by S. D. Perry
“Hey, Quark,” Treir said behind him. “Call for you. It’s from Ferenginar.”
Quark’s hand froze centimeters from the signal light. He frowned. “Did they lift the comm blackout?”
Treir shook her head. “The call’s being routed from the Militia comnet on Bajor.”
The Militia? They’d only let a comm through during a state of emergency for a military reason, or for some muckity-muck VIP, like a head of state . . .
Looks like my idiot brother is finally learning how to use his position as Grand Nagus to get what he wants, Gint help us all. Scowling in irritation, Quark stepped around the bar and thumbed the DNA scanner to let the call through.
The companel screen lit up with the familiar, vacuous grin he hadn’t seen in over eight months. “Hello, Brother!”
“Rom,” Quark said, “this better be important. I’m a busy man.” He felt no guilt about the lie. Seeing Rom in his nagus regalia, latinum-headed staff in hand, was too painful, especially given Quark’s current state of affairs. Of all the people Zek could have picked to be his successor, he’d chosen small-lobed Rom. Never mind that he could barely scrape two slips of latinum together while under Quark’s employ, or that he’d quit the bar to become a lowly engineer for the Bajoran Militia, or that he’d let his own son join Starfleet instead of steering him toward the proper pursuit of profit . . . or even that he’d broken with tradition and married a poor Bajoran. One of Quark’s own dabo girls, no less. No, the worst thing was that Zek had actually chosen Rom because of all those things, so that someone would be in power to uphold the insidious democratic reforms Quark’s mother Ishka had convinced, connived, and otherwise enticed Zek into implementing before the two of them retired to Risa.
“But Brother, I have wonderful news!” Rom beamed.
Quark’s lobes tingled. Maybe his luck was about to turn. If Rom was calling to slip him advance word of an opportunity, his troubles might well be over. And he certainly looked excited.
Quark grinned. “I’m all ears.”
“Leeta’s pregnant! You’re going to be an uncle again!” Rom reached off camera and drew his wife into view. Leeta smiled at Quark across the light-years and waved her fingers, her belly already visibly big with child.
Quark’s grin fell, crashed on the floor, bounced a few times, and rolled against the bar before it came to a stop and burst into flames.
“How nice,” he said.
Rom, predictably, looked confused. “What’s wrong, Brother? I thought you’d be happy for us.”
“Oh, I’m thrilled,” Quark snapped. He reached for a bottle of Saurian brandy and poured a shot. “Really, I couldn’t be happier. I mean, let’s look at my situation: either Bajor’s going to join the Federation, or we’re all going to be eaten. Either way, business is in the waste extractor and I’m going to have to close the bar. I have no prospects, and my personal life is a shipwreck.” He bared his teeth in a sneer and raised the full glass to the screen. “But hey, Leeta’s pregnant. So it must be Happy Hour!” He kicked back the brandy and slammed the glass down on the bar.
Rom and Leeta stared back at him, their eyes wide. “I had no idea things were so bad, Brother,” Rom said. “I’m sorry.”
Quark looked away, irritated. Just like that, he’d spat on Rom and Leeta’s good news, and just like that, his brother had responded to him with genuine sympathy. Didn’t it figure.
“No, Rom, I’m sorry,” he said, looking back up at the screen. “You too, Leeta. That’s great news. Really. I’m just having a bad day here.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Leeta asked.
Quark almost laughed, remembering his earlier misguided optimism that Rom was calling to tip him off about an opportunity. In the old days, being a member of the nagus’s family would have guaranteed Quark’s solvency, no matter how bad things got. But in these enlightened days of reformed business practices and fair competition, good, old-fashioned nepotism didn’t stand a snowball’s chance on Vulcan.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I always am.” He could see they weren’t buying it. He’d have to cut this short. “Look, I need to get back to work. I’ll see you around, okay? Congratulations again.” Without waiting for them to answer, he cut the signal. The Quark Enterprises logo replaced their faces on the screen, and he stared at it for a full minute before he turned back to the bar and started taking drink orders.
There’s always the Orion Syndicate, he thought. They may still be a little mad about that whole gateway fiasco, but business is business. I could probably smooth things over. After all, I am a people person—
Wait a minute. What was the name of that guy from Farius Prime, with the investment opportunity? Kostaza?
Already, a new scheme was taking shape in his mind, filling him with renewed optimism. He wasn’t out of the game yet. There was still one more hand he could play.
* * *
Liro Kavi was nervous, but determined not to let it get to her. She’d been on DS9 all of three months, most of that training, and had been on security detail for only two weeks, since right before the assassination. As if that hadn’t been bad enough—being brand-new to the job and the station, just in time to see the first minister murdered—now she’d been put on a night watch, lurking through DS9 in the small hours, searching for alien threats in the loneliest of places.
She walked slowly through the low-lit bay, palm beacon in one hand, phaser in the other. She could see the glow from Bennings’s beacon reflecting high on the far wall at least thirty meters to her left, heard what sounded like a curse as the young human male ran into something or other, a sharp clang ringing through the vast storage area.
Liro tapped her combadge, as much to hear a friendly voice as anything else. “Problem, Bennings?”
A long pause. “I was attacked by a box of stem bolts, thank you,” he said finally, also keeping his voice low. They’d shared the same detail for the past week. He was another postwar addition to DS9, and though he’d been in security longer than her, transferring from a Federation base, he was also two years her junior. Hassling him was one of the few perks of her day.
What is a stem bolt, anyway? Liro wasn’t sure, and didn’t care; what she did care about was getting through the cavernous bay as quickly as possible, so they could be somewhere else. Bay 5G was a nightmare jumble of discarded crates and stored excess, plus about a thousand personal items belonging to station residents, things too large to be easily stored in quarters. There was a lot of sporting equipment, furniture, a number of massive art pieces . . . basically, a lot of shadowy crevices for things to hide in. Occasionally, Bennings’s tri-corder would beep with a new contact, and each time he’d insist it was only a vole.
Liro shivered. She knew that Lieutenant Ro wasn’t telling them everything, but what had filtered down was more than enough. There was an alien presence aboard, in the form of small insectile or worm-like creatures that could actually take over a host body. The powers that be were keeping it quiet from the majority of those on board, but security had to know. Liro wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She preferred the truth to ignorance, she supposed, but when you were basically alone, walking in the dark . . .
A flash of movement, there, to her right—or was it just the echo of her light, the darkness closing in as the bright beam moved away? The beam jerked back to the small, tight space between two storage units, Liro staring so hard that her eyes started to burn. Nothing there . . . or whatever it was had moved on.
Alone in the dark, knowing that there were parasitic aliens on the loose. Liro suppressed another shiver and started moving again. She figured that between security and upper management, there were probably only a hundred-plus people on the station who knew about the creepily subtle invasion. Maybe twice that; in truth, she didn’t have any real idea. For obvious security reasons, the lieutenant had made it very clear that they weren’t to talk about it, not even to one another. A good idea, but the lack of comm
unication was making everything much more nerve-racking. All the security officers were being scanned constantly, three times each shift, but that there was even a chance that they, too, could be infiltrated . . .
“Anything?”
Liro started at Bennings’s sudden question. She reflexively glanced at the far wall, saw the glow of his light perhaps forty meters away, before tapping her badge.
“No, you?” she asked without thinking, shaking her head slightly at her own stupidity. If he’d found something, he probably would have said so.
“Just a lot of dark. It’d be nice to turn on a few lights around here.”
Liro silently agreed. The malfunction of the power grid in this sector of the docking ring was what had led them to the bay in the first place. While engineering worked on the problem, she and Bennings were investigating the affected areas. In the dark.
She bit back another chill. How many people had been taken over? No one was talking, and all the secretive lurking around was getting to her. When would Colonel Kira make an announcement? Or would it be from Bajor, from the Assembly or Asarem? The truth was probably already leaking, even as she and Bennings and half of the rest of security were wandering through the station’s many empty places. It couldn’t be soon enough. Her recent training had stressed that knowledge was power, and that security was about containing knowledge, but being able to fight the aliens directly seemed infinitely preferable to how things were now.
Think about something else. Right. She swept her light slowly around some kind of wine rack, trying to force her mind to other things. Rumor had it that Lieutenant Ro wouldn’t be transferring to Starfleet, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Though she respected the woman, Liro couldn’t help thinking that someone else might be better suited to the position; Ro wore her earring on the wrong side, like some rebellious youth . . . though at least she hadn’t turned to the Ohalavaru. Liro’s mother said that the Prophets would turn away from those who rejected the truth, and—
Liro froze, her eyes wide. She’d heard something, faint but close by, a sound she couldn’t place. It was more like a change in the air than a noise, like sensing movement, feeling someone next to you flinch, or quickly turn their head. She reached for her combadge with her phaser hand, saw Bennings’s light on the far wall . . .
She felt her jaw clench, a light sweat breaking across her body. The muted glow of his palm beacon appeared to be in the same place it had been the last time she’d looked. Exactly. As though it had been knocked out of his hand, perhaps.
Got to get help—
She fumbled at her combadge, the phaser getting in the way, almost dropping her beacon as her mind raced with the possibilities, all of them horrible. She swung around to find the exit, to mark where she needed to run—
—and there was Bennings, a meter behind her. The beam from her light splashed across his grinning face, his eyes dark and unknown as he raised one hand, his grin opening into a silent laugh. He reached for her, and before she could scream, he had her.
11
VAUGHN WOKE FROM A DREAM OF PRYNN, A VERY YOUNG PRYNN WHO shouted meaningless, angry sounds at him while he tried in vain to speak. For a second after he opened his eyes, he could still see her, just a child, could feel a wisp of hope that it wasn’t too late to mend things . . . and then someone was signaling at the door, the sound that had pulled him from his dream. He scrambled to remember where he was, and why.
Parasites. Bajor.
“Come,” he managed, sitting up on the cot, feeling achy and mildly feverish. He’d slept in his clothes. Again.
At Vaughn’s acknowledgment, Lenaris Holem stepped into the field shelter, a look of strain around the general’s eyes as he smiled. A wash of daylight came with him, brighter than it should have been.
“Commander,” Lenaris said, and though his tone was warm, the pinched look didn’t diminish.
Vaughn swung his legs to one side of the cot, blinking at the timepiece on the wall. Was that right? He’d slept well into morning, hours past when he normally rose. Why hadn’t anyone come for him?
“I thought you were at Rakantha,” Vaughn said, willing himself to stand up, finding that he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He stayed seated on the edge of his cot, feeling a first note of alarm at Lenaris’s presence as the irregularities piled up. Late morning, Lenaris back at Hedrikspool, the look on the younger man’s face . . . “New outbreak?”
Lenaris shook his head, his smile fading. “Nothing like that.”
Something in his tone . . . Vaughn instinctively thought of Prynn, but said nothing, drawing the straight face that he’d spent so many years perfecting . . . and was able to tell by the thread of concern in the general’s gaze that it wasn’t so perfect anymore.
“Have a seat, General,” Vaughn said, keeping his tone mild. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”
Lenaris moved to one of the wall benches across from him and sat down, leaning forward. “You need a break. I’m sending you to the monastery in Ashalla for a few days, to get some rest.”
Vaughn stared at him. “Are you kidding? We’re in the middle of a major operation. I don’t have the time or the inclination to ‘rest.’ In case you hadn’t noticed, things are getting worse around here.”
Lenaris nodded wearily. “I’ve noticed. But last night’s scans say you’re not up for it.”
Damn doctors. Vaughn remembered thinking that the routine visit had been longer than usual.
“Your serotonin levels have continued to drop, and now your blood pressure is up,” the general continued. “You’re overtired. I’ve already discussed the matter with Colonel Kira, and both she and Akaar agree.”
“This is ridiculous,” Vaughn said, feeling himself flush, disconcerted that conversations had been carried on about his medical status. “There have been seven new cases reported in the last two days—”
“Eleven,” Lenaris interrupted. “Remember? The four at Hill, yesterday morning.”
“Right,” Vaughn said, but felt his self-righteous windup winding back down. He’d forgotten. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my job, and . . . and I don’t need this right now, General. Please. I need to work. I can get one of the docs to prescribe something.”
Lenaris shook his head sympathetically. “Let’s not argue about this, Commander. It’s a medical leave, there’s no shame in it.”
Easy for you to say, you’re not the one being shipped off to take a nap. Vaughn wanted to say something more, to fight his case, but there was nothing to be said. If Akaar knew, it was over; when Starfleet pulled someone on a medical, they meant it.
And you can’t deny you need the rest. The thought was a flash of clarity. He needed something. He was spinning out of control, plagued with guilt and some as yet unnamed turmoil that was driving him crazy. If he didn’t get to the root of it, do something to heal himself, he was headed for vapor lock.
“Who’s going to step in?” he asked quietly.
“It’s only for a few days, a week, perhaps,” Lenaris said. “Bowers and I can handle it. If for some reason we can’t, both the colonel and the admiral have promised to send aid.”
With resources spread as thinly as they were, those promises hadn’t been made lightly. The feelings inspired weren’t good ones, and again, some of it must have showed. The general stepped forward and clasped Vaughn’s shoulder, a light squeeze.
“The choice wasn’t yours to make, and dwelling on it won’t change anything. You’re off duty, Commander. My own transport is standing by to take you to Ashalla.”
“Why a monastery?”
“Because it’s about as far from your responsibilities as I can send you out without shipping you off planet.” He stepped back and smiled slightly. “I’ll see you soon,” he said firmly, and with a final nod, turned and walked out.
Vaughn stared after him a moment, then stood, gazing around the shelter for his bag. The general was right; frustration and self pity would be a waste of effort. And the sooner h
e got on with it, the sooner he’d be fit to return to duty.
Lucky me, he thought tiredly, and started to pack.
* * *
Though he made the effort to be punctual in spite of his busy schedule, Prynn was already waiting for Shar when he arrived at Quark’s for their lunch. She’d chosen a small table near the base of the stairs that led to the holosuites, half hidden by shadow. She smiled brightly when he sat down.
“I’m sorry if I’m late,” Shar said, but Prynn shook her head, still smiling.
“You’re right on time. I was a little early.”
Shar nodded, returning her smile as best he could. He still wasn’t certain why she’d wanted to meet, but suspected she might be trying to learn more about the true nature of the station’s lockdown. It was the reason he’d agreed to the meeting in the first place, to divert her from her questions . . . though he’d been surprised to discover, on his way to the Promenade, that he felt some measure of gratitude for the invitation. As the shock of his personal situation wore off, the pain grew. Immersion in his work was proving to be a suitable distraction, but his few spare moments returned him to a deeply felt despondency, one he thought might linger for some time. Perhaps always. He hoped that the company of another might at least relieve the monotony of it.
Prynn seemed both distracted and overly intent, somehow, though it took Shar a while to notice the slight differences from her regular behavior. He, too, was distracted, thinking of the long day still ahead after the morning’s briefing. His time was much in demand.
The Federation defense against the parasites was not progressing as quickly as anyone had hoped. Three more cases of infection had been caught on board, two of them security guards. Early on, Colonel Kira had let it “get out” that the infected had been sent to Bajor on an important and secret project, but friends and loved ones of the missing people had started to ask questions, and others were taking notice. Kira had called for a tighter lock on information; they’d all been scanned at the door of the conference room, and had agreed to submit to random scans throughout the day, which intensified the need for better portable equipment.
