“Tin-Mal?” Shar thought he knew the names of all the Yrythny Houses, but Tin-Mal wasn’t familiar to him.
“My Houseborn brothers and sisters are excavating the bones from the House crypt in an effort to make a point. I’ll have my office send over the Journals of Tin-Mal,” she said. “I’m certain they aren’t in the database you’ve been given.”
“You’re saying the historical and cultural data the Houseborn have been providing us is incomplete?”
Keren shrugged. “A politically sound tactic. Select the facts that prove your argument, suppress the rest.”
The constant push and pull of politics had always seemed futile to Shar. It had been his observation that after the arguing and manipulation and propaganda, truth eventually won out. Dealing in postulates and suppositions and perceptions…what a muddle. He liked pursuing causes he could measure—and not in votes. “What do the Houseborn want Lieutenant Dax to see?”
“The ancient majesty of these castles rising out of the water, with the lava and coral walls, sea glass sparkling. It’s quite seductive,” Keren reached over Shar’s shoulder, tapped in several access codes, bringing up a vid of an underwater seascape played on his viewscreen. “But Tin-Mal happened because both sides made mistakes and I believe she’ll see through the facade put up by Jeshoh’s people. She has to.”
But how would that help?Shar thought. For almost a week, Shar had stayed on Luthia. He had watched Houseborn and Wanderers live in segregated neighborhoods and walk on opposite bridges. Houseborn Yrythny congregated, usually by House affiliation, for dinner and social events. Wanderers, orphans all, used separate eating and recreational facilities. How Ezri Dax could find a working solution when the Yrythny were determined to live separately, Shar couldn’t imagine. Behavior patterns had been ingrained for generations. And now, with the Cheka siege, when the planet would most benefit from putting internal disputes aside, the Houseborn and Wanderers seemed to be finding more reasons than ever to distrust each other. If only I had more time for my study,he thought. A realist, he knew that science couldn’t solve everything, but it was a solid way to start.
Keren interrupted his thoughts. “You’re certainly solemn about something.”
Shar flushed. “I-I—” he sighed. “I have an idea about how to approach your internal issues, but I don’t have enough time or resources to make it workable.”
“Go on,” Keren said, resting her elbows on the desk and watching him intently.
“I’ve studied your DNA and to say that it’s a marvel of genetics is an understatement.” He’d spent hours last night, watching the computer simulate Yrythny cellular mitosis, the DNA unzipping, spiraling in a dance of base pairs lacing together to create life. “I have a…a hypothesis that whoever aided your evolutionary process—call it the Other if it suits you—whoever could engineer your biochemistry to the extent I’ve observed so far, could have forecast problems with genetic drift or mutation. Like those recessive traits that make Wanderers, Wanderers.”
“And you think the answer to our problem might be in the Turn Key?”
Shar nodded. “Maybe. But access to your labs is restricted—even to Ezri—and I can’t organize a statistically significant sampling in the time we’ve been given.”
“For fear of the Cheka stealing and exploiting our results, we haven’t done significant genetic research in decades. What we havedone is barricade what data we have behind layers and layers of security.” She furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “You need a large body of DNA samples to make your generalizations and forecast possible conclusions, correct?”
“Yes,” Shar answered. “And because one of my specialties is cytogenetics, I’m actually uniquely qualified to undertake genetic mapping. I could process the information quickly if I had it.”
“Let me look into it,” Keren said. “I may be able to help.” She turned on her heel to go, but suddenly spun back around. “Oh. I almost forgot the reason I came to see you. The Cheka broke through the defense perimeter again.”
“That’s the third time since we’ve been here.” Beetlelike strikers had penetrated Yrythny defenses, raided the mating grounds and attacked planetside villages. The assaults happened so quickly that the military could rarely be mustered in time.
“The Cheka are getting impatient. I know at least three of the systems under their domination are revolting. To maintain the military advantage—at least as far as the numbers go—they’re going to need to augment their armies, especially if they plan to continue their expansion.”
“Negotiating a treaty with the Cheka isn’t possible? Shar asked. “If their goal is to isolate the Turn Key in your DNA strands, why not just give them the computer models? Or cryogenically preserve cellular samples?”
“The Cheka are only satisfied with fertilized, viable eggs that they can experiment on as they develop. They do surgery. Augmentations. They monitor when certain genes are activated in the course of maturing so they can develop their own chromosomal map.”
“Successful research sometimes requires unorthodox methodology,” Shar conceded, guessing that while the Cheka approach might not be ethical by Federation standards, the moral codes governing Cheka society might view experimentation on sentients differently.
Filmy eyelids lifting abruptly, she gaped at him. “You’re thinking reasonably. That’s your first mistake. The Cheka aren’t reasonable.”
Shar believed the Yrythny perceived the Cheka as evil, but civil war was an evil of a different kind—a reality that loomed larger each time they violated the perimeter, for every ship that a web weapon destroyed. “Still. The Cheka blockade is exacerbating the discord among the Yrythny. Is there no compromise to be reached?”
“I have something to show you,” Keren had crossed to the door before Shar could turn off and secure his terminal.
“I have a meeting,” Shar protested, knowing every postponed item carved precious minutes from his research.
“On my authority, consider it canceled,” she said.
“But—”
“Please, Thirishar,” Keren said. “This is more important.”
How the message arrived on Vaughn’s workstation aboard the Avaril,the commander never learned. He had intended on sending a recorded greeting to Dax on subspace, updating her as to the latest stumbling block when he noticed a blinking yellow light. Touching the button affiliated with the light had launched an audio message. M’Yeoh had been right: a shadow trader had found them. The trader had designated a time and place for a meeting where they would discuss terms. Vaughn was to come alone.
So he stood, as instructed, in the hall outside the Cheka suite, wondering if he was supposed to knock.
On the other side of the door, the shadow trader, a Cheka named L’Gon, waited. If he had been truthful, he owned the load that would solve Vaughn’s (and thus the Defiant’s) problem. Vaughn’s concern was that while he technically honored L’Gon’s request and came alone, L’Gon was under no obligation to do the same. In fact, Vaughn believed that the Cheka Master General, several platoons of soldiers and whatever entourage a Master General traveled with would also be inside, but not a single operative representing his crew’s interests. If there was any other way to get this job done….
Two hours ago, he’d sat in the repair bay with Nog, Bashir and several of the engineering staff, watching computer simulations of Nog’s proposed Defiantdefense system. Every alloy Nog had synthesized failed. Most of the femtobots were destroyed as soon as they were deployed beneath the shield envelope. The femtobot defense would have to be scrapped unless a solution could be devised. Attempting to leave this region without protection against the Cheka weapon wasn’t an acceptable risk as far as Vaughn was concerned. Yrythny intelligence had persuaded him that they would be facing additional Cheka weapon deployments indefinitely. With time, we could find an alternative, but next to this raw material we need to make Nog’s scheme work, time is the commodity we lack the most.Vaughn had resigned himself to dealing with L’Gon.