office opened. They did not slide, but swung inwards, smoothly, ponderously, and with no sound at all.

Two women entered, side by side, pointedly looking away from each other. Viaya was small and voluptuously curved, her raven hair worn in an elaborate coiffure woven around and supported by many bejewelled ivory rods. Delfin was tall, long-legged and lissome; her skin was pale green, almost white, and her long black hair fell free almost to her waist. Melani D'ian inclined her head, a minimal nod, to each of them.

"Your feuding must cease," she told them, shortly. Viaya opened her mouth. "I did not give you leave to speak," D'ian snapped. Viaya shut her mouth and glowered, while Delfin glanced sidelong at her, a half-smile showing for a moment on her lips. "Your Houses' rivalries led to this situation," D'ian continued. "You should have made arrangements for this precious archive long ago. Now it is outside the Syndicate's hands entirely, and that is because of you. Viaya. Have you at least identified the breach in your security? Now, you may speak."

"Thrang suborned one of our security archivists - one who had access to the House's main vaults," Viaya said. Her voice was low, musical - and sullen. "He seems to have used some biological technology to maintain a hold on this person."

"Seems?" said D'ian.

"The person - died. In an unnatural manner. We suspect some poison, held in abeyance by repeated doses of an antidote."

"You suspect this? I would have hoped that you could do better than suspect."

"The - remains - are not in a condition which makes analysis easy. But that in itself implies -"

"Quite." D'ian leaned back. Her gaze turned to Delfin. "We have not met, have we, Matron Delfin? I would congratulate you on your accession, were it not for the ineptitude of your predecessor. I see you are studying my aide?" Delfin's glance kept darting, suspiciously, at Mutir.

"The Matron no doubt has concerns," said Mutir. He moved to face Delfin, turning his head so that the scars showed. "The Matron has no cause to fear that her... mental privacy... is endangered."

Delfin nodded slowly. "How did Ch'eina die?" D'ian demanded.

"She went to meet Kalevar Thrang. He killed her and took the key to the archive." Delfin's voice was high-pitched, and wavered slightly.

"As simple as that," said D'ian. "An experienced Matron of a House, an officer of the Syndicate itself - simply killed, by a lone Orion male."

"Her records show she took all normal precautions," said Delfin. "She was alone with Thrang, true, when she went to take possession of the archive. But he was scanned, he had no energy weapons, he had no nasal filters or other protections against the Matron's abilities -"

"He had something, it seems," said D'ian. She rose from her seat. "And now he has the Rehanissen Archive, and he is stirring up dissension and suspicion in every quarter he can reach. We do not need to play his game. I will not tolerate petty bickering and blame-shifting while our organization faces a crisis. The sniping and quarrelling between your Houses is to cease, forthwith. Once Kalevar Thrang and his backers have been dealt with, then you may quibble. If there is any more of it now, I will end it directly - I will unite your two Houses by requiring you two to marry each other. Do I make my requirements clear?"

Viaya nodded silently. "You do," said Delfin.

"Excellent. Now, you may leave."

They did, stalking out with an air of exaggerated hauteur. Melani D'ian waited until the double doors swung shut and locked themselves securely. Then she turned to Mutir. "Well?"

"Resentful, but chastised," said the Lethean. "They will cooperate, for the present." He snorted, and his leathery face moved in something resembling a smile. "One amusing detail. Your threat to reconcile their Houses? Neither one would find it... personally disagreeable."

Melani D'ian smiled. "Well, we must snatch such amusements as we may, in these times. What is the next item of business?"

Mutir reached for a datapad, and then the comms console on the ornate desk chimed, loudly. D'ian raised one elegant eyebrow, and touched the controls. "This had better be important," she said.

For an instant, the console's screen was blank, and then a face appeared on it; a Klingon face, with an iron-grey beard, and a patch over one eye. "I believe it is," said K'Men.

"I see." D'ian's face assumed a mask-like composure. "How may we assist Imperial Intelligence?"

"One of my senior executives has recently melted," said K'Men.

D'ian's eyebrows rose. "Melted?"

"Quite. You may gather that this is not a usual procedure. Preliminary analysis of the - residue - shows that he was exposed to some genetically-tailored cellular phage. Further analysis suggests that this was a long-term thing - that the phage was administered some time ago, long enough for it to pervade him completely -"

"But the actual action was kept in check, by the regular use of some counter-agent," D'ian interrupted. "I have just lately heard of a similar incident in my own organization. The source -"

"Kalevar Thrang," said K'Men. "I thought as much. We have the same problem, and it dates back longer than we thought. Thrang and his operation have been preparing."

"How bad is it?" D'ian asked. "How much of your organization is compromised?"

"It is bad enough. No one knows all the secrets of Imperial Intelligence - there are areas where even I myself cherish a deliberate ignorance. But J'Negh was highly placed, and saw many files relating to joint intelligence efforts. Now, we must presume that Thrang has that information. What of the Syndicate?"

"We must assume, where there was one, there must be others. Can we identify this cellular phage by medical screening?"

"Now that we know it exists, we can develop tests. But it will take much time to screen all our personnel - some, too, are deployed where they cannot easily be recalled." The Klingon spymaster shook his head. "This is a serious matter."

"How is this counter-agent distributed? If we could close down that channel -"

"Some of our people would die.... That might be preferable, though. But what concerns me is an encrypted note left by J'Negh. It implies, strongly, that he was in contact with Thrang, directly. Not through an intermediary. The man seems to come and go as he pleases, despite all our security."

"How complete is your security screening?"

"Complete enough. Every Orion resident on or visiting Qo'noS is subject to monitoring and surveillance. The circumstances require such thoroughness.... Once this is over, you and I must discuss some of the Syndicate's activities in First City." K'Men's single eye glinted unpleasantly.

"Once this is over. But, despite all this, Thrang still eludes you?"

"And you. Unless you are not sharing all your information... which would be injudicious of you."

"Thrang is a threat to my position, as well as yours. I want him ended," said D'ian. She looked hard into K'Men's face. "I think we need to reassess just how much of a threat he is."

The Wrong Box 7

"Let us understand one another," said J'mpok. "Your people, your organization, you yourself... all valued and trusted allies of the Klingon Empire. Your efforts on the Empire's behalf are known and appreciated." He leaned forwards in his chair. "However. Try your wiles on me, and I will make you eat your own scent glands. Do I make myself clear?"

"Pellucid, Chancellor." Melani D'ian smiled. The curve of her lips was flawless, but it was belied by the hard glitter in her eyes.

J'mpok relaxed, studying his visitor through heavy-lidded eyes. The head of the Orion Syndicate - the uncrowned empress of Orion space - was the quintessence of an Orion Matron, coldly and flawlessly beautiful, dressed in silks and jewels and platinum filigree. She looked very out of place in the austere surroundings of the Chancellor's private office.

"So, then," he said, "how may I assist you?"

Melani D'ian let the smile fade. "You will have been briefed already concerning the Rehanissen Archive."

"I have." J'mpok scowled. "A cesspool of antique treacheries. If I held it in my hands, I would clean it out with one blast from my disruptor - though I know Imperial Intelligence would never forgive me."

"It is causing problems. It is likely to cause more. Firstly, there are... recriminations... between the two Houses who separately held the Archive. Each blames the other for intransigence in failing to reach a compromise before this - and for their failures in security."

"Only to be expected. How violent are these recriminations?"

"There have been some incidents. They are being dealt with. However, there are other... incidents... which are not all so easily accountable for. There is friction among the members of the Syndicate -"

"Various elements," J'mpok broke in, "who fear that past double-dealing will be exposed through the Archive, who anticipate reprisals for that - and who have decided, therefore, to get their own retaliation in first." He shook his head. "It would be more productive, I think, if they were simply to acknowledge their faults, make a clean breast of it, and accept the consequences."

"In an ideal world," Melani D'ian said frostily, "that might be so. The Chancellor is aware, I hope, that this is not an ideal world."

"Truth will out. The more one attempts to conceal it, the more painful the final revelation."

"I hear and respect the Chancellor's opinion. Others may be less easily persuaded."

J'mpok smiled. "Quite. In any case, it is not my problem, is it? It is a matter of internal discipline in your organization. Unless you are asking for Imperial support? I am sure I can send Imperial police to Ter'jas Mor in whatever quantity you require. They would be appropriately discreet."

"I thank the Chancellor for his kind offer," said Melani D'ian in glacial tones. "However, it is not a measure that would be appropriate at this juncture."

J'mpok made no immediate response. After a short while, he laughed. "I have been trying to envisage a situation in which you would feel it appropriate," he said. "I admit, my imagination does not extend so far.... So. What do you need from me?"

"There are more sources of friction than I can easily account for. There is deliberate disinformation being spread. Messages are sent for which no reliable origin can be determined. Ships are assigned to inappropriate duties. One battleship has already been lost, in circumstances I can only consider suspicious. And I do not - as yet - know who is behind this. Oh -" she waved a hand "- I have one name, but -"

"Kalevar Thrang."

"An independent smuggler. A good one, from the accounts I have, but not significant in himself. It is Thrang's backers that I must identify. Of course I am attempting to capture Thrang -"

"In a quiet way, Kalevar Thrang must now be the most wanted man in the galaxy," said J'mpok.

"But he cannot be the only key to this situation. He must have backers, and their motives and their actions must be accessible by other means. What I need is intelligence analysis with both wide and deep background. I need to be able to correlate data outside the Syndicate's immediate sphere of operations, to compare and contrast the actions of other agencies -"

"You need," said J'mpok, "the full cooperation of Imperial Intelligence in this matter."

"The Chancellor is correct."

J'mpok studied her closely through narrowed eyes. "But the information interchange would need to move in both directions," he said, eventually. "II would need to know, not only where to look, but why. Are you prepared to offer the requisite... levels of access?"

"I am. The situation is serious, and it must be addressed seriously. I propose nothing less than a full partnership with II in this matter. Anything less would be futile."

J'mpok nodded slowly. "Your organization is, as I said, a valued ally of the Empire. It is only justice, as well as self-interest, if we make available all the aid you need. I will so order the head of Imperial Intelligence. Its assets will be at your disposal."

"You have my gratitude, Chancellor." Melani D'ian rose. "And that of the Syndicate."

---

"And what is that worth?" J'mpok asked, some hours later.

Another Orion woman was seated across from him in the private office. This one was shorter and stockier than Melani D'ian, and she wore a uniform of white leather and furs, a cold-weather version of standard KDF dress. "Normally," Shalo said, "it means the minimum the Syndicate thinks it can get away with. In this instance... it could mean a great deal."

"D'ian is that desperate?"

"Melani D'ian is not desperate," said Shalo. "At least, I do not believe she is. Of course, I am not privy to the internal workings of the Syndicate -"

J'mpok grunted. "That," he said, "is why you are here. I need an Orion perspective, but from outside the Syndicate. How much trouble are they in? There are anti-Syndicate groups among your people, no?"

"There are a great many. If there were only one, I might consider joining it - as things stand, they are small and fractious, therefore ineffectual. If there is a threat to the Syndicate, it does not come from them. The possibilities are, then, two. An internal power struggle within the Syndicate, or a threat from some completely external third party. Melani D'ian seems to believe it is the latter."

"Is she right?"

"I have no love for D'ian. But she is capable. An internal enemy, she would put down, without requiring outside assistance. Most probably. For an external threat, though, she needs external help."

"Unless her grip is slipping. Old age comes upon us all...."

"Such information as I have," said Shalo, "suggests that D'ian's grip on the Syndicate remains strong."

J'mpok nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. "What of the Rehanissen Archive itself? Could its contents damage her, directly, in some way?"

"Without knowing the contents, it is hard to be certain. But the data in that archive must pre-date her rise to power - it is doubtful that it includes anything of importance. At most, she might need to pass something off as a youthful indiscretion."

J'mpok sighed. "I am a warrior. This business of information and disinformation is not my sphere. I look at it, and I see nothing but shifting shadows. I cannot strike at shadows."

"Find who casts them," said Shalo, "and your blade can drink its fill."

"Quite.... I cannot afford not to accede to D'ian's request. For good or ill, the Syndicate is our ally. And, besides... whatever happens, we will gain an unprecedented level of access to its operations and its planning. K'men would rip out my bowels merely for passing up that opportunity."

"Then your course of action is clear. What do you need from me, Chancellor?"

"Insight into the Orion mind. In your own way, General, I believe you to be as devious as D'ian. Do not think I failed to note the coincidental death of your family's enemy."

"A great loss to the Empire," said Shalo. "I grieve."

"Quite," said J'mpok. "A live general is worth more to me than a dead accountant. And do not think, too, that I do not understand revenge."

Shalo was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I will serve you faithfully, Chancellor. In whatever capacity you require."

"Then report to Imperial Intelligence, and make your insights known to them." J'mpok shook his head. "But, first, you may listen while I speak of my misgivings.... I am troubled by a shadow which I do not see."

"Chancellor?"

"I see threats and in-fighting and betrayals within the Syndicate. I see a situation developing which may topple D'ian from her place of power. The shadow I do not see... is that of whoever plans to replace her. The Orion Syndicate is a potent engine of power - political, military, economic. Someone must want that power. But, whoever they are, they are hidden deep in the shadows indeed, so deep that I cannot see even a trace of them." He sat suddenly straight. "Go, now. Assist II. Shed some light for me."