Free Lost Time by Ilsa J. Bick Page A

it, but that’s not our fight. My guess, though, is they’re committed now,” said Gomez. She palmed a small hypospray in her right hand, knelt, pressed the tip to Soloman’s suit along his forearm, thumbed the hypospray to life and then settled back on her haunches to wait. “And so are we.”

    They’d forgotten all about the Bynar, and so it was a shock when 111 raised her voice in a keening wail.
    It was Gold who reacted first. Kneeling beside the Bynar, he covered her tiny hands with one of his. The sight of her tears touched his heart with pain and an ancient grief that was somehow always fresh, like a wound that never healed. “111?” he asked, gently.
    “He is gone, Captain,” she said. Then she turned, buried her face in Gold’s chest and wept like a small child. “He is gone.”
    Gold didn’t have to look for 110’s life-signs on the biobed monitors because he knew, instinctively, which “he” she meant. “Is he dead?”
    “No, but he is…one again. They have chosen for him. But how will he live, Captain?” 111 said. “How can he?”
    Gold swallowed against the lump in his throat, and then he motioned for Kane to deactivate the ancient device. They had what they needed—and he knew what he, and only he, must do.
    They have chosen for him.
    “Because he will,” Gold said. “He’ll just have to.”

Chapter
10
    T ugging on the tails of his lavishly embroidered tunic, Gul Garak activated his holomirror and twisted this way and that, admiring the view. The cut of the tunic was exquisite; the fabric shot through with latinum thread and encrusted with living gemstones: a little-known treasure found in ancient Hebitian tombs. As he watched, the gemstones splayed delicate, lacy fingers, bleeding color along the fabric the way a spider spins a web.
    “I’m happy,” Garak said, and he was exceedingly pleased when the gemstones responded and colored to amber. Then he imagined his Bajoran comfort woman slowly unfastening her sheer, gauzy tunic at its right shoulder and the look of the tunic slithering over the points of her breasts to the swell of her hips…and watched as the gemstones shaded to a deep blood-red so vibrant it seemed to pulsate.
    So that is the color of arousal. Very nice. But I wonder what shade they will turn when that treaty is signed? He glanced at a chronometer. Well, only a few hours left until I find out.
    His intercom clamored for his attention. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
    “Zotat has reported in, Gul Garak.”
    “And?”
    “There are two vessels headed for the Denorios Belt—and, sir, one is the Gettysburg.”
    “Very well. Tell Zotat to contact me the moment that he either determines the coordinates of the wormhole, or the wormhole has opened and been secured.” Then Garak thought of something. “And, Lieutenant, relay this: Zotat may do as he wishes with the other vessel. It is of no consequence. But tell him that I want the Gettysburg. ” Garak looked into his mirror, and his reflection gave him a dark and malevolent grin. “Yes, tell Zotat: I want Gold.”
    Clicking off, Garak then stepped back to admire his reflection—and the color of victory.

    “There it is,” said Wong. If he was anxious, his voice didn’t betray it. “Six thousand meters dead ahead. The Denorios Belt, sir.”
    “Slow to one-quarter impulse. McAllan, Cardassians?”
    “None detected, sir.”
    “What about Androssi?” Privately, Gold didn’t believe that Garak would let the Androssi in on the kill. The Cardassians would want all the credit. The Androssi were simply their go-tos.
    McAllan took another second to double-check, then said, “Negative. It would seem the belt is unguarded, Captain.”
    “Like Kira said, it’s a lot of space. But they’re going to come running in a hurry.” Gold balanced on the balls of his feet, too keyed up to sit in his command chair. “Salek, what’s your status up there?”
    “All nonessential personnel have moved from the outer hull, Captain.