Star Trek (5 page)

“Y
ou can buy us as many drinks as you want,” said the surly, scrawny Miradorn man. “It won't change the fact that
we don't like the Federation
!”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” said Carol, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I can accept that, Ti-Lat. All I want to know is, what do you like the
least
about the Federation?”

With a wide grin plastered across his face, Ti-Lat looked around at the mob of Miradorn drunks crowding Carol, Corsi, and Rennan at the bar. “Where to
begin
?” said Ti-Lat, and everyone in the room roared with laughter.

Finally,
thought Carol.
Some honest answers. The kind you don't get at a grade-school assembly
.

“Excuse me,” said another male Miradorn bar patron, tapping Carol on the shoulder. “I seem to have run dry.”

The man's female twin tapped Carol's other shoulder, raised an empty glass, and turned it over. Only a single drop ran out. “This mysterious dry spell seems to have affected me as well.”

Smiling, Carol waved at the bartender. “Another round for everyone,” she said, “and it's on Starfleet!”

Every Miradorn in the barroom groaned and groused at once. Corsi looked alarmed, scanning the discontented crowd for signs of impending violence, but Carol wasn't worried. As long as Rennan, with his Betazoid sensitivities, looked relaxed—which he did—Carol knew that the danger was minimal.

Meanwhile, the information that she was getting was worth every Miradorn credit that she spent in Pash-Ta's Place. Where better to find out what people
really
thought than at a bar? Carol was growing happier with each passing minute that she had insisted on finding a place like this immediately after she and her team had escaped from Brag-Ret and Sog-Ret at the grade school.

With a fresh round in the offing, Ti-Lat downed his remaining half glass of lavender-colored liquid and slammed the glass down on the bar for a refill. “So what do I like
least
about the Federation, huh?” he said gruffly, which was how he said everything. “I've got one word for ya:
synthehol
!”

The crowd in the bar erupted in laughter and shouts of agreement. “How do you people
drink
that swill?” hollered someone. “You can't even get an honest
hangover
!” said someone else.

Corsi looked alarmed again, but Rennan stayed cool. “I can't argue with you on
that
one,” Carol said with a rueful nod. “So what else don't you like?”

A disheveled Miradorn woman who had a crazy look in her eye and smelled like she hadn't bathed in a long time stumbled in front of Ti-Lat. “Tellarites!” she said, her toxic breath blasting Carol square in the face.

“What an obnoxious bunch!” someone said from the crowd. “It doesn't say much for your Federation, having them as members!”

“I say cut 'em loose!” said the crazy-eyed woman, giving Carol another blast of rancid breath.

Carol smiled as she thought of Tev. “I'll pass it along,” she said. “What else don't you like?”

“The Prime Directive!” someone shouted.

Everyone roared in agreement. “Ooo, look at me,” Ti-Lat said in a high-pitched voice. “I'm too
good
to interfere in the affairs of
primitive
species, even though they're the ones who
need
my help the most!”

“Too good?” hollered a man from the back of the room. “How about too
greedy
? They don't want to
share
what they've got!”

“And the Miradorn made a name for themselves
without
them!” said Ti-Lat. “When the Federation turned us down a hundred years ago, we managed to find
other
friends to help us!”

Rennan leaned past Corsi to catch Carol's eye. “The Prime Directive was applied here?” he said to her.

Carol nodded. “Long story,” she said, hoping Rennan would read her mind or at least her expression and catch on that now was not the best time to go into it.

As always, Rennan got the message. He closed his mouth and leaned back without further comment.

“Primitive?” said Ti-Lat. “They called the
Miradorn
primitive?”

“We're
superior
!” said the crazy-eyed woman.

“Why, the Federation's nothing but a bunch of
pugla yort,
” said Ti-Lat.

“ ‘Half-mades,' ” Carol said quietly in answer to Corsi's questioning look.

Ti-Lat caught the exchange and nosed in close to Corsi. “You're incomplete,” he said, wobbling a bit from the intoxicants he'd been drinking. “Well, except for the relatively small percentage of twins you put out.”

“Small compared to us!” said the crazy-eyed woman. “We're practically
all
twins!”

“You're only half there!” said a huge, bald Miradorn man with glittering tattoos on his scalp and arms.

“How can you expect us to respect you if you're only half as good as we are?”

Carol nodded solemnly, taking in what was going around. Ti-Lat and the others were giving her valuable insights; though she had been aware of Miradorn prejudice toward nontwin Miradorn, she had not known that it extended to other species, and she had not known that it was as deep-seated as it seemed to be among the bar patrons. It was a fascinating contrast to the rah-rah attitudes that Carol's handlers had treated her to in the string of staged pro-Federation events.

The big question now was, were these resentments typical of the general population of New Mirada? And if they were, how might they manifest themselves in future dealings with the Federation?

Carol had a feeling that Brag-Ret and Sog-Ret would have simultaneous strokes if they knew what the Federation visitors were hearing right now.

“Anyway,” said Ti-Lat, slapping Carol on the back. “No hard feelings, right? I mean, this is all between friends, of course.”

“Of course,” Carol said with a smile. “We're all friends here.”

“Make no mistake,” said Ti-Lat. “We might not be crazy about the Federation, but we sure need you ever since the Dominion left us high and dry.”

Corsi raised an eyebrow. “You need us for what?”

Ti-Lat drained the last drops of lavender liquid from his glass and turned it upside down. “We're broke,” he said with a cockeyed grin. “We liked the Dominion, we really did, but they cleaned us out.”

“We don't wanna marry you,” said a man in the back, “but we sure could use a little Federation aid right now.”

“So what you're saying is, you don't like the Federation,” said Carol.

“That's exactly right!” shouted someone.

“Not a bit!” said someone else.

“You don't like our synthehol or our Prime Directive,” said Carol, “and you think we're inferior
pugla yort
.”

Ti-Lat nodded thoughtfully. “I'd say that about sums it up.”

“But you want assistance from the Federation,” said Carol, “because the Dominion, whom you
did
like, plundered Mirada's treasury.”

“Yes,” said Ti-Lat. “That's right.”

“Don't forget how we need another round of drinks,” said the crazy-eyed woman, waving a glass in Corsi's face.

“Gee,” said Corsi. “You people sure make it hard to say no.”

Carol just grinned. Strangely enough, she was glad to hear that the Miradorn didn't like the Federation.

More accurately, she was glad to hear the truth, because she had sensed it all along.

“Another round it is,” she said. “And we'll start it with a toast. To the United Federation of Planets!”

As Carol raised her glass high, every Miradorn in the room jeered and groaned…which just made her smile widen.

I
n addition to her skills as a restorationist, and apparently a changeling technology whiz, Em-Lin had a special talent that was becoming increasingly evident: she was great at rubbing Sonya Gomez the wrong way.

This talent began to show up shortly after the booby traps in the shrine of Ho'nig were shut down. Em-Lin had deactivated most of them with her handy changeling multitool, and Soloman had cleaned up the rest with a morphic computer virus that he'd whipped up on the fly.

As the dust settled, Dr. Elizabeth Lense treated Em-Lin's side, patching the wound left behind by the flying pitchfork. Lense had been outside the shrine during the booby trap barrage, which Gomez knew was a good thing; Lense was pregnant, the result of a relationship she'd had while shipwrecked on a dangerous planet in an alternate universe.
We really need to get her an assistant,
Gomez thought, not for the first time. However, when she brought it up with Elizabeth, the doctor brushed the notion off.

Pressed for time because of the approaching pilgrimage, Gomez debriefed Em-Lin while Lense ran the dermal regenerator over the wound site. It was the first time Gomez had had a chance to talk to Em-Lin. It only took nine words for Em-Lin to get on Gomez's bad side.

“I thought you were supposed to
preserve
the shrine.” Those were the nine magic words with which Em-Lin managed to get off on the wrong foot with Gomez.

Though Gomez had been predisposed to think well of Em-Lin after the way she'd helped end the booby trap crisis, Em-Lin had pretty much thrown all her goodwill out the window in one heave. “That was never our primary objective,” said Gomez, “but we certainly did our best to achieve it.”

“Right.” Em-Lin took a long, meaningful look around the shrine. “This is your best.”

If a big cartoon thermometer were measuring Gomez's rising temper at that moment, the tip of the thermometer would have been throbbing red, radiating rippling heat lines, just about ready to explode.

“No one died,” Gomez said tightly. “Given the level of difficulty involved, I'd say that's best enough for me.”

Em-Lin shook her head and kept looking around at the damage, of which there was plenty. Gomez followed her gaze, further annoyed because she could understand why Em-Lin was so unhappy with what she saw.

The massive chamber was scarred and charred from one end to the other. The altar had been obliterated, and eight of the sixteen columns around it had been toppled. The floor was littered with debris from shattered statues and smashed reliquaries. The wildly colorful and intricate mural spanning the vaulted ceiling had been smudged by clouds of smoke and dust.

“Two years,” said Em-Lin. “My sister and I worked two years to restore this place. She
died
restoring this place. Now all that work is gone.”

Because of the Dominion,
thought Gomez.
Because your people joined the Dominion and gave the Dominion the run of the place. Don't forget that part.

At the same time she thought it, though, Gomez felt sorry for Em-Lin. It wasn't like she personally had forged the alliance with the Dominion. However Em-Lin looked at it, she was the victim of circumstances beyond her control.

Gomez shifted gears to focus Em-Lin away from what had been lost. “Thanks to you, the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been,” she said. “That changeling device of yours was extremely effective in interacting with the morphic systems.”

Em-Lin patted the hip pocket of her burgundy coveralls, as if to reassure herself that the device was still there. Suddenly, then, she cocked her head to one side, as if she were listening to something that Gomez could not hear.

“What is it?” said Gomez.

Em-Lin shook her head. “Nothing.”

Gomez cleared her throat. “You saved some lives here today. If that quantum bomb had gone off, we'd all be dead right now.”

Em-Lin had a distracted look on her face. She looked away, then back, then away from Gomez again. “I was trying to save the shrine,” she said. “That's all.”

In other words, our lives don't matter to you
. Gomez sighed.
I get it.

Lense, who was medicating Em-Lin's side via hypospray, looked up from her work and rolled her eyes for Gomez's benefit.

All right then,
thought Gomez.
No more niceties. You want strictly business, you've got it.

“The changeling device,” she said. “It's a leftover from the Dominion?”

“No,” said Em-Lin. “Our scientists based it on Dominion morphic tech, but it's strictly Miradorn design.”

That piece of information gave Gomez new respect for the Miradorn scientists. “Our team's setting up to break through into the lower chamber. We've detected signs of functioning Dominion equipment there. Any ideas what we might find?”

Em-Lin shrugged. “I didn't even know the chamber existed until today.” Her eyes drifted away from Gomez, and she resumed staring into space.

“Given the knowledge you seem to have of Dominion technology, we can use your help,” said Gomez. “Whatever's down there could be a hazard to the pilgrims.”

“I'm sure the pilgrims will have the best
Chala Ho'nig
yet,” said Em-Lin, “what with the shrine in ruins and all.”

“Not exactly ruins,” said Gomez.

“Not yet, maybe,” said Em-Lin.

The cartoon thermometer was now straining to burst. “Let's just see if we can prevent anyone else from dying. How does that grab you?”

Em-Lin did not answer. She was too busy staring into space. Her eyes slid from side to side as if she were following the movements of something invisible to Gomez and Lense.

Pika Ven-Sa had mentioned earlier that Em-Lin was haunted after the death of her twin. Was that what Em-Lin kept staring at—the ghost of her sister?

Gomez could not quite suppress a shiver as Em-Lin's eyes slid closer and closer, as if whatever they were following was moving over to stand right next to Gomez herself.

Whatever or whoever.

Clapping her hands together, Gomez said, “Okay then. What's the good word, Elizabeth?” When Lense didn't respond, Gomez repeated her name.

“Hm? Oh, sorry, Commander.” Lense closed her medkit and nodded. “She's good to go.”

I am definitely having that conversation about an assistant with Elizabeth again
—
maybe this time with the captain in the room.
“Follow me, Em-Lin,” said Gomez, taking a quick step away from the spot where she had been standing. “Let's find out what's down below.”

On her way past the space that Em-Lin had been watching, Gomez felt another shiver, though she knew that she had much more to fear from a functioning Dominion facility than any supposed ghost.