by Various
B’Oraq had mostly been avoiding eye contact; Evek had been doing likewise. Now, however, she stared right at him. Evek tried to return the stare, but found himself looking away. “I grow weary of being part of your punishment, Evek. I didn’t study medicine on Cardassia in order to serve on a Cardassian ship and aid in the embarrassment of a disgraced Cardassian gul. I studied so I could bring better medicine to Klingon worlds. I would have thought our alliance would bring about shared practices, but such has not been the case. Klingon medicine is barbaric—you’ve said so yourself, mostly about my own work, despite the evidence to the contrary—and my desire is to improve it. I can’t do that while wasting away serving as an object lesson to you for being too incompetent to hold on to your officers.”
Evek strode forward and raised an arm as if to strike the doctor. “How dare you?”
Her smile grew wider. “Oh, do, Gul. Strike me, so I may challenge you.”
“This isn’t a Klingon ship, woman—your tiresome notions of duels and honor do not apply here.”
“They apply to me. Section forty-seven of the treaty signed by both our peoples seventy-five years ago states that any Klingon officer who is challenged on any Alliance vessel will be subject to Klingon rules of conduct. If you strike me, I have the right to challenge you for your command.” She stepped close to him. The scent of her breath was vile, doubtless from that wretched raw meat she insisted upon eating right there in the mess hall, and Evek’s stomach roiled with nausea. “I am quite proficient with the d’k tahg, Evek, and as a doctor I know precisely where to strike to cause the most pain. You cannot afford to deny me my rights under Alliance law, not in your current state of disgrace. And when I kill you, I will claim the telepath for myself.”
Evek was sorely tempted to go through with it and damn the consequences. The worst that could happen was that he would lose and finally put an end to an existence that had been a misery.
No—I am no Romulan who falls on his sword as if that meant something. One thing Cardassians and Klingons—and Terrans, if it came to that—shared was a loathing for suicide. His ship was named Bak’rikan: “no surrender.” Once a symbol of his tenacity in battle, it now represented his stubborn refusal to let his disgrace ruin him.
He lowered his hand and turned toward the exit to the infirmary. “I will consider it,” he said as he left.
As he walked through the corridors of the ship he still stubbornly thought of as his, he imagined he could hear B’Oraq laughing at him. While he could not afford to challenge her, he couldn’t afford to simply accept her offer at face value, either.
Soon, Evek arrived at his quarters. They were, naturally, the largest on the ship—one of the few remaining perks of being a gul that Evek was permitted, these days. The walls were decorated with paintings by a Vulcan artist by the name of S’larok, whose works had been personally looted by Evek from a storehouse found in a raid on Betazed. There had been rumors of a resistance movement building on that barren world—this was years before the current rebellion had commenced—and the Bak’rikan had been sent to investigate. They had found no rebels, but did find a cache of magnificent spacescapes that had been missed by the Terran voles who had overrun Betazed after its people were exterminated. Evek had been surprised to find such compelling art from so bland a species as the Vulcans—they made excellent slaves, but had no aesthetic sense. Evek’s own sense of aesthetics was never well cultivated, either—he appreciated good art and fine poetry, but had no talent for them himself.
Staring up at S’larok’s rendering of a nebula, Evek considered B’Oraq’s words. The painting was called, prosaically, The Agosoria Nebula. To Evek’s spacefarer’s eye, the rendering looked nothing like the cloud in question, but S’larok had captured the turbulence and beauty of the nebula, even if the details weren’t accurate. It was a level of interpretation one didn’t often find in literal-minded Vulcans.
He sat at his desk and called up Alliance records on Ardana. Moving past the history of the world, including the construction of their “cloud city” above the surface and the now-dormant zenite mines below it, he came to the purpose of the base established on that cloud city many years ago: scientific research. One of the projects on which they were working was an attempt to recreate the research begun by a Terran woman named Sisko on a transpectral sensor array that could work in the Badlands. Would that they had succeeded in that, Evek thought bitterly. Then I would at last have Seska back in my thrall.
Briefly, Evek allowed himself the pleasure of imagining what he would do to Seska once he had her back again. She had always been fond of her long tresses, so they would be the first to go. Perhaps having her hang from the ceiling and then removing an eye…
Turning back to the task at hand, Evek studied some of the other projects under way at Ardana, including those of a Terran scientist named Zimmerman, who was doing research into the possibility of genetically engineering telepathy.
As B’Oraq had told him, the head of the research station was a Klingon listed as B’Elanna, daughter of Miral. He called up her record, and was intrigued to see that she had no father listed. Given the Klingon predilection for familial accountability, this was rather a large gap.
Evek thought about his standing orders: Any discovery of a telepathic species was to be reported to Alliance Command immediately. But where would that get him? B’Oraq, the incompetent wench, wasn’t even sure this alien woman was telepathic. If he brought her to Elvok Nor, there were only two options. The first would be that Jasad would take credit for discovering the telepath and leave Evek out of it. Jasad was far too much of a glory hound for it to be otherwise. Besides, the tralk had gone on at great length the last time Evek was at Elvok Nor about how loyal his people were, and how they would never betray him.
The second option would be that this strange-eared woman would turn out not to be a telepath, thus cementing Evek’s opinion of B’Oraq as an idiot and also making Evek out to be a fool in front of Jasad.
Under no circumstances could Evek afford the second option.
This should be an easy decision, Evek thought as he got up and started pacing his quarters. But Evek couldn’t get past his distrust of Klingons. He had no illusions about this so-called Alliance. As far as he was concerned, the Cardassian Union had subordinated itself to those Klingon demons, allowing themselves to be ruled by their mad Regent, all in the name of conquest. And yes, it was only due to their combined efforts that they had been able to overcome the Terran Empire, for, as weakened as it had become under Emperor Spock, even going so far as to call itself a “republic” toward the end, the Klingons and Cardassians were only a match for its military might combined. But in the decades since, the luster of Cardassia had been dimmed. More worlds were controlled by Klingons than Cardassians, and the Regent’s council had far more Klingons on it than Cardassians—supposedly to be more representative since, despite their generally lower life expectancy and warrior lifestyle, the Klingon population was greater than that of the Cardassians. The only realm in which Cardassians had superior numbers was in the Obsidian Order, the Alliance intelligence agency, but Evek hardly saw that as a good thing. The Order was made up of the vermin of the galaxy, and if he had his way, it would have been abolished centuries ago.
Evek, however, was in no position to do anything about the state of the galaxy. Thanks to Seska’s betrayal, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything.
But if I have control of a telepath, that would change everything.
He stared up at The Agosoria Nebula once again. If a Vulcan can be interpretive, perhaps a Klingon can be trustworthy. It was easy enough to read between the lines of B’Elanna’s service record: falling from Intendant of a planet to supervisor of a small research facility was a significant career setback. It was as much a show of no confidence as Evek’s own complete turnover in crew. Right now, the only person I can trust is someone with as little to lose as I.
Opening a channel to the bridge, Evek said, “Helm
, course correction. Set course for Ardana, and execute at maximum speed.”
“Sir?” The helm officer sounded befuddled. “I thought we were going to Elvok Nor.”
“We were. We are no longer. Are you questioning my orders, Glinn?”
The helm officer actually hesitated at that. “I guess not.”
“Then follow them. And maintain comm silence. Any unauthorized transmissions will result in the offenders being put to death. Out.” Evek cut the connection.
Evek doubted that such a threat would do any good. He knew that many of his crew were spies for Alliance Command, or for ambitious glinns and Klingon officers. His actions would no doubt be reported. But that was a risk he had to take.
That was also why he opened a secure channel to Ardana himself, bypassing a communications officer he could not afford to trust.
4
T uvok listened intently to the words spoken by the alien who called himself Neelix. As the tale progressed, and as Tuvok examined his sensor readings, the star charts Geronimo had available, and the navigation information programmed into the escape pod, whose computer the Vulcan had accessed, Tuvok came to a realization.
I must convince Chakotay to mount a rescue mission.
To Tuvok’s chagrin, he knew that it would not be an easy thing to accomplish. Gul Evek would no doubt bring Neelix’s paramour to an Alliance facility—Elvok Nor and Terok Nor were the closest—and penetrating such a facility would not be easy. True, a rebellion cadre had managed to rescue Professor Jennifer Sisko from Terok Nor only a short time ago, but that was mainly due to the presence of an alternate-universe version of Professor Sisko’s former husband Benjamin posing as the one Tuvok was familiar with. That deception had been necessary, though O’Brien had revealed the truth to the rest of the rebellion after the alternate Sisko had returned to his own universe. A second raid was in the planning stages, but Tuvok measured its possibility for success at only 11.3 percent, and it was that high only because they had Professor Sisko working for them.
But it was imperative that the Alliance not acquire the services of a telepath, especially one powerful enough to psionically kill as many as Neelix claimed.
Chakotay put Tuvok’s own thoughts into words: “So you’re saying that this Kes of yours is a telepath?”
Neelix considered. “I suppose that word would apply, yes. Her people, the Ocampa, have always been able to communicate via thought, but none have been able to do what Kes did today.”
“But there are no telepaths!” Seska said with a snarl. “Chakotay, he’s obviously lying.”
“What do you mean there are no telepaths?” Neelix asked.
Tuvok quickly answered. “The Terran Empire, which ruled this region a century ago and has since fallen, engaged in a campaign to wipe out all telepathic species in the known galaxy.”
Chakotay added, “Betazoids, Kazarites, Ullians, Letheans, Selelvians—all gone.”
“Why would they do that?” Neelix asked, aghast.
“Terrans themselves,” Tuvok said, “are generally not capable of telepathy. They felt that a subject species with that ability would have an insurmountable advantage against them. Therefore, the Empire eliminated all telepaths as a preemptive strike.”
“So,” Seska said, “you can see why we don’t believe you.”
“Do not presume to speak for all of us,” Tuvok said. “I said ‘known galaxy’ for a reason.” He called up the star chart he wanted. “Mr. Neelix, does this chart look familiar to you.”
Neelix peered at the screen. “Why yes—yes, it does.”
Turning to his shipmates, Tuvok said, “While Mr. Neelix told his tale, I downloaded the information contained in his escape pod. While the pod’s computer is small, it does contain an impressive navigation computer—necessary for it to serve its function as an emergency escape. This is the most recent local star chart in the computer’s memory.”
Like Neelix, Chakotay peered at the screen. “I don’t recognize those stars.”
For so accomplished a pilot as Chakotay, Tuvok knew this was no small admission on his part. “There is no reason why you should. While I cannot provide precise coordinates, I estimate that they are located over seventy thousand light-years from our current position.”
The flight deck was silent for a few moments. Tuvok knew that most non-Vulcans needed time to process information so far out of the range of their experiences.
“The Caretaker,” Neelix whispered.
Chakotay turned to their visitor. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned this Caretaker. Supposedly, you were heading for its station when you were being chased by these Kazon. Who is he?”
“Assuming it is a he, the Caretaker is a being who takes care of the Ocampa, hence the name. He provides the security field that Kes escaped through and that the Kazon-Ogla were trying to penetrate. He also—” Neelix hesitated. “He has been searching the galaxy for ships. Many vessels have appeared in Ocampan space that are from other parts of the galaxy.”
“It is possible,” Tuvok said, “that the interstellar transporter this Caretaker is using to bring ships to Ocampan space works both ways, as it were, and brought Mr. Neelix here.”
“All right, fine, so he’s from another part of the galaxy,” Seska said. She turned to Chakotay. “What does it matter?”
Chakotay rubbed his chin. “If this Kes is a telepath, it matters a lot. Can you imagine what the Alliance could do with her? It’d be better than that transpectral sensor array they were trying to get Professor Sisko to build—they could just fly in with her and find us. Not to mention interrogations…” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, we still can’t effect a rescue.”
“Why not?” Neelix sounded quite indignant.
“Because we don’t know where Evek took her, and there’s no way we can follow him—especially since we’re late getting our cargo back to base.”
“Flight deck, this is engineering.”
Tuvok noted that this time it was Kate Janeway herself who was contacting Chakotay. Based on his own readings of Terran interaction, this meant that she was no longer carrying the same anger toward the captain as she had been when she delegated the task of talking to the flight deck to Annika Hansen.
“Go ahead, Kate.”
“The injectors are fine. We can go home.” And then she cut off the transmission.
Tuvok amended his conclusion. Still some anger, it would seem.
“Good,” Chakotay said, even though Janeway could no longer hear him. “Setting course for base.” Without looking behind him, he added, “Mr. Neelix, we’ll take you back with us. After that, we can figure out what to do with you. But you can consider yourself a guest of the Terran rebellion until further notice.”
“Thank you, Captain Chakotay.” Neelix sounded subdued. Tuvok supposed that to be inevitable, given the alien’s present circumstance.
After removing the star chart from the viewer, Tuvok did a sensor sweep to make sure they were not being followed. “Sensors read clear,” he said when he was finished.
As they traversed the Badlands toward the rebellion base, Tuvok mused on how he was to convince Chakotay to mount a rescue mission without telling him the true reason why.
Tuvok considered the possibility of revealing the truth, but he dismissed it immediately. While the rebellion’s cause was just, there were few in its ranks whom he could consider trustworthy. After all, many were former criminals and slaves, not ones to be trusted with the details of a particular raid, much less Tuvok’s true purpose.
This was not to say that Tuvok did not support the rebellion. Indeed, he and his co-conspirators had been working for decades to bring about just such a revolution. It came sooner than expected, but it was still all part of the long-term goal.
But if the Alliance gains possession of a true telepath, then all our goals will be for naught.
Tuvok was one of a relatively few Vulcans in the rebellion. Indeed, it had taken some doing to convince Captain Sisko and
the others that his desire for change was genuine. Vulcans were the servants to the Klingons and Cardassians, thralls who fetched and carried and collated and did all the menial work that required a modicum of intelligence. The Alliance respected the Vulcans’ mental discipline—
—not realizing that their mental discipline was far greater than was generally known. Vulcan telepathy was the most closely guarded secret in the galaxy, one preserved even after the fall of the Terran Empire—or, rather, the Terran Republic, as it had become by then. Now, carefully seeded throughout the galaxy, were millions of telepathic sleeper agents, enacting the late Emperor Spock’s long-term, posthumous goal of a truly democratic galaxy.
The truth about Vulcans had to be kept secret in order for the plan to have any chance of success. So Tuvok retained his cover, including the rather distasteful fiction that his wife and children were murdered by the Alliance. In fact, though his son Sek had died of an infection several years earlier, despite the impressive efforts of a Cardassian physician to save him, his wife was alive and well. So were his other children, who were serving in the houses and workplaces of prominent Klingons and Cardassians, amassing intelligence. Some of it had proven useful to the rebellion—in fact, the location and security codes for the supply depot they had just raided for equipment to use in building O’Brien’s warship had come from Tuvok’s daughter Asil—with the rest being collated for the future.
However, that future would be bleak indeed if Kes got into Alliance hands. If she was commandeered for their use—or worse, if Alliance scientists learned how to replicate telepathy in other species—then Chakotay’s fear that telepaths would be used to seek out the rebellion would be the least of it. Vulcan agents would very soon be exposed. It was, of course, possible for Vulcans to shield their thoughts from other telepaths, but complete blocking of all thoughts would stand out as much as seditious thoughts would, and an incomplete blocking risked leakage. Besides which, no Vulcans had had to shield their thoughts in over a century, and that lack of practice could prove fatal.