**Warning: Some readers may find the next two chapters distressing**
The prisoner lay face down in the cell. As he heard the approaching footsteps, he slowly raised his head. The face that stared at Rhiana and her companion was almost unrecognisable, it was so badly bruised and damaged. Nor did Rhiana see any recognition in his eyes as he looked at her. That worried her but at the same time, she was thankful for it. The last thing she needed right now was her host realising she knew the prisoner.
She snorted in disgust. "You were right, you didn't break him. He still has fire inside him; I can see it in his eyes."
Her companion muttered something that she recognised as a Cardassian epithet and careful not to show any reaction, she took a mental note of the fact, weighing it up against the obviously Terran appearance and the evidence of synthetic skin. Something, she thought, was not quite right here… a lot was not quite right actually, not least the fact that her friend was this man's prisoner… Focus, she told herself. Think! That her host was hiding his true appearance was obvious. Was there, she asked herself, a Cardassian hiding under that disguise? If so, he must be using some form of holographic technology as well, otherwise the thick neck ridges would be an obvious giveaway.
For some reason, the thought of him as a Cardassian did not feel quite right, although she could not have said why. One usually swore in one's own language and certainly, his pronunciation of the Cardassian swearword had been flawless… maybe too flawless, too correct. The large, ostentatious ring he wore was of Cardassian design, although the rest of his clothing was contemporary Terran in style. It was almost as though he was… something pretending to be a Cardassian pretending to be a human. He could still be human, but her instincts said not, and she had learned to listen to and trust her instincts. What then?
"He will break," the man who called himself Henry Smith said, "or he will die."
The Romulan smiled thinly. They would not carry out that threat… not yet anyway; the information Krang carried was too important for that and until they had what they wanted, he was too valuable alive. "I'm going to need some information if I am to work efficiently. Who is he? What do you already know about him? What do you want to know about him?"
She listened carefully as he gave her the required answers, that the prisoner was a high-ranking officer who had links to every major intelligence organisation. "We need to know about that damned starbase," Henry Smith continued. "Their fleet has been a thorn in our side for years. Everywhere we go, there's a Starfleet ship already there and it's putting a severe cramp in our operation."
Rhiana nodded thoughtfully. Not Rhiana… Arrhae, she corrected herself mentally; for the duration of the mission, her name was Arrhae and she should use it, even in the privacy of her own mind. There was much more that he was not saying. He was giving her only the most basic details, probably because he did not yet trust her enough. "Understood. That gives me a good starting point." She smiled in a seductive manner. "Give me an hour to play with him…"
He matched her smile. I think I am going to enjoy this. It is always a pleasure to watch a professional at work."
"Alone. If you want results, I expect total privacy – I operate alone and do not play well with observers." It was an outrageous request and she held her breath, praying to the Elements that she did not truly believe in, that she would get away with it.
He frowned but after a moment gave a reluctant nod. "I don't suppose he is any danger to anyone in that state."
The Romulan laughed, allowing her hand to trail suggestively upwards and across her cleavage. "I am grateful. I have no liking for Klingons. This one can stand in for the one who… well… one who isn't here… Payback, so to speak – and if it gets you what you want then so much the better. We will both be happy."
His eyes lasciviously followed the movement. He had no intention of letting her touch him or get too close, much as he would enjoy a sexual encounter with her. The chance of her discovering his true identity was too high and he could not take the risk. Still, she was a beautiful woman and there was no harm in indulging himself in a momentary fantasy. "Have fun then." He certainly would. He'd go back to his office, he decided, lock the doors and watch through the hidden surveillance cameras.
She inclined her head slightly and gestured to the guard, an ugly-looking Ferengi. Big for his species he was carrying a large, spiked club, and had an old, rusty-looking disruptor tucked into his utility belt. "Open it!"
After a quick glance at his boss for permission, the Ferengi obeyed. The forcefield dropped and Rhiana stepped over the threshold.
Her contact shrugged and turned to the guard, having no intention of granting her the full level of privacy she had demanded. "Wait outside," he instructed in a low voice, aware of the superior hearing of Romulans and not wanting her to know what he was saying. "But activate the audio pickup and keep a discreet eye on her. I don't want any trouble."
Sensing the approach of danger, the prisoner struggled to move but he had no strength left to fight or even resist. All he could do was attempt to brace himself for the pain he knew was coming. It was a different person this time, a Romulan female, blonde-haired, although it didn't look natural – and why would it, since it was not a common feature of the Romulan genome? Why then did the idea of blonde hair feel familiar to him? He knew her, he knew he did.
As she knelt and fisted her hand in his hair, he caught a whiff of a perfume that also felt familiar. He wanted to process the information and ponder its meaning, but anything that led to the return of his memories was dangerous.
He found himself half dragged to his feet and on the receiving end of a kick that sent him staggering across the tiny cell. He would tell them nothing. He knew nothing; it was all gone, far beyond their reach. Despite the direness of his situation, he almost smiled as he called forth the image in his mind that had helped him endure. The precious name formed on his lips. "Chrissie-oy."
Chrissie. It was not a Klingon name, and he had no idea who she was. All he could say with certainty was that she loved him. She looked like an ordinary tera'ngan female, but he knew better; she was an angel… not that he was completely sure what an angel was. It was a concept that did not exist in his culture, although he had locked away so much information that he was not even sure what his own culture was. A guardian of some sort, he supposed, sent by the murdered gods… Whoever and whatever she was, she stood watch over him, protecting the precious information he had locked away within the deepest recesses of his mind.
Bloodstained and in torn clothing, bruised and injured, she stood between him and one who would harm him, a d'k tahg in her hand, and the body of her adversary, a trained and highly dangerous Klingon warrior, lying at her feet. She had killed for him…
Memories were dangerous, he reminded himself again, and resolutely, he blocked them, entrusting them to her loving care. "Chrissie-oy."
The fist crashed into his mouth, crushing the beloved name. "Give them something," the Romulan woman's voice hissed. "They will kill you if you don't."
Like her scent and the colour of her hair, something about her voice was known to him, and again, he found himself reaching for the information. No, he told himself. Don't think... there lay danger. Best to know nothing and let death claim him.
'Arrhae' frowned and manoeuvred so that neither of their faces could be seen from the door. "Damn you... Damn Klingon honour! You will give away your life here and allow your grandson to forget your face!" She shook him slightly to accent the point.
Blank eyes stared back at her. "I… don't know... any… thing!" The words were mumbled. Speaking hurt too much.
"Chrissie will cry." She knew it was a low blow, but she had to get him to recognise her. There was the faintest flicker in those blank eyes and for a moment she thought he was responding, but he gave no other indication. Hope dawning and then fading again, she turned, and as she did so, a ray of light from the lonely bulb in the ceiling caught his face, highlighting one bruise among many; the distinctive mark of a Romulan mind-sifter set to a high level.
Horrified and fighting the urge to vomit, she almost let go of him. They'd already told her that they'd used a mind-sifter, but they'd said it hadn't worked properly, that it was faulty. She had spent enough time in the Tal Shiar to know exactly what those devices were capable of, and even the best trained operative could not withstand the sheer, brutal force of one used on full power. How was it possible that he had withstood such an attack? That he had given up no information, however unwillingly? Come to that, how was it even possible that he had any mind left at all? Yet that spark, that tiny, barely visible spark in his eyes indicated that he did.
"We're getting out of here!" It was Rhiana speaking now, not Arrhae. Wanting no one but Krang to hear her, she kept her voice low, little more than a faint whisper. Despite her demand for privacy, she had no doubt that their acquiescence was fake and that they had listening devices.
Getting out? He stared at her blankly. No, there was no escape from here. He knew he had tried hard enough to escape in the early days. Only death would release him. He stared at her, wondering again why she was familiar and inevitably his eyes were drawn to the knife shoved into her belt. He knew that knife, knew the insignia. It was his! Confused, he raised his eyes to look at her, and again the thought struck him that he knew her. That he could trust her. No, that was ridiculous. Still, he could not entirely prevent the faint flicker of hope.
Getting out? The part of her that was Arrhae, was not at all pleased. She was a Tal Shiar operative. The prisoner was in poor condition and attempting to rescue him would put both her mission and her own life in jeopardy. The most practical solution was to kill him, and considering his injuries, it might even be the humane, merciful option.
The other part of her – the part that had left the Tal Shiar behind to work for FedKIN, who was Sorahl's wife, Krang's friend, godmother to little Michael – was horrified by Arrhae's cold pragmatism. "Where is the honour in that? And how am I supposed to go home and tell Chrissie that I've killed her husband?"
"You're going soft," Arrhae scoffed. "You know what has to be done and he wouldn't expect any other. He's a Klingon; do you think he wants to live like this?"
"He's a Klingon," Rhiana agreed. "He's a warrior and he'll fight to the end. I'm not leaving him. There's got to be a way to get him out."
"Well, you'd better come up with a plan," Arrhae reminded her other self. "And do it quickly; we are running out of time."
After some thought, a plan began to emerge that was acceptable to both Rhiana and Arrhae. Allowing the ruthless cover persona to take charge again, she got to work. Stepping back, she looked down at her hands with a fastidious sneer. "I have your blood on my hands."
One hand rooted in a pocket of her cargo pants, trying to make it look casual. This was the most dangerous part of the operation. If they were watching and realised what she was really doing… if this failed, he would die, and she really would have his blood on his hands. Pulling out a tissue, she wiped her fingers, removing the lavender blood, and then dropped it on the floor, at the same time carefully transferring the tiny object that had been the true object of her search to her other hand.
She'd been rough searched when she'd disembarked from her ship, patted down to ensure that she was carrying nothing in the way of recording devices or weapons. Secured in a pocket within her pocket, padded by a scrap of fabric, the tiny device had escaped their notice.
If only she could tell him that it was an emergency transponder that would be activated by the digestive acids in his stomach. "Talk to me," she demanded, her voice loud, clear and aggressive, demanding obedience. "Tell me what I want to know, and I can stop hurting you." Leaning closer, she lowered her voice again. "Swallow this! Quickly Krang, swallow it and I can track you... get you out..."
It would be more torture, he knew. Nevertheless, he had learned obedience in this place, and he offered no resistance to her as she shoved the tiny object into his mouth, doing her best to make it look as though she was punching him.
She nodded encouragingly as he took the tablet. Its surface was smooth, designed to be easily swallowed, but his throat was parched and raw and he gagged as it stuck at the back of his mouth.
Water. He needed water, and as it happened, she had some. "Ugh! Your blood stinks. I can taste its foulness." Rooting in her pockets again, this time she withdrew a tube of water. It was not hidden, and they had found it when they'd searched her, but after scanning it and discovering that it was indeed what it appeared to be, they'd allowed her to keep it. She was glad of that now; she hadn't realised how important it might prove to be.
She took an ostentatious swig of the precious, lifegiving fluid. His eyes followed her movement, and in their depths, she thought she could see a mute pleading... Help me! Please… help me! Or was it Kill me? She was not entirely sure.
She took another mouthful and held up the tube? "What? You want some? Will you talk if I give you some?" Holding the tube of water up to his dry, chapped lips, she poured some water into his open mouth. She watched with satisfaction as his throat moved, swallowing the water and with it, the emergency transponder. Praise the Elements, Rhiana thought; whatever happened, he was safe now. As soon as it started to dissolve, it would begin to transmit allowing the Klingon ship to track him and get him to safety. She just needed to keep them both alive long enough for that to happen. Arrhae took over again. Continue questioning him… a little light torture and then find an excuse to go back to her ship, maybe to collect some of her own equipment. "You had your water, now talk to me!" she demanded. "Or do you want more?" Backhanding him viciously, she threw the rest of the water in his face, causing him to splutter and choke.
Just obey, he reminded himself as he fought to breathe; but tell her nothing. His eyes fell to the d'k tahg in her belt. Again, there was an almost disorienting sense of familiarity. It was his; he knew it! And finally, there was the long-awaited opportunity.
His hand reached out and closed upon the hilt of the knife. It fitted into his grip as though it belonged there and strengthened by its presence, he lashed out. With a stroke of luck, he caught the female a glancing blow to the arm. She swore and dodged, knocking him against the stunning effect of the forcefield. It was not long before he revived from it, however, and determined that this time, he would either escape or die in the attempt, he was preparing to try again when the guards arrived in force.
With the audio feed engaged, it had not taken the Ferengi long to become suspicious of the Romulan visitor. His hearing was far superior to that of his colleagues, and while he understood that making false promises to gain the trust of a prisoner was a perfectly valid way of getting information – what was it the Terrans called it? Good cop, bad cop? – his instincts told him that something more was going on. Still, the boss had said to watch and listen, not to interfere. If he wanted the session interrupting, he'd send orders down. If he didn't, then provided nothing untoward happened, he'd do exactly as he was told – watch and listen.
The Romulan was speaking very quietly now, and he leaned forward, concentrating fiercely… swallow it… track… get you out… No, he definitely didn't like that. What had she given him? There was nothing from above, but the boss didn't have the benefit of Ferengi hearing, and probably hadn't heard anything.
The Ferengi hesitated. If he had misjudged her motives and it turned out to be a false alarm, they could apologise and hopefully she would understand that they had a job to do… but if, as it appeared, she was working for the competition – or worse, the authorities, then she would be a useful prize. He was still trying to decide what to do when all hell broke loose.
"Eternal destitution!" the Ferengi exclaimed, "He's got her weapon. If he kills her, the boss really won't be happy and then I… we… don't get paid!" There was a note of panic in his voice, but also admiration. Profits! Even in the state he was in, the Klingon was good!
His Terran colleague flashed him a look of dislike. "It's always money with you, isn't it!"
"Well what else?" the Ferengi demanded. "You've got the kid the boss gave you. Me, I prefer good profits and lots of latinum." The Hew-mon really was stupid, he thought in disgust as he lunged forward and hit the panel that would disengage the forcefield covering the cell door. Did he not understand what would happen if this all went wrong? If the prisoner died before they got the information they needed, all their plans and ideas, everything they'd done so far, would be nothing more than an expensive failure. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here with these lobe-less idiots. Hefting the spiked club in readiness, he stepped into the cell, and the hew-mon followed him.