Star Trek Terok Nor 01: Day of the Vipers Read online

  Jas nodded distractedly, “Yes, Darrah. Of course.”

  Darrah couldn’t help but notice Kubus Oak’s level stare as they walked back across the atrium. The inspector kept a watchful eye, scanning the room for anything that might be a threat, just as his orders stated. From behind, he caught the fringes of a hushed conversation between his friend and the minister.

  “There’s a part of me that cannot disagree with Falor,” Jas was saying. “I feel responsible, Tomo. I helped open the gates to the Cardassians.”

  “You did what you thought was right,” Lonnic returned.

  “Did I?” Darrah heard the morose note in the man’s voice. “Today I wonder.”

  The inspector looked again, his gaze once more finding Kubus. He was smiling and talking quietly with Ranjen Arin; of the kai there was no sign. There was a voice in the back of Darrah’s thoughts, the old, automatic deference his D’jarra imposed upon him, something telling him to concentrate on matters that were in his purview and not these issues that soared far above his rank. Except, he couldn’t let it go. Perhaps Jas was right, perhaps it was his responsibility; but then a look at Kubus Oak told Darrah that this situation would have come to be even without the support of Jas Holza. A man like Kubus was not one to have his agenda brushed aside. He frowned as they walked onto the flyer pads. “Sir? Back to the keep?”

  Jas shook his head. “No. I need some time to think. The coastal villa, Inspector. Take me to my retreat.”

  9

  After several days in the cargo compartments of the Lhemor, there were still instances when Bennek felt overwhelmed by the stale odor of chemical sealants and old rust. The freighter creaked and groaned like a man with diseased lungs; last night, after vespers, with gallows humor Pasir had opined that the corrosion was all that held the decrepit starship together. This was the fourth journey the Lhemor had made from Cardassia Prime to Bajor, and Bennek was quietly amazed that it had survived even one.

  “Oralius protects,” he said aloud, and he hoped she would continue to do so. He worked his way down the narrow companionway from the storage spaces to what passed for the crew decks. The cleric hardly ever saw the freighter’s small complement of staff. Civilians all, they spent most of their time at their duty stations and ventured into the rear compartments only if there was a problem. They had been paid reasonable wages for their service aboard the vessel, but the Way’s limited reach in Cardassian society meant that the people the church could employ tended to be either members of the congregation or those who did not care where their leks came from. Bennek was convinced that the Lhemor’s captain remained in a state of permanent inebriation; certainly, he had never encountered the man without him stinking of kanar.

  While the cargo compartments had been converted into rough dormitories for the faithful, there were a couple of other spaces used by the priests. Bennek let the door to one of these areas judder open in front of him and entered. It was a bare room with a simple computer console and a screen. A blinking glyph showed him that a subspace signal was being decoded, although Bennek held out little hope that the third-generation encryption software built into the communication suite would provide a challenge to the scrutiny of any Obsidian Order monitors. The cleric sat and glanced out of the room’s only viewport, an oval window set in the grimy hull. Outside, stars turned to rainbow streaks of warp light swept past; and there just off the flank of the Lhemor, maintaining the same perfect separation and implied threat as it had throughout the flight, was the frigate Kashai. The warship was a continual reminder of the Central Command’s presence, provided as an “escort” for the pilgrim transport but as much an overseer as it was a protector. No Oralian ship was allowed to venture into space without such a companion, and not for the first time Bennek wondered what work those ships did as they shadowed the pilgrimages.

  All too often he had seen things that he was unable to explain away. Groups of men and women from churches of the Way he had never visited, who disappeared from the pilgrim groups the moment they reached Bajor. Cargo modules sealed tight, with no identification, that were there when they left Cardassia and gone when they returned. Bennek had spoken of these things several times to Hadlo, but on each occasion the senior cleric had replied with nebulous admonishments and poor justifications.

  With a solemn bell tone, the screen illuminated and the old man’s face peered out at him. A haze of interference made Hadlo’s expression seem blurry, but there was more to it than that. The cleric was more sallow than normal, and the shadows collecting around his brow ridges were deeper. Only his eyes seemed alive; they were animated and fierce. “Bennek,” he said abruptly, “you seem disturbed. Have you been called away from something?”

  Bennek shook his head. “No, Master. The pilgrims are well, they are taking part in a reading from the Hebitian Records. Pasir is leading the group in my absence.”

  “Who? Pasir?” Hadlo blinked. “Don’t recall the name.”

  Bennek frowned. Hadlo had personally assigned the younger priest to his group only a few months earlier, after the government had closed Pasir’s temple outside Tellel on some minor technicality. The man had proven to be a deft minister, and his knowledge of the Recitations was excellent.

  The old man waved a hand at the screen. “You need to be watchful, Bennek. There have been more incidents since you left Cardassia Prime. Things are worsening.”

  “What do you mean? More arrests?” The grim truth was, despite the assurances that Danig Kell had made to Hadlo five years ago, the Detapa Council and the Central Command had done little to scale back their persecution of the Oralian Way. At best, things were as bad now as they had been then; at worst, entire congregations in the outlying provinces were disappearing. More than ever, theirs was an embattled faith.

  Hadlo’s voice dropped to a breathy whisper. “We can trust no man, my friend. Only Oralius can show us the way, and her face is forever hidden from us! Clouded, do you see? I alone am blessed in that I can see this for the truth it is. The serpents, Bennek! Beware of the serpents in the ruins, the ashen wilds…”

  Bennek’s heart sank. He had put off leaving the old cleric alone for months and months, refusing Hadlo’s orders to go to Bajor and take a direct hand in the running of the enclaves. His fear for his mentor’s grasp on reality was very real, but it had been a long time since Hadlo had spoken of his experience at the Kendra Shrine, and Bennek had hoped he would not hear of it again. The messianic qualities of Hadlo’s “visions” frightened him, and he was afraid that reason might desert his friend and teacher. Bennek had boarded the Lhemor because Hadlo had promised to join him on the next starship. As the old man whispered on, he realized that assurance had been forgotten as well.

  “The touch of the Prophet’s Tear showed much to me. I see it unfolding. There is talk of rising up against the oppressors.” He ground out the words. “A holy war.”

  Bennek’s blood ran cold. “That would be a mistake,” he said, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. “To do so would give our enemies the reason they crave to destroy us. If one Oralian raises his hand in anger, they would cut us down like animals…” His throat tightened and his gaze strayed to the window, to the threatening shape of the warship pacing them. “We must endure, Hadlo. We must exercise caution!”

  The old man rubbed at his face. “Listen. With each passing day it becomes clearer to me that our birthworld is the place of ashes. It is not safe for us here anymore. Bajor…” He looked away. “Bajor may be the only sanctuary for our faith.”

  “Hadlo, I—” The screen went dark, and Bennek was startled into silence. For a moment he nursed a pang of fear, worried that something might have happened at the other end of the line, but then slowly he understood that the cleric had simply severed the link, having said what he wanted to say.

  “Bennek?” He jumped at the sudden voice and turned in his chair to see Pasir at the half-open hatch. The young priest’s narrow face had the same perpetual cast of eager interest it had shown on th
e day they had first met. “Pardon me. The door was open…I concluded the Recitation and I came looking for you.”

  “It’s all right,” Bennek replied, licking dry lips. “You just startled me, that is all.” He hadn’t heard the cleric’s approach, even though the metal decks of the Lhemor seemed to squeak everywhere one laid a foot.

  He looked at the console. “You were speaking with Hadlo?” When Bennek nodded, he continued. “A very great man. He has done so much for the Way. He has given so much of himself to it.” His expression shifted toward concern. “Is there news from Cardassia Prime? Is something wrong?”

  Bennek sank deeper into the threadbare seat and sighed. “Pasir, my brother, we all face great trials. You yourself are a victim of the government’s continued attempts to ‘encourage’ us to leave the social order.”

  The other man nodded. “Indeed. That is partly why I wanted so much to come to Bajor. The chance of a spiritual refuge holds great promise for me, for all of us.”

  “Perhaps,” Bennek replied, “but we must resist isolation, on our homeworld and in the enclaves. I am afraid that our kindred do not see the whole mural, only the smallest part of the painting…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Detapa Council divides the branches of our faith and misinforms us, keeps us from coming together so that we might oppose them. At home we are blinded to the threats that surround us, and on Bajor those of our people in the enclaves think themselves safe.” He shook his head.

  “I know they are not.”

  “But haven’t the Bajoran clergy accepted our friendship? Don’t their people know that we are travelers on twin paths?”

  “I’m not speaking of Bajor or the Bajorans.” Bennek’s voice took on a gloomy tone. “I wonder, how many of our pilgrims are agents of the Obsidian Order? How much of our mission is for them and not for Oralius?”

  Pasir laughed. “Spies? You know the hearts and minds of every one of our people aboard this ship! Look at me, Bennek! Could I be a spy? Could any of us give up the Way for something so tawdry?” He placed a friendly hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Our unity makes us strong. Without it, we have nothing.”

  Bennek saw the light of enthusiasm in the young man’s eyes and it lifted his spirits. “You’re right. Thank you for the clarity of your insight, Pasir. I imagine we will both need that when we reach Bajor.”

  He got a smile in return. “I must confess, I am greatly looking forward to meeting our Bajoran counterparts. I’ve read much about their Prophets and their Celestial Temple. It will be fascinating to meet with one of their priests.” Pasir paused. “You spoke to me of the prylar Gar Osen. I should like to meet him.”

  “He is a ranjen now,” Bennek corrected. “He has been granted a higher honorific, in connection to his work as a theologist and friend to the Way.” He gave a nod. “He’s a lot like you. He has a passion for his faith that shines on all that he does.”

  Pasir’s smile deepened. “Then, with Oralius’s grace, once this venerable old craft reaches Bajor, I hope to make his acquaintance.”

  Bennek shot a look at the ceiling as the deck above gave a mournful creak. “With Oralius’s grace,” he repeated.

  Dukat peered into the discreet console on the arm of his chair, studying the image there. The display on the hooded console was arranged in such a manner that only the ship’s commanding officer could see it; it allowed Dukat to slave any station on the Kashai’s bridge to his immediate oversight, and if required, he could belay any order a crew member executed with the stroke of a keypad. At the moment he was looking through the frigate’s targeting matrix, the screen showing the status of the disruptor grids, a lazy aiming halo drifting up and down the hull of the freighter moving in the warship’s shadow. A single disruptor salvo could end them; they would be cast to the void and none would know the Lhemor’s fate. Dukat’s finger drummed on the edge of the console. He needed only to move it slightly to blow the ship apart and rid Cardassia of a few more Oralians. He let his mind wander, imagining the ramifications of such a deed. Would he be punished? Hardly. Perhaps there would be some cursory investigation, but nothing of consequence. If anything, he would be guilty of acting on his own initiative instead of waiting to be ordered to destroy the zealots. That might be bad enough, he mused. Central Command does not like men who think too much for themselves.

  From the corner of his eye he saw the door slide open, and he turned in his seat to see Kotan Pa’Dar cross warily toward him, stepping around the control podiums of the frigate’s compact two-tier command deck. The civilian didn’t enjoy being in the presence of so many military men. He walked with the air of a weak child in a room full of idle thugs. “Dal Dukat,” said the scientist. “I did as you requested.” He waved a padd. “The analysis is most interesting.”

  Dukat took the padd and saw Pa’Dar glance at the dal’s monitor. The civilian’s eyebrows rose as he realized what it displayed. He shot the commander a look of sudden alarm.

  “Call it a thought experiment, Kotan,” he said languidly.

  “How many bolts would it take to blast that scow from space?”

  His amusement deepened as the other man hesitated, unsure if Dukat was asking him a question or just making an idle threat. “I would think that would be a rash course of action,” Pa’Dar said finally. “We are not the Klingons. What you posit is more in line with their crudity of behavior, Dal.”

  “Quite so.” Dukat had made it clear that Pa’Dar wasn’t to call him by his first name in front of his crew, and he was pleased the civilian kept to his orders. “It is only a drill for my weapons officer, nothing more.” He grinned slightly, enjoying Pa’Dar’s discomfort. “I wouldn’t want for there to be a malfunction in the disruptors…a misfire, perhaps.” Dismissing the matter, he went back to the padd and paged through it. Dukat found himself thinking of Kell, his former commander. Now promoted to the rank of jagul and enjoying a posting at the Union embassy on Bajor, he recalled the man’s irritation at their mission into this sector five years earlier. Although his dislike for Kell hadn’t waned, Dukat did in a way understand him a little better. Commanding his own starship, albeit a small craft, gave Dukat fresh insight. The tyranny of boredom that came from uneventful missions such as this one would try any officer’s patience, and that, he imagined, was why Danig Kell had taken such care in making life hard for Skrain Dukat. Small cruelties passed the time.

  Dukat snapped off his monitor, irritated by the thought that he might share some characteristics with the man.

  “Your phantom,” offered Pa’Dar, indicating the padd. “I ran a full diagnostic on the Kashai’s sensors and I concluded that it was not, as your officers suspected, a reflection from the freighter’s poorly shielded reactor core.”

  Dukat’s eyes narrowed. The intermittent sensor contact had been plaguing them since they entered the Bajor Sector, appearing at the fringes of the frigate’s detection range, hazing in and out at odd intervals. With Pa’Dar’s contingent of experts from the science ministry on board as passengers, the commander had decided to make use of them and turn the civilians to the problem. He made a mental note to reprimand his scan officer for failing to come to the same conclusion. “It’s a ship.”

  Pa’Dar nodded. “Given what can be determined by its course, motion, and energy patterns, I would hazard a guess that the vessel is Tzenkethi in origin.”

  “That would fit a profile,” Dukat allowed. “They’re known to be active in this region. It’s most likely a scout, pacing us to see if we might make good prey for a raid.” His fingers tightened on the padd. A Tzenkethi scoutship was an agile opponent, but the Kashai was well armed and swift at sublight speeds. In an engagement, Dukat had no doubt that his vessel would emerge the winner. Skirmishes between Cardassian and Tzenkethi ships had become a regular feature of travel through the Bajor Sector; the aggressive aliens seemed to have little concern about picking fights well outside their own borders.

  “Based on my projections o
f their ion trail’s decay rate, I suspect that the ship is diverging from our course.” Pa’Dar split his hands apart to illustrate his conclusion. “If they continue on that heading, they will enter the Ajir system.”

  “Ajir?” Dukat repeated, turning back to his monitor. He called up a report on the star system. “Single star, several unremarkable balls of ice and rock, a large cometary debris zone. No inhabitants.” He considered it for a moment. “A waypoint, perhaps.”

  “I concur,” said Pa’Dar. “The Tzenkethi are known to prefer the refuge of star systems to the void of deep space. It’s an accepted trait of their race.”

  Dukat tapped the screen with his finger. “We could alter course, go to high warp, and make it to Ajir before them. If they were following us, they were scanning us, and that is tantamount to an act of espionage against the Cardassian Union.” The prospect of a combat engagement tingled in his fingertips.

  “To do so would require you to abandon the Lhemor and leave it undefended,” Pa’Dar replied. “It could even be a ploy to make you do just that.” He frowned. “If I am correct, I believe the Detapa Council’s orders are that the Oralians are to be escorted all the way to Bajor.”

  Dukat raised an eyeridge. “And how would you know the intents of the Detapa Council, Kotan? I wasn’t aware they kept the Ministry of Science informed of such things.”

  Pa’Dar’s frown deepened. “You know full well my family’s connections within the council. Some things became known to me.”

  “Indeed?” Dukat did know; Pa’Dar’s clan was applying pressure to the man to give up his dalliance with the sciences and take up a political career. That he continued to resist showed character on his part, something Dukat saw little of in most civilians. He sighed. “But you are quite correct. And far be it from me to go against the will of Cardassia’s most esteemed council.” He got to his feet and glanced down at the helm officer. “Glinn, you will maintain our present course and speed. Enter this data into the ship’s log and alert me if the alien makes any sort of approach.” He handed the woman Kotan’s padd and beckoned Pa’Dar to follow him. “I will be in my duty room.”