Mercenary Frigate Eris
Kohgish wished he could reach through the screen and across a subspace channel to strangle the arrogant human at the other end of his current conversation. “How is this my fault?”
Arastoo Mardani shot back, “Because you were the one who got hacked!”
“By a foe you told me was ‘under control.’ Now, not only do the Fenris Rangers have my money, they’re all but boasting about it! And they’ve given the news media proof that much of it came from the Federation Security Agency!”
Mardani’s demeanor took an icy turn. “I love how you say that, as if you were the injured party. This is turning into a major embarrassment for the Federation.”
“Who cares about the Federation? A bunch of meddling imperialists who hide behind smiles and platitudes. But without respect and fear, a warlord has nothing. I’m a laughingstock, Mardani! People who should fear me are mocking me! Saying I’m broke—”
“You are.”
It stung because it was true, but Kohgish had never cared about such details before and saw no reason to start now. “Worse, they’re saying I’m just a Federation puppet.”
“If only you were that useful.”
“You want to talk about usefulness? You were supposed to have an agent inside the Rangers! Someone who’d dismantle them from within, or at least keep them off my back until I had a chance to secure my position in the sector. What happened to that brilliant plan?”
“It suffered a few setbacks.”
“Is ‘setback’ a Federation euphemism for abysmal failure?”
“If it were, ‘setback’ would be your new code name. Now shut up and pay attention. I don’t work for you. Get it? You’re the asset. I’m the handler. My job is to run you, not do your bidding. So quit whining and start thinking. Tell me how you’re going to get that money back.”
All Kohgish wanted at that moment was to gnaw the flesh off Mardani’s skull, but he suppressed his rage long enough to begin devising a new plan of action. “The good news is that I’ve always kept a secret reserve of hard currency hidden on my ship for emergencies.”
“I’d say this qualifies.”
“I’d concur. I have enough to keep my fleet running for a week.”
“A good start. But your fleet can’t go into the Bank of Ferenginar and take back your money. All it can do is scare away the Rangers when they come looking to get their latinum.”
“Which is the last thing we’d want to do,” Kohgish said. “The longer those funds sit there, the greater the risk that the reform-minded Grand Nagus Rom might do something stupid. Like let the FSA freeze all the assets of everyone identified in the metadata.”
“My greatest fear, in a nutshell.”
“The Rangers share your fear. As much as they enjoyed exposing us by releasing the chain-code metadata, I don’t think they’re willing to part with funds they stole fair and square.”
“True. They’ve recently had more than a few fiscal problems of their own.”
“Which means they’ll be looking to make a mass withdrawal any day now, and then they’ll need to move all that hard currency at once.”
“To where?”
“Most likely, one of the mercantile banks in Stardust City, on Freecloud. They’re the only ones unregulated enough to process a cash deposit this size.”
“And knowing that helps us how?”
“Eventually, the Rangers will come for their money. They might come in force, or they might try to be sneaky about it, but either way we’ll know where the money is, at all times, thanks to some trusted contacts we have inside the Bank of Ferenginar on Voll.”
“How do you know the Rangers will go there?”
“We know the same money-laundering tricks they do. The bank on Voll is their only option for turning that much virtual currency into latinum. But, out of respect for the bank, we won’t rob them there. Once the Rangers load up, we’ll let them get to neutral space, board them, and then take back our money.”
“Pathetic.” Mardani shook his head wearily. “That is quite possibly the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not the plan itself, mind you. Just the preposterous notion that you and your ragtag pack of mange-ridden curs could have any hope of pulling it off.” Mardani rubbed his eyes, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, General, but your people are unsuited for this kind of work. They have no subtlety. No panache. Solving a crisis like this requires a more targeted solution, so do me a favor and keep your people out of it. I’ll bring in a team of professionals. The kind who’ll have your latinum back in your hands and the thieves gutted on the floor at your feet before the close of business tomorrow.”
Kohgish felt a surge of sour bile burn his esophagus when he realized what Mardani was really saying. “Bounty hunters. You’re talking about bounty hunters.”
“Look at that! You really do have two brain cells inside that furry noggin of yours, don’t you? Color me impressed.”
“I don’t like bounty hunters, Mardani. I don’t trust them.”
“That’s a shame, General. They all think so highly of you.”
“Do they?”
“Of course not. They all know you’re a flea-ridden sad sack who just got cash-cucked by the Fenris goddamned Rangers. Which is why I’ll be hiring them and not you.”
“And once they’ve recovered my rather prodigious war chest, how do we know they’ll return it and not just take it and disappear to the other side of the galaxy?”
“Simple. First, latinum becomes worthless if they run so far that they end up in a place where no one knows what it is—but if they stay someplace they can actually spend it, word will eventually get out about the loner who rolled into some backwater star system loaded down with more latinum than most planets’ central treasuries. And, second, they know that once word gets out, nothing in the galaxy will stop me from hunting them down and gutting them like scum-fish for a chum bucket.
“Now, go lie to that Talarian starship broker. Swear to whatever deity he believes in that you’re not broke, and do it before he sells his battle-boat to someone else. Because he’s actually a pretty good customer, and it’d be a real shame if I had to kill him, too.”
Earth – New York City
It didn’t matter how many times Janeway reminded herself that she was a vice admiral now; attending high-level diplomatic events packed with senior members of the Starfleet admiralty, elected officials and cabinet members of the Federation’s civilian government, and foreign dignitaries from a dozen far-flung worlds still made her feel like a schoolgirl who had wrangled herself an invitation to the grown-ups’ table for Christmas dinner.
Who am I kidding? This could be a dinner for two and I’d still feel out of place. I can’t name half the things on my plate. She poked at the delicate wisps of edible lichen and the oval of colorful dots of puree arranged with asymmetrical precision around a molded cylinder composed of three disks of translucent flavored gelatin—orange on the bottom, white in the middle, and bright green on top. And I’m still not sure if this is an appetizer or an art installation.
If the fussiness of the haute cuisine troubled any of the other guests at her table, none of them let it show—least of all the Klingon Empire’s ambassador to the Federation, Korog from the House of Kor. He was young for a diplomat with such a vital post, no more than his midthirties, a glutton, a braggart, and one of the least discreet persons Janeway had ever met. He tended to talk with his hands even when he was holding a drink, and he seemed not to notice as his gesticulations sloshed bloodwine into the lap of Janeway’s dress uniform.
“So there I am, drunk and naked”—slosh-splash—“on the ledge outside her window, forty-eight floors above the street! With her father, the Priest-King of Antos, pacing in front of the window, while the honey dripping down my spine starts to run through the crack of my buttocks”—slosh-splash—“drawing a flock of the biggest birds I’ve ever seen!”
“You don’t say, Mister Ambassador.” Janeway searched in vain for a waiter. Who do I have to kill to get a cup of coffee around here?
“So I start trying to shoo the birds”—slosh-splash—“ ‘Shoo! Shoo’!”
Janeway’s patience expired. “Mister Ambassador! Please take care with your wine. It’s from a vintage older than the Vulcan ambassador’s father. It would be a shame to waste it.”
“Bloodwine spilled is never wasted, only shared”—slosh-splash—“with our honored dead in Sto-Vo-Kor!”
“Spilled on the ground, perhaps. In my lap? Not so much.”
“If I’ve offended you, Admiral, I apologize without reservation.” Korog picked up his napkin and leaned toward Janeway. “Allow me to help sop—”
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
Before she or Korog could escalate the moment into one of interstellar consequence, a gentle hand on Janeway’s shoulder diverted her attention. Her aide Darusha leaned close to whisper, “Pardon me, Admiral. Someone needs to speak with you out on the balcony.” They gestured toward a nearby set of lace-curtained French doors that led out onto the restaurant’s ninety-seventh-floor balcony. “They say it’s urgent.”
“Thank you, Darusha.” Janeway discarded her wine-sodden napkin on the table as she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Excellency, I’m told I’m needed elsewhere. But I thank you for sharing your especially invigorating stories this evening.”
“I shall look forward to our next encounter.”
Janeway smiled and walked away thinking, That makes one of us. Once they were away from the table, she confided to Darusha, “Thanks for the rescue. Now, where’s the java?”
Darusha blinked, visibly confused. “This wasn’t a rescue-by-ruse, Admiral. There really is someone outside waiting to talk with you.”
“I see.” Janeway stopped and faced the doors to the balcony. “Can you find me a decent cup of coffee by the time I get back?”
“Of course, Admiral.”
“And some of those, um…”
“Beignets?”
“Yes! Get me a few of those.”
“Good as done.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Darusha. Now—” She headed for the balcony. “Let’s go see if the person behind door number two has anything better to say than the one at table number four.”
Janeway opened the classic doors with a half turn of their antique handles and strode out into the crisp, cool night air. Around her sparkled the gleaming towers of modern New York, a city that had barely survived the double threat of the Third World War and global sea-level rise in the twenty-second century, only to reinvent and rebuild itself into something greater, a city of architectural marvels and engineering wonders, a metropolis reimagined as a living work of art.
A woman stood at the balcony wall. Her back was to Janeway. Like many of the other guests at that evening’s dinner, she was attired in elegant formalwear, a dress and a matching wrap of diaphanous Tholian silk, whose undulating weave scintillated with every flicker of light around it. The person wearing it had tawny skin and black hair styled in elegant cornrows accented with Spican fire gems. As Janeway approached, the woman turned toward her, and Janeway recognized Keemah Geiss from the FSA. Geiss extended her open hand in welcome. “Admiral. Good to see you again.”
They shook hands. Janeway smiled to conceal her suspicions. “Director. My aide made it sound like a matter of life and death.”
“It very well might be.” Geiss motioned for Janeway to join her at the balcony wall. After Janeway settled in beside her, the director continued, “Before I say anything else, I need you to confirm you understand that the fact of this meeting, as well as this conversation in its entirety, are both classified top secret.”
“I understand.”
“Have you heard the latest out of the Qiris sector?”
“If you mean the report of a planetary militia becoming a rogue element after the FSA illegally bankrolled it though a number of NGOs and then tried to use it as a proxy against clandestine Romulan incursions beyond the Neutral Zone… yes, I might have caught that.”
Geiss stewed but suffered the abuse like a pro. “We think the intel about the money laundering was leaked to the media by the Fenris Rangers.”
“Good for them.”
“No, Admiral. Bad for us. Because it’s not true.”
“You’re saying the money that went to those brigands didn’t come from the FSA?”
“No. It did. It’s just—” Geiss struggled to find the right words. “It’s complicated.”
“Simplify it. And while you’re at it, tell me why it’s any concern of mine.”
“Fine. The money came from us, but not with our blessing. It was embezzled from some of our secret operational accounts by a disgruntled ex-spymaster named Erol Tazgül. He’s been using our stolen funds to bankroll arms deals, set up proxy fighters against the Romulans, and invest in a variety of criminal enterprises beyond the Federation’s border.”
“I’m still waiting to hear why this is my problem.”
“He’s been using an alias—a well-developed legend he created for himself while he still had access to agency resources. And it’s a name I think you’ll recognize: Arastoo Mardani.”
A sickening dread twisted in Janeway’s gut. “Seven’s handler.”
“Correct. Which means Seven might be acting as an asset for a known enemy of the Federation, for purposes unknown… or she might have gone rogue, in which case she’s just made an enemy of one of the most dangerous, well-funded sociopaths in the quadrant. Either way, Admiral, if Tazgül has his claws into your friend, she’s in grave danger.”