Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key (9 page)

“M
y patience is wearing thin, L’Haan,” Iliana said as she considered the view beyond the panoramic window of her suite aboard the
Negh’Var,
watching the elongated starlight stream past—an illusion of the warship’s superluminal velocity. She’d long since grown weary of the view. Her rendezvous with the Alliance battle fleet at Regulon was now only minutes away, and still the Vulcan handmaiden had not kept up her end of the bargain they had struck prior to Iliana’s arrival in this twisted universe. “You assured me you understood the mechanism’s function.”

In the reflective transparency of the window, Iliana saw L’Haan bowing deeply, the scanty silken veils that passed for servants’ attire in this place once again billowing around her slender frame as she moved. Iliana’s predecessor had clearly been a creature of vulgar sensibilities.

“With respect, Intendant,” L’Haan said, “the fault is not with my understanding, but with the mechanism itself.”

Intendant.

The title brought a faint smile to Iliana’s lips, which she admired in her reflection. She was a perfect match for the Kira Nerys of this universe, from the gaudy silver headpiece that crowned her red hair to the toes of the narrow boots that completed her clinging black bodysuit. Three days after the she’d claimed her new identity, the euphoria of slitting that other Kira’s throat lingered like the heady effect of an exquisite wine.

But she knew that she owed some measure of her success thus far to L’Haan. Reaching out surreptitiously to Intendant Kira’s handmaiden had been a tricky but essential maneuver. As a personal slave, and a Vulcan, L’Haan was uniquely positioned to take note of Kira’s most closely guarded secrets, and to advise Iliana on how to carry off her masquerade. She needed only to be convinced to stay out of the way until the switch could be made during the
Negh’Var’
s detour to Harkoum. And despite her lowly station in the hierarchy of the Alliance, she was already proving that she was not without useful skills of her own.

Iliana turned away from her reflection to look at the Vulcan. “Exactly what are you telling me?”

L’Haan kept her eyes fixed on the floor. “I am saying that Professor Ke’s dimensional transporter does not function as it was intended.”

Iliana glanced toward the elaborate array of equipment surrounding the blank wall at the far end of her spacious quarters. “That’s impossible,” she spat. “We made the journey over, Taran’atar and I, using that very device. How can you stand there and tell me—”

“That involved the use of the transporter in a manner that is already proven to work,” L’Haan explained. “To bridge the two known parallel universes. But Professor Ke warned your predecessor that the system he created to broaden the dimensional reach of the transporter was unstable. I suspect he was trying to prepare her for the possibility of failure, and that he would require more time to perfect it. Unfortunately, she killed him before its ability to reach other alternate realities was substantiated.”

Iliana wanted to scream. How supremely stupid could this continuum’s Kira have been to kill the machine’s creator before it could be tested? Wasn’t it enough that Shing-kur had fed the Intendant the idea of creating a metadimensional transporter in the first place? The Kressari’s technical genius had served Iliana well over the last year, but even she admitted to being woefully unqualified to devise a transporter capable of bridging multiple realities. Far better to leave that task for Intendant Kira and the considerable resources someone of her power and influence could doubtless call upon—or so Shing-kur had believed. The DTM had been invented here, after all, and used repeatedly by people who seemed to be obsessed with the other universe. But had Iliana known the Intendant would botch it so completely, she certainly would not have placed nearly so much reliance on that hedonistic narcissist!

But perhaps it was better this way. The metadimensional transporter had always felt like overkill to Iliana, the fruit of Shing-kur’s unvoiced skepticism toward her epiphany. Now the device’s failure seemed almost to be
a sign affirming Iliana’s instinct about the pivotal role she was fated to play in this universe.

It would have been so sweet—beaming across the dimensions at my leisure to slay one Kira after another. But all things in their proper time.
Iliana gazed down at the golden bracelet that encircled her hand.
And there’s so much else we need to do first, isn’t there?

The stars beyond her enormous viewport condensed from streaks into pinpoints, and the
Negh’var
was suddenly surrounded by a combined fleet of Cardassian and Klingon warships, magnificently arrayed in formation.

“Here we go,” Iliana whispered aloud. She turned to consider the tall figure that stood vigilantly some distance away on her right. “How do you feel?”

“Obedience brings victory,” Taran’atar said. He watched her constantly, ever ready to follow her slightest command without question.

Iliana offered him a thin smile. “That’s not an answer, but no matter. General Kurn is growing impatient about the true nature of the ‘package’ his Intendant received while the
Negh’Var
was orbiting Harkoum. Soon it’ll be time to make your existence known, and to sell our story. I trust you remember what to say?”

Taran’atar answered without hesitation. “I will tell anyone you designate that I am a Jem’Hadar soldier, from a world far beyond the Alliance’s borders. I was captured by a Bajoran scientist in your service, Professor Ke Hovath, who studied my neurochemistry and learned that I could be made to serve the Alliance. Professor Ke
contacted you and presented me as a gift on Harkoum. As a test of my servitude, and in order to preserve the secrecy of my existence, your first command was that I kill Professor Ke.”

Iliana nodded. “Good. I’ll persuade them that with your help I’ll be able to find the rest of your kind and sway them into serving the Alliance as well. By the time anyone realizes I have no such intentions, the wormhole will already be mine. And then—”

The dull tone of the Klingon comm system heralded a call from the bridge.
“Kurn to Kira.”

Iliana sighed at the interruption. “If you’re going to tell me we’ve arrived at Regulon, General, I can see that for myself.”

“No, Intendant. But we received a Code Black transmission as soon as we dropped out of warp.”

Iliana cursed silently. Code Black was an alert from the Obsidian Order.

“Gul Macet is standing by to beam an Alliance official over to us from the
Trager,” Kurn continued.
“The official is demanding an audience with you.”

“Is he now?” Iliana mused. “Well, we mustn’t keep him waiting. By all means, welcome this dignitary to your ship, General, and escort him to your office. ”

“My
office, Intendant?”

“Do you have a problem with that, General?”

After a slight pause, Kurn answered,
“Of course not, Intendant.”

“Good,” Iliana said. “Keep him occupied until I arrive. Kira out.” Iliana returned her attention to L’Haan, and
pointed to Professor Ke’s device. “Have that equipment dismantled and destroyed. Download the specifications to a datarod, but remove all trace of it from the computer system. Is that understood?”

Again, L’Haan’s eyes went to the deck. “Yes, Intendant.”

“Why would an official from the Obsidian Order wish to see the Intendant
now?”

L’Haan shook her head. “I cannot say. My previous mistress had little use for the Order. I gathered she held them in some contempt.”

Iliana laughed at that, and turned to adjust her hair in the reflection of the viewport. “Just when I thought she and I couldn’t be more dissimilar…”

As with most Klingon ships, the
Negh’Var
reeked of the excesses of its builders. Not the builders per se; individual Klingons exuded a strong and distinct odor that in itself was not wholly unpleasant. But when that scent was magnified by their preference for overcrowded living conditions and mingled with the pervasive stench of the rich, meaty foods they favored, the air quality of a spaceship’s interior, even one as atypically spacious as the
Negh’Var,
was almost unbearable. Outside the Intendant’s quarters, Iliana felt as if she were suffocating in the vessel’s warm, acrid atmosphere—even in the executive turbolift she took to the command deck and Kurn’s office, a private elevator reserved for the ship’s seniormost officers.

Iliana steeled herself and soldiered on through the
Negh’Var’
s narrow warren of corridors toward Kurn’s office.

She would need to dispense with the Order’s messenger as quickly as possible. There was much she needed to do, and such delays were intolerable. Still, she knew she had to tread carefully; though she was confident of her ability to play the role in which she’d cast herself, she understood that her impatience to reach her endgame could easily prove to be her undoing.

The guards stationed outside the office door carefully avoided eye contact as she approached. The show of deference was amusing in its way; whatever else she might think about the Kira of this universe, the woman had clearly made a masterful ascent within the political structure of the Alliance, and in doing so, had cultivated the fear as well as the respect of the aliens around her. It made Iliana tingle to imagine how she would use that power in the days ahead.

But when the thick door to Kurn’s sanctum opened, her excitement quickly evaporated into the pungent air. The general was facing her as she entered. He was speaking to a tall Cardassian who had his back to the door, a man dressed in neat brown civilian attire. She couldn’t yet see the Cardassian’s face, but there was no mistaking either his silhouette or his posture. He turned toward her as she entered the room, and though the face was sixteen years older than the one she remembered, it gave her pause nevertheless.

The Cardassian’s large, probing eyes met hers, one eyeridge rising appraisingly.

“Intendant Kira, I presume?”

Iliana said nothing in response, and into the silence that followed Kurn finally said, “Intendant, I give you Senior Operative Corbin Entek of the Obsidian Order.”

Iliana took her time summoning forth an arrogant smile. “Thank you, General. You may return to your duties. I’ll speak to the operative. Alone.”

Kurn’s eyes blazed with unconcealed resentment. She was still learning the nuances of their relationship, but clearly he wasn’t accustomed to receiving such dismissive treatment from Intendant Kira. Iliana knew she would have to rectify that, but now was not the time. For the moment she merely held his stare as if daring him to defy her.

“I’ll be on the bridge,” Kurn said through his teeth, then marched out without sparing another word for either of them.

Ignoring Kurn’s emotional display, Iliana kept her own manner businesslike as she gestured Entek toward the office’s single guest chair, which was made of the same hard, unforgiving metal that comprised the
Negh’Var’
s decks.

“Are you unwell, Intendant?”

“Is there a reason I should be?” Iliana asked imperiously as she retreated behind Kurn’s cluttered desk.

“Not yet,” Entek answered. “But perhaps you’re unaware that operatives of the Obsidian Order are trained in kinesics. It seemed to me that you appeared unsettled for a moment.”

“I’m well aware of the skills that the Order prizes, Mister Entek. It just troubles me to think that all its
agents may be as poorly trained and impertinent as
you
appear to be.”

“Then I’ll be sure to make your concerns known to Director Lang when next I speak with her,” he promised. “I understand that she’s developed a keen interest in your thoughts of late. As have others.”

Iliana leaned back in Kurn’s massive, too-hard chair and manufactured a scornful gaze. “Kindly dispense with your veiled insinuations and come to the point, Mister Entek. If you know anything about me at all, then you know I’m not one to be trifled with. And if I find that you are wasting my time, Director Lang will also develop a keen interest in the whereabouts of your body.”

Entek smiled, clearly not intimidated. Without taking his eyes off her he produced a padd, carefully set it down on the desk between them, and pushed it gently toward her. “You’ve been summoned before the regent,” he said in matter-of-fact tones. “You’re to present yourself to him at Raknal Station within three standard days.”

Iliana refused to look at the padd. She concentrated instead on keeping her outrage contained, however imperfectly. “That’s quite impossible, Mister Entek. I’m on a vital mission on behalf of the Alliance, on the regent’s own authority—”

“Which he is free to rescind at any time,” Entek reminded her. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfiture. “And your ‘mission,’ as you call it, is precisely
why
you’ve been summoned. It appears that some…concerns have been raised about some of your recent activities. Particularly as they pertain to this military force you’ve amassed here at Regulon.”

Iliana finally looked down at the padd. She saw the official command displayed on the device’s tiny screen, and wondered what this turn of events might mean. L’Haan had assured her that Intendant Kira had successfully negotiated the use of Regent Martok’s personal fleet. Something had changed, apparently. But what?

“You may, of course, decline the summons,” Entek continued. “But I daresay the regent might find such a decision on your part…irritating.” From the Cardassian’s tone, she strongly suspected he would love to see her try.

Iliana paused to consider the somewhat narrow palette of choices available to her. As infuriating as this diversion was, her success depended in large part upon not making enemies of these people too soon. Simply defying Martok’s summons wasn’t an option, as Entek knew perfectly well. In a fleet rife with power-hungry opportunists, her flagrant disobedience of the regent would invite a quick assassination from those wishing to curry Martok’s favor—and she strongly suspected that Kurn would be at the head of the line.