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  And then she said something she wasn’t expecting to say. “Once you’ve done that—you put me on the team.”

  Leland raised his hands and smirked. “Whoa. Absolutely not.”

  Cornwell looked to her, again kindly. “I’m not sure, Emony. I understand wanting to help, but that’s not your area of expertise.”

  “Yeah, no balance beam where we’re going,” Leland interjected.

  Dax smoldered at that—and proceeded to count on her fingers. “Rodolfo Eagan. Mae Winnock. Vihaan Garber. People I’ve spent the better part of the year working with. Even Kubisiak, the pilot. They were counting on me to make sure you found out about this, to make sure you made certain that this never happened again. Those people—and everyone else aboard Farragut. So, no. I’m not going to let this go, not now. I will see it through.”

  Leland picked up his data slate and faced the others. “I think we need to move on.”

  “No,” she said, standing up. “Yes, you’re right. I’m Emony Dax—a gymnast. But I’m also a four-time gold medalist. A hundred billion people I’ve never met can name everyone I’ve ever dated. I’m sure if I go to the civilian section of this starbase and call a press conference about going back into competition, I could get on the feed of every journalist in the quadrant.”

  The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “What… would you say?”

  “That the spacelanes aren’t safe—because they aren’t. Because they’re being traversed by a killer cloud, waiting to drink people dry.” She put her hands on the table and spoke emphatically. “Wait. Did I say a cloud? Maybe there are dozens of them!”

  “We don’t know that,” Cornwell said.

  “You don’t know that there aren’t. I’ve heard that much here today. And what will people think if I tell them that the Federation wants to keep this whole thing a secret?”

  Leland and his companions looked at one another. He set his jaw and stared at her. “You won’t do that.”

  “Are you going to stop me?” She stared at him. “Oh, I forget. You break into people’s quarters. Who are you, anyway?” She’d never seen Starfleet officers in black before, nor their special badges. “If you’re going, I’m going too. I sure as hell don’t have anything better to do. The Cloud ate my job!”

  Quiet fell—and her energy spent, she sat down, staring forward.

  Cornwell regarded her, before looking to the Vulcan. “Ambassador, a team could work. Dax could be on it—as an observer.”

  “The Federation will require more insurance than that,” he replied. “If you’re deploying the emperor, she must be escorted by people who know who she is, and what she’s capable of.”

  “We’ll have people,” Leland volunteered.

  “Not just Section 31. The Federation Security Agency must be represented.”

  “Babysitters,” Leland grumbled. He looked to the ceiling. “She’ll never tolerate it.”

  “She’ll deal—or else,” Cornwell said. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think I can find some people, Ambassador.”

  Leland looked to her, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you thinking of?”

  “You worry about your own people.” The admiral faced Dax. “Emony, are you sure this is what you want?”

  Dax nodded—only to turn to the ambassador. “Wait. Did you just say ‘emperor’?”

  13

  U.S.S. Pacifica

  STARBASE 23

  Regrets, to a Terran, were alien things. When the entire basis of a society rested upon the right of the individual to act arbitrarily at any moment, most people did exactly that.

  It wasn’t conducive to societal stability, of course; without the Empire serving to channel ambitions, anarchy would result. But it was helpful to mental health, Georgiou thought. The only frustrated people were the ones out of power, and they kept themselves busy trying to do something about it. Everyone else in her universe would have little use for Admiral Cornwell and her counselor ilk. Nothing beat melancholia like bacchanalia.

  The days in solitary since the admiral’s sole visit, however, had been enough to make Georgiou regret her parting comments to Leland. She’d asked that nobody else bother her—and nobody had, with even her meals being transported in and out. Cornwell had evidently decided that Georgiou was capable of tricking even the most dedicated jailer into opening her force field through one ruse or another. It was a nice show of respect, but it had severely limited her options.

  So, when Leland returned—with a lithe blonde in a Section 31 uniform in tow—Georgiou took immediate interest. “I’m back,” he said, standing in front of her cell.

  “No admiral, I see.” Georgiou picked up her chair, spun it one hundred eighty degrees, and straddled it before the energy field, as if prepared to get the latest gossip. “Have you brought me a roommate? Or is this ingenue another one of Cornwell’s therapists?”

  “I’m Emony Dax,” the woman replied. “I’m—uh, working with Leland.”

  “Another little girl,” Georgiou said. “Did you get her from the same place you found your alleged leader of the Forest Circle? The one I threw off the catwalk?”

  Alarmed, Dax looked to Leland. “What?”

  “His agent. His plant on Thionoga,” Georgiou said. “I threw her onto the hull of a starship. She broke a few bones, easily repaired.” She looked Dax up and down. “You’re wiry. I bet you’d fare better.”

  A little unnerved, Dax glanced at Leland before looking back at Georgiou. “They, uh, told me what your story was, er—”

  “Emperor.”

  “Emperor. It’s kind of unbelievable.”

  “I’m unbelievable. Believe me.” Georgiou clasped her hands. “But I’ll give you this: you do make for a better Trill than Leland did. You may even be the genuine article. Although I didn’t know too many of your kind where I came from.”

  Eyes down, Dax spoke cautiously. “What—what do your people know about Trills?”

  “That you still exist, which means something. It helps that you’re a lot more attractive than a lot of the aliens out there. It’s an evolutionary aid not to be gruesome. You also mind your own business better than just about any race we’ve encountered.”

  “Another helpful trait, I guess.”

  “Or maybe you all just have something to hide.” She looked keenly at the woman, who had gone pale. “You’re always acting furtive about something.”

  Leland seemed to notice Dax’s discomfort. “Ignore her. I told you, she likes to intimidate everybody she meets.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby,” Georgiou said. “No matter. I suppose you must be important, for Cornwell to come racing back to Starbase 23.”

  Leland regarded her coolly. “What makes you think we did that?”

  “The ship changed headings quickly a couple of days ago, and it was unplanned,” Georgiou said. “There’s a little miss in the inertial dampers that happens when your vessels drop out of warp suddenly—only an engineer would feel it. My people solved that problem in capital ships a while ago. I’m surprised you’re not as far along.”

  Leland frowned. “I’ll make a note of that. But how—”

  “The food they transport into my cell got fresher yesterday—though not necessarily better. Your shipboard arboretums aren’t large enough to raise vegetables to waste on prisoners.”

  “But how did you know it was Starbase 23?” Dax asked.

  Georgiou smiled primly. Leland glared at Dax and said, “She didn’t know. You just told her!”

  Dax blanched—and the emperor chuckled. “I already knew she wasn’t Section 31, Leland. She doesn’t have the sullen look that says she’s lost faith in everything she’s ever believed in. She also has too much hair.”

  He ignored her. “I’ve brought her here on special assignment. She’s the only survivor of a team that… ran into some trouble.”

  “Is that so?” Georgiou couldn’t believe such a little slip of a girl had done anything. “What did you do, my dear—hide in a cargo unit?”


  “You don’t need the details,” he said. “We’re here for yours.” Leland got down to business. “What do you know of the Troika? The astropolitical entity, I mean.”

  The question was out of nowhere, and Georgiou leaned forward with interest. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Why do you refuse to answer?”

  “Because the information will cost you.”

  “What’s your price?”

  Georgiou stood and began pacing. “Since our little dinner earlier this month, I haven’t left the brig once. At least at Thionoga I got to walk to the mess hall.”

  Leland snorted. “Yeah, we know what happened next.”

  “Exactly what you wanted to happen—up to a point. The vaunted security apparatus of a Federation starship ought to be able to figure out a way to let me take a lap around the saucer section.”

  The spymaster considered it. “I’ll see what I can do. Good enough?”

  She shook her head and gestured to her table, now bare. “As long as you’re bringing in food from the starbase, get me something from the executive kitchen. I know your brass doesn’t eat the same garbage they give the enlisted.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No, but until you get me a wine list it’ll have to do.” She stopped pacing and looked directly at them. “I destroyed the Troika. Not too long ago.”

  Leland’s eyes widened. “One of your fleets did it?”

  “Yes, but under my direct command. I enjoyed that one. They were in a real armpit of the Beta Quadrant—even the Klingons didn’t want it. But we weren’t going to allow a bunch of weirdos to declare their territory off-limits.”

  Leland looked to Dax. “I told you she’d have gotten in.”

  “That’s right,” Georgiou said, studying her fingernails. “Three species, all different, all bizarre. I enslaved one, massacred another, annihilated the third. It was barely worth it—they had nothing worth taking. But they defended every meter of the place like it hid buried treasure.” She smiled. “It’s so much better when they put up a fight.”

  Dax frowned. “You’re happy—because people you conquered fought back?”

  “They should melt away like the Trills, you mean? Cooperating and keeping their mouths shut?” Georgiou snorted with derision. “The Troika at least earned my respect.” She peered at Leland. “How is it that you know nothing about them?”

  “Who said that?”

  “You did, when you asked me.”

  “The Federation’s had an agreement for decades not to broach the borders of Troika space,” Leland said. “The little we know about them came from an encounter with a human merchant who’s allowed to work the area, years ago. That’s who gave us the name Troika.”

  “Ah, yes. Quadrillion.”

  “Quintilian,” Leland replied, startled. “You know him?”

  “Know him? I killed him.” She looked to Dax, who seemed all out of stunned expressions. “He’s the reason I know the Troika name, too, as a matter of fact.”

  Leland laughed. “Now that’s something.”

  Georgiou’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Because he taught that name to you here too.” He turned his data slate toward her. “To our Georgiou, I mean. She’s the one who made contact, back in 2233.”

  “Another one of my droll coincidences. Well, I certainly hope I slept with him. He was a man who made an impression. I’m sure the younger version of him was delectable.”

  “It was a brief meeting,” Leland said. “But it began a long correspondence between the two—”

  “That’s no fun.”

  “—giving us most of what little we know about the Troika. And that relationship is the reason we’re here.”

  It dawned on Georgiou that Leland had more on his mind than just information gathering—and Dax, shuffling uncomfortably, confirmed it when she asked Leland, “Can I just tell her?”

  “You’d better not,” Leland said, continuing in what Georgiou regarded to be his let-me-handle-this voice. “Section 31 has reason to believe that there is information in Troika space that would be useful.”

  “Thanks, that isn’t vague at all.” Georgiou studied Dax. “And it relates to what happened to you, I suppose.”

  Leland kept talking. “We want to insert a team of investigators, but we’re unaware of their detection capabilities—and are concerned that abrogating the treaty might be counterproductive at this moment.”

  “Because it’s astride what is now border space between the Federation and Klingon territory, and you’re afraid of pushing these neutrals to the other side—especially when your peace is based on blackmail.” Georgiou stared at him, exasperated. “This would work so much faster if you simply told me everything.”

  “You wouldn’t respect that.”

  “I don’t respect you now.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this: as far as we know, only one person has the ability to get the Troika to accept visitors—Quintilian. And there’s only one visitor he’ll accept: Philippa Georgiou.”

  That amused her. “Apparently my counterpart made an impression too. I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.”

  Dax looked confused. “Isn’t she you?”

  “She’s a shadow. A specter. A lesser version who was never taught to go after what she wanted. And she died stupidly.” Georgiou looked to Leland. “You’re sure of this invitation?”

  “Quintilian’s been asking her to visit for years, in the messages she showed Starfleet Command.”

  “And also in the messages she didn’t show them,” Georgiou said. “I’m sure you’ve seen those too.”

  “Something like that.”

  Georgiou ruminated. There was a way to escape in this, certainly—but she had to be sure the offer was legitimate. She wouldn’t put it past Leland to run another charade, just for sport. “Quintilian wouldn’t know that your Georgiou was dead?”

  “The messages show he was only communicating with her when his fleet would pop out from Troika space for one reason or another. But as far as we can tell, nobody’s emerged from Troika space for more than a peek since the war began. They may not even know it’s over.”

  “So I would make the contact, posing as her—and lead your team.”

  Leland chortled. “You’d go. Not lead. And you wouldn’t be alone. You’d ask to bring a delegation.”

  Full of people to keep an eye on me, she thought. She looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Cornwell? I can’t imagine she’d allow this at all, presuming she has anything to say about it.”

  “She does get a say—but I won’t get into that,” Leland said. “We’d want to go within a week.”

  “Are you in?” Dax asked.

  “I’ll consider it.” Georgiou gestured around the cell. “I have a busy schedule here, you know.” Then she looked back at Dax. “I admit I can’t imagine what you might have been involved in to cause them to drop everything and do this. You’re no spy—and you’re far too fit to be one of Leland’s dreary analysts.”

  “I was a gymnast,” Dax said. “In the Olympics.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of those. We have games, too, for the emperor. But the stakes for the participants are quite a bit higher.”

  14

  Thionoga Detention Center

  As soon as Sean Finnegan pushed his ore cart into the light of the space station’s processing center, his workday immediately brightened. “Ah, Kitty, you’re a sight for sore eyes!”

  “That’s admiral,” Cornwell said, advancing across the factory floor toward him. “And I’m surprised you can see anything with that swelling.”

  “Oh, this?” Finnegan wiped the rock dust from his hand onto his tunic and pointed to his face. “I got into a wee scrap with the garda this morning.”

  She frowned. “One guard did that to you?”

  “Not one. The garda. You know, the whole detail.”

  The admiral looked with alarm at the sentries stationed around, all of whom were paying Fi
nnegan at least some attention.

  “They said I might be getting a guest, but I never imagined you’d come back.” He looked at his shabby uniform. “Sorry I didn’t have a chance to clean up.”

  The admiral then turned to the companion she’d entered with: no less a figure than Warden Ohtak, who appeared discomfited by Finnegan’s state. Cornwell addressed her sternly. “I’m going to want to speak with him alone.”

  “We’re not letting him out of our sight again,” Ohtak said.

  “Are you afraid of what he’ll tell me about this place? From what I can already see, he’s been badly abused.”

  “Actually, he’s been the one picking fights with the guards,” the warden said. “We’ve finally got surveillance back online after your debacle. You can see for yourself.”

  “S’truth,” Finnegan said, shrugging. “But you’re right. I’d rather not talk about this last dustup with the warden here.” He glanced at Ohtak. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

  The warden threw up her hands and shouted for the guards to give Finnegan and the admiral some space. His work foreman was the last to retire. “Talk fast. You still have a quota to make!”

  “Up your arse!”

  Before the Tellarite could respond, Cornwell took Finnegan by the elbow and guided him away from the others.

  It was a relief to get away from the cart. He’d spent all day inside the asteroid Thionoga was attached to, chopping for dilithium ore while standing atop gravity plating; the sort of precision work that couldn’t be done with machines.

  Reaching the shadows beneath one of the ore processing units, she located one of the first-aid kits and found him something for his face. “You were going to tell me why you would pick a fight with an entire detail?”

  Finnegan looked back at the warden, now distant, and chuckled. “Well, to tell the truth, I was a bit fluthered, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Langers. You know, ossified.” He peered at her. “I can’t believe you didn’t pick up a word or two when you were in Ireland.”

  “I must not have been going to the right places.” But the admiral caught his drift. “How is it you manage to be inebriated while in prison?”