The Sequel to "Yesterday's Terrors"
Chapter 7Kathryn slowly drifted through the thick fog of sedatives and painkillers. Her mouth was sore and she had a headache with the intensity of a supernova. The closer she moved towards consciousness the more pain she felt. Protectively her mind kept withdrawing into the fog. If only the fog were not so cold. It made her shiver... She drew the brown blanket tighter around her body and instantly regretted her movement. She should have remained still because now a wave of nausea hit her as her body tried to expel the remaining drugs in her system. Instantly she was hit by another sensation. Her throat burned as if it were on fire. She peeked hesitantly through a narrow slit in her eyelids and was instantly rewarded by a sharp pain in her head, followed by bile rising from her stomach. Kathryn lent over the side of the bed until the retching subsided, an unnecessary precaution on her part since her stomach had been empty for at least twenty-four hours. When she came back up she froze briefly, her eyes still fixed on the ground. The hairs in the back of her neck stood up straight. She had the uncanny feeling that she was not alone. Slowly she lifted her head and allowed her eyes to adjust to the small amount of light that fell into the cell. At the foot of her bed Kressik sat in a chair, watching her with the same mock boredom his voice had held during her interrogation.
Janeway wanted to confront him and opened her mouth, but no words would come out. Instead a powerful coughing fit overcame her until tears were streaking down her cheeks. She vaguely noticed that Kressik had moved. Suddenly he was next to her, offering a glass of cold water. He held it for her, supporting the back of her head with his free hand, and she drank eagerly. Exhausted she lay back and closed her eyes for a short moment until she felt his hand circling over her thigh through the blanket. Instinctively she pulled away, but there really was nowhere to go. The hand followed her, starting to caress her knee through the rough fabric, then moving higher. Kressik's hand reached the end of the blanket, which was wrapped around her waist and pulled it off her in one fast movement. Kathryn jumped slightly but then caught herself. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Instead she steeled herself and glared into his eyes, her eyes communicating her contempt for the man in whose power she now found herself.
Meanwhile the Cardassian took in the soft feminine curves that showed through the coarse material of Janeway's prison tunic. His pupils began to dilate with pure and undisguised lust. His glance went from her chest to her delicate collarbone, so much more fragile than the pronounced collar cartilage of a Cardassian woman. His gaze continued to wander upwards, along her neck to her prominent jawbone and to blood covered and split lips. He recoiled a little at the thought of having to kiss her in her current state. She may be a beautiful human female, but there was no seeing past the fact that she was filthy, covered in her own perspiration, blood and saliva and quite possibly vomit. The hand that had been exploring the area around her ribs suddenly pushed her away and he sneered,
"You don't really think that I would touch you as filthy us you are! Guards!"
Heavy footsteps came down the corridor and two soldiers appeared in front of the cell.
"Get her cleaned up and bring her to me when you've finished!"
'Cleaning up' was almost a relief. Mercifully her Cardassian guards had remained discreetly outside the shower cubicle. Janeway had never liked the sonic shower much, but in her current state she welcomed it. It felt good to clean the grime and blood from her body. The doctor had done his job well. Once all the dirt had been removed there was no sign of the lacerations and bruises Kressik had inflicted on her. Unfortunately the guards proved themselves to be less than patient. Five minutes under the sonic shower was all they granted her. She was given a clean tunic and trousers and then escorted through the cold metal corridors of the prison to a door. Her feet were freezing causing her to shiver slightly, but she suppressed is as well as she could. She didn't want to give anyone the impression that she might be shivering with fear, which she wasn't. It took a lot more to shake Captain Kathryn Janeway.
One of the guards rang a doorbell for admittance. Kressik's voice came gruffly from the other side of the door,
"Come!"
Janeway was led into what looked like a large, private living area. Several battleship gray armchairs were strewn around a coffee table. The walls were covered in paintings of Cardassian origin depicting scenes of great battles both in space and on ground. She did not know enough about Cardassian art to determine which period they belonged to, but she thought they might be falling into the category of masterpieces.
The lights in the room were dimmed, lending it an almost cozy glow. Several cabinets lined the walls and a communications console stood to the right of the room. There were no windows. She gathered that the prison must be underground. The thick gray carpet felt good under her bare feet after the cold of the metal floors. After a moment the guards saluted their superior and were ordered to leave.
"Sit down, Captain," Kressik motioned to a comfortable looking armchair nearest to Janeway. Hesitantly she stepped towards it and sat. What was he up to this time? Why would he want to interrogate her in his quarters? Whatever he intended, she was sure it was bad news.
Her host's voice was relaxed, or was it? Was he really relaxed or was this just a show he put on for her benefit to confuse her further?
"May I offer you some kind of beverage? Some Kanar, or would you prefer coffee? I'm afraid I don't have the real thing but I can replicate it if you wish."
Janeway measured him carefully. He knew about her fondness for coffee. The Obsidian Order must have infiltrated Starfleet to a much higher level than they were aware of. Kressik quite obviously had access to her personnel file. All Captains' personnel files required clearance level nine or above which meant that no one under the rank of commander had access. They must have moles in high places, she thought absent-mindedly.
"I see you've done your homework, Kressik," was what she said.
A smug smile spread over the Cardassian man's face.
"Yes, indeed. Your personnel file made for a rather interesting read, Captain. It appears you have deserted Starfleet to join the Maquis. At least that's the conclusion I drew from the information I gathered. Six months ago your ship fell into Maquis hands and Starfleet has been looking for you ever since. I have scanned the surrounding sector for Voyager, however you seem to have arrived without your vessel, which leads me to my next question: How did you get here, Captain?"
The answer came out without a second thought,
"I arrived on a merchant vessel."
"Really? And how did you pass through customs, Captain? Oh, let me guess, you were disguised as a Terillian monk. No one ever asks them any questions since they lead such reclusive lives! Very clever, Captain, but not clever enough. We got you in the end."
All Janeway could think of was that someone in Starfleet had gone as far as to alter her records. Someone had taken the pretense far enough to make a false entry in her file marking her as a deserter to the Maquis. Had she known about it before she would have called it overkill, but maybe whoever had done so had been right. At least it would protect their mission. But it certainly wouldn't protect her. Now that Kressik assumed that she was no longer connected with Starfleet, that she was no longer under their protection, he could do with her as he pleased without having to face any possible repercussions from the Federation. Why had no one told her that they had changed her personnel file? Neither Nechayev nor Marlow had ever mentioned it. Shouldn't she have been informed? Something about this did not sit right with her. The hairs in the back of her neck began to stand up.
A silence had descended over the city. All around the capital shutters were now closed, doors locked and lights switched off. Children were lying in their beds dreaming peacefully, clutching their soft toys to them. Outside the creatures of the night slowly dared to come out of their hiding places. Voles, the fierce Cardassian version of the Terran rat, crawled out of the sewers to find themselves some food amidst the trash on the now abandoned market place, in the streets and around garbage disposal units. Hawk-like birds flew through the dark sky, their cries traveling eerily through the night, their silhouettes casting shadows against the bright light of Cardassia's two moons. But the indigenous rodents and predators of the night were not the only dark creatures that emerged.
Mysterious footsteps echoed through the back alleys.
These alleys were mainly used for garbage disposal and even during the
day the locals rarely used them. The footsteps seemingly had no
owner for no one could be seen in their direction, but every now and then a
print was left in the dirt, a stone or branch kicked aside by an invisible
limb. Finally the footsteps stopped in front of a door that belonged to
an
old- fashioned bookshop. Nowadays books were collector's items, and the
owner did not sell many of them. How he could hold onto his business,
considering that he must be making more loss than profit, was a puzzle to
everyone in the neighborhood. However the bookshop had been here for a
good twenty years, opening every day at sunrise and always ready for customers,
even if they only came maybe once a month and then mostly because they had lost
their way and needed to ask for directions. The building, much like the
books that were sold in it, was old and falling apart. The roof sported
several holes, the windows and doors were drafty and the walls inside were
damp. The owner was rarely seen outside the house since he complained of
rheumatism, no doubt at least partially due to his living conditions. The
children in the neighborhood liked to make up horror stories about the odd old
man, painting him as a sorcerer or a monster. They were scared of him
because he was mysterious and strange and on the rare occasions when he left
his house he used an old wooden stick to help him walk. Even with the
stick his walk was odd and had no particular rhythm to it. He moved with
a crouch and was usually covered in an old cloak that hid his face until you
were right in front of him. He never greeted anyone, he never smiled.
No one knew where he had come from. He was a total recluse.
Elderly citizens who had been living in the neighborhood for more than
twenty years remembered the day when he had moved here. One morning they
had gotten up and there he was, putting the sign up on the front of his shop.
Some of the neighbors had popped into the store to introduce themselves,
but they had found him to be rather rude and so they had left him in peace and
never bothered him again.
At this late hour the old man's house, unlike all its neighbors, did not lie in complete darkness. A small ray of light emerged from a tiny octagonal window in the attic. The old man was always up late. His neighbors assumed that it was his obsessions for old books, which kept him up until the early hours of the morning; the children fancied he was casting evil spells on his fellow citizens. Both were mistaken.
An invisible hand knocked on the old wooden door since there was no doorbell. The old man was a traditionalist, opposed to modern technology or at least that's what he wanted people to believe. With uncharacteristical agility he made his way down the stairs and asked,
"Who 's there?"
Outside no one could be seen, however a voice out of nowhere answered,
"An old friend."
The old man unbolted the door and bode his invisible caller entry. He was not surprised that his guest could not be seen.
Ross Marlow dropped his personal cloak.
"It's good to see you're still alive, Marek."
"Likewise, Ross. I was expecting you. Nechaeyev alerted me to your presence here. I assume your mission was a success."
Marlow averted his eyes, seemingly studying his surroundings.
"There have been some minor complications, nothing serious," he mumbled.
The old man nodded understanding.
"I take it you want to use my transmitter to inform Nechayev of your status."
"Straight to the point as always! That's what I like about you, Marek. Yes, I need to contact Nechayev. Is your transmitter still in the same old spot?"
Marek confirmed that it was still stood in the attic. As a matter of fact he had been communicating with Admiral Nechayev not five minutes ago. She was anxious to hear from Marlow. Ross made his way up the narrow stairs to the attic room and contacted his superior while Marek went into the kitchen and prepared some light refreshments.
Nechaeyev was less than pleased with Marlow's report. She had assumed that the replicators had by now been destroyed, however so far nothing had been achieved, apart from the fact that Janeway was stuck in a Cardassian prison, which somewhat dampened the Admiral's anger at Marlow's failure. She had never liked Kathryn Janeway. That's why she had chosen her for this mission in the first place. Part of the plan had been to eliminate Janeway, a necessary step in order to prevent any information about this mission leaking out to Starfleet command or other sources. Nechayev had always seen Janeway as a rival. Deep down she knew that Kathryn was a better captain than Alyssa had ever been. She was fast moving towards admiralty. Such success in one so young was difficult to take for the woman who had struggled so hard to get where she was now. And to be honest, not all her promotions had been deserved. A good deal of bribery and corruption had gotten her into the position she occupied today.
But Janeway's capture alone was hardly satisfactory. Voyager was still under her team's command and that meant trouble. No doubt Captain Janeway's mixed Starfleet and Maquis crew would attempt a rescue. Also as long as Voyager's crew was still alive there was a danger not only to the mission, but also to Nechayev herself. If anyone in Starfleet ever found out that she was working for Section 31 it would mean the end of all she had worked for all these years. It could even be the end of Section 31. Too much was at stake. Marlow had to complete the mission somehow, but it was obvious that he could not do so alone. They needed to destroy Voyager and make sure that both Janeway and her crew was silenced for good. She would contact the head of the organization to ask for reinforcements. She needed ships to deal with Voyager. Janeway and the industrial replicators she would leave to Ross Marlow and order Marek to assist him if necessary. If Marlow failed again she would have to terminate him, and he knew as much. Failure was not an option in Section 31.
Chakotay and Paris sat opposite Tuvok at Janeway's Ready Room desk. Paris could have sworn that the Vulcan was feeling uncomfortable in the Janeway's chair. He thought he could see the cool Vulcan shift slightly every now and then. Did Vulcan's feel discomfort? If the situation had not been so serious he would have allowed himself a rather smug smile.
Tuvok began,
"Mr. Paris, you are our best pilot. You will fly the cloaked shuttle to the planet's surface and land it as close to Captain Janeway's position as possible. As soon as Mr. Kim has found where she is being held you will receive the coordinates."
Tom felt honored. He didn't think the Vulcan had any respect for him. Obviously he had been mistaken. Tuvok continued,
"Mr. Chakotay, I believe you have considerable experience in undercover operations against the Cardassians. My suggestion is that you lead the rescue team."
Chakotay and Paris both nodded their approval. Paris didn't like Chakotay much and vice versa, but they both had respect for the other's talents which is why they were able to work together in this case without falling straight at each other's throats. Chakotay had not forgotten Paris' betrayal, and Paris was acutely aware of Chakotay's hatred towards him. However in a situation such as this they were both willing to forget their differences.
Chakotay asked,
"How many people will the rescue team be comprised of?"
Tuvok raised an eyebrow in an expression that could almost be construed as concern.
"I believe the smaller the team the better our chances of success. It will be difficult to conceal any of us on Cardassia. In my opinion only the two of you should go and only one of you should go after the captain while the other remains aboard the cloaked shuttle."
Paris frowned. Tuvok wanted Chakotay to go after the Captain all by himself? It would never work!
"He can't go single-handedly into a Cardassian prison, find the captain and drag her out of there! It's impossible!"
Tuvok remained calm as the conversation heated up. He countered,
"If my information is correct than Mr. Chakotay has performed similar miracles in the past. Am I right, Mr. Chakotay?"
Chakotay nodded. He had freed many of his fellow Maquis in the past, from prison asteroids, Cardassian space stations, enemy ships and even from Cardassian settlements on planets within the Demilitarized Zone. However to infiltrate a Cardassian prison on Cardassia Prime, the heart of the Cardassian Empire, was another matter. But Tuvok was right. The more of them went, the greater their chance of discovery. It was too risky. He would have to do this alone, and for Kathryn Janeway he would be willing to risk his life time and again.
"So, we are in agreement?"
Tuvok regarded the two unlikely candidates for this mission before him. One of them a convicted traitor freshly recruited out of a Federation prison, the other the leader of a Maquis cell, enemy of the Federation. But these were the best men for the job.
Both Paris and Chakotay agreed to Tuvok's plan. Tuvok was pleased but had another point to address before the end of their meeting.
"We do however have one other problem. Mr. Marlow is still on the planet. From what you both have told me I very much doubt that he has been captured like the Captain. I believe he will try again to disable the replicator system. If he is who I believe him to be, he will also do everything to destroy Voyager, her crew and Captain Janeway. He cannot risk for any of us to survive."
The men on the other side of the desk frowned partly in confusion and partly in concern.
"You believe he was working for someone?", Chakotay asked in disbelief. Until now he had assumed that Marlow was some kind of maniac, someone who's heart carried a great deal of hate for the Cardassian through being forced to live and collaborate with them for years in the capacity of undercover agent for the Federation. Someone who had seen so many atrocities that he hated the Cardassian's enough to want to destroy them. A feeling Chakotay could at least understand. But if he had not done this out of a feeling of personal revenge, than why?
"During my time with Starfleet Intelligence I heard many rumors of a rogue organization which has no official ties to Starfleet, however some of Starfleet's most influential men and women have been suspected of working for them. They call themselves Section 31. Officially they were commissioned by Starfleet in 2270 as a subsection to Starfleet Intelligence in order to search out and identify extraordinary dangers to the Federation. However soon after their commission they were often found to employ illegal techniques, which the Federation was not willing to back. They were the Federation's closest equivalent to the Tal Shiar or the Obsidian Order. Section 31 was officially decommissioned in 2298, however its members, most of which were unknown to Starfleet since the organization was run with such secrecy, secretly continued to operate. It is likely that they still exist. Mr. Marlow's mission fits in with their known operating patterns, which leads us to another problem. If Mr. Marlow is working for Section 31, then so is Admiral Nechayev. By now he has no doubt contacted her and informed her of his failure. Reinforcements could be on the way."
Paris blew air through his teeth. If these reinforcements were indeed on their way they would no doubt know of Voyager's cloak. They would have tactical information on how to locate the ship. Voyager's shields were down for as long as she remained cloaked. They were sitting ducks! Even if they were to drop the cloak, the Cardassian orbital defense system would immediately attack them. There was no way Voyager could withstand such force. The picture was not a pretty one. Paris sure hoped Tuvok had a plan, for he was out of ideas.
"So, do you have a plan, Tuvok?"
Before Tuvok had a chance to speak Chakotay said,
"Voyager will have to leave here. You'll have to hide her somewhere while Paris and I take the shuttle to the planet. We will need to rendezvous somewhere outside the sector. But then what? We have nowhere to go. With a ship this big we are going to light up on enemy sensors like a Christmas tree. We can't go back to the Federation because Nechaeyev will have told them that we are traitors. That's why she didn't want us to wear Starfleet uniforms or use Starfleet insignia."
Paris continued Chakotay's line of thought,
"So the Cardassian's are coming at us from this end and the Federation and this Section 31 are coming from the other side. Where the hell are we going to run?"
Tuvok rested his elbows on the desk and calmly folded his hands in Vulcan fashion until the five fingertips of one hand touched their counterparts on the other.
"That, Mr. Paris is something I have not yet found an answer for."
The sounds of heavy military boots following had finally subsided. Dunar had been able to save most of his people. Unfortunately this did not make him feel any better. He had lost almost twenty-seven; nine of them had been children. They had been executed on the spot. All of them had heard their screams followed by phaser blasts. Then there had been nothing but eerie silence.
For hours the soldiers had combed the sewers for them, but thanks to a device called an anti-thoron emitter, they had been able to fool the soldier's scanners. The device emitted a low-level radiation field around it, rendering conventional scanners useless.
Now with his people remaining in the sewers he had made his way out onto the surface to get the latest news from one of the public transmission monitors. What he saw there shocked him deeply. There was a short report about the capture of several members of the resistance movement inside the basement of the Cardassian Academy of Art, a list of names and an account of their deaths. But the report that followed was even more worrying. Captain Kathryn Janeway had been caught at their rendezvous point inside the Cardassian Museum of Art. Dunar's blind trust in Zarel had cost him dearly. Not only had many members of the resistance found their death through the traitor among his cell, but now this woman who had been willing to help them and who had been their last hope had been captured. She was scheduled to appear in court in three days and was accused of being an enemy spy. The punishment for this crime, he knew, was death.
In the Cardassian justice system there was no real trial in the sense of the trials of the Federation. A prisoner was found guilty long before they went to court. There was no chance of redemption, no chance of being proven innocent. The decision had already been made, the verdict already been decided. The trials were purely for show, to instill fear in the citizens of Cardassia or in this case to stir up patriotism in their already xenophobic souls. Kathryn Janeway was going to be tried and found guilty on that screen in three days. No doubt every screen in Cardassia would transmit her trial, and knew crowds would gather around all those monitors to watch her execution.
She didn't deserve this. It was all his fault and he would never forgive himself if he didn't find a way to help her. He would tell the others and tell them of Janeway and her capture. Maybe he could convince them to join him in his efforts to help her. Maybe together they would find a way to help her.
But as Dunar was thinking these words he knew he was fooling himself. Even if he could convince the resistance to help the Federation woman, if he could make them see past their xenophobic lookout once more, even then getting into the prison where she was held was impossible. It was an institution for political prisoners only, run by the Obsidian Order. They would keep a close eye on their most priced captive.
Kressik poured two glasses of Kanar and put one of them onto the table in front of Janeway.
"It is an acquired taste, but you should try it, Captain."
His mannerisms were those of a gracious host, but she knew better than that. Kathryn ignored the glass.
"I've tried it a few times, and I still don't like it," she replied coldly.
Kressik downed the entire contents of his glass in one gulp as if it were water. Even for a Cardassian used to the taste this was quite an achievement. Janeway remembered her last taste of the potent Cardassian wine only too well to repeat it this soon. She had hoped never to set eyes on the stuff again. The last time it had been forced upon her, it had left her in a desperate coughing fit and brought tears to her eyes.
Kressik refilled his glass and sat in a chair at the opposite end of the small coffee table. He studied her silently then he spoke almost charitably,
"Kathryn Janeway, allow me to tell you a secret. You are quite valuable as a prisoner. If you were willing to answer some of my questions, it may help in postponing your trial and subsequent execution. Until recently you were an influential member of Starfleet, a captain at such a young age. You have many secrets that we would like to know. In addition you have spent the last six months or so in the Maquis. You have strategical information about them that we are eager to know. The Maquis are causing our colonies in the DMZ quite considerable damage, you know. Maybe if you showed yourself cooperative, I might even get them to postpone your execution indefinitely."
He allowed his words some time to sink in. Janeway was staring at her glass of Kanar, seemingly thinking over his offer. Eventually her head rose to look at Kressik. A crooked smile full of contempt formed on her lips.
"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you? I'm not that gullible, Kressik."
She thought she momentarily saw his hand twitch in agitation, but then it subsided and a wicked smile spread across his features.
"You're right, Captain. I didn't think you'd fall for that story. However I do have other ways of extracting the information I want, as I'm sure you are aware."
Kathryn again fixed her eyes on the beverage in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kressik leave his seat and move around the table towards her position. Kathryn concentrated on the way the light broke through the amber liquid in her glass, on the rhythm of her breathing. She was damned if she was going to jump at his touch, and touch her he would, of that she was certain.
Kressik laid a hand on her shoulder, then brought his lips to her ear. She could smell his breath. He stank of Kanar and something else, probably something he had eaten, one she noticed around all Cardassians if she got close enough. Humans had a certain natural odor to them too, but Cardassians smelled more metallic.
"Have you ever experienced our neurological stimulator at first hand, Kathryn?" he spoke softly into her ear. She shuddered as she felt his breath against her skin. She was aware of this device he was talking about. Years ago Gul Camet had used it on Admiral Paris, and it had nearly driven the admiral mad. The old man had taken years to fully recover from the shock. The device was able to cause excruciating pain without the side effect of killing the victim. What Kressik had done to her in the interrogation chamber was nothing compared to what he could do once the device had been implanted into her body. Kathryn was not just afraid for her own sake. She was worried that she might break under such pressure. There was only so much the human body could take. She was sure that at some point she would be willing to tell him everything, about Voyager, about the Maquis and about Starfleet. She would rather kill herself. Unfortunately Starfleet didn't issue cyanide pills with its standard issue uniform. If she got out of this one she might suggest this to Starfleet Command, after all, the Obsidian Order had issued some sort of a device to its agents which could turn pain into pleasure, and the Tal Shiar had their own poison capsules to be used by agent if they thought they might talk under torture.
Her thoughts were drawn back to the present as she felt Kressik's hand move slowly from her shoulder to her neck. He traced a finger up her delicate neck bone to her ear and back. He proceeded to thread a curl of hair around his fingers, then stroked her cheek with the back of his hand before moving his lips down to her ear again,
"I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy your beauty before I destroy it, do you?"
She could think of several objections. On the other hand this might just win her some time if she could only turn the situation around. An idea popped into her head, and although she didn't think it had much chance of success it was her only option at the moment, until she could think of something better.
Janeway's voice turned cold as ice.
"I see you and the late Gul Camet share your taste in women."
Kressik pulled his hand away as if he had been stung. He had heard about Gul Camet's death. It had shocked quite a few members of the Obsidian Order, and they were used to seeing and hearing their fare share of violence. Gul Camet's death had been utterly unexpected. Under questioning by the military his crew had reported that he had tracked down Janeway and held her in his quarters. Seemingly at his mercy she should have been an easy target for him, but somehow Camet had ended up brutally murdered in his bed, and Janeway had somehow gotten off the ship. It was as much a mystery to the crew of the Tokar Zebok as it was to Central Command and the Obsidian Order. And although Camet's crew had been questioned thoroughly, they didn't shed any light on the mystery.
Gul Kressik and Camet had never been close friends, but they had been acquainted and met on several occasions. It all started back in 2364 when Kressik had met Camet at Quarks Bar on Terok Nor. Over several bottles of Kanar Camet had told Kressik all about his vendetta against Kathryn Janeway without whom he should have been promoted to a higher post a long, long time ago.
When Janeway had still be an Ensign, Camet had taken her and her superior officer, a certain Admiral Paris, prisoner. Just like Kressik now Camet had very much anticipated the interrogation of Kathryn Janeway. He had made plans to spend at least one night with her before finally leaving her to her dyer fate. This turned out to be a mistake of epic proportions. Janeway had escaped taking the admiral with her and killing Camet's son by the by. In addition to his personal grief for the loss of his only son who was meant to follow in his father's footsteps and had shown great promise in the Obsidian Order, Camet had had a great deal of difficulty explaining the loss of his prisoners to his superiors. Eventually he had been suspended and furthermore demoted. It had taken Camet years to recover from the shame, and almost as long to get his rank back.
Kressik had no son within the Obsidian order or elsewhere, but somehow there seemed to be far too many parallels between him and Gul Camet. He too felt a strange attraction to this human female. He too wanted her for himself before he rid the galaxy of her for good. But the first time Camet had tried to do so he had lost his position, his rank, his honor and his son, and even his wife had left him, only to mention a few. The second time around he had lost the last thing he had left: his life. Was all this really just coincidence or was there something more to Janeway than the eye perceived?
However Kressik had never been a superstitious man. Camet had most likely been too sure of himself. He had been a fool. Kressik would be more careful, more professional, more cunning. Despite the fact that they had shared the same rank, Kressik had always thought of Camet as inferior.
Standing behind Janeway's armchair he said,
"Yes, I'm aware of the late Gul Camet's obsession with you, Captain. But I'm not a fool like he was."
Janeway took the glass of Kanar from the table and regarded the amber liquid playfully through the light. Casually she continued,
"Oh, Camet was no fool. But I'm afraid he didn't get to enjoy our last encounter as much as he had hoped."
A sly smile spread over Janeway's lips. He was giving her the creeps and she would be damned if she wasn't going to return the favor. She put down the glass and slowly turned towards the man behind her without getting out of her chair. She slowly looked him up and down, then stated,
"As a matter of fact he didn't survive our last encounter, Kressik. Do you think you will?"
It was the Cardassian's turn to feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.
He was rescued by the sound of his communication console announcing an incoming message. Kressik handed Janeway his glass and excused himself. He sat down in front of the console and activated the screen.
"Good evening, Gul Kressik."
The face of a middle-aged Cardassian woman in official robes with Cardassian insignia appeared on the monitor. Her long black hair was elaborately styled on top of her head. Her features were hard, her posture iron. She radiated command.
"Archon, I am honored by your call. Have you had a pleasant day? What can I do for you?"
The women on the other side seemed impatient.
"Enough small talk, Kressik. I want to know how your interrogation with the Federation prisoner is proceeding. The trial has been set for three days from now."
Three days! Kressik had hoped to enjoy Janeway's company for a little longer. Maybe he could stall the Archon for a while, extent the interrogation period from three days to at least a week.
"Archon, three days is not much time, and the prisoner could provide us with tactical information on both the Maquis as well as the Federation. My preliminary research has shown that Janeway deserted Starfleet six months ago to join the Maquis. The knowledge she holds could prove invaluable to us. Maybe we could reschedule the trial for a late date, say a week from now?"
The Archon looked less than impressed with Kressik's suggestion. Her black eyes shown with fury.
"Impossible! The date has already been publicly announced. The trial will be in three days. I authorize you to use whatever force you deem necessary, but I need all the information by the time the trial begins. Her execution is scheduled for directly after the trial, which will ensure us a large audience throughout the event. Our people are eager to see the human infiltrator punished, Gul Kressik. Do not fail me, or you will regret it."
Kressik put on his most charming smile.
"Of course, Archon, I will do as you command, and I will not disappoint you."
The Archon sneered at the gul,
"See that you don't!"
The screen abruptly went black. Kressik took a deep breath. He would have to take his pleasure from his prisoner tonight. That would leave him with three full days of extracting information from her by force. It was a true shame that her beauty, as well as her mind which intrigued him, would be destroyed so soon. After he had used the device on her, only a shadow of her former self would remain, if that.
Kathryn had heard every word that had been exchanged. However she had not just idly sat around awaiting her captor's return. She had scanned the room with her eyes for anything that might be used as a weapon. She could find nothing. Silently she had stood up and walked about the small area around the coffee table. Kressik's back was turned towards her, so as long as she managed to remain totally silent she would not attract his attention. Slowly she approached the cabinet, which held Kressik's mini-bar. She pushed the button which gave access to the compartment he had taken bottle of Kanar from, but much to her disappointment it was empty. What had he done with the bottle of Kanar? Janeway spun around and sure enough there it was standing on the floor next to the coffee table, partly obscured by one of the metal legs. She picked it up and went back to sit in the armchair, carefully concealing the bottle under her tunic. Scarce seconds later the communication console went quiet and the Cardassian returned. Resignation was written in his features.
"I am sorry, my dear, but the authorities are asking me to speed matters up a little. I'm we'll have to skip dinner and get straight to the point. I had hoped we would have more time for this, but I suppose one night is better than nothing."
The tone of his voice had turned from resigned to menacing. Kathryn felt a cold shudder go through her, which unfortunately was not lost on Kressik for an evil smiled spread across his face.
"I see you are anticipating this event as much as I am, if in a different way. You never know, you might actually enjoy it, Kathryn."
Janeway remained frozen in her chair concentrating on the cold glass of the bottle against her skin. Her icy gaze was fixed on Kressik who approached like an animal stalking its prey. Kressik's eyes went up and down her body, undressing her in his mind.
"Damn, I should have ordered them to dress you in something more appealing than a prison uniform!" he cursed.
Janeway on the other hand was grateful for her concealing clothes. She recalled the rather exposing nightgown Camet had made her wear during their last encounter and thanked the stars for the design of this uniform. The material was rough and thick, and the clothes hung on her like a potato sack since they were several sizes too large. If it hadn't been for the drawstring in the trousers, they would have fallen off her. The tunic covered her arms more than amply. As a matter of fact she had had to roll up the sleeves as well as the trouser legs. Only the slightest hint of collarbone was exposed at the neckline of the top. The only thing that could possibly make her look appealing was her long auburn hair, which cascaded freely over her back and shoulders.
Camet had reached the back of her chair. A lock of hair had fallen into her face and his coarse Cardassian hand brushed it aside and tucked it behind her ear. From there his hand moved down her neck again until it reached the fabric of the tunic.
"Such soft skin against so coarse a fabric..." he mumbled.
Janeway still remained frozen and fought hard against the urge to wince. She barely dared to breathe. Camet gathered her hair into his hand and suddenly roughly pulled, causing her head to fall back. He forced his lips onto hers in a bruising perversion of a kiss, with one hand holding her hair while the other began to explore her neck, slowly moving lower. Kathryn's grip around the bottle strengthened. She tried to concentrate on her weapon rather than on the terrible taste of his tongue intruding into her mouth, but it was difficult. She felt sick and wanted nothing more than to push him of her with all her might. But she had to keep him going for just a little longer. Kathryn steeled herself and agonizingly slowly lifted the bottle in her hand. Steadily she raised her arm, higher and higher... Just as she was about to smash the bottle down onto the Cardassian's skull he broke the kiss as suddenly as he had initiated it.
He was getting frustrated with that damn uniform she was wearing. It was difficult to feel anything through the thick material. His head rose up and he beheld the bottle in her hand and realization hit him. A few seconds later and she would have knocked him out cold.
Kathryn's eyes were wide with shock. She had been so close! A few more seconds and she could have been free.
Kressik lunged over to capture her wrist and snatched the bottle from her grasp. He was furious, both with her for attempting such an attack and with himself for almost falling into her trap. He should have known that something was up when she didn't resist his kiss much. Angrily he walked off and threw the bottle into a trash disposal unit. It disappeared. In a flash Kressik returned.
He sneered at Janeway,
"Lets see what else you're hiding under there! Get undressed!"
Janeway inhaled slowly, and then looked him straight in the eyes.
"No," she said coldly.
Kressik came closer and dragged her out of the armchair by her shoulders. He planted firmly her on the floor right in front of him. For the first time she noticed quite how tall he was. He outsized her by about two heads. Her captor stood about half a meter in front of her and repeated menacingly,
"Get undressed!"
Janeway tried to resist the urge to swallow hard but failed. She only hoped that he had not noticed this sign of weakness in her. She was more than a little frightened now, but she would be damned if she let him see this.
With a steadiness she did not feel she replied again,
"No."
Kressik's hands grabbed the collar of her tunic and tore the fabric in half, exposing her chest to his gaze. The sudden violent movement made Janeway gasp, a reflex, which she instantly regretted for Kressik, grinned in response. Kathryn covered her chest with her arms and took a step back. Kressik followed. She took another step back and again he took one forward. She didn't dare to turn around to see where she was going. A feeling of panic that she couldn't fight anymore propelled her further and further backward. Her heart was beating wildly, her head was spinning. She could not think clearly. He kept stalking her. Then abruptly she came to a halt. Her back had made contact with a solid object. She turned her head a little and knew that she was doomed. He had backed her into a wall.
Kressik smiled triumphantly.
"It's over, Kathryn. I've won!"