Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
He turned to Merant next and said, “Walk with me a moment, will you?”
The other Cardassian’s brow creased, but only a little. “Of course, Glinn.”
Taking Merant’s arm, Tain led him through the hatch and into the next hulk, which had been a Tyrheddan freighter. It now housed a series of appraisal shops, where merchants could take their recently purchased trinkets and see if they had paid a fair price for them.
“So,” said the glinn, in a purposefully neutral tone of voice, “what did you learn in the Zartani hotel?”
“Unfortunately,” said Merant, “nothing at all. The manager had no knowledge of the one we seek.”
“You made sure of that,” the glinn said. It wasn’t a question. “I don’t think that Zartani will be able to swallow for a while, do you?”
Merant chuckled—but there was a distinct note of nervousness in it. “Probably not.”
By then, they had come to another hatch. This time, they entered the surviving portion of an Ologomwi space station, though it could hardly have been the more attractive part.
With only a row of small warehouses to commend it, it was a good deal less populated than the Tyrheddan freighter.
“Tell me,” said Tain, giving nothing away, “what made you decide to grab him by the throat?”
“He was arrogant,” said Merant. “I wanted to show him what I thought of his attitude.”
“But all the while,” Tain suggested, “you were thinking about your mission, correct? Not any personal feelings you may have entertained.”
“Of course not,” Merant confirmed.
They were coming to a space between two of the warehouses—an alley of sorts. And there wasn’t anyone in earshot who could have overheard their conversation.
Still, what Tain had to say to Merant could be said only in complete privacy. He gestured for his second-in-command to enter the alley. Then Tain followed him.
“Is something wrong?” Merant asked.
“I need to be sure of something,” Tain said. “When you choked that Zartani, were you serving Cardassia…and me?”
“Yes,” Merant agreed. “Of course.”
“Fully,” asked Tain, “with every conceivable weapon in your arsenal?”
“I did my best,” Merant said in earnest. He thrust his chin out. “And I will continue to do my best, as long as I am privileged to be in your service.”
“I believe you,” said Tain. But before he was finished speaking, he had pulled his disruptor out from beneath his tunic.
“What—?” Merant sputtered.
“It’s unfortunate,” Tain told him, “that your best has proven so woefully inadequate.”
Then he depressed the trigger, skewering his fellow Cardassian on a lurid red beam.
Merant went flying into the wall behind him with bone-rattling force. Then, much more slowly, he slumped to the floor and lay still.
Tain frowned. His underling’s display of violence in a crowded hotel lobby had been ill advised. The authorities would be looking for the person responsible for it, regardless of what the manager had promised Merant.
And their search would end when they found his corpse in this narrow alley.
No one fails me twice, Tain mused. Merant wasn’t the first of his associates to learn that lesson, and he probably wouldn’t be the last.
Putting his weapon away, the glinn walked out of the alley as if he had nothing on his mind more pressing than a pleasant meal, or perhaps a drink at one of the area’s many bars.
Inside, however, he was burning.
It had nothing to do with what he had done to Merant. He wouldn’t be giving that a second thought any time soon. But he was no closer than before to finding Demmix, and time was not his ally in this enterprise.
The last thing Enabran Tain wanted was to be found in a dirty alley on Cardassia Prime, the victim of a failed mission here in Oblivion.
Chapter Ten
COMMANDER STEEJ WAS SITTING in a café carved out of the bowels of an Orion slave ship, eating a plate of unfortunately overcooked Rythrian tubers, when he got the call.
Trying to contain his eagerness, he snatched his personal com device off his belt and said, “Steej here.”
“This is Ardin,” came the slightly tinny reply—but then, Ardin was a Zintekkan, and all his people seemed to have that vaguely