The Art of the Impossible

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Pumping his legs—with, he was proud to say, the same vim and vigor with which he ran as a youth in the Academy—Vaughn dashed toward the cave mouth. Pulling up seconds later, he saw a two-meter-wide opening in a large chunk of rock that looked like it was embedded in a grassy hill. Not a bad hiding spot, Vaughn thought, revising his estimate of Tartovsky upward a bit.

  Proceeding slowly into the much cooler cave, he activated the light beacon on his tricorder. All it served to do was illuminate sheer rock.

  “Don’t move!” cried out a female voice from deeper inside the cave. Vaughn shone his light toward the voice, and the beam framed a round face that blinked in the onslaught of light. Said onslaught did not cause her to lower the phaser pistol she held in her right hand.

  “Special Emissary Tartovsky, I presume. I’m Lieutenant Elias Vaughn from Starfleet. I’m here to get you out of here. I have a shuttle.”

  “Nice try. You should tell your Cardassian masters to train your spies better.”

  What the hell is she talking about?

  “That rank insignia on your shoulder patch is for a lieutenant commander, not a lieutenant.”

  Hell’s teeth, he thought. Of all the times for a slip of the tongue… “I was only recently promoted, ma’am. I need you to put the phaser down so we can get out of here.”

  “Recently promoted? You look like you’re at least fifty. Still only a lieutenant?”

  “Lieutenant commander, as you pointed out, ma’am. We really need to leave.”

  She shook her head and made a tcha noise. “You Cardassians are pathetic. You definitely need a better breed of spy. If you’re so damn good at rescue missions, why are you still a lieutenant at your age?”

  Because the kind of work I do requires a low profile, but telling you that would go against that very principle. “Ma’am, there are actual Cardassians on the way who will most likely shoot both of us if we don’t get to my shuttlepod and get out of here. In fact—oh, the hell with it.” With one swift motion, he unholstered his own phaser and shot the special emissary.

  She crumpled to the ground, stunned.

  Vaughn ran over to her unconscious form. He saw that she was bleeding from a badly bandaged wound in her leg. She’d have fallen unconscious from blood loss if we’d kept up that inane conversation much longer. Under any other circumstances, he would have been willing to wait her out, but they didn’t have the time. Picking her up in a rescue carry and securing her with his right arm, he ran back out the way he came, the hot air blasting him in the face as he exited the cave.

  Tapping his combadge with the butt of the phaser he held in his left hand as he ran, he said, “Vaughn to T’Prynn. Get ready to go, Commander.”

  “Cardassian patrol approaching. They will be within sight of the Woodlawn in thirty-five seconds, Elias.”

  No way he’d be able to close the distance that quickly—not while burdened with Tartovsky. And the Woodlawn wasn’t armed.

  “The hatch is open, and I am armed with a phaser rifle, Commander. I will cover your approach.”

  Vaughn grinned. “You read my mind, Commander.”

  “Hardly.”

  The Woodlawn came into Vaughn’s sight just as the phaser fire went flying over his head. Dammit, he thought as he fired back.

  Another shot hit about a meter in front of him, tossing rocks and dirt into the air. Pain sliced across Vaughn’s head as one rock collided with his forehead. And here I was hoping to stave off that headache.

  He ran around to see a Cardassian trading phaser fire with T’Prynn. Said Cardassian was between Vaughn and the Woodlawn hatch. Vaughn fired off a quick shot, which missed, and a second, which didn’t. Between those two, the Cardassian took a shot into the Woodlawn before collapsing to the ground.

  Vaughn yelled, “Go!” even as he leapt into the Woodlawn’s rear two seats, his own body and that of Tartovsky forming a rather ungainly pile in the shuttlepod.

  To his irritation, the shuttle did not move.

  Clambering up from under the unconscious special emissary, he saw why: the Cardassian’s last shot had apparently hit T’Prynn in the shoulder. Green blood pooled under her red uniform and also poured forth from a wound in her head. Dammit.

  Slamming his hand on the control that would close the hatch, Vaughn got into the pilot seat and noted that T’Prynn had already run the preflight sequence—all that was left was for the hatch to close and for Vaughn to engage the engines. Pausing only for a half a second to smile at his comrade—a pause he needed to take while waiting for the hatch to seal in any event—he then lifted off, the sound of Cardassian phaser fire hitting the shuttlepod’s hull with the same intensity that the rain was hitting it less than half an hour earlier.

  Now let’s hope we’re small enough to stay off the sensor screens of those big ships in orbit—which are now looking for a small Starfleet shuttlepod. Well, nobody said this job would be easy.

  Chapter 20

  Cardassia Prime

  It had been fifteen years since Corbin Entek had set foot in the Obsidian Order’s fifty-story public headquarters in the cul-de-sac. Back then, he was being debriefed by Enabran Tain himself on the disastrous Raknal V negotiations. Since then, Entek had thrived, becoming a top operative for the Obsidian Order.

  In all that time, he had never again laid eyes on Tain. He had simply received instructions from assorted supervisors and then carried out his assignments. He had the feeling that soon he would be one of the supervisors rather than the supervised, and in fact he’d hoped that this summons would be a prelude to that.

  A different receptionist sat at the main desk, of course, and instead of a retinal scanner, he now had to place his hand on a device that would verify his DNA.

  Once again, Entek was to report to Room 2552. Tain again. Entek was pleasantly surprised.

  When he arrived on the twenty-fifth floor, Entek saw that a different woman, this one with longer, blacker hair, now sat at the workstation outside Tain’s office. As her predecessor had a decade-and-a-half earlier, this woman activated her comm unit and said simply, “He’s arrived.”

  “Send him in.”

  Entek entered Tain’s office to find that, unlike the identity of his assistant, very little had changed. The office was still sparsely furnished, the east wall still contained a large viewer—this time the image was of the Dakhur Hills on Bajor. Entek chose to take this as a good sign. He knew that there was a supervisory position open administering Order affairs on Bajor, and he had hopes for it. Central Command had, typically, let the situation on Bajor get out of hand. The resistance movement was growing in strength and needed to be crushed. Central Command’s more overt methods were not getting the job done, and it was Entek’s considered opinion that more subtle means were required.

  Of course, it was also possible that Entek was not here to receive good news. One thing he had learned in his time as an agent of the Order: it was best not to come to the attention of Enabran Tain if you could avoid it. If he had known fifteen years ago what he knew now, he would have approached his Tain-led debriefing following Raknal with a great deal more trepidation.

  One other thing had changed over the years: Tain was a lot bulkier around the middle than he had been. I suppose that comes of working in an office rather than out in the field.

  “Come in, Entek, come in, have a seat,” Tain said.

  Entek sat down, noting that the guest chair was of a different type than the one from fifteen years ago, and yet it felt the same: neither particularly comfortable nor uncomfortable. It served its purpose as a chair, no more, no less.

  “The last time you were in this office, you asked me if you would be assigned to Raknal V. I told you then that you were too young, too raw to take such an assignment.” He chuckled. “I never imagined that the situation would still be an issue fifteen years later. How closely have you followed the situation with the Klingons?”

  “As closely as duties have allowed,” Entek said honestly. “I do know that n
o Klingons have been permitted on our worlds and that the Klingons have done the same to our people in their territory. Border skirmishes have been on the up-swing.”

  Another chuckle. “That is an understatement. Any time a Cardassian ship and a Klingon ship are within a parsec of each other, there’s a good chance of torpedoes being exchanged sooner rather than later. The Grannal, the Pa’Dan, and the Baknab have all been engaged by Klingon ships in the past month alone. The Klingons still blame us for the Chut’s destruction, and they’re very good at holding grudges. In addition, relations with the Federation have gotten worse since that incident with the Enterprise seven years ago.” Tain shook his head. “There was a confrontation just yesterday—the Alkar got into a running firefight with a Federation ship, the Stargazer. Every attempt at trade talks with the Federation have failed, and Central Command insists on being aggressive with them and letting the situation grow worse. An all-out war is one thing, but these hostile skirmishes with both powers without a formal declaration pick away at us.”

  With that, Entek had to agree. He also was starting to suspect the true reason for his summons. “It does not bode well. There are also rumblings on Romulus. Praetor Dralath is losing popular support, and their emperor has become little more than a figurehead. It is quite possible that they may come out of the shell they have been hiding in since Tomed and strike at either the Klingons or the Federation—or even us.”

  That seemed to intrigue Tain. “What leads you to that conclusion?”

  Entek shifted nervously in his seat. He had made a report to this effect only the previous week, and his new assumption was that it had come to Tain’s attention, hence his summons here. “Dralath is not an imaginative man. The Romulan economy is failing, the people are disaffected. Successful Romulan politicians tend toward long-term planning, but every indication points to Dralath being an unsuccessful one. His profile is one that prefers simple short-term solutions.”

  “You believe he will start a war.”

  It was not a question. Perhaps he has read the report. “It is a common solution to declining popularity among ineffectual leaders. And we would be a ripe target—an upstart power that is already in conflict with the Klingons and the Federation.”

  “A fine observation.” Tain smiled. “To answer your unspoken question, yes I read your report. It is a very canny analysis, and indicates that we need to do further study of the Romulans, especially while Dralath remains in power.” Entek tried not to be too obvious in letting his pride show.

  “In the meantime, however, there is the matter of our continued difficulties with the Federation and the Klingons. If the Romulans are planning an assault on us, we need to be prepared, not engaged in petty squabbles. Federation–Klingon relations are not at their best at the moment, but they might well unite to fight a common enemy in us.”

  A thought occurred to Entek. “The same might be true if the Romulans attack one of them.”

  “If they choose to go that way, yes.” Tain leaned back. “What we have here, Entek, is a powder keg, one that will explode in the face of Cardassia no matter who lights it. What we need to do is apply some water. The root and cause of all our difficulties with the Klingons is Raknal V. Central Command insists that all is well on the planet. I’m more skeptical. Our last operative on-world was killed in what appears to have been an accident—certainly the planet has had enough of them. However, it was probably an assassination by one of Prefect Monor’s lackeys.”

  Entek tried to avoid a sigh. This was not what he had been hoping for. Fifteen years ago, he had been eager to return to Raknal V; now, the planet held little interest for him. Bajor was, to his mind, more important to Cardassia’s future. Tain, however, thought otherwise, and Entek knew better than to argue with him. “What is my assignment to be?”

  Tain leaned forward. Up until now, his tone had been pleasant, conversational—he discussed the political situation in the quadrant with all the ease and comfort of an uncle chatting about the latest sporting events with a favorite nephew. Now, though, his voice hardened, his hands folded on his immaculate desk. “Cardassia needs fewer enemies right now. The longer the situation on Raknal goes on, the more likely it is that we will have to go to war. Klingon military forces have built up impressively since Chancellor Kravokh came to power, and our own forces are divided among the Federation, the Klingons, and internal difficulties on Bajor and Chin’toka VI—and Raknal V, which now has a garrison dedicated to defending it, despite its distance. What I want from you, Entek, is to observe the situation on Raknal V. Central Command may be convinced that it’s worth devoting the resources to; I’m not. If it’s possible to cede the planet to the Klingons and end this—and give them their precious Ch’gran relic back—I think it’s something we should consider.”

  Where fifteen years ago, Entek considered Tain to be sensible, despite Entek’s enthusiasm, for not sending him to Raknal V, now Entek thought Tain unwise for doing so. Entek’s expertise was on the Romulans and the Bajorans. Why devote such a resource to a backwater planet that was the flashpoint of a conflict with a species Entek hadn’t even thought about since he disembarked from the Carthage a decade and a half ago?

  But he also knew better than to question an assignment from Tain himself. Just the fact that he was leaving this office in one piece—and with an assignment that the head of the Order considered important—spoke well for Entek’s future.

  Tain stood up. Entek did likewise. “Your supervisor will have all the details of your cover on Raknal V at your next meeting. Make your reports to her.”

  Entek nodded and turned to leave.

  “Oh, and Entek?”

  He stopped and turned to face Tain again.

  “I told you once that I make use of my valuable resources.” Entek noted that the avuncular tone had returned, as had his bland smile. “I still do.”

  The words did not fill the older Entek with the same pride as they did the younger one, but he, at the very least, was willing to take it guardedly as a good sign…

  Chapter 21

  Starbase 47

  “Starbase 47, this is the shuttlecraft Woodlawn requesting permission to dock.”

  “This is starbase control. You are cleared to dock at Pad E.”

  Wiping the blood on his forehead away from his eyes, Elias Vaughn said, “Thank you, starbase control. We’ll need a medic to meet us—we’ve got wounded.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Vaughn looked over at the still-unconscious forms of Special Emissary Tartovsky—who would no doubt be fuming when she awoke—and Commander T’Prynn—who would not be. “Oh,” he added, “and tell Chief DeMartis that I banged up his shuttle.”

  “He’ll be devastated, I’m sure,” the starbase control officer said dryly. DeMartis was the one in charge of the team that built the Woodlawn, and Vaughn had spent the hour before the mission listening to the young man go on at some length about the pod’s capabilities, limitations, and, above all, the necessity of bringing it back in one piece.

  After he brought the shuttle in for a landing on the designated pad, he opened the hatch to see three people in white medical uniforms, one in the red-and-white engineering uniform—DeMartis, with an expression on his face indicating that someone should draw a dark cloud over his head—and an elegant-looking older woman in a captain’s uniform, who was the last person Vaughn expected to see.

  “Captain Uhura. This is a surprise.” And, given Uhura’s position at Starfleet Intelligence, which was arguably as high as it got, rank notwithstanding—Vaughn wasn’t the only one who kept a low profile, after all—probably not a good surprise.

  “Walk with me, Commander,” she said in an almost musical tone of voice that couldn’t hide the fact that she was here on serious business.

  Pausing only to give the medics a quick précis of what he knew of the damage T’Prynn and Tartovsky had taken, and to ignore the wails of agony coming from DeMartis, Vaughn did so.

  They walked through the ha
llways of Starbase 47 in silence for several seconds. Finally, she asked, “Your mission went well?”

  “About as well as expected.”

  Uhura smiled. “That bad?”

  Returning the smile, Vaughn said, “We did what we were supposed to. I had been hoping to extract Special Emissary Tartovsky without drawing any attention from the Cardassians, but I knew that was wishful thinking. I’m content with the fact that we got the emissary and ourselves—and Chief DeMartis’s precious shuttlepod—back in one piece.”

  “More or less. How did Commander T’Prynn and the emissary—and you—get hurt?”

  Vaughn told her. When he got to the bit in the cave, it prompted a pleasant laugh from the elderly captain that sounded like wind chimes. Elderly, listen to me. She may have passed her hundredth birthday, but she’s as formidable a presence as she was when I first met her. More, even. I hope I’m half as sharp when I hit her age.

  When he finished his tale, Uhura said, “I’ve met several diplomats in my time for whom shooting would have been a useful option to have. In any case, this latest bit of Cardassian imperialism has a lot of people worried. They’ve made similar moves in the Bryma, Umoth, and Cuellar systems in the last year. The Cardassians are building their forces, and getting into more skirmishes with us and the Klingons. Did you hear about what happened with the Stargazer two weeks ago?”

  Vaughn nodded. He had met Jean-Luc Picard a few months earlier, and knew that the younger man had a reputation for not ducking a fight—this one, though, he ran from. The Cardassians were definitely getting more aggressive.

  Uhura continued. “To make matters worse, the Klingons are doing likewise, and starting to remember what it’s like to be a major power—and an enemy of the Federation—again.”

  Vaughn frowned. “You think they’re gearing up for war?”