the Federation, of course. Words came easily, although action did not. But I’m ready, for the moment, to hear more.” She glanced briefly across at Detrek (was that contempt in her eyes?) and then looked back at Picard. “From you, Picard, at least.”
Crusher breathed out slightly and relaxed. She saw Dygan do the same. Nice save, Jean-Luc. That’s why they send you on these missions.
4
FROM:
Civilian Freighter Inzitran, flagship, Merchant Fleet 9
TO:
Ementar Vik Tov-A, senior designated speaker, Active Affairs, Department of the Outside
STATUS:
Estimated time to border: 32 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 47 skyturns
Waypoint 42. Fleet course adjustment executed successfully.
T he next time Efheny went to the eatery at the covered market, there was no sign of Hertome. She was able to enjoy her leti and biscuit in peace. She watched the bustle of the crowd and observed the servers, moving silently between tables, signaling orders back to the kitchen with a kind of finger poetry that made her xenoanthropologist’s heart sing. She neededthis moment of solitude. She was still uncertain what to do about Hertome.
She had thought of killing him, of course, but murder was unusual on Ab-Tzenketh, and the enforcers investigated any instances fiercely and effectively. Far too risky for an undercover spy. She had debated working with him, as he’d suggested, but she could not bring herself to trust a human, even one as highly trained as Hertome must be. She’d already seen him slip too easily out of his role. She couldn’t request a transfer from her work unit. The whole point of her presence on Ab-Tzenketh was to be in the rooms used by the civil servants in the Department of the Outside. They could keep up the pretense indefinitely, but Hertome was a problem that wasn’t going away. So what should she do? She went into work the next day still undecided, keeping her head down and rushing to obey Hertome’s every order.
That evening she went back to the eatery. To her dismay, Hertome was there. Worse, the only available space was at the same table. With a sigh, Efheny began the complex series of supplications that would allow someone of her grade to request permission to sit opposite someone of his comparatively elevated status.
“We can speak freely, you know,” he said rather impatiently, when at last she lowered herself down to the ground. “My bioengineering enables audio disruption, as I’m sure yours does too. I activated it when you sat down. Anyone listening will hear us exchangingprerecorded pleasantries. But keep your eyes down, Mayazan. You still have to look the part.”
She did keep her eyes down and she did not reply, simply signaled her request to the server. Hertome’s fingers, darkly stained with the cleaning agents that they both used, fiddled with his cup as she ordered.
“I saw on the C-bulletin the other day,” he said chattily, as if they were old friends soaking up the heat in some city stone room, “that the Ret Ata-EE genome is under revision. Some of the Yai scientists have suggested that the next generation of servers should be bred not to speak. They’re arguing that such a feature is redundant in them because they can perform all of their functions perfectly adequately without. They don’t need to speak to serve. What do you think of that, Mayazan? Or whatever your name is?”
“This one would not question the decisions of superiors. Whatever is decided will be best for her.”
Hertome sighed deeply. From beneath her eyelids, Efheny could see him watching her.
“Cardassian,” he said at last. “You have to be. You didn’t even blink. Genetically manipulating an entire class so that they no longer have speech? If you were Federation, if you were Ferengi, certainly if you were Klingon, there’d have been a muscle twitch at the very least. Revulsion is almost impossible to suppress.” He leaned back in again, close, and spoke very quietly. “But Cardassians?
Crusher breathed out slightly and relaxed. She saw Dygan do the same. Nice save, Jean-Luc. That’s why they send you on these missions.
4
FROM:
Civilian Freighter Inzitran, flagship, Merchant Fleet 9
TO:
Ementar Vik Tov-A, senior designated speaker, Active Affairs, Department of the Outside
STATUS:
Estimated time to border: 32 skyturns
Estimated time to destination: 47 skyturns
Waypoint 42. Fleet course adjustment executed successfully.
T he next time Efheny went to the eatery at the covered market, there was no sign of Hertome. She was able to enjoy her leti and biscuit in peace. She watched the bustle of the crowd and observed the servers, moving silently between tables, signaling orders back to the kitchen with a kind of finger poetry that made her xenoanthropologist’s heart sing. She neededthis moment of solitude. She was still uncertain what to do about Hertome.
She had thought of killing him, of course, but murder was unusual on Ab-Tzenketh, and the enforcers investigated any instances fiercely and effectively. Far too risky for an undercover spy. She had debated working with him, as he’d suggested, but she could not bring herself to trust a human, even one as highly trained as Hertome must be. She’d already seen him slip too easily out of his role. She couldn’t request a transfer from her work unit. The whole point of her presence on Ab-Tzenketh was to be in the rooms used by the civil servants in the Department of the Outside. They could keep up the pretense indefinitely, but Hertome was a problem that wasn’t going away. So what should she do? She went into work the next day still undecided, keeping her head down and rushing to obey Hertome’s every order.
That evening she went back to the eatery. To her dismay, Hertome was there. Worse, the only available space was at the same table. With a sigh, Efheny began the complex series of supplications that would allow someone of her grade to request permission to sit opposite someone of his comparatively elevated status.
“We can speak freely, you know,” he said rather impatiently, when at last she lowered herself down to the ground. “My bioengineering enables audio disruption, as I’m sure yours does too. I activated it when you sat down. Anyone listening will hear us exchangingprerecorded pleasantries. But keep your eyes down, Mayazan. You still have to look the part.”
She did keep her eyes down and she did not reply, simply signaled her request to the server. Hertome’s fingers, darkly stained with the cleaning agents that they both used, fiddled with his cup as she ordered.
“I saw on the C-bulletin the other day,” he said chattily, as if they were old friends soaking up the heat in some city stone room, “that the Ret Ata-EE genome is under revision. Some of the Yai scientists have suggested that the next generation of servers should be bred not to speak. They’re arguing that such a feature is redundant in them because they can perform all of their functions perfectly adequately without. They don’t need to speak to serve. What do you think of that, Mayazan? Or whatever your name is?”
“This one would not question the decisions of superiors. Whatever is decided will be best for her.”
Hertome sighed deeply. From beneath her eyelids, Efheny could see him watching her.
“Cardassian,” he said at last. “You have to be. You didn’t even blink. Genetically manipulating an entire class so that they no longer have speech? If you were Federation, if you were Ferengi, certainly if you were Klingon, there’d have been a muscle twitch at the very least. Revulsion is almost impossible to suppress.” He leaned back in again, close, and spoke very quietly. “But Cardassians?
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