Section 31_ Rogue - Andy Mangels [133]
Perhaps, Pardek thought, kneeling beside the orchids to inspect them more closely, they serve as a metaphor for politics.
He rose and walked into the house’s sunlit central atrium, where he watched as his daughter, Talkath, practiced her martial arts exercises. So intent was the nine-year-old on the slow, intricately flowing motions of her hands, elbows, and legs, that she did not seem to notice his presence. He smiled silently as he watched her executing her precisely timed movements, delivering slow-motion kicks and blows in a lethal yet exquisitely lovely ballet.
She was a beautiful girl, bright and strong, her movements well-coordinated. Since his wife’s untimely death in a shuttle accident four years prior, Talkath was all he had. She was his future, his legacy, his very life. Nothing in all of the Empire was more important to him.
Pardek walked farther into the house, got a warm cup of kali-fal from the replicator, and took a seat in the breakfast nook. The ethereal strains of one of Frenchotte’s oratorios gently wafted in from the atrium. From his vantage point in the kitchen, he could still watch his daughter without her noticing his presence.
“She’s such a lovely child,” said a voice from behind him.
Startled, Pardek splashed the pungent blue-green liquor down the front of his tunic. He stood, turning quickly toward the voice.
Tal Shiar Chairman Koval stood in the spacious kitchen, craning his head to look at Talkath.
“How did you get in here?” Pardek demanded, his heart in the grip of an icy fist. He pitched his voice low, not wishing to alarm his daughter. But a quick glance in her direction revealed that she had heard nothing.
“A Tal Shiar chairman would be most ineffective if he were unable to come and go as he pleased,” Koval said enigmatically. “Besides, your villa’s transporter scramblers appear to be last year’s model.”
“We shouldn’t even be speaking, Chairman Koval,” Pardek said, realizing that he was still holding his cup-and that his grip had grown nearly tight enough to shatter it. Pardek carefully set it down on the breakfast nook table before continuing. “The hearing about the Chiarosan debacle will be held tomorrow. Not before.”
“And that is why I am here today, Senator. I am well aware that some on the Continuing Committee have characterized my efforts in the Geminus Gulf as a failure.”
Pardek found himself stifling a sardonic laugh. “Hence my use of the word ‘debacle,’ Chairman. How else could one describe what happened in the Chiaros system?”
“The Praetor now controls three new sectors of previously nonaligned space,” Koval said, apparently unfazed by Pardek’s comment. “That, in itself, should be cause for celebration.”
Pardek wasn’t convinced. The cost had been too high. “Three sectors of nothingness, Chairman. And the information you traded to acquire them-“
“Consisted,” Koval said, interrupting, “of the identities of Romulan operatives who were already scheduled for termination. In addition, the so-called ‘spy-list’ I sold to the Federation includes the names of several Starfleet officers who have not engaged in espionage on our behalf, but whose continued existence our Praetor regards as dangerous. These individuals will therefore, in the eyes of Federation authorities, be strongly suspected of treason. And new double agents are even now planting evidence against these individuals, while getting in line to occupy their soon-to-be-vacant positions.”
While Koval spoke, Pardek studied his face. Was Koval’s right eyelid drooping slightly? Lately there had been whispers in the Senate chambers that the Tal Shiar chairman was showing incipient signs of Tuvan syndrome. Pardek could only hope that this was so; the man had thus far proved immune to all other threats.
Whether ill or hale, however, Koval still both impressed