The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [53]
Beneath the cynicism was a kernel of truth that saddened Guinan enough to bite back any more recriminations. Instead, she said, “Then I’d like to become one of your customers.”
Camenae laughed with genuine amusement rather than scorn. “You can’t afford me, Guinan. Not on a bartender’s wages.”
“My expenses are low; I can pay the debt off if you’ll extend me credit.”
Camenae shook her head. “Given your penchant for hazardous duty, you’re a bad risk.”
“Given how often I’ve survived, I’d say that luck is on my side, and that I’m a very sound investment.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” said Guinan.
Camenae frowned as she mulled over the request. “Very well,” she said at last, “I will take you on.” Then, with a swift and practiced motion she flipped three tokens onto the tabletop. “That’s your credit stake. You can keep asking questions until I take all the coins back.”
There were many questions Guinan wanted answered, but one above all others. “Tell me about the Heart.”
“What do you know of its history?”
“Enough,” said Guinan. “I’m more interested in current events.”
After a pause to order her thoughts, Camenae recounted what she knew of T’Sara’s ten-year quest on Atropos; then she described the Vulcan distress call that Grede had brought to her, the alterations to the message that had delayed the arrival of the Enterprise, and the frantic scramble among the Orions and Ferengi to take possession of T’Sara’s discovery.
At the conclusion of her tale, Camenae reached out one hand and picked up the first token.
“Vulcans can be such fools at times. They may lack the capacity for greed, but they should remember how many other races do not.”
“Do you know who has the Heart now?” asked Guinan.
“As fact, no,” said Camenae thoughtfully.
“But I can offer a conjecture at a very reasonable price.” Her hand hovered over the next token.
“I’ll pay you to keep that conjecture to yourself.”
The second token disappeared. “And to keep any more information you hear about the Heart out of circulation.”
“Exclusivity is hardly worth the expense at this point,” said Camenae. “The news is beyond recall and spreading quickly.”
“All I’m asking is that you don’t fan the flames any further.”
“Very well,” sighed Camenae. She swept the last token from the table. “That concludes our business for today.”
It was an abrupt dismissal, but Guinan had lost all desire to prolong their reunion.
Gathering up the skirts of her robe, she rose from the table. She said good-bye in their old tongue and waited for some response from Camenae.
“I won’t sell you information about my clients,” said the woman. “But I will offer one piece of advice as a parting gift. Beware the race called the unDiWahn. They are more dangerous than I had judged.”
After her warning, she fell silent again.
Guinan left her sitting in the darkness.
By the time the end of Sendei’s communiqu`e had scrolled across the screen of Picard’s desk terminal, the captain was battling down a substantial tide of anger.
According to Sendei’s instructions, the bodies of the archaeologists and the items salvaged from the encampment were to be shipped to the Science Academy. The director himself would then supervise the distribution of personal effects to the heirs; all of T’Sara’s property, consisting of the research equipment and the excavated artifacts, had been willed to the Academy itself.
Sendei claimed the Heart as part of that bequest.
Yet the director did not acknowledge the discovery of the Ko N’ya. His brief reference implied the stone was merely a curiosity crafted by the original artisans of the Atropos colony.
“In the absence of medical validation by Vulcan physicians, I consider it prudent to accept Sorren’s diagnosis of Bendii’s syndrome. Unfortunately, the relic you recovered from the Ferengi provided T’Sara with a focus for her delusions.”
With typical Vulcan condescension, that one paragraph summarily discounted Doctor Crusher’s medical evaluations and Picard’s scientific assessment of the stone’s origins.
Worse yet, Sendei dismissed T’Sara’s achievement as the