CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“I get by with a little help from my friends.”

- Lennon and McCartney

As a former member, still in marginally good standing, of Starfleet Intelligence, Artemisia Gallas had experienced the gamut of emotional states inspired by such work—from the mind-numbing tedium of detailed traffic analysis and long-term surveillance, to the terrifying thrill of the moment when your cover story is truly tested for the first time.

In all those years, on all those occasions, the piece of educational advice she’d most valued had been, and yet remained, something Admiral Nalonge had once said:

“Heed your thoughts… trust your instincts… but ignore your emotions.”

The best advice is always simple in explication, and usually difficult in execution. This axiom proved most challenging of all, because determining which of the three was affecting, or, rather, most affecting you invariably proved far easier said than done.

Currently, she wrestled with the dilemma again.

Regulations, common sense and loyalty to SI were all demanding she contact the Orion Bureau and inform them she'd spotted Vaerth Parihn at Way Station 242.

Something, though—thoughts, instincts, emotions, or some combination of the three—was holding her back.

Even as Gallas made “rounds,” her attention was far more focused on events days past than those at hand. Her security staff, trained to operate on their own initiative, easily took up the slight lag, and allowed her to “walk the beat” while her mind dwelt on what they trusted was a more important matter.

She wasn't particularly surprised when her seemingly random peregrinations took her again to stand before the exterior façade of The Orion Coffeehouse.

This time, though, she entered, and sought out her host immediately. Ashok was out on the floor, and she could hear him happily discussing the relative merits of Ethiopian Cinnamon and Columbian Black with a surprisingly interested Klingon.

A real raktajino fan, I guess.

“…–cess by which they arrived at so many… ah, Commander. What brings you to my humble establishment?”

She barely spared him a glance at first, instead addressing the Klingon with a curt, “He'll be back in a few minutes. Try one of those blends he was discussing while you wait; it's on the house.”

Before the startled warrior could react with anger, or even at all, Gallas took an equally surprised Ashok firmly by the arm and practically dragged him to an empty area of the main room.

“I didn't realize you were so… forceful when you wanted something, Commander.” His smile wasn't quite a leer, but it was certainly within the neighborhood of one. “Perhaps you'd like to discuss this in the back room?”

Ashok was obviously feeling smug… and daring.

Still full of yourself after getting to fill her, eh? You piece of...

“Following the kind of sex you must have had with Parihn a few days ago, Quayn, I doubt whether you’re recovered enough to provide me enough amusement… or that I'd be a sufficient substitute.”

She'd caught him off guard with that… but he rallied fairly well.

“Oh, don't worry about me… and don’t underestimate yourself, Artemisia. We'll have a little ouzo, a little banter… and we'll see where that takes us.”

If he thought she'd been forceful before, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into the bulkhead disabused him of that.

“My Christian name is for my friends… and you aren't one of them. Don't use it again.

“Now, as to your little rendezvous with Parihn…

“…I, personally, don't give a damn about your extracurricular activities, Quayn. What two consenting adults do is their business… and if Michelle chooses to accept your pathetic tendency to slide it into every willing and available snatch that comes along, that's her business.”

His reaction to Gallas' mention of the absent Lieutenant Kochlin, with whom he'd been involved for some time, was most interesting.

“You have no idea what went on between Parihn and me,” he replied carefully. Then, gaining confidence, he added, “and I resent your implication.”

I'm sure you do. It has you worried, though, doesn't it? I can see it in your face.

“‘Resent,’ but don’t deny, I note.

“You wouldn't know this, of course, but it wouldn’t have done you much good, anyway. Parihn and I are old friends. I helped get her out of Orion space a decade ago.”

Now here’s where it gets really interesting.

“We don't keep much from each other,” she bluffed. “As a matter of fact, she told me that you'd be worth a tumble if you didn't spend so much time looking for the next one… and, of course, if you weren't already fucking my friend, Michelle… or fucking her over, as the case may be.”

Gallas was shoveling it, flailing in the dark, but she'd obviously connected with a few spades-full, and blows: Quayn paled slightly, and his thin lips narrowed perceptibly.

“Are you asking me something here, Ar–… eh, Commander?”

Now she was the one wearing the suggestive grin.

“I think we may assume that's the case.

“Now tell me what you told Parihn or I'll tell Michelle what you did with Parihn.”

Her glare grew hooded.

“And I guarantee you she'll believe me, because somewhere in her heart, I bet she knows you would do something like it…and obviously already have.”

She abruptly released him.

“Now, for one of the first times since I've known you, Quayn, you actually have something to say worth hearing.

“So start talking.”

Jerrell examined his options.

He could refuse, and ask her to leave. It was even money that she could convince Kochlin he'd done anything with Parihn. After all, it was his word against Gallas', and she hadn't been in the room.

Michelle was quite perceptive, however… and extremely temperamental. He didn't want to spend days coaxing her back into his arms, nor did he want to hurt her with the knowledge that he'd bedded Parihn.

The realization of that last surprised even him.

Or, he could come clean.

It was vaguely possible that Gallas, with the resources of Starfleet upon which to draw, might be able to aid the two on their quest. He still cared deeply for Parihn, and even though she—with good reason, Jerrell ruefully admitted—now despised him, he didn’t wish to see her hurt any more than she had been, by him…

…or anyone else.

And Xorc, after all, was his best friend.

A part of him laughed at that concession.

Who are you deceiving? He’s your only friend. Everyone else you know is a rival, a contact, a customer…

…or a victim.

In his mind’s eye, he once more saw a kneeling Parihn, her lovely mouth worshipping his erection as bidden. The scene played itself for him again; and he recognized only in this moment that the light he’d then seen in her gaze had been equal parts unwilling desire and revulsion—the latter directed at him…

…and herself.

He’d reveled in his power to make her want him.

Now, as it never had before, his stomach turned at what he’d done.

Gallas was still watching him probingly, but had said nothing more… perhaps curious to see what he might yet concoct to extricate himself.

The scales of risk, and the inner voice he’d all but ignored for years, told him the same thing.

Jerrell started talking… and, when he was done, even his extortionist seemed impressed.

When she left the coffee bar, Gallas went directly to her quarters. There, she swept for listening devices, then activated a personal comm cipher that had never been used, and was known only to two people: Herself…

…and Admiral Nalonge.

She caught him alone, at his home—as she'd hoped.

“Who… Artemisia!” He was momentarily pleased, then concerned. “What's the matter?”

She demanded, “Class one bug sweep, Admiral, or I don't say a word.”

He looked taken aback… but did as instructed.

“OK… we're clean on this end. Go.”

Gallas again prayed that she was doing the right thing…

…and told him much, but not all, of what she'd heard.

“Why didn't you go through channels?” he asked. “This is important, granted, but…”

It was only then she had a final epiphany.

“Because I think you have a mole, Admiral… and if I know you…

“…I'm sure you think so, too.”

Interlude Four Chapter Twenty-Five