“The Trager?”Kira repeated, looking over at Taran’atar. He met her gaze with an expression of suspicion, which she knew must have matched the look on her own face. She was unsure why the Cardassian warship would be accompanying Defiantto Deep Space 9, though it seemed clear that it must have aided in the mission to Torona IV. The commander of Trager,Gul Macet, had offered and then provided similar assistance during the evacuation of Europa Nova. Afterward, during the period Kira had been thought lost in the Delta Quadrant, Commander Vaughn had invited Macet to the station, and Tragerhad indeed been docked at DS9 when Kira had returned. At no time, though, had Macet or any of his crew come aboard; Vaughn had authorized some repairs to the battle-scarred vessel, and it had departed shortly after Kira’s arrival back on the station. Apparently, Macet had taken Tragerto join Defiant.
“Yes, sir,”Selzner confirmed. Kira considered contacting Vaughn before Defiantgot back to DS9 and asking him for an explanation, but she opted to trust his judgment. He had served as her executive officer for only a short time, but he had already demonstrated intelligence and perceptiveness, as well as a level head.
“All right,” Kira said. “I’ll be up to ops shortly. Kira out.” The comm channel closed, leaving her peering at Taran’atar, the distrustful aspect still decorating his face. She had seen that same look on the Jem’Hadar when Macet had first contacted her aboard Euphrates,back at Europa Nova.
“You are right not to trust him, Colonel,” Taran’atar offered.
“Maybe,” Kira said. “Macet helped us at Europa Nova, and he’s apparently helped out at Torona IV too, but…his continued presence around DS9 and Bajoran operations…it makes me nervous.”
“He is an admitted traitor,” Taran’atar said simply. And that was part of Kira’s problem. Macet had told her that he had fought in Damar’s resistance against the Dominion, and if that was true, it validated Taran’atar’s characterization of him; he had been a traitor to the Cardassian-Dominion alliance. But if Macet had been a turncoat, then it also meant that he had swung his loyalties to those Kira herself had supported. To complicate matters further, Macet was also a member of Dukat’s family. All of which combined to make it difficult to determine either Macet’s true intentions or his true nature.
“I know,” Kira told Taran’atar. “I know.” She glanced down at herself, at her muck-covered uniform and hands, and decided that she had indulged Taran’atar long enough. “Computer,” she said, “end program.”
Around her and Taran’atar, the world of the Rintanna faded out of existence, and with it, the holographic mud that had been clinging to her uniform. She started for the door, but then something occurred to her. She turned and immediately saw what she was looking for, sitting a couple of meters away on the floor of the holosuite. She quickly retrieved it. “Thank you for this,” she said, holding up the knife for Taran’atar to see. He inclined his head in response.
Kira slipped the knife into the sheath at her hip and headed for ops. Somehow, it seemed appropriate that she had armed herself before going to deal with the arrival of Macet.
6
Prynn Tenmei watched as the garnet tide rose in a massive wave. The surfer, a Bolian in a black wet suit, dropped in late, catching the steepest part of the wall of water. He rode down to the midpoint of the wave, then executed a slick series of gouges—sharp, fast turns—that threw fans of spray up from the tail of his yellow board. He straightened his course momentarily, then cut back and went vertical, climbing up toward the crest. The board sliced through the water swiftly and smoothly. He boosted, redirected the board in midair, and came down as the wave started to roll over. The lip pitched far and clean as he descended, the falls crashing down and forming a tube. The surfer shot the tube, carving up the wave with a level of skill Prynn had not often witnessed.
“Wow,” she said, expressing aloud her appreciation for the surfer’s exceptional abilities, even though she was alone in her quarters. She watched him ride the wave out, then reached up and operated the controls of the companel to replay the sequence. The entire recording, a collection of different surfers in different locales, lasted almost an hour, but this particular run impressed Prynn more than any other. Not only was the Bolian’s technique remarkable, but so too was the setting. The distinctive color of the water unmistakably established the location as the Canopus Planet, a place Prynn had never been. She had heard only superlative appraisals of the surfing there, though, and she intended to experience it for herself one day.
Although grateful that Captain Hoku had left the recording for her when Mjolnirhad docked at the station last week, Prynn was also disappointed that she had missed a chance to visit with her former commanding officer. Prynn’s first posting out of the Academy had been aboard Mjolnir,where she had learned a great deal…including the art of surfing. The captain hailed from Hawai’i, an archipelago in the middle of Earth’s Pacific Ocean, where surfing—or he’enalu,“wave sliding,” as the natives called it—had been practiced for more than a millennium. Prynn, unable to resist almost any activity that involved high velocity and any sort of piloting, had quickly taken to the sport, spending many of her off-hours aboard Mjolnirin the holodeck with one or another of the captain’s many simulations.
Prynn took hold of the arm of her chair and adjusted herself as the Bolian surfer began maneuvering again along the wave. A dull ache had suffused her midsection for days, and now her flesh had begun to itch. She lowered her hands to her sides, feeling through her shirt the specially treated dressing wrapping her lower torso. She had thought that once she was no longer confined to bed, it would be much easier to make herself comfortable, but that had turned out not to be the case. Part of the problem, she knew, lay in her own temperament; she enjoyed physical activities, and eschewed pursuits that required only sedentary involvement. Injured or not, she would have had a difficult time simply sitting around her quarters.
Prynn leaned her forearm heavily on the smooth surface of the companel and repositioned herself once more in the chair. Today was the first day since the accident that she had been allowed on her feet; she had spent the entire voyage back to the station in Defiant’s medical bay, and all of yesterday in DS9’s infirmary. Dr. Bashir claimed that her recovery was proceeding apace, but it already seemed as though her mobility had been limited, not for days, but for weeks. And though she felt better now than she had at any time since the explosion, she still tired easily.
The Bolian surfer completed his run for the second time, and Prynn deactivated the recording with a touch to the companel controls. “Computer,” she said. “Record a subspace message to Captain Kalena Hoku of the U.S.S. Mjolnir.”
“Proceed,”responded the computer.
“Captain Hoku, this is Prynn Tenmei,” she said, squarely facing the companel so that her image could be recorded. She smiled, happy to be in touch again with this woman she liked and respected so much. “When I returned to Deep Space 9 after your visit here, I was given the surfing—”
The door chime sounded, and a knot immediately formed in Prynn’s stomach. The smile left her face in an instant, as though it had fallen off. Only a handful of people on the station would be calling on her right now, and she did not wish to speak with any of them. “Computer,” she said, “stop recording and erase.”