Terok Nor_ Day Of The Vipers Part 15

He did as he was bid, letting a pulse of blue light flick across his eyes. In moments, the noninvasive bio-scan and retinal profile threw up a confirmation, and a light glowed on the arch. "You may proceed, sir," the woman said, and looked away, moving on to her next work item.

Dukat pa.s.sed through the arch, and a discreet door opened in the wall across from him. The turbolift inside rocked gently as it took him into the emba.s.sy's inner s.p.a.ces. The building followed standard Central Command design protocols; it was a bunker within a bunker, a hardened blockhouse constructed from reinforced thermoconcrete on a sonodanite frame, concealed inside a rectangular building made from the densest local stone available. Dukat had been in several facilities of identical form and function, from Arawath to Orias, and each was the same. The uniformity was comforting, in its own way.

The doors opened and Dukat was waved through to the jagul's office by a muscular glinn; and there he found Kell watching an oval holoframe, the transparent display hazing the air over his desk. Dukat saw grainy images, probably from the security monitors out on the emba.s.sy walls. A horde of Bajorans, a handful of them in Militia uniforms standing with their backs to the gates, the rest churning back and forth, shouting and brandishing pennants. The officer seemed to be only half interested in the screen, his attention wandering between that and a series of padds showing some kind of schematic.

He indicated the image. "Have I come at a bad time, Jagul Kell?"

"Dukat." Kell drew out the name, ignoring the question. "Here you are. Welcome to Bajor."

Dukat made a show of looking around. The jagul's office was heavily decorated with thick hardwood paneling from Cuellar, and there were artworks that showed scenes of Carda.s.sia Prime, a shelf of antique books. It was the polar opposite of the austerity of Dukat's own duty room aboard the Kashai. Kashai. "I feel as if I have not left the homeworld," he replied. "I feel as if I have not left the homeworld," he replied.

Kell smirked. "High rank means men are granted allowances." He shifted in his seat and pointedly did not offer Dukat the opportunity to take the empty chair across from his desk. Dukat studied the man. The stocky, uncompromising officer who had once commanded the Kornaire Kornaire was still there, but Kell had grown more portly in the intervening years. An increase in girth was to be expected as a man became an elder, of course, but the jagul was still some time away from earning that level of distinction. The tailoring of his duty armor did its best to conceal it, but there was only so far it could go. Dukat kept a sneer from his lips, holding his contempt and faint disgust for the man in check. was still there, but Kell had grown more portly in the intervening years. An increase in girth was to be expected as a man became an elder, of course, but the jagul was still some time away from earning that level of distinction. The tailoring of his duty armor did its best to conceal it, but there was only so far it could go. Dukat kept a sneer from his lips, holding his contempt and faint disgust for the man in check. Is this what you have been doing in your glorious posting, Kell? Growing fat on rich alien food, guzzling their drink? Is this what you have been doing in your glorious posting, Kell? Growing fat on rich alien food, guzzling their drink?

As if in reply, the jagul took up a gla.s.s of springwine and sipped it. "Carda.s.sia endures," he intoned. "Even beyond her borders, Carda.s.sia endures. Tell me, how many more of the Oralian rabble have you brought here?"

"One ship, the Lhemor." Lhemor." Dukat answered the question even though he knew Kell had all the details of the freighter and Bennek's pilgrims. "Other vessels are known to be preparing for voyages. The Oralians in the cities have been encouraged to vacate the population centers. They are being increasingly corralled in the outer territories, in shanty towns." Dukat answered the question even though he knew Kell had all the details of the freighter and Bennek's pilgrims. "Other vessels are known to be preparing for voyages. The Oralians in the cities have been encouraged to vacate the population centers. They are being increasingly corralled in the outer territories, in shanty towns."

"Enclaves..." Kell mused. "Rather like here on Bajor."

"Central Command estimates that a full third of all declared followers of the Oralian Way are offworld at this time."

"Following the pilgrim path to learn from the Prophets," mocked the jagul. "Well. That would seem to indicate we have them where we want them. Diminishing and ineffectual. The Union will be all the better for it."

"'And the betterment of the Carda.s.sian Union is the goal of all the nation's sons,'" Dukat replied, the axiom coming easily to him. "If I may ask, sir, how have you fulfilled that edict?"

Kell's eye twitched at Dukat's open challenge, but he opened his hands to take in the office. "Look around, Dal. While you loitered with the Talarians, I have worked to cement Carda.s.sia's foothold on this world." He frowned. "Perhaps not with the swiftness that Central Command wishes, but then the road to control must be taken with care."

Dukat made a noncommittal noise and glanced at a small sculpture made of jevonite. "I wonder. Do the Bajorans living here in Dahkur have any inkling of what lies inside the blunt planes of this building?" He raised the object to his eyes, studying it. "They would be most displeased to find you have inserted a covert military base into one of their major cities." He nodded to the walls. "I saw the secure hatches along the corridor." Most of the interior s.p.a.ces of a facility like this one were prefabricated rooms that locked together like a child's construction blocks, modular components beamed directly into place from ships in orbit. "I'm curious. How did you prevent the Bajorans from detecting the transporter signatures? Scattering fields, perhaps?"

As he expected, the jagul couldn't resist the opportunity to brag. "The trade with our homeworld has provided the Bajorans with some new sensor technology, which they use quite widely," he noted. "Of course, it is possible that those who built those sensors know them well enough to exploit any...blind spots."

"Ah," Dukat nodded. "But it's my understanding the Militia also operate sensor arrays using components of non-Carda.s.sian origin."

Kell mirrored his nod. "They do. Hardware that the Xepolites sold them." He sipped at the springwine. "Interesting to consider: Who might it be that sold the Xepolites their their technology?" The jagul smiled slightly. "You see, Dukat, there's nothing to cause any dismay among our gracious hosts." technology?" The jagul smiled slightly. "You see, Dukat, there's nothing to cause any dismay among our gracious hosts."

"And this?" Dukat pointed at the holoframe. "That's not dismay, dismay, as you call it?" as you call it?"

Kell gave an arch sniff. "Emba.s.sy matters are cla.s.sified at the highest level, Dal. I'm sure you understand."

"You need not worry about my clearances, Jagul. I'm here at the behest of the Central Command, and my orders are to evaluate the circ.u.mstances on Bajor." Dukat detected the twitch of annoyance in Kell's brow, but the other officer hid it quickly.

"It seems I was mistaken," Kell returned. "I was under the impression that you had been sent to Bajor, not on a mission of such great temerity as judging my command" judging my command"-his voice rose slightly-"but because you had fallen out of favor with the Legates."

It was Dukat's turn to hide a flash of anger. The riposte was too measured to have been a chance comment. How is he aware of my circ.u.mstances? How is he aware of my circ.u.mstances? Dukat wondered. Dukat wondered. Some agency funneled that information to him. Someone with a long reach. Some agency funneled that information to him. Someone with a long reach. "If you wish to ensure you don't find yourself in a similar condition, you might wish to curtail scenes like that," he snapped, nodding again at the rowdy demonstrators. He could make out Bajoran ideograms on the banners, and on some, in crude Carda.s.sian, exhortations for them to quit the planet. "If you wish to ensure you don't find yourself in a similar condition, you might wish to curtail scenes like that," he snapped, nodding again at the rowdy demonstrators. He could make out Bajoran ideograms on the banners, and on some, in crude Carda.s.sian, exhortations for them to quit the planet.

"On the contrary, Dukat, I'm allowing these protests to go on. In fact, I'm nurturing them."

"Explain."

Kell waved his hand in the air. "Nonlethal subsonics in the emba.s.sy's defense grid. Tuned correctly, over a limited area they can create a sense of agitation in the Bajoran hypothalamus..." He shrugged. "Forgive me, I understand the theory but the science of it is beyond me." Kell sniffed again. "When these so-called peaceful protests turn ugly, it serves us. The Bajorans become divided over the issue and Carda.s.sia is shown to be compa.s.sionate when I send my medical staff in to help the injured in the aftermath."

Dukat remembered the specialists in the atrium. Waiting for something. Waiting for something.

"Look at this," said Kell, offering him one of the padds as he snapped off the holoframe. "If Central Command is questioning my motivation, show them this as an example of my plans to better exploit Bajor for Carda.s.sia's gain."

The padd's memory contained schematics for another prefabricated facility, but this was a surface base for military starships. He saw a communications intelligence center, shuttlebays, s.p.a.ce for a trooper garrison. Dukat paged to the end. "A Carda.s.sian naval outpost on Bajor's outer moon? They would never let you build such a facility!" He tossed the padd back to the other man. "Is that the best you have to show?"

Kell's jaw stiffened. "You haven't changed, Dukat. Not one iota. You're still the same man you were when you were my officer, spare and arrogant." He grunted humorlessly. "I had thought you might have matured somewhat. I see I was wrong."

Dukat seethed inwardly, but refused to rise to the bait. "I would submit to you, sir, that perhaps your perceptions may have been influenced by your time among these aliens."

"Really?" Kell drawled.

Dukat fixed him with a hard eye. "It is our mission here to see that Bajorans become more like Carda.s.sians..." He let his gaze drop to Kell's gut. "Not that Carda.s.sians become more like Bajorans."

"You forget yourself, Dal," said the other man, putting a hard emphasis on Dukat's rank. "I've always considered your behavior to be insubordinate-"

The door to the office hissed open and the glinn Dukat had encountered outside rushed into the room. "Jagul! There's been an incident!"

Kell glared at him, angry at the interruption. "The demonstrators? As long as they don't attempt to breach the compound, let the Militia deal with them."

The glinn shook his head. "No, sir, it's something else."

The comcuff around Dukat's wrist vibrated with an alert signal, and he raised it to his lips, moving away from Kell's desk. "Report."

"In orbit," the glinn was saying, "the Bajoran commerce station..."

"Dal," Dukat recognized the voice of Dalin Tunol, his executive officer. She was clipped and businesslike. Dukat recognized the voice of Dalin Tunol, his executive officer. She was clipped and businesslike. "We have registered an uncontrolled energy discharge in the vicinity of the Cemba orbital platform." "We have registered an uncontrolled energy discharge in the vicinity of the Cemba orbital platform."

"An explosion?"

"Confirming..." There was a pause. There was a pause. "Dal, the freighter "Dal, the freighter Lhemor Lhemor appears to have suffered a core breach. The vessel was completely destroyed, and the detonation has caused major integrity loss on the platform. Reading power failures across the station. It's coming apart." appears to have suffered a core breach. The vessel was completely destroyed, and the detonation has caused major integrity loss on the platform. Reading power failures across the station. It's coming apart."

Dukat shot Kell a look, but the expression on the jagul's face made it clear the other man was as surprised by the turn of events as Dukat was. He spoke again. "Tunol, coordinate with all Union ships in orbit. Lock on and transport out any casualties, immediately. Give priority to Carda.s.sian life signs."

"We're attempting to comply, sir, but the radiation bloom from the blast is fouling our sensors."

"Do what you can. Dukat out."

Kell shot to his feet, knocking over the winegla.s.s and spilling the contents over his desk. "Did you have anything to do with this?" he demanded.

Dukat's eyes narrowed. "A question I was about to put to you."

11.

Placing his feet so he could stand evenly on the canted decking, Darrah Mace leaned forward and put his hand on the blast door. Patches of frost were already starting to form on the surface of the duranium plating, and the chill radiated out of the ice-cold metal. He threw a look at Proka Migdal, who was worrying at a messy cut above his eyebrow. "Vented?" asked the constable.

"Vented," repeated Darrah. On the other side of the hatch there was nothing but the airless vacuum of s.p.a.ce, and it was steadily leaching the heat from the sealed-off corridor.

Proka indicated an air vent over their heads. "Not a trickle coming through there, which means we're without life support. No telling how long what we got is going to last us. Couple of hours, maybe."

Darrah turned away, walking back along the carbon-scorched plates, picking his footing. "At least we still have gravity."

"For the moment," said the other man. "That could drop out anytime, too."

"That's it," Darrah said dryly, "you just keep thinking positively."

"You got a plan, boss?"

He eyed his subordinate. "What? Making it up as you go isn't a plan?"

"Not as such, no." Proka sighed. "I tried communications and the station intercom again, but there's nothing there. Sounds like a rainstorm coming over the channels."

Darrah nodded. "That tells us what the blast was, then. Radiological, not chemical."

The constable paled. "You...you think we caught a dose?"

"Likely. Don't fret. You're too ugly to have children anyway." Rounding the corner of the twisted corridor, they returned to the ragged group of survivors. The Oralians and the priests cl.u.s.tered together, many of them praying. There were a few men and women from the station crew they had found trapped in compartments off the companionway; but far more of the rooms had been sealed tight by emergency maglocks or else they yielded nothing but corpses.

He paused, crouching where Gar was lying on the deck. A Carda.s.sian was at his side, probing at his torso. "You know something about medicine?" The ranjen's skin was pale and his breathing was thready.

The Oralian priest looked up. "Only a little. I'm not sure how much I can apply to one of your people." He gave a weak, fragile grin. "I...I was just talking to him when it happened...Then the blast, and I didn't think, I just pushed him down..."

"What's your name?"

"Pasir..."

Darrah placed a hand on the alien's shoulder. "Pasir, listen to me. You saved the life of a good friend of mine. That means I owe you one, so as payback I'm going to get you and everyone else out of this mess, okay?" Pasir nodded. "You just look after my friend here and let me do the rest."

He stood and crossed to Proka. Bennek, the senior cleric, was talking in a low, intense voice to one of the Bajoran novices, a blond girl whose face was wet with tears. The Oralian priest threw Darrah a nod; he was deferring to the inspector.

"Boss," began Proka, "You think there's other people still alive, on the other decks?"

"If there are, there's not much we can do for them." Darrah heard the leaden tone in his own voice. "With all the blast hatches sealed and the lifts offline, we're trapped on this tier. First things first, we concentrate on getting these these people to safety." He paused, ma.s.saging his arm. The explosion had thrown him straight into a stanchion and popped his shoulder out of place. With Proka's help, he'd reset it, but the agony lingered on. He pointed and winced. people to safety." He paused, ma.s.saging his arm. The explosion had thrown him straight into a stanchion and popped his shoulder out of place. With Proka's help, he'd reset it, but the agony lingered on. He pointed and winced.

"Shuttle's on this level. We get to it, we can get away. It's not like we're in the deeps here, after all. We're in Bajor orbit. I'm willing to bet the sky all around is swarming with rescue ships. We just have to get to them."

"You make it sound easy,"

"I always do." Darrah gave him a smile. "I'm going to move ahead, scout down the length of the corridor to the shuttle dock. You stay here, keep the civilians from panicking."

"Got it."

He was stepping away when he saw the unfocused glaze in the other man's eyes. "Mig? What is it?"

Proka glanced up. "How did this happen? One second we're walking and talking, the next..." He trailed off. "I was at the front, I just heard the noise. Dennit was at the back, and she...I mean, the hatch came down and sealed off the compartment behind us."

Darrah nodded slowly. "Yeah. Dennit and a half-dozen of the Oralians. It would have been quick, Mig. We can thank the Prophets for that."

"She was going to come along to the prayko prayko game tonight," said the constable. "I always thought she was a bit stuck-up, but-" He stopped and swallowed hard. game tonight," said the constable. "I always thought she was a bit stuck-up, but-" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Right. "Right. Keep the civilians calm. Got it, sir." Keep the civilians calm. Got it, sir."

Darrah left him and picked his way between the survivors. His nose wrinkled at the mingled smells of blood, burnt skin, and the ozone from sparking short circuits. The corridor, normally square-shaped, was deformed and bent. He imagined it was like walking down the inside of a piece of bent pipe. He navigated around junctions and areas where support frames had collapsed. He was grateful he hadn't lost his phaser in the confusion; setting the weapon to a tight-beam, high-energy setting, he cut through a girder that blocked his way. With care, he stepped around the still-glowing metal edge and found the decking angled away from him, turning into a steep slope. The detonation-and what in fire's name had it been?-had apparently hit Cemba Station with such force that the platform had twisted under the impact. The realization made Darrah's throat go dry. The survivors in the corridor were probably alive only by some random chance, a freak interaction of the platform's structural integrity fields forming a temporary bubble in the middle of the s.p.a.ceframe. He thought about the rooms they had been unable to get into, the way the hatches were distorted and jammed in place. Anything organic inside there that was. .h.i.t by the concussion wave would be unrecognizable now, just a paste of meat and bone. The lawman's stomach turned over at the thought, and along with the roil of adrenaline shock still coursing through his system, Darrah felt hot acid bile coming up his throat.

He sank back on the decking and panted, forcing himself to calm down. "Focus, Mace," he said aloud. "Don't puke. That would be embarra.s.sing for everyone."

After a moment, he came up into a crouch and went forward in a ducking walk, bending to get under a half-open blast door that had locked in place. His skin tingled with an electric discharge in the air, and Darrah caught the sound of a resonant humming. Beyond the blast door was the boarding tunnel to the shuttle. He laid eyes on it and spat out a string of particularly choice gutter epithets.

A short distance from where he stood, using improvised handholds to keep himself up on the tilted floor, the corridor was blocked by a wavering green force field that prevented him from advancing any farther. He glanced around and saw the glowing emitter heads set in the ceiling and the walls. He knew that blasts from his pistol would destroy them and kill the field immediately; but what had made him curse with such venom was what lay on the other side of the energy barrier.

He could see the boarding tunnel clearly, and in fact he could see the shuttle too, still attached to the severed length of the corridor. It was drifting less than a linnipate from the station's hull, with nothing but airless s.p.a.ce and a cloud of metallic debris between them, severed cleanly. In any other circ.u.mstance, Darrah could have covered the distance in a few moments, but with no environmental suit, no way to stop the rest of the corridor outga.s.sing what atmosphere remained the moment the barrier went down, the d.a.m.ned thing might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy for all the good it would do. He swore again, and then turned back to retrace his steps.

Gar blinked, and it hurt like blades sc.r.a.ping the inside of his skull. There was a hand on his chest and a hazy shape hovering over him. "Careful, careful, brother. Try not to get up too quickly. You may have a concussion."

The ranjen nodded, and that made his head hurt even more. He felt as if a heavy weight had been attached to the back of his neck, and each time he moved it pulled on him. "Ah," he managed. "I...I'm all right. Comparatively speaking."

The dimness around him resolved into a smoky corridor full of injured and fearful faces, and the shapes that spoke became a pair of Carda.s.sians. "Ranjen Gar, thank the Way," said Bennek. "I feared you might not wake again."

"Don't move too fast," said Pasir. "You took a nasty blow to the head, and there are burns down your back."

"I feel them," Gar admitted, wincing at new pain.

"That's the Prophets telling me I'm not dead." He got into a sitting position and looked around. "Where...where is everyone else? The vedek?"

Arin appeared out of the shadows, lit by a flickering illuminator strip. "I am here, Osen. By the Temple's Grace, we have lost none of our number." He sighed. "I wish I could say the same for our Carda.s.sian cousins."

Gar looked at Bennek and the alien gave a solemn nod. He listened as the cleric explained what had taken place-the detonation, the shock wave, the loss of life. "But how could this happen?" he asked when the priest had finished. "Was it some kind of accident on board your vessel?"

"The Lhemor Lhemor was elderly," noted Pasir. "And in that statement, I am being generous." was elderly," noted Pasir. "And in that statement, I am being generous."

"Perhaps," said Bennek, "but would not any critical failure have been more likely to happen while we were at warp, when the ship was under the greatest stresses?"

"That doesn't necessarily follow." The law officer Proka added his voice. "Ships coming in to dock are more accident-p.r.o.ne than ones at sail."

"That's if it was an accident at all," returned Bennek.

"You can stow that kind of chatter right now." Gar heard footsteps, and Darrah Mace came into sight, his face grim and smeared with soot. "What matters is getting everyone here to safety. Air's running thin and our time's going with it."

"Inspector, perhaps it would be best if we remain here," suggested Arin. "The Militia know we are aboard Cemba. They won't abandon us."