The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [31]
The glass in Miyakawa’s hands was empty, but the commander feigned a sip of her drink so the waiter would leave her alone. Like a hunter tucked in a blind, she was in the mood to remain undetected and wait for more game to pass by.
The creature was swathed in cloth from head to toe, although Camenae was not entirely sure the figure hidden beneath the heavy robes possessed either of those features. Its voice issued forth from the folds of a drooping hood, and it spoke as if an oily, serpentine tongue formed its words.
“I am Lord Reyjad@an. Your servant outside referred to me as “the DiWahn.” You are both in need of correction. I am unDiWahn one who is from, yet not of, that world.
My people’s origins are of greater eminence than that rough planet could ever generate.”
“Thank you for that clarification.” Camenae automatically filed away this free fact, although its value was dubious. “I have information you seek.”
“The Dream Gem!” it said with a dry rattle of alarm. “What you call the Heart—the rumors of its discovery are true?”
“Yes. It has been found.”
“Why was I not informed of this earlier?” hissed the cowl. “I stated my interest in the Gem ten years ago when I first arrived on this starbase.”
“I noted your demand at that time,” said Camenae with a dryness that was lost on the alien.
“But I have other customers who make greater use of my—” “Kei! I do not involve myself with gossip or deal in issues of petty trade. My only concern is with the Gem. Where is it?”
“The answer to that question will cost—” “Such insolence,” said the alien. “You cannot put a price on my birthright.”
“I can, and do, put a price on everything that is said in this room, Lord Reyjad@an.” After adding an extra ten percent exasperation tax to her previously decided on figure, Camenae firmly stated the cost of the proposed transaction. “Take it or leave it.
I have other customers who would—” “Spare me your tiresome haggling tactics.
I will pay the sum in full.” A jangling sound came from inside the voluminous sleeves, and a necklace crafted of refined dilithium crystals spilled out onto the table.
Camenae shook her head. “I only accept—” “But I expect full service from you,” said the alien. “There will be an additional requirement for the fulfillment of my quest, and I expect it to be provided without additional charge.”
“Oh, very well,” she said, impatient to end the transaction. After all, Aghlarren the Mote would offer a fair price for the crystals. “What is the additional service you require?”
To Camenae’s intense regret, the demand he outlined was reasonable and easily arranged.
Half an hour after Reyjad@an’s departure, Commander Miyakawa had just about decided to put an end to her afternoon of hiding in the shadows of the Due or Die when Thomas Grede skulked into the bar and sidled through to the back room.
She settled back into her seat and ordered another drink.
Base personnel were not prohibited from frequenting the Due or Die since such a regulation would have been impossible for her to enforce, but the technician’s familiarity with the Norsican guard betrayed more than a casual acquaintance with the staff. The knowledge that Grede merited a solo audience with Camenae was even more intriguing.
I’m just one officer. I can’t supervise all my personnel.
Miyakawa had been promised more support, but most of Starfleet viewed an assignment to Starbase 193 as a punitive measure and a blot on their record. So far, all the officers designated to serve on the station had successfully wrangled reassignments; the most recent lieutenant to be posted to the station had chosen to resign from Starfleet instead.
Until reinforcements arrived, Miyakawa would do her best to hold the fort. Today that meant having a little talk with Grede after his next duty shift.
“I have some information for you.”
“For me?” said Grede. “But, Camenae, you know I haven’t got enough credits to buy anything from you.”
“Oh, but this information is free.”
“Free?” He squirmed uneasily in his chair. She could see fear pooling in his eyes.
“According