40

Quinn slithered on his belly up the slope of the dune. Poking his head over the top he caught sight of the precursor temple rising from the desert.

A Klingon garrison patrolled outside the ruins, cracking the proverbial whip on hundreds of enslaved Denn workers, who were helping the Klingons excavate the site. Men and machines worked side by side, carefully peeling away the artistically carved stone façade to reveal the obsidian, biomechanoid structure entombed within. For the most part the Klingons had focused on exposing the front entrance of the Shedai Conduit; most of the temple’s multilevel roof, with its slopes, platforms, and turrets, remained in place though not wholly intact.

That’s at least a full company of troops,Quinn observed. Noting a row of prefabricated structures erected alongside the temple, he retrieved a pair of holographically enhanced binoculars from a pocket of his desert robe and surveyed the Klingons’ camp compound.

Mess hall,he figured. Barracks. Latrine. The one with the climate module is probably the CO’s office.Then he spied the only structure that was under guard. Bingo,he thought with a smile. Ammo dump and weapons cache.

He adjusted the settings on the binoculars and pointed them at the temple’s entrance. Filtering out the glare of daylight, he zoomed in on the interior of the ruins, where a Klingon scientist surrounded by high-tech gizmos was conferring with a trio of Klingon officers. True to their reputations, the three soldiers were shouting at the gray-bearded Klingon civilian, who seemed to be making protests the troops didn’t want to hear.

In short order the matter seemed to have been decided. The scientist unlocked a protective case and opened its lid. Then he reached inside the container and lifted out a peculiar object.

It was a twelve-sided crystal polyhedron; each of its pentagonal faces had five edges of equal length. The crystal’s core pulsed with an intense violet glow. As the scientist lifted it free of its case, the three military men stepped back fearfully.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Quinn muttered to himself. “The little one-eyed kook wasn’t kiddin’.”

The scientist carried the dodecahedron to a pedestal in front of what looked like an altar at the center of the double-arched platform. As the crystal was lowered into a pentagonal indentation on the pedestal, the glossy black surfaces of the Conduit rippled with indigo light, and a deep rumble shook the earth beneath Quinn.

Goddamn,he wondered, what the hell is that thing?

Just when Quinn figured his day couldn’t get any worse, his gloomy train of thought was derailed by a smug voice that he had hoped never to hear again for as long as he lived.

From behind him, Zett Nilric said, “Hello, Quinn.”

Quinn lowered his binoculars and twisted slowly to look down the dune at Zett, who stood holding his disruptor level and ready. The jet-skinned Nalori bastard flashed a grin of coal-black teeth, and even though he was standing in a desert, he was dressed to the nines in a spotless white suit, pale gray shirt, off-white tie, and shoes made from the hide of some ivory-colored reptile.

“Lookin’ good, Zett,” Quinn said.

Zett shrugged at the compliment. “I do my best.” Lowering his chin at Quinn, he added, “Long time no see.”

“Not long enough.”

“Imagine finding you of all people here,” Zett said. “I have to confess, I’m curious what you’ve been up to all this time. Last I heard, someone mysteriously settled all your debts with Ganz. And just like that”—he pantomimed huffing a feather from his fingertips—“you vanished. Quite a trick.”

“Yeah, it’s a beauty,” Quinn said. “You should try it.”

“Oh, I will, soon enough.” He widened his grin. “So tell me: What are you doing here, Quinn?”

“Same as always,” Quinn lied. “Lookin’ out for number one.” Nodding over his shoulder toward the temple, he asked, “What about you? Working for the Klingons now?”

“Yes and no,” Zett said. “I take their money for the occasional odd job, but that’s hardly the same thing as being on their side.” A twitch of his thumb changed his disruptor’s power setting to maximum. “Of course, I didn’t go to the trouble of safeguarding a major heist on Vanguard just to see you screw up the deal by sticking in your nose on this backwater rock.” He raised his weapon to eye level. “And killing you won’t be business—not like bombing that transport on Vanguard or setting up the hit on Reyes. No, eliminating you will be my pleasure.”

Quinn was relieved to know this was about nothing more than Zett’s psychotic old vendetta. At least I know my cover’s not blown,Quinn told himself as he got to his feet. That means Bridy might still be safe. Standing up halfway down the dune, he said to Zett, “Okay, get it over with.”

“I’ll shoot you if I have to,” Zett said. “But I’d prefer to take my vengeance one cut at a time. And because I’m such a good sport when it comes to murder, I’ll even give you a chance to defend yourself.” Gesturing with his disruptor, he added, “Drop your sidearm and grab a knife.”

It took all of Quinn’s self-control not to smile as he unfastened his belt. As he let it and his holster slide to the ground, he recalled the words of Napoleon Bonaparte: “Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.”

He drew his hunting knife from his boot sheath, tucked its flat edge against his forearm, and held it edge-out and ready to draw blood.

Zett holstered his disruptor, drew his curved yosablade, and prowled up the slope toward Quinn. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said with a sneer.

“Not as much as I am,” Quinn replied.

The assassin was still a few meters from Quinn when the smooth slope of the dune behind him heaved upward. As Zett spun toward the hush of spilling sand, more shapes rose from the ground on his flanks. In less than a second he was surrounded by Lirev and four of her nomad clansmen. Each pointed a wide-bladed sword at Zett, whose expression of horror was even more satisfying to Quinn than he’d hoped.

“Meet my insurance policy,” Quinn said.

The nomads lunged to attack.

Zett pressed a button on a bracelet around his wrist and vanished in a crimson swirl of energy. Lirev and her people slashed at the transporter beam’s afterglow until it faded away.

Rubindium transponder,Quinn realized. Linked to an automatic transporter recall.He recognized the setup from one of his first meetings with Starfleet Intelligence. They had been very excited to entrust him with one until he had pointed out the Rocinantehad no transporter.

Lirev sheathed her sword and approached Quinn, followed by her clansmen. “Did you see the gemstone?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said. “I did. It’s just like you said. Now I gotta get back to my partner so we can plan our next move.”

The nomads murmured among themselves, and then Lirev asked Quinn, “Does this mean you will help us liberate the temple from the invaders?”

“We will, if you’ll vow to stop attackin’ the Shire people and help us fight the Klingons.”

A buzz of protests began to rise from the other nomads until Lirev turned and silenced them with a frown. Then she turned back toward Quinn and said simply, “Agreed. On behalf of the Goçeba,you have my word. Peace with the Shires, and alliance against our shared foe.”

“All right, then,” Quinn said, moving at a quick step back toward their melluls. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s ride.”

41

The playback from Quinn’s holographic binoculars was projected a meter above the deck in the main compartment of the Rocinante. McLellan ate her dinner from a scratched metal plate and watched as Quinn enhanced the image to clarify the details he had recorded of the temple’s interior.