Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key (11 page)

“You maintain that you had no prior knowledge of this group?” Lang asked.

“None,” Iliana said honestly. “Which leads me to conclude they’re unworthy of my notice.”

“And yet this movement appears to be enjoying something of a resurgence of late,” Dukat said. “Driven by the expectation that a deliverer they call the Emissary will soon rise to lead Bajor into a new era…against the Alliance.”

Iliana chuckled, hoping it would not seem forced. “And you
believe
this nonsense? A deliverer! The very notion is laughable!”

“I tend to agree,” Martok said gravely. “And yet…even laughable ideas may be dangerous. Some prophecies have a way of becoming self-fulfilling. They can stir up a populace, invite discontent, even inspire open revolt without so much as a particle of truth behind them.”

The regent leaned forward in his chair, a growing menace in his gaze. “Bajor is too important to the contin
ued prosperity of the Alliance for us to risk ignoring any such danger. So I ask you plainly, Kira: Is there rebellion in the hearts of your people?”

Iliana faced him squarely, offering him a predatory smile. “If there is, my regent, then I vow here and now to root it out. Just as I am already rooting out the Terran Rebellion.”

“And as you have recently attempted to ‘root out’ Ataan Rhukal?” Dukat scoffed, evidently not expecting a serious answer. “Let me put another question to you, then,
Intendant
—and I would advise you to consider your words most carefully before you answer. What do you know about the death of Tekeny Ghemor?”

“Everything,” Iliana said without hesitation.

Martok cursed under his breath and shook his head, his great black mane obscuring his face.

“A confession?” Dukat asked with a sudden grin. “Then you admit your guilt—”

“I admit nothing, except to possessing certain knowledge, Lord Legate. But nothing about Bajoran treason.”

“Do not tempt our patience,
Intendant,
” Dukat said. “We know these matters are connected.”

Iliana shrugged. “Perhaps they are, Lord Legate. But I am not their common denominator.”

“Then explain yourself!” Martok said. “What is your knowledge of Ghemor’s death, and why did you seek out his assassin, Rhukal?”

“My knowledge is that Ataan Rhukal is
not
the assassin of Tekeny Ghemor, Lord Regent,” Iliana said calmly.

Lang laughed. “We have his confession, as well as the corroborating testimony of the Bajoran dissident,
Lupaza. We have the record of your request for information about Ataan Rhukal—”

“You have all those things, yes,” Iliana agreed, then resumed addressing the Alliance rulers. “But ask yourselves, my lords…if Rhukal truly is as guilty as the Obsidian Order would have us all believe, then why would I have sought information about him so openly, when surely that act would have drawn the Order’s suspicion to me?”

“Your attempts to confuse the issue will not succeed, Intendant,” Lang said, her satisfied smile suggesting she had Iliana exactly where she wanted her. “The fact is, our investigation into Ghemor’s assassination has been a closely guarded secret, including Rhukal’s arrest. You didn’t know we already had him, or that we had already obtained his confession and linked him to your fellow traitors on Bajor. Your own arrogance has finally betrayed you—as it had to eventually.”

“Or,” Iliana said, reflecting Lang’s smile back at her, “the Order’s vaunted secrecy isn’t as absolute as you believe, Director Lang. And if it’s not, then it’s entirely possible that a loyal servant of the Alliance who was deeply troubled by the untimely demise of Tekeny Ghemor might suspect that matters were not at all as they seemed. Such a loyal servant might well calculate that a sudden inquiry into the status of Ataan Rhukal would flush out the
real
assassin…which is precisely what it did.”

Iliana produced an isolinear data rod from inside one of the sleeves of her gleaming black bodysuit, and held the translucent object up before the supreme legate and regent. “The real traitor’s confession is recorded here,
my lords—testimony from the same man who rather conveniently arrested the woman, Lupaza; the man who coerced the statements from her that led to the arrest of Ataan Rhukal; the man who, in turn, tortured Rhukal into confessing to a crime he had nothing whatsoever to do with.”

Iliana stepped forward and held the rod out to Martok. “The same man who raised suspicions about my loyalties after I submitted my very open inquiry about Rhukal to the Central Office of Records on Cardassia, and who personally came to relay your summons to me aboard the
Negh’Var:
Senior Operative Corbin Entek of the Obsidian Order.”

“This is absurd!” Lang spat. “My lords, do not let this farce continue! This woman is—”

“Silence!” Martok shouted, cutting off Lang and whatever Dukat might have added to her rant. He took the rod from Kira’s hand and inserted it into the dataport on the arm on his chair. “I will know what this contains.”

At Iliana’s feet, the Klingon-style screen that was tilted toward the thrones came to life. She didn’t bother to watch the recording herself, already being thoroughly familiar with its contents; she much preferred to watch the expressions of Martok and the two Cardassians as Entek’s face filled the screen and he began speaking. His expression remained stoic throughout the recording; Iliana had cautioned him against trying to slip out code-phrases, tonal clues, or facial movements intended to signal that his statements were being made under duress.

Naturally, Entek had resisted at first. But Iliana
had made good on her vow to bring her wrath down upon him in ways that even the state-of-the-art pain-suppression technology the Order had wired into his brain would do little to ease. She had not even needed Taran’atar for that part; her own interrogation skills, though rusty, had been more than effective, requiring only that L’Haan be on hand to provide medical assistance sufficient to prolong Entek’s suffering without killing him. After that, he had offered his “confession” with almost pitiful eagerness.

“My name is Corbin Entek,”
he began.
“I’m making this recording of my own free will in order to reveal the truth about what I’ve done. I was the real assassin of Tekeny Ghemor. Ataan Rhukal is innocent. I forced him to confess to a crime he did not commit. I did these things at the command of my supervisor, Natima Lang, who coveted Ghemor’s position as head of the Obsidian—”

Lang’s outrage drowned out the rest of Entek’s statement. There was an almost comical quality to the widening of her eyes. “You traitorous, deceitful witch! Where
is
he?
What have you done with my operative?”

Iliana gave the answer to Lang’s question to Martok. “Corbin Entek committed suicide several hours after this recording was made, a fact that General Kurn and his men will corroborate. I believe his remorse finally became too much for him to bear. He simply couldn’t live with the guilt of carrying out Director Lang’s orders and betraying the Alliance.”

“I’ll kill you!”
Lang screamed as she advanced on Iliana.
“I’ll kill y—”

There was a sharp
thunk
and Lang stumbled back a
half step, her eyes falling to the Klingon dagger that was suddenly buried to the hilt in the center of her chest.

She looked up at her killer is disbelief. Martok was standing now before his throne, his regent’s cloak flung back, the short scabbard on his belt now conspicuously empty.

“You fool,” Lang said to Martok just before she tumbled to the floor, lifeless.

Martok turned toward one of the Klingon guards. “Retrieve my
d’k tahg,
” he ordered with a grunt. “And clean up that mess.”

For his part, Dukat appeared stunned. “Regent,” he began. “Surely you must realize that Entek’s confession had to have been coerced. You can’t possibly believe—”

“What I cannot believe, Legate, is that you are suggesting that a senior operative of the Obsidian Order can be coerced into doing
anything,
” Martok said, peering at Dukat through slitted eyes. “And yet, given the plague of disloyalty and utter incompetence within the organization of late—defections by prominent agents, conspiracies and assassinations—it’s hard to know
what
to believe at the moment. Except that better care will need to be taken in choosing the Order’s
next
director.”

The regent recovered the isolinear rod from the armrest of his throne and tucked it into his gauntlet. “I’m quite satisfied that we have found the source of the treachery in this sordid affair…as I’m quite sure the Alliance Council will be.”

“But there’s still the matter of the Bajoran dissident movement!”

“What
dissident movement?” Martok asked. “The
only evidence of that is the word of a dead Bajoran who was interrogated by a confessed traitor.”

Still seated, Dukat was clearly fighting to hang on to his composure. “It was you who said that even laughable ideas can be dangerous.”

“So I did,” the regent said, turning to Iliana. “And in view of what we’ve just learned, I can think of no one better qualified to get to the truth of this matter than Bajor’s Intendant, who has already vowed to root out whatever traitors to the Alliance may exist on her planet.”

Dukat was now speechless, and the regent pressed on, nodding toward the chess set on the table between them. “This game has been most diverting, my Cardassian brother, but I grow weary of it. It is time we all returned to our respective domains, don’t you think?” With a sweep of his cloak, Martok turned away before Dukat could reply, leaving the audience chamber through a guarded private door in the corner nearest to his throne. Dukat stood before his throne, fists clenched in frustration.

With Martok’s leave granted implicitly, Iliana likewise gave Dukat her back as she started back down the room’s main aisle.

“This is far from over,
Intendant,
” he called after her.

Iliana turned and offered him a mocking bow. “On that we can certainly agree, Legate. I’ll look forward to meeting your next appointment to head the Obsidian Order.”

She turned and left the audience chamber, enjoying the sound of Dukat kicking over the chess table before the great double doors closed behind her.

Iliana found it difficult to keep the spring out of her step as she made her way back through the station, and was surprised to find Martok waiting for her when she finally reached the airlock port that led back to the
Negh’Var.
The regent was alone, unaccompanied by guards or retainers.

“My lord,” she began. “I trust you’re pleased with how—”

With unexpected speed, Martok grabbed her by the throat and shoved her back against a wall, his chipped and filthy fingernails digging into her neck.

“Don’t imagine for a moment that I don’t know what you just did in there, Intendant,” he said. “You and the Cardassians may share a taste for these little maneuvers and manipulations, but I have no stomach for them. Your interest in Ataan Rhukal, whatever it truly is, created an embarrassment for me that could have allowed Dukat to eclipse my influence over the Alliance Council.”

She tried to reply, but a single hard squeeze of his powerful hand convinced her not to try to speak again until she was certain he had finished.

“As it is,” the regent continued, “the only reason you are still alive is because your scheme had the appearance of vindicating my patronage of you—and because it gave me a convenient excuse to rid myself of that Cardassian cow’s shrill braying. I therefore congratulate you on slithering your way out of yet another calamitous indiscretion. But you would do well not to test my capacity for forgiveness further. Do we understand each other, Intendant?”

Iliana nodded as best she could in the Klingon’s vise
like hold, and Martok released her with an attitude of disgust. “Now tell me of this creature General Kurn has advised me about—this monstrous pet you acquired during your unscheduled visit to Harkoum. Is he the new ally you promised me? The Jem’Hadar?”

Iliana rubbed her neck. “He is.”

“And the rest of his kind? Where are they?”

“They aren’t yet within my reach, Lord Regent. But they soon will be.”

Martok growled deep within his throat. “I allowed you the use of my Ninth Fleet because you promised to deliver unto me an army to rival the forces of Qo’noS and Cardassian combined.”

“And so I will,” Iliana said, her voice regaining some of its strength. “Taran’atar is a soldier like none you’ve ever seen before, Regent, separated from his people by a cruel fate. But with him at my side, I’ll find the rest of his kind and provide you with soldiers who will make the Alliance invincible.”

“You make weighty boasts, Intendant,” the regent said. “See that you live up to them…or you will assuredly die under them.”

“Once I’ve finished crushing the rebels on Terok Nor, I vow to open the way to the rest of the Jem’Hadar.”

“Indeed you will,” Martok said. “But you will attain both objectives without your armada.”

“What?”
Iliana exclaimed. “Terok Nor holds Bajor hostage from orbit and you wish me to—”

“A dozen ships,” Martok said. “The
Negh’Var
and your choice of support vessels. If you cannot retake Terok Nor
while protecting Bajor with a force of that size—and in the process uproot whatever obscene cult is flourishing on your planet—then perhaps my trust in you has been misplaced after all.”

Iliana fumed, the subtext of the regent’s words crystal clear to her. The truth was, Martok really didn’t trust her at all. Whatever the truth might be about a religious resurgence on Bajor, Lang and Entek had blundered onto a sizable portion of Iliana’s true agenda, suspecting that she might be positioning herself to lead a Bajoran revolution. And on that suspicion alone, Martok was setting her up either to fail, or to betray herself.

Either way, achieving her real objectives was going to be far more difficult now.

Or would it? If she destroyed the station outright, it would be at most a temporary setback for the Alliance. Martok, Dukat, and the Alliance Council would be furious at the loss of such an important strategic asset, to be sure, but probably not enough to eclipse the glory of her decisive victory over the rebels who’d been using Terok Nor to stalemate the Alliance for the past four years. She would regain the Alliance’s trust, whatever the station’s fate, and by the time Martok and Dukat realized that their first instinct about her had been the right one, it would be too late for them to do anything about it.