The Operative (A Star Trek novel)

Chapter Eighteen

Flynn is not exactly the hit of the meeting; but then, he is not overwhelmed with Ilona's friends, either. The cell is a motley group of twenty or so students, most of whom looked more like simple malcontents than fervent revolutionaries.

The meeting is in the back room of a student dive bar in a seedy district at the edge of Old Town, the part of the only part of the city that was not razed and cleaned up when the university was built. The room is dingy-looking, and not only from the yellowish light cast from the two bare bulbs hanging by wires from the rough ceiling. Around the walls are haphazardly stacked barrels, kegs, boxes. In another day and age, Flynn knows, the room would have been smoke filled, but otherwise the people in it and their purposes would have been little different. Certainly the revolutionary demeanor has not changed much since he was a lad.

The erstwhile revolutionaries seem to like Chekhov well enough, and many seem downright smitten with O'Connor. LaRue, before he went out into the bar to keep watch, was mostly ignored. But they seem actively to dislike both Flynn and Montenegro. Montenegro has not said much, but her whole attitude and bearing almost scream contempt and coldness. Perhaps the students see the same thing in him. Monty is, after all, a reflection of sorts of himself.

"Why should we do anything you say?" asks a particularly earnest and ratty-looking man. He is one of the cell's two leaders.

"They aren't from here," he continues, turning to face the others. "It's not their fight. For all we know, they're planning to take over for the Federation—if that's really who they're from. Or they could be working for Ocht. We don't know, and we can't risk it."

Several mutters of approval greet this.

"Ilona's word is good enough for me," the other leader, Roberto Sargento says. His credibility with the group, Flynn suspects, is lessened on this issue, since he and Ilona are lovers. "Her cousin is one of them, and she grilled them all before bringing them here. I say we trust them. We have a chance to actually do something important for the cause. It's a worthwhile gamble. The most that will be lost is this one cell. We're expendable."

A disturbed mutter runs around the room. Apparently some present do not feel expendable.

"And I say," the ratty boy says, "that we're doing just fine by ourselves. We don't need them.

"Of course," he grins evilly and toys with a rather wicked-looking knife he has pulled from a sheath on his belt, "now that they have seen us, we may have to...dispose of them."

There is an alarmed stirring in the crowd. Flynn and Montenegro exchange amused glances. The ratty boy—Gustov Flahner is his name—is actually trying to frighten them.

Their amusement is not lost on Flahner. He flushes scarlet and steps toward them.

"We won't be disposing of anybody," Sargento says, grabbing his arm. "Put that stupid knife away, will you, Gustov?"

Flahner throws his hand off, but eases back a step.

"Yes, you're doing fine by yourselves," Flynn says, "but only because Ocht is using your revolution as a cover, as a smokescreen between himself and the Federation. And it's a smokescreen he won't need for much longer, not once he breaks ties and sells off the scientists and engineers.

"Do you actually think you're accomplishing anything with your petty terrorism? Midnight raids on supply depots that are probably mostly empty by the time you get there? Fire bombings that do little damage to the real target, though they may be allowed to do substantial collateral damage?

"Think back to how easy it has been; think of how efficient Ocht's security forces are. Are you sure you were being pursued? Oh, sure, you lost people, killed or captured—the game has to be believable, after all. But not many, I'll bet. I'll bet you gather here to lick your wounds and congratulate yourselves for your incredible luck, time and time again. But your organization has never been in any real danger, because you've never been any danger to Ocht. When he's free of the Federation, you'll have served your purpose. You'll be quickly found and shot, each and every one of you. Except possibly for his agents among you."