Star Trek: Brinkmanship Read Online Free Page B

passengers, Efheny included, raised their hands to touch their chests and then signal up to the moon, acknowledging the blessing of their Autarch, looking down from his palace upon his loyal servants. The canopy reached its full height, and the moon could no longer be seen, although its presence remained.
    Efheny leaned back tiredly on the low bench and subvocalized instructions to begin transmitting the day’s data to her superiors at the embassy. Once the task was under way, she pondered her current predicament.
    Much as she would have preferred to ignore what had happened, Efheny knew she had to speak to Hertome. She was terribly afraid that someone else had noticed their exchange, the sudden slip of their masks. Perhaps Hertome, with the advantage of his higher designation, would be able to alleviate her fears. But she would have to be careful. Hertome might be the representative of an ally, but Efheny was wary of humans. They were unpredictable. Take the meeting this evening. To arrange it, Hertome had simply walked pasther and told her when and where to come as casually as if he had been instructing her on her next task. She’d had to hurry to switch on the audio-disruption devices that were part of her bioengineering, and even then she wasn’t sure that Karenzen Ter Ata-D, Hertome’s assistant, hadn’t noticed their unusual exchange.
    Efheny disembarked two stops before her usual place, at a busy interchange that served as a covered market. Here Gar traders of the lower sort plied their wares to those Ata with a little more standing and a little more credit to their names. Slipping between stalls bearing ilva fish and pana stones and the sweet-smelling dyes with which many of the Ata grades liked to pattern their skins below their work wear, Efheny came at last to a tiny eatery. She came here once every other skyturn chiefly because the food was bland enough for her tastes, being largely free of the saltiness that all Tzenkethi, regardless of grade, seemed to believe was a necessary flavor to any meal.
    Hertome (or whatever his name was in Standard) was already there, head down, reading the evening bulletin tickertaping across the tabletop. Efheny clicked her tongue. This was a risky meeting, out in public, but perhaps, given his slightly higher grading, it was less noteworthy than if he had come to her billet, or she had gone to his. Quietly, unobtrusively, she went to the table behind his, arranging herself on the low seat so that they had their backs to each other. The retinal scanner on the table, identifying her grade and function, changed the tickertape over to theE-bulletin. Efheny switched on her audio-disruption devices and waited.
    After a moment, Hertome leaned back. “Not quite what you seem, are you, Mayazan?”
    A frank opening move, too frank for her taste. These humans, thought Efheny (conveniently forgetting her own people’s recent history)—their proclivity for gambling would surely plunge the whole quadrant into chaos one of these days. Doggedly, she continued playing her part.
    “This one can only offer her services to you, Ap-Rej.”
    “All right, stay in role if you want to.”
    Hertome twisted his neck slightly, so that from the corner of her eye Efheny could see the side of his face. The bioengineering was flawless. There was no sign now in his eyes of that unnerving alien humanness that had been so visible before. Now there was just an expression of patient, limpid sedateness that all the Ata seemed to bear.
    Before Hertome could say anything else, a server approached their tables. His dull flesh and arm markings designated him EE. This made speech between them inappropriate, so Hertome signaled his order and Efheny did the same when he came to her.
    When the server had left, Hertome spoke again. “I acknowledge your willingness to serve,” he said, “and commend you on your readiness. But what I really want to know is if you’re going to blow my damn cover.”
    “This one