“The risk to you was actually quite minimal,” T’Prynn answered. “Neera would not allow Ganz to take any action which might endanger the relative protection their ship receives merely by being docked at the station.”
Pennington scowled. “Right, Neera.” He recalled what T’Prynn had told him about the truth behind Ganz’s organization, and Orion women in general. According to the Vulcan’s intelligence-gathering efforts, Neera was the true head behind Ganz’s criminal enterprise, allowing her lover to act as its public face while she pulled his strings from a position of relative anonymity. It was a startling revelation, given the common perception of Orion females and their role in the supposedly maledominated culture. “Something tells me that if she wields that kind of power, she can order the removal of a bothersome journalist without too much trouble.”
T’Prynn’s eyebrow cocked again. “In that unlikely event, we would have ensured that any funeral expenses were addressed.”
Releasing a chuckle, Pennington replied, “Good to know. With friends like you, and all that.”
“I really must return to my duties, Mister Pennington,” T’Prynn said, once more turning to leave. “Thank you again.” She said nothing else as she entered one of the nearby turbolifts, but her eyes met his, and he could swear he caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth just as the lift doors closed. Once she was gone, Pennington stood alone in the corridor, shaking his head in disbelief.
No matter how long he lived, he was certain he never would understand that woman.
2
I must be out of my mind.
Sitting at a quiet table in one corner of the central bar on the Omari-Ekon’s gaming floor, Diego Reyes feigned indifference as he sipped his drink and watched the comings and goings of various patrons. Though most of the customers, humans as well as representatives of more species than he had fingers to count, appeared to be civilians—residents of Vanguard or crew members from the different freighters and other transport craft currently docked at the station—Reyes also noted a dozen or so Starfleet uniforms sprinkled among the crowd. No one he saw appeared to be taking any notice of him, but he did not rule out one or more of Ganz’s people watching his every move. The Orion merchant prince was not about to let him wander about his ship with anything more than a semblance of freedom and autonomy. Reyes expected even that illusion to vanish the instant Ganz decided there was nothing more to be gained by the presence of a disgraced Starfleet officer who now lived as a fugitive from Federation law.
He had considered surrendering himself, but almost as quickly dismissed the notion. As much as Ganz might not want him on his ship, he likely found the idea of Reyes blathering everything he knew about the inner workings of the Omari-Ekonand its crew to Admiral Nogura even less appealing. The former commodore knew how things likely would play out; he would suffer some kind of unfortunate accident or simply disappear altogether without explanation. The chances that Reyes would be able to leave the ship before being captured by Ganz’s men and suffering such a fate were slim at best.
Calling for transport would also not be an option. Even if Ganz did not employ sensor-scattering technology as well as transporter inhibitors throughout his ship, Federation regulations prevented such incursions into sovereign territory without the home government’s consent. Any attempt to retrieve Reyes, even if he signaled for such an extraction, would create an interstellar incident not needed by the Federation or Starfleet, and least of all Admiral Nogura. Retrieving one wayward fugitive was not worth the political fallout that would result from such brazen action.
So, the trick seems to be making me worth the effort.
That seemed to be the thinking, if what Tim Pennington had conveyed to him was to be believed. It had taken Reyes a moment to comprehend the code phrase the journalist conveyed to him, couched as it was in the question he had asked about Reyes wanting to have messages dispatched to anyone. T’Prynn had managed to get a message to him soon after the Omari-Ekon’s return to Vanguard, letting him know that the key phrase was one that might be given to him at some point, should the intelligence officer have need to communicate with him. By asking if he wanted to dispatch a message to his mother, T’Prynn was asking Reyes if he was willing to act as a covert operative on Starfleet’s behalf while living aboard the Orion ship. Reyes was sure she would make such a request only if she believed he could provide information unobtainable by other means, and he had hesitated only a moment before offering a response that he knew T’Prynn would interpret as his willingness to collaborate with her. There was no way to know at this point what the Vulcan might be after, and that likely was by design, in order to insulate Reyes as much as possible should his activities be discovered and he was interrogated or even tortured by Ganz’s men.
Well, there’s something to look forward to. Grunting in approval of his own observation, Reyes punctuated the thought by tossing back the last of the Aldebaran whiskey in his glass, wondering when or if the infernal concoction might take to eating a hole through his stomach lining. He cast one last look around the bar, deciding that no other familiar faces—enemy or ally—were lurking among the crowd, partaking of the gambling tables, the bar, or anything else the gaming floor might have to offer. Reyes inserted his credit chip into the payment slot at the center of the table and allowed the bar’s computer to extract from his account the payment for his bar tab. That bit of business concluded, he began making his way across the gaming floor, ignoring the calls from dealers at numerous tables and the suggestive looks and gestures of the various provocatively dressed women, as well as a few men, milling about the room. None of the wares offered by Ganz’s legion of vice enablers interested him, for personal as well as practical reasons. The last thing he wanted was to engage in any activity—gambling, drinking to excess, or finding temporary solace in the company of an escort—that might place him in a vulnerable position and provide any sort of leverage for Ganz to exploit. He had enough to worry about without looking for additional trouble.
Trouble, however, had a knack for finding him.
“Human.”
The voice, low and measured, came from behind Reyes, and when he turned to face the speaker he found himself staring into the face of an Orion male. Unlike the security guards, who were big and muscled and wore clothing to accent their physiques, this Orion was dressed in a simple if well-tailored suit of a style Reyes had seen favored by Deltan males. Reyes had seen him before, usually talking with employees on the gaming deck, and recalled that his name was Lekkar, an accountant or floor manager or some other sort of administrative cog in the wheel of Ganz’s organization. He was not an enforcer or “lieutenant”—his mode of dress suggested a low-level supervisor in the Omari-Ekon’sfood chain—though it was possible he might be carrying at least one weapon concealed on his person. He probably fancied himself someone of greater importance, if only in his own mind, which might make him dangerous.
Getting cynical in your old age, aren’t you?
“Yes?” Reyes asked, keeping his tone casual and doing his best to affect a pleasant demeanor. “I already told the hostess I wouldn’t be staying for dinner.” As he expected, Lekkar said nothing, though the clenching of his jaw was enough to convey that he did not enjoy being compared to one of the bar’s common employees. It was but one of numerous subtle verbal jabs Reyes had employed during his prolonged stay aboard the Omari-Ekon,which did little to enhance his stature in the eyes of Ganz and his people, but was enough to offer Reyes some measure of amusement from time to time.