Star Trek: Brinkmanship (19 page)

Picard closed his eyes, very briefly, then opened them.
“Your reasoning, presumably,”
he said very tightly,
“was that you needed a sample in order to ascertain whether the solvents are indeed needed for navithium resin, or to stabilize another substance entirely.”

“That was my reasoning.”

“Then I admire your audacity, Captain, while reserving judgment about the wisdom of such a potentially provocative move.”

Provocative? Explosive, more like.

Picard’s voice went very dry.
“Let us not dwell for the moment upon its legality. Did you at least learn something useful?”

“We learned enough to be able to offer to supply the Tzenkethi with a number of alternatives to the resins they are bringing on those ships. Human-friendly alternatives.”

“I see. I assume that Alden and Kedair acquired these samples from the sickbay of Outpost V-4?”

“That’s right.”

There was a pause before Picard spoke again.
“Captain Dax, in my wildest dreams, I never imagined having to put a question like this to a fellow Starfleet officer. Did Starfleet Intelligence issue you orders to sabotage the medical facility on Outpost V-4?”

“No,” Dax said promptly. “But I don’t know if they issued orders to anyone else.”

“Explain.”

“Commander Alden may have a different agenda.”

“Ah.”

“I know he’s received communications through . . . separate channels. I can’t shake the feeling that he might be under orders. But there’s another question mark in my mind, Captain.”

“Go ahead
.”

“He might have been acting on his own initiative.”

“What? Planting a
bomb?”

“I told you what my senior counselor said—”

“Yes, stress, exhaustion, and the possibility of a deeper malaise . . .”
Picard’s eyes widened.
“You sent him on this mission without being certain of his mental state?”

“I did,” said Dax. “He was the only one with the expertise to get through any Tzenkethi security systems that were in place. I made a judgment call, and I sent him. My senior counselor, to her credit, nearly hit the roof when I told her.”

“I can imagine.”
Picard pressed his fingertips against the bridge of his nose.
“So. We are left with the possibility that a Starfleet officer is indeed responsible for this attempted sabotage. But we do not know if this was under orders, or whether he was acting on his own initiative.”

“Naturally, Starfleet Intelligence will deny all knowledge.”

Picard grunted his agreement.
“Dax, you know Alden.”

“I knew him a long time ago. He’s not the man he was.”

“Still . . . Do you think he did this?”

Dax sighed. “I think it’s possible, but I think it’s possible that the Tzenkethi are planning to put bioweapons within strike range of our borders. Senseless and irrational, but
possible.
I just don’t know for sure. For what it’s worth, I’ll also point out that this didn’t happen until I offered the Venetans an alternative to the navithium resin. I make that offer and, lo and behold, a bomb’s discovered on the base.”

“You think the Tzenkethi might be behind this? That Commander Alden, whether acting alone or under instructions, has nothing to do with it?”

Dax threw up her hands. “Yes. The problem is that I can’t know for sure. But this is how they seem to operate, isn’t it? One shock revelation after another. First the Federation spy on their homeworld, now this. So that we’re always left reeling, always kept off balance. Alden might have planted a bomb on Outpost V-4. But the Tzenkethi there might well have done it themselves. I just don’t know for certain either way. That’s been our problem all along, hasn’t it? We don’t know anything for sure, and when we make accusations, they sound like delusions.”

“Quite.”
Picard rubbed his brow.
“You describe my difficulty as well. There is practically no form of words I could use to say any of this to the Venetans. Even if they were willing to speak to us. They’re already indignant we’ve implied their Tzenkethi friends intend to arm the base with bioweapons. Now I have to hint that the Tzenkethi have planted a bomb on a Venetan base and have been attempting to make Starfleet officers look like the perpetrators.”

“I don’t envy you that conversation.”

“And I don’t envy the conversation that you will soon be having with Commander Alden
.”

No, that wasn’t the kind of conversation anyone would look forward to. Dax pushed aside her
raktajino,
her taste for it gone.

“I suggest you try to find out whether indeed Alden
did do something unwise while on that base. I also suggest that you put him under lock and key. And . . .”
Picard sighed, deeply.
“I shall attempt to communicate with Rusht and Vitig through whatever channels remain open to me. Ideally without Tzenkethi oversight. I’ll leave you with this less-than-consoling thought, Dax—all that’s standing between us and war right now are the Ferengi.”

•   •   •

The glittering coral caverns surrounding the travelers had been forgotten. Instead, they had turned inward to their own affairs. The whole boat was humming with the news that the Rets Mayazan and Corazame had begged permission to speak to the enforcers. Conjecture was rife, but almost everyone agreed that it must have something to do with the Ter Hertome and the unusual nature of his interest in the Ret Mayazan.

Apart from this single point of agreement, there was a great deal of dissension among the other Ata-Es on the boat about Mayazan’s decision to approach the enforcers. Efheny told herself that as a xenoanthropologist she had a unique opportunity to observe such a social minefield, but she was uncomfortable being at the center of it. True, some of the other Atas were on her side, many of them having quietly suffered at the hands of bullying superiors. But many more dismissed her as an attention seeker. There was always a Ret, they said, who thought she was better than the rest. Some even thought a little reconditioning wouldn’t do the Ret Mayazan any harm and might remind her of her purpose. A couple went out of their way to signal their
displeasure; one even spat at Efheny as she walked past.

“Ignore them,” Corazame said boldly. This whole business had given Corazame a new air of confidence. “They think you’ve broken rank, reporting an Ata to a higher grade. But if they’re not careful, they’ll be summoned before the enforcers too.”

“Why?”

“
Why?
Sometimes you ask the strangest questions, Maymi. Why do you think? Because putting loyalty toward other members of one’s grade first isn’t right. First we must be loyal to every Ap-Rej, and through them loyal to our beloved Rej himself. They speak for him, after all.” At that thought, Corazame shivered. “I hope we’ve done the right thing. But I’m sure,” she lowered her voice before saying the almost unspeakable, “I’m
sure
that Hertome is in the wrong.”

After two skyturns, Efheny and Corazame received a response from the enforcers, conveyed through hand signals via an Ata-EE who served their part of the ship. They were instructed to come to the front of the boat and present themselves to their superior. As they passed through the locked doors that separated the Ata quarters from those of their superiors, Efheny saw that Corazame was trembling with barely suppressed fear. She herself had conflicting emotions. There was the constant fear of discovery and the particular anxiety arising from exposing herself to the direct scrutiny of an enforcer. She had not come close to one before. What if they were equipped or trained to see straight
through her cover? At the same time, Efheny was excited by the prospect of the unusual encounter in which she was about to participate. It would be a test not only of her expertise as a field anthropologist in correctly gauging the interaction but also of her nerve as an operative. It would give her confidence for the coming few days, and if all went according to plan, it would rid her of the problem of Hertome for good.

The Ata-EE server directed them to the enforcer’s room. They entered and knelt at once, dropping their heads respectfully and gesturing their submission and desire to please. From the sound of movement above, Efheny knew that someone was standing on the anterior deck closest to them. As demonstrations of superiority went, it was fairly obvious, but nonetheless effective. Between the enforcer’s display and the instinctive physical responses bred into her, Corazame was almost weeping. Efheny instructed her own bioengineering to give a similar impression.

“I am Inzegil Ter Mak-B,” the person above said. She had a low voice with unusual intonation, presumably as a result of speaking to them in a dialect that was not her own. “You may raise your heads and look at me.”

Efheny, bending her neck to an uncomfortable position, looked up along the anterior deck. Looming over them was a tall woman with steely silver skin, wearing the dark uniform that all Tzenkethi knew and feared.

“Which of you is the Ret Mayazan?” said Inzegil.

Efheny, not yet granted permission to speak, signaled that was her name and status.

“Ret Mayazan,” said Inzegil, “you and your friend must understand that you have made a serious accusation. If I decide that your accusation is unfounded, this could result not only in your reconditioning but also in your declassification to null. This is your last chance to withdraw your charge against an Ap-Rej. Do you wish to do that?”

Corazame stifled a tiny cry. But neither of them spoke. Inzegil made an imperious gesture. “Then say what you must, Ret Mayazan.”

“Ap-Rej,” Efheny murmured, hoping that she was keeping her voice sufficiently low, “this one humbly offers gratitude for the leave given her to speak. This one offers her loyalty to her Ap-Rej and through her to her most beloved and exalted Rej . . .”

“I’m quite sure of your loyalty. Tell me your complaint.”

In quiet, carefully phrased words, Efheny told Inzegil the same story she had told Corazame: that Hertome was making demands on her that she believed were not permitted and consequently she begged her superior’s protection from him. She finished by acknowledging that the situation was not within her abilities to judge, and that was why she had asked permission to speak today. Her tale finished, she fell silent and waited for Inzegil to reply.

Throughout, the Mak enforcer’s demeanor had been austere and serious. When Efheny finished speaking, Inzegil sighed and paced along the anterior wall toward them. The steely glitter of her skin
was almost dazzling this close. Efheny’s eyes began to water.

“My colleague and I had already observed the Ter Hertome’s odd behavior toward you,” Inzegil said. “We’ve been waiting for you to approach us. After two more skyturns, you would have been summoned before us and asked to account for why you had not called upon our superior judgment in this matter.”

Coming closer, Inzegil put her hand first upon Corazame’s head and then upon Efheny’s. It was a kindly gesture, like an adult to a child, although Inzegil could not have been much older than either of the Atas before her. Some biological process must have been at work, because Corazame was immediately comforted. Her sobs subsided. But Efheny also felt oddly reassured by Inzegil’s touch.

“You and the Ret Corazame have behaved appropriately,” Inzegil said gently. “Your plea has been heard. I shall summon Hertome Ter Ata-C before me to answer my questions.”

She dismissed them both, and they backed out of the room with their heads lowered. Once they were past the dividing door and safely back in the Ata quarters, Corazame began to cry. Efheny put her arm around her.
Not long now, Hertome,
Efheny thought as she shakily soothed her terrified friend.
Not long now and you’ll be troubling me no more.

•   •   •

Crusher, Picard, and Jeyn waited silently in their suite for Madame Ilka to come to see them. There
was little that could be said. They all knew how much was riding on Ilka’s meeting with Vitig. If Ilka couldn’t persuade Vitig to speak to them, they knew they would be leaving Venette very soon. And then what? Crusher shifted uneasily in her seat. And then starships heading toward the border. Starships from at least three powers within the Khitomer Accords. These ships would be met by Tzenkethi ships, no doubt, sent to help the Venetans in their plight. This would almost certainly bring out the Klingon fleet. (Bacco was surely speaking to the Klingon ambassador right now to remind him of his government’s treaty obligations.) And that would surely provoke the other Typhon Pact members to action . . .

Crusher rested her head on one hand.
Three small systems, but they just happen to be in exactly the wrong place. And that makes them enough to take us all to war.
She sighed and checked the time.
Our last chance for some kind of diplomatic solution. Our last chance to talk it out. But how did it ever get to this? How did we get from nearly bringing the Venetans into the Federation to quarrels over solvents and resins and the long dreadful night before war? What went wrong?

The chime on the door rang. Jeyn jumped up to respond. Ilka entered, her expression somber. None of the three Federation representatives looked at each other.

“I do have
some
good news,” Ilka said, taking the seat offered by Jeyn, “but you won’t like the rest of what I have to say.”

“If there’s any good news,” said Jeyn, “we’ll take it. We’ll take anything right now.”

Ilka folded her hands in front of her on the tabletop. “I saw Rusht and Vitig. Alizome was there too, I’m sorry to say. We’d barely begun to talk when news of this bomb on Outpost V-4 emerged. The three of them disappeared for several hours.” Ilka glanced around at the three of them, unable to mask her annoyance. “Not the best start to our conversation, from my perspective. I
assume
the thing wasn’t yours?”

“If it was,” said Picard, equally testily, “it wasn’t authorized.”