Well of Souls

“You see?” Qadir slapped a palm against his thigh. “Threats. Where are your ma

Ah. Garrett thought they’d get to it eventually. What was she willing to trade? “Information,” she said. “Pure and simple.”

Still chewing, Qadir replaced the tray of cakes. Swallowed. “What sort of information?”

“The Orion Syndicate.” She caught the flash of excitement in Qadir’s eyes and knew she had his attention.

“What of them?”

Garrett gave a faint smile, and she lifted a finger in admonishment. “No, no. This is the way it will go. Youanswer questions first. Then Igive youinformation. Take it or leave it.”

“Hmmm.” Qadir considered. “What if I leave it?”

“Then I’ll make sure Starfleet sends patrols through this part of space on a regular basis. Be bad for business, all those official-looking ships out there.”

“They have no jurisdiction. They have no, what do you call it? Probable cause.”

“No one’s talking about a search. This is out-and-out harassment.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Sure we can. It’s free space, right? You’re not Federation, thank God, so who are you going to complain to? So, do we have a deal?”

Qadir settled back upon his pillows and considered. A wise move, Garrett thought, because the man had a lot to lose. Mahfouz Qadir’s house, with its grilled screened windows and lush tapestries and thick marble walls, was located on a black basalt promontory that jutted out into the Galldean Sea. Qadir’s riyad—his garden where they were now—was tucked in an open courtyard that was shaded by orange, cypress, and lemon trees. In the center, squatting beneath the shade of a vaulted Earth-style Moroccan gazebo, was a low divan of green silk with a carved bloodwood frame so dark it was almost black, and on the divan, tucked amongst pillows of gold and iridescent peacock blue, sprawled Mahfouz Qadir.

He was not, Garrett had decided, an attractive man. His skin was sallow, and he had too much flesh on a frame that was much too small. She thought it likely that the man hadn’t seen his own feet for over a decade. His face was very round, with jowls that substituted for a neck, and his lips were small, with a pronounced cupid’s bow. But if he had the face of fat cherub, his eyes were those of a Donoor rat: like shiny black marbles.

Those eyes gave her a shrewd look. “Very well,” Qadir a

“All right. Two words.” She held up first one finger, then a second. “Talma Pren.”

Qadir’s rat’s eyes narrowed. “Done.”

“Where’s Dalal?” Halak said.

Qadir steepled his pudgy fingers together. “As I said, I am not responsible for every woman on the planet, but,” he held up a hand, palm out, as Halak took a step forward, “it so happens that I do know of a case very similar to what you have described. I am afraid, however, that the woman in question is dead.”

Halak’s voice came as an astonished whisper. “Dead?”

“Yes. It appears that someone broke into her home and murdered her. The apartment was ransacked, some valuables taken, the perpetrators not apprehended,” he waved a hand, and his jeweled rings sparkled, “and that is all.”

For a moment, Halak didn’t move. Then he started forward. “That’s all? That’s all?”

“Commander!” Garrett put a restraining hand on Halak’s arm. Halak’s arm was stiff and rigid as iron beneath her hand, but she felt him tremble, and she heard the harsh rasp of his breath. “Back down, mister.”

Halak gave her a quick nod then looked back at Qadir. Hatred blazed in his eyes. “What about Arava?” Halak asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Where is Arava? Where is Klar? Are they dead, too?”

Qadir, who hadn’t flinched a muscle during all of this, gazed up with an expression of calm serenity. “No. They’re safe.”

“I don’t believe you. I can’t find them.”

“I said they were safe. I did not say that they were easily located.”

“Where are they?”

Qadir inhaled deeply, sighed. In the silence, Garrett heard the lazy drone of a fly.

“A question,” said Qadir and then, in a quick aside to Garrett, “Just one.”

Garrett gave a miniscule nod. Qadir trained his gaze on Halak. “If I tell you, what will you do?”

“I take her as far away from here as I can, as quickly as I can.”

“And she does not come back, correct?” Qadir zeroed in on Halak. “More importantly, youdo not return, yes?”

“Not in a million years.”

“You relinquish all claims?”

Halak’s eyes slid quickly to Garret then back to Qadir. “Whatever deals you made, you made with my father. I am not my father’s son, not in that way.”

“Yes,” said Qadir, his oily tone faintly derisive, “you’re re-born, in Starfleet now. Found yourself a new family, eh? Cleaner? More to your liking?”

When Halak didn’t answer, Qadir’s pink lips puckered. “Well, I suspect that once Starfleet knows everything there is to know about you, they might not wantyou for a son. Every family exacts its own price for loyalty.”

“But that’s my problem, isn’t it? Not yours. Now, I’ve answered your questions. You answer mine.”

Qadir studied Halak for another brief moment. Then he gave a backhanded wave of dismissal. “I’ll have her brought here. Take her, and welcome to her.”

“And the boy.”

“Yes, of course, of course. But, you,” Qadir flicked a jeweled index finger at Garrett, “she won’t be as useful as you think. Her information is obsolete.”

“That’s not for me to decide, and I really don’t care,” said Garrett.

“Then we both don’t.” Qadir gave a good-natured shrug. “And now, information, yes?”

Garrett turned to Halak. “Wait outside.” When he hesitated, she said, “Go. I’ll be right with you.”

Qadir’s eyes followed Halak as he walked out of the courtyard and disappeared into the house. “A difficult man. You’ll have your hands full, Captain, presuming he’s allowed to remain on duty, eh? Assuming he’s not court-martialed, sent to prison?”

“Stop fishing.” Garrett did not return the smile. “Whatever happens, I’m sure you’ll be one of the first to know.”

“Eyes and ears, Captain,” said Qadir. “You know, there’s a fascinating bit of Earth history I learned the other day. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth I had a most advanced spy network? Sir Francis Walsingham ran it, and legend has it that his network was so extensive and advanced it was the envy of its day. And everyone knew it, you see, that he was Elizabeth’s eyes and ears; that someone was always listening for her, watching. So when some court painter did Elizabeth’s portrait, he incorporated the most ingenious thing, a bit of code. She wears a beautiful orange mantle and if you look very carefully, you see that he’s painted tiny embroidered eyes and ears all over the cloak. Eyes and ears, Captain,” Qadir touched a finger to the corner of one of his bright, black eyes and then to the lobe of his ear, “eyes and ears.”

“Then let’s talk about one of yourspies, shall we? Talma Pren.”

Qadir reclined on his gold and peacock blue pillows, like a child settling in for a good story. “Yes, what of Talma? Do you know I can’t find that girl anywhere? You can be sure, I’m going to give her a talking to.”