“Get out!” he whispered. “Go! They don’t care about you! Go!”
“Wait!”
Then they were upon Soleta and Rajari, pulling at them. Rajari let out a howl of fury that was utterly unexpected in its ferocity for someone of his poor health. Soleta actually heard one of his bones crack as he turned and slammed into them, driving them back, his fists smashing against whatever part of their bodies he could find.
She pulled out her phaser, swung and fired in one smooth motion, nailing one of the shapes that was coming at her in the dimness. The stun setting, to her surprise, simply knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the ground of the alley with a grunt but otherwise seemed unharmed.
Even as the assailant scrambled to his feet, Rajari shouted once more, “Go!” For one more moment he shook them loose, and he charged at her and shoved her with such fury that Soleta stumbled back and out of the alley. Rajari turned to face his attackers and then they were upon him, piling on and driving him to the dirt-encrusted ground.
Soleta tried to take aim with her phaser, tried to find someplace safe to shoot . . . and suddenly she heard a telltale and very familiar humming noise. They were disappearing from the alley, a transporter working its peculiar brand of technological magic. Within moments the alleyway was empty.
The human thing would have been for Soleta to shout Rajari’s name in frustration, but naturally such a pointless expenditure of time and energy never occurred to her. Instead she reached into her belt and pulled out a palm beacon to illuminate the alley.
Soleta had never been more glad that she had decided to take some of her Starfleet equipment with her than she was at that particular moment. It was not mandatory that Starfleet officers keep regulation equipment with them at all times, particularly when they were off duty. Opinions differed as to what was appropriate, and ultimately it was left to the individual’s discretion. Some crewmen, when on shore leave, felt that leave meant leave. So they would leave behind anything having to do with their uniformed existence.
Soleta, however, was far more pragmatic. To her it was simply equipment, and although to sport the uniform might have made her too much of a target, equipment remained equipment. She played the flash over the ground, relieved that she had it with her, and almost momentarily checking to make sure that her tricorder and comm badge were also safely on her person.
The tricorder was there, just as it was supposed to be.
Her comm badge, however, was gone.
The first thing that occurred to her was that she had lost it in the scuffle. To that end, she studied the ground meticulously, looking for some sign of it. But it wasn’t there. Within minutes she had combed every square inch of the alley and the comm badge was simply not to be found.
She ran the events of the previous few minutes through her mind, and immediately realized what had happened; Rajari must have snagged it when he had banged into her. But it made no sense. Why would he steal her comm badge . . . ?
That was when two possibilities hit her. One gave her hope. The other raised tremendous concern.
The first notion was that he had stumbled upon the comm badge when he had been thrown against her and immediately realized that it could provide his salvation. By snagging the badge, he had hoped that it would provide a means of her tracking him and rescuing him on something approaching her own terms. The element of surprise would be entirely on her side
The second notion was that this was all a set-up. That Rajari had arranged for the ambush in the alley. Although he did not know for certain that she was from Starfleet, he had as much as guessed that she was, and had hoped that he would be able to grab something off her that was traceable. He had lucked on to the comm badge and, the moment he had it, they were able to vanish on the assumption that she was going to come after them.
The latter theory certainly appealed to her sense of innate paranoia, and her suspicions about Rajari that she was not entirely able to lay to rest. On the other hand, it also didn’t hold up terribly well under scrutiny. If the goal was to capture Soleta, they might very well have been able to do so without any sort of subterfuge. Why go to all the effort, to embark on some Byzantine plan? It made no sense. And nothing explained who his cohort might have been.
There seemed to be only one logical decision to make, particularly since time might very well be of the essence.
She pulled out her tricorder and keyed it to pick up on the frequency signal of her comm badge. It wasn’t something that tricorders were customarily used for. One usually simply tapped one’s own comm badge in order to locate a missing person, since that activated a conversational link. Either that or shipboard computers were more than capable of pinpointing the exact location of a badge. She, however, had access to neither, and so she was forced to make do. But it was not going to be easy, and it was also going to be limited. If Rajari had been beamed offworld, she’d never be able to—
The tricorder only took seconds to lock on to the comm badge’s internal beacon.
She could scarcely believe her luck.
Unless it’s not luck.
That same damnable internal voice was back, warning her not to take anything for granted. Rajari still was what he was, capable of great evil, of turning against her at any time.
Except that might not have been an accurate description at all. For all she knew, he was a perfectly decent individual who had found a higher power and internal peace. She hated not knowing for sure, she detested the uncertainty. But for all her frustration, there was one thing she did know for sure. She was going to have to try and find him, and quickly.
The tricorder at that point was simply telling her that it had managed to locate the comm badge, and gave her a fix on it that specified it along global lines. Looking for something a bit more accessible than longitude and latitude, she linked in with the file that gave her a street map of Catalina City. In an instant a small green dot appeared on the screen, pinpointing precisely where the signal was coming from.
It was only eight blocks away. That did not surprise her at all. They had been spirited away by a short-range portable individual transport device. SPITs (as one wag had dubbed them, much to the annoyance of the manufacturer) weren’t especially powerful; they had been designed purely for the more affluent members of society to get around privately, rather than using a transport center as the “lower class” was obliged to do. Soleta had been reasonably sure, due to the sound and look of the effect, that a SPIT was being used. But she wasn’t positive, and was relieved to see that her supposition was correct.
She could not delay, though. For all she knew, Rajari had been SPIT over to someplace where a shuttle had been readied, and was about to be removed from the planet. If that happened, then in the time that it took her to commandeer a private shuttle or rent one of her own, he would be long gone.
Even as she sprinted through the streets, she couldn’t help but feel that she was out of her mind. No matter what he was now, she had to remember what he had once been. That would never, ever change. It really wasn’t relevant that he wished he had acted in some other manner, because the fact was that he hadn’t. One could ignore facts, but one could not change them. And ignoring this particular fact simply wasn’t an option for her.
But another fact introduced into the mix was that Rajari had indeed tried to get her clear of danger. He had been willing to sacrifice himself in order to save her. Was she then supposed to turn away, to leave him to his own fate after he had saved her from a similar one? That was not acceptable.
You’re trying to save the man who assaulted your mother. Don’t tell me it’s because of some misbegotten loyalty to the fact that he is your real father.
“He’s not my father,” Soleta practically snarled through gritted teeth as she ran. “Just because he biologically helped to create me, that means nothing. Nothing.”
By that time she’d covered half the distance, and within minutes she had achieved her destination. It was hard to believe that she ha
d managed to locate an even more depressing, more run-down section of Catalina City than she’d already been in, but that was indeed where she had wound up.
The tricorder told her that the comm badge—and, hopefully, Rajari—was inside a large building that was apparently one of the very first erected in Catalina City. It did not, however, have any sort of marker indicating that it was a historical site. Instead it was simply there, a structure that had been used to house machine parts and various mechanical supplies. It had fallen into disuse and disrepair. It was solid black, like a huge tomb. Soleta couldn’t help but feel that it was a hideously appropriate comparison to make.
This time she was taking no chances. She had the phaser out and had thumbed it on. She was not the world’s greatest marksman, but she was competent, and hefting the weapon certainly made her feel better. She glanced at the power grid and saw that the phaser was fully charged. Good. The last thing she needed was a surprise.
There was a door around one side that had obviously not been used for some time. As opposed to the sliding doors to which Soleta was accustomed, this was a primitive hinged door, sealed tight. There was a handgrip and a thumbprint scanner built in, but the scanner was deactivated. Her phaser could easily blow a hole in it, but the noise involved would certainly have given her away. She would have been happy to just shoot the hinges off, but unfortunately they were on the inside.
Soleta took a deep breath and placed her hands flat against the door. She steadied herself, summoning her strength, focusing it. Then she began to push, making sure that her booted feet had enough traction so that she didn’t sprawl on her face.
The door didn’t even seem to notice that she was there. She continued the pressure, minute after minute, regulating her breathing, concentrating and not letting up for a second. After several minutes her strength began to flag, but then she felt the door bending under the pressure and that sent a surge of determination through her. Instead of letting up, she pulled from deep within her to find even more strength, and suddenly the door flew open.
She stumbled, lunged for it, tried to catch it, but it was too late. The door swung wide on its hinges and slammed against the wall before swinging partway back in the other direction. Soleta cursed the luck even as her training forced her not to let it bother her. She snagged the door, swung it closed, and prayed that the sound hadn’t been heard.
“What was that?” she heard a rough voice call from somewhere within the building.
Yet another prayer that had been answered with a resounding “No” from whatever deity thought that mucking with Soleta’s life would provide a nice day’s entertainment.
Soleta shoved against the door from within as hard as she could, jamming it back into place. There were a few unclaimed crates scattered about, and she quickly took refuge behind one of them, crouching low while letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
Two figures were approaching.
Her heart froze. One of them . . . no, both of them . . . were Romulan.
It is a trap! He did set this up! her increasingly annoying inner voice told her. She would have told it to shut up except then she would have been heard.
Just looking at the way they moved, she could tell that they were probably soldiers, or perhaps ex-soldiers. One of them had a vicious scar down one side of his face. Insanely, she felt a brief wave of nostalgia for the late Captain Calhoun.
They were wearing what appeared to be some type of heavy-duty armor that encased them the way an exoskeleton surrounded an insect. It was smooth with a metallic sheen to it, although she did take notice of the fact that the area directly at the base of the throat was exposed. There apparently was some sort of a latch-on area for a helmet, but they weren’t wearing theirs.
That was how the assailant in the alley had managed to recover so quickly from a phaser blast. They were wearing what appeared to be some sort of Byrillium armor, capable of withstanding low-end phaser blasts by absorbing the intensity of the beam and redistributing it, diminishing its force. She did some rapid-fire mental calculations as to how much damage the armor could withstand and was not happy with the conclusions that she came to. Seeing no other choice, she thumbed up the intensity level on her phaser to maximum.
The scarred one looked the door up and down, then pulled on it experimentally. “Seems solid,” he said.
“Shh!” said the other.
He was listening.
Soleta was positive of it. A Romulan’s hearing was no less sharp than that of a Vulcan, and he was now taking an aural check of the immediate area to discern whether or not an uninvited guest had shown up.
She didn’t budge. She didn’t breathe. She felt her legs starting to cramp up and she willed herself to ignore it. Her heart sounded hideously loud as it thudded against her chest, and she was convinced that anyone could have heard it, so deafening to her was the thumping. She didn’t even blink.
Now both the Romulans were listening, the minutes stretching to an eternity. Barely twenty feet away, Soleta had to sneeze. She dug her teeth into her lower lip so hard that small, green rivulets of blood trickled down her chin.
“Nothing,” said the one with no scar.
Soleta almost reflexively let out a sigh of relief, which naturally would have been a less than brilliant move. Fortunately she caught herself at the last instant.
“Come. Let’s get back to our guest,” said scar face. “Adis has just arrived. This should be most interesting.”
If Soleta had had any interest in moving at that point, the mention of the name “Adis” froze her in her place. She knew the name all too well. He was extremely high up in the Romulan hierarchy, said to be one of the Emperor’s inner circle. A well-placed politician, rich and powerful. What in the world did he have to do with Rajari? The notion that all of this was some sort of elaborate scheme to ensnare her became less and less tenable. When one was dealing with individuals of the caliber and position of Adis, someone such as Soleta did not even register on his long-range sensors.
She was not at all concerned about losing them at this point in the confined area of the storage facility. She felt perfectly comfortable with letting them get completely out of sight. Even then she allowed another ten count before heading off after them. She did not follow them in any sort of straight line, but instead moved in the same general direction they had gone while, at the same time, staying close to the shadows of the perimeter. She continued to grip her phaser firmly, keeping all her senses extended in case anyone was lying in wait for her.
Just beyond one stack of crates, she heard voices. One of them was speaking in firm, commanding tones, and the others appeared to be responding with deference. It was not difficult for her to figure out who the one speaking in the commanding tones was. Keeping her back flat against the far side of the stack of crates, she slowly positioned herself so that she could peer around a corner without being observed.
Rajari was bound securely on the floor. They hadn’t even been considerate enough to tie him to a chair. There were thick bands at his ankles, and his wrists were bound behind his back. From the way his right arm was jutting, she suspected that it was broken. If she had any remaining thought at all that this was some sort of vast, complicated conspiracy, seeing Rajari there, helpless, injured, put it right out of her mind.
On the far side of the warehouse she saw the transport equipment that had been used to kidnap Rajari from the alley. Stepping off of the pad set-up was a tall, aristocratic-looking Romulan whom Soleta could only assume was Adis. He wore his arrogance like a comfortable shoe. When he stared at Rajari on the floor, it was with the attitude of someone who clearly could not believe that he had ever considered the dying Romulan to be worth his time.
There were five men standing in a semicircle, including the two that Soleta had already spotted. Adis acknowledged them with a curt nod and then turned his focus to Rajari. “So,” he said. “Rajari. How nice to see you.”
“Oh, gods . . . fake pleasantries,” moaned
Rajari. “Is there any greater waste of time?”
“We are not brutes,” Adis said archly. “We can follow protocols, certainly. So . . . it is my understanding that you are dying.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I shall consider that a response in the affirmative?”
Rajari moaned again. He seemed to be in too much pain to be paying attention to anything that Adis was saying.
Adis noticed that Rajari wasn’t focusing on him. This was clearly an intolerable circumstance for him, and Adis took simple and direct steps to attend to it. He crouched next to Rajari, gripped his head firmly and turned it so that Rajari could not look anywhere except directly into Adis’s eyes. Soleta winced when she saw the movement. If it was too violent, Rajari’s weakened bones might very well snap just from the severity of the twist.
“You have inconvenienced me, Rajari,” Adis informed him. Rajari whimpered slightly, but said nothing. “During your smuggling days, your activities infringed on my concerns.”
“How was I to know . . . ?”
“You should have known.” He sounded almost sad, as if gently scolding a frightened child. “Your problem is that you endeavored to play both sides. You smuggled weapons to races that were in opposition to one another. Did it never occur to you that I might be involved with one of them, and that it was therefore inevitable that you would interfere with my desires?”
“No.”
“No,” said Adis with that same air of mock tragedy. “No, apparently not. But that was not the worst of it, oh no. There were certain Cardassians with whom I also had some profitable and private dealings. And you aided the Federation in putting an end to those dealings when you helped terminate the conflict.”
“But . . . but our government—”
“Our government,” Adis told him, “has its concerns, and I have mine. Oftentimes the two overlap. Sometimes they do not, but I have been careful not to offend the wrong people or step on the wrong feet. You, on the other hand, have not taken those precautions. And that is why you are where you are, and I am where I am.”