Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [93]
A bold move on Larrak’s part, to be sure. He was forcing the issue of how Fortune’s Light had been recovered—trying to get Riker to lay his cards on the table, if he had any.
But the human was too good a poker player to be manipulated.
“No. It is genuine. And it is here—but only because it was returned. The fact remains that it was stolen.”
He looked to the first official of Criathis. Without his confirmation at this point, Riker could go no further. He hoped that the Impriman had enough faith in him to take some risks.
“That is true,” Daran said finally, though with obvious reluctance. “Fortune’s Light was taken from us. We recovered it only hours before the ceremony—and under mysterious circumstances.”
By that time Kobar and his black-robed companion had reached them, and were shouldering their way through the assembled retainers. Curses flew, and most of them were directed at Riker.
“Son of a muzza,” spat Kobar, his eyes wide with anger. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“No doubt,” said Riker. “But that doesn’t change anything. Your madraga still hired Teller Conlon to steal Fortune’s Light.”
“You’re mad!” snarled the other man—and now the human recognized him. It was Kelnae, the first official of Madraga Rhurig, and Kobar’s father. He was as loud and arrogant as Riker remembered him. He appealed to Daran. “This is your ceremony, First Official. Either silence this offworlder or be held accountable.”
The Criathan was under terrible pressure. To his credit, he didn’t let it show. Nor did he let Rhurig’s ultimatum fluster him.
Daran addressed Kobar’s father. “You’re right, Kelnae. This is my ceremony, and I will see it conducted with decorum.” He turned to Riker. “I take it you have proof?”
The human nodded. “I do.” He glanced in the direction of Kobar and his father. “In the form of a confession—from the man who stole the seal for them.”
That put Kelnae on the defensive. “More lies!”
“No,” said Riker. “Do you want to hear it?” He pressed the communicator that he still wore beneath his tunic. A moment later he heard Picard’s voice on the other end.
“Yes, Number One?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Kelnae. “That is forbidden technology!”
Riker shook his head. “Not true. Nowhere in the high-tech ban is there a mention of Federation communicators.”
“A technicality,” said Kelnae.
“Perhaps,” said Daran. “But that’s something we can rule on later. For now, I would like to allow the offworlder to proceed.”
“On whose responsibility?” asked the leader of the black robes.
“Mine,” answered Daran.
“Commander? Are you there?”
“Aye, sir. I need you to play back the audio portion of Teller Conlon’s confession.”
“That will take a moment. I trust your listeners will not mind waiting?”
Riker looked at Kelnae and then at Daran. “Briefly, Captain.”
“I see. In that case, we’ll do everything we can to … ah, here it is, Number One.”
The next voice they heard was that of Riker’s friend. It was a voice tinged with regret.
“My name is Teller Conlon. I am the Federation trade liaison to Imprima. And I have conspired with the officials of Madraga Rhurig to steal Fortune’s Light in an effort to prevent the merger between Madraga Criathis and Madraga Terrin …”
Riker found it hard to listen—even though the words were his, put together on their way here, and reshaped by the Enterprise’s computer to simulate the voice and speech patterns of his friend. The forgery was too good; it actually hurt to hear Teller admit his guilt.
More important, those around him were listening—including Daran and Norayan, Kelnae and Kobar. Only Larrak had reason to doubt. He knew it was highly unlikely that Teller would have logged such a confession and then buried the seal anyway.
“… to be rewarded for my efforts with Rhurig wealth and passage offplanet …”
Riker had taken chances with some of the details. But he’d had to. If he’d made the confession too sketchy, it wouldn’t have