By the time Vaughn arrived, five minutes early, the crew had already assembled. Eager to go to work. Excellent.“Let’s start with what we know. Ensign Leishman, your report,” Vaughn said.
“Wherever Nog is being held, there’s some kind of transport inhibiting field in place. We can’t beam him off. If he’s moved, we might be able to grab him, unless the inhibitor is something on his person. But in order even to make the attempt we’d be risking exposure.”
“The Avaril’s offensive weaponry and maneuverability are limited,” Gordimer interjected. “If we decloak and fix phasers or torpedoes on them, they might give up Lieutenant Nog without a fight.”
Shaking his head, Julian countered, “We could be in an indefinite standoff, waiting for one side or the other to blink. If Nog’s kidnapping has been done without J’Maah’s knowledge, who’s to say the kidnapper won’t escape with Nog while we’re arguing with J’Maah. Or worse, kill him.”
“J’Maah might not be involved at all. This could be a conspiracy in his ranks,” Vaughn said. “With members of his crew going against orders, the Avariland her 1,800 crewmembers could be in serious danger.”
Bowers’voice suddenly rang out. “Captain. We’ve picked up something new on long-range sensors. You’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it, Sam?”
“Judging from the biosignatures I’m picking up…I think it’s a Cheka warship, sir,”Bowers said.
“Show me,” Vaughn ordered.
On the viewer of the mess hall companel, blade-winged starship appeared. Not as large as the Avaril,but definitely more powerful, if its energy output readings were any indication. In a fight, the Defiantmight be the underdog.
“Sensors show the Cheka vessel is following a trajectory that’ll have it intercepting theAvaril five hours out from Vanìmel at current speed.”
So is she planning on poaching theAvaril? Or is she meeting up with them?Vaughn mulled over both possibilities, looking for clues as to which one was most likely. He kept returning to the fact that whoever had sabotaged the deal on the Exchange had used the Cheka as a go-between. The Yrythny cut a deal with the Cheka. What the Cheka want is clear—the cloaking device. But what the Yrythny want—that they’d be desperate enough to deal with the devil on…
An idea struck him. “Sam, keep track of the Cheka’s progress. Let me know if it changes course. See if you can listen in on their communications. If they’re in contact with anyone, I want to know who. And I want details about that ship. Life-forms, energy sources, propulsion, tactical systems, everything.”
“I’m on it,”Bowers replied.
Vaughn turned back to his crew. With all eyes fixed on him, Vaughn clasped his hands behind his back and announced, “I think I’ve figured out how to get Nog back.”
16
Oh, to see the look on Vedek Yevir’s face when he learns I went walking with Gul Macet!Kira thought, amused by the shocked expression on Prylar Kanton’s face as they passed him. Kira knew that being seen publicly with Macet would have only minimal impact on her reputation. Those who knew her well would see her as being fair-minded; those who were wary of her would have another item to add to their arsenal of reasons why she wasn’t trustworthy. A public walk also assured that she could honestly answer any who might express concerns about a potential conflict of interest: if she had something to hide, she wouldn’t be talking about it in public.
And Kira wasn’t fool enough to believe this impacted only her. There were those in Macet’s company who would have reservations about the gul talking with a Bajoran. They both needed protection from accusations that might arise from either camp.
Hoping to minimize civilian contact, Kira elected to take a route that took them over the habitat ring bridges and up to the Promenade balcony. At this hour, minimal foot traffic meant fewer encounters with curious onlookers, but the constant security presence in the area assured reliable witnesses to whatever passed between them.
At first they walked in silence, searching for a comfortable rhythm, neither of them certain where one began a conversation like the one they needed to have. About the time they approached the Promenade balcony, Kira finally decided she felt safe to begin.
“I realize I haven’t been very hospitable since you arrived. I apologize,” she began, clasping her hands together behind her back.
Gul Macet smiled, his face softened by amusement. “It’s not all that surprising, Colonel, that you find my presence disturbing, as do your fellow Bajorans. I’m not troubled by it.”
“Good,” she said, nodding her head with relief. “I’m glad that you don’t hold our prejudices against us.” They rounded the final corner before moving into the main walkway. Only a handful of people milled around the balcony at this hour: lovers cuddled on a bench, dismissing the awe-inspiring expanse of space out the windows for the wonders in each other’s eyes; intoxicated revelers stumbling out of Quark’s, lighter in pocket and spirit; and Ro’s security people, watching it all.
“My likeness to Dukat isn’t exactly positive for either of our peoples,” Macet acknowledged. “For everyone who celebrated him as a hero, there were many of us who saw his egocentricity as an obstacle that prevented him from serving Cardassia’s best interests. He didn’t want power for the good he could do, he wanted power for the good it would do him. There’s a distinction there that I think you Bajorans saw before my people did. Our loss.”
“Indeed.” Kira nodded an acknowledgment to a security officer keeping watch at the top of the spiral staircase. If Kira’s companion startled him, his alert gaze offered no evidence of it.
As she and Macet strolled along the Promenade balcony, the exquisite irony of the situation didn’t escape Kira. Had it been only days ago when she sat alone in her office, wishing for a friend to walk with? She had envisioned that she and her companion would walk this very stretch she presently stood on. And here she was, standing beside someone she could hardly call a friend, knowing that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, with the person she was supposed to be with.
Her thoughts were broken when Macet said abruptly, “And now that we’ve reestablished why you feel awkward in my presence…”
Kira wondered if she wore her ambivalence on her face. “Gul Macet—” she began, feeling compelled to explain.
“…I think we can move on to more pressing matters. The talks.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kira noticed the not-so-subtle pointing and gawking that had begun below as worshipers from evening services flooded the Promenade. An idea occurred to her. “I think we’ll accomplish more if we find a quiet place to sit down.”
“Your office?” he suggested.
“I have another idea.”
Within minutes, Kira had admitted herself and Macet to the Ziyal exhibit, on display within the walls of Garak’s old tailor shop. And indeed, the tailor shop, vacant and dark since the end of the war, had been transformed into a gallery.
The curator from the Bajoran Ministry of Art, one who had known Ziyal, designed the exhibit. Recessed lighting had already been installed, canvases stretched, and several holoprojectors installed to display representations of works lost in the war. The curator had used blue and red-tinted spotlights to bring added drama to Ziyal’s stark, jagged charcoal lines, to illuminate the multilayered oil paint dabs, roughened by bold brush strokes. She had drawn from both sides of her heritage to create thematically challenging pieces: some of her paintings dripped with the violent blood-reds and slate gray tones of war, while others conveyed the serenity of spirituality through water and nature. Kira wondered how Garak, with whom Ziyal had somehow forged a special connection during her time on the station, would feel when he learned to what purpose his old space was now being put. She thought he would approve.