Harbinger

After repairing the door-lock panel, Pe

He was grateful for the roar of the air ducts, though, and for his soft-soled shoes, which enabled him to skulk along in near-silence. The last thing he wanted to deal with tonight was ru

Roaming for several minutes in an arbitrary left-turn, right-turn search pattern, he paused at every corner, listened for company, and peeked to make certain he wasn’t blundering into an unfortunate encounter. He glanced down a short, remote stretch of dimly lit corridor and finally saw a garbage-disposal chute large enough to accommodate his duffel. Or a body, his cynical reporter’s instincts suggested.

He entered the corridor just as he heard footsteps—and a dry scraping sound—approaching from around the far corner. Ducking quickly back the way he had come, he clutched his duffel, afraid to set it down lest something inside it settle noisily or clank against something else. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, calming himself, remaining still.

Quick footfalls echoed in the corridor, then stopped.

A woman’s voice. “This will be a suitable location for our discussion.” She spoke with the cold precision of a Vulcan.

“I hope the food’s better than the ambience,” a man said, in a voice marked by a strangely hard-to-place North American twang. Pe

T’Pry

“Where?”

“Do not make me repeat myself, Qui

The man reached up, grabbed a recessed horizontal edge in the middle of the wall and pulled himself back to his feet. “Why ask at all? You talk like you already know the answer.”

“It is just as valid to interrogate in order to confirm soft intelligence as it is to obtain fresh data,” T’Pry

Smiling, he said, “You have lovely eyebrows.”

“You would fit easily down this incinerator chute.”

“Whoa!” Qui

“Your actions led to the loss of a starship and the deaths of hundreds of Starfleet perso

Eavesdropping from around the corner, Pe

Words returned slowly to Qui

“Yes, Mr. Qui

“The sensor screen,” he said, his voice lower than before, making it difficult for Pe

“Correct,” T’Pry

“You have to believe me, I didn’t know it was a Starfleet base. If I’d known, I never would’ve taken the job.”

“So you admit you were hired?”

Qui

“I would not expect you to be,” T’Pry

“Hey, lady, I’m just a simple, legitimate prospector.”

She reached forward as if to poke him for emphasis, then lightly touched her fingertip to his collarbone.

He crumpled at her touch, writhing and grimacing in agony. As his knees folded beneath him, she kept her fingertip against him. He flailed desperately to pull her hand away, but seemed unable to bend his arms or turn them enough at the elbow or shoulder to reach T’Pry

“The Vulcan martial art of V’Shan features a comprehensive study of pressure points and their effect on the central nervous system,” T’Pry

“Lady, ain’t you ever heard the saying ‘A man can’t serve two masters’?”

“A logical notion,” T’Pry

“I think it’s damned relevant.” Qui

“I prefer to think of myself as your handler.”

Lurking beyond the shadowy corner, Pe

All at once, Qui

“Mr. Qui

Qui

T’Pry

Pocketing the chip, Qui

What the hell did I just hear? He dropped his duffel, snatched his data tool from his belt, and hurriedly jotted notes. Qui

It was the sort of lucky break every investigative reporter dreamed of…and exactly the kind of sensationalistic story his editor would never run, not without independent confirmation from at least two other sources. If I could get this guy Qui