Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves (6 page)

“Really?” he said eagerly. “You’d trust me to—”

“Sure,” Lac said. “I’m not much of a pilot, myself. You’re the
Va’telo,
after all.”

Lenaris stepped inside, looking at the name painted on the side of her hull. The
Lupus,
named after the crafty animals that roamed Bajoran forests, sometimes picking off farmers’ livestock. “Where did you get this thing?” he asked.

A smile played around the corner of Lac’s mouth, and Lenaris had already determined that Lac was the sort of person who did not smile without significant provocation. He was obviously pleased with his ship, as every pilot was. “This one belonged to my grandfather,” he explained. “We have others, mostly built from the cannibalized parts of other ships, and even a few built from scratch. But this one is the template.”

“But…you said you come from farmers. Was your grandfather…?”

“It was a hobby for him. He wasn’t allowed a master’s license, of course. He never made it out of the atmosphere. But he loved to fly, when he could, and he was quite good at it, too.” He tapped the ship affectionately. “He managed to hide it from the Cardassians when they started putting restrictions on possession and operation of flyers and spacecraft. It wasn’t that difficult—it didn’t occur to them that a farmer would have an old Militia raider stored in his barn.”

Lenaris hesitated. “How do you keep the Cardassians from tracking your fuel emissions? For that matter, how are we going to stay under the security grids? Do you have some kind of…shielding device?”

Lac smiled again. “Nothing that sophisticated. I’ve studied some of the flight patterns of the delivery vessels that go back and forth across the channel, and I try to stick to their schedules. The Cardassians don’t pay much attention to back-and-forth travel around here. Anyway, if it ever came down to a chase, their flyers have proven to be pretty wobbly in the atmosphere. I think there’s a good chance I could give them a run for their money—and an even better chance that you could.”

Lenaris supposed this was a satisfactory answer, and he was flattered that Lac had already put so much faith in his abilities. He strapped into his seat, feeling a rush of real joy as he prepared to lift off. He adjusted the ship’s thrusters to bring the craft straight upward, out of the trees, enjoying the familiar pull of gravity, the sensation of leaving it behind. He kept the vessel low, learning the console as he piloted them toward the peninsula. It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later, when he was nearly to Tilar, that he remembered the other part of his question—the one that Lac hadn’t answered.

“How
do
you keep the spoonheads from tracing your fuel signature?” he asked.

“Balon,” Lac said, without missing a beat, and Lenaris’s hands tightened on the flight yoke. He could feel the blood draining from his face.

“Balon!” he exclaimed. “You’re joking!” Balon was a highly unstable fuel, out of use for over a century before the Cardassians had come, due to an unfortunate tendency toward spontaneous combustion.

Lac waved a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Some friends of mine have figured out how to isolate the most unstable components of it, in its liquid form. We’ve been converting it to a safe fuel source for quite some time now. The Cardies don’t bother to scan for it, since it’s been out of use for such a long time.”

Lenaris relaxed, but only slightly. He felt as though he’d just been told he was strapped to a “safe” bomb. And if Lac was overestimating his friends’ expertise, then he could expect to walk with the Prophets somewhere around touchdown time—Lenaris hadn’t landed a flyer of any sort in well over a year, and without knowing the terrain, he was likely to make a rough reunion with the ground.

Lac leaned forward to the ship’s sensor display, an old-fashioned model with blinking, geometric glyphs showing the other craft in the region. A large, green triangle came into view, and Lac tapped it with his finger. “That’s the landing point,” he declared. “I programmed it in myself,” he added proudly.

“I hope your friends know what they’re doing…with the, uh…” Lenaris trailed off, not wanting to be insulting, but still—the balon mishaps of yesteryear were well remembered by anyone in the
Va’telo
caste.

“Don’t worry, Holem. I’ve done this at least a hundred times, and I’m sure you’re far better at it than I am.”

Lenaris couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut when the raider came into gentle contact with the ground, a perfect landing if he’d ever made one. He opened his eyes slowly and let out a hard breath. “All in a night’s work,” he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. His hands still clenched the flight yoke.

Lac wasted no time in pushing back the raider’s glacis plate. “Well, come on then. I’ll take you to the settlement, and then tomorrow we can have a look at the warp ship, weather permitting.”

On rubbery legs, Lenaris followed the farmer, wondering for the hundredth time what he was getting himself into.

In the dark, he could see the uneven outlines of the buildings up ahead. Lac led him toward the center of a ramshackle town, and Lenaris got a clearer picture of where the farmer lived. The buildings were mostly comprised of scrap, piled up on the foundations of crumbling houses from long ago. This was a town that had been destroyed by Cardassians, he deduced, at least a decade ago, and then rebuilt with whatever pieces of debris the surviving Bajorans could find.

“We haven’t always lived like this,” Lac explained. “My family’s farm is some distance from here. I resettled in this area with my cousins just about eight years ago. We’ve had a few more stragglers join us since then, adding more dwellings as we were able to come by building materials.”

Lac’s definition of “building materials” was loose. Uneven bits of stone were plastered into place with dry mud on some of the more substantial houses, but many were thrown together from old sheets of metal and smartplastic that were clearly salvaged from Cardassian refuse.

Lac came upon one such improvised structure, bigger than most of the others, and pulled back the door, made of several thin tree branches stripped of bark and twigs and crookedly lashed together. “Hello?” he spoke into the darkness, and after a moment, a half circle of light appeared underneath the crack of what must have been another door. The half circle widened as a door was thrown back, and out stepped the most beautiful woman Lenaris had ever seen, shaking sleep from her almond-shaped green eyes. She smoothed a thick, black curl behind her ear. “You’re finally back,” she said.

“Lenaris Holem, I’d like you to meet Ornathia Taryl,” Lac said formally.

Lenaris extended his hand. “Your…wife?” he said.

Taryl laughed, a vibrant sound reminding Lenaris of a little bell his mother had once kept on a dais, back at his childhood home. “His sister,” she corrected.

Lenaris hoped he didn’t look as relieved as he felt as he clasped the woman’s forearm. Her skin was smooth and warm.

“Taryl is the one who made the original breakthrough with the balon,” Lac said, clearly proud of his sister.

“Really?” Lenaris said, incredulous. Research into stabilizing balon had eluded scientists for over a century. “I can’t believe a farmer could just—”

Taryl’s pretty face suddenly darkened. “Farming isn’t just planting beans, Lenaris. It takes tremendous knowledge of soil chemistry, climatology, gene splicing and plant biology—”

“I’m…sorry,” Lenaris said, mortified. “I meant it as a compliment.”

Taryl did not look especially appeased, but she let it drop. “It wasn’t just I who made the discovery,” she said. “My fiancé worked on it with me. He—”

“It was you who made the discovery,” Lac said. “Don’t be so modest.”

Taryl shrugged. “So,” she said, gesturing to Lenaris. “Are you going to tell me why you’ve woken me up to introduce me to him?”

“He’s a pilot,” Lac said. “And he knows Tiven Cohr.”

Taryl’s mouth twisted as she appeared to process the news. “The warp ship,” she said softly.

“Don’t tell Seefa,” Lac said. “I know he thinks it’s a lost cause. But I still think—”

“He’s my lover, not my keeper,” Taryl said lightly. “I won’t tell him.” She looked Lenaris up and down. “You really know where Tiven Cohr is, Mister Lenaris?”

“Call me Holem,” he said. “And…I might be able to find him.”

Taryl nodded toward her brother. “Lac has been trying to locate Tiven Cohr for almost two years. Word of mouth, coded messages sent through the comnet—all have been dead ends.”

“Well,” Lenaris said, “I’ll certainly do my best to help.” He tried to sound earnest, though he had come here without any real certainty that he could—or even wanted to—find Tiven. She turned and left them, and Lac escorted Holem to a room with a rough pallet where he could lie down. He thanked his host, and as he lay awake, he considered. He had only just met Taryl, and apparently she was engaged…But she still seemed enough of a reason to follow through on his promise. He wanted to impress her…And he thought that perhaps there was some flicker of dissent that still burned inside him, not entirely snuffed out by the overwhelming defeat he had faced when the Halpas cell had broken apart.

Natima Lang adjusted the volume on her communications screen, but it did little to correct for the subspace static invading her conversation. Transmissions between Bajor and Cardassia Prime were often full of interference during the early months of the year, when the disturbances in the Denorios Belt wreaked havoc on the subspace relays.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to repeat that last question,” Natima told the young woman on the other end of the line.

“I was asking if you wouldn’t mind sending along some of your latest notes—I mean, anything that you don’t mind parting with…”

“Don’t be silly, Miss Vara, of course I’ll send you whatever I have. I admire you for having the astuteness to focus on Bajor. So many Cardassians are unaware of what an important venture this is for our future. They see it as just some distant, faraway place, without really comprehending how beneficial this annexation has been for the Union.”

The girl nodded, her expression sincere and attentive. Natima was pleased. It galled her that so few people took much of an interest in what was happening on Bajor. The improved quality of life on Cardassia Prime was directly attributable to the Bajor mission. She wanted so much to impress upon her fellow Cardassians Bajor’s importance to the homeworld, so they would not take for granted the efforts of their government.

That will change,
she thought, studying the grainy face on the screen. Miras Vara seemed bright and enthusiastic; a few more like her, and Bajor’s import would be fixed in Cardassia’s consciousness.

“Thank you so much, Miss Lang. Like I said, I haven’t narrowed down to an exact topic, but I’m hoping that looking through your notes might help to inspire me. Oh, and please, call me Miras.”

“Well, I hope my notes will be helpful for you, Miras. And you may call me Natima. Now, I must warn you—the materials I will be sending you will include raw footage. These images must not be shared with anyone outside the Ministry of Science.”

“I do understand. Although I’m curious—how did the Ministry of Science come to have the footage of those children in the Bajoran orphanage? Doesn’t the Information Service consider images like that to be too provocative for public exposure?”

Natima’s gaze flickered away from the viewscreen for a moment while she answered. “Yes, you’re right—it is a very politically charged topic, that of the orphans. But because the images were being sent to an institution of learning—”

“But—if you don’t mind my asking—why capture those images in the first place?”

Natima coughed. “I suppose I felt that…those children…that Cardassia might want to be made aware of some of the reasons we continue to send troops here. If you’ll excuse me, Miras, I have an appointment I must be getting to. I hate to cut our transmission short, but…”

“I understand. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with my project. I look forward to receiving your notes.”

Natima tapped off the comm screen and sat back for a moment, closing her eyes. She did not hear her friend Veja Ketan enter her room, and was startled when Veja greeted her.

“Did I hear you say you had an appointment, Natima? I didn’t know you’d scheduled anything for this weekend.”

Natima stood from her chair. “I did say that, but I was really just trying to end the call. It hurts my eyes to look at the screen for so long.”

“It wasn’t a man, was it?” Veja’s tone became playful, something that always annoyed Natima a little. Veja had romance on the brain since she’d learned that her fiancé, a third-tier gil in the military, was to be stationed on Terok Nor. Natima had yet to meet Corat Damar, but Veja had taken a number of leave passes since he’d come to Bajoran space, the two of them meeting at the Cardassian settlement in Hedrikspool. She was always prattling on now that Natima should be looking for a mate.

“Hardly.”

Veja toyed with the long, glossy black plait that curled around her left shoulder. “I was just on the comm myself.”

“Talking to Gil Damar, I’d wager.”