The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [52]
Picard snapped shut the book.
He had found the obvious root of his dreams.
Even though some twenty years had passed since he had last read this history text, the names must have remained nestled in his memory. Finding the Ko N’ya had triggered his imagination to embroider an unusually elaborate tapestry around them.
Dreams … they were only dreams.
When Guinan walked into the Due or Die, the Andorian bartender pointed the way to the back of the establishment. Each step she took in that direction filled her with distaste. The lighting was dim, but not dim enough to hide the scruffy floor and battered furniture; the few customers scattered here and there at tables were bent over their drinks, gazing too intently upon an inner landscape to notice her. She expected a challenge from the stocky Norsican guard at the back, but he stepped aside without comment to let her pass through a doorway.
The shadowed interior of the next room was bleak and barren. It prepared her for Camenae’s glacial expression. The woman sat motionless, with her hands folded together on the tabletop; only a flicker of Camenae’s eyes betrayed any sign of recognition. She uttered no greeting to her visitor.
“I get the feeling I was expected,” said Guinan in Federation Standard. She sat down in a chair that was uncomfortably hard, but then no one would choose to linger in this room.
“When the Enterprise docked at this starbase, I considered the possibility of your coming here.”
“Then you knew I was working on a Federation starship?”
“You’ve been with them for several years,” said Camenae. “Word gets around.”
But you didn’t call me. “I heard rumors you were off-planet when the Borg attacked, but I was never able to confirm that you were still alive. Or to find you.”
“It’s a large universe,” Camenae said in a flat voice. “We were scattered apart by the solar winds.” Then she dropped into the language of their race. “Leaves that have fallen from a tree do not attach themselves to a branch again.”
There was a vestige of lyric poetry in her words, but her verse had never dealt with images of death or decay. The woman Guinan remembered had laughed often; now Camenae’s face was carved in somber, unyielding lines.
Guinan shook her head, warding off the morbid spell cast her way. “I prefer to think of us as cuttings from a plant; we will grow tall in new soil.”
Dropping back into Federation Standard, Camenae countered, “You won’t grow at all if you continue working on a starship like the Enterprise. Wasn’t one encounter with the Borg enough? Why must you persist in confronting them over and over again?”
“Danger comes with the job.”
“And what of this visit? Is it also part of your job? Did Picard send you here to interrogate me?”
“No,” said Guinan with a weary shake of her head. “I came because I wanted to see you again.”
“How flattering.” Camenae smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression. “I’m not sure that I believe you. Your captain was curious about the murder.”
“Murder?” said Guinan. “I’ve heard about the deaths of the Vulcans on Atropos, but Picard already knows they were killed by Orion mercenaries.”
“You must not be a very good Listener. One of my operatives on this starbase was killed as well.”
Guinan shrugged away the insult. “That’s not the type of information I seek out, and the ship’s officers don’t discuss classified matters with me, just personal ones.”
“There’s no profit in mending people’s love lives.”
“Is that what you do? Listen for profit?”
“Yes,” said Camenae. “And what I hear is far more interesting than the petty problems of some homesick ensign.”
“So you do know who murdered your—” “Answering that question would betray a client confidence, a confidence I have been paid to keep.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Guinan incredulousl y. “You won’t betray the murderers and thieves who are crawling over this starbase because they paid you?”
“My business ethics are the only principles I have left. I’m loathe to give them up.