“One hour,” Vaughn repeated. “Mark.”

He moved through the aperture, heading toward the predetermined coordinates. The combadge was dead, cut off by the security system. Either he was going to return to the transport-zone with the defector in tow, or he’d never be heard from again.

Ten minutes later his tricorder confirmed that he had reached the predetermined spot. It also made it clear that Dr. Veruda was not present. Damn. Something’s gone wrong.

Vaughn began moving back the way he’d come. He’d have to reach the gap in the forcefield in order to signal to T’Prynn that he needed a beam-out. The mission was a scrub.

A voice issued from his combadge, startling him.

“Hello, Commander.” The voice was a smooth baritone, its inflections refined and cultured. Vaughn recognized it immediately and smiled.

“Dr. Veruda, where are you?”

“This isn’t Cren Veruda, Commander. But you might consider me a close relative.”

Vaughn’s heart sank. He knew he was conversing with Veruda’s A.I.

A proximity alarm light flashed on the tricorder. A trio of flesh-and-blood pursuers was suddenly on his tail. He broke into a run.

“Don’t exert yourself, Mr. Vaughn,” said the A.I. “There really isn’t any point.”

Vaughn pumped his legs harder. By the time he’d gotten within thirty meters from his entry point, he was feeling each and every one of his seventy-two years.

The night-visor betrayed a flash of movement in the shadows to his right. Without hesitation he fired, then heard a body crash into the darkened foliage, so much dead weight. Seconds later he dispatched a second pursuer who had come from the opposite direction.

A disruptor bolt struck him between the shoulder blades a moment afterward. It’s always the one you didn’t see that gets you,Vaughn thought just before the darkness of the jungle became absolute.

A voice drifted to him from the darkness. “Elias Vaughn. Starfleet special operative. Rank of lieutenant commander.”

Vaughn opened his eyes and regarded the Cardassian glinn who stood before him. The Cardassian glanced down at a padd before turning his intense gaze back on Vaughn, who noted that he was lying on a table, restrained either by a forcefield or drugs. Looking down at his body with great effort, Vaughn saw that he was stripped to the skin, his black stealth uniform and body armor gone. The slight motion made his head flare with pain. Disruptor hangover,he thought as his memory of recent events returned.

He recalled the mission. The chase through the wilderness of Kora II after failing to find Dr. Veruda. The Cardassians knew about the defection. The scientist, Vaughn reflected, was more than likely already dead.

The glinn was regarding him with a look of patient expectation.

“You’ve saved me the trouble,” Vaughn said, “of telling you my name, rank, and serial number.”

The glinn laughed, a dry, brittle sound. But his eyes were hard, set deeply beneath gray, scaly brows. Vaughn could see at once that this was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted. He clearly didn’t have to raise his voice very often.

This won’t make for the sort of after-action report Ruriko Tenmei is used to reading,he thought, fighting down an absurd impulse to laugh. But at least she’ll find this particular mission hard to top. Too bad I never got to meet her face-to-face.

But this wasn’t the time to ponder the friendly rivalries so common within Starfleet’s intelligence community. As long as he was drawing breath, the first order of business had to be survival.

“And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Vaughn said.

The Cardassian smiled ambiguously. “You may address me as Glinn Madred.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for failing to salute,” Vaughn said. Come on, T’Prynn. Find a way to beam me out of here.

“We know that Starfleet Intelligence has been in communication with Cren Veruda for some time,” Madred said, ignoring Vaughn’s impertinence. “And that the good doctor has expressed a desire to seek his fortunes in the Federation.”

“Really. Then maybe it’s lucky that I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

A door slid open on the opposite side of the room, and a slim Cardassian woman of perhaps thirty-five years entered. Despite her neck and forehead scales and ashen skin, she struck Vaughn as stunningly attractive. But one look at her hard expression convinced him that she would be a far less forgiving interviewer than the glinn.

That impression was reinforced by the symbol of the Cardassian Obsidian Order on her gray uniform collar. Vaughn suddenly understood why Madred saw no need to raise his voice. He was leaving the prosaic chores of interrogation to less gentle hands.

“I would like you to meet your opposite number in the Cardassian intelligence service,” said Madred, bowing slightly toward the woman, whose almond-shaped eyes were fixed upon Vaughn’s.

“My name is Kree Omiturin,” she said. “Recently transferred to this evil-smelling backwater from Cardassia Prime.” Nemeti’s bitter tone made it plain that she regarded her current assignment as a demotion. And there was something else about her, too….

“Operative Omiturin will, ah, begin interviewing you shortly,” Madred said. “It’s always best to leave information extraction to the experts, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re selling yourself short, Madred,” Vaughn said. “I’m sure you have the makings of a fine torturer.”

“You and another Federation operative have come to this world hoping to spirit Dr. Veruda away,” Omiturin said.

Vaughn carefully blanked his face, well aware that she was scrutinizing him for his reactions. If the Cardassians had succeeded in killing or capturing T’Prynn, then he wasn’t about to give this woman the satisfaction of appearing surprised. Perhaps she was only fishing, with no actual knowledge of his colleagues in the field. He fervently hoped that this was the case.

The Cardassian woman continued. “What you’ve failed to understand, Mr. Vaughn, is that you’ve arrived too late to protect your people from Dr. Veruda’s invention. His artificial intelligence nodes are about to link up across the Cardassian Union and beyond via subspace relays. We’ll soon be in a position to mount and control an assault against the Federation the likes of which you can scarcely imagine.”

Madred cut in, his eyes narrowing in Vaughn’s direction. “Unfortunately for you, the good doctor’s expertise in devising countermeasures to his own creation will not be forthcoming.”

“I want to spend some time with the prisoner now,” Omiturin said, clearly not fond of being interrupted. “Alone.” Madred nodded impassively before exiting. Vaughn found himself alone in the room with the flint-eyed woman, his body still immobile as he contemplated the remaining hours of his life.

Now would be a good time to get me the hell out of here, T’Prynn. Assuming you’re still alive.

Omiturin approached the table on which he lay, studying him in silence. A hypospray was in her hand, as though conjured out of thin air. With surprising gentleness, she touched it to his neck. He listened to its contents hiss home.

“This will restore your mobility. And you’ll find a prison coverall in the locker beside the door. Put it on.”

Vaughn rose to a sitting position and got his legs unsteadily beneath him. The metal floor felt as cold as space against his bare feet.

She tossed him a Starfleet hand phaser. He caught it after bobbling it between his hands momentarily.

“I certainly felt naked without this,” he said, sparing a second to check the weapon’s charge before moving to the locker.

“Hurry,” she said as she made for the door.

“Why are you doing this?” Vaughn said, studying Omiturin’s hard, scaly features as they walked purposefully down the empty hallway. It was a relief to be clothed again, even if only in prison garb.