by Peter David
"And then the replication process woke the buggers up," O'Brien suggested. "Is that what you're saying, Doctor?"
Bashir nodded. "That's what I'm saying, Chief. If the raw matter had been subjected to a Federation-level inspection, the virus would have been detected and the population could have been protected from it. But seeing as how smugglers don't bother with such details . . . ."
His voice trailed off ominously. Not that he had to finish—judging from everyone's expressions, they all got the picture.
"What about a vaccine?" asked Dax. "Are they having any luck?"
"No more than before," the doctor informed her. "Basically, they're tinkering with broad-based vaccines that have proven effective elsewhere. But this virus has so far resisted everything they've thrown at it."
"Have they continued with … quarantines?" Kira suggested, her voice quavering ever so slightly.
"Already in place," said Bashir, albeit reluctantly. "In Paqu village and wherever else there's been a concentration of cases." He gazed sympathetically at the Bajoran. "I'm sorry, Major. I know the thought of your people penned up like lab subjects cannot be a pleasant one."
"To say the least," breathed Kira, suddenly finding something interesting to look at on the bulkhead.
Obviously, thought Sisko, she was taking this thing pretty hard. And why not? This wasn't some race she'd had to think of only in the abstract. The Bajorans were her people. They were her blood.
"Maybe if we knew where the virus came from," O'Brien proposed, "we'd have a better idea of how to deal with it."
"Good idea," the doctor confirmed. "As a matter of fact, Jadzia's already done some work along those lines."
Dax nodded. "The theory was that if we traced the raw matter trail far enough back, we might find someone who's come up with a cure for the virus—or at least a way to slow the spread of it. Or, failing that, we might gain some insight into the type of environment it grew up in—so we can experiment with its reaction to adverse conditions."
"And?" the captain prompted.
"I matched up the observed symptoms with those recorded in the computer's medical logs," the Trill explained.
"Don't tell me the Cardassians had a hand in this," O'Brien interjected. His brow creased. "Or worse yet, the Dominion …"
Odo frowned at the suggestion. He was obviously uncomfortable with the fact that his people, the Dominion's "founders," were perhaps the biggest threat to the Federation in its history.
"No," Dax responded. "Nothing like that. As it happens, this particular set of symptoms has shown up in four sectors of space. Two were within the Federation, one in the Gorn Hegemony, and one in Orion space."
"One of the instances in the Federation was on Vulcan," Bashir told them. "But we can rule that one out, since Vulcan blood is so different from the Bajoran variety. The other instance was on Cabrius Prime—but we can eliminate that one as well."
"Why is that?" asked Kira.
The doctor smiled grimly. "Cabrius Prime was destroyed in a supernova some thirty-five years ago. There's no life there, viral or otherwise."
The major grunted. "Sorry I asked."
"What about the other two possibilities?" Sisko asked.
"The Gorn case," said the Trill, "turned out to be a dead end as well. It seems their problem wasn't a virus at all, but a subtle form of radiation poisoning. When they eliminated the radiation leak, the symptoms went away."
"That leaves the Orions," observed Odo.
Bashir nodded. "So it does. I'd say there's a good chance that's where the virus came from. Especially when you consider the Orions' predilection for smuggling and other illegal ventures."
"But the Orions aren't a single unified population," Sisko reminded them. "They're spread out into several large factions and a great many smaller ones, separated by space and allegiances and cultural differences. In short, knowing the Orions are the culprits only gives us a starting point."
"In other words," said Kira, "we need to know which Orions."
"That's right," the captain agreed. "And there are only two ways to find that out. One is to try to determine who on Bajor has ever dealt with Orions—or might have considered it." He looked to his first officer.
"I'm on it," Kira assured him.
"So am I," said Odo.
"And the other way?" asked Dax.
"The other way," said Sisko, "is one we'll hold in abeyance—in case the first way doesn't work."
CHAPTER
4
"NOTHING?" SISKO LOOKED across his desk at Kira and couldn't quite keep the astonishment out of his voice. "You've found nothing to link anyone on Bajor with the Orions?"
Kira nodded reluctantly. "Look, sir, I'm no innocent when it comes to the black market. In fact, I'm as well-connected as anyone. When we were fighting the Cardassians, we had to be. It was the only way we could get the weapons we needed." She paused. "So if I haven't come up with anything—"
Sisko held up a hand for peace. "I'm not implying that you're giving less than your best effort, Major. I'm just a bit … surprised. Usually you're quite tenacious when it comes to getting information. For you to admit defeat …"
"I haven't admitted any such thing," bristled Kira, "and I certainly hope you don't think you need to give me some sort of reverse-psychology prodding."
"Never even occurred to me," Sisko replied mildly.
"This isn't over yet," she assured him, "not by a long shot. If there's a connection, I'll find it. But whoever we're dealing with is damned good. Odo and I tracked the serial numbers through about five levels of supply, down to a parts wholesaler called Starway Equipment Supplies. A wholesaler which has since …"
"Let me guess," said Sisko. "Disappeared."
"Exactly," Kira confirmed. "Disappeared, if it ever existed in the first place. Probably called themselves something else the week before, and something else again the week after. So we're going to approach this from a different angle."
He was interested. "That being—?"
The major frowned. "I'm not sure yet. There are several possibilities, none of which I'm particularly—"
That was when the proximity alarm began to shriek.
Sisko and Kira were immediately on their feet. "Report!" the captain called out as he made his way to the door.
"Ship approaching, Benjamin," Dax said from her station. "It hasn't offered any hails and it's ignoring ours."
"Did it come through the wormhole?" he asked, descending into Ops.
"Negative," Dax said.
"Let's see it," Sisko said. A moment later, the ship in question flickered into existence. He recognized it immediately. "It's Maquis," he noted.
"Definitely," Kira said, not waiting for Dax to answer.
"Still no answer to our hail," the Trill reported.
"Put me on," Sisko commanded.
Dax opened up a frequency and nodded to Sisko that all was ready for him to speak. The ship loomed larger on their screen as the captain extended a warning.
"Maquis ship, this is Captain Benjamin Sisko. You have not been cleared for approach. If you do not respond immediately, we will assume you to be hostile and act accordingly."
There was a moment of silence as Sisko's threat hung in the air. There was not a single doubt in the mind of anyone in the room that he would do exactly as he promised.
Abruptly, a female voice crackled back over the ether. "That will not be necessary, Captain. I am alone in this vessel and have no intention of launching any sort of attack on your station."
Sisko frowned. "Identify yourself."
"We're getting a visual transmission," Dax said.
"On screen," the captain told her.
The image of the Maquis ship rippled and was replaced by the face of a determined-looking Bajoran. Kira blinked in surprise.
"I am Ro Laren," the Bajoran said. And with more than a touch of irony, she added, "Perhaps you've heard of me."
"The former Starfleet lieutenant who was given a second
chance, and threw that chance back at Starfleet in order to join the terrorist group called the Maquis. Yes, I believe we have a passing familiarity with you," Sisko said dryly.
Ro smiled thinly. "As dazzled as I am by your rapier wit, Captain, I'd appreciate it if you could sheathe it for the moment."
Sisko glanced at Dax. In a soft voice, he said, "Keep monitoring her weapons systems, make sure she doesn't power them up." Then he turned back to the screen to face Ro. "Are you here to turn yourself in?" he asked.
She grunted. "Not exactly. I'm here under a flag of truce."
"Not to quibble over a fine point," Sisko replied, "but you're a criminal, wanted for crimes by Starfleet. It may not be within my power to grant you any sort of truce. I could be accused of aiding and abetting a known felon."
"True enough," Ro said. "I should point out a couple of things. One, please note that I've halted my vehicle at a distance out of range of your station, so I pose no immediate threat."
Sisko glanced at Dax, who nodded in confirmation.
Ro went on. "This means that at the moment I cannot hurt you. By the same token, you can't hurt me. I could keep this up all day, as could you, but that would be a waste of our time. If you refuse to cooperate, hear me out, or provide me a path of safe passage, then I will simply turn around and be on my way."
"Rendering this a pointless exercise," Sisko observed.
"Correct. But if I do that, then you can explain to the Bajoran government that help for a planet in the grip of an epidemic was turned away by one Captain Benjamin Sisko, simply because he didn't want to take the chance of treading on any Starfleet toes."
"What sort of 'help' are you talking about?" asked the captain.
"I'm talking supplies," Ro said. "I'm talking food and medicine, untainted. You're welcome to check it out yourselves if you don't believe me, although why I would want to sicken a planet that's already ailing is beyond me.
"Look, Captain, once upon a time, I joined Starfleet. Then I joined the Maquis. Ultimately, it doesn't matter if I paint my face white and join the circus. I am, first and foremost, Bajoran, and I could not find it within myself to abandon my people.
"Even though it meant bumping heads with my Maquis brethren, and they've got some of the hardest heads I've ever seen. Even though it meant fighting to draw supplies from our own stock, which is not exactly copious. Even though it meant …" She paused and then shrugged. "Never mind what it meant. The bottom line is I'm here to help. And I'll be happy to jump through whatever hoops you want to hold up so I can do that."
Sisko grunted at the image on the monitor. Lieutenant Ro Laren, the Maquis's most infamous defector. Here. Now. Asking to help out in the fight against the disease ravaging Bajor.
This was about the last thing he'd expected.
Beside him, Kira chuckled dryly. "If the Federation knew they could have drawn out the Maquis so easily …"
"Yes," Dax chimed in humorlessly. "And all it took was a deadly plague."
The captain ignored their comments, concentrating on Ro. The woman looked sincere enough, but looks could be deceiving.
Of course, it was possible the former Starfleet officer had had a pang of conscience, as she claimed. But he couldn't rule out the possibility that this was some kind of Maquis trick—an attempt to breach the station's defenses, perhaps, and take over control of the wormhole.
After all, it had worked for the Greeks at the walls of Troy. And what could be more innocent than a vessel carrying food and medical supplies?
Sisko leaned closer to the monitor. "I hate to bring this up," he said, "but you're wanted for desertion and treason, Lieutenant. I think I'm going to have to pass on your offer."
Ro leaned forward on her end as well. "Then you're a fool, Captain. And so am I, I guess, because everything I've heard about you is wrong."
Sisko winced. "I appreciate the compliment, Lieutenant—lefthanded though it may be—but it doesn't change my mind. You're a security risk. Plague or no plague, I can't let you set foot on this station."
The Maquis bit her lip. "All right, then," she told him. "I won't set foot on the station. If you want, you can beam over here. Or if that's not good enough, we can continue to speak the way we're speaking now. I just want to do my part to help my people."
Kira made a derisive sound deep in her throat. "Oh? Then where's she been for the past several years?"
Ro's features went taut. "I beg your pardon, Major?"
Kira hadn't intended for her remark to be heard, but she didn't back down. Quite the contrary, in fact.
"I was wondering," she expanded, "why you weren't here when Bajor really needed your help. You know, when we were fighting the Cardassians? Or afterward, when we were trying to salvage a civilization from what little they'd left us?"
Damn, thought Sisko. Why did the communications system have to pick now to work so well?
"Let's keep our personal feelings out of this," he said pointedly, glancing at Kira. Then, returning his attention to Ro, he added, "I still don't see why I should take such a risk, Lieutenant. So—"
"Wait," the deserter blurted. "Please." Her face seemed racked with pain. "Look, I know I'm not going to win any popularity contests—not with the Bajorans and not with Starfleet."
"That's for sure," whispered O'Brien, careful to remain offscreen and out of earshot.
"But I can help you in ways other people can't," Ro insisted. "I'm not just talking about food and medicine. I'm talking about expertise. About connections in the black market." Her brow creased. "You speak of risk, Captain. What kind of risk are you taking by not allowing me to help?"
Sisko sighed. The woman had a point there.
Ro had been through Starfleet's advanced tactical training course, which made her a considerable asset when it came to undercover work. Add to that her familiarity with the black market, on which the Maquis depended almost daily, and she presented an almost irresistible package—at a time when Bajor needed all the help it could get.
The captain could feel the glare of Kira's scrutiny. "Please tell me you're not going to do this," she said.
Still attending to the monitor, Sisko drew a long breath, then let it out. An idea was forming in his head—an idea his first officer wouldn't like very much.
In fact, she would hate it. But she would also see the wisdom in it. At least, he hoped she would.
"Drop your shields," he told Ro. "We're coming aboard."
The Maquis looked at him with narrowed eyes—though she'd invited him to board her vessel just a few moments ago. "We, Captain?"
Sisko nodded. "Major Kira and I. We've got a mission to discuss."
Kira turned to him, eyes wide. Her expression was that of someone who had been betrayed, and betrayed badly.
He tried not to look at her too much as he made his way to the transporter unit.
Odo tilted his head. "Are you absolutely certain about this, Captain?"
Sisko, who was sitting behind the desk in his office, shrugged and picked up the baseball that had become a permanent fixture there. He turned it in his hand, considering its seamed surface.
"Listen," he said, as if to the ball, "I don't like the idea of dealing with the Orions any more than you do. But let's face it. If those replicators arrived courtesy of an Orion trader, we've got to find out who it is. And we haven't been able to do that by investigating the Bajorans."
The shapeshifter grunted. "Hard to argue with your logic," he conceded. "But even if we get in touch with the right parties, they're not going to be eager to tell you anything. There may not be honor among thieves, but there is a common fear of reprisal. If one Orion spills the beans about another Orion, he can pretty much bet the favor will be returned someday."
The captain looked up. "In other words," he remarked, "it'll be difficult to get anything out of them."
"In other words," Odo replied, "it'll be very difficult."
Sisko smiled. "Under normal circumstances, I'd agree. The trick is to bring in ano
ther element. Say, someone who can spill the beans about them just as thoroughly as their fellow thieves. Better, maybe." His smile widened. "And that's where you come in."
The shapeshifter couldn't conceal his surprise. "Me?" he repeated lamely.
"That's right," the captain told him. "After all, who's better connected in this sector? Who knows more about the Orions than they know about themselves?"
Odo shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "While all that is true, I am definitely not the best man for the job."
Sisko's smile slowly vanished. "And why not?" he demanded.
"Because," the shapeshifter responded in measured tones, "I have never met an Orion. In fact, I've never even seen one."
The captain's brow creased. "But I thought—"
"And it was not an unreasonable conclusion," Odo interjected, anticipating the rest of the man's statement. "But the fact remains—everything I know about Orions, I've gleaned from second-hand sources."
Sisko frowned. He looked as if he would have liked to pursue the matter, but there was really nothing left to pursue.
"In that case," he said wistfully, "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Constable."
Odo watched the human toss the ball up and snatch it out of the air—an outward sign of his frustration. Captain Sisko was not the kind of man to give vent to his anger. It was only in small gestures that he demonstrated his emotions.
Too bad, thought Odo. He liked Sisko. He respected him for what he had accomplished here. What's more, the captain had always treated him fairly.
Odo wished he could have helped in this Orion gambit, especially considering its implications for the future of Bajor. However …
Suddenly it came to him. Maybe he couldn't help, but there was someone else who could. Someone, in fact, on this very station.
He cleared his throat, causing Sisko to look up at him. "If I my make a suggestion …" the security chief began.
Quark inspected the faint blue drop of dried g'nerra juice that marred the otherwise spotless surface of his bar. With an expression of disgust, he glanced at his brother Rom, who was cheerfully completing his daily cleaning chores at the bar's opposite end.
