Twenty

Deep in the bowels of the Battle Cruiser cHos (one of the new D-3 ships, which as far as Sen could tell were identical to the D-2s with the exception of an awkwardly mounted disruptor cannon directly beneath the bridge area), the ex-governor, ex-viceroy, and now ex-citizen of the Thelasian Confederacy lay still on his cot, in the semidarkness of his quarters, and considered his situation.

When he’d decided to abandon the Confederacy some months back (it had taken him only a few weeks in the governor’s office to realize the institution’s problems were insoluble, that the Confederacy was not going to survive, and that he could either go down with it in flames or make other plans), he had debated between several different destinations. His first thought was Orion space; the traders there operated under a very loose set of rules, and there was always money to be made, but there were risks as well. Most prominent among those risks being the Orions themselves, who would just as soon cut your throat as live up to their end of a bargain. Had he been a hundred years younger, Sen would have embraced the challenge. He’d cut a fair amount of throats in his time. But he was nearing the end of his organic life span, and felt no urge to continually have to prove himself in what amounted to battle. He had also explored a potential alliance with a highly avaricious merchant race called the Verengi, who he had heard of through the Pfau some years back, whose existence he had dismissed as rumor at the time. The rumors turned out to be true, however, and after several days of concentrated effort Sen had managed to make contact with one of those Verengi, an official who styled himself the vice-nagus and whose initial starting point for negotiations involved a twenty-five-thousand-word legal document outlining the various exceptions to the safe haven Sen was asking for. And so he gave up on the Verengi.

Eventually, he had chosen the Empire, because unlike so many of the other races he dealt with, these Klingons never pretended to be something they were not. He also had the benefit of knowing one of their number quite well-General Kui’Tan, whom he had befriended, in a manner of speaking, during his service on Coreida. And so, after a series of surreptitious messages back and forth, Sen had agreed to the Empire’s terms, and set his own plans in motion for the escape. Those plans had worked to perfection: the system outages, the off-world deposits, the explosion at the party, even the unexpected arrival of the human captain and the necessity of incorporating his kidnapping into his agenda, all had gone off without a hitch. Except…

Something was wrong now. After an initially productive series of conversations, the commander had been avoiding him the past few days. And he had yet to allow the governor to speak with Kui’Tan. Had yet to allow Sen access to the ship’s computers, which was a very smart decision, as once Sen got access to the computers-There was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Sen said.

It was the female V’reth.

“You summoned me earlier,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Do you wish me to pleasure you?”

The female was built like a warrior, and approached the sexual act as same. Sen had neither the appetite nor the strength for that kind of activity right now.

“No,” he said. “I am checking on the status of my request.”

“To speak with the commander?”

“Yes.”

“The commander is busy.”

“Then I would like to speak directly to Kui’Tan.”

“To communicate with Qo’noS?”

“Yes.”

The female shook her head. “That cannot be allowed. We are running silent.”

“Then I wish to leave this room,” he said, getting to his feet. “I am tired of these four walls.”

The female blocked his path.

“That cannot be allowed either,” she said.

There was a neural disruptor woven into the fabric of his cloak, which he’d charged off the power receptacle here. For a second, Sen was tempted to use it.

No, he decided. The female wasn’t worth the bother. Or the exposure of what for now was his only weapon.

“Would it be allowed if you were my escort?” he suggested.

The female frowned.

“I will have to check with the commander.”

“Please do.”

“The commander is busy now.”

“I’ll wait.”

She nodded, and shut the door.

Sen waited till he heard her footsteps clanging down the corridor, then went to his case and opened it. Inside was a flexpadd and a data cube containing personal images from when he was very, very young. Pictures of his parents, his relatives, the flesh-and-blood Roia… he’d asked permission to tie the cube in to the Klingon system when he’d come aboard, so he could view them at his leisure. Kareg had turned him down. Not surprising. Under similar circumstances-a stranger coming aboard, wanting to access the ship’s computer-he would have been cautious too.

The caution was well advised. In addition to the images, the cube also contained code for a modified version of the Roia software program. Directly linking it in to the system was the quickest way to insure that program’s penetration of the Klingon system, but there were others.

Sen activated a concealed transmitter within the cube. He felt a slight tingling just behind the temples, and then it was done.

The Roia subroutines were now stored in his implant. Of course the memory there was volatile; if he could not off-load the subroutines into another computer, they would degenerate within a matter of hours. He would have to try again later. If he was, however, able to leave the cabin, find his way to an unsecured terminal elsewhere in the ship-

“What are you doing?”

Sen looked up and saw that V’Reth had returned. She stood in the half-open doorway, glaring at him.

He held up the flexpadd for her to see. “I am writing.”

“What are you writing?”

“That does not concern you.” He set the padd down, and stood. “Has the commander granted my request?”

“He has agreed to allow you to move about the ship in certain areas. At my discretion.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Now. I will see what you have written.”

Sen supposed he should offer token resistance. “No.”

“Do not,” she said, “make me take it from you.”

Sighing theatrically, he handed the flexpadd to her.

V’Reth looked it over quickly, and glared at him.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Poetry.”

“You have used my name.”

He looked to the ground, feigning embarrassment.

“It is true.”

She glanced from the padd to Sen, and then back at the padd, and began to read: