I walk through the ruins of the two men's minds.
I am in the habit of constructing metaphors for the minds I touch... but there is nothing, now, to distinguish these; they are wrecks, blasted into wildernesses of ash and pain by physical torture, by previous interrogation, by the use of a mechanical Klingon mind-sifter.... Crude tools, by comparison with the probing power of a Ferasan mind. I wander through the ruins, picking out from the rubble an image here, a memory there, assembling them into coherent wholes. I am no more subtle than the mind-sifter, of course.
The sentient brain is surprisingly resilient. They will recover from this treatment, given time, and medical care. But it seems unlikely they will be given time. These two are dead, already, in all but the most literal sense. My task is to glean what I can. I need not be gentle. And I am not.
When I am satisfied, I raise my head. "Rrueo is finished," I say.
The two men - one Orion, one Klingon - are seated in medical monitoring chairs before me. A Klingon meditech is supervising the process - I need pay him no attention. The ones who matter are standing against the wall, behind the chairs.
Shalo invited me here, to perform this task. Her green Orion face is unusually stern, and her mind is as always, layer after layer of masks of ice, lit from behind by the cold white light of her self. Beside her, J'mpok stands, his face forbidding, his mind a high mountain wreathed in thunderclouds. A mountain whose slopes I will not climb - had best not, if I value my life. Which I do.
"Well?" the Chancellor demands.
I point at the Klingon. "This one," I say, "is nothing. A venal fool. He accepts corrupt payments for transshipment of illicit goods. He accepted such a payment from this one -" I indicate the Orion. "The shipment was meant to be sent by shuttlecraft, but he found that inconvenient. So he put it into the transporter system instead. The results speak for themselves."
J'mpok scowls. He says nothing, but simply steps forwards and hauls the Klingon out of the medical chair. The man is too stupefied to offer resistance. J'mpok half-drags, half-carries him across the room, shoves him through a metal doorway, bangs his fist on the control panel beside it. A hiss as the door closes, then another, louder hiss which trails away into silence. I say nothing. It is a waste of a lock full of air, and some hapless shipyard worker will have to recover the body later for proper disposal - but the Chancellor will have his gesture. It is both futile and unwise to deny him.
"This one, now," I indicate the Orion, "will repay further examination, Rrueo feels. At the very least, his contacts must be traced in detail."
"What was the shipment?" Shalo asks. "Exactly?"
"Rrueo finds that interesting. It was a substantial quantity - some forty kilograms - of compressed and enfolded decalithium."
J'mpok snorts and shakes his head. "Trilithium, decalithium - I am old enough to remember when dilithium was all we had to worry about. What is so special about this form of decalithium?"
"Rrueo has, oddly enough, come across the substance before - in her travels in the Delta Quadrant. It is used for some commercial applications by the Hierarchy. The structured crystalline matrix can contain and store energy in substantial quantity. But it requires special handling in transporter operations, or the stored energy can be liberated - uncontrollably. Rrueo suspects that is what has happened here. Not a deliberate attack - a simple error. An expensive and destructive error."
"The Delta Quadrant," says Shalo thoughtfully. "Are they exporting their problems, their quarrels here?"
"Why not?" growls J'mpok. "They exported that lunatic Talaxian.... Does this one know the purpose intended for this - decalithium?"
I shake my head. "A simple intermediary, nothing more. There are images of persons in his mind - no names, that Rrueo could detect, but some faces. One in particular stood out - there were associations with it, of both authority and menace."
"Well, that is of no use," says J'mpok, "unless you can make us see what you see with your mind's eye."
"Oh, give Rrueo a stylus and a datapad," I sigh. "Rrueo has heard many such requests.... Rrueo cannot grant you a psychic vision, but Rrueo can draw perfectly well."
J'mpok snorts, in amusement rather than anger. Shalo steps forward, with a datapad and a stylus. I call the image to the fore of my mind, and sketch, quickly and accurately, for some minutes. When I am finished, I hold the picture before the Orion's eyes, and watch an ember of recognition flare red inside the ashes of his mind. Satisfied, I hand the datapad back to Shalo.
Her eyes widen, and the light of her mind brightens. She passes the picture to J'mpok, and lightnings flash in the stormcloud of his mind. Shalo turns back to me. "Let us be quite sure of this," she says, and takes another datapad. She taps a series of commands into its interface.
"You recognize this face?" I ask.
"Possibly." Shalo passes the fresh datapad to me. I glance at it. "No," I say, "the face was definitely Klingon, not Orion." Then I take a second look. "Although... the shape of the features, though, that is similar enough - apart from the forehead, of course -"
"Yes," says Shalo, and her voice and her mind-tone are bleak. "That is neither a Klingon nor an Orion face. It is the face of a rogue human genetic augment, capable of modifying his appearance. His name is Kalevar Thrang, or was when we knew him."
Kalevar Thrang. Yes, I have heard the name - the renegade who attempted to foment a fresh war between Empire and Federation. I frown. "If he can change his appearance, why does he not change it enough that you cannot recognize him?"
"I do not know," says J'mpok, "nor greatly care. But if Thrang is involved in this business, somehow, then that is reason to investigate thoroughly. If the explosion was, in truth, an accident - then it is something he could not have planned, or planned for -"
"You think that, somehow, we could steal a march on him?" Shalo asks.
"It is possible," says J'mpok.
He and Shalo look at each other. I say nothing. The medical technician is wisely silent, and the man in the chair... is unable to speak.
"We have only an image in this one's mind to suggest that it is Thrang at all," I say.
"We must follow any possible lead," snaps J'mpok. "We still do not know all Thrang's resources - oh, he lost much when his stratagem failed, but he spent his assets recklessly; he would not have done so, if he did not have more reserves. No. If there is even a chance that Kalevar Thrang can be taken and killed, we must pursue that chance."
He takes a step forward, to stare down at the broken man in the chair. "This is now a matter for Intelligence, I think," he says. "They are best suited for the details of investigation, and I will know every aspect of this one's life." His eyes flash; his gaze darts between me and Shalo. "But I will use the tools ready to my hand, too. You two. With me, to the conference room." He stalks out of the room, and we follow.
---
"The cargo was intended for transshipment to a First City based holding company," says Shalo, as the turbolift carries us up to the higher levels of the shipyard satellite. "Obviously, it will be a blind, a shell - but it is possible they do not yet know that their shipment was the cause of the disaster. If they can be tricked into accepting a cargo of our choosing -"
"They will know what to expect," says J'mpok. "Where can we obtain a quantity of this compressed decalithium, quickly?"
"We can provide a reasonable facsimile. Their response will tell us something, in any event. We must take some steps to find the final destination of this cargo, no matter what."
"Rrueo thinks we must also work backwards," I add. "It is at least possible that the cargo originated in the Delta Quadrant -"
"Yes," says J'mpok shortly. "We must make careful inquiries at Delta Command, assuming they have not suffered another security breach -"
The lift doors hiss open. J'mpok strides out, then stops abruptly, and his back stiffens.
There is someone facing him, a Klingon, tall and imposing in physique, wearing a much-decorated sash over the robes of a High Councillor. After a moment, I place him: Sarv, of the House of Kungan. He is young for a Councillor - a replacement, I think, for one of the many who were murdered by the Iconians. His mind-tone is... unpleasant. Ambitious Klingons usually have much drive and energy, but this one's drive is an all-consuming force, like a forest fire. More lightnings flash in the stormclouds of the Chancellor's mind... but I do not need to be a telepath, to see that these two dislike each other.
"Chancellor," says Sarv.
"Councillor," J'mpok replies. "I am busy."
"I will not detain you long, then," Sarv says. "I, and others, would like to know, though, when we can expect transport restrictions to be lifted. There are hundreds of ships, now, with cargoes in transit, awaiting clearance."
"Once I am finished with my investigation of the transporter logs," snarls J'mpok, "normal functions will be restored."
"And how long -?"
"Longer, if I must stand here answering your questions!" J'mpok roars.
"I have responsibility for this shipyard," Sarv snarls back, "and I must know when its functions will return to normal!"
"In due time." J'mpok's voice has dropped to a dangerous mutter. "I will need to pick those transporter records apart, to account for every action taken by our prisoner. Kalevar Thrang is involved in this, somehow, Councillor. You remember that name?"
Sarv's eyes flash, and there is something behind them, a flaring up of the fires in his mind. "I do."
"Then you appreciate the need for thoroughness. I am going, now, to instruct my agents."
Sarv's gaze leaves J'mpok for an instant, rakes across me and Shalo, dismisses us. "These? An Orion and a Ferasan? Matters of this importance should be handled by Klingons!"
"They are senior KDF officers," says J'mpok. His tone of voice is quite mild and reasonable. It suggests that someone is very likely to die, soon.
Sarv is evidently not alive to such nuances, though. "Thrang is an enemy of the Empire. If he is to be pursued, it should be with the full power, the full prestige of the Empire -"
More lightning in J'mpok's mind. He has had an idea - and it amuses him. "Very true, Councillor Sarv. So, we will act in accordance with your excellent suggestion. Allocate resources from the shipyard's discretionary budget. We will outfit my agents with the very latest, the very best, in Imperial technology. Thrang will know fear, when we send our finest ships after him, no?"
Sarv's mouth works. "Our - finest ships?" he says.
"You will give my agents free choice of the newest available vessels. And they will have authority to choose crew members, too. We have some experimental androids, no? Patterned after the Starfleet models?"
Sarv's mind is in a turmoil. The Chancellor is within his rights, technically, to make this request... and, technically and arguably, it is Sarv's own suggestion. But part of the Councillor's wealth, at least, comes from his control of the shipyard's funds - and this will make a very considerable dent in them. I keep my face studiously neutral. A small part of me feels sorry for Sarv. The rest of me... the rest is excited, at the prospect of choosing a new ship. One of the Empire's finest....
"We will certainly need tactical backup, too," says Shalo.
J'mpok waves an airy hand. "Make your requirements known to the Councillor," he says. "He will accommodate you. For the honour of the Empire. Am I right, Councillor?"
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