Outside, all was quiet—except for the occasional splat! of large, wet clumps of graupel as they slid off the curved surface and struck the ground. Rascoe scanned the dome cautiously. Nothing’s up there, he told himself, although he didn’t quite believe it. He began to work his way around the building, trying to keep an eye on the top of the dome while at the same time avoiding stepping in the growing piles of graupel. Every few seconds, he had to jump out of the way to avoid a new clump as it fell.
It’s cold out here, he thought. My arms are covered with dreb bumps. I’ll never understand why Mother chose this horrible spot to build her dream. Cursing silently, he staggered over one of the larger mounds.
After he climbed over it, the mound silently morphed into the shape of a large humanoid—one made entirely of ice. Which followed him for several steps. Then it reached out to tap Rascoe on the shoulder.
Rascoe spun around in alarm—and shrieked when he saw the graupel creature standing behind him.
“Looking for me, bud?” it said, its voice a gruff frozen rumble.
Rascoe shrieked again, then raised his brother’s disruptor, his hand shaking as he attempted to aim.
But the iceman yanked the weapon from his hand and tossed it several meters away.
“Hey!” yelled Rascoe. “That’s mine!”
The creature just looked at him. At least Rascoe thought it was looking at him. It didn’t seem to have any eyes!
“Was . . . was that you making noise up there?” Rascoe said, pointing at the top of the dome.
The iceman didn’t reply. It just stared at him with those missing eyes.
“Answer me!” Rascoe shouted. “I know you can talk! I heard you!”
But the iceman didn’t reply. It just stood there.
Growing braver, Rascoe’s temper finally overwhelmed his terror. He pulled back his arm—and launched his fist at the entity, connecting with a slushy splat! right in the creature’s belly.
“Ha!” Rascoe shouted. “How do ya like that?”
He withdrew his fist. Or rather . . . he tried to withdraw his fist. But the slushy graupel that had so readily given way to the fist now had frozen solid around it.
“What the— Hey! Let go or I’ll knock your ugly head off!”
The iceman didn’t say a word. And it didn’t let go.
“You asked for it,” the burly Ferengi growled, and he threw another punch, this one with the other hand, at the iceman’s nose.
Splat! For a brief second, Rascoe felt the satisfaction of having obliterated the creature’s face.
But then the graupel began to move, flowing over his fist and freezing into a new face—one that Rascoe’s fist was now part of!
Rascoe yelled in fury, and began to kick the iceman with his right foot—with predictable results.
Standing precariously on his left foot, his other lower appendage icily immobilized, it occurred to him that this creature was about to devour him whole.
Rascoe began to scream.
The iceman made a sound like a sigh. Then the creature seemed to melt, changing form, holding on to Rascoe as it evolved into a squat, rounded shape very much like a child’s top.
Which began to spin.
Around and around Rascoe flew, locked in an icy, spinning embrace.
Until the top released him.
The flailing Ferengi sailed through the air until he impacted on the wall of the construction shed with a blunt thud. The force of his body created a deep dent in the wall and shook the little building so violently that a huge pile of frozen precipitation broke loose from the shed’s canted roof and fell, burying Rascoe beneath it.
“Hmmmmph,” Odo said, morphing back into his humanoid form and observing the pile. He poked a small breathing hole into the space that he assumed must contain the Ferengi’s head, and proclaimed out loud, “One down, two to go.”
From inside the shed he heard a familiar voice emit a moan, then a curse. Then: “What the— Odo, is that you out there?”
Ah, still alive, the shape-shifter thought. But he didn’t bother to reply. He had more important things to do. He thought, Now would probably be a good time for me to check in with the authorities. Tapping his communicator, he turned toward the dome to contemplate his next move.
Chapter 21
“. . . and then the assassin fired this GIGANTIC energy blast at us. I don’t know if it was a hand disruptor or . . . or maybe a ship-mounted defensive device, but . . . it came from the direction of the shuttle—oh—did I mention that the assassin was in a shuttle?”
“Yes, you did, Nagus,” Quirk replied absently as he scrolled through financial crime files on his desk screen. “Several times.”
“Whatever it was, it was very powerful.” The nagus paced around Quirk’s office as he revisited the attack in his mind. “It reduced Gubbin to his molecular components. Mezzo, too.” He sighed deeply. “They deserved better.”
“I’m sure they didn’t suffer,” said Quirk. Considering they were both statues, he thought.
The nagus didn’t respond. He was still lost in thought about the incident. Then, after a moment, he said, “I wish Odo had let me go with him. I should have insisted. I’m sure I could have helped.”
“That would have been difficult,” Quirk commented as he double-checked a figure on the screen. “Seeing as he was . . . what did you say? ‘A really big bird.’ ”
“I know. But still—”
Suddenly a shrill chirping filled the room. Startled, Rom glanced up at the ceiling, as if expecting to see a Tarkalean condor hovering over his head.
“Relax,” said Quirk. “Just a communication alert.” The security consultant pressed the upper corner of his screen and a small comm window opened, revealing some lines of static that eventually resolved into Odo’s face.
“Constable—oh, excuse me—former Constable Odo! It’s good to see you in one piece.” Noting the puzzled expression on the shape-shifter’s face, Quirk explained, “The nagus was just telling me about that frightening encounter outside of Frin’s Fabulous Fortune. I’m happy to see that you survived. Do you have a report for me?”
“I do,” said Odo, his image fritzing slightly. “But I can’t talk for long.”
Rom looked up anxiously from across the room. “Is that Odo?”
“Shhhh,” Quirk said, glancing over his shoulder. He turned back to the screen and was about to resume the conversation when Rom raced around and tried to insert his face between Quirk’s face and the screen. Quirk responded by straight-arming the nagus to hold him back.
“But I need to ask Odo a question!” Rom insisted, pushing against Quirk’s restraining hand.
“It’s all right, Quirk,” said Odo. “Rom, I found Quark. He’s safe.”
“Oh! Oh, that’s . . . uh . . . wonderful, Odo,” said Rom. He leaned forward to study the onscreen image. “Umm . . . I was also wondering . . . how’s the visual feed?”
In truth, the image was a bit fuzzy, yet sharp enough for Quirk to see Odo roll his eyes. “It’s fine, Rom. I can see you both . . . although I still have no idea how this works. And no, don’t even try to explain it to me again.”
Rom broke into a broad grin. “Gee, that’s great! I actually invented something. Leeta will be so proud of me! I’ll have to contact a patent officer when this is over.”
Quirk shoved Rom out of his way. “You have information, Odo?”
“I’m sending you the coordinates now. You’re going to need a big paddy wagon for this lot, Quirk. In addition to Quark, there’ll be three goons. All part of the same crime family.”
“Three,” Quirk responded, surprised. The furrows in his brow deepened. “You’ve been busy.”
“I still am,” the shape-shifter replied. “I hope to be less busy by the time you arrive. I only have one of them on ice. I hope to have the rest of the
family ready for company shortly. But try and step on it, will you?”
Odo signed off, and Rom studied the coordinates that he had provided. “That’s way up north,” he said. “The Eelwasser folks invited me up there once for a tour of their plant, but I said no. Too cold. Poor Quark. I’ll bet he hates it. But the important thing is, he’s safe!” Rom clapped his hands together and hopped up and down in excitement. “He’s safe! I’m going to get my brother back!”
Rom looked at Quirk, whose response was considerably more low key. He had just completed a series of inputs on his computer and was leaning back in his chair. Rom stopped hopping and waited for Quirk to say, “Let’s go!” But after a long moment of very little activity, he was still waiting. Finally, he stepped in front of the security consultant.
“Well?” he said.
“Well what?” responded Quirk.
“We’re leaving, right? I saw your security skimmer outside. That’ll impress them! Sooooo . . . let’s go!”
“Can’t,” said Quirk. “That little skimmer’s not made for the weather up north.”
Rom stared at him blankly, then said, “Well, okay. We can use my official shuttle. It’s parked in the back. It’s fast and tough and . . .”
“Forgive me, Nagus, but it’s a two-seater. Three if you wanted to get real cozy.”
“I don’t mind,” Rom replied. “Quark could sit on my lap. Or I could sit on his—”
“It’s not big enough, Nagus. Look,” he said, gesturing at his monitor, “you heard Odo. He’s found three dangerous, criminal Ferengi up there. And he found your brother. That makes four passengers. Plus our changeable friend, unless he’s planning to take the avian route home. And then there’s you and me. Accordingly, I have sent a message to an associate who’s in charge of the government vehicle pool. I told him we need a full-sized miscreant transport—I assume that’s what the constable meant by ‘paddy wagon’—so I can pick up everyone, and then drop off the miscreants at a Ferengi Acquisitional Educational Facility on the way back. The vehicle will be here in about half an hour.”
“A half hour?!”
“Yes. And by the way, I owe my associate a rather large sum for expediting my request. An invoice for your contribution already has been forwarded to your office.”
“But a half hour is too long!” Rom wailed. “Odo said to ‘step on it.’ The . . . uh . . . ‘goons’ could suddenly decide that Quark is no longer useful to them. I mean, you don’t know him. He’s not exactly the most ingratiating guest!”
“I suspect that it’s a family trait,” Quirk said softly before turning to look directly at the nagus. “Look, the situation is what it is. Why don’t you sit down and relax? Take a nap. Or sign in and conduct some important financial business—or whatever it is that naguses do these days.” Then he went back to studying the information on his monitor.
Rom stared at the security consultant for a moment with his lower jaw slack. Then he closed his mouth and tightened his lips in determination. “I . . . uh . . . I need to visit your ’fresher,” he said.
“Down the hall, just before you get to the back door,” Quirk offered without taking his eyes off his screen. “And please—take your time.”
Rom nodded and strode purposely from the office, down the hall . . . and then out the back door. Climbing into his official nagal vehicle, he entered the coordinates he’d memorized into the shuttle’s navigation system.
“I’m coming, Brother,” he said, feeling a thrill of excitement run through him as he said it. “I’m coming now. Next stop: Upper Bowog Bay.”
Chapter 22
“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet.”
Bakke glanced at Yrena. “What? A minute ago you said it was too loud.”
His mother was standing in the middle of the dome, her lady lobes tilted toward the entrance. She turned and flashed a nervous scowl at him. “I mean, it’s too quiet now, you oaf. A minute ago, I thought I heard Rascoe yelling at whatever it was on the roof! Now I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounded more like screaming to me,” Bakke muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, there came a tapping.
Tap tap tap.
The two Ferengi looked up, startled.
“What’s that?” said Yrena.
As of someone gently rapping.
Tap tap tap.
“Is that Rascoe?” she said.
Rapping at the door.
Tap tap tap.
“It can’t be Rascoe,” Bakke said, his gruff voice cracking midsentence. “He wouldn’t knock. He’d use the entry code and come in.”
Tap tap tap.
“Maybe it’s not working,” Yrena suggested. “Just like those external monitors aren’t working!”
“His fault!” Bakke said defensively.
Tap tap tap.
Yrena glared at him. “Listen to me, youngling. You need to go out there and see if that’s your brother. He may be hurt and need our help.”
“And what if it’s not him?” Bakke asked fearfully.
“Then . . .” Yrena paused meaningfully. “Then you need to take care of whatever it is.”
Bakke thought of suggesting that she take care of it, but then decided he’d probably get a clout on the head. So, instead, he said, “I don’t have my disruptor. Rascoe took it.”
“You gave it to Rascoe,” she said, putting her hands on her ample hips. Then she walked over to her flight bag and pulled out the compact nano disruptor. “And I’m loaning this to you. Now, go see who’s at the door.”
Bakke accepted it tentatively and got to his feet. He glanced once more at his mother, who impatiently pointed at the door.
Bakke approached the door slowly. When he reached it, he paused for a moment—then pressed the release.
The door slid open . . . and in walked the smooth-faced guy that Bakke had tried to kill earlier that day.
Smooth-face smiled at him. “Good to see you again, mac. I believe you’ve been looking for me.”
Bakke stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Then he growled, “My name’s not Mac,” and brought up the hand holding his mother’s disruptor.
Smooth-face sighed. “You gunsels never learn,” he said. And then, moving so fast that Bakke could barely tell what was happening, he grabbed the Ferengi’s wrist and shook the weapon from his fingers. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to wave your heater in someone’s face?” he said. “It’s just plain rude.”
“It is my mother’s heater . . . uh . . . disruptor, Smooth-face,” Bakke said peevishly, trying to yank his wrist from the alien’s grip. But the guy was a lot stronger than he looked. In fact, his hand had somehow transformed itself into a manacle!
Bakke gasped, but the strange being just smiled at him. “You know,” he said, “I really don’t like that name ‘Smooth-face.’ You can just call me . . . Constable.”
Bakke glanced helplessly at his mother, who suddenly began pawing through her flight bag.
Bakke’s captor quickly raised his free arm and strrrreeetttttttttched it over toward her. Snatching the bag away from Yrena, he pitched it onto the top shelf in the pantry, where it was conveniently out of reach.
“Sorry to take your bag,” he said, “but who knows what other goodies you’re hiding in there?”
Yrena looked at him, frightened, and started to back away.
“Why so far away?” Odo said, walking toward her with Bakke in tow. “Come closer.” He morphed his arm into a tentacle—complete with suckers—and pulled her into his arms, right next to Bakke. He studied the two Ferengi in his embrace. “You’ll make a pretty package for Security Chief Quirk when he gets here.”
“Wha . . . what are you?” Bakke sputtered, squirming in fear. Odo gave him a friendly little squeeze. Just enough to get him to stop wiggling.
“He’s a shape-shif
ter, stupid,” Yrena spit at her son. “No wonder you couldn’t hit him.”
“That’s right,” Odo said modestly. “And by the way—about that. You don’t seem to be aware that Ferenginar has laws against firing disruptors at people, even shape-shifters. And recently two Ferengi were killed with disruptors. Your local law enforcement is very keen on finding the responsible . . . perps.”
He paused, relishing the sound of the word. Perps, he thought to himself. I like that. I think I’ll start using it more often.
“Interesting fact,” he continued. “Did you know that every disruptor has its own distinct energy signature? And that it leaves a trace record of that signature in the cells of whatever its energy bolt may have hit? I wonder what we’ll find when we check the signatures in the bodies of those two unfortunate victims and compare them to the damage done to the portico outside Frin’s Fabulous Fortune?”
“I don’t have a disruptor,” Bakke managed to say, despite his face being held tight against his mother’s. “I told you, that one”—he gestured at the one lying near Odo’s feet—“is hers. And the other one—it’s Rascoe’s!”
“Shut up, you idiot,” Yrena growled.
Odo tilted his head to one side. “Call me naïve, but I think I believe you. You don’t have a disruptor. At least not at the moment.” He nodded toward the door. “But I saw one outside a short time ago. It looked a lot like the one you fired at me back in the city.
“But I catch your drift. You’re suggesting that you weren’t involved in those murders. That perhaps your brother—or maybe even your mother—is the one who used a disruptor to kill those people. Well, it doesn’t really matter to me which of you did it. You’re family. And in my experience”—Odo shifted the tentacle so that the faces of the two Ferengi had to look directly into his eyes—“the family that plots together, rots together.”
He had a cold, strange smile on his face, but it didn’t make him look happy—or even humanoid. The two Ferengi in his clutches stared at him fearfully.
I, the Constable Page 10
