Read Online Star Trek: The Fall: The Poisoned Chalice by James Swallow - Free Book Online Page A

her own question as irrelevant. That was not a matter for her to dwell upon. She had her orders. She would carry them out.
    We can’t let the last of her be the echo of a shot, Riker was saying. A moment after the words were relayed back from the drone, the indicator showing the outside connection winked out, the feed to the higher clearance source abruptly terminated.
    On the screen, the admiral refused a dessert in favor of a coffee while his wife indulged. Riker glanced up briefly, and his watcher noted he was frowning.
    *  *  *
    Despite the lateness of the hour—or perhaps because of it—the streets of the portside district were busy with ship crews on liberty and the occasional group of adventurous tourists. The Centauri sun had set just as Tuvok’s transport had made landfall, and in the hours that had passed since then he had followed a circuitouspath around the port city, taking maglev trams up and down the lines around the industrial zones to ensure he had not been followed. It was a standard espionage tradecraft technique and as automatic to the Vulcan as breathing. Even here, in the heart of the Federation’s member-worlds, he did not lower his guard. The secret orders had set him on alert for even the smallest sign of something awry. He drew into the depths of his hooded jacket, his dark face lost in shadow.
    A cold wind pushed down the streets as Tuvok arrived at the location designated for his rendezvous. A generous critic might have been willing to call the place a “tavern,” but it barely qualified as such. Built into the side of a decaying hangar complex, a handful of merchant marine cargo modules had been welded together around a rig that appeared to be made of surplus parts from an old Ptolemy -class tug.
    He entered through a tall steel door and a wave of distasteful odors washed over him. The sour organic smell of stale sweat from a dozen humanoid species, the tang of fermented alcoholic beverages, all mixed with ozone from what was likely a poorly shielded electrical system. Tuvok had to step aside as a pair of tall, reedy Xelatians ambled past him on the way out, their movements stiff and jerky. One of them bumped into the Vulcan and glared blankly from behind a rectangular brass breather mask before going on its way.
    The tavern was divided into booths cut from hull metal. A long, curving bar that had once been part of a warp nacelle dominated one side of the establishment. Here and there, jury-rigged gaming tables hosted dom-jot or kella, although the surly manner of the players did not invite any casual approach.
    Tuvok took in the room, looking for the bestvantage point, as a humanoid female resembling a Betazoid walked swiftly toward him. She appeared to flicker, her aspect shifting slightly. A hologram, then, he decided, doubtless projected by a computer system behind the bar . It had to have been scanning him as he entered, measuring what kind of server would be most enticing to a new customer.
    The device was poorly calibrated and lagged, however. The faux-Betazoid first became a Terran woman of Asian extraction. “Hey, honey! What can I get—” The holographic waitress flickered again and transformed into a demure Vulcan female, her expression snapping from slyly welcoming to serious and thoughtful. “Greetings, traveler,” she began again, with a poor imitation of a Shir’Kar accent. “How may I provide for you this night?”
    â€œAltair water,” he replied, moving past her toward a vacant booth.
    Tuvok sat and nursed his drink for a while, feigning interest in a wall screen display showing an ice hockey game in progress elsewhere on the planet. Under cover of this, he cast a practiced eye over the rest of the tavern’s clientele and noted several other patrons acting in a manner that could have been described as suspicious. None of them, however, seemed to be interested in him. He had no doubt that this place was