Gerda was about to try a different approach when Idun dropped her hands and came out of her stance. “All right,” she said. “What’s the problem?”
“Problem?” Gerda echoed.
“Your heart is not in this—it hasn’t been since we got here. So what’s the problem?”
Gerda hadn’t thought her lack of concentration was that obvious. But now that Idun had called her on it, what course would be wiser to take?
Should I tell her the truth? the navigator asked herself. Should I say that I was preoccupied with Gerda Idun and the duplicity I saw in her?
But really, what could she say? That she had noticed something Idun could have noticed just as easily, but somehow didn’t? It would sound as if Gerda were making it up—as if she were jealous of Gerda Idun, perhaps.
And she wasn’t jealous. Definitely not.
Clearly, the woman had changed the dynamic between Gerda and her sister, if only subtly. But that [125] didn’t mean that Gerda was jealous. She was merely following her instincts, as she had been trained to do.
The more the navigator thought about it, the less inclined she was to discuss the matter. Perhaps later, when she had something more concrete to speak of. But not now.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I just need to concentrate.” And she lowered herself into a crouch.
Idun scrutinized her twin for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to believe her. Then she dropped into a crouch as well. Slowly, she began circling to her right.
Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, Gerda circled in the same direction. Then she drew her hand back and assumed the kave’ragh stance in preparation for an attack.
But before she could launch it, the door to the gym hissed open and admitted two familiar figures. One was Pug Joseph. The other was his constant companion, Gerda Idun, who had changed into a set of borrowed exercise togs.
Idun was facing away from the door, so she didn’t see who had come in right away. But she must have noticed something in her sister’s eyes because she looked back over her shoulder.
“Sorry,” Gerda Idun said, raising her hands as a token of her regret. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Too late, Gerda thought.
“You’re not interrupting,” Idun told their look-alike. “We were just getting under way. In fact, you’re welcome to take part if you like.”
[126] Gerda felt a surge of resentment. No one had ever taken part in their sparring sessions except her and her sister.
As if in response, Idun glanced at her. “That is,” she added, “if Gerda doesn’t mind.”
Under the circumstances, how could the navigator say no? “Of course not,” she said, trying to keep the rancor out of her voice.
Gerda Idun smiled at Idun’s suggestion. “I’d love to, but I don’t know any Klingon martial arts. That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?”
“We were,” said Idun. “But it’s all right. We’ll go easy on you.”
Gerda Idun turned to Joseph. “All right with you?”
“I don’t see why not,” the security officer told her.
Gerda Idun turned back to the helm officer. “All right,” she said. “You’re on.”
“Good,” said Idun. Again, she glanced at Gerda. “Would you like to go first?”
Gerda shook her head. “You go. I’ll watch.”
Turning back to their look-alike, Idun assumed a chok’tiyan position, which kept both her elbows close to her body to emphasize defense. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m ready.”
Gerda Idun raised her fists and spread her feet apart, one ahead of the other. Then she approached her opponent with small, careful steps.
This won’t take long, Gerda thought.
Gerda Idun had no idea what she was up against. Idun would soon grow tired of playing with her and find an excuse to end the match gracefully.
Or so the navigator thought—until their guest [127] advanced behind a series of blinding-quick blows. They were so powerful, so accurate, Idun barely managed to ward them off.
Before the helm officer could gather herself, Gerda Idun pressed her attack, launching punches in devastating combinations. Finally, one of her assaults landed, catching Idun in the shoulder. Then a second one dealt Idun a glancing blow to the head.
Gerda was shocked. Their counterpart seemed so polite, so reserved, and she hadn’t had the benefit of growing up in a warrior culture. It was hard to imagine her pushing Idun to the limits of her skill.
And yet, that was exactly what Gerda Idun was doing.
Finally, Idun seemed to adapt to her look-alike’s style. She blocked blow after devastating blow as if she had figured out in advance where they were going to land. Then, little by little, she started to turn the tide.
But it wasn’t easy. Gerda Idun gave ground grudgingly, fighting her adversary every inch of the way. Her expression had changed a good deal since the match began; it was a mask of grim determination now, virtually indistinguishable from Idun’s.
Gerda felt her stomach muscles tighten into a knot. Finish her, she found herself crying out in the privacy of her mind. Finish her now.
Finally, Idun did the last thing Gerda Idun would have expected—she dropped to the mat, planted her hand there, and swept her counterpart’s feet out from under her. Then, as Gerda Idun unceremoniously hit the floor, Idun lashed out with her foot at her opponent’s face.
Idun could have broken her adversary’s neck if she [128] had followed through with the blow. As it was, she stopped perhaps an inch from Gerda Idun’s chin.
For a moment, the newcomer stared at Idun’s heel, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of her effort. Then she began to laugh—and it wasn’t the kind of halfhearted chuckle that came out of most humans. It was a lusty laugh, a laugh worthy of a warrior.
As Gerda looked on, her sister began to laugh too. Springing to her feet, she reached down and clasped Gerda Idun’s hand. Then she hauled her opponent off the mat.
“Well fought,” said Idun.
Gerda Idun nodded and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “Thanks. You too.”
Gerda cursed silently. It wasn’t enough that the stranger had won Idun’s sympathy. Now, it seemed, she had won Idun’s respect as well.
“So much for nature versus nurture,” Joseph remarked appreciatively. “It looks like those fighting skills were in the Asmund genes all along.”
Idun shrugged and cast a conspiratorial look at Gerda Idun. “Perhaps,” she allowed.
The newcomer clapped Idun on the shoulder and turned to Gerda. “She’s all yours.”
The irony of the comment wasn’t lost on the navigator. “Thank you,” she said, “but I don’t feel much like sparring anymore.” With a glance at her sister, she left the gym.
But even before the doors hissed closed behind her, Gerda knew she had made a fool of herself. She had acted like a petulant child, not a full-grown woman—[129] and certainly not like an officer on a Federation starship.
Unfortunately, it was too late to take back her behavior, and she couldn’t bring herself to apologize for it—not to a woman who wasn’t what she seemed. So she kept on going, down the corridor and into the turbolift.
And she didn’t stop until she reached her quarters.
Chapter Ten
AS PICARD ENTERED engineering, he saw Simenon working at a sleek, black console in the shadow of the warp reactor. Crossing the room, the captain joined him.
“Mr. Simenon,” he said as he approached, “you wished to speak with me?”
“I did,” the Gnalish confirmed without looking up. “Take a look at this, will you?”
What Picard saw, when he peeked over Simenon’s shoulder at his monitor, was a blue-on-black grid overrun by a swarm of yellow dots—all of them emanating from a larger yellow configuration in the corner of the screen.
“The dots,” said the engineer, “represent the influence of the anomaly. As you can see, it’s one hell of a powerf
ully charged system—one that can turn a simple ship-to-ship transport into a much more unusual event.”
“Like a transit from one universe to another.”
[131] “Indeed,” said Simenon.
Picard nodded. “So it’s as we suspected—the anomaly is the culprit in this case.”
“Mind you,” said Simenon, “I can’t say that for certain. But I’ve ruled out every other explanation. Under the circumstances, I think we’d be wise to go with this one.”
The captain looked at his engineer. “And in terms of reversing the process?”
Simenon shrugged his narrow shoulders beneath his lab coat. “All we have to go by is the Enterprise’s experience. They got their captain and his officers back by remaining in the presence of that ion storm.”
Picard saw where the Gnalish was going. “So if we want to send Gerda Idun back—”
“We’ll have to do it in the presence of the anomaly,” said Simenon, “or find one just like it. And you know what the odds of that are.”
“I see,” said the captain.
“Fortunately,” the engineer added, “our shields are a match for the anomaly’s radiation output. So, theoretically, we can stay here indefinitely without endangering the crew.”
“Theoretically,” Picard echoed.
But that only took into account the anomaly. And in time, another sort of danger would likely rear its head.
“Of course,” said Simenon, “I’ll need to make some alterations to one of the transporter systems. Lieutenant Asmund got here in one piece only through sheer, dumb luck. For her to get back in one piece, she’ll need some help.”
[132] The captain nodded. “How long do you expect these alterations to take?”
Simenon made a face. “Did they ask da Vinci how long it would take to paint the Mona Lisa?”
Picard frowned at him.
“A day or so,” said the Gnalish, “assuming I’m not asked to fix some EPS relay in the meantime.”
The captain assured him that there weren’t any EPS repairs in the offing. Then he left Simenon to do his work.
Vigo paced the storage room in which he and his colleagues had been imprisoned, still wrestling with the question of why his friend had become a traitor.
It didn’t make sense to him. He and Ejanix had been raised in the same enlightened society. They had been exposed to the same high-minded cultural values.
For that matter, the intruders had been exposed to them too. Yet they seemed to have forgotten what their elders taught them back on Pandril. Otherwise, they would neither have coveted someone else’s technology nor considered the use of violence in obtaining it.
And in Ejanix’s case, it wasn’t just Pandrilite culture that relegated against what he had done. It was the fact that he was an officer in Starfleet.
His superiors at Starfleet Command had placed their trust in him. They had given him whatever he needed to make use of his talents. And somehow, he had found the audacity to throw it back in their faces.
Vigo could never have imagined that his friendship with Ejanix would come to this. A part of him simply [133] refused to accept it. And yet, he had seen the evidence of his mentor’s treachery with his own eyes.
“Someone’s coming,” Runj snapped.
Vobilites were known for their keen sense of hearing. But when Vigo concentrated, he could hear it too—the clatter of boot heels on the floor outside their prison.
Someone was coming, all right. The Pandrilite exchanged glances with Sebring and Runj, wondering what it meant. Another beating, perhaps?
A moment later, the footsteps arrived outside their open door. But when their guards deactivated the transparent barrier and stepped aside, it wasn’t Kovajo they admitted into the room.
It was Ejanix.
Once, Vigo would have known exactly what to expect of him. Now, he couldn’t begin to guess.
Ejanix considered Sebring and Runj, who looked back at him with battered faces. Then his gaze fell on Vigo and remained there for a moment.
Finally, Ejanix walked over to his former student and said, “How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” said Vigo.
“You shouldn’t have sabotaged that shuttle,” Ejanix told him. “That was a mistake.”
“It was my duty as a Starfleet officer to keep your friends from stealing what’s stored here.”
“Is that all you can see?” Ejanix asked, his forehead ridging over. “Your obligations to the aliens’ Starfleet?”
Vigo looked at him wonderingly. “The aliens’ Starfleet? And not yours?”
[134] “I thought it was mine when I worked at the Academy. But I’ve since learned otherwise.”
“From Kovajo?” Vigo asked.
Ejanix stiffened a bit. “Him ... and others like him.”
Vigo shook his head. “I don’t understand. What could they have said to you that would make you become a traitor to the Federation?”
His mentor looked as if he had eaten something rancid. “I call myself a rebel, not a traitor.”
“A rebel?” Vigo echoed. “What is there for a Pandrilite to rebel against?”
“A great deal,” said Ejanix. “Our society and everything it has come to represent.”
Vigo shook his head. “What are you saying? For the first time in ages, everything on Pandril is in balance. The modern era has been hailed as a golden age.”
“Because our people devote themselves to the Three Virtues—Humility, Selflessness, and Stoicism.”
“That’s right.”
Ejanix made a sound of derision. “Spoken like a true member of the Elevated Castes.”
Vigo hadn’t expected that sort of comment. “What has my caste got to do with it?”
“It may appear that there is balance from your narrow, patrician point of view. But if you come down to the catacomb levels, down to the place where the Lesser Castes live, you will see that Pandril is in disarray. Every day is an injustice, tolerable only to those who perpetrate it.”
The weapons officer didn’t understand. “If there are injustices, then why not petition the council to correct them?”
[135] “The council is already aware of them,” said Ejanix. “The councilors, in their unassailable wisdom, simply choose to look the other way.”
“That’s difficult to believe,” Vigo told him. “Those who serve on the council—”
“Are supposed to be beyond reproach,” said Ejanix. “I know that. Every Pandrilite knows that. But the councilors are not what you think. They exist only to preserve the status quo, which serves the purposes of the Elevated Castes—and frustrates the ambitions of the Lesser ones.
“And the Virtues are just like the council—pillars of What Is, bars against What Might Be. It’s easy to ask others to remain humble, to remain selfless, and to endure hardship, when you need never worry about doing so yourself.”
Vigo shook his head. “This doesn’t sound like you, Ejanix. It sounds like some deluded malcontent.”
“I am a malcontent,” his friend said without hesitation. “But you’re the one who’s deluded, Vigo. You should go back to Pandril and take a look around. Take a good look. You may see what I’m talking about.”
The lieutenant considered Ejanix’s words. He had never known his mentor to be unstable. But the way he was speaking, contrary to everything Vigo had ever understood or believed in ...
“It doesn’t matter,” he told Ejanix finally. “Even if what you say were true, it doesn’t give you the right to betray Starfleet. You took an oath just as I did.”
Ejanix’s mouth twisted. “And for a long time, I felt bound by that oath. Then I learned the truth.” He leaned closer to his former pupil, his eyes blazing with [136] righteous indignation. “How could I remain loyal to Starfleet when it was part of the system that was holding me down? When it was a critical component in the machine of Lesser Caste oppression?”
There was no such oppression, Vigo insisted inwardly. But it was obvious that Ej
anix didn’t want to hear that.
“So you’ve thrown in with Kovajo,” he concluded, “and others who think as he does. And you’ve discarded the Virtues for a nobler ideal.”
“That’s right,” Ejanix told him, putting his hand on Vigo’s shoulder. “And I want you to join us.”
The weapons officer hadn’t expected that. “That’s why you’re here,” he said as realization dawned. “To try to turn me against Starfleet as well.”
And then to find out what I did to your shuttle, he added silently.
Ejanix shook his head. “You’re looking at it all wrong, Vigo. You won’t just be turning away from something. You’ll be turning toward something—the kind of justice that Pandril has never known.”
Vigo turned his head so his mentor could see the bruises on his cheek. “Take a good look, Ejanix. Is this justice? Do I deserve the punishment Kovajo was so quick to mete out?”
Ejanix frowned, but he didn’t seem to have an answer.
The weapons officer pressed on. “Or is it possible,” he asked, “that Kovajo isn’t as interested in justice as he is in being on top for a change?”
Ejanix’s frown deepened. “It’s not that way at all. Kovajo is working on behalf of all of us.”
[137] “All of us?” Vigo echoed. “Or all of the rebels who follow him toward his idea of a better society?”
His mentor looked frustrated. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me to understand,” said Vigo. “Tell me what Kovajo plans to do with the technology he’s stolen.”
Ejanix glanced at the doorway and the guards who were standing there. Then he looked back.
“He’s not going to build any weapons himself,” the engineer said in a conspiratorial tone. “He’s going to sell the designs to raise money for the revolution.”
“Even if that’s true,” said Vigo, “he’s putting weapons in the hands of those who may wish to hurt innocent people. Sentient beings will die on some planet you’ve never heard of so Kovajo can finance his rebellion on Pandril.”
Vigo’s mentor looked surprised. Obviously, he hadn’t thought about that.
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