Star Trek - DS9 - Warped

by Неизвестный

  The only option was to go with Gul Dukat's theory. "Perhaps . . . you're right, sir." Odo bowed his head a carefully judged fraction of an inch. "I'm glad to know that you still remember my service to you." He lifted his gaze Dukat's watching eyes.

  "Of course, Odo, I always knew that you were more than just loyal. Or, let us say, that your loyalty came from more than the personal relationship between us. Loyalty can come from intelligence as well, the ability to evaluate the situation one is in, and alter one's actions thereby. Loyalty can be a very fluid thing, can't it? Rather like yourself, it can change its shape and appearance, adapt to the necessities that intelli­gence presents to it. And I always knew, Odo, that you were an intelligent creature."

  He could feel the Cardassian's gaze measuring him, evalu­ating and rendering a judgment behind the carapaced brow. That brought back memories as well, of the day-to-day tension that had colored his life before Starfleet had taken over DS9. Cardassians demanded loyalty, but rarely extended any in return; all other beings were expendable, their employ­ment terminated in the most efficient means possible. Which meant that there weren't a lot of ex-employees of the Cardassians still alive in the galaxy.

  Odo had conquered his fear, by the simple expedient of ceasing to care whether he lived or died. He was, after all, alone among the beings of the inhabited worlds; who was there who would grieve over his passing? If his manner became cold and unfeeling, his fluid nature made rigid and unbending, then that was the burden of the armor he had created to hide behind. And in which he carried the fear, conquered but not eradicated, reduced to a small chamber that he might have been able to conceal in one hand, if it had had any concrete substance at all.

  And which had seemed to dwindle and disappear, when his home, the confines of the station, had become a different world, one without Gul Dukat.

  The little chamber was still there inside him; Odo felt it open and a bitter tincture seep out. I always knew that you were an intelligent creature—he could hear Gul Dukat's voice again, sly and invasive, like the point of a knife searching for weak points in armor made suddenly fragile. Loyalty comes from intelligence . . . the ability to evaluate the situation one isin . . .

  What if that other world was about to end? The one that had swept through Deep Space Nine like the warming spring that those born on real planets had sometimes told him about. And now Gul Dukat's winter, endless and harsh, would return.

  And alter one's actions thereby.

  "You seem to have become very quiet, Odo." Dukat's voice pried at him. "I wonder what you're thinking."

  Loyalty can be a very fluid thing. Can't it?

  He brought himself back from his grim meditations. "Just reminiscing, sir." Carefully, as though handling a toxic sub­stance, Odo sealed the small chamber inside himself. Carefully, so that Gul Dukat had no perception of what was happening. Sealed—and crushed within his fist.

  Gul Dukat nodded, as though deeply satisfied. "Come here. I'd like to show you something."

  The Cardassian's computer screen was a translucent panel set into the desktop, on which monochromatic red symbols and images floated up like fragments submerged in dark water. Dukat worked his way through the levels of data, one fingertip sliding across the strip of control sensors at the side. The system's interface was familiar enough to Odo—the security office aboard DS9 had had a similar one before the Starfleet equipment had been installed.

  "Take a look at this." Dukat leaned back from the desk. Standing beside the Cardassian's chair, Odo studied the panel. The lines and symbols seemed to represent an architectural design, but of nothing that he recognized. "What is it?"

  "This is the overall layout for the new city we're going to erect on the surface of Bajor. McHogue City—I'm afraid our partner in this venture is not subtle about displaying his ego. Though he's already had to accept that the name has become shortened to 'Moagitty.' That has sort of a raffish sound to it don't you think?"

  Odo made no reply. He reached past Dukat and touched the control sensors for the computer. The Cardassian made no move to stop him as he paged through level after level, the data appearing in more detail with each screenful. He ab­sorbed and committed to memory as much as he could—location coordinates, elevations and plans, power-source specifications—without making any discrimination as to possible usefulness. That could all be sorted out when he returned to DS9 and made a full report to Commander Sisko and the other officers.

  The last screen of data was an artist's rendering, done in the spare, thin-lined style that the Cardassians preferred, of what the new city would look like as one approached the main traffic entrance from the attached landing area. It looked like nothing that had ever been set down on the planet before, a assemblage of inorganic shapes and aggressive spires. The immense buildings lacked the rounded grace of what Odo had seen of the Bajorans' native architecture.

  There was one other telling detail in the sketch: none of the buildings were shown as having windows or any other rneans of connecting to the outside world. They were sealed environments, a self-contained world turned in upon itself.

  "It's going to be quite a thing," said Dukat proudly. His finger tapped upon the panel. "And it won't be long before it actually exists—the first cargo vessels bearing the construction modules are already approaching the Bajoran system. The buildings will go up in a matter of days." He smiled at Odo. "Rather like a military operation—you know how efficient we Cardassians can be when it comes to that sort of thing. Up and running, primed for all the races of the galaxy to come and . . . enjoy themselves. Moagitty will be very big—and important." Dukat's gaze sharpened as he studied Odo's reactions. "Much bigger than, say, Deep Space Nine."

  Odo stood back from the computer panel. "I imagine it will be."

  "I hope you appreciate the confidence I have in you, Odo; some of my fellow officers might feel it was bit indiscreet of me to reveal so much sensitive information to someone who is, after all, in the pay of the Federation." Dukat smiled. "But then, as I was saying before . . . you and I know each other better than that. Don't we?"

  "Of course." Odo regarded the other for a moment. "I also know that you undoubtedly have your reasons for showing me these things."

  Dukat gave a single nod. "Your perceptions are accurate, as usual. Something as big as this will require very competent individuals running it. Frankly, a continuing operation such as Moagitty is somewhat beyond the expertise of most Cardassians—we don't often deal with what might be termed the industries of entertainment and hospitality. And the nature of this enterprise is going to create some rather unique problems. Any time you deal with people's deepest desires and fantasies, there are going to be problems. Security problems, Odo. Am I making myself clear to you, Odo?"

  He nodded. "You want me to work for you again. As chief of security for this Moagitty."

  "Exactly." Gul Dukat's smile became both more sinister and ingratiating. "I know that our partner McHogue is already approaching others with whom he is familiar, and making similar offers regarding different aspects of the operation. We want the best—you should be flattered I thought of you."

  "I would regard such a position of trust as an honor, sir."

  Dukat peered more closely at him. "That's not really an acceptance of my offer, is it?"

  He made no reply.

  "I understand, Odo. As I said before, you're an intelligent creature—and you have your own interests to look after You're wise to be cautious—much of the success of this venture will depend upon our partners, General Aur and the others in the new Bajoran government. And as you know, I've never been given to placing my trust in Bajorans. They're a treacherous lot."

  "Then why trust any of them now?"

  "A good question." Dukat smiled. "But I don't think 'trust' is exactly the right word for my relationship with Aur. He undoubtedly derives some satisfaction from the notion of Cardassians working for the benefit of Bajor—it's a kind of revenge for him. He wants it so badly that he's willin
g to set aside any caution that he might otherwise have felt. But that's his problem, not mine."

  Odo mulled over the other's words. "Are your plans other than what you've told General Aur?"

  "Actually, no. This is one of those rare occurrences where deception is not called for. It's not me that Aur should worry about. Let's just say that he may have greatly overestimated his fellow Bajorans' willingness to engage in commerce with us. I know the collective Bajoran soul better than Aur does—and why shouldn't that be the case? I was their master for a good many years, and even I wouldn't say that I was a gentle master. The Bajoran people may not be as ready to forgive and forget as Aur would like to believe."

  "But then—" Odo peered more closely at the Gul. "You're risking a great deal by having any involvement at all in this scheme that McHogue has concocted."

  "Not at all." Dukat's expression showed the pleasure he felt in his own cleverness. "This is a situation in which I cannot suffer any losses. Perhaps—at least in this particular instance—I am wrong and General Aur is right. Very well; then I and my fellow Cardassians reap all the benefits of the arrangement that has been set in place. And we are in an even better position to derive even more advantages, in ways that Aur wouldn't have anticipated. But if Aur is wrong, and the Bajoran people aren't ready to do business with us . . ." Dukat's unpleasant smile appeared again. "There are other Bajorans besides Aur and his followers who have—shall we say?—expressed an interest in coming to an agreement with me. If Aur's government were to collapse, swept away by the outrage of the Bajorans, that would allow these others—who are just as reasonable but more discreet—to come to power. And then certain other of my plans might come into fruition. But—that's all in the future." Dukat gestured at the computer panel. "Right now, the city of Moagitty doesn't even exist yet. We'll have to wait and see what happens with it. It could very well turn out to be . . . quite wonderful. Don't you agree?"

  Slowly, Odo nodded. "The potential is indeed great."

  "Perhaps then, we should just agree to keep this discussion on hold for a little while longer. You don't have to give me an answer now." Dukat regarded him in a silence for a moment.

  "I'll give your offer my deepest consideration."

  "I'm sure you will." Dukat walked Odo to the door, then stopped and turned toward him. "Though there is something else that might influence your decision. As security chief for the city of Moagitty, you would naturally have complete access to the CI technology we'll be employing—and there's more to that than you're presently aware of. It can be a very powerful tool, Odo—not just something for indulging one's wildest fantasies." Dukat reached up and placed a single fingertip against Odo's brow. "There's things locked inside here. Things you might never discover any other way." He smiled and drew his finger back. "Another world. The past, perhaps."

  The door opened, and Odo stepped through. He glanced over his shoulder.

  "It was good to see you again, Odo." Dukat pressed the control panel. "Remember what I told you." The door slid shut, and Odo let the Cardassian guards lead him back to the docking port.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was news from home—her real home, the world she had been born on—but it didn't cheer her up.

  Kira ordered another drink but didn't touch it, any more than she had the last couple that Quark had brought to her table. A sip, just enough to detect the sharp tang of the alcohol, making sure that the Ferengi wasn't taking the opportunity to cheat her—then she would push the slender glass away so she could better concentrate on the data padd in front of her.

  "You seem to be in a wretched mood." Quark stood back with the empty tray. "You're usually so . . . bright and cheery."

  She turned her head and gazed balefully at the other's pointy-toothed smile. Buying drinks that she didn't consume was a cheap enough rent to pay for the space she took up in Quark's establishment. She had been slowly going crazy sitting for shift after shift in her living quarters, by herself; nothing in her personality, she knew, was suited for quiet introspection. The stimulus of the Promenade's hustle and buzz did more to soothe her nerves than anything else could. At the same time, the last thing she wanted to do was get even slightly inebriated in a public place; she could sense—or imagine—the eyes of those surreptitiously watching her, the whispers that her absence from Commander Sisko's top-level war councils had triggered.

  "Then again," said Quark thoughtfully, "nobody around here has ever actually described you as being a bundle of laughs."

  "Sorry to bring the festive mood down." Kira took a sip of the drink he'd brought her, as if to demonstrate a cooperative spirit. "But I've got a lot on my mind."

  "No, no; that's quite all right." It was Quark's turn to look dejected. "I'm grateful for any business at all. Look around you." With the tray tucked under one arm, a sweeping gesture of his other hand took in the entire premises. "My receipts are way down. This has been the worst spell since I first opened up this place."

  Kira looked where he pointed and saw a third of the tables and booths empty; a single drinker, a hulking Denebian, stood at the bar and nursed a synthale. Quark's establishment was hardly a morgue—yet—but it was distinctly more sub­dued and less crowded than she had ever seen it before. When she had come in, she hadn't perceived the situation; she had thought that the relatively gloomy atmosphere was something she had brought with her, like some kind of mildly depressing radiation.

  "What's the problem? Has everybody heard all your jokes?"

  "I don't have anything to joke about, Major." Quark gave a deep sigh. "The problem is . . . competition." He spoke the last word with the heartfelt loathing of the true capitalist. "Just about the time you think you have a good thing going—serving the community, mind you—then somebody else conies along to horn in on the action."

  "There's another bar on DS9?" Maybe I should go there, thought Kira. This place was beginning to feel a little glum, even to her.

  "Of course not. Everybody on the Promenade knows that I'd cut them off at the knees if they tried. No, I'm talking about down on Bajor. My old partner McHogue and that fancy-shmancy new pleasure city that he's got the Cardassians putting up for him."

  Kira held up the data padd. "That's just what I've been looking at. Quite a deal, huh?"

  "'Quite a deal,' my back incisors." Quark's glare became even more murderous. "A naked grab at establishing a monopoly, is what I call it—and worse yet, it's not my monopoly! They're taking the bread out of my mouth. . . ." He lapsed into muttering obscure curses, the meaning of which was still apparent.

  She couldn't resist needling him further. "I thought Ferengi were in favor of the free-market system."

  "Well, sure—but there are limits! This," he sputtered, pointing to the images on the data padd, "this is beyond the bounds of decency! McHogue has whole buildings full of holosuites, all of them wired up with those CI modules of his—you've seen what those do to people."

  "I'm proud of you, Quark." She wasn't joking now. "You've developed an actual moral sense."

  "I know. . . ." Like a deflating balloon, he sank into the table's empty chair. "I must be getting old." Morosely, he propped the side of his face against one hand. "Outclassed . . . left behind in the dust . . . ready for the scrap heap." Self-pity radiated from him. "Maybe I should just climb aboard one of their shuttles and go down there myself. McHogue can put me in one of his holosuites and take me back to the days when I was young and rapacious."

  "They're running shuttles down to this place? This Moagitty, or whatever it's called?"

  "Of course. That's where all my customers have gone—or they soon will be."

  "I knew the first sections were already up and running, but still . . ." Kira slowly shook her head in disbelief. "I'm amazed Commander Sisko would give them permission to arrange travel right from the station."

  "He didn't. McHogue's set up a docking substation within transporter range—they'll beam aboard anyone who asks, and then send them on down to Bajor on one of the
ir own shuttles. What's Sisko going to do about it? He can't refuse people permission to leave the station, if they want to go."

  "I suppose not. . . ." She mulled over the Ferengi's information. It presented certain possibilities. Since she had been taken off duty by Sisko, there had been no way that she could requisition one of the station's runabouts—she had been stuck here on DS9. But if McHogue was going to be this obliging . . .

  She picked up the data padd from the table and pushed back her own chair. "Don't worry," she told Quark. "I'm sure you've still got what it takes."

  "Thanks, Major." Quark busied himself, setting her drink onto his tray and wiping off the table. "It's good to know that one's efforts don't go unappreciated in this universe."

  An unpleasantly familiar face was there to greet her.

  "Ah, Major Kira." The functionary she had first met at the Severalty Front's headquarters now gave a small bow toward her. "Our last time together was not nearly as cordial as I would have wished it."

  The last time she had seen this person, he had been standing over Malen's body, with the weapon that had killed her old friend still in his hand. And the functionary had been smiling in the same humorless, mocking way.

  "That was probably my fault," said Kira. "I react poorly to murder."

  "Now, that's interesting—so do I." The functionary nodded thoughtfully. "It's fortunate for me that I've only had to deal in, shall we say, political necessities." He gestured toward the other end of the corridor. "Would you care to follow me?"

  The other passengers that had come down on the shuttle—a dozen or so, most of whom she recognized from DS9—had been herded in another direction. The ornately engraved doors, several meters high and depicting McHogue as a cordial demigod with arms spread in welcome, had closed and sealed off the landing area. The murmur of the others' voices faded in the distance.