Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice (33 page)

Do not waste time. Use the machine. Find out what he knows.

The figure in shadow gestured, as if in response to the text's command, and in turn the Klingon put more power to the mind-sifter. The Cardassian trembled in place, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.

Who did they use to get the weapon onto Deep Space 9?

The hidden figure spoke for the first time, its words muffled.
“The gun that Throk used to kill Bacco . . . how did you get it onto Deep Space Nine? Did you involve anyone else outside the True Way?”

“I don't . . .
” Gohdon coughed and began to weep.

The text supplied more questions.

Who was their contact with the Orions? What is their name?

Each time, the unseen figure repeated them, demanding answers of the young Cardassian.

“Those questions were coming in over subspace,” said Tom. “A real-time signal relayed by One-One to that cell. From someone off-planet, watching this live, directing the interrogation.”

On the screen, the Klingon guard was turning up the dial on the torture device again, and Gohdon convulsed, howling in agony.

“Did you work alone?”
asked the figure in shadow.
“Who else knew about the plan?”

Nog turned away in disgust. “I've seen enough.”

Tom shook his head. “You really haven't.”

“No one!”
shouted the Cardassian.
“Please, it was only us! Please stop the pain, stop the . . . the . . .
” Gohdon gave an abrupt, broken gasp, and at once all animation fled from his body. He lolled forward in the chair, eyes rolling back into his head.

“Heart failure,” said Tuvok. “A common effect of such a barbaric device.”

Then the figure who had spoken before moved, coming into the light to take a closer look at the youth's body. Turning, Jan Kincade's face looked directly into the imager pickup and made a throat-cutting motion. She was wearing a data-monocular over one eye.

Make sure the body is disintegrated,
came the order.
We will try again with one of the others later. It is important we are certain we have full containment.

The playback concluded, freezing on the blurry image. “There's no way it could be someone else,” said Tom. “Kincade murdered an unarmed prisoner.”

“Whom was she listening to?” asked Nog.

“Whoever it is,” said Tuvok, “it is clear they do not wish Throk and the other prisoners to leave Nydak II alive.”

*  *  *

“I should put you in the cell next to Bashir's!” snarled Chessman, color rising in his cheeks. His voice reverberated off the walls of his office, and outside past the observation windows looking out at the asteroid's operations center, his staff members were doing their best to pretend they couldn't hear him. “You spin me some line about wanting to find the truth, but in the next breath you're colluding with a convict!”

“He's not a convict,” Vale shot back, arms folded across her chest. “Get your terms right, Commander. Bashir hasn't been convicted of anything yet. He's just a prisoner, and frankly the legality of that definition is up for debate!”

“Innocent until proven guilty doesn't count when the man in question openly admits he did it,” replied the other officer. “I know what they're saying about Andor, that Bashir and those other doctors saved countless lives with what they did . . . but he still broke
the law. And you're within an inch of doing the same, Commander Vale.” Chessman glared at a screen on his desk. “My engineering team tells me that despite the best efforts of the
Lionheart
's crew to drag their heels, your ship is now more or less operable, so I want you on it and out of this system. If you're lucky, you might make it a few parsecs before the reprimand from Starfleet catches up with you.”

Vale considered that. She imagined that Chessman's first order of business when the
Lionheart
had come into sensor range was to send an alert back up the chain of command.
Was there a ship on its way to intercept us even now? Or maybe an order for Atia to kick me out of the center seat?

She had been hoping to stall for time, but that option was fading fast. Her gaze flicked to a viewscreen out in the ops center, a tactical plot of the star system. It was calm and quiet.

What the hell,
Vale told herself.
I won't fold, I'm not going to call. Let's go all-in.

Vale lowered herself into the seat opposite Chessman's desk and gave him the same penetrating stare she had perfected on small-time hoods back on Izar. “You know that once this gets out, you're going to be the bad guy here?” Her tone was suddenly reasonable, and it wrong-footed the other officer. “Bashir is a hero to the Andorian people. And right now, after the shooting, the Federation could do with some heroes. So he punched a couple of people and borrowed a runabout without asking. How does all that balance against safeguarding the future of
an entire species
?”

“He disobeyed orders from his superiors. He stole data that could be lethal in the wrong hands!”

“He resigned from Starfleet,” Vale countered. “And
like I said a moment ago, you may want to think about how lawful it is to be holding a civilian non-combatant without due representation, legal oversight, or assent to his rights.”

Chessman's bluster faded. He knew she was right, but he was caught between a rock and a hard place. He had his orders, and they were ironclad, while she was, in his eyes, only a few steps removed from a renegade herself.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the alert Vale had been hoping for cut him off before he could utter a word.

Out on the big display screen a sensor return had flashed into life. Two starships were homing in on the asteroid, shedding warp factors as they slowed to high impulse speed.

“Report!” Chessman demanded an answer from the intercom on his desk.

Vale saw one of his staff look up from a console.
“Commander, we read two vessels approaching on an intercept course. They're hailing us.”

“Starfleet?”

“No, sir. Andorian Imperial Guard. An
Atlira
-class escort cruiser, the
ADS Mat-Rus,
and a civilian transport, the
Kree-Thai.
Shall I respond?”

The glare Chessman turned on Vale was sharp enough to slice through steel. “You're responsible for this.”

Inwardly, Vale was breathing a huge sigh of relief, but outwardly, she maintained a confident, unruffled air. “You really ought to talk to them,” she told him.

“On screen,” Chessman barked, pulling his uniform tunic straight as he turned to face a display behind his desk. Vale rose and schooled her expression into careful neutrality.

An image appeared of a tall and imposing Andorian
chan
in elegant robes, framed by the bridge of the diplomatic courier vessel. Off to one side of the hawkish, white-haired figure, Vale saw Deanna Troi standing at steady attention. She resisted the urge to smile.

“I am Envoy Ramasanar ch'Nuillen,”
said the Andorian, not giving Chessman the opportunity to speak first.
“I demand to address the commanding officer of this facility.”

“Sir,” began Chessman, working to maintain an air of steady calm. “This is a restricted zone. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave immediately. You are in violation of Starfleet security protocols.”

“That will not occur.”
The envoy's antennae stiffened.
“Your protocols are of little concern to me, Commander. I am here on a humanitarian mission of great importance to Andoria, and I will not be turned away by the likes of you. Make a docking port available for my ship, and prepare to receive my arrival. Ch'Nuillen out.”

The image died, replaced by an exterior view of the dagger-shaped courier and the shield-shaped escort. The latter was taking up a defense stance, while the former moved closer toward the asteroid.

Vale eyed Chessman, whose color was rising with each passing second. “Have you got a red carpet?” she asked mildly.

*  *  *

The
Snipe
's operations room was empty, allowing Tuvok and Tom Riker to set about opening the concealed hatch to the armory without attracting notice. The Vulcan pulled open the casing around the hidden activator pad and paused, studying it in silence.

“Thinking at it isn't going to open it,” said Tom after a moment. Before Tuvok could stop him, he
reached into the casing and pinched a series of connectors together. The hatch gave a grinding hiss and retracted into the wall.

“Impatience is not productive,” Tuvok told him.

“It worked, didn't it?” came the reply.

In that moment, Tuvok made two distinct observations; the first was that no matter how much Thomas Riker resembled his “brother,” he lacked the subtlety of the
Titan
's captain; the second observation he gave voice to. “Your actions remind me of another human with whom I associated. You share a common forename.”

“Handsome fellow?” asked Tom, with a smile.

“Impulsive and poorly disciplined,” Tuvok replied.

The other man slipped into the concealed compartment. “I like him already.” He quickly found the phase-shift transport modules and passed one of them across.

Tuvok turned it over in his fingers. “Fully charged. Secure them all.”

“Got it.”

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind them. Lieutenant Nog slipped into the room, his eyes wide. “I got to Ixxen,” he said, low and intense. “She's going to remain on the bridge and be ready for your word.”

“What of the rest of the group?”

The Ferengi frowned. “Not sure. Kincade's not on the ship; no sign of Khob. I couldn't check the rest without the Bynars seeing me do it.”

“We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Tom. He was gathering up the phase-shift modules, glancing around the compartment. “Should we take the stealth suits?”

Nog shook his head. “We'll have to get in there
through guile instead—” He halted abruptly, ears stiffening. “Someone—”

“What are you doing in there?” Ashur's voice growled from the other compartment. Tuvok saw the thickset Zeon mercenary move into view. He had his disruptor pistol drawn and pointed into the armory. “I knew it . . . you're all part of this!” Ashur's expression turned ugly with controlled rage.

Tom took a step toward him, then halted when the muzzle of the disruptor turned his way. “Ashur, put the weapon down. Just step aside—let us do this.”

“No,” he bit out the word. “What is wrong with you, Tom? These Starfleet types, you can't trust them. Isn't that why you turned against them all those years ago? They promise one thing and then do another.” Ashur gestured with the weapon. “I never believed Kincade, right from the start. I knew they were in it with her, all their salutes and secrets. . . . They're using us!” He caught sight of the phase-shift modules. “What are you doing with those?”

“Mister Ashur,” began Tuvok, maintaining a neutral, static pose. “Lieutenant Colonel Kincade is operating unlawfully. I believe this entire operation is illegal and clandestine.”

“I don't care about any of that,” he shot back. “I was made a promise. Kincade is reneging on it. They told me I would be free and clear. . . . That was a lie. This Cardassian scum we captured, they should be made to pay for their crimes in front of the galaxy . . . but instead we are
here
.” Tuvok saw a shadow of memory pass over Ashur's face. “I've seen places like this before. This is where men of power send those they want broken or erased so it can be done in secret without a single drop of blood touching their hands.”
The words came from somewhere deep within him, and once more Tuvok found himself considering what events in the past had put this mercenary on the path he now walked.

“We're going to get them out,” Nog blurted. “The prisoners. Away from Kincade, back to face justice.”

Tom offered Ashur one of the modules. “We could use your help.”

Tuvok watched the Zeon carefully. He was ready at a moment's notice to spring at him; perhaps he would be fast enough to get to Ashur before the mercenary fired off a shot, perhaps not. The humanoid's emotional state was difficult to predict; at first he had categorized the Zeon as one ruled by baser instincts, but now Tuvok wondered if he might have been too swift to dismiss him.

With a snap, Ashur put up his gun and snatched the module from Tom's hand. “All right,” he said. “And then we get out of this place and never look back.”

*  *  *

A second umbilicus extended out from the asteroid's boarding annex, up at an angle past the
Lionheart
's primary hull and into a receptor port on the underside of the
Kree-Thai
. The diplomatic vessel was an older class of craft, a sleek transport that was a veteran of decades of service to the Andorian race. It had a blade-shaped prow, and it hung over the surface of the secret base like a weapon suspended a heartbeat before plunging into the flesh of an enemy. Vale wondered if that was deliberate symbolism on the part of the envoy—a veiled warning to Commander Chessman that there was steel beneath the ambassador's intentions.

Chessman had insisted that Vale stay close by for
ch'Nuillen's arrival; he clearly did not trust her to be out of his eyesight for more than a moment.

A group of serious-looking Andorian males emerged from the mouth of the transfer tube and took up places where they could see all angles of approach. None of them appeared to be armed, but Vale knew that at the very least they each carried an
ushaan-tor
blade concealed somewhere on their person. The envoy's protection detail eyed their opposite numbers; Chessman had brought a few Starfleet security officers to bolster his own position, and these men and women stood in loose honor guard formation. They kept their phasers holstered, but visible. In addition, a pair of sentinel drones floated overhead, humming quietly.