Both leaders stared straight ahead, though Troi knew that they were each getting the same split-screen view that the Carthagehad. “Greetings from Raknal V, Captain Haden. I’m sure Governor Qaolin has already laid the blame for this at my feet. As if the Foreheads need our help to construct buildings that fall down at the drop of a rock.”
“Are the souls of theChut not enough for you, Monor? Will you not rest until all the Klingons on this world cry out for vengeance against Cardassian treachery?”
Monor made a dismissive noise that sounded like a leaky pipe. “You’re drunk.”
“Of course I’m drunk! I drink to the souls of the dead—slain by Cardassian cowardice!”
“The only coward I see is an old wreck who should be embarrassed to let himself be seen like that! Look at you—inebriated, unkempt. You wouldn’t last an hour on a Cardassian ship. That’s why you Foreheads will always—”
“That’s enough!” Haden barked, which came as a great relief to Troi. “Both of you shut the hell up. Mr. Troi, what’s our ETA?”
Troi double-checked the navigational computer. “Thirty-five minutes at this speed.”
“When we arrive, the Carthagewill aid in any rescue endeavors, and our sickbay will be at your disposal as well.”
“That is appreciated, Captain.”Qaolin spoke in a more subdued tone. “The Federation, at least, has always been honorable.”
“‘Honorable.’”Monor made the leaky pipe noise again. “That’s your catch-all word for everything, isn’t it?”
“Worry not, Monor,”Qaolin said with a wide, half-toothless grin, “it will never be applied to you.”
Haden continued as if the two men had not spoken. “After that, as per the agreement signed at the Betreka Nebula by both your governments, we will investigate the destruction of the building, and report our findings to both of you—and to your respective governments, and to Ambassador Dax and the Federation Council.” He turned toward the communications console to look at Vaughn. “Lieutenant Commander Vaughn, you will lead the investigation.” Then he turned back to the screen. “I expect both of you to cooperate fully with Commander Vaughn and his team. If you don’t—well, that will go in our report, as well.”
Monor scowled. “I can’t imagine what help we can provide, Captain, since the incident had nothing to do with me or anyone from—”
“Do you fear that the Federation will learn what I have known for fifteen years, Monor?”
“What, that you’re a pathetic drunken—”
“Screen off,” Haden muttered, and Zipser quickly cut off the communication, returning the main viewer to the image of the distorted starfield that signified the Carthage’s warp-speed travel. Then the captain rose from his chair and moved toward the turbolift. “Commander Li, let me know when we arrive, and have the transporter chief prepare for multiple transports. And put all shuttlecraft on standby, just in case.”
As Wai-Lin Li sat in the command chair she said, “Should I alert sickbay also?”
“I’ll do that. I’m going there now to do something about this headache I just acquired.” As he passed Vaughn, Haden added, “Mr. Vaughn, feel free to use whatever Carthagepersonnel you need, but get to the bottom of this thing quickly, understood?”
Vaughn nodded. “Yes, sir. With your permission, I’d like Lieutenant Commander Troi to assist me.”
“Permission granted.” As the turbolift doors opened, he said, “You have the bridge, Number One.”
Chapter 24
Raknal V
By the time the Carthagearrived, there was comparatively little rescuing to be done. The building in question held several residences as well as three merchants. Most of the debris had been cleared by Klingon rescue workers. Fifty-three people were in the building when it collapsed, of whom twelve were dead. At Commander Li’s insistence, the remaining forty-one were transported to the Carthagerather than brought to the local hospital, on the logic that a starship sickbay was better equipped than any Klingon hospital, a point no one could truly argue.
Once that was done, all that was left was the wreckage—and twelve dead bodies. Troi stood before what was left of the building as the last of the rescue workers started to leave. A semipermeable force field was keeping all but the workers and Starfleet personnel away from the site. The field would allow those with a particular transponder to pass through it, one held by all the workers and by Vaughn, Troi, and the other Carthagepersonnel on-planet.
At the sight of the twelve corpses being left on the ground, Troi grabbed one of the departing rescue workers by the arm. The worker looked at Troi’s hand like it was diseased. Troi quickly removed it.
“What’s to be done with the bodies?”
The worker shrugged. “Disposed of in some manner.”
“Don’t you have any—well, funerary rites?”
Again, he shrugged. “They are not warriors. If they lived dishonorable lives, then Fek’lhrwill escort their spirits to the Barge of the Dead, which will take them to Gre’thor.”
Troi knew that that was the Klingon equivalent of hell. “What if they lived honorable lives?”
At that, the worker scowled. “Then they deserved better deaths than this.”
Troi found he couldn’t argue with that either way.
After the last of the rescue workers departed, Troi was alone with the building. Vaughn was interviewing people who were nearby when the building collapsed, and had asked the Carthagesecurity chief to do the same with the survivors in sickbay.
Troi, meanwhile, was tasked with examining the site itself. He looked up at the building. It had been made from plasti-form over a metal frame. Parts of the frame—which looked to be an alloy of rodinium, iron, and a metal the tricorder couldn’t identify—remained intact. A preliminary scan with the tricorder indicated that the frame had weakened and collapsed in the southwest quadrant of the foundation. When that gave way, a large chunk of the building went down.
Troi proceeded, as Vaughn had instructed him, to go over every millimeter of the building. All the evidence pointed to a simple structural collapse, which would make Monor happy, if not Qaolin. Wonder what that third metal in the alloy is,he thought. That may have been responsible. Iron and rodinium are pretty tough, but that third metal’s an x-factor.
It took two hours to do most of the job. The items he found in various states of repair ranged from the obviously personal—clothes, furniture, pictures, artwork, padds labeled in the angled Klingon script, well-worn weaponry, cooking implements, food—to the assorted items that were for sale in the stores.
When he came across a small figurine that was vaguely in the shape of a targ,Troi felt a lump in his throat. Up until this point, he had managed not to think about what it had been like going through Kestra’s things seven years ago—a task that had been left to Troi alone, since Lwaxana had already started her campaign to eradicate Kestra’s very existence—until he came across this toy targwhich, despite looking nothing like Kestra’s teddy bear, reminded Troi almost painfully of My Bear. Troi had given Kestra the stuffed black bear when his daughter turned four. It had floppy arms and legs, a tiny smile, wide brown eyes, and a sufficiently soft interior to make him eminently huggable—a feature Kestra employed often. Kestra had never come up with a name for the bear, insisting on simply referring to the toy as “my bear!” The name stuck.