Part 10 (2/2)
”Dare-” she protested helplessly. Although she wanted desperately to prove the records wrong, she simply could not remember whether they had been together at the time of the Security meeting-which meant she could not dispute the evidence that he had been there. ”Dare, the truth verifier-”
”You know how to fool a b.l.o.o.d.y truth verifier!” he rasped. His voice, although pitched low so as to keep the guards from interrupting, was harsh with the intensity of his emotions. ”I taught you myself, d.a.m.n you. I actually believed that you loved me. I never thought you would use what I've taught you, what Starfleet has taught you, to betray me! We were together at the time the meeting took place. Why didn't you tell them? It's my life against a reprimand to you for making me miss a meeting.”
”Dare-did you expect me to lie for you?” she gasped.
His eyes were almost black with fury. ”What did they pay you, Tasha? What could the Orions possibly give you that would outweigh what you've found in Starfleet?”
Stunned at the accusation, she struck back. ”That's what I came here to ask you!”
His jaw set, and then his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth in a smile that was much more a snarl. ”You b.l.o.o.d.y cold b.i.t.c.h. You never let up on your act-but then, we're being recorded, aren't we? You have to play the innocent for the cameras.” But she could see in his eyes that while he might think her capable of the gross stupidity of making him miss a meeting, he didn't truly think her capable of conspiracy.
Did that mean he was innocent? Or only that he could not let go his pretense of innocence-that the best way to persuade her he was falsely convicted was to accuse her?
Dare glanced around, although the cameras that were certainly there were well-hidden. Then he laughed, a hollow, empty sound. ”I'll tell you anyway, because stupid as Starfleet just proved, they're not so stupid as to expect me to go like the lamb to the slaughter. Starfleet know I'm a survivor-they taught me how to survive.”
The wolfish smile flashed again, and he continued, ”There's a lesson you haven't learned yet, from the side of the captor, although when we first met you knew it from the side of the victim. Desperation, Tasha. I'm the freest man in this galaxy right now. Do you know why?”
”No,” she whispered, mesmerized by his stare.
”Because it's all gone, everything I believed in. Starfleet. You. I'm bound by no rules but my own. The only thing left is myself-and that I'll never let them take. They'll never get me to a rehabilitation colony. Rehabilitation! Brainwas.h.i.+ng-that's what they do in those h.e.l.l pits, no matter how they try to disguise it. The patients might seem happy-but they're drugged or hypnotized into submission until their wills are broken.”
”Dare, you know there's nothing like that in the Federation! They're going to help you,” Yar pleaded, hating the anger in his face, knowing the pain it hid. Her love for him hadn't died in the courtroom. She hated the deed he had done ... but she loved the man. ”Let them heal you, Dare, so you can come back to me.”
”Come back!” he growled. Then he tilted his head to one side. ”Oh, yes-I'll come back, Tasha. Wait for the day, love. I'll escape-and then, you beautiful lying b.i.t.c.h, I'll find you again. Watch your back, Tasha-for one day we will meet again.”
Chapter Six.
LIEUTENANT TAHSA YAR was frozen in dej vu as she stared up at the angry face of her captor.
Darryl Adin had made good his promise to escape before he could be confined in a rehabilitation colony-and then had disappeared from the face of the galaxy. He was still in Starfleet Security criminal records, though: there was no statute of limitations on either treason or murder.
Now he had made good his promise to find her again. What did he intend to do with her?
Floods of memory overwhelmed her, less of when she had seen him last than of when she had seen him first, on New Paris, lying helpless at his feet, not knowing what he wanted with her, not trusting- And, just like the first time, he stooped down to her, examining her for injury. Then he helped her to her feet.
Yar allowed him to give her a hand up, biding her time while they a.s.sessed one another.
Dare looked different, although his distinctive features made it impossible not to know him at once. He was thinner than she remembered, yet somehow taller and more imposing. The added height, she saw, came from thick-soled boots, while his costume was an archaic design of black tailored jacket worn open over a gray s.h.i.+rt and black trousers. She remembered learning somewhere that the basic concept of that male costume had been invented in the nineteenth century, variations on it worn by men of power for more than two centuries. Now Dare had adopted it, to good effect.
But his manner of dress was the least of the changes in his appearance. His hair was longer, parted and combed to the side, revealing his broad forehead. Its severity, in contrast to the shake-into-place style he had worn in Starfleet, accented new vertical lines in his face. His eyes seemed to be deeper, more shadowed and mysterious, and yet, against the thinner contours of his face, larger and more luminous.
His mouth was as curved, lips as full as she remembered, but gone was the old sense that they would quirk into a smile or open in a laugh at any moment. The Darryl Adin Yar had loved had been a man of quicksilver emotions; this man seemed to have halved the range, retaining only the negative ones.
”So, Tasha,” Dare said at last, ”you are still in Starfleet.”
”And you are still alive,” was the only response she could manage.
”I'm a survivor. What are you doing here?” he asked as he led her to a table that would seat a dozen people, although at the moment there were only four in the room.
”Don't you get the news broadcasts?”
”For what they're worth. Has Starfleet sent you and your pet robot to blow us to pieces?” Dare sat opposite her, studying her face.
”You are the warlord Nalavia wants us to dispose of?”
His laugh was without mirth. ”No. I'm here to help the people of Treva throw off Nalavia's oppression.”
”Oh,” she said with heavy sarcasm, ”you're a freedom fighter.”
He raised his eyebrows and a sardonic smile twitched at his lips. ”You might say so. If I'm paid well enough.”
”Paid?”
”I'm a hired gun, Tasha-the best in the galaxy. Adrian Dareau is the name I go by these days.”
”The Silver Paladin? You?”
She had heard of him, but never connected his growing legend on the planets of the outer rim with the man she had once loved and lost. ”I should have made the connection, but no one's ever seen Dareau. So-now you're wanted not only by the Federation but by the Ferengi, the Zertanians, and rumor has it by the Romulans as well.”
”Indeed? Sdan, have we done anything to stir up the Romulans?”
For the first time, Yar looked at the other two men, the ones who had so unceremoniously captured her. Dare's best men, she a.s.sumed; they had to be good to take her so easily.
The one Dare addressed as Sdan looked vaguely Vulcan, as the name and the cramp in her neck suggested, but his black hair fell in untamed waves almost to shoulder length, and he quirked a grin as he replied, ”That little episode with the Omani, prob'ly. The Roms weren't too happy when they decided t'go Fed.”
”Nothin' t'worry about,” said the third man, a rather nondescript human of medium height and build, with thinning medium-brown hair. He wore browns and tans that blended into the background. His only distinctive feature was that he wore gla.s.ses-actual frames that held lenses in front of his eyes. Yar had never seen an adult wear them; some children did until they were old enough to have the chemical treatment that gave everyone perfect vision.
”The Romulans rarely act; they prefer to react,” the man continued, taking the chair next to Yar. She looked through his lenses to see that he had another distinctive feature: lively brown eyes actually darker than Dare's, sparkling with a keen intelligence that belied the first impression of his appearance. ”A nice bit o' tension, maybe a detente or even a cold war between the Feds and the Roms, and we'll have so much business we won't know where to turn next. Make a fortune-money's the sinews of war.”
”Aren't you rich enough yet, Poet?” asked Dare. ”You could buy your own planet.”
”Gold which he cannot spend will make no man rich,” Poet replied with a twinkle. ”However, pretty lady,” he added to Yar, ”if you've a yen to be a rich man's plaything-or have a rich man for a plaything-I'd be happy to oblige.”
Something in that knowing glance suggested he knew as many ”multiple techniques of pleasuring” as Data-and was just as unthreatening. But Yar was in no mood for flirtation. ”I hardly think that's why you've brought me here,” she said harshly.
”No,” said Dare, ”we brought you here to show you what's really happening on Treva.”
”Why?” she asked suspiciously.
”Because Nalavia's certainly not going to let you see it!” Dare replied angrily. ”You've seen the news broadcasts?”
”Yes-and I agree, attacks by the 'enemies of the people' happen too conveniently in front of cameras. Nalavia claims that's because she has installed surveillance cameras to locate terrorist activity and get her army there fast.”
”Haven't succeeded very well, have they?” This from Sdan, who had taken up a position behind Dare, guarding his back. Yar looked at him again, trying to guess his origins. He had the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears of Vulcanoid races, and the pale skin that spoke of green blood running beneath it. But unlike most Vulcans he was solid and muscular, almost stocky. His eyes were blue, rare but not unseen among Vulcans.
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