Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves (23 page)

Tedar decided to put a bit of fear into these two. “Halt!” he barked abruptly, and the children jumped. The girl dropped what she had been carrying, a rough drawstring bag, which fell and spilled its contents—several large, ripe
moba
fruit.

Tedar trained his disruptor on the frightened whelps, and bent over to pick up the fruit. “Where did you get these?” he asked the girl, whose expression wasn’t as fearful as he’d expected.

“My papa,” she said.

“Papa,” the little one echoed, and began to snivel.

“Quiet,” the girl whispered, but the boy began to whimper even louder. The noise grated at Tedar’s worn nerves.

“Stop that!” Tedar snapped, pointing his weapon directly at the pathetic little urchin.

“Don’t you shout at my brother!” the girl screamed, and to his great consternation, she picked up one of the fallen
moba
fruit and tossed it directly in his face. Before he could quite gauge what had happened, the girl had grabbed her brother by the hand and begun to sprint through the forest, dragging the little boy behind her.

Wiping the sticky nectar from his eyes, Tedar was amazed at how quickly the child was moving, but he wasn’t about to be bested by a couple of dirty-faced imps. He set off after them, catching up quickly, grabbing the little girl by her tangled, flame-colored hair.

“Ow!” she shrieked. “Let go of me!”

The boy cried out in baby-talk for his sister, and Tedar grabbed him by the arm with his free hand. The child fought to get away, but he weighed about as much as a bird, and Tedar lifted him off his feet with no trouble. The children thrashed in his hands.

Tedar suddenly felt very foolish, wasting his energy on a couple of squirming brats. “What are your names?” he demanded. “I don’t mean to harm you, I just want to know where you belong.”

“We belong in Dahkur,” the girl replied, through gritted teeth. “This is our home, and you can’t tell us we can’t be here!”

He tightened his grip on the girl’s hair, twisting until he felt a good many strands breaking away from her scalp. Tears were running down her face, but he could see that she was struggling not to cry. It made him all the more angry to see her fight against her natural response, and he gave her hair another firm yank before he threw her to the ground.

“I can tell you that I think you’re a disgusting little churl whose parents are negligent to have let you in the forest by yourselves! You’re lucky I have a soft spot for children, otherwise I might have shot you straightaway!”

“We aren’t d-doing anything wrong,” the girl insisted, her sobs finally having gotten the better of her. “You l-l-let my brother go right now!”

Tedar pulled the crying boy close to him. “Perhaps he would be better looked after in an orphanage,” he suggested, “since your parents can’t be bothered to keep track of him. He’s practically a baby!”

The girl hiccuped through her sobs. “I look after him j-j-just fine!”

“Tell me your name, or I will take him to an orphanage—and you’re welcome to accompany him, if you like.”

“K-K-Kira Nerys, and R-Reon.”

“Kira?” he repeated. He considered the name, knowing he had heard it before—knowing that it was supposed to mean something to him. And in a beat, he remembered. Dukat’s Bajoran mistress—her name was Kira…something. He couldn’t remember her other name, but he was certain that her family name was Kira—and that the Kira family was to be left alone. These children could be related to her, could even be her own. He released the boy’s arm, and the child commenced to crying louder than ever, as if jostled awake from a state of shock.

“Go home,” he ordered the girl. “Go and fetch your bag where you dropped it, and go home. I don’t want to see you here again.”

“But,” the girl said, wiping the grimy tears from her face, “we were supposed to take that
moba
to Sorash Mabey. She’s ill, and Papa said—”

“I don’t care what your papa said,” Tedar shouted, scarcely able to believe that this stubborn child would be arguing with him after he’d just done her such a tremendous kindness. “Just get out of here. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t true, of course. Tedar could not have taken the risk of hurting any relation to the Kira family, but they probably didn’t know that. Tedar shook his head, thinking of Dukat and his “cultural” exchanges—disgusting, and a lot of the men on the ground felt the same, but it was not wise to speak of such things.

He holstered his disruptor and watched the two children run back to retrieve their bag of fruit, balling his fists to ward the cold away from his fingers. This loathsome tradition of allowing children to…
play
…Tedar would never understand it. But then, it wasn’t his job to understand things. He went where they sent him, did as he was told, and left the understanding to others.

Horrible planet. Tedar slogged on, wishing he was home.

H
alpas was struggling with the controls on the old carrier, which had not behaved exactly the way he’d thought it would. It had been a long time since he’d flown a warp vessel, of course, and he’d never flown this particular model, but the ship was bucking and wobbling madly when it was not at warp, the inertial dampers damaged enough that they could actually feel some of it. Perhaps they’d taken it out a bit hastily, but he
had
managed to get it to the Pullock system, and that in itself should have warranted him significant congratulations.

Tiven Cohr, standing behind him, spoke up. “Do you think it worked?”

“I don’t know,” Halpas said. “We went to warp before I could see what happened.” This was the second patrol vessel they had encountered since leaving Bajor’s atmosphere; the first they were able to evade simply by exploiting the blind spots in their security grid; Halpas had been counting on them—and he turned out to be right. But they weren’t so lucky with this ship—this spoonhead had already spotted them, and Halpas had been forced to launch a couple of their unmanned raiders in order to distract him.

“They’re bound to find us eventually,” Ornathia Taryl said.

“They might, but I’m staying in the wake of a Cardassian transport ship that passed through here. With luck, the patrol ship might actually pass by without noticing us.”

“That would take a lot of luck.”

“It took a lot of luck to get this scow spaceborne in the first place, let alone to warp.” He grinned at Ornathia, whom he’d come to like despite himself. She was certainly a know-it-all, but then, she had been a surprising boon to the planning of this operation—for a farmer. Not to mention the business with the balon. It was hard not to be impressed by that.

“What’d I miss?” Lenaris entered the bridge from the shuttlebay, where he’d been supervising the launch of the autopilot vessels. Like the rest of them, he was dressed warm. The ship ran bare minimum life support; comfort wasn’t a consideration.

“Nothing,” Halpas said. “We went to warp before I could tell if the Cardassians took the bait. Now we’ve got to worry about whether or not they’ve picked up our trail.”

Taryl was examining the sensor readouts. “I think they’ve picked us up,” she said nervously.

“Looks that way,” Halpas agreed.

Taryl looked around the room. “We’ll have to launch another raider in their direction—give them something to stop and shoot at—then they’ll have to power down their sweep cycle, just long enough for us to turn back around and sneak by them.”

Lenaris shook his head. “We only have four shuttles left.”

“I don’t see that we have much choice,” she told him.

Lenaris frowned. “If we need those ships to bail out later…”

“This isn’t the time for cautious pragmatism, Lenaris,” Halpas said. “We’ve got to do whatever works, or there might not
be
a later.”

Lenaris looked as though he might argue, but then he glanced at Taryl and quickly backed down. “Okay,” he said. He headed back to the shuttlebay to program another of the raiders for an autopilot launch.

Halpas was annoyed with the younger man’s persistent pessimism, but he was not a man who spent too much time thinking too far beyond the most immediate step. Truthfully, he was a little surprised that they’d made it this far, but he’d always felt that way, in every mission he’d taken part in.

There were only nine of them aboard, the bare minimum needed to pop a prisoner free from one of the camps at home—and that was assuming they had schematics, practice time, probably some small intervention bought by bribe…They had none of that, here, their offworld venture entirely carried by Ornathia Taryl’s wish to free her brother. Their plans were vague, their knowlege of the camp minimal; it would be a miracle if they managed to find Lac and get him back to Bajor.

Once the raider had been launched, Halpas watched the sensors closely, waiting to make the call. He couldn’t afford imprecision, not now. The ship might have been damaged, but it was careful piloting that would make this kind of maneuver a success or a failure. A bad pilot couldn’t save them from a Cardassian patrol even if the ship had been whole. His eyes glued to the transponder, he waited just another second, or less, and then—
now!
He reversed direction.

“I see their signature,” Taryl said, pointing to an icon blinking on the sensors. “That’s them. We’ve passed them.”

Tiven peered over her shoulder, turned to Halpas. “Do you think they saw us?”

“They may have, but it looked like they dropped out of warp, probably checking out the raider.”

“We can only hope,” Lenaris said, returning to the bridge from the shuttlebay once again.

“We’re coming up on Pullock V again,” Taryl said. “Looks like the warp signature we’re hiding in came straight from here.”

“Are you sure that’s Pullock V?” Halpas said. “How many planets are in this system?”

“Didn’t you look at the charts, Halpas?” Taryl’s tone was light. “I should have just committed to driving this heap myself.”

Halpas patted the ship’s flight control panel. “Who would keep her company while the rest of you beam to the surface?”

Taryl’s finger was on the sensor array again. “Look, Halpas. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like…the settlement’s beam-shielded.”

Halpas cursed. He hadn’t expected this. A prison camp on a planet in an uninhabited system—why the extra security?

Taryl sounded worried. “We’ll have to take the raiders down, time ourselves against their sensors.”

“We can’t take the raiders,” Lenaris argued. “Two of them can barely hold two people apiece. We
might
be able to squeeze four into the third, but there’s no telling how it’ll behave with that much weight. And it won’t leave any room for Lac.”

“We can do it,” Taryl said, though she sounded less than certain. “We have to. If we can get inside, we can shut down the shield. Then Halpas could use the transporters to get everyone else out.”

Halpas nodded along, more certain by the moment that they weren’t going to survive—and more exhilarated, at the very slight chance that they would. What they were attempting was unprecedented, which was why it might actually work. And they’d have help on the inside, once the prisoners realized they were being liberated.

And it’ll make those spoonheads think twice about who they’re dealing with.

“But—” Lenaris began, but he didn’t finish, apparently realizing that it was the only way. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go below and tell the others. Tiven, you can ride with me.”

“I’m riding with Taryl.” Tiven grinned.

Lenaris rolled his eyes. “Halpas,” he said, “set her in orbit, and stand by for our signal.”

They nodded to him, and headed for the shuttlebay.

“I’ve located the transport,” Garresh Trach announced. “Sensors show it to be docked at Tilar, just where it was reported to have landed.”

“Well, take her down,” Damar ordered irritably. He hadn’t expected Veja’s transport to be anywhere but at the vineyards.

Trach landed the shuttle clumsily, and Damar cursed himself for letting the younger man pilot. He had wanted to exercise his authority by being in command, but Trach lacked experience at everything.

“Do you see any Cardassian life signs?” Damar asked.

“No, only Bajoran. See for yourself.” He pointed out the sensor results. A cluster of readings at the resort, undoubtedly groundskeepers and staff.

“We need better scanning equipment,” Damar muttered.

“We might have more luck with handheld scanners,” the garresh offered. “More precise, though we have to be in close range.”

“Fine. Get me a tricorder, and bring one for yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

The two men exited their shuttle and surveyed the land around them. The air was thick with humidity, and cool, but the sun was bright and warming. The vineyards were hilly, a wide expanse of land, green like Bajor’s seas, with
tessipate
s and
tessipate
s of leafy vines, creeping up dark wooden stakes that had been driven into the dark ground. The soil beneath his feet was rich and black, the long, spiky leaves that sprouted thickly from the vines rustling in the breeze, their deep green cutting sharply against the charged blue of the cloudless sky. Damar could see why the first Cardassians to Bajor had claimed this spot and why it remained a popular destination, even after the repeated terrorist attacks here in the early years of the annexation.

Veja,
he thought, and felt his stomach knot.

Damar examined his tricorder readouts. Still no Cardassian biosigns anywhere nearby. Where were the soldiers? There was a base not a few hours away by skimmer.

He contacted the base, spoke to the glinn in charge—his name was Ratav, and he had a short temper and was not afraid to use it. It seemed that a full half of their surface transports had suffered fuel-line sabotage by resistance hands, only the night before. Ratav’s soldiers were pulling double shifts, and patrols had been rendered effectively useless for however long it took to repair the damage.

“But the situation here—” Damar started, aware that he was risking himself, arguing with a superior, but aware also that his position at Dukat’s side meant that some allowances would be made.

Glinn Ratav obviously didn’t think so.
“I’ll be sure, once my working ships come back—after having run patrols for twenty-six hours straight—to send a squadron of my finest, to help you find your female.”

He said it with no trace of sarcasm, but the message couldn’t have been clearer. Damar gave it up, promising revenge another day. It seemed they were on their own, at least for a while.

“We’ll separate,” he told the garresh. He called up a topo map on the tiny screen, traced out two paths that should allow them to cover the most ground. “Contact me at fifteen-minute intervals, unless you come across anything that could help us—anything at all, no matter how trivial.”

“Yes, sir.” Trach extended his scanner and headed off into the seemingly endless stretch of curly vines and wafting leaves.

Damar headed off at an angle, sweeping the scanning device, watching for signs that people had walked through recently. The smell of the air, of warm plant decay, the sounds of insects and small wildlife moving through the brush, all worked to distract him, but he could think only of Veja, of their last words together. He walked over a number of gullies and ditches, with muddy, standing water at the bottoms, swarms of insects hatching from the decaying muck. He came to wider trenches with steep sides, wide enough for a tall man to walk through, lined with flat, interlocking stones and outfitted with metal runners built along the vertical sides. Inserted into the runners were sheets of old metal, twisted and corroded with age. Damar stopped to examine one of them, and understood that it had once been used to dam the drainage ditch, probably during the dry months of summer. The ditch led to the base of a large hillside, where it disappeared into the ground. This irrigation system was extensive, to be sure, but it had run dry for some reason. Perhaps this leg of it had been cut off from the main water source.

He walked for a significant distance before he got anything—a weak biosign that appeared to be Cardassian. He moved the scanner about, watching the flickering numbers, followed its strength on a path that branched from his own. A second biosign had joined the first—they were definitely Cardassian, and there was a Bajoran with them.

“A Bajoran has taken us hostage…”
Why had Natima called him, and not Veja? Damar moved faster, tearing through the virulent undergrowth.

He grew closer to the biosigns, drew his phaser—and watched, puzzled, as they started to fade. He reset the scanner and began again, but the readouts were the same, as though he were picking up signals through something, the density of that substance changing as he walked…

Underground.
Those drainage ditches.

“Garresh Trach,” he barked into his comcuff. “Lock on to my signal and report to me immediately.”

Astraea was frustrated. She had been so sure that she would find something here in Lakarian City. She had been certain that she would find the original location of the ancient black stone cottage, either by landmark or…

Admit it. You thought you’d
feel
it, sense something that would give you direction.
After a long day of searching, she was embarrassed by her previous certainty. She had scoured the area, the ruins, even the meager museums that displayed what was left of the Hebitian artifacts—anything that hadn’t been sold off to help fund the military was exhibited here. But of what there was—broken urns, carvings, simple tools—there was nothing that spoke to her in any meaningful way.

She left the last preserved ruin, some sort of stable, to the few wandering sightseers and scientists that had shared her flight out, and started walking, lost in thought. The hot, dry day was soothing, though the dust was relentless…and she had gone back to struggling with truth and reality, afraid once more that she’d made a terrible mistake.