Night Of The Wolves Part 29

"Right. They do a lot of trade in and around the Bajoran sector. There's even a regularly scheduled run that goes between Lissepia and New Sydney every two weeks, and they go right through the B'hava'el system."

Ro still couldn't see any significance in the information and she shrugged, waiting to hear more.

"That run is usually carrying a very unstable cargo-unprocessed uridium. They're not supposed to carry more than a certain amount, according to regulation, but they're a profit-minded bunch, and they routinely ignore the rules. They have begun taking on bigger and bigger loads lately, from what we've been hearing. I'm sure they're making an absolute fortune on it."

Ro frowned, beginning to see where this was going. "Those s.h.i.+ps...if their cargo were exposed to a big enough electrical discharge..."

"They're bombs waiting to happen," Bis told her. "Very powerful bombs. And there's one particular Ferengi s.h.i.+p in the fleet that does a routine stopover in this system-"

"-at Terok Nor," Ro finished.

Bis nodded, pleased she had caught on. "That's right," he said. "And that's where you come in, Laren. I don't know anyone on Valo II who has even the faintest idea how to override a security system, but you, you could sneak onto that Ferengi vessel and spike one of the containers with an electrical bomb. It could be set to go off just as soon as the s.h.i.+p docks, and if we get to it just before it heads for Terok Nor-"

Ro was shaking her head. She was vaguely aware of at least one truth about Terok Nor: there were more Bajorans on that station than there were Carda.s.sians. Innocent Bajorans-people who had been brought there against their will and forced to labor in what were supposed to be the most abysmal conditions one could imagine, second only to the horror stories she'd heard about Gallitep.

Bis misread her hesitation, and he smiled rea.s.suringly. "I've thought of all the details, Laren," he told her. "I've been putting this plan together for over a year. Contacting you was the next step, and now that you're here, nothing can go wrong. If you come back with me to Valo II, I can tell you everything. What do you say, are you in?"

Ro looked around Jeraddo, looked at her raider where she had left it, and paused. This plan was madness, for more reasons than she could even begin to address. But she could only think of Tokiah, his saying, "Maybe you shouldn't come back." "Maybe you shouldn't come back."

"I'm in," she said softly, and Bis surprised her by throwing his arms around her and letting out a whoop of triumph. Startled, she hung in his arms like a limp fish, having managed to avoid being embraced by anyone since she was a child. He released her, probably sensing her discomfort, and the two began the walk back to his s.h.i.+p, Bis rattling off more details about his reckless plan, Ro pus.h.i.+ng away the uncomfortable thoughts that were beginning to stir her conscience.

For all the worrying Mora had been doing about Dukat's visit to the inst.i.tute, the prefect paid him approximately no attention whatsoever. Yopal had not been wrong when she'd advised him that Dukat would only be interested in weapons systems, for he spent almost the entire visit talking to Daul and the new scientist, Kalisi Reyar. The prefect left without so much as a h.e.l.lo to Mora-not that Mora would have wanted it any other way.

With Gul Dukat gone, Mora could finally let down his guard a bit. He eased his nerves with a uniformly dull task, performing a routine calibration on some of his tools. Daul entered his laboratory quietly.

"h.e.l.lo, Pol," the other Bajoran greeted him. Mora hadn't spoken to his colleague since well before Dukat's visit. They hadn't spent much time together at all, in recent weeks.

"h.e.l.lo, Mirosha. Did you survive your encounter with the prefect?"

"I did, though I won't pretend that I enjoyed it."

Mora chuckled. "I'd bet not. I'm thankful he left me alone."

"Yes, well. He wanted to talk with me about the system at Gallitep. He was pleased with the work I did before, and apparently he found me trustworthy enough to send me to the actual camp, this time."

Mora stiffened. He wasn't sure what to say to his old friend, and he merely followed up with an "Ah," and a clearing of his throat.

There was a moment of silence before Daul softly spoke again. "Are you curious to know what I saw there? Why he wanted me to go?"

Mora cleared his throat again. "Not really," he said.

"No, I'm sure it's easier for you not to think about it, as it would be for me, if I wasn't forced to. It seems that our benevolent Carda.s.sian benefactors have elected to shut down the mining camp. They've finally managed to strip it clean of anything they deem useful. That means the workers there will have to be properly disposed of, since so many of them are suffering from Kalla-Nohra syndrome and aren't worth the effort of transporting elsewhere. As for the others, those who are still healthy-well, my understanding is that it would be inefficient to try and weed out who is sick and who isn't, so..." Daul shrugged. "I'm to disable the artificial intelligence program before the...genocide begins in earnest."

Mora felt sick. "I-I'm sorry, Mirosha. It's not pleasant, I know, but...it's what we must do, to stay alive."

"That's right," Daul said. "And I've heard you're to be paired up with Doctor Reyar. I wonder if you know what she's working on. It's an anti-aircraft system, to shoot down Bajoran raiders as they attempt to leave the atmosphere. I'm told it's a brilliant concept."

"Is that right?" Mora kept inflection from his voice.

"Doesn't this bother you, Mora? Doesn't your conscience trouble you? For you have to know that we are collaborators here. Nothing less than traitors to our own people."

Mora shook his head. "I don't know if I see it that way," he said, his voice still low and careful. "We're following orders, Mirosha. If we tried to do anything differently, we'd be killed, and replaced by someone else."

Daul stared at him a long moment before answering. "That's one way to look at it," he said finally.

Mora continued on with his equipment as Daul left the room, and wondered if it was true, about the anti-aircraft system. Well, Well, he reasoned, he reasoned, everyone knows the rebels are all as good as dead. It's inevitable that they will eventually be killed, or caught and executed. Perhaps I'd be doing them a kindness, helping to speed up the process of putting a stop to the rebellion. They're fools, doing what they do, and for what? everyone knows the rebels are all as good as dead. It's inevitable that they will eventually be killed, or caught and executed. Perhaps I'd be doing them a kindness, helping to speed up the process of putting a stop to the rebellion. They're fools, doing what they do, and for what?

"For what?" he repeated out loud. For freedom? For freedom? It seemed preposterous. The Bajorans would never be free, not with the hold the Carda.s.sians had on this world. Compliance was the best alternative. At least it was a better alternative than death. It seemed preposterous. The Bajorans would never be free, not with the hold the Carda.s.sians had on this world. Compliance was the best alternative. At least it was a better alternative than death.

Valo II looked exactly as Ro had remembered it, only somehow even more depressing. Clearly there had been a bit of a population explosion since she had seen it last, for the cl.u.s.ters of shanty structures and tents near the landing field had trickled back farther into the scrubby brush, and the shabby town where Bis's father lived was even more crowded than she remembered it. There were people everywhere, and they all looked unhealthy. Rheumy eyes; hacking, persistent coughs; open sores; drawn, emaciated faces. People were walking through the worn corridors between the tightly packed houses, carrying baskets of soiled rags, dried alien-looking fruits, or headless porli porli fowl. Lean and rawboned women walked surrounded by their dirty children. Old men sat on the ground in scattered hopeless groups, talking reservedly and smoking fowl. Lean and rawboned women walked surrounded by their dirty children. Old men sat on the ground in scattered hopeless groups, talking reservedly and smoking hiuna hiuna leaf-a cheap, unhealthy crop that helped to stave off hunger but shortened the life span significantly with its resulting ailments. leaf-a cheap, unhealthy crop that helped to stave off hunger but shortened the life span significantly with its resulting ailments.

In fact, Ro thought, everyone here was slowly dying in one way or another: respiratory afflictions, starvation, communicable disease, or exposure. It sickened Ro to acknowledge to herself that at least the Bajorans back on their homeworld had the Carda.s.sians to feed them-in exchange for slavery. She wondered if, despite its terrible appearance, Valo II might be preferable to Bajor for that reason.

Bis spoke to her as they walked. "In three days," he told her, "the Ferengi captain-DaiMon Gart, he's called-will be docking at the moon of a gas giant not far from this system. That will be his last stop before Terok Nor, and that's where you'll take the device to his s.h.i.+p."

"That simple, is it?" Ro replied, trying not to stare at a woman with an especially prominent neck goiter.

"For you it will be," Bis said confidently.

"But what if I can't do it?" Ro said softly. "I don't know the first thing about Ferengi security systems."

"We can have a look at the freighter," Bis said. "That should give you some ideas, shouldn't it?"

Ro sighed. "It might," she said, but she still felt doubtful.

"Look, if all else fails, you can just bribe him to get on the s.h.i.+p."

"Why would he agree to that?"

"The same reason he agreed to take on such an incredibly dangerous cargo in the first place."

"What am I supposed to bribe him with?"

Bis frowned. "That's one part of the plan that might not work quite so well," he confessed. "You see, we have a stolen Carda.s.sian padd, and we might be able to convince him that he can access Carda.s.sian pa.s.scodes with the device...but we're not sure if he'd believe it-"

"I thought you had this all figured out."

"Well," Bis said, "there is one other solution."

"What's that?" Ro said sourly.

"Seduce him."

Ro stared at him in disbelief before she broke out in rueful laughter.

"What's so funny about that?" Bis protested. They had come to his father's house, and Ro followed him inside.

"Right. Me, seduce an alien. Me, seduce...anyone," she snorted.

The house was dark, and Bis lit a candle on the mantelpiece of a crumbling fireplace. It was likely this house had been built here long before the Carda.s.sians came to Bajor, when the world was still considered an exciting new frontier land, a promising place to settle. Ro looked around the room and saw how those auspicious hopes had eroded. The room, with stone walls and a cracked and deteriorating wood floor, was blackened with the smoke from cooking fires and smelled strongly of ash and dirt. There was almost no furniture, aside from three sleeping pallets that were arranged around the fireplace.

"This is where you sleep?" She gestured to the pallets.

"No," he said. "My cousin's children sleep there. He had no room for them in his own house-he lives with his sister-in-law. His wife is dead, and we took in the children when his sister-in-law's house got too crowded." Bis took the candle and gestured to a corridor that led them to the back of the square house, and Ro followed him before he stopped.

"Why would you say that?" he asked softly.

"Say what?"

"About you...seducing anyone?" He looked embarra.s.sed.

"Because it's absurd," she told him sharply.

"Haven't you ever-" He stopped, and she was forced to look away. She considered what he was asking before she replied.

"No," she finally said. "I haven't."

The candle flickering between them, Ro was aware of the sudden awkwardness there, too, standing in the corridor between the tiny rooms of this desolate house.

Bis stepped into one of the small rooms, revealing a bare pallet, a heap of worn clothing. He set the candle on a small, rough chest, the light casting long shadows across their faces, and turned to face her. He put his arms around her then, the feeling strange and terrifying and electric. As she had been on Jeraddo, she was clumsy in his embrace, not sure how to respond. But her body knew, and after a long, warm moment, she felt herself soften to his touch. n.o.body had ever approached her this way, and as he drew back to kiss her, his face moving toward hers, she realized, for the first time, how much she had wished that someone would.

Kira pulled a knot of something unpleasant out of her mouth. A bone, perhaps? She hoped it was a bone, for something about the shape of it suggested a tiny little beak. She examined it, decided it was just a bone splinter, and laid it down on the long wooden table where the members of the cell took their meals together. "Ugh," she exclaimed. "Who made this food? Furel?"

"It was Shakaar," Dakhana Vaas told her, nodding toward the back of the cave.

"Oh," Kira said, a little embarra.s.sed. She wouldn't want Shakaar to hear her complaining.

"It's all right, little girl, he knows he can't cook."

Kira resented Dakhana calling her "little girl," since they were only a couple of years apart, and anyway, Kira had been with the cell for more than a year. She silently wished she was taller, or at least as tall as Dakhana.

Shakaar came into the main body of the cave from where he'd been sitting with his precious and notoriously troublesome comm system since just before mealtime. He leaned his hands against the end of the table, his expression suggesting news.

"Listen up," he said, the unusual tension in his voice imploring everyone to look up. The older members of the cell occasionally heckled Shakaar for his tendency to mumble, but he was not mumbling now. "We've got a chance to get into Gallitep."

"Gallitep!" Dakhana exclaimed. "Who's your informant? Is he reliable?"

"I believe so," Shakaar said. "But even if it's just a rumor, this is an opportunity that I don't think we should pa.s.s up. It's too important. The Carda.s.sians have decided to shut down the place for good. It's too much trouble to relocate the Bajoran workers, so..." he trailed off, pa.s.sing a hand over his grim face.

"So they're going to kill them instead," Furel said, the disgust in his voice plain.

"Yes," Shakaar said. "Right now, I just need a couple of volunteers to go down and meet with this contact in order to get more information about the plan. It's a little risky-"

"Risky," Dakhana warned. "Shakaar, we're talking about Gallitep! There's no way to even approach that camp; there's nothing around for kellipate kellipates except b.o.o.by-traps and Carda.s.sian patrols, the air security has to be the tightest anywhere on the planet, and Gul Darhe'el is-"

"I'm talking about a meeting at a safe location not far from here," Shakaar said. "I wouldn't usually ask anyone to meet with a contact when I can't vouch for his reliability. But like you said, Vaas, this is Gallitep. This person is supposed to have inside knowledge of the camp, and it could be the only way anyone could even-"

Kira spoke up before anyone else could. "I can go."

Shakaar turned to her, hesitating. Kira was sure he was going to say no, but he surprised her. "Okay, I have one volunteer. Who else?"

"Well, I'll go with her, of course," Lupaza said. "So that means Furel is coming."

Furel folded his arms and nodded without a word, his eyes reflecting hard determination. Kira wondered if he might have known someone who had been taken to the camp; almost everyone had relatives who had died or gone to work camps, but Gallitep was different.

"That should be fine," Shakaar told them. "You're to go and meet this person at the Artist's Palette at six-bells tomorrow. Whoever he is, he's asked that we perform some sort of favor in exchange for the information. I don't know what the favor is, but-"

"But I'm sure we can handle it," Furel finished. "We will will handle it." handle it."

Shakaar nodded. "If this information is legitimate, we can't afford to be skeptical. Those people in that camp can't afford it, either. This is their last chance, and it sounds like we don't have much time." His gaze panned around the room. "This is one that we have to get right, no matter the cost."

He had no doubt that Gul Dukat was going to be furious when he delivered this piece of news, but Ba.s.so Tromac could scarcely conceal his persistent smile when he approached the prefect's office. Of course, he would not have the satisfaction of saying "I told you so," not to Dukat. Such a move would certainly mean a death sentence for anyone, especially for a Bajoran. But at least Ba.s.so would get to see the look on his face; that alone would be worth the outburst that was sure to follow.

"Gul," Ba.s.so addressed the prefect as he entered the office, seating himself behind the enormous desk without being asked; his relations.h.i.+p with the prefect had at least become secure enough that he no longer had to wait for permission just to sit down in his presence. Dukat looked up from his filing computer, gave him a nod, and pressed his fingertips together, an expression of impatient expectation on his face.

"I must warn you that what I'm about to tell you is going to be very...disappointing," Ba.s.so began.

Dukat looked weary. "Yes, you said as much this morning, when you asked to meet with me. Now suppose you get to the point, Ba.s.so."

"Of course, sir. You know that I've tried to keep very careful tabs on the Kira family, though in recent years Taban has refused to accept any more of your generosity. He has become quite...bitter since his wife-ah, that is, since Meru pa.s.sed on. I have done my best to keep track of the children, but they are older now, and they tend to-"

"Yes, I'm aware of the Bajoran child's propensity to wander. I wonder if this story has an ending, Ba.s.so."

Ba.s.so cleared his throat. "Of course, Gul. You see, the daughter, she-"

"Yes, Nerys. Beautiful girl." He sighed. "What's she, about fourteen now?"

"That's correct, sir. She has been increasingly difficult to locate in the past few years, roaming and coming home only on very rare occasions."

"But of course, you have ensured her safety," Dukat said carefully.

Ba.s.so began to feel worried. "I have done my best, sir. It's true that Bajoran children are allowed a certain amount of freedom, but certainly not to this extent. I wondered if she might have taken to running away, but when my people in the village spoke to Taban, he seemed entirely unconcerned for her safety. It seems that he...knew where she was. She-"

"So, she is safe," Dukat said, appearing to relax somewhat.

"Well, yes, she seems to be safe, but-you see, sir, what I'm trying to tell you is that I have information to suggest that Nerys has joined the resistance movement."

He risked a direct look at the prefect's face. Surprisingly, Dukat did not look angry, exactly. He looked surprised, but not angry. Ba.s.so could not quite place his expression, but if he hadn't known better, he'd have said the prefect looked...concerned.

"Only fourteen years old," Dukat finally said. "After all I did for her as a child. I saw to it that she was sent to school-art school, as her mother wished, though apparently she didn't take to it. I never would have predicted an outcome like this." Dukat pushed himself up from his chair, folded his arms, wandered toward the back of the room. "Do you know where she is, Ba.s.so?"

"Sir, I don't know yet, but I am doing my best to locate her. My contacts have suggested that she must be hiding in the Dahkur hills, with one of the cells in that general vicinity, but we can't nail down which one. It seems possible that even her father doesn't have that information."

Dukat sighed again, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

Ba.s.so could not quite puzzle out the meaning behind the prefect's reaction. Sad, fearful, strangely introspective-nothing like what he'd been expecting. He couldn't help but feel cheated. Dukat spoke again after a moment, and Ba.s.so wondered if the Dukat he'd expected to see was about to make an appearance.

"After all I did for her," he repeated, but his voice was colder this time, as if he'd had time to contemplate the meaning of it all. "You must find her, Ba.s.so, and you must bring her to me."