“Exactly.”
“I was taking the initiative?” Cambridge suggested.
Chakotay looked ready to strangle the counselor.
“If you’ll recall, at our last staff meeting, I did advise you and everyone present of the likelihood that someone close had betrayed B’Elanna on Boreth,” Cambridge added.
“It’s a pretty big leap to go from there to attacking the woman in sickbay.”
“Not really,” Cambridge replied. “I’d observed the commander throughout the meeting and for some time after. Her body language alone was practically screaming that she was hiding something. In addition, she never let B’Elanna out of her sight except to argue with her husband. I admit it was a good, though not terribly difficult, leap of logic.”
“The next time you decide to take a leap,” Chakotay said, his jaw clenched, “you will run it by me first. Your precipitous actions resulted in the capture of B’Elanna and almost killed Tom Paris.”
“Not to mention a nasty bump on the head,” Cambridge offered.
“Had you told me what you were thinking,” Chakotay went on, “we could have had a security team present when we confronted her. Your instincts were right, but every other choice you made was absolutely wrong.”
Janeway wondered if she was going to have to physically restrain Chakotay. The results were unfortunate, but she honestly believed that had Chakotay been the one to discover Logt’s subterfuge, he would have probably acted on it as recklessly as Cambridge had.
I wonder if he realizes how much he and Cambridge have in common, or if, given that, these two will ever get along?
Cambridge had the good grace to look humbled.
“I apologize, Captain,” he said seriously.
“Dismissed,” Chakotay hissed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Given how little intelligence he had for this mission, Tuvok believed he was making excellent progress. Naturally, he took no joy in this. He was Vulcan. But he allowed himself to feel satisfied by his work.
He had reached Naliah IV and entered orbit in just twelve-point-five hours after leaving Earth. At Admiral Janeway’s request, Starfleet Command had provided him with a Type-9 shuttlecraft, which he was most comfortable piloting, as these small, sleek vessels had been part of Voyager’s standard complement. Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres had done no end of tinkering with the Type-9’s over the years, and Tuvok had learned from them how to tweak the dilithium matrix and push the warp engines, rated for warp 4 and below, to almost warp 6 without compromising the ship’s integrity. He had been forced to override several of the safety systems. Given the constraints of time, Tuvok felt the choice was both logical and appropriate to the situation at hand.
Naliah IV was sparsely populated, a backwater planet favored by those who wished to unobtrusively carry on activities of dubious legality, or to simply disappear. There was nothing in the Starfleet Intelligence files relating to anyone named Fistrebril. Tuvok’s sensor sweeps of the planet had revealed only two compounds likely to be hiding the artifact he sought—the two that appeared the most innocuous to his initial scans.
The first was registered as the home of a Ferengi merchant. Tuvok did not doubt that the interior would be the height of gauche, but the exterior of the structure was actually quite shabby. A well-concealed sensor net ringed the property, and the majority of its discernible defenses appeared to be automated.
The second was an architectural masterpiece, a dwelling embedded within a cliff overlooking one of the planet’s four largest bodies of water. Its opulence would have been more appropriate to Risa; everything about it, from the lushly landscaped gardens and sculpted fountains to the graceful lines of the stone façade and bays of ten-meter-high windows that no doubt offered staggering views of the ocean, suggested a luxurious retreat.
What caught the Vulcan’s attention was not the two armed guards who patrolled the mansion’s front entrance, but the sixteen others who were equipped with sensor-resistant armor that made them nearly invisible to Tuvok’s orbital scans.
Either the occupants of the mansion had made far too many enemies in their lifetime, or they were intent on protecting something with deadly force. This site also had dozens of sensor dead zones, which had initially read as natural formations beneath the dwelling but upon closer examination were clearly shrouded to fool scanners.
Logic suggested that the occupants of this palatial home were most likely either to possess the item he was seeking or to know enough about the planet’s other residents to best direct his efforts.
Tuvok transported into a ravine a half kilometer from the property’s perimeter. After a brief hike through the dense brush that covered the hillside, he found a natural rock outcropping to reconnoiter the compound.
Visual survey of the armored guards suggested that they were incredibly diligent and precise. They paced their assigned perimeters with a steady gait, leaving no expanse wide enough for an intruder to compromise their patrol for more than two seconds at a time. Tuvok’s tricorder also detected several power sources buried at regular intervals in the rocks a hundred meters beneath his feet, which were probably evidence of an energy field of some kind that would activate in the event of a breach.
If he’d had a security team at his disposal, it might have been possible to quietly disable enough of both the field generators and the guards before the occupants of the residence could retaliate. As Tuvok was alone, he decided that a solo stealth approach, no matter how well executed, was probably little more than a suicide attempt.
That left only one decidedly unpalatable option.
Rising from the rocks, he evaluated the security of the compound. Tuvok dusted off his uniform and keyed his tricorder to interlink directly with his shuttle’s transport system. Seconds later, he engaged the transporter and appeared, just as he had calculated, at the front door of the mansion, where the two armed guards positioned there, obviously startled by his abrupt appearance, immediately trained their weapons on him.
“Good afternoon,” Tuvok greeted them cordially.
“What do you want?” one of them growled.
“I wish to speak to the owner of this residence,” he replied.
“The owner isn’t here,” the other grunted.
Tuvok took a fraction of a second to center himself before quickly grabbing the business ends of both weapons and jerking them from the guards before they had a chance to fire. He then dropped low, digging the butt of one of them into the first guard’s abdomen before swinging wide with the second, smashing it into the second guard’s head. A few blows later, both guards were sitting in an unconscious heap beside the door, and both of their weapons had been disabled.
Tuvok then proceeded to tidy his jacket and pants from the scuffle. He stepped over the guards and knocked upon the heavy wooden door.
A few moments later, he heard a muted series of clicks and the door swung open, revealing a petite woman of indeterminate age, with fine golden hair falling just past the waist of a midnight blue beaded gown, the cut of which perfectly accentuated her well-toned and equally well-proportioned figure. The woman’s obsidian eyes, set beneath precisely arched brows, met Tuvok’s without flinching. With a graceful gesture she swept the tresses framing her right cheek behind a delicate ear, revealing that the pinna contained two openings to the auditory canal, one in the center, and a smaller one near the upper edge. The flesh at her temple was raised by several delicate involutions. He was instantly intrigued. He had never met a Ullian before.
“How rude,” were her first dismissive words.
“I apologize for any inconvenience my arrival may have caused,” Tuvok said, “but it is imperative that I speak with the owner of this residence as soon as possible.”
“You might have simply asked,” the woman replied, gazing at her unconscious guards.
“In fairness, I did.”
The woman’s face cracked around the edges of her mouth in a hint of a smile. “Come in,” she said.
The Vulcan followed her through a high atrium that was filled with dozens of varieties of fragrant flowering plants. Among them Tuvok noted a few species of rare orchids. A wide arch opened at the end of the hall, leading to a sunken living area with exquisitely carved furniture and a bay of high windows. Centered on the room’s main wall was a painting Tuvok could not immediately place, but it appeared to be in the impressionistic style favored on Betazed during the Cultural Renewal five centuries ago. A few tasteful sculptures, writhing nudes in a rare crystalline stone that suggested they had originated on Deneva, were strategically placed. However, the item that stopped Tuvok in his tracks was a small lamp encrusted with amber gemstones set on a pedestal behind an opaque force field.
Tuvok stepped closer to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him. The low flame emanating from the lamp was said to be eternal. Its color was the rarest blue-green, and it could only have originated in one place.
“May I ask how you acquired the Light of Amonak?” Tuvok asked. Legend reported it had been stolen from a Vulcan temple two thousand years earlier.
“You may ask,” the woman replied, approaching Tuvok with a clear glass of greenish liquid and offering it to him as she sipped from her own, “if you will tell me what brings a Starfleet instructor to Naliah, Commander Tuvok.”
Tuvok considered his response. Clearly in the few moments it had taken him to disable her men, she had managed to learn more about him than he would have thought possible.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Tuvok said, accepting the glass but forbearing to drink from it.
“You have no idea,” she replied.
“I have come seeking someone named Fistrebril,” Tuvok said, opting for honesty. At the moment it seemed the best defense.
Again, her face cracked into a subtle, wistful smile. “I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“But you have heard it?” Tuvok asked.
“Why are you here, Tuvok?” she asked a little more insistently.
Tuvok felt his senses tingle uncomfortably. It was nothing more than a faint dizziness, but he was instantly aware that she was somehow attempting to probe his mind.
A thief, and a highly adept telepath, Tuvok thought calmly. He was aware that many Ullians possessed a unique type of telepathy. Their special gift was the ability to probe and bring forth long-forgotten memories in others. Centuries ago, this skill had been used toward destructive and violent ends. To the best of his knowledge, most Ullians currently working within the Federation focused their abilities on retrieving memories which would allow them to create a vast repository of historical data.
Instantly the violating sensation passed.
“I seem to be getting a little rusty,” she replied, clearly more embarrassed by her failure to hide her actions rather than the fact that she had tried in the first place.
Interesting as this woman was, Tuvok was ever mindful of time’s inexorable forward motion.
“I was led to believe that a trader named Fistrebril acquired an ancient bat’leth crafted by the Klingon master Hal’korin approximately thirty years ago from a warrior named Kopek,” Tuvok advised her, “and that Fistrebril now resides on Naliah IV.”
“Not much of a warrior,” she said with what seemed like bemused regret.
“Then you know the object of which I speak?” Tuvok inquired.
The woman paused, her eyes boring into Tuvok’s, before she answered with a slight nod.
“I am prepared to offer any consideration you might request in return for borrowing the sword for a short time,” Tuvok said.
“The sword is priceless,” the woman replied. “But then, you know that, don’t you?”
“It is without any measurable market price,” Tuvok acknowledged. “But as with most things, I am certain that we might agree to a remuneration you would find acceptable.”
“Why did you not attempt to take it by force?” the woman asked.
“It seemed a futile gesture,” Tuvok replied, “as this compound is eminently well defended.”
“Halk and Vrenton’s efforts suggest otherwise,” she said, visibly chagrined.
“They were taken by surprise,” Tuvok assured her.
“I am sorry, Tuvok,” the woman said, “but there is nothing you could offer me which would convince me to part with the bat’leth. It was most challenging to acquire, and though you seem honest enough, I seriously doubt that if I allowed you to depart with it I would ever see you again.”
“On the contrary, madam, I give you my word that I only require its use for a brief period of time, after which I will personally see that it is restored to you.”
“Your logic is flawed, Tuvok,” she said evenly.
“Which part?”
“Your assumption that you will be leaving here at all,” she replied.
Tuvok tensed, setting the untasted beverage on a near table.
“And why is that?”
“I receive so few visitors anymore,” she said almost playfully. “And I have no intention of parting with the most intriguing one to cross my path in some time.”
Instantly, a force field snapped into existence, blocking the room’s only exit. The only consolation Tuvok could immediately find was that for the moment, she was trapped behind it along with him.
Tuvok did not doubt that she believed she had the power to hold him indefinitely. But he also realized that she had just revealed what might very well be her only weakness.
“You require companionship,” he stated flatly.
“That’s one word for it.”
Tuvok actually recoiled at the thought of physical contact with the woman. Her obvious beauty aside, it would be akin to caressing a live grenade.
Before he could formulate a response, he saw himself clearly standing in a cavern lit by the dancing flames of a welcoming fire. He had visited this place many times, both in life and in his thoughts. It was the temple his father had sent him to as a young man to learn to overcome an inappropriate emotional attachment he had developed for one of his classmates. Though he usually reflected with gratitude upon this memory there was no comfort in it now. He stood as he had the day he’d arrived, filled with righteous anger at his father and trembling with rage at the thought of being separated from Jara.
She released him from this memory and Tuvok found himself gasping for breath. The respite, however, was too brief.
She began to hunt like a scavenger through his mind. Images he had long repressed were forced to the surface.
He sat opposite Kes in his quarters on Voyager. She was attempting to visualize the subatomic structure of a cup of tea. As she mentally excited the particles, she lost control and Tuvok’s mind began to burn with the heat intended for the tea. He briefly tasted the blood pouring from his nose.
He stood in a detention cell, his mind locked in a meld with Lon Suder. Violence he had only imagined coursed through him. He touched upon an unknown desire to find pleasure in the infliction of pain, even as he watched Suder raise his hand to crush the skull of Crewman Darwin.
Then, the memories rushed forward in a torrent he was unable to still. A Hirogen hunter struck him in the face. He gasped for air as a cargo bay was filled with blinding smoke. The last shreds of his identity trickled through his fingers as the Borg Queen made her horrifying presence known, welcoming him into the Collective.
In the distance, someone was shouting.
He returned to the present moment to find himself lying on the floor, choking on his screams.
She stood over him, her face alight with something close to joy.
“My goodness,” she said. “I didn’t realize how lucky it is that you’ve come. We should be able to enjoy ourselves like this for days.”
Tuvok felt no fear as she said this. He did, however, realize that if he did not find a way to defend himself against her assault, he would probably not last the afternoon, let alone as long as she intended.
He forced himself to look beyond her at the Light of
Amonak. The flame danced before him. It took every last ounce of control he still possessed to close his mind to all but the movement of the fire.
He felt her again in his mind, but now, she stood behind a wall which rose higher and higher as his meditation on the light restored the tranquillity he associated with his normal conscious state.
“What have you done?” she demanded, her voice instantly dropping its flirtatious tone.
Tuvok pulled himself up gently, and sat upon the nearest ottoman as he replied, “Perhaps if you told me exactly what you seek, I might be able to accommodate you.”
Her incredulousness was apparent. “You would offer yourself to me freely?”
Nothing could have been further from the truth.
“If you will agree to allow me to borrow the sword,” he replied.
“It seems I have underestimated you, Tuvok,” she whispered.
You have no idea.
She knelt before him in a pose which suggested submission. The air practically crackled with the tension of anticipation.
“Show me,” she said.
“Show you what?”
“Your pain.”
Placing his fingers over her brows and cheekbones, he gazed directly into her eyes and said softly, “My mind to your mind.”
She gasped with what Tuvok sensed was pleasure, as he slowly entered the cavernous depths of her consciousness. The mental barriers he had constructed over the years to protect his psyche from telepathic intrusion had been fortified by the Light of Amonak. He worked with surgical precision, offering her the images he knew she sought, but finally, he controlled what she saw.
She sipped greedily at each violent confrontation he fed her. She saw him fight the Kazon, the Vidiians, the Ilarians, the Mari, and the Borg. She witnessed the havoc he wrought upon his quarters in the dark days following his meld with Suder. She lingered lovingly over the anguish he had known in bidding farewell to Noss.
Even as he occupied her with these images, he probed her mind for the information he required.
He quickly discovered that beneath her enigmatic façade was a mind almost drowning in a vast and tumultuous sea of deception. Her raw strength was palpable, but it paled in comparison to the depths of her need.
Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Page 16