Captain's Table 02_ Dujonian's Hoard - Michael Jan Friedman [33]
As it subsided, we could see that the Daring was gone.
I turned to Red Abby. Her eyes had become ice chips and her features had gone as hard as stone. But to her credit, she didn’t look away from the Daring’s demise. She stared at the Cardassian viewscreen without flinching, as if trying to etch the moment in her memory.
I empathized with the woman. I had never seen a ship under my command so completely destroyed, though I had seen one wrecked so badly I was forced to abandon her.
But that is a tale for another time.
“Unfortunate,” said Gul Ecor. He gazed at Abby with hooded eyes.
“Isn’t it … Captain Brant?”
Brant? I thought.
That was the name of the man Worf and I were searching for. Clearly, Ecor had some inkling as to Red Abby’s objectives. That wasn’t good news for her or for myself and Worf either.
However, the Cardassian had made a mistake. Brant wasn’t Red Abby’s name. I looked at her, then at Ecor, then at her again. I waited for Red Abby to point out the gul’s error.
But she didn’t. She just stood there, looking more wary than defiant all of a sudden. And by that sign, I realized the Cardassian hadn’t made a mistake after all.
My mind raced. If Red Abby’s name was Brant, our expedition was not what I had been led to believe. Far from it, in fact.
Back on Milassos IV, I had concluded Red Abby was a shallow fortune hunter a money-hungry adventurer who had gotten a whiff of Dujonian’s Hoard. At the time, it was the only possibility that made sense.
Now, I saw the matter in a new light. If Red Abby was related to Brant, perhaps even his wife … she was no mere fortune hunter after all. She was a brave and determined woman risking her life for someone she loved.
The Hoard might still have played a part in it, I conceded. But more and more, it looked like the icing rather than the cake.
Not that it would matter to Gul Ecor why Abby had set out after Brant. It would only matter that she had and that she might lead him to the glor’ya lost to Cardassia hundreds of years ago.
Finally, Red Abby spoke again. “How do you know who I am?” she demanded of the gul.
Ecor shrugged. “We have our sources in this sector. They told us who you were and what you were after.”
Astellanax’s eyes narrowed considerably. “So you’ve been tracking us since we left Milassos Four?”
The Cardassian nodded. “We remained patient for a long while, waiting for the proper moment to overtake you.” He smiled a thin smile. “That moment came rather precipitously, I’m afraid. But once you conducted a long-range sensor sweep and discovered our presence, we could no longer be content to pursue you from afar.”
There was a gleam of more than triumph in Ecor’s eye. But then, he had a lot to be pleased about. He was on the verge of advancing his career by leaps and bounds.
For a Cardassian, the Hoard of Dujonian was the prize to end all prizes, its recovery the accomplishment to eclipse all accomplishments. Indeed, what could have brought more prestige, more glory to Ecor and his superiors, than the retrieval of the Hebitians’ legendary glor’ya?
Clearly, Ecor would go to any length to get what he wanted. Almost certainly, he would resort to torture. In fact, the gul was probably savoring the prospect of it even as we confronted one another.
I knew from personal experience how masterful the Cardassians could be at that grisly art. I knew how easily they could destroy their victim’s mind as well as his body.
Or, in this case, her body.
I gazed at Red Abby and feared what might happen to her. Not because she was weak, but because she was strong … because, if I was any judge of character at all, she would sacrifice herself rather than reveal the whereabouts of Richard Brant.
And then, just in case there was any doubt as to Ecor’s intentions, he smiled at Red Abby. “I’m glad to have had this chance to meet you. You and I have much to talk about,” he told her.
She met his gaze.