Still convinced Asarem had an angle, Kira said suspiciously, “Ordered?”
“Shakaar instructed me to take a hard-line position,” Asarem explained. “He told me to make it, in his exact words, ‘as difficult as possible’ to find reconciliation.”
“Shakaar wouldn’t do that.”
Shaking her head, Asarem plopped down in a chair and sighed resignedly. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Considering your history with him.”
Forcing herself to consider that Asaraem was being truthful with her, Kira tried to visualize the talks from the minister’s perspective. How aggravating it must be to have to sit, day after day, representing an agenda not of your own making. Kira imagined that spinning fabrications, deliberately blocking legitimate dialogue would take a toll on a person of integrity; an alibi existed for Asarem’s seeming unreasonableness. But what was Shakaar trying to do?“If that’s true—” she looked directly at Asarem.
The minister met Kira’s eyes. “Then he lied to you.” She let her words linger between them before offering further explanation.
A tightening in her chest made the air in the room feel too thin to breathe; the implications of Asarem’s accusations were staggering. Kira rubbed her temples with the heels of her hands. Asarem waited while Kira struggled to formulate a response. Finding that quick explanations for the inexplicable proved futile, Kira said nothing. She didn’t know what to say.
“If you don’t believe it, go to him,” Asarem said, not unkindly. “He comes back tomorrow sometime. Ask him. See if he’s brave enough to be honest with you.” Soundlessly, she left Kira alone in the half light to struggle through what she’d do next.
She was sitting there still when Ro’s urgent page found her.
19
Talk about your circadian rhythms being off.
Not long after being snatched off the Defiant,day and night blended together for Nog. Constantly wearing a hood would do that to a person. He vaguely recalled being woken several times. After the gag was yanked out of his mouth, someone held up water for him to drink and shoved stale kelp cakes into his mouth. Given a choice, Nog would have passed on the kelp cakes.
While he couldn’t see, his already superior auditory abilities were significantly heightened. He heard every opening door, could count the number of Yrythny passing by and understand most of the conversations. If what he picked up from eavesdropping was true, the Avaril’s general population wasn’t aware he’d been stowed away in a storage closet near engineering. He knew he was close by engineering from the tone of the plasma coursing through the conduits, the rhythmic percussion of the warp core. The engines’ presence comforted him.
Whoever his captor or captors were, they went to significant lengths to avoid being identified, utilizing different clothing, shoes, scents and never speaking when he might overhear. Consequently, he had no idea what his ultimate destination might be. Whether he was fated to be held hostage for ransom, killed, or sold to be the cabin boy for some Cheka general, Nog wasn’t sure. If killed, he hoped his kidnappers would have the decency to send his body to Commander Vaughn. His father, at least, ought to have an opportunity to profit from Nog’s misfortunes. The desiccated remains of the first Ferengi in Starfleet had to be worth something.Sobering thoughts for a young Ferengi.
While he might not know what time of day it was, Nog heard feet shuffling in the corridor at every shift change. Vanìmel is a day away, give or take six hours, accounting for the time I was knocked unconscious. With any luck, my present circumstances are a misunderstanding and my gracious hosts will put me in touch with Commander Vaughn as soon as we touch down.
The pitch of the warp engines vibrating through the deckplates suddenly dropped to nothing; Nog heard the impulse engine attempt, unsuccessfully, to engage. Given the back up systems on Avaril,impulse should be available soon, but not for another fifteen minutes or so. The Avarilwas adrift. The expected panicked footsteps rushed up and down the corridor. Still no engine. Nog guessed at least ten minutes had passed since the warp core failed.
The storage closet door swished open. Hands grabbed at Nog, hefting him into the air. A Yrythny threw him over a shoulder, the gag stopped his protestations; his bound hands and feet prevented him from fighting his way free. The hood stayed in place, but Nog discerned the general direction his captors took him: a quick transport car downward. The air on the lowest decks had a dank, dusty quality. Hazarding a guess, he was being hauled to the Avaril’sshuttlebay and taken…he had no idea. There were two Yrythny in his party; neither of them spoke. Doors opened and shut until the distinctively hollow sound of footsteps on metal gratings confirmed Nog’s suspicions. A pause while the group waited for a shuttle’s doors to open. Nog was thrown, like baggage, into the rear of the craft. He listened as switches flipped, engines activated, a preflight diagnostic run. He had no clue how long they would idle in the shuttlebay or where he was being taken, but he suspected it had to do with the tricorder holding the cloaking specs (actually a homing beacon—very clever). Nog put his faith in the Great River, hoping that once again it would provide in his hour of need.
* * *
With Defiantmaintaining its cloak, Vaughn sat on the bridge, watching the pieces of the chessboard move into place. He would make his move when he was ready and not a moment before.
All eyes watched as the Avarilcontinued plodding toward Vanìmel while the Cheka ship maintained a parallel course beside her. The main viewscreen displayed a computer-generated graphic of an uninhabited planetary system where Bowers had projected the Cheka would intercept the Yrythny.
The first piece fell into place when the Avaril,a green ellipse on the screen, tumbled out of warp, and stalled. The Defiant’s scans indicated internal engineering problems—not even impulse engines could be activated. She was stranded.
“The Avarilis transmitting a request for emergency assistance to Luthia control. They suspect internal sabotage to their engines,” Bowers reported.
“Continue to monitor communications, Lieutenant,” Vaughn ordered. At least initial appearances indicated that J’Maah hadn’t sold them out.
The Avarilhad only minutes to cope with their misfortune before the Cheka warship Ston’yan,a diamond-shaped graphic in red, rumbled into position off the Avaril’s port side.
“Ston’yandropping out of warp and powering weapons. Avarilunable to activate defensive shielding,” Bowers announced. He looked up at Vaughn. “Showdown at the O.K. Corral.”
Vaughn laughed grimly, wishing this could be settled with the sheriff and the black hat dueling with Colts at high noon. Here we go,he thought, rising from his chair. “Sound red alert. All crew to battle stations. Ensign Tenmei, ahead full, course one-nine-seven mark two.” It was a trajectory that would place them dead center between the Avariland the Ston’yan.
“Avaril,twenty-six million kilometers,” Prynn announced.
“Steady as she goes, Ensign. Any sign of attack from the Cheka, Mr. Bowers?”
“No, sir. The Ston’yanremains on alert.”
On the outside, Vaughn remained composed. No need to add to the anxiety of his crew; on the inside, he held his breath. Within minutes, they would know whether they had a chance at rescuing Nog.