Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 057 - Fearful Symmetry

by Olivia Woods

  But the remaining four mercs-two males, a Romulan and a Lissepian; and two females, a Kressari and an Efrosian-were far less forthcoming, and the threat of bearing the full weight of Federation justice for their noncooperation seemed to concern them not at all. Cenn’s instincts told him that they warranted much closer scrutiny; he’d come to suspect that these four were their leader’s lieutenants-an inner circle of coconspirators whose loyalty had not been rented, but earned somehow.

  Cenn had run their DNA through the Federation security database in the hopes of learning something about the four that would assist him in the next phase of interrogations. He discovered that all of them were under suspicion of various illegal activities but that each of them had, over the course of the last eight years, dropped out of sight, their whereabouts unknown. He had tried checking with the Cardassian authorities as well but came up empty.

  “You’re Major Cenn!” someone said with particular enthusiasm. At first Cenn thought it was his drinking companion, but when he saw that the wide-shouldered alien still had the brim of his stein firmly affixed to his mouth, Cenn looked up and saw an extravagantly dressed Ferengi staring at him from behind the bar with a toothy grin.

  “You know who I am?” the major asked.

  The Ferengi set down the glass he’d been drying. “It’s always good business to know your customers before they walk in the door.” He said it as if he were quoting some profound kernel of wisdom. The Ferengi placed an orange hand over his chest and continued, “Besides, I happen to be a close personal friend of Lieutenant Ro, and she speaks very highly of you. It made me wonder when you might find time in your busy schedule to visit my humble establishment. Welcome to Quark’s.”

  Ah, the proprietor. Of course. “Thank you,” he said curtly. He knew that the lieutenant had an inexplicable fondness for this creature, but he also knew Quark’s wider reputation.

  “Would you care to see a menu?” his host asked.

  “I’ve already ordered, thanks,” Cenn said, his eyes dropping back to his padd.

  “Perhaps, after you’ve eaten, you’d care to partake of a round of dabo? If you’re not familiar with it, it’s a wonderful game, very easy to learn, and requires a minimum opening wager of only-“

  “It’s really not my thing.”

  “Then maybe a holosuite program?” Quark said. “We’re proud to offer a variety of simulations catering to every conceivable taste. If you’d like to make a reservation-“

  “Another time, perhaps.”

  “Well, keep in mind that Quark’s is also Bajor’s official liaison to the Ferengi Alliance, and we offer a full array of diplomatic services, including-“

  “No, thanks,” Cenn said, starting to lose his patience. “I’m trying to work.”

  “Oh, of course,” Quark said. “How goes your investigation?”

  Cenn kept his eyes on his padd. “I can’t discuss it.”

  “You’re looking into those mercenaries, right? I understand most of them were transferred to Bajor this morning. The ones you held on to must be very interesting.”

  Cenn looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “I said, I can’t discuss it.”

  Quark held up his hands in a gesture of acquiescence, then moved away to fill a drink order. Cenn shook his head and took a sip of his synthale before turning his attention back to his work.

  Moments later, he became aware that Quark was leaning way over the bar, trying to get a look at the padd.

  Cenn set the the device facedown on the bar. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” the Ferengi answered and snatched up the padd before the major could stop him.

  “Hey!” Cenn cried, grabbing Quark roughly by the lapel.

  Quark’s eyes shifted from the padd’s screen to the fist in which the fabric of his gaudy jacket was gathered, and when he looked up at Cenn, he actually had the temerity to sound offended. “Easy on the material, son. Where I come from, jackets like this don’t come cheap.”

  “Give me back the padd, now,” Cenn said through his teeth, one hand on the butt of his holstered phaser.

  “All right, all right,” the Ferengi said soothingly. “Here you go.” Quark handed back the device, looking at Cenn as if he was appraising a new piece of merchandise, which only infuriated Cenn more.

  Quark slowly moved away and opened a drawer under the bar. He started rifling through it, occasionally taking out an isolinear rod and holding it up to the light while he spoke. “You know, Major, I realize you’re still new here and probably under a great deal of pressure, but as you may have heard, I’ve been on this station a very long time-longer, in fact, than anyone else since the Cardassians left.” Apparently finding the rod he was looking for, Quark turned and inserted it into the companel behind the bar, tapping in a sequence of keys. When he finished, he returned to the bar and leaned toward Cenn. “And do you know what I’ve learned in all my time here?”

  Cenn glared at him. “Do I look like I give a kosst?”

  Quark went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s this: In a crisis, help can sometimes-Wait, I’ve got a better one: When in doubt, tug on the lobes of your elders. You know, that’s not bad. I should write that one down.” He started looking around for a stylus.

  “It’s a wonder no one’s killed you yet,” Cenn muttered.

  Quark waved the idea away. “People love the bartender; Rule of Acquisition Number 147. Why do you think I took up mixology in the first place?”

  The companel behind the Ferengi chimed, and Quark offered him another toothy smile before going to check it.

  Cenn decided he’d had enough. No foraiga is worth this. He got off his stool and announced, “I’m leaving, Mister Quark. Please tell Treir that I canceled my order.” He started to walk out.

  “You haven’t paid for your synthale,” the bartender reminded him.

  Cenn stopped, cursing under his breath as he turned back. “Fine. Take my thumbscan so I can get out of here.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Quark said, downloading data from the companel into a padd of his own. “Much as I detest the custom, the first drink is always on the house.”

  I should just shoot him and be done with it. “Then why did you-?”

  “Because,” said the Ferengi, presenting the padd to Cenn, “I needed another moment so I could show you this.”

  The major looked at the device. He blinked in surprise, unable at first to believe what he was seeing. Quark had evidently run the names from Cenn’s padd and, according to the results, somehow established that the four mercenaries were linked by one key past experience that he knew wasn’t shared by any of the other mercs: they had, over the last eight years, each been convicted of assorted crimes against the Cardassian Union. Moreover, they were all interned in the same detention facility and had until today been numbered among the many thousands of inmates who were believed killed when the Jem’Hadar had started slaughtering Cardassians during the final days of the Dominion War.

  “Letau,” Cenn said, reading the prison’s name off the padd. He looked up at the Ferengi. “How’d you do this? The Cardassians weren’t able to help me.”

  “Yeah, that’s a shock. They’re so organized these days,” Quark scoffed. “It’s a wonder Laren is able to get as much as she does from Gul Macet half the time. Lucky for you, though, I still have a few links to a little-known records office in the Cardassian justice system. What’s left of it, anyway. And in my experience,” he added, tapping the padd with a blue fingernail, “people like this often meet in prison.”

  Cenn was speechless. Quark might have actually provided him with the break he needed.

  Treir returned, setting down a steaming plate of foraiga and offering Cenn a smile and a wink before she went away again. “Oops,” the Ferengi said. “Looks like it’s too late to cancel your order.”

  “No problem,” Cenn told him, eagerly retaking his stool. “Thank you, Quark. I mean that. I owe you one.”

  Quark smiled in a manner that
Cenn found distinctly unsettling. “I’m so glad we got off on the right foot.”

  “We aren’t going behind the captain’s back,” Dax said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

  “I didn’t say we were,” insisted Nog. “I said it feels like we’re going behind the captain’s back.”

  “We’re preparing options for her, Nog,” Bowers said. “That’s what good officers are supposed to do.”

  “We’re just doing it discreetly,” said Tenmei, her tone conveying how dubious she thought their proposed undertaking was.

  “It isn’t as if we’re having a secret meeting,” Julian said, nodding toward Kira’s office, where the captain had been on the comm for the last twenty minutes. “We’re in plain view of her, for heaven’s sake.”

  “And if she wants to know what we’re discussing, I’ll tell her,” Dax said, standing at the head of the ops situation table, around which the five of them had gathered. “But she has enough on her mind right now. It’s our job to anticipate her needs, and the more we can do in that regard without troubling her, the better it’ll be for all concerned.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Bowers asked.

  “First things first,” Dax said, turning to Julian. “How do things stand with the neuro-pulse device you and Nog created to reverse Taran’atar’s brainwashing?”

  “We learned a great deal from the data cache Commander Vaughn brought back from Harkoum,” Julian said. “Working with Ensign Leishman, I’ve been able to make considerable refinements on our original design.”

  “How considerable?”

  “Leishman believes she isn’t far off from being able to modify combadges to generate the pulse on command. It’ll still be necessary to activate it within five meters of Taran’atar in order to have any effect, but it’ll no longer be necessary to carry an unwieldy extra piece of equipment, as it was with our prototype.”

  “Good work,” Dax said. “Let me know when you’re ready. Nog, how’s your progress on the dimensional comlink?”

  “Slow going, to be honest,” Nog said. “We can’t replicate the dimensional transport unit, so I have to try building one from scratch based on the specs, then run simulations to confirm that it works, then take it apart again to adapt it for communications.”

  “Dimensional transport unit?” Tenmei asked.

  “It’s the modular device that Smiley-the alternate Miles O’Brien-invented to bridge our two universes using the transporter system,” Dax explained. “It duplicates the effect that caused the very first crossover more than a hundred years ago.”

  “I think Taran’atar might have used something like that on Harkoum,” Tenmei said. “Cylindrical, with a flashing red light? It fit in the palm of his hand.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Dax confirmed. “During one of our encounters with the alternate universe, the Chief had the chance to study one up close. He made scans of the device and stored them in the station’s computer system. It was one of the classified files Taran’atar got into before all this started.” She turned back to Nog. “Why can’t you replicate it?”

  Nog sighed. “It’s a complex and delicately balanced piece of equipment. None of our scanners are capable of the quantum resolution necessary to re-create one that actually works. Building one from unreplicated components is the only real option, which I suppose is what Taran’atar must have done.”

  Dax sighed. “Okay. Do the best you can. But I also want you to construct a second working unit so that we can use it to make crossovers ourselves, if the captain decides that’s necessary. Sam, I want you to work with Nog on assembling the devices. Familiarize yourself with the principles, see if you can develop a defense against it.”

  Bowers’s brow furrowed. “You expecting an attack?”

  “At this point, I have no khest’n clue what to expect,” Dax said, unintentionally using one of Curzon’s preferred Klingon expletives. “I just want to be prepared for any contingency.”

  Bowers nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “All right, both of you get to work. You too, Julian. Dismissed.” As the tac officer, the engineer, and the doctor headed for the turbolift, Dax turned to Tenmei. “Prynn, I want you to work on the Rio Grande.”

  Tenmei blinked. “But, Lieutenant, there’s nothing wrong with the Rio Grande,” the pilot said.

  “I know that, Ensign,” Dax said. “I remember Chief O’Brien saying the same thing seven years ago, after the ship returned from its unexpected trip to the alternate universe. You see, we know of two ways that passage between the two universes is possible. We’ve been discussing one of them-using Smiley’s invention. The other was the fluke of somehow winding up there during a passage the Rio Grande made through the wormhole. Somewhere in that runabout’s systems there has to be a clue to why that crossover happened. I want you to find it.”

  Tenmei swallowed, but then her gaze sharpened. “You can count on me, Lieutenant.”

  “I know I can, Prynn. Now off you go.”

  As Tenmei exited ops, Dax leaned forward against the situation table and sighed heavily. She glanced toward the captain’s office, but Kira was still on the comm. I’m doing what I can, Nerys. I just hope it’s enough.

  Dax turned toward the sound of an arriving turbolift, and rising into ops was a sight to bring a puzzled grin to her face.

  Benjamin?

  Student and protege to Curzon, commanding officer to Jadzia and Ezri, and stalwart friend to all three of Dax’s most recent hosts, Ben Sisko smiled when he saw her, his Starfleet combadge looking strangely incongruous against the multicolored vest he wore over a bright yellow civilian tunic.

  “My gods, who dresses you these days?” she teased as he descended the steps into the command well. He embraced her warmly as she stepped around the situation table.

  “No cracks about the vest, Old Man,” he told her. “I’ll have you know it’s my daughter’s favorite.”

  “Rebecca isn’t even four months old yet,” Dax pointed out.

  “And already she has impeccable taste,” her friend said proudly.

  Dax shook her head. “What are you still doing here, Benjamin? I thought you’d have returned to Bajor by now.”

  “There are still a few errands I need to take care of,” Sisko said, glancing toward Kira’s office. “How have things been around here?”

  “They’ve been better,” Dax admitted, and then she lowered her voice. “Have you heard about Commander Vaughn?”

  Sisko nodded. “Word’s gotten around.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re here. If you ask me, Kira really needs a friend right now.”

  “Most captains do, more often than they let on.” Benjamin looked back toward the office. “But especially at times like this.”

  “I just got off the comm with the Vedek Assembly,” Kira said as her office doors closed behind Sisko. “Thanks for speaking to them on my behalf.”

  Sisko shook his head. “I’m just relieved you aren’t asking to use the Orb of Time again. I still have nightmares about the last time. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Kira nodded, making a neat stack of the padds on her desk. “The Orb of Memory may be my best shot at finding out the truth. There’s too much riding on the decision I need to make for me to be wrong.” She paused, then said, “I was going to leave in a few minutes. Do you want a lift back to Bajor?”

  “Not just yet. There are a few people I want to see. Most likely I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  Kira stepped around the desk. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I want to thank you again for staying close while I got back on my feet.” She averted her eyes; she couldn’t help herself. “After what happened…it’s been hard for me to trust anyone, even the people I’ve known for years.”

  “That’s understandable,” Sisko said. “But you know you’re going to have to deal with those feelings, probably a lot sooner than you want to. You’ve got good people here.
”

  “So what do you do when one of them disappoints you?”

  “There’s no single answer to that. Each situation is unique, and you just have to work through them as best you can.” Silence settled between them, and Sisko said quietly, “Scuttlebutt is that you relieved Vaughn of duty over his handling of the Taran’atar pursuit.”

  “That’s right,” Kira replied, more sharply than she intended, and when he said nothing else, she prompted him. “Is there a question you wanted to ask me?”

  Sisko shrugged. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Sisko smiled, his eyes shining almost mischievously. “On whether or not you’re in an answering mood.”

  Kira sighed. “I’m not reconsidering the station’s command structure, if that’s what you want to know. I’d have to be quite the hypocrite to fire my exec for acting impulsively and on his own authority, wouldn’t I?”

  “If you’re expecting me to disagree-“

  “Thanks a lot.” Kira leaned heavily on her desk, bowing her head in sudden weariness. “I guess this is just the Prophets’ way of balancing things out. What’s that human word for it? Karma?” She looked up at him. “I accused Vaughn of making it personal, and he asked me if I’d ever done the same. Me. Suddenly all I could think about was Silaran Prin.”

  Sisko’s eyebrow rose slightly at the name, and Kira knew well the memories she had conjured for him: Prin, a Cardassian civilian, had been one of the survivors of a bombing Kira had carried out during the occupation, blowing up a gul’s residence in retaliation for the execution of fifteen Bajoran farmers. Nearly four years ago, Prin resurfaced and began assassinating the former members of Kira’s resistance cell. And Kira, despite being in the final days of her surrogate pregnancy, had gone after the mad Cardassian alone, putting herself and the O’Briens’ unborn baby at risk but ending his killing spree.

  “You know, looking back, I honestly don’t know how you ever put up with me,” Kira confessed. “Seriously…How did you and I ever get past some of the stunts I pulled over the years?”