by Peter David
"The situations aren't comparable," Kira shot back. "We were rallying against a tyrant. You're trying to destroy a treaty." She thought about Bereil and what he had died for. "An important treaty."
"So treaties make the difference," Ro said. "I see. And if some sort of puppet Bajoran government had officially signed an agreement with the Cardassians forty years ago, happily turning Bajor over to them, why then everything would have been different. You'd never have rebelled, never fought back. You'd have smiled, bobbed your head, and accepted what was given to you. Is that what you're telling me?"
"I'm telling you that that was then, and this is now," Kira insisted.
Ro shook her head, and now she, too, finally sat. But it was on the opposite side of the tree from Kira, her back likewise against the trunk. "You know … I think about what we were once, and what we've now become. And I wonder if maybe we don't deserve this disease."
Kira had been determined not to make any accusations, warranted as they were. But she couldn't stop herself anymore.
"If you believe all that," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "then why the hell did you come back? Especially since you didn't have any problem abandoning Bajor before."
Ro looked at her. "I didn't abandon Bajor. I joined Starfleet."
"Because you couldn't stand to watch what was happening here?"
The muscles in Ro's jaw fluttered. "All right. If you like. I couldn't watch us act like sheep, always turning the other cheek."
"Not all of us did that," Kira told her. "But then, you had to be here to see that."
The time, Ro didn't reply.
Kira shook her head and got to her feet. "Come on. Let's go."
Ro did as she was bade, dusting off her trousers. She followed Kira with quick, steady strides.
"So where is this latest contact of yours?" the Maquis asked.
"Just over the next rise. And you don't have to sound so sarcastic with that 'latest' comment."
"Oh, well," Ro said, "pardon my sarcasm. It's simply that, so far, we've been through two large cities and checked through all sorts of underground haunts, with you claiming the entire time that you know who to talk to, where to talk to them, and just what to say to get the information we need. And every place we've looked, your beloved contacts are either dead or ignorant. And in at least one case, both."
"I have confidence in Comvic Cam," Kira said flatly. "We should have gone to him in the first place. He fought at my side when we were in the Shakaar cel."
"Ah, yes, the Shakaar cel. Back in the days when it was acceptable to be a rebel."
"Drop dead," Kira said.
"I've no immediate plans to do so," Ro told her, "but I'm sure the plague will do what it can."
And she started to whistle once more.
Comvic Cam's home was nothing extraordinary. A simple one-room cabin situated on the top of a hill, surrounded by a particularly dense patch of forest.
As they made their way through, Ro muttered, "So let me get this straight. This guy, who lives in the middle of nowhere, away from everything … you're saying he's so completely a part of everything that he's going to be able to guide us to the origins of the virus? Maybe even steer us toward a cure?"
"You don't have to be in the center of town to stay up on current events," Kira explained. "Comvic has a large number of friends and a very long reach. He knows what's going on."
Ro grunted. "I believe this is where you're supposed to say, 'Trust me."'
"I figure it would be better for both of us if I didn't waste my breath."
"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say yet."
Kira turned to her, her hands on her hips. "Look, Ro, I want you to promise me something."
"The promise of a traitor and a Maquis? What's that worth, I wonder?"
"Probably not much, but I'm asking anyway. Comvic is an old friend, even though I haven't seen him in many years. I want you to treat him with the proper respect."
Ro studied her a moment, stroking her chin. "You really think of me as some sort of loose cannon, don't you? Ready to shoot my mouth off, do whatever I want and damn the consequences?"
"I'd say that's a fair assessment, yes."
"So tell me, 'former rebel' … how did they see you when you first came aboard Deep Space Nine?"
With no trace of irony, Kira said, "As a professional."
"Well, I'm a professional, too. I guess you just don't like what I'm good at."
"Just promise me—"
"Fine, fine, I promise," Ro said impatiently.
"And leave everything to me," Kira advised her.
"Done."
"Don't try to help me."
"Am I not making myself sufficiently clear?" Ro asked. "You take the lead, Major. You be in charge, you satisfy your ego and your desire to run the show. I'll be right behind you, applauding your every move."
Kira shook her head. "You're impossible," she said.
The trail had brought them within range of the house, and they headed toward it. Ro turned to Kira.
"Are you sure he's still there, Major?"
In point of fact, Kira wasn't sure at all. This was simply the last place where she'd known Comvic to be living. But with utter confidence, she said, "Absolutely."
Then she walked up to the door and the ground crumbled beneath her—dropping her into a dark dank pit. She was lucky she hadn't twisted an ankle in the process.
Ro came forward to look down at her over the edge of the pit. "Problem, Major?" she asked.
Kira snarled at her. "Of course there's a problem. What are you, blind? I'm in a pit, for crying out loud!"
"Yes, so I see," Ro observed thoughtfully.
There was a moment of silence. "Well?" Kira shouted.
"I don't know," said the Maquis. "It could be a well, I suppose, although I didn't hear a splash. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of wat—"
Kira fumed. "Not 'well' as in 'Is this a well?' 'Well' as in 'Well, what are you going to do to get me out of here?'
Ro folded her arms across her chest. "You know, as I recall, someone said to leave everything to them. 'Don't try to help me,' they said. Now who was that? I wonder, I wonder …"
The major scowled. "You know, Ro … you're really starting to get on my nerves."
At that moment the door to the cabin swung open and an older Bajoran man came out. The wrinkles in his nose were fairly deep, and his hair was tinged with gray. He was cradling a fairly nasty-looking phaser weapon in his hand.
Without hesitation, he leveled the phaser at Ro, who made a point of raising her hands in the air. "What's going on out here?" he demanded.
From below, Kira called, "Cam! Is that you?!"
He looked down into the trap with a slightly puzzled air, as if he'd forgotten he set it. "Who is that?"
"It's me, Nerys! Kira Nerys!"
"Nerys?" He frowned in confusion at first, but then his face cleared. "Nerys! I'll be damned!"
Kira nodded. "You will if I have anything to say about it. Now get me out of this … this welcome mat you've set out!"
"Excuse me … can I lower my hands now?" Ro asked.
Comvic Cam looked at Ro and waved his phaser slightly, indicating the pit and acting as if he were reporting something that was news to her. "That's Kira Nerys!"
"Yes, I know. She decided to drop in."
Kira moaned rather loudly.
CHAPTER
6
CAM'S CABIN WAS not particularly spacious, but it was well-equipped. There were weapons, containers of food, water …
"Enough to last until forever and a half," Cam said proudly, as Kira and Ro sat down across from him in the small room. "I knew this would happen eventually. This disease, or something like it. I was prepared. I am completely secure. And there's more hidden away in other underground shelters I've built nearby."
"Where did you get it all?" Kira asked, looking around in wonderment. "I mean, this is amazing."
"Contacts," Cam said with
smug confidence. "Although perhaps I shouldn't be telling you, Nerys. You are a government official now, working hand-in-hand with Starfleet. They might not appreciate some of the lengths I've gone to in order to reach my current status."
"Actually," Kira told him, "I don't think you're going to get all that much of a squawk over it. This isn't a Starfleet investigation, and we're not out to nail you, Cam. Actually, we need your help. We're trying to figure out where this awful disease came from."
"Haven't you heard?" Cam told her, sounding portentous. "It's the Wrath of the Prophets!"
Kira rolled her eyes. "Oh, please."
"No, really!" he insisted. "The Prophets sit there, clustered in their celestial temple, deep in the heart of the Bajoran wormhole, and they have judged us wanting. So we are being eliminated, Nerys. Wiped off the face of the planet. That is our destiny, our fate, for coming up lacking when the Prophets assessed our worth." Then he laughed coarsely. "At least, that's what's being bandied about."
"That's not it," Kira said flatly. "It's far more mundane than that. The tetrarch of the Paqu village decided to try her hand at the black market, and unfortunately had far less success than you. Bought a replicator and raw material that was contaminated. Now it's in the water supply, the food supply …"
"Not in mine," Cam said smugly.
Kira was disturbed by what sounded to her like a rather cavalier attitude, but she let it pass. After all, the man was an old comrade-in-arms.
"We're trying to retrace the lines of distribution," she explained, "to see where the replicator and the raw material originated."
Their host harrumphed. "It sounds like a waste of time."
"If it's just bad luck," Kira said, "then, yes, it might very well be a waste of time. But if this virus was deliberately planted, as some suspect … if it was a booby trap of some sort … then it's possible that whoever created it also knows the cure for it."
Cam nodded slowly, considering it. "Yesss … yes, it's possible."
"The tetrarch's direct purchasing contact was a Terran. He went by the name of Gnome."
The older man nodded. "Gnome, yes. If he's the one I'm thinking about, he changes his name as often as some of us change our socks."
"Perhaps more frequently than some of us," Ro put in. When Kira looked at her, Ro shrugged. "Sorry. I was feeling left out of the conversation."
As if Ro hadn't spoken, Kira continued. "It would seem he's changed his name again, because he's vanished. I don't know if he's off-planet, or if he's around but ducked into some hidey hole, or …"
"Dead?" Cam offered.
"Dead," she agreed. "That's also a possibility. And we've tried to track down his contacts as well, but we've had zero luck. Cam … " She leaned forward, fingers interlaced. "We need help. We need your help. Someone to point us in the right direction."
"I see." He paused, appearing to stare off into space.
Ro gave Kira a puzzled look, but Kira ignored it. She wasn't concerned. Cam was obviously running through the possibilities in his head before—
"One hundred," he said at last.
Kira blinked in confusion. "One hundred. Is that … an address?"
As if he were surprised that he had to spell it out, Cam said, "One hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum."
The major regarded him. "What do you mean?"
"He means," Ro said, her voice flat and unamused, "that's how much he wants in payment for the information."
Kira looked from Ro to Cam and back again. She tried to force a smile, tried to find the joke.
"No," she said, "that can't be." She turned to her friend. "Cam, tell her that's not what you meant."
"You're asking me to finger people with whom I do business," Comvic said patiently. "I know you said Starfleet wasn't going to be sticking its nose in, and that this is purely a humanitarian effort. Nevertheless, you're something of a different animal these days, aren't you, Nerys? I don't know what to believe and what not."
"You can believe that people are dying!" she told him.
"People have been dying since people first existed, Nerys, and will continue to do so despite our best efforts. That's not my concern. My concern is that you're asking me to put myself out with no consideration for my welfare."
She stared at him disbelievingly. "By the Prophets, you sound like a Ferengi," she said, making no attempt to hide the shock in her voice.
"Now, now," Comvic said, "we don't have to get insulting. Nerys, open your eyes. Look around this cabin. Look at the stock I've built up, everything I own. It may not look like much, but I have considerable holdings here and throughout Bajor.
"I've been aggressive the last couple of years. Done what I had to do to build up my personal fortune. I've managed an assortment of deals for others, made a few on my own behalf. A good deal of government contracting has been kicked my way, since I generally have a good feel as to who is … shall we say 'accessible?' I've handled bartering of land … mineral rights … food subsidies … anything you could name.
Kira started to speak, but Ro—rising immediately to the challenge—said coolly, "Children."
Kira Nerys turned to her old friend and waited for him to scoff at the notion. He didn't.
"Whatever's necessary," he said.
Kira clutched at her stomach, feeling ill. Cam saw her expression and requested, "Not on the carpet, please."
"People are dying!" she spat.
"We've been over that," he reminded her.
"No, we haven't," she told him. "By the Prophets, Cam, you risked your life when we fought together in the Shakaar! Risked it for no other reason than that it was the right thing to do!"
"I did it because it was the only thing to do. Having the Cardassians on our world was intolerable."
"Exactly!" Kira said. "Yes!"
"And now," he went on, "I do this—because it is likewise the only thing to do."
Kira felt her face flushing with anger. "No, Cam. You do this because you've changed into some sort of unrecognizable, selfish bastard. That's why you do this."
He shook his head sadly. "You always were naive, Nerys. Once upon a time, that was endearing. Now it's just tedious."
"Maybe I was naive," the major countered, making no attempt to hold back the waves of fury that washed over her. "Maybe I expected too much. I thought I could look to someone I admired to do the right thing, not out of self-aggrandizement, not out of self-enrichment, but simply because it was right."
He stared at her blandly for a moment, and then Kira pulled off the ornamental earring she wore. She tossed it on the small table in front of him.
"Here. What'll that get me? A name? A town? A fragment of a lead? Something so that we can save a few lives? Who knows, maybe we'll even save a child or two, so you can make a profit on them further down the line."
Comvic blanched. "Nerys, that was utterly unnecessary."
"No," she told him. "That was sarcasm. This is unnecessary."
And before she even had time to think about what she was doing, she slapped him hard across the face. The sound ricocheted through the cabin.
For a long moment, no one moved, and Comvic Cam didn't so much as raise a hand to rub his inflamed cheek. He simply sat there and stared at her.
Ro Laren slapped her thighs and got up. "Well," she said, "this has been enchanting. Truly. We'll be going now."
She pulled on Kira's arm. The major shook her off angrily.
"You make me sick," she told Comvic Cam.
His eyes expressionless, Comvic Cam replied, "There's a lot of that going around these days."
Kira spun on her heels and headed for the door, Ro directly behind her. They left the cabin, walking carefully around the booby trap that Comvic Cam had set for unsuspecting and unwanted visitors. Fury radiated from Kira like something palpable.
"Major," Ro began.
Kira rounded on her. "Don't say anything, Ro. Not a word. If you have to make some sort of noise, go back to whistl—"
"Oh, Ne
rys!"
The voice had come from behind them. They turned to see Comvic Cam standing in the doorway. He was holding Kira's ear ornament in his palm.
"Go to Ducoa," he said, "about ten miles west of here. Check around for a fellow named Sejup. He won't be hard to find; he's on the town council. You'd be amazed how many people I chat with are on town councils.
"Tell him I sent you. He doesn't deal in anything personally, but he knows people who know people. It's not the best information I could give you, but," he shrugged, "you get what you pay for."
Then, with a quick motion of his arm, he tossed the ornament to her.
She snatched it out of the air with one hand and stared at it. She started to say, "Cam, thank you."
But he had already closed the door.
"Lieutenant?"
Dax heard the word as if from a great distance.
"Lieutenant Dax?"
Abruptly, she remembered where she was and saw Mr. Hagen standing beside her. Turning to him, she did her best to appear efficient, on top of things.
"Yes, Mr. Hagen?"
The man frowned. "First Minister Shakaar is waiting to speak with you, sir. And I don't think he's too happy about it."
Glancing at her console, she saw the graphic that indicated a message from the Bajoran provisional government. How long had it been there? she wondered. How long had she been daydreaming?
"Thank you," she told Hagen. Then she put the first minister on her monitor.
Shakaar, a veteran freedom fighter with a mane of straw-colored hair, had probably been through more harrowing experiences than the Trill could count. Yet even he showed signs of the strain afflicting all Bajorans these days.
"Lieutenant Dax," he said, curbing his emotions as best he could, "there are a great many things demanding my attention lately, so I would appreciate it if you responded to my calls without delay."
Dax nodded, trying unsuccessfully to conceal her embarrassment. She couldn't seem to find a focus for herself. These daydreams—or whatever they were—kept drawing her somewhere else.
"My apologies, First Minister. What can I do for you?"
"I need good news," he told her. "And I'm certainly not going to find it down here. As if the illness itself wasn't bad enough, I've got the beginnings of a religious uprising on my hands."
