The Brave and the Bold Book Two - Keith R. A. DeCandido [13]
“My first duty, Commander, is to Starfleet. You can be assured that I will follow that duty wherever it may take me. Now then, if you please,” he said, once again raising the rifle, “what is the next shot?”
Before Voyskunsky could answer, the intercom beeped. “Bridge to Lieutenant Tuvok.”
“Go ahead.”
“You have a personal message from Vulcan, sir.”
Tuvok looked at DeSoto. “May I take this in the shuttle, Captain?”
“Of course.”
Setting the rifle on the deck, Tuvok moved toward the shuttle hatch, opened it, entered, and closed it behind him for privacy.
Voyskunsky grinned. “Speak of the devil and the devil calls you on subspace—assuming that is his wife or one of his kids calling.”
“Probably. I take it you’re concerned with Tuvok’s cover story.”
“Just want to make sure. We’ve had enough legitimate defections that he should be able to blend in fine. And we certainly created enough of an isolinear trail that any checks the Maquis do will turn up fine. I’m worried about two things: whether or not he can sell the cover story, and whether or not he won’t be one of those defections.”
DeSoto blinked. “Why are you worried about that?”
“Tuvok left Starfleet once already, some seventy-three years back. I don’t want to risk a repeat performance.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” DeSoto said, putting a reassuring hand on Voyskunsky’s shoulder. “His record is spotless. I’m sure he’ll do his job and do it well.”
She nodded twice. “You’re probably right, sir—I just want to be sure.”
“Understandable. By the way—is there something going on between you and Commander Cavit that I should know about?”
“That you should know about? No, sir.”
DeSoto smiled. Nicely handled, he thought. An honest answer without actually giving any information.”If you say so.”
The shuttle hatch opened. Tuvok stepped out and picked up the rifle.
“Was the news good, bad, or indifferent, Lieutenant?” DeSoto asked with a smile.
“The news was personal, Captain. I would prefer not to go into any more detail.”
“Of course,” DeSoto said. “Carry on, you two. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
Gul Eska hated rain.
As he left home for his usual morning walk to the office, he found himself suddenly pushed by a heavy wind and pelted with enough rain to soak his garments and hair in seconds.
One of the reasons he had fought hard for the assignment to Nramia was that it had mild weather—rain was a rarity in the capital city of this Cardassian colony near the Federation border. No, Nramia was a planet that had nice, hot weather. The red sun beat down on the planet like a lover’s embrace. It was paradise.
For months, Eska had supervised the military installation on Nramia as well as the six hundred thousand colonists who lived peacably on the surface. Krintar grew on Nramia, a rare plant that was the primary ingredient in halant stew. No replicator had ever been able to match the exquisite flavor of natural halant stew, and people would pay through the neck for krintar roots, so by administrating Nramia, Eska was sitting on a latinum mine.
Some pointed out that he would have been better off taking on a few shipboard assignments, but as much as Eska hated bad weather, he hated no weather even more. The idea of spending his time trapped inside a duranium can with nothing but recycled, sterile air to breathe filled him with loathing. True, many lived their whole lives in artificial environments, whether on ships or on planets with unbreathable atmospheres, but that didn’t mean Eska had to live that way. He could barely call that living. No, he wanted the dirt of a planet beneath his feet and the warmth of a real sun beating down on his face.
On Nramia, he had that.
Until the day it started raining.
Eska had heard that the Federation could actually control the weather,