Lesser Evil

by Robert Simpson

  “I can’t stay here,” Kira said.

  Montenegro’s brow furrowed. “Would you like an upgrade, Colonel? I’m sure I could arrange—”

  “An upgrade?” She remembered all the compliments she’d received during the last couple of months from visiting dignitaries to the station, remarking on Bajoran hospitality. But if this was typical of how they’d traveled to Deep Space 9…“Commander, I hope I don’t seem ungrateful, but all I really need is a bed, a workstation, and a head. All this is a bit…much.”

  Montenegro looked at her as if she’d just said the last thing he ever expected to hear. “I think we have something like that,” he said hesitantly. “But it has a replicator.”

  Kira smiled. “I’m not a savage, Commander. Lead the way.”

  13

  Dax signaled at Vaughn’s quarters. No answer came. She tried again, and again the chime went unanswered. “Sir, it’s Dax,” she said in a raised voice. “I need to speak with you.”

  Silence again, which made Dax’s frustration grow. She was debating whether or not to order Chao to beam her directly inside the cabin when she heard Vaughn’s voice.

  “Come.”

  The doors parted. She looked inside before entering. Like all the rooms on Defiant, the C.O.’s cabin was smaller in comparison to its counterparts on most other Federation starships, albeit a little larger than the crew’s quarters on board. Vaughn was sitting on the edge of the room’s single bunk, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, hands folded. His uniform jacket was tossed over the chair by his desk. He looks, Dax thought, as if he hasn’t slept in days.

  “In or out, Lieutenant,” he said when Dax hesitated a second too long.

  Dax entered and waited until the doors hissed shut behind her. “Pardon the intrusion, sir. But I need to speak with you about the current situation aboardship.”

  “Which situation is that, Dax?” Vaughn asked wearily, lowering his head. He was looking at the combadge he held in his hand.

  “I think you know what I’m talking about, sir,” Dax said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

  “And I think you’ve forgotten that what you’re talking about isn’t open to discussion,” Vaughn said without looking up.

  “Be that as it may,” Dax said, “we’re going to talk about it. Now.”

  Vaughn looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “Sir, you can throw me in the brig after I’m done if you want, but I’m going to have my say, and you’re going to listen.”

  Vaughn laughed quietly. “You think getting in touch with your inner Curzon is going to make me put up with this? You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  “Dammit, I’m not trying to be Curzon,” Dax snapped. “I’m trying to be your first officer, and your friend. Or are you so wrapped up in yourself that you don’t need either one anymore?”

  Vaughn rose to his feet suddenly, staring down at Dax. “I strongly suggest you walk out of here now, Lieutenant, while I’m still willing to pretend this insubordination never happened.”

  Dax didn’t budge. “Why aren’t we on our way to the Alpha Quadrant, sir?”

  “I’ve already said—”

  “The Borg have been here, Commander,” Dax said. “They’ve been to the Gamma Quadrant. We should be learning everything we can about this incursion and taking that intelligence home as quickly as possible. Instead, you’re making the restoration of Commander Tenmei our top priority and putting the crew at unnecessary risk. Why?”

  Vaughn said nothing.

  “You’re the captain of this ship,” Dax went on. “You have a duty to these people who have done nothing but serve under you faithfully for this entire voyage. And you have a duty to the Federation to put its security before personal considerations.”

  Vaughn’s hands, Dax saw at the periphery of her vision, had clenched into fists. He was shaking visibly now, but once again Dax held her ground, and his stare. Finally he turned and flung his combadge with all his might at the mirror across the room. With a sharp impact the badge hit the reflective shatterproof panel point-first, and became imbedded in it.

  The action seemed to cause Vaughn to diminish. His shoulders sagged, and slowly he sat back on his bunk, breathing heavily, staring at nothing.

  Dax grabbed the chair, placed it opposite him and sat in his field of vision. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it, Elias?” she said quietly, using his familiar name for the first time. Even Curzon had never used it. “You’ve spent eighty years putting the Federation first. Every time. You put it ahead of yourself, ahead of friends, ahead of Ruriko, ahead of Prynn. Over and over. Now you’re trying to make up for an old sacrifice.”

  Vaughn met her eyes. “I did this to her, Dax. She became a Borg because that’s the situation I put her in.”

  Ezri reached out and took his hands in hers. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Everything?”

  “If it feels right.”

  Vaughn let out a long breath, considering. Then, after a long silence, he started talking.

  Kora II, Cardassian Union

  2347 Old Calendar

  Holding the small forcefield-isolator carefully, Lieutenant Commander Elias Vaughn moved the device in a two-meter-wide arc, like a painter making broad, unbroken brush strokes across a gigantic canvas. Hundreds of bright spots danced briefly along the incision, dying fireflies lining his makeshift bypass of the Cardassian security perimeter. Of course, the device couldn’t actually slice through the installation’s energized boundaries. What it did instead was mark the precise location of the intended ingress-point and relayed the data back to the orbiting scout craft. From there, it was a relatively simple matter for T’Prynn to distract the local security subroutines and manipulate the shape of the forcefield remotely.

  Vaughn gazed upward into the chill, moonless night. One of the countless points of light that wheeled slowly overhead would be found on no Cardassian star chart. “Please tell me that Cren Veruda’s brainchild hasn’t detected either of us yet, T’Prynn,” Vaughn said into his combadge.

  The Vulcan’s response was somewhat distorted, thanks to the scrambled comm beam. “I’ve detected no alarms thus far,” she said. “However, I suggest you pick up Dr. Veruda quickly. I cannot keep the security systems occupied indefinitely.”

  “Acknowledged. Try to give me an hour. I’m willing to bet I’ll only need half that long, but why take chances?”

  T’Prynn’s response was characteristically sardonic. “Prudent, Commander. As always.”

  Vaughn stood before the coruscating aperture he’d outlined and squinted into the darkness. Beyond lay dense stands of towering vegetation and an impenetrable communications shadow. Five kilometers from Vaughn’s present position lay Kora II’s artificial intelligence lab, the workplace of Cardassia’s answer to Richard Daystrom or Noonien Soong. Other Starfleet operatives had cultivated a relationship with Dr. Veruda during recent months; they had learned of his conscience-driven desire to defect, and had discreetly worked out the logistics involved in making the distinguished cyberneticist an asset to the Federation.

  It was Vaughn’s job to cross paths with Veruda during his evening constitutional. And to get him clear of this place. Discreetly.

  “One hour,” Vaughn repeated. “Mark.”

  He moved through the aperture, heading toward the predetermined coordinates. The combadge was dead, cut off by the security system. Either he was going to return to the transport-zone with the defector in tow, or he’d never be heard from again.

  Ten minutes later his tricorder confirmed that he had reached the predetermined spot. It also made it clear that Dr. Veruda was not present. Damn. Something’s gone wrong.

  Vaughn began moving back the way he’d come. He’d have to reach the gap in the forcefield in order to signal to T’Prynn that he needed a beam-out. The mission was a scrub.

  A voice issued from his combadge, startling him.

  “Hello, Commander.” The voice was a smooth bar
itone, its inflections refined and cultured. Vaughn recognized it immediately and smiled.

  “Dr. Veruda, where are you?”

  “This isn’t Cren Veruda, Commander. But you might consider me a close relative.”

  Vaughn’s heart sank. He knew he was conversing with Veruda’s A.I.

  A proximity alarm light flashed on the tricorder. A trio of flesh-and-blood pursuers was suddenly on his tail. He broke into a run.

  “Don’t exert yourself, Mr. Vaughn,” said the A.I. “There really isn’t any point.”

  Vaughn pumped his legs harder. By the time he’d gotten within thirty meters from his entry point, he was feeling each and every one of his seventy-two years.

  The night-visor betrayed a flash of movement in the shadows to his right. Without hesitation he fired, then heard a body crash into the darkened foliage, so much dead weight. Seconds later he dispatched a second pursuer who had come from the opposite direction.

  A disruptor bolt struck him between the shoulder blades a moment afterward. It’s always the one you didn’t see that gets you, Vaughn thought just before the darkness of the jungle became absolute.

  A voice drifted to him from the darkness. “Elias Vaughn. Starfleet special operative. Rank of lieutenant commander.”

  Vaughn opened his eyes and regarded the Cardassian glinn who stood before him. The Cardassian glanced down at a padd before turning his intense gaze back on Vaughn, who noted that he was lying on a table, restrained either by a forcefield or drugs. Looking down at his body with great effort, Vaughn saw that he was stripped to the skin, his black stealth uniform and body armor gone. The slight motion made his head flare with pain. Disruptor hangover, he thought as his memory of recent events returned.

  He recalled the mission. The chase through the wilderness of Kora II after failing to find Dr. Veruda. The Cardassians knew about the defection. The scientist, Vaughn reflected, was more than likely already dead.

  The glinn was regarding him with a look of patient expectation.

  “You’ve saved me the trouble,” Vaughn said, “of telling you my name, rank, and serial number.”

  The glinn laughed, a dry, brittle sound. But his eyes were hard, set deeply beneath gray, scaly brows. Vaughn could see at once that this was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. He clearly didn’t have to raise his voice very often.

  This won’t make for the sort of after-action report Ruriko Tenmei is used to reading, he thought, fighting down an absurd impulse to laugh. But at least she’ll find this particular mission hard to top. Too bad I never got to meet her face-to-face.

  But this wasn’t the time to ponder the friendly rivalries so common within Starfleet’s intelligence community. As long as he was drawing breath, the first order of business had to be survival.

  “And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Vaughn said.

  The Cardassian smiled ambiguously. “You may address me as Glinn Madred.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for failing to salute,” Vaughn said. Come on, T’Prynn. Find a way to beam me out of here.

  “We know that Starfleet Intelligence has been in communication with Cren Veruda for some time,” Madred said, ignoring Vaughn’s impertinence. “And that the good doctor has expressed a desire to seek his fortunes in the Federation.”

  “Really. Then maybe it’s lucky that I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  A door slid open on the opposite side of the room, and a slim Cardassian woman of perhaps thirty-five years entered. Despite her neck and forehead scales and ashen skin, she struck Vaughn as stunningly attractive. But one look at her hard expression convinced him that she would be a far less forgiving interviewer than the glinn.

  That impression was reinforced by the symbol of the Cardassian Obsidian Order on her gray uniform collar. Vaughn suddenly understood why Madred saw no need to raise his voice. He was leaving the prosaic chores of interrogation to less gentle hands.

  “I would like you to meet your opposite number in the Cardassian intelligence service,” said Madred, bowing slightly toward the woman, whose almond-shaped eyes were fixed upon Vaughn’s.

  “My name is Kree Omiturin,” she said. “Recently transferred to this evil-smelling backwater from Cardassia Prime.” Nemeti’s bitter tone made it plain that she regarded her current assignment as a demotion. And there was something else about her, too….

  “Operative Omiturin will, ah, begin interviewing you shortly,” Madred said. “It’s always best to leave information extraction to the experts, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re selling yourself short, Madred,” Vaughn said. “I’m sure you have the makings of a fine torturer.”

  “You and another Federation operative have come to this world hoping to spirit Dr. Veruda away,” Omiturin said.

  Vaughn carefully blanked his face, well aware that she was scrutinizing him for his reactions. If the Cardassians had succeeded in killing or capturing T’Prynn, then he wasn’t about to give this woman the satisfaction of appearing surprised. Perhaps she was only fishing, with no actual knowledge of his colleagues in the field. He fervently hoped that this was the case.

  The Cardassian woman continued. “What you’ve failed to understand, Mr. Vaughn, is that you’ve arrived too late to protect your people from Dr. Veruda’s invention. His artificial intelligence nodes are about to link up across the Cardassian Union and beyond via subspace relays. We’ll soon be in a position to mount and control an assault against the Federation the likes of which you can scarcely imagine.”

  Madred cut in, his eyes narrowing in Vaughn’s direction. “Unfortunately for you, the good doctor’s expertise in devising countermeasures to his own creation will not be forthcoming.”

  “I want to spend some time with the prisoner now,” Omiturin said, clearly not fond of being interrupted. “Alone.” Madred nodded impassively before exiting. Vaughn found himself alone in the room with the flint-eyed woman, his body still immobile as he contemplated the remaining hours of his life.

  Now would be a good time to get me the hell out of here, T’Prynn. Assuming you’re still alive.

  Omiturin approached the table on which he lay, studying him in silence. A hypospray was in her hand, as though conjured out of thin air. With surprising gentleness, she touched it to his neck. He listened to its contents hiss home.

  “This will restore your mobility. And you’ll find a prison coverall in the locker beside the door. Put it on.”

  Vaughn rose to a sitting position and got his legs unsteadily beneath him. The metal floor felt as cold as space against his bare feet.

  She tossed him a Starfleet hand phaser. He caught it after bobbling it between his hands momentarily.

  “I certainly felt naked without this,” he said, sparing a second to check the weapon’s charge before moving to the locker.

  “Hurry,” she said as she made for the door.

  “Why are you doing this?” Vaughn said, studying Omiturin’s hard, scaly features as they walked purposefully down the empty hallway. It was a relief to be clothed again, even if only in prison garb.

  She smiled enigmatically. “If you’re as smart and resourceful as your after-action reports paint you, then I’m sure you’ll work it out on your own soon enough.”

  Vaughn wasn’t surprised that the Cardassians had accessed his files. She was in the intelligence business, after all, just as he was.

  “You forgot lucky,” he said. “Sometimes luck is an operative’s most important asset.”

  “Really. With superstitions like that, it’s remarkable that you’ve made it to such an advanced age.”

  “Ouch,” he said, returning her smile. “But my ‘advanced age’ tends to prove my point.”

  Omiturin and Vaughn came to a stop outside an isolated holding cell at the end of a sterile, limestone-walled corridor. She typed a brief command sequence into the wall keypad, and the forcefield dropped in response. She entered the cell, prompting Vaughn to follow. On the floor
in the far corner sat a slightly built elderly Cardassian man attired in a simple maroon prison coverall. Vaughn recognized him immediately.

  Cren Veruda.

  The cyberneticist looked up at them with rheumy eyes. “Is it time for another interview already?” His voice sounded like an older, defeated version of the A.I. that had taunted Vaughn shortly before his capture.

  “No more interrogations today, Doctor,” Omiturin said.

  Vaughn crouched beside the stick-thin scientist and gently helped him to his feet. “Easy, Doctor. I’m a Starfleet officer, and I’m getting you out of here.”

  Veruda seemed to become more fully alert. “Ah. The Federation man. You came for me after all. When the Order discovered my plan to defect, I’d given up hope.”

  “Hope’s the easy part,” Vaughn said, turning his gaze to Nemeti. “What’s hard is escaping undetected from a high-security Cardassian scientific research facility. Any thoughts on that, Ms. Omiturin?”

  “I’ve got the security A.I. in diagnostic mode, and it’ll stay that way for another ninety-eight minutes. We have that long to reach the defense perimeter. Can your Lieutenant Commander T’Prynn beam us out from there?”

  Vaughn nodded. “If she hasn’t been captured.”

  “You needn’t worry about that,” she said as the trio moved down the corridor, apparently a hardened Cardassian officer conducting a pair of prisoners toward some unpleasant fate or other.

  After evading four regular security patrols in and around the complex, the group entered the verdant jungle, shielding their eyes from the blazing sun. Although the terrain looked different in the dazzling light, Vaughn realized that they had reached the limit of the base’s security perimeter.

  “You’re not really with the Order, are you?” Vaughn said as Omiturin opened a gap in the perimeter forcefield. “I’ll bet you’re not even a Cardassian.”

  That seemed to rattle her for a second. But only for a second. She was good, but not perfect.

  Moments later a transporter beam swept over him, and Vaughn found himself standing on the pads beside the two Cardassians.