“That explains the protestors outside.”
“Well, at least they keep their distance. If they get too close, we just have to cough at them and they back away.” The two men shared a chuckle.
“If you ask me,” Sims said, “this whole disease sounds awfully convenient for Mister Maltuvis.”
“Yeah, most of us have thought that. But how to prove he’s behind it? He’s got an answer for everything. And the fact is, the docs are sure the Saurians don’t have the medical knowledge to create a disease like this.” He drained the dregs of his cup. “But I’ll tell you this: If Maltuvis didn’t cause the plague, he’s sure got a handle on how to profit from it. The vulture.”
Sims pondered his words. “Isn’t there anything the Global League can do about it? Or the Federation?”
“Like what? There’s no proof. Every country M’Tezir’s sent troops to has invited them in, and frankly they look pretty heroic saving all those lives. For every Saurian who thinks Maltuvis is behind the plague, there’s one or two more who’d say he was right all along and the Global League was foolish to invite aliens in.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” Sims said. “Maltuvis was just as eager for the trade deal as the League was—he just wanted to be the one that got the most out of it.”
“Yeah, well, people have short memories.” He snorted. “Half the politicians in the galaxy depend on it.”
• • •
The man called Albert Sims—or, as he was still known to certain intimates, Charles “Trip” Tucker—pondered Antonio Ruiz’s words. The man’s account tallied with others he’d heard during this fact-finding mission. Tucker found it inconceivable that Maltuvis hadn’t deliberately engineered the disease as a tool to occupy other nations and sever their ties to the Global League. The Saurians were so unaccustomed to disease on this scale that it was a perfect tool for gaining leverage through terror—but terror toward others rather than M’Tezir itself.
The irony was that it didn’t seem to be hurting Federation interests. While the open democracies of the Global League were susceptible to the growing popular pressure to sever ties with aliens—a direction in which even Veranith seemed to be heading—the autocratic Maltuvis could maintain his own trading ties with the Federation by fiat, while also assuming control over the trade goods from the other countries he allied with. So even as the Basileus of M’Tezir gained greater power on Sauria, he made the Federation increasingly dependent on him for the resources a growing interstellar nation demanded.
The question was, how? Ruiz was right—as far as Tucker could determine, there was no way the M’Tezir could’ve engineered a plague so alien to Saurian experience yet so resistant to Federation medical knowledge. It seemed likely that Maltuvis had help from aliens, but who, and why? It was possible the Basileus had hired some offworld contractor with medical expertise, such as Ajilon Prime. In that case, identifying the source and cutting them off could cripple Maltuvis. But what if Maltuvis was simply a pawn in some interstellar power’s great game? Was this another salvo by the Orions and the Malurians? Could the Romulans be trying to make an end run around the Neutral Zone and the treaty that had created it? But what would any of them have to gain, given that helping Maltuvis gain power wasn’t hurting Federation trade? If not the Federation, who was being targeted? Indeed, how would any offworlders benefit from turning the Saurians against offworlders?
Tucker gave his head a convulsive shake, drawing a glance from Ruiz. “Are you all right, Al?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Just tired.”
“Yeah, this place does that to you. How long till your shift ends?”
“A few hours yet. And I should really get back to work now.”
“I guess I should, too,” Ruiz said. “I lost a friend today . . . but there are still others I can help.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Tucker headed back out to the treatment ward with determination. He’d shaken off his earlier thoughts out of disgust at himself for treating this like some cosmic chess game when real people were suffering and dying here on the ground. That was the kind of attitude he was trying to keep Section 31 from succumbing to.
Meeting Antonio Ruiz had been a valuable reminder of what he was fighting for. Like Tucker, the Cuban had lost someone he cared about in the Xindi attack, had seen his community overshadowed by fear and loss. And it had motivated him to do what he could for other victims of loss and tragedy. How could Tucker do any less, if he wished to honor the memory of his sister? As painful as it was, he needed to go out there with the sick and dying Saurians, to look each and every one of them in the eyes, and to remember what he was really fighting for.