Star Trek: Brinkmanship (31 page)

Late that night, a small boat arrived to take Neta Efheny away. Inzegil and the other enforcer boarded with her. They led her to a small cabin at the back and sat on either side of her. Their silver glow filled the space.

Efheny sat between them, her hands folded quietly on her lap. She knew she was not going back to the city. A Ret Ata-E could not be allowed to continue to know about other species and other worlds. She was not going to continue her restoration, whatever her
kindly captors said. She was going for reconditioning. For how long? She did not know. How long before you forget everything you have once known? How long before you are taught not to think? She hoped it would not be very long. Not because she feared the process, to which she would willingly surrender herself, but because when it was done, they would send her back, back to her life as a Ret Ata-E, back into the unthinking bliss she craved. Neta Efheny’s old life would be over. She would be far, far away from the trials and uncertainties that were tightening their grip upon the quadrant. She would be free to live among her beloved Tzenkethi, and she would never have to worry about anything again.

Beyond the window of the little boat, the sun set and the moons rose over the lagoon. Efheny shifted forward in her seat, and her two guards laid gentle, restraining hands upon her. The shuttle shot out into the open expanse of water. Inzegil Ter Mak-B reached out to draw a cover across the window, but before she did, the person who had been Neta Efheny lifted up her eyes and caught a shimmer on one moon of the luminous outline of the Autarch’s palace, pristine and unreachable, high above a world that she would never now leave. She twitched her hand to show her gratitude. The blind closed. Mayazan Ret Ata-E shut her eyes and listened to the low hum of the boat cutting inexorably through the water.

“Is she asleep yet?” Inzegil Ter Mak-B said to the other enforcer. She had switched to her own dialect, a
Mak variant of Tzikaa!n that Neta Efheny had studied in depth before taking up her posting and could speak fluently.

“She should be. I doubled the dose.”

“Little fool.” Inzegil’s voice was full of pity, as one would have for a child who has found itself caught up in a situation beyond its understanding. “They never learn, do they? Never stop thinking they’re somehow special.” Her grip upon her charge’s arm softened: still firm, but protective. “Well, I guess you can’t blame them. What a drab little life.”

“What? Kept safe and warm and happy? Not a care in the world? They should be grateful!”

“So you’d swap with this one, Art? Swap life as a Mak for life as an Ata?” Inzegil sounded amused. “It could be arranged, you know. A little reconditioning and you’d be a whole new person.”

The other enforcer chuckled. “Not my purpose, Inzegil. Not my purpose.”

The Ret Mayazan stopped listening. Surely this was not for her to hear. Instead, she filled her head with thoughts of how tired she felt and how she would soon be at peace. She was going for reconditioning. She was going to be remade. And when this one was fit for use once more, they would let her return to her station, to her tasks and the custody of Karenzen. Soon, she would kneel again beside her workmates, and bow her head, and sing with them the songs, soothing as lullabies. Soon she would be free to sing with them forever. And their Autarch, their most
exalted and beloved Rej, would look down upon his servants and smile.

•   •   •

Dax oversaw the collection of a large supply of emollients from Starbase 261 and then turned the
Aventine
back toward Outpost V-4.
Will they ever even be used?
Dax wondered.
Will we ever know whether this whole business was bluff after bluff?
Still, the emollients had to be delivered. Nobody was going to lose face.

The door to her ready room chimed and, on her instruction, Peter Alden entered, sitting when she gestured toward a chair.

“How’s the Tzenkethi woman?”

“So-so.” He jiggled his hand up and down. “Still very frightened. She didn’t know aliens existed until today. Can you believe that? Most people make first contact only with a single species. Not poor Corazame. A Cardassian, a Takaran, a human . . . I think Spon was the real shock, though.”

“Is Nekelen still insisting that she go back with him to Cardassia?”

“I think I’ve talked him out of that. Mostly Cory’s doing. She won’t speak to him, except through me. I persuaded him she might enter a catatonic state without me, in which case they’ll never get the full story about their agent. I’ve promised to share whatever information I learn.” He looked past Dax, at the bulkhead just behind her. “My superiors are very pleased about that, of course. They think in time she’ll be a valuable asset.”

“After all she’s been through? Peter, we couldn’t use her like that!”

“Well, we don’t know yet what she’s been through. She might be a perfectly happy Tzenkethi E grade who has somehow found herself mixed up in a very confusing scenario and is eager to get back home as soon as possible.”

“Would Starfleet Intelligence
let
her go back?”

He looked at Dax, rather sadly. “When I remind Cory of what’s likely to be waiting for her if she does go back, I think she’ll choose to remain an alien in an alien land. But she’s got some tough times ahead. They’re damaged, the Ret Ata-Es, in particular ways. Damaged by their conditioning and the rules that they have to obey. They’re taught to be helpless, to suspend judgment and let others decide—one of the worst things that can be done to anyone.” He sighed. “Who knows how she’ll cope out here? But perhaps, with care, she’ll learn. Given time, and space, she might even flourish. If I can get her to stop thanking me for everything.”

“What about the agent that died on Tzenketh? Did you know him?”

“Yes, I knew him well. Poor Alex. No partner or children, thank goodness.”

“And what about the rest of the network operating on Tzenketh? What’s the news on them?”

“A lot of arrests. We’ve arrested a lot of theirs in response. There’ll be an exchange at some point. Not soon. Poor sods.” A frown crossed his face. “Poor Alex. You know, I’m not so sure he was in danger of arrest.
Tzenkethi counterintelligence isn’t as good as it thinks it is.” He gave Dax a narrow look. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that.”

“Of course. But . . . if you’re in the mood for confidences—”

“Oh, dear. Here it comes.”

“The bomb, Peter.”

“Ezri, do you really think I could have done that?”

“I’m going to take a leaf out of the Venetan book here and be completely honest with you. I don’t know. I don’t know whether or not you could—”

“Ezri,” he chided her softly.

“Peter, you’re a
spy
! You’re trained to do that kind of thing. You’re trained to look at a particular situation, and weigh the odds, and decide whether the ends justify the means. That’s your
function.
So don’t pretend to me that it’s something you couldn’t do.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “I know what you’re thinking. That I’ve changed. That once upon a time I was somebody you could trust. But you can trust me. You can trust me to have the Federation’s interests at heart.”

“You do know that hearing you say that doesn’t help?”

“No?”

“It just makes me more afraid of you. Makes me even more afraid of what you might be able to justify to yourself.”

“And you understand, don’t you, Ezri, that we’re living in dangerous times? The days are gone when
we could look benignly out across the universe and explore it in peace. There are people out there that hold us in contempt, whole systems of worlds that fear us and hate us because of what we are and what we stand for. They might even fear us enough to want to destroy us. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“For Alex Gardner’s sake?”

“That’s one reason, but it’s not the only one. What we have is good, Ezri, and it’s worth fighting for.”

“But isn’t it always the same, Peter? We say these things, and then what we do corrodes the very values we claim we’re trying to uphold.”

He smiled enigmatically. “You might say that. I couldn’t possibly comment.”

Dax left it. She wouldn’t get any more answers. She would never know who had planted the bomb on Outpost V-4.

She stood up and went to look through the port at the myriad stars. What was Corazame Ret Ata-E making of such a view?

“You know,” Dax said, “I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like. To be confronted with a universe so vast . . . It reminds you of why we are here.” She looked at her old, changed friend. “At least, I hope so.”

•   •   •

The admiral was on the line. Crusher eased out of her seat and came to stand behind her husband.

“I assume,” Picard said, “from the involvement of the
Aventine
in extracting the Cardassian agent, that that was your priority even before the crisis began.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about that, Jean-Luc. The fewer people who knew about it, the better. But the alliance with Cardassia had to come first. The Andorian secession’s been a terrible blow to our status and prestige. If anti-Federation sentiment—or even plain ambivalence toward us—takes hold on Cardassia, we run the risk of seeing much less friendly people in charge there than the current administration.”

“And we can’t afford to lose such an ally?”

“
Oh, it’s more than that. I want that alliance set in stone. I want people thinking about Federation and Cardassian ties as a special relationship. So natural that hardly anyone remembers we were once at war. I want war with Cardassia to seem like an aberration, something that could have happened only in fiction.”

“Close friendship is a good thing, Admiral,” Picard said. “But, as the past few weeks have proved, that surely gives the Cardassians a great deal of bargaining power over us—”

“I think it’s a good deal, Jean-Luc. I’ll take it.”

“What about the three Venetan bases?” Crusher said. “Will there be a Tzenkethi presence there?”

“There will,”
said Akaar,
“but there’ll also be observers from the nearest Khitomer powers present.”

“The Venetans agreed to that?” Crusher asked in surprise.

“The Venetans are lucky their civilization is still intact. They’ll accept what we and the Tzenkethi tell them to accept.”

“Not quite in the spirit of self-determination,” Crusher said.

“
If the Venetans didn’t want to play ball in the galactic playground, Doctor, they should have stayed in their own backyard. They put themselves in the firing line. Now they have to live with that. Sad, but true.”

“And what do we get out of all this?” Picard said. “I assume a deal has been made with the Tzenkethi somewhere?”

“Very perceptive of you, Jean-Luc. Yes, we’ve agreed to the presence of Tzenkethi observers in the Maqbar system. Starfleet has just leased four bases from the Maqbari.”

A deeper game indeed,
thought Crusher. Something had occurred to her—something which she didn’t like much at all. “Admiral, why did you send me to Venette? It wasn’t because of my prior visit or my medical expertise, was it?”

Akaar had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“No, Doctor. I wanted our delegation off-balance when Detrek became unreasonable. We had to ensure that Tzenkethi attention was diverted fully toward Venette and not anywhere near the Cardassian agent. I’m sorry, Doctor. But that’s the truth.”

“I see,” said Crusher. “Thank you for being honest with me, Admiral.”

She moved out of his eyesight and did not listen to any more of the conversation between Akaar and her husband.
So,
she thought,
I was set up. Not only was my mission nonsense, but even when my role expanded, I was intended to fail. All those conversations with Alizome—the heartbreak, the worry, the fear of failure—and my superiors didn’t want me to be successful. Or, if I was, it
didn’t matter. I was a distraction. What mattered was to keep Alizome busy wasting her time with me for as long as possible. What mattered was happening elsewhere.

She heard the comm channel close and turned to face Picard.

“Beverly,” he said cautiously. “I know you’re upset—”

“Upset? Jean-Luc, I’m not upset. I’m furious.”

•   •   •

Later, in their quarters, Crusher watched over René until he fell asleep.

Her husband hovered worriedly behind her, uncertain how to handle her in this mood. Eventually she took pity on him and sat beside him on the couch.

He took her hand, awkwardly. He cleared his throat. “You saved the day, Beverly.”

“Hardly.”

“Your handling of Alizome was superb—”

“Don’t patronize me, Jean-Luc,” she said—firmly, but not unkindly. “I understand what happened and I understand why. People like me, and Ilka, and Dygan—we don’t count. Not really. We’re here to carry spears. We’re here to obey.”

He started. “Beverly, that isn’t true—”

She put her fingertips upon his lips to silence him. “I made a mistake forgetting that,” she said. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”

•   •   •

After Jean-Luc went to bed, Crusher sat awake for a long time, tired but far from sleep. A message had arrived from her sister-in-law. She watched it with
relief, reveling in the domestic detail, far away from her own situation.

“I’m just so relieved to know that all three of you are okay. Hey, a strange thing happened yesterday. I was contacted by a Ferengi merchant looking to import wine to Ferenginar! No idea how he found me . . .”

Crusher silently saluted Madame Ilka.
To friendship,
she thought.
To difference.

To trust.

Acknowledgments

T
hank you to Margaret Clark and Ed Schlesinger for support during the writing of this book, and to David R. George III and Dave Mack for correspondence and help during revisions.

Grateful thanks to the contributors to the online
Star Trek
wiki sites.