Vectors Read Online Free PDF Page B

the streets were hurrying toward their homes. The people left in this area had nominal freedom, all of them knowing they could lose it with a single error. Staying out past curfew could be that error.
    The Cardassians passing him were no longer on duty, but they weren't in a hurry either. Gel resisted the urge to check the time. He and Cadema were standing casually, looking younger than they were-because they had always looked younger than they were-and pretending to be in love. Idle youth, not caring about deadlines or curfews or Cardassian soldiers. But it was getting late, and Gel didn't dare call attention to himself. He needed his freedom, and so did Cadema. In fact, Cadema said she would do anything she could, anything, to prevent being captured by the Cardassians again.
    He felt her shift ever so slightly. Her movement wasn't noticeable to anyone watching, but it was a sign that she was getting nervous too.
    "A few more moments," he said softly.
    She smiled at him, tilting her head upward, a lovesick look that didn't make it to her eyes. He smiled back, so fond. Lovers, taking the last few minutes of precious daylight to be together.
    Someone coughed a few meters away, a loud, honking cough. It was their signal. Cadema tensed. Gel slid his left hand behind his back. His fingers rested lightly on a stolen Cardassian phaser tucked into a belt, holding it against his spine. He could draw and fire the pistol faster than a Cardassian could raise his arm. Gel had killed at least ten Cardassian guards with that pistol over the last few months. He planned on killing a lot more.
    A Jibetian trader walked past, still coughing. He was long and lean, like most of his people, and his ridged cheeks were very pronounced. Gel had never seen him before.
    "You need to do something for that cough," Cadema said, her voice gentle, as if giving advice to a friend.
    The trader stopped, his cloak flowing around him. The movement was fluid and powerful. It also revealed the weapons at his waist. A pistol like Gel's and something Gel didn't recognize.
    The trader's pale green eyes took both of them in. Nothing in his expression changed, but he seemed to recognize them as a team.
    He stepped closer, so close that his words were audible only to Gel and Cadema. "My boss does not like being summoned."
    Gel didn't move. He kept one hand on his weapon, the other casually draped over Cadema. As he spoke, he smiled, so that anyone watching would think they were still discussing cold remedies. "Bajorans are dying," he said.
    The trader shrugged. "You were warned there might be some casualties."
    "Some," Cadema said. "We thought that meant only those initially involved. Your boss misled us."
    The trader's gaze flickered toward the street and then back to them. They were the last Bajorans out, and there were no more Cardassians. Curfew had started. In a few moments, they all would be in trouble.
    "People in your business," the trader said, "should not be soft."
    Gel's grip on the pistol tightened. He knew he was being goaded, and he would not let the trader get to him. All of the people he had dealt with, everyone who worked for the person-or persons-who had theoretically developed this perfect biological weapon to fight the Cardassians had been as cold and unfeeling and cruel as this trader. All of them. They were only in it for the money. Gel's resistance cell had spent the last of its reserves getting this weapon, and now it was backfiring on them.
    "Soft, weak," Gel said, "those are all subjective terms. We're not talking about our ability to fight, or our own willingness to die for our beliefs. But this disease has spread beyond our cell, to the innocents. Our children have been dying. It's not a pretty death."
    "You didn't buy a pretty death," the trader said. "You bought something a bit more destructive than that."
    "My people are getting sicker faster than the Cardassians." Gel had to struggle to keep his voice down. Cadema was looking to make sure