“Self-explanatory, isn’t it? Because there’s something valuable down there.”

“Meaning they couldcome back,” said Mar. His nose crinkled, and he nervously groomed his frills with the back of his right hand. “Maybe before we expect them to.”

“Not going to happen. Starting now, we’ve got fourteen days, and if everything goes the way it should,” Chen-Mai’s lips tugged into something approximating a smug grin, “we’ll find it and cash in.”

A big if,Kaldarren thought. Actually, a lot of ifs: ifthis was the right binary star system; ifthese were the correct ruins; ifthese ruins were Hebitian; ifthe ancient Hebitians, a civilization the Cardassians claimed as their ancestors, were telepaths; and all those ifsbegging a larger question.

Kaldarren turned aside, staring down at the long-dead planet spread below their ship. The planet looked like a flawed, red-gray agate marble, though his keen eyes picked out surface details as their ship skimmed over them in its orbit: the stippled ridges of mountains that were a curious rust color; a large irregular trough scooped out of the surface that had been a lake, or an inland sea.

The bigger question: If the Hebitians had lived here, how had they gotten to the planet to begin with?

Kaldarren reviewed what he knew. According to the Cardassians, they claimed descent from an ancient civilization, the Hebitians. Hebitian ruins found on Cardassia Prime testified that the Hebitians had developed a rich, highly evolved culture. The burial tombs the Hebitians had left behind brimmed with tremendous wealth, and it was from the plunder of those tombs that the Cardassians had built up their formidable military and financed their missions of conquest.

But another fact: There wasn’t a shred of evidence to suggest that the Hebitians were a spacefaring race, and nothing in any of the ancient Hebitian texts discovered so far suggested that the Hebitians had left the planet, ever. Until now.

Their orbit had brought them over a dried ocean bed, and Kaldarren could just make out the sheer drop-off of a continental shelf. Down there, once, there had been water, and on that water, ships had scudded from one shore to the next. Some of the ships had sunk, and if he only had time enough, Kaldarren might walk the trenches and submerged mountains, now laid bare to the naked eye, and wander into wrecks no living person had glimpsed for thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years.

Kaldarren felt the familiar tingle of excitement the prospect of a new discovery always brought. When Chen-Mai had originally contacted him with writings that the man claimed were ancient Cardassian, Kaldarren had been dismissive. Only after he’d studied the writings himself was he convinced that there might be some truth behind the legends that the Hebitians were telepaths and that they had developed a fabulous technology: a psionic intradimensional portal capable of allowing the Hebitians to move about the galaxy with nothing more substantial than thought.

Which was why Chen-Mai needed Kaldarren. Chen-Mai’s motives were pure and simple: profit. He was, he’d explained, acting at the behest of an employer who was very wealthy and would pay very well for the technology. Even if the technology turned out not to exist, the discovery of another Cardassian tomb, and the riches that were surely within, would be more than ample return for the investment.

Failure was not an option. Neither was getting caught by the Cardassians. The region wasn’t technically Cardassian; it was in dispute. Still, the Cardassians were very touchy about these things and would view any ship in the region, exclusive of pre-arranged Starfleet contacts, as a violation—and a provocation.

So why amI here? Why have I come to this godforsaken place where I’m just as likely to get shot by a Cardassian as find anything?They were questions Kaldarren had asked himself many times over, and ones to which he had yet to discover a satisfactory answer. He didn’t need the money. Money wasn’t a consideration on any Federation world. It was true that he needed resources that were hard to come by; all researchers competed for better ships, more personnel. That was why the Federation Science Council expected fairly detailed proposals.

Was it the challenge? Certainly there was that. But if Kaldarren were honest with himself, he would admit that he craved the prestige. He could picture the envy of his colleagues, the adulation and publicity he’d garner if he, Ven Kaldarren, were the author of the find of the century. (That Chen-Mai’s employer might not allow Kaldarren to publicize, much less publish and present, his findings had never occurred to him.)

But was he so callow that all he wanted was notoriety? No, there was more to it than that, and Kaldarren thought he’d hit upon it just a little while ago. There was Rachel Garrett. And why? Jase’s respect? To prove to his son that he, Kaldarren, was just as important as his mother? Maybe.

Or maybe it just has to do with Rachel. Just…Rachel.How long before that pain, and his desire for her, went away?

There was no answer for that particular question. He didn’t expect one—yet. Soon, though: He suspected he needed to know, and very soon. He couldn’t keep on this way, taking these kinds of risks. It wasn’t good for Jase—or him.

“I have a question,” he said, out loud. Kaldarren looked over at Chen-Mai. “If we don’t find the portal…”

Chen-Mai didn’t even let him finish the sentence. “Then you’d better hope the Cardassians do catch us, because you won’t like the alternative. Neither will your boy.”

Failure is not an option.Kaldarren let a moment go by. “Well then,” he said, “I guess I’d better not fail.”

“No.” Chen-Mai didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I guess you’d better not.”

Chapter 12

This had better work.Halak watched as the carpet of light that was Maltabra City slid away beneath the aircar. This had damn well better work.

He was on edge, maybe because the Bolian was driving. But there was somethingwrong, something more.Halak could feel it.

“Matsaro will take you to the shuttle,” Arava had said. She’d plucked up her cloak and slid it about her shoulders. Her fingers worked the clasp: a jevonite dragon with ruby eyes and golden scales that was Qadir’s personal emblem.

(Halak hadn’t wanted to question her too closely on how she’d come by the piece. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Qadir only gave baubles and expensive trinkets to potential conquests. Or intimates.)

Arava said, “I’ve hidden the shuttle there, in a valley near the old Tsoran mine. Everyone moved out of the hills long ago, ever since the mines dried up. I checked, and there are no expeditions registered for that area. So you won’t run into anyone, and vice versa. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“We have passage off Farius Prime,” said Batra. Halak had heard the strain in Batra’s voice, and he’d taken her hand. But her fingers were cold, and she hadn’t spared him a glance.

Arava had shaken her head. “I want you to use the shuttle to get off-world. It’s got a fake registry. No one will know it’s you. Avoid the spaceport at all costs. I’m pretty sure Qadir’s men are watching out for you.”

“But you said yourself that our being in Starfleet…”

“Will only get you so far.” Arava’s tone was firm. “You have no reason to trust me, I know. You don’t know me. But you have to trust me on this.”