by Dayton Ward
“Thank you, sir.” Kein spoke before she could stop herself.
He did not acknowledge her comment. Instead, his hand wandered to the map and absently traced a line along the livid border at the edge of the Dorvan Sector. “What do you know of the Federation?”
The question seemed to be directed at Enkoa. “An arrogant enemy,” said the tactical officer. “Self-assured and convinced of their own superiority.”
Hanno’s lips split in a thin smile. “They say the same of us.” He nodded to himself. “Like the Talarians, they resent us, they envy us. But for different reasons. The Republic hate us for our power, because they know we could crush them if it suited us. As for the Federation . . .” He grinned briefly and let the sentence hang there, incomplete. “The humans and their cohorts are a very uncommon foe.” The jagul glanced at Kein.
She nodded back to him. “Difficult to read, I understand.”
Hanno moved away, back across the window. “One must have wit to do so.” He stopped and laid his hands upon the console. “The Federation have expanded their advance into the Dorvan region with vessels and colonies. There have been a few unresolved skirmishes. The situation is becoming uncomfortable, and a show of force has become necessary. To that end, I am taking a flotilla of warships to the Tantok Nor outpost. To show the banner.”
Enkoa nodded thoughtfully, playing the jagul’s equal, but Kein remained impassive, inwardly questioning. Why was the old warrior allowing them to know this? Clasped behind her back, her palms felt clammy.
Hanno continued. “Recent … events on the homeworld have forced me to adjust some of my staffing requirements.”
She did not need to guess at what those events might be; it was an open secret that Hanno was currently being challenged by a number of opponents in the Detapa Council. At the rank of jagul and beyond, the matters of command became as much political in nature as military. In many ways, that this was true of all things Cardassian.
“One of the vessels in my fleet is the Lakar, a strike escort.” He glanced at Kein, a question in his eyes.
She answered by rote; ever since she had been a girl, Sanir had absorbed the details and statistics for every type of craft in the Fleet, and the data spilled from her in a flat monotone. “Zhoden-class light escort. Eighty-eight decas in length, thirty-six officers and crew, five spiral-wave disruptor banks, standard rated combat cruise factor nine plus.”
The jagul nodded. “The captaincy of that ship is now yours, Dal Enkoa.” Hanno reached into a pocket and offered Enkoa a rank tab, as informally as if he were handing him a glass of kanar. The other officer took the sigil stiffly, and a feral grin threatened to break out across his face.
Hanno glanced at Kein once again and folded his arms. “A letter of commendation has been secured in both your files. Central Command will know of your fine service to the Union.”
It was then that Kein realized that the letter would be all the approbation she would receive. A nerve in her jaw jumped and she clamped her teeth together, feeling a slow heat build in her cheeks and neck as her skin darkened. That was all? She had saved the lives aboard the Rekkel, not Enkoa! It had been her solution that brought them victory, not his! Enkoa’s lack of imagination would have doomed them all . . .
She glared at the jagul, who appeared to be utterly unaware of her silent fury. Hanno knew full well what had transpired on the Rekkel. She had no doubt of it. He had read the after-action reports. He had to know she was the better of the two.
“How is Lethra?” said the senior officer. His tone was mild, more conversational now.
“She is very well, sir,” came Enkoa’s reply. “We communicate regularly. I know she will be thrilled to hear my news.”
Kein’s thoughts were roiling. Lethra. The willowy rich girl Enkoa had bedded on Torros Minor, back before the start of their tour. Sanir had mocked him for falling for some fey debutante, this naïf slumming it in a starport, laughed even when he had told her they were to be engaged. Now the joke appeared to be on her. She felt her gut tighten as Hanno spoke again, casual and unhurried.
“I consider my niece quite deserving. I’m rather fond of her, you understand?” Perhaps, if one looked hard enough, one could have found the edge of a threat buried in those words; but Kein was not really listening, and the rush of blood in her ears grew from a rumble to a thunder. Her nails cut into her palms, digging little dark crescents in the white flesh. The new scar throbbed.
Hanno’s neice. Of course. She resisted the sudden urge to spit. The jagul was merely firming the threads of his own influence, placing Enkoa like a gaming piece, ensuring a pliant new commander for his flotilla. Building bonds of familial control. Suitability and skill counted for nothing, so it seemed. A night of fumbling intercourse with a foolish civilian, by contrast, apparently earned an officer a captaincy.
Kein glared at the floor. The sheer nepotism of the act she had just witnessed filled her with disgust; but then a voice deep in her thoughts challenged her. Why are you surprised? Did you really expect something different? As long as the Fleet remained a patriarchy, a club for old men in which to play their games of war and power, the road to rank would always be a harder one for a female. She rocked on the edge of letting her annoyance take voice. It would be easy to say it, to just open her mouth and let the words out. Of course, to do that would destroy any prospect of a future career in an instant. Never mind what truth she uttered, it would be insubordination. Kein thought about Gul Tunol and regretted that she had not made more effort to know the woman. Perhaps she would have had lessons to teach her, such as resisting the urge to hope when all that brought was ashes and disappointment—
“—Sanir.”
The sound of her name cut through her mental turmoil and she glanced up, barely able to return her face to its normal, neutral aspect. Enkoa was still speaking. “She is the only one I trust, Jagul. With your permission, I would like to make it my first command as captain of the Lakar.”
“So ordered,” said Hanno with a nod, and he spoke with formality. “I authorize Dalin Sanir Kein for the posting of executive officer of the Starship Lakar.”
That same sly smile played on Enkoa’s lips as he looked at her. “That’s if you want the job?”
“Of course she does,” Hanno replied.
“Of course I do,” echoed Kein, bowing slightly. “Dal.” She almost choked on Enkoa’s new rank.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled that smile a little more. She wanted to take her fist and strike him with it, scream and shout and decry the utter inequality of this farce. All this and a hundred other things she wanted to do, but she did nothing but nod, like a good soldier of the Union who knew her place.
An ember of resentment had always been deep within her; she understood that. But it was kindling now, catching fire. Burning cold and dark, as only spite could.
Tantok Nor hung in the void on the edge of the Kelrabi system, skirting the hard radiation from the red star pouring blood-colored light across its arid collection of worlds. The voyage from Sunzek was swift and without incident, and Kein used whatever excuses she could find to keep herself at arm’s length from Enkoa, although on a vessel far smaller than the Rekkel it was a difficulty.
She did what she always did in times of stress: she reverted back to what she knew best, and in Kein’s case that was engineering.
Kein spent a lot of the trip in the warp core chamber second-guessing Glinn Telso, the Lakar’s obtuse engineer, and expending much of her irritation on him, under the guise of getting the escort into top fighting condition. Some might have thought it bad practice for a new executive officer, perhaps sending signals to the crew that she was undermining the harried junior officer, but Kein cared little about that. Central Command’s punishing tolerances, already as thin as blades and difficult to hold to, were made thinner still by Kein. By the time the barbed ring of Tantok Nor loomed large before Lakar’s bow, the drive crews had been drilled to within an inch of their lives. She co
uld tell by the look in Telso’s eyes that he was building a hate for her. Kein was pleased about that, on some level. He would be a reflection of her, she decided, and in him she would see the same face she would present to her new captain.
For his part, Dal Enkoa settled into his new role well, as though he’d been born to it. Command, even of a minnow of a ship like this one, fitted him well as long as he wasn’t being challenged by it. He made the crew follow the rules, but he had that easy smile, ready there for his subordinates. Kein could see the crew starting to like him, but then, they didn’t know him, not yet. They didn’t know that he could get them killed, when the moment of truth came. But the Lakar hovered at the back of the flotilla, off the main axis where the big Galor-class ships moved like deep-ocean predators. There were no threats to face, not yet.
During the voyage, she stood her shifts at command while Enkoa was at rest or in his cabin eating up bandwidth on subspace to the jagul’s waiflike neice. Those moments on the bridge, with a starship at her fingertips, should have been a joy to her. Instead, it was a sour experience. She never once took the command throne, never sat, just prowled the tier around it, coiled and hawkish. It was as if the chair were marked somehow, as if it stank of Enkoa and Hanno and their clubbish, elitist camaraderie.
All this, Kein kept out of sight and silent, of course. Control was a lesson that Cardassian women learned very early on, and they were far better at it than the males. She thought about the face she was showing the bridge crew, and once more Gul Tunol came to mind. Cold and dour Meka Tunol—had she stood in the same place where Sanir was now? It was likely.
They entered orbit around Tantok and the crews took the sparse liberty they were granted with gusto, most notably the men under Glinn Telso’s stewardship. Kein took her leave of the ship too, suddenly overcome by the need to see something different from the low ceilings of the Lakar and Enkoa’s constant half smile. There were places to eat and drink on the station’s promenade, so Kein found a secluded booth in an open-fronted refectory, where she could sit unseen and brood without fear of being disturbed. Taking pursed-lipped sips of warm Rokassa juice, she let her focus drift and played a game with herself. She tried to remember the last time she had felt an emotion that wasn’t annoyance, contempt, or disgust.
Nothing came to mind. She fingered her rank sigil and watched the people passing.
“Sanir!” A hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up to find Enkoa grinning down at her. He nodded at the drink on the table. “Last little flavor of home before we make for the border, eh?”
“Sir,” she nodded. “Something like that.” In truth, the Lakar’s replicators were perfectly capable of making passable Rokassa juice, but she saw no point in mentioning it.
He seemed to catch something of her mood. The smile dialed down a little and his voice became low, more intimate. “I haven’t had the opportunity to say this since we left port, but I want to thank you.” He paused, expecting her to acknowledge him, and when she didn’t he continued. “The work you have done with Telso and the engineers … exemplary. The jagul told me that our ship is the most warp-efficient of our class in the flotilla. He’s impressed.”
He thinks I’m doing it for him. Kein made her face even once more.
Enkoa’s smile finally faded completely. “Sanir, I know … I know you deserved more than just a commendation after what happened on the Rekkel. That’s why I wanted you for my executive officer.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “This is going to be a great opportunity for both of us. This is just the start.” And the smile came back, bright and white and unchanging.
“Dal.” Enkoa turned as the rich timbre of Hanno’s voice crossed the promenade. Kein saw the jagul and a knot of command-tier officers, all captains and executives, talking and joking in rough humor, moving toward the shuttlebays. Hanno threw a beckoning gesture in their direction and kept walking.
“The jagul has invited all the senior officers to Kelrabi IX,” Enkoa explained. “There’s a fishery down there, with a superlative restaurant. Apparently, it’s a personal tradition of his. He buys a meal for all his subordinates before embarking on a new tour of duty.”
“Oh,” said Kein. She hadn’t been aware that this was expected of her. “Of course.” She turned in her chair to reach for her overjacket, but Enkoa kept speaking, patting her on the shoulder once more.
“So, I will see you back on the ship.” He flashed the grin and walked away, leaving her there.
Kein froze, feeling foolish, the jacket in her fist, and watched him draw into the group, instantly making some comment that brought forth laughter. She watched them go, all of them, none of them casting a glance back.
Enkoa was the last to pass through the hatch, the last to leave her behind. She gripped the Rokassa glass tightly. Had that snub been deliberate on his part, or was it just that he was so self-absorbed that it would never have occurred to him to bring her along to the jagul’s table? She felt conflicted, at once wanting to go with them as much as she loathed the very idea of it.
She sat there for a long time, eyes unfocused, seeing but not seeing. The glass made a popping sound and a fracture grew beneath her palm.
“Shall I remove that for you?” An attendant had moved silently to her side, and he spoke in a placid, unhurried manner.
He was nearest to her at that moment, and so she glared at him. “Take it.”
The attendant did so, allowing a small tsk to escape his lips as he saw the crack, and placed it on the tray he held high atop one hand. He had an open, angular face and eyes that seemed kind, in this light. “Another, Dalin Kein?”
“No.” She turned her back on him and he took a step away before she realized something. “Wait.”
He rocked on one foot, almost in a comical pretense of pause. “Change of mind?”
“How do you know my name?” she demanded.
The attendant inclined his head. “I’m here to wait tables,” he noted, as if that would explain everything. “To do that well, it’s important to know your clients.”
Kein looked around. “That’s a job for a menial. Shouldn’t a Kelrabian be doing it?”
He gave her a conspiratorial look. “The locals are not terribly bright, Dalin. They mix up orders all the time, and you know officers. They do like precision.”
From nowhere, an abrupt suspicion unwound in her chest. “Who are you?”
“Just a plain and simple server.”
“What do you want?”
He held up a finger. “Ah, no. That’s for me to ask you. But of course, because I’m very good at my job, I already know what you want.”
Kein frowned. “Another glass of—”
He reached up and recovered a full tumbler of the amber juice, ready and waiting for her request. “Rokassa juice?”
The thing was, she did want another glass. Rokassa juice reminded her of home, and home made her feel more centered, more controlled. She took a sip, savored it.
When the next question came, it sounded as if it came from a different person entirely. “Is there anything else you would like, Dalin Kein?” It had a cool, insidious weight to it, a slow knife slipping in. It almost took her off guard. She almost answered honestly.
“What I want is beyond your remit,” she said, more to herself than in answer.
“I suppose so,” he noted. “As a mere server, the most important thing I have to concern myself with is the correct stockage of kanar or the freshness of the yamok sauce. But you, an officer of the Fleet … I would imagine that the lives of many turn on every decision you make. Or do not make.” The server gave a little sigh. “Have I confessed to you my great admiration for the military? It’s little reward, I know, but heartfelt.”
Kein bristled. The man’s attitude was chafing on her, his insouciant manner wearing down her already thinned patience. “For a mere server, you are quite familiar with officers you have just met. You should know your place!”
He nodded. “Quite so, quite so
. Forgive me, Dalin, but it is an occupational hazard. My talkative nature, I mean.” He chuckled. “I hope it won’t prevent you from returning here. This table is well-suited for quiet introspection, and I don’t doubt hard-working command officers can benefit from that.”
He was speaking much but saying little, and Kein felt slow alarm moving through her; but in the next second her wrist communicator was vibrating and she held the comcuff to her mouth. “Report?”
Glinn Lleye, Lakar’s officer of the watch, responded. “Dalin, an alert from the perimeter buoys. A Federation vessel has been detected at the sector edge. Tantok control is passing word to all Fleet officers.”
Kein was on her feet in an instant. “Lock on. Transport me directly to the bridge.”
“Confirmed.”
“Duty calls?” noted the server.
She downed the Rokassa juice in one gulp and tossed the glass at him. The orange haze of the transporter effect enveloped her, and the last she saw of the man’s irritating blandness was a thin, plastic smile that did not reach his eyes.
By an accident of deployment, only three ships in Hanno’s flotilla were not moored at any of Tantok Nor’s pylons or its docking ring: the Fell, the Karsu—this one the jagul’s flagship—and the Lakar.
Kein had snatched a data tablet from Lleye’s hand and raced through the information presented there. The human ship had made some error of tactics and strayed too close to a Cardassian sensor line, triggering the alert. The ship was retreating, attempting to move with stealth back toward Federation space, and there was a window of opportunity for the jagul to sprint out to the contested zone and challenge the craft head-on. Of course, he would take it; the chance to pick off a lone Starfleet vessel was too enticing to pass up.
She had the Lakar at ready status, all her crew recalled, and her systems battle-primed, as Enkoa stalked onto the bridge. The dal seemed vexed, no doubt irritated that his evening of drinking and dining with the other commanders had been interrupted by something as paltry as an alien invader.