“The Klingons appear to have solicited the services of a suspected master thief,”T’Prynn said. “This is unusual behavior for the Klingons, who as a rule take whatever they want by brute force. Their actions in this case suggest either they lack the strength to take what they want, or they wish to conceal the fact they are the ones who have taken it.”She arched one eyebrow. “What I wish to know is this: What might be of such great value and dire risk to the Klingons that they would resort to hiring criminals to acquire it on their behalf?”

Desai replied, “Those are all very interesting questions. I’m sure Admiral Nogura and Commander ch’Nayla will be willing to give them all due consideration when they interview you in the brig here on Vanguard.”

T’Prynn remained the picture of calm. “I understand your reticence to trust me or to share classified operational data. That’s why I am prepared to offer you a valuable item of intelligence up front, as a demonstration of my good faith.”

“Why can’t you understand this, T’Prynn? You’re a fugitive from Starfleet military justice. Until you turn yourself in, nothing you say will be compelling enough for me to treat you as anything other than a suspect. Are you listening to me? Until you surrender, it won’t matter what you tell me.”

“Diego Reyes is alive and in Klingon custody.”

Desai recoiled from the screen. “You’re lying.”

“I assure you, Captain, I am not.”

Shaking her head in furious denial, Desai said, “You have a long track record as a liar, T’Prynn. You tell people what they want to hear, you manipulate them, blackmail them—”

“I am guilty of those offenses,”T’Prynn said. “And one day soon I will stand and answer for them in a Starfleet court. But what I have told you is true: Diego Reyes is alive. I have proof of it, recorded less than forty-eight hours ago, and I can tell you on what vessel he is being held.”

“Tell me now,” Desai said, even as she felt the wound of her months-old grief being torn open by T’Prynn’s news.

“First I require information. The only location in the Taurus Reach where the Klingons would be reluctant to attempt a seizure by force is Vanguard. What is currently aboard the station for which they would be willing to engage the services of a professional thief?”

Desai’s inner skeptic told her not to trust T’Prynn. “No,” she said. “I won’t be tricked, not like this.” Her anger flared. “You know what Diego meant to me. I won’t let you use those feelings to make me give you what you want.”

“Captain—”

Before the Vulcan could say another word, Desai terminated the transmission. The monitor went dark with a soft click. She pressed a button on her desk and opened an audio channel to the operations center. “Desai to ops.”

Lieutenant Commander Yael Dohan, the station’s gamma-shift officer of the watch, replied, “Ops, this is Dohan. Go ahead, Captain.”

“Commander, I need a trace on the source of the priority message I just received in my quarters.”

“Yes, ma’am. Hang on a second.”Over the line, Desai heard people working and sharing reports in muffled conversations. A moment later Dohan was back on the line. She sounded confused. “Captain, I think you must be mistaken. The comm logs show no incoming messages to your quarters since yesterday at fourteen thirty-three hours.”

Desai thumped the side of her fist on her desktop and mumbled under her breath, “Damn you, T’Prynn.”

Dohan asked, “Do you want us to check the logs again, Captain?”

“No, Commander. That’ll be all. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Good night.”

The channel clicked closed, and Desai sat at her desk and fumed in the dark. Then she noticed Haniff standing in her bedroom doorway, the muscles of his nude body well defined by the light spilling from her desktop monitor.

He asked in a groggy voice, “Something wrong?”

“No,” Desai lied. “Go back to bed.”

He nodded, turned, scratched the back of his neck, and plodded back into the bedroom. Desai turned off her computer monitor, looked toward the bedroom, and sighed. If T’Prynn was lying, then she was even more cruel than Desai had ever thought. But if she was telling the truth …

Then this is certainly going to make things a bit more interesting,Desai brooded.

Pennington shook his head and fought to rein in his temper as T’Prynn shut down the comm terminal. “How could Desai be so stubborn? You practically gave her everything, and she still wouldn’t listen to you.”

“She has good reason to doubt my veracity,” T’Prynn said. “An assessment with which I expect you could sympathize.”

The Vulcan woman seemed completely untroubled by the harsh rebuff she’d just received from Captain Desai, and Pennington didn’t understand why. “Okay, so if the goal was to win her trust, why not just give her the coordinates for Kane’s rendezvous with the Klingons and let Starfleet sort it out?”

T’Prynn got up from her seat. “Because we do not yet know what the purpose of that meeting is.” She walked aft, and Pennington followed her down the dark and silent corridor.

“What difference does it make?” he asked.

She answered over her shoulder, “If Kane’s transaction with the Klingons turns out to be innocuous, exposing it will be of little or no expiatory value to me.” The door to the ship’s only shower room opened ahead of her, and she continued inside with Pennington close behind her. “Furthermore, tipping off Starfleet to that meeting before we establish its parties’ intentions would prematurely alert Ganz and his retainers to the breach in their internal communications by Starfleet Intelligence.”

He turned his back as T’Prynn began undressing. Though she had shown no sense of self-consciousness about disrobing in front of him during their months alone in space, he nonetheless felt discomfited each time it happened. He asked, “So what do we do now?”

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed T’Prynn setting her folded garments inside a cubby hole above the changing bench. “We will proceed to the rendezvous coordinates and establish a surveillance position.”

“More low-energy, run-silent-run-dark, then?”

“Correct. Radio silence and a minimal energy signature will be essential to avoiding detection while we await the arrival of Mister Kane and his Klingon clients.” Nude, she stepped into the shower and turned on the water. “Be patient. I suspect that whatever Kane is up to will be revealed soon enough.”

30

August 1, 2267

In the hubbub of Vanguard’s security center, a system-failure alert came and went so quickly on one of the junior officers’ boards that Haniff Jackson almost didn’t notice it. “Seklir,” he said to the young Vulcan man. “Report.”

Seklir keyed in commands, eyed the data on his monitor, and replied, “Power failure in tube four of the main turbolift hub. The cause appears to be an overloaded plasma conduit, which has caused a fire condition on Cargo Deck B.”

“On screen three, please,” Jackson said.

The image appeared in one frame of the master situation monitor. Flames leaped from cracks in a bulkhead, and smoke billowed from a slagged plasma conduit, filling the corridor.

Jackson asked, “Are fire-control teams responding?”

“Affirmative,” Seklir said. “The deck officer reports the fire is contained. Sections one-ninety through one-ninety-eight of Cargo Deck B have been evacuated and sealed off until fire teams arrive.”

The security chief nodded. Closing off sections threatened by fire was standard procedure. It limited the supply of oxygen to the blaze and curtailed its ability to spread.