The Art of the Impossible

But Qaolin had already thought of what plasma interacting with the particulate matter of the nebula would do. “Set course 111 mark 22, full impulse. Is the Sontokpursuing?”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot said.

“Excellent. When I give the word, reverse course and eject the containment unit in the port wing.”

Tolkor spoke up again. “Sir, we have a hull breach on deck four—all the cabins on the port side have been exposed to space, sir.”

Qaolin could not help it. He laughed, long and hard.

The guest cabin where Yovang’s body still lay was on the port side. It, along with all its contents, had just been blown into the vacuum of space.

A more fitting fate, I could not imagine.He suspected that he would not be rid of I.I. so easily. Qaolin was quite sure that a recording had been made of his assassination of Yovang, and he was equally sure that such a recording would survive a firefight, and even explosive decompression. Still, any destruction of evidence suited Qaolin just fine.

“Approaching nebula,” the pilot said.

“Reverse course.” A pause. “Eject the unit.”

One second later, the viewscreen became filled with static, as the charged particles of the nebula did their work in interfering with the image translator. Three seconds later, several consoles blew apart from the impact of a nearby explosion.

“Report!”

“The Sontokis dead in space.” Tolkor laughed. “Your timing was perfect, sir. The Kazin’s warp core breach happened at the same time as our containment unit ignited the nebula. However, we were caught in the backwash of both. Our engines are offline.”

“What of the other ships?”

“Attempting to locate them, now. We’re drifting away from the nebula, so that should improve sensor resolution—Aha!” Again, Tolkor laughed. “It would seem, Captain, that we have achieved a stalemate. Only two Cardassian ships are left intact—the Sontokand the Golnor,and both are showing no power output worth mentioning.”

“What of our forces?”

“In Sto-Vo-Korwith the Black Fleet—except for us.” Tolkor manipulated his console. “Now getting debris readings—it would seem that the Dogalfollowed the Kazin’s lead and took our foes with them when their ships proved too unstable to remain intact.”

“They died well,” Qaolin said. “Time to repair warp drive?”

“I do not know, sir. Internal communications are down. However,” and Tolkor laughed a third time at this, “external communications are functioning normally. We can contact Command.”

“Do so.” Qaolin turned to the viewscreen, the image on which was starting to clear up. “I will not let Ch’gran be taken from my hands now, not when we’ve come this far…”

He stared at the Sontokas it drifted through space, powerless, its momentum carrying it slowly closer to the Betreka Nebula. You fought well, my enemy,he thought at whoever it was who commanded the Sontok. But I still draw breath, and I swear that I will never allow you to take Ch’gran from me.

Chapter 8

Cardassia Prime

Enabran Tain had never been to the headquarters of the Detapa Council before. But then, before he hadn’t been the head of the Obsidian Order.

Indeed, going to this emergency meeting—which was to be attended only by Tain, his counterpart at Central Command, and the First Speaker of the Council—was Tain’s first official act as head of the Order. It was a position he had long anticipated. He had expected to be appointed several months ago, in fact, and he no doubt would have been, had his information that his predecessor was fatally allergic to Locan powder been accurate.

Tain straightened his dull green tunic as the doors parted to let him into the meeting room. The tunic did an adequate job of hiding the fact that Tain was putting on weight. Since his Order duties had been more administrative of late, he had let his weakness for rich food get the better of him, and without the concomitant exercise inherent in field work, he found his middle getting rounder.

Then again, Tain had never been a particularly impressive physical specimen. Though large, he was not intimidating, and even at his slimmest, he presented a bland figure, more circular than stocky. He cultivated that, as it gave the impression that he was weak—useful for someone in his profession to convey.

The room’s purpose was to hold meetings such as this where only one member of each body was required. Decorated in bold browns and greens, with tasteful-yet-harmless spacescape paintings on two of the walls, the room’s most prominent feature was the window on the back wall opposite the door: an etched-glass window in the shape of the Cardassian Union’s emblem. From the outside, the window looked glorious when the sun hit it, and Tain supposed that the brilliance was even more astounding in here. Sadly, this meeting was taking place in the dead of night, so all that illuminated the facets of the glass were the city lights—a woefully inadequate substitute. Tain himself would have preferred stained glass, of course, an art form that the humans of Earth had apparently perfected over the course of their history. Tain had learned of it from one of his operations. Perhaps I’ll copy this design for my own house, only using the human technique.

Legate Kell was already seated in one of the chairs around the crescent-shaped table. The table had three large chairs, one in the center, one on each of the ends. Kell had taken the seat to the right of center, as was traditional for Central Command. Tain was expected to take the one on the left.

The First Speaker had not yet arrived.

Kell looked up at Tain’s arrival and grunted. He wore the gray uniform of the military, in his case decorated on the left breast with a golden version of the Cardassian emblem. Tain had always thought that the decoration that indicated a legate to be overly ostentatious—but then, the military by its nature was ostentatious. That was why the Order was necessary, to counteract that belligerent tendency.

“Good to meet you, Tain,” Kell said, not sounding in the least bit sincere in that sentiment. “Your record is fairly impressive.”

Tain nodded as he took his seat. Kell would, of course, be familiar with Tain’s record, since Central Command had final approval over any appointment to the Order. Usually that approval was a formality—Central Command hadn’t exercised its right to deny an appointment in centuries—but that wouldn’t stop them from reviewing any such appointment. Not,he thought, that the opinion of a legate, even this one, is of any great interest to me.

Kell gazed for several seconds at Tain. For his part, Tain sat in his chair, his hands folded on the table, and waited for Speaker Alnak. No doubt Kell is waiting for me to return the compliment. Well, let him wait.

“Hmph,” Kell said, then went back to studying his padd.

Tain had not brought such an item with him—in his position, he could hardly put his work in an unsecure portable device and view it in public. So he watched Kell, observing the older man’s body language, the way he stabbed at the display of his padd impatiently, the fact that he paid no attention to the mug he was drinking from. That, in particular, piqued Tain’s interest. Kell was, by all accounts, a patriot and a credit to his position. Unfortunately, it was a position often occupied by fools. The day may come where his foolishness will damage Cardassia. When that day comes, I must be ready to deal with it.The ease with which Kell could be poisoned was something Tain might be able to use some time in the future.