Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice (27 page)

“I am,” Troi admitted, and the words almost caught in her throat as she experienced a tiny flash of deep sorrow that escaped from the diplomat's guarded thoughts.

He studied her, as if for the first time. “Sholun's question stands. Why are you here? And please don't pretend that you just came here for the ice-skating.”

“It's widely known that Tromsø is where Andoria kept her embassy on Earth. Your government still has holdings here, and I assumed this would be where you would stay while on-planet.”

He nodded, looking up. “Yes. Norway reminds us of our homeworld, and the locals are very welcoming. And if we are to soon return to the unity of the Federation, it seems right we renew our association with the city.” He paused. “What was it you said to me when we met before? ‘Andor has more friends than you may realize.' Is that why you appear here now, unannounced and out of uniform? To become our friend? I confess that in recent days, the sight of a Starfleet officer has become reason to be on one's guard rather than cause for salutation.”

“You're wary of my motives,” she replied. “It doesn't take a Betazoid to see that. And you have every right to be. So let me be open with you. I'm not here because Togren or anyone else in the diplomatic corps sent me. I'm here because I want your help.”

The Andorian gave a sharp, bitter bark of amusement. “Indeed? And you believe I would freely give
it? You think the sight of your child would somehow make me take leave of my senses and open up to a stranger?”

His barriers were rising again, and Troi frowned. “You misunderstand me, sir. I know Andorians; I know that honor, loyalty, and obligation are at the core of your people. I know that the clan is Andoria, and—”

“Andoria is the clan,” he said, completing the rote sentiment.

“My father was a Terran, my mother Betazoid. Both of them came from places where family is at the core of their being. They taught me the value of obligation, too.”

“You speak as if you bring me a debt I am to pay.” Ch'Nuillen became frosty once more.

“Not to me,” she said, “and not a debt, just the offer of a chance to help a man who risked all he had to assist your people.”

“Bashir?”
The envoy's voice fell to a whisper.

Troi nodded.

The Andorian looked away, and she followed his gaze toward the middle of the rink, where Tasha was making a slow, steady turn as Savaaroa offered encouragement.

“Tell me what you require,” he said, after a moment.

*  *  *

Four days after leaving the Iota Nadir system, the
Snipe
dropped out of warp along the plane of Nydak II's ecliptic and made a purposeful approach toward the mottled, gray-brown sphere.

Tuvok had ensured that he would be on the freighter's bridge when the
Snipe
arrived, to satisfy his interest and, he hoped, gain some kind of insight into what they would find here.

Kincade barely glanced at him as he entered the cramped command deck at the top of the ship's conning tower. Aside from a couple of humans from the civilian crew and the ever-chattering figures of the Bynar pair, Kincade, Tuvok, and Ixxen were the only others present to watch Nydak II loom large through the oval viewport that dominated the bridge.

The Vulcan stepped up to the helm, a raised island at the rear of the compartment. Ixxen sat surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped console, and the Bolian's hands danced lightly over the controls, feathering the impulse engines. She gave him a sideways nod. “Sir.”

“Lieutenant.” He spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between them. “Have we been hailed?”

“Negative.” She paused to absently brush a hand over her hairless cerulean scalp. “Not a word, not even a challenge when we crossed the border a day ago.” Ixxen licked her lips and then tapped a control, bringing up a sensor return on a tertiary screen at her side. “But they're out there, Commander. Look at this.”

The screen displayed a real-time projection of the
Snipe
's ionic wake, and Tuvok immediately spotted a minute perturbation in the particle stream. “Curious. A displacement effect,” he noted. “A cloaked vessel.”

“It's been on us since we entered Klingon space, and frankly, sir, it's making me nervous.” She flushed a darker blue.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do not fear, Lieutenant. If they wished our destruction, we would not be having this discussion.”

“Maybe,” Ixxen replied, without conviction, “but I remember something my first captain used to say. The only thing more dangerous than the Klingon coming at you in the open, all shouts and swagger, is the
Klingon who sits back in the shadows and doesn't say a word.”

“An astute observation,” Tuvok allowed. He looked out toward the planet. “What do you know of our destination?”

“Not much,” she said. “Database is pretty thin on it. The Nydak system is a backwater; all the planets are listed as unsuitable for colonization efforts, even for a species as hardheaded as the Klingons. The star chart shows Nydak II as a mining colony, and it did have some dilithium deposits, but Starfleet records suggest that those were played out back in the 2270s.”

“An empty mine,” Tuvok wondered aloud. “Why bring us here?” He indicated the planet. “Run a passive scan on the colony.”

Kincade saw what he was doing, but she said nothing, watching intently.

Ixxen peered into the hood of a sensor viewer. “Scanning . . . Difficult to be certain—there's a lot of mineral pollutants in the atmosphere fogging the scope. I read a complex on the northern continent . . . small but indeterminate number of humanoid life signs . . .”

An alert tone sounded from one of the other panels, and Kincade strode across to it. “Ixxen, do you see that? I'm reading a neutrino burst, off the starboard bow.”

“Confirmed,” said the Bolian, her jaw set. “And another now, to the stern. It's a decloaking signature.”

“Shall we—”

“Go to alert?” The Bynars stiffened, ready to deploy the ship's hidden batteries of weapons, but Kincade shook her head.

“Hold off on that.” She turned back to her monitor. “Show me what we have.”

“A pair of K-22's,
B'rel
-class Birds of Prey. Enough to give us serious cause for concern.” Ixxen's eyes narrowed. “That's odd. . . .”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” asked Tuvok.

“Sir, neither ship appears to display any markings or insignia consistent with Klingon Defense Force or known House fleets. They're coming to flank positions, no aggressive posture as yet.”

“The
Snipe
is—”

“Being hailed.”

Kincade folded her arms and faced the portal. “Answer them.” The forward port misted and became a display screen. Through it, Tuvok saw into the darkened, rust-colored space of a warship's bridge. A lone Klingon officer rose from his throne-like command chair and eyed them through the two-way link. He was barely keeping a sneer from his lips, and the Vulcan noted what seemed to be the signs of recent injury; there was evident bruising and discoloration around his nasal ridges and cheekbones, as if his nose had recently been broken.

Tuvok paid no mind to this; it was his understanding that Klingon officers regularly engaged in violent sparring to first—and on some occasions,
last
—blood. But what did immediately strike him were smaller details that might have been missed by a less-observant viewer. The officer wore the echelon tabs consistent with a ranked military adjutant, but where the steely baldric across his chest should have sported the sigil of his family, there was only a blank space.

“Welcome,”
said the Klingon without a hint of cordiality.
“You are expected.”

“Well met,” Tuvok replied, speaking before Kincade could say anything. “Forgive me, sir, I mean no
disrespect, but your house is unknown to us. I would ask with whom we speak.”

“My name matters little to you, Vulcan,”
he retorted, irritation flaring at the interruption.
“I am of House Zho. That is all you need concern yourself with.”
He made a dismissive gesture.
“Guide your vessel toward the surface, and you will be provided with landing coordinates at the facility.”

“What facility?” asked Kincade. “The . . . mining colony?”

The officer studied her.
“Yes, the mining colony.”
Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“Such as it was. Now it serves the Empire . . . and her allies . . . in other ways.
” The Klingon paused to glance at a monitor.
“Holding chambers have been prepared, as requested. The general has provided an inquisitor to facilitate intelligence recovery.”

“A what?” asked Ixxen, blanching at the word.

A slow crawl of understanding rose in Tuvok's mind, suspicions and doubts falling swiftly into place. Ixxen had been correct, Nydak II was no longer a place where the Klingons dug dilithium crystals from the rock; it was a prison, and a secret one at that. Suddenly, the reasons for the unmarked ships and the missing sigil became clear.

He had heard of such places during his time with Starfleet Intelligence, so-called “black sites,” facilities operated by external powers, clandestine locations that existed to house prisoners or materials deemed too sensitive or too dangerous to be publicly acknowledged. The Cardassian Union, the Romulan Star Empire, and the Klingons were all known to have a network of such ghost locations either now or in the past, but these covert prisons were banned under the Articles
of the United Federation of Planets. Nothing of their kind was tolerated within the borders of the UFP.

But then,
Tuvok thought,
we are not within Federation space
.

“Who requested this?” he demanded. “Provide confirmation of our orders.”

Kincade shot him a look. “Commander, what are you doing?”

The Klingon adjutant seemed unconcerned by the request.
“The Tellarite. Velk. He came with a call for aid. How could we refuse?”
The sneer came back in all its glory, and he turned to take his seat once more—then paused, as if something had come back to him.
“One other matter. Due to the . . . sensitive nature of this facility, we will require that your vessel deactivate your subspace communications systems and your crew stay within secured areas. Failure to abide by these rules will be met with punishment of the severest nature.”

The signal cut abruptly, and out beyond the
Snipe
's bow, the two Birds of Prey shimmered and vanished once more beneath the shroud of their cloaking devices.

Zero-Zero chirped. “His answer did not—”

“Make sense,” said One-One. “There is no such Klingon clan—”

“Known as House
Zho
.”

“The meaning of that word—”

“Is
empty
. House
Zho—
”

“Does not exist.”

Kincade paid no attention to the Bynars and looked to Ixxen. “Atmospheric entry vector,” she ordered. “Prep the ship for landing and take us in.”

The Bolian hesitated, glancing at Tuvok and then back to the human. “But, Colonel . . .”

Tuvok met Kincade's gaze. “You cannot be unaware of what is going on here,” he told her. “The legitimacy of this mission has been dubious from its inception. If we proceed to the surface of Nydak II, we will go beyond the legality of our Starfleet oath and the letter of Federation law.”

“We were sent here
by Starfleet,
” Kincade countered, her expression hardening. “Under a direct executive order from the office of the president!” She straightened. “Or have you forgotten, Mister Tuvok, that the president is your commander in chief?” This time, Kincade pushed forward, going on before he could frame a reply. “Whatever concerns you or any one of us may have over the methods being employed in this operation, we have achieved success. Now we have to follow our orders through to their conclusion.” She shot a cold look at the Bolian. “Lieutenant Ixxen, I gave you a direct command. Land this vessel.
Now
.”

The younger woman took a breath and then nodded, returning to the controls. She didn't meet Tuvok's gaze. The
Snipe
shifted position, and Nydak II's surface grew to fill the viewport.

Kincade fixed him with an unflinching stare. “I heard all about Riker and his crew. Maybe on
Titan
he runs a slack ship and lets his officers question every order that comes down the pipe. That's not how it goes for the rest of us. And I'm not going to be the one who defies the highest command authority in the Federation!”

Tuvok chose his next words with care. “I find it difficult to consent to orders of such morally questionable tone.”

“
Questionable
?” Kincade echoed. “Questioned by who? You? Me? We serve at the pleasure of the president,
Tuvok. We don't get the right to doubt—we gave that up when we swore that oath. You don't like what we've been ordered to do? Has it occurred to you that there's a good reason for these orders? You're not some midshipman I should have to drum this into, Commander, you're a veteran. You know that sometimes we have to trust in the people above us and get on with our jobs.” Her voice dropped. “You want to debate morality? Shall we talk about how much harm you've inflicted on others in your service to Starfleet? How many deaths you were responsible for? You're a tactical officer, you've probably sent more beings to their graves with phasers and photon torpedoes than I have with my rifle. Did you question those orders, too? Did you question Riker, Janeway, Sulu?”

He bristled. “I did when the circumstances required it.”

“This is not one of those times,” she insisted. “We got this mission because we were the right people for the job. And we're going to see it to the end. If you're not on board with that, then I'll have you confined to quarters. Are we clear?”