Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #2: Stowaways

by Brad Strickland

  CHAPTER 3

  The Space Falcon apparently was hungry. He had wandered through some dark, twisting back streets, waving away merchants and peddlers, until he came out into another plaza, this one a clutter of tables and chairs outside a domed Bajoran restaurant. A pretty Bajoran serving woman came smiling up to him and asked if he cared to eat. “Yes,” Dr. Bashir said, returning her smile. “If you can give me an inconspicuous table, one where I will not be noticed.”

  The server looked a little puzzled at that, but she nodded agreeably and led Dr. Bashir to a small oval table with two chairs. Then she recited the menu. The doctor ordered sevala, a sort of local pasta, and a mesto salad of local vegetables, along with mineral water. The server nodded and hurried away, and the doctor leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the other patrons of the restaurant.

  “He’s checking for enemies of the Federation,” Nog whispered.

  Jake had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from laughing. The two boys had caught sight of the doctor in the crowd and had followed him here with absolutely no difficulty. Now they shared a table across the plaza from Bashir, safely screened from him by a bushy, sharp-leafed plant. Nog was in high spirits, for already he had bought some rings carved from the shell of a native mollusk and had traded these for some intricate copper bracelets, quite valuable on a planet stripped of most of its metal ores. He was sure he would be able to trade the bracelets for something even more valuable. So far he had spent almost nothing, and already he anticipated huge profits. He would be in his father’s and uncle’s good graces for a month.

  As for Jake, he was getting a little impatient. He lacked Nog’s Ferengi enthusiasm for bargaining and trading, and he wanted to see more of Sakelo City. Still, Nog had suggested that it would be good to discover where the doctor would be staying, and Jake realized that he was right. So they took their places at the table and ordered drinks—redfruit juice for Jake, and a nauseating concoction called a Bajoran fizz for Nog. As they sipped them, they kept the doctor under close observation, and he never once noticed that they were nearby.

  “What is he doing now?” Nog asked as Dr. Bashir finished his meal.

  Jake had to lean forward a little to see through the fronds of the plant. “It looks like he’s talking to his sleeve,” he said. Then he laughed. “He’s pretending to have a secret subspace radio built into his cuff. He’s probably reporting on the meal to counterespionage control right now.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nog said. “Who’s this?”

  Jake frowned. A poorly dressed Bajoran had sidled up to Dr. Bashir and had bowed deeply to him. The doctor looked flustered and startled, but after a moment he nodded and indicated the other chair. The deeply tanned Bajoran man, with an anxious glance around, settled into it and leaned across the table. The two were soon speaking rapidly to each other, but their voices were too low for Jake to hear.

  Nog, however, had no trouble at all. His large ears were supersensitive, and he kept up a commentary on the action. “This fellow says his name is Tikar Antol,” Nog reported. “Now he’s asking Dr. Bashir if he’s a Starfleet officer. Dr. Bashir is saying he knows some officers. Tikar says he has some information that might be very valuable to the Federation. Now Dr. Bashir wants to know what it is. Tikar won’t say. He thinks it would be better to show the doctor than to tell him. He’s asking what the doctor’s name is. Dr. Bashir says his name is Cosmo Peregrine. What in the world does that mean?”

  With a chuckle Jake said, “Cosmo comes from an old Earth word meaning ‘space,’ and a peregrine is a kind of falcon. He’s making believe again.”

  “Shhh,” Nog said. “Now Mr. Tikar says he has a landtran nearby and that they can go to see this big secret. Dr. Bashir is calling the server over to pay his bill. I guess he’s going to go with the Bajoran. Yes, there they go! Quick, can you settle up here?”

  Heaving a sigh, Jake left a Bajoran one-credit token on the table. It was the smallest he had, but it was easily four times too much to pay for a couple of drinks. But Nog was already hurrying away after the retreating Dr. Bashir, and Jake had to hustle to catch up.

  In and out of colonnades, narrow streets, and open plazas went Bashir, side by side with Tikar Antol. At last they came to an open street dominated by a huge ruined building. Jake took a deep breath. The ruin was not in the normal Bajoran style, for a good reason. The Cardassians had built it. Once it must have stood as a glowering dark fortress; now it was a hollow shell. No doubt the Bajorans had torn the building apart as soon as the hated Cardassians had left the planet. Whatever it had been, administration center, warehouse, or prison, it was just a wreck now.

  But the other side of the street was a row of simple Bajoran domed shops. Parked along this side was a strange assortment of vehicles, from sun-powered three-wheeled electrocars to rickety wooden-wheeled farm carts drawn by muscular horned animals with wrinkled green hides. Tikar and Bashir stepped into a landtran, a rectangular open car with caterpillar treads instead of wheels. This one was sand-colored, old, and very battered, splotched all over with rust. For a moment Bashir sat there with an uncertain expression, as if he were not quite sure about this clunky vehicle and his expedition in it. Then, to Jake’s surprise, the old-fashioned alcohol combustion engine coughed to life right away, and the landtran moved out onto the dusty street. Dr. Bashir grasped the side as the car went jouncing and bouncing along, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust behind it.

  “Lost him!” Nog said. “Well, any suggestions now?”

  Jake thought. Bajorans were a spiritual people, or at least they had been before the Cardassians conquered their planet and enslaved them. Still, a lot of the old religious traditions still existed. “I know where we can pick up his trail again. I’ll bet he was going to stay in the Hospitality Tower,” Jake said at last.

  “The what?” asked Nog, who was no student of Bajoran folkways.

  “It’s sort of a hotel,” Jake explained. “The monks of the Order of Hispin run them in most of Bajor’s cities. Travelers can get a room for the night for free.”

  “For free?” asked Nog. He shook his large bald head.

  “Bajorans are just as crazy as humans,” he moaned. Then he brightened. “But if they give away rooms for free, let’s go there ourselves. That will save our money for more important transactions.”

  They asked for directions. Sure enough, Sakelo City had a Hospitality Tower, and before long they found it. A small garden was out front, and a half-dozen Bajoran monks wearing plain tan hooded robes worked there, watering and weeding. One of them led the two boys to the Keeper of Keys, a silver-haired Bajoran monk with a glint of good humor in his gray eyes. “So,” the man said, “you two are travelers, eh?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jake.

  “I don’t suppose you are here for the elevation of the Vedek,” the monk said.

  Jake blinked. “Uh—the what?”

  With a smile the monk said, “One of the chief leaders of our religion is called Vedek. The new Vedek is to take the position the day after tomorrow. A festival will celebrate Carik Madal’s new eminence.”

  “Is Carik Madal the new—Vedek?” asked Jake.

  “He is. It is the first time in my life that a man has been elected to the position instead of a woman. Many do not think that a good omen, but Carik is a gentle man who has, nevertheless, a strong will. He will be a good voice to have speaking for us on the Vedek Assembly. But you boys care little for our local affairs. How long will you stay?”

  Jake said, “We’ll be here for three days. Do you have a room we could use?”

  “You are fortunate, because as it happens, we do, even with the crowds of the festival coming into the city,” said the Keeper. He tilted his head. “You are human, are you not?” he asked Jake.

  “Yes, sir, I am,” Jake replied. “My friend is a Ferengi.”

  The Keeper inclined his head. “May you find good trading,” he said to Nog.

  A surprised Nog murmured his thanks.

&nb
sp; Jake said, “Uh, I think another human may come here later. Dr. Julian Bashir, from the Deep Space Nine station.”

  “Ah, yes,” said the Keeper. “He called from the station yesterday to make sure a room would be available. Are you boys friends of his?”

  “Yes,” Jake said. “We’d like to surprise him. Could you sort of tell us where he will be, and then not tell him that we are here?”

  “If he asks, I must tell the truth.”

  “Oh, sure,” Jake said. “If he asks. But if he doesn’t—”

  “Then you may surprise him.”

  Jake relaxed. Dr. Bashir had no idea that he and Nog had stowed away aboard the Einstein. It was very unlikely that he would casually ask the monks if any other humans were at the Hospitality Tower.

  They learned that Dr. Bashir was staying in the Meditation Wing, Fireflower Room. Their own room would be in the same wing, but two floors higher, the Spiral Shell Room. They accepted the old-fashioned key and found their way to the room, which proved to be light and airy, with two windows looking out over another commercial plaza and the monks’ garden. Two simple beds, a table, and two chairs were all the furniture. The room also had a small closet and an adjoining bathroom.

  Nog tossed his backpack onto one of the beds. “I’m off,” he announced. “There are profits to be made, and a time of festival can double them. Are you coming?”

  Jake left his valise on the other bed. “Lead on,” he said. “We’ll pick up the Space Falcon’s trail here this evening, or maybe tomorrow morning.”

  Sakelo City turned out to be a warren of different neighborhoods, some squalid and poor with tumble-down buildings and wretched-looking people, others rich and plush. As the afternoon moved on toward sunset and twilight, the press of people in the many open bazaars grew thicker and thicker. Nog and Jake saw a native aspth charmer—aspths were reptilian, something like red and black striped snakes but with hundreds of small legs. Their heads were long and triangular, with jet-black saber fangs that flashed in the light. Evidently they were poisonous, because when one of them made a sudden movement, the crowd watching fell away with gasps of alarm. The charmer, though, would distract the animals with waves of his hands and low, musical chantings. He wore only full scarlet trousers. His chest and arms were deeply tanned but absolutely bare and glistening with sweat. His deadly creatures would rear the forward third of their bodies up, swaying and staring at their master with cold red eyes, and occasionally they would lunge, but he always pulled his hand away at the last instant, and he was never bitten.

  In the next plaza were street magicians in billowing green robes who made bear-size “rabbits” disappear, and contortionists who could tie their arms and legs in knots, and acrobats who leapt and tumbled with astonishing grace. Fire jugglers made arcs and rainbows of different-colored flaming balls, never holding them in their hands long enough to be burned. Toothless old men and women in the black and white robes of soothsayers came cackling toward the boys offering to foretell their future, and there were beautiful dancing girls who wore bracelets on their wrists and ankles of tiny silver and coral bells, so that they danced to the notes of a sweet, wild music they made themselves.

  And of course there were business people selling all sorts of things: glowsilk kerchiefs, native gemstones, polished rocks with weird fossils visible in them, delicate and intricate jewelry made of bronze, copper, and even the exceedingly rare metals like silver and gold. Nog made a dozen deals, and he looked more pleased after each one. Finally the sun sank low. Torches began to flare in the streets, and many of the merchants’ booths folded down into themselves as the business day ended. Jake and Nog ate dinner at another Bajoran restaurant, and then they made their way back to the Hospitality Tower. The Keeper of Keys told them that their friend had not yet appeared, so they went up to their own room.

  Nog spread out his purchases on the table and gloated over them, but Jake stood at the window looking down into the darkened plaza. “I’m worried,” he said. “What do you suppose has happened to Dr. Bashir?”

  “Oh, he’s all right,” Nog said with confidence. “He’s off being told some outrageous lies by that trickster Tikar, and he’s enjoying every minute of it. Sometime late tonight, Tikar will tell the good doctor that he will give him the secret password used by the Bajoran rebels for only fifty credits. Dr. Bashir will bargain as shrewdly as an Earth person ever does and in the end will pay fifty credits. Tikar will give him some nonsense word, and then the Space Falcon will return to his nest for the night, satisfied that he has saved the galaxy.”

  “It’s been hours,” Jake said.

  “That’s the way it always works,” responded Nog. “Jake, the way a confidence man operates is like that. The longer the time you take to build up the victim, the bigger the payoff you can expect.”

  Jake came over to the table and sat across from Nog. “I suppose there is a Rule of Acquisition that covers such things,” he said. All Ferengi memorized the Rules of Acquisition at an early age. They were like sacred writings to the merchant race.

  “Of course,” agreed Nog. “‘The more time they take deciding, the more money they will spend.’ It’s an elementary principle.”

  “I wish he would come back,” Jake said.

  The boys got ready for bed not long after that. Nog fell asleep at once and soon was snoring away contentedly, but Jake could not sleep. He kept remembering how seedy and untrustworthy the Bajoran had looked as he sidled up to Dr. Bashir in the restaurant. Lying in the quiet darkness, Jake worried about Dr. Bashir. He hoped that Nog was right, and that the doctor was just indulging his love of playacting. He hoped that Tikar Antol was just a harmless con artist—or at least that he intended only financial harm. He hoped that, wherever Dr. Bashir was, he was safe and sound.

  But somehow he knew in his heart that this was not the case.

  Something told him that Dr. Bashir was in trouble. That he was in danger. That he might lose more than just money.

  That, in fact, Dr. Bashir might lose his life.

  CHAPTER 4

  Jake woke up with a gasp and a start. He sat up in bed, his heart pounding in alarm, but he saw nothing to be alarmed about. Morning light streamed in through the two windows. In the other bed, Nog, turned on his side with his back to Jake, slept on peacefully.

  Yet something had wakened Jake, something that seemed wrong. Lying back against his pillow, Jake frowned and tried to put his finger on just what had happened—or not happened. Finally he smiled as he realized what had drawn him from sleep. He missed the constant low rumble he always heard aboard Deep Space Nine, the sound of all the station’s systems working to keep the three hundred-odd people aboard safe and secure. At this early hour of the morning on Bajor, the only sounds were the gentle breeze and the occasional chirping of a native bird or insect.

  Jake lay back and tried to go to sleep again, but the pull of adventure was too strong. At last he said, “Hey, Nog! Time to get up, don’t you think?”

  “Mmgh?” grumbled Nog.

  Jake grinned. Nog was always boasting that Ferengi needed less sleep than Earth people, but apparently Ferengi were just as hard to wake up in the morning as Commander Sisko always swore Jake was. Jake grabbed his pillow and slammed it into Nog’s head. “Get up!” he yelled, laughing.

  Nog rolled out of bed, grabbed his own pillow, and threw it at Jake. Jake picked up the fallen weapon, jumped up onto the bed, and took a swing at Nog. Soon the boys had a full-scale pillow fight under way—more like a pillow war, really. Nog laughed and bellowed as he swung and was hit, and Jake was laughing out loud, too. Just as Jake drew back for a sweeping roundhouse pillow blow to Nog’s head, though, the door opened suddenly.

  “What is this?” demanded a quiet but firm voice.

  Jake dropped the pillow, feeling guilty. A young Bajoran monk stood in the doorway, his face stern. “I must ask you to consider that other guests are sleeping,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Jake mumbled.

  Nog
bowed deeply. “It is a ritual we go through upon awakening,” he said smoothly. “It is our way of greeting a new day.”

  The young monk blinked uncertainly. “A ritual?” He scratched his head. “Oh, well, in that case, I—but it’s so loud!”

  Nog waved away the monk’s objection. “We shall conduct the rite more quietly in the future,” he said.

  “Yes,” Jake added. And he thought of something else to say: “We apologize for disturbing the serenity of the Tower of Hospitality.”

  “No apology is necessary,” the monk said. “And thank you for agreeing to conduct your ritual more quietly.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Nog said grandly.

  As soon as the monk closed the door, both boys burst into quiet laughter. “Quick thinking, Nog,” Jake said, resisting the urge to roar out a belly laugh.

  Nog waved his hand. “Monks are always easy to fool if you tell them whatever you’re doing is a ritual,” he said. “They have so many rites and rituals themselves, they’re ready to believe everybody does. Well I’m awake now. Shall we go out and eat, and then see what profit the day will bring?”

  “Yes,” Jake agreed. “I’m hungry.”

  They took turns under the shower. It was a weird experience for Jake, who had only rarely bathed in real water. The showers on Deep Space Nine, like those on the various Starfleet ships he had been on, were sonic, and they cleaned you without wetting you. But if the experience was weird, it was also new, and Jake was in the mood for new things.

  On the way down they asked another monk if Dr. Bashir had come in. “No,” the man told them. “I am certain he did not. Most strange—we expected him yesterday, and today there will surely be a demand for his room. It is festival time, you know.”