Quark seized Vung by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. "Any last words before I shove you into an airlock?"
Vung kicked and struggled, but Quark's grip was firm. The taller Ferengi began to twist, sending Vung into a fit of choking and gibbering. "You—you—you—you'll never find her if you kill me!" he gasped.
Sisko intervened, breaking Quark's grip only to lay hold of Vung himself. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"That—that depends." Vung made a great show of brushing off the commander's hold as if it were dust. Free to breathe once more, he regained his confidence rapidly. "Are you asking as a serious buyer, or are you just browsing?"
"Now look, you—!" Quark lunged for Vung again. The shabby Ferengi flung himself out of reach, behind Sisko.
"Ah, ah, ah!" he cautioned. "You won't get anywhere that way. For once all the tiles are coming up with my number on them. I'm not letting this opportunity get away from me."
"Then how about if this gets away from you?" Quark reached over and yanked the chain around Vung's neck. A weak link snapped and the necklace came off in Quark's fist. Vung uttered a cry of anguish and tried to recover the chain, but Quark held it well out of his reach. "Feel more like talking now?"
"If you don't give me that back, I'll never tell where the girl is!" Vung cried. "She can't move, she can't speak, and if I don't take care of her, she can't eat or drink. Without me, you couldn't find her unless you tripped over her." He looked smug enough to be believed.
"Give him his necklace back, Quark," Sisko directed.
"But—"
"Now." Reluctantly, Quark complied. Vung pocketed the broken chain with a condescending sniff. "All right, Vung," Sisko went on. "Take us to the child before anything happens to her and I give you my word, your case will be tried in a Federation court."
"Is that supposed to be an inducement to give up a fortune?" Vung asked.
"Idiot," Quark muttered. "The altenative's a Bajoran trial. What do you think the sentence will be for the fool who stole their Nekor?"
"A little less than the sentence on the moron who told me what's so valuable about a Nekor in the first place." Vung grinned at Quark. "Right, partner?"
"How dare you! I had nothing to do with this!"
"How will you prove that?"
"The girl knows who stole her."
"The girl isn't here." Vung's smile widened. "Could I interest you in a nice combination deal, old friend? A fat financial stake and safe passage to the Gamma Quadrant for me, an exonerating witness for you. I'll send you full instructions for locating the girl once my ship is well away. Interested?"
"He is not," Odo said. "Now, let's not be hasty, Constable," Quark temporized. To Vung he said, "How reasonable a stake did you have in mind?"
"Five hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum," Vung replied without binking.
Quark clutched his chest and staggered backward, right into the arms of his nephew Nog. The young Ferengi was accompanied by Jake and Cedra. "Uncle Quark, what's going on here?" he asked.
"That—that—that—" Quark wheezed, flapping his hand weakly at Vung. "That Romulan bloodsponge wants five hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum from me or he won't tell where he's hidden that blasted girl-child!"
Kira and Odo flanked the recalcitrant Vung. "You've had your fun with Quark," Odo said. "Now take us to Talis Dejana."
Vung folded his arms and said nothing.
"Damn you, if your moneygrubbing ways destroy Bajor, I'll—" Major Kira's hand rose, but a smaller hand closed around her wrist before she could strike the closemouthed Ferengi.
"There's no need," Cedra said quietly. He turned to Vung and held the startled Ferengi by the shoulders, bringing his face near enough to brush cheeks. He took a deep breath, then released his hold. "I thought so," he informed the puzzled observers. "Please come with me."
Commander Sisko found himself trotting after the young Bajoran, Major Kira and Jake behind him. Quark was still recuperating from shock, Nog in attendance, and Odo remained to take Vung into custody. The four of them threaded a strange dance through the corridors and levels of Deep Space Nine, coming to a halt at last in a dark corner of a disused runabout repair station.
"But we searched here!" Major Kira protested. "We searched everywhere."
Cedra ignored her objections. He was kneeling in the corner, whispering words of comfort. The darkness shifted, then shimmered and thinned as the bound and gagged body of Talis Dejana appeared.
"Here, hold this," Cedra ordered, shoving an unfamiliar object no larger than a comm badge into Sisko's hands. "That's why you couldn't see her when you searched in here." He removed the girl's gag and hugged her close, then began to work on freeing her hands and feet.
"But the sensors—!" Major Kira said.
Commander Sisko turned the object over and over in his hands. "A cloaking device?" he marvelled aloud. "So small, and yet …"
"How did you find her?" Kira asked Cedra.
The boy glanced up. "My sister's scent was on the Ferengi, but it was her smell mixed with the smell of this place. Jake showed me all around the station, so I recognized the scent. Once we were in here, she was easy to find."
"But that's not—" Kira began.
She did not get the chance to finish her thought. The object in Commander Sisko's hand started to hum. The hum rose to a low, menacing whine. Cedra sat up straight from his ongoing task of releasing Dejana from her bonds. "Get rid of it!" he shouted. "I didn't know the release code! Throw it away! Hurry!"
Major Kira snatched the device from Sisko's hands and threw it into a thickly walled container used to hold suspected unstable materials. Sisko scooped the stillbound Dejana from the floor and ran, the others after him. They were barely out of the repair bay when an explosion rocked the area.
"If the holy one has been found, why can't I see her?" Kejan Ulli demanded.
"The child has been through an ordeal," Vedek Torin said, standing beside Commander Sisko in the neutral territory of the shrine. "She needs her rest."
"An ordeal that need never have happened if you Federation people could do your jobs," the Dessin-ka agent accused, pointing a finger at Sisko.
"You can't blame Officer Tolland for not defending the Nekor against an enemy he couldn't see," Sisko responded. "The kidnapper somehow got hold of a miniature cloaking device. It shielded the wearer from detection, even by sensors. After the kidnapper had the child, he tranquilized her and transferred the device to her. He carried her right out of the infirmary with no one seeing a thing. He kept moving the child from one out-of-the-way hiding place to another. When he needed to present his demands, he risked leaving her hidden but uncloaked while he used the device on himself. That was why Chief O'Brien's sensor scans were so spotty. Once all the notes were delivered, he moved her one last time and left the device on her."
Kejan Ulli was unmollified. "Still you refuse to divulge the criminal's identity."
"He's in custody aboard a starship, in transit to the nearest Federation outpost, where he'll stand trial. The Nekor is safe. That should be enough for you."
"And where did he get that device, eh?"
"We don't know. He refused to say." Leave it to a Ferengi to hold on to salable information, Sisko thought. Chief O'Brien almost went into mourning when he found out we had our hands on a piece of technology that powerful and we lost it. He couldn't tell much from the fragments, except that some of the components were Romulan-made. "It self-destructed when Talis Dejana's brother detached it."
"How convenient."
Sisko's brows drew together. "What are you implying?"
"It would make your mission here so much easier if the Nekor remained in Federation hands, under Federation influence," Kejan Ulli said smoothly. "She would be your puppet, if not your hostage. No need to woo Bajoran sympathy when you can take it."
"The Federation doesn't take hostages," Sisko said through clenched teeth. "And we don't try to rule member worlds through puppet leaders."
"Why should I trust you or your Federation?"
"We've given you our word: You will see the child when we agreed—in three days, on the eve of Nis Thamar. Can't the Dessin-ka wait even that long?"
"We can wait," Kejan Ulli returned. "Unless some other faction persuades the all-powerful Federation that the holy one should be their exclusive charge!"
"I can promise you, the Federation doesn't traffic in influence peddling," Sisko declared, but he saw the skepticism in Kejan Ulli's eyes even as he spoke.
"Might I say a word?" Vedek Torin said. He addressed Kejan Ulli. "If you cannot visit the child, no other representative of any Bajoran sect shall. I offer you this promise as a gesture of goodwill. I have the authority to control all travel permissions for those in orders who answer to the Temple. The keepers of the shrine must remain here, of course, but I will lay the strictest sanctions on them to keep themselves apart from the girl. When she is presented in the Temple, she shall come to us free of any influence."
"Any Bajoran influence." Kejan Ulli stared meaningly at Commander Sisko. "Well … it's better than nothing. Agreed."
"We shall depart at once," Vedek Torin said, happy to have kept the peace.
Commander Sisko strolled along the Promenade on his way back from the runabout pad. He felt at ease for the first time in a while. Having seen the last of Kejan Ulli had a lot to do with it.
He was browsing over a display of native Bajoran crafts when he heard ragged panting and the sound of running feet come up behind him. He turned just as Talis Cedra clutched his arm. Tears streamed down the boy's face.
"Commander, come! Come quickly!" he gasped, tugging at Sisko's arm.
"What's the matter, Cedra?" Visions of a prank gone wrong, of Jake in trouble on account of the mischievous Bajoran boy, flashed through his mind.
"No, no!" the boy said, shaking his head violently. "It's my sister! It's Dejana! She's dying!"
CHAPTER 13
"BELEM?" Dr. Bashir leaned over the feverish boy. "Belem, can you hear me?"
Belem's eyelids fluttered, but he did not seem to understand what was going on around him. He groaned, tossing his head from side to side, and muttered a stream of gibberish that ended in a series of escalating cries. His arms and legs flailed the air. Dr Bashir tried to hold him down before his wild gyrations struck the cavern walls. There were enough scrapes on the boy's hands and arms to testify that these attacks were no new thing.
There had been more abrasions streaking Belem's skin when Borilak Selinn first brought Dr. Bashir into the hill fighters' cave stronghold. In the rocky chamber designated for the care of the sick and wounded, Belem's bedroll was set far apart from the rest. It was a shock to find the boy there, but not half so great as the shock of his condition. It took Dr. Bashir more than a second glance before he recognized his former assistant.
The old woman in charge of nursing the patients gave Dr. Bashir a guilty stare when he stooped to examine Belem. Julian was willing to bet all he had that the crone kept the boy's care to a minimum. He couldn't blame her; fear of contagion was a phenomenon as mindless as it was universal.
All that Borilak Selinn said was "He named you," and left Dr. Bashir to his work. Days had passed since then, and the only change Julian noted was that more bedrolls appeared near Belem's; the fever was spreading. He dealt with these cases as they came in, and there was a notable improvement in the patients. Only Belem resisted treatment and grew worse.
Belem's convulsions subsided but did not vanish. Dr. Bashir took advantage of this lull to heal the new scrapes. The soft hiss of antiseptic and sealant was almost inaudible, yet it was loud enough to make Belem's eyes fly open abruptly. "Serpents!" he yelled. "Yellow-rings! They're crawling all over me! I feel their tongues!" He lashed out, knocking Dr. Bashir's instrument across the cavern.
Julian tried to immobilize the boy and got a fist in the eye for his troubles. Belem's skin was clammy, sweat streaming from every pore, and a thin, rancid smell rose from his soaked bedclothes. In all the cases of camp fever Dr. Bashir had treated, he had never encountered such violent symptoms. Every illness had its own rank perfume; this was different and he didn't know why.
A hand bearing a damp compress passed between Dr. Bashir and the boy. From the other side of Belem's bedroll, a doe-eyed young Bajoran woman stroked the cloth over the boy's brow. At the cooling touch, Belem's thrashing died down. His hollow chest heaved rapidly. Little by little, Julian withdrew his restraining hold. He sat back on his haunches, one hand to his injured eye. He met the young woman's gaze across the boy's body.
"No change, healer?" she asked.
Dr. Bashir rested his hands on his thighs and shook his head. "Nothing. I've given him the vaccine, but he doesn't seem to be responding to it."
The woman nodded. "I have heard of your miracle, healer. In the camps they called you blessed. Here too it works its magic. The others to whom you gave it all recover quickly." She looked at Belem and sighed.
"I'm not doing any more than my job," Bashir said. He too looked at Belem, who had fallen into a fitful doze. "And apparently, I'm not even doing that." He slammed a fist into his palm. "Why doesn't it work on him? Even if they damaged the bioreplicator, I still have fresh vaccine loaded in my injectors. I made a point of reloading them before leaving the last camp. I cured the others with shots from the same batch I used on Belem. Why isn't he getting well?"
The woman reached out to lay a soft, capable hand on Dr. Bashir's arm. "The Prophets have granted you knowledge and compassion, but they have not made you more than you are. Do not seek to drive yourself beyond the limits they have decreed. Come." She stood up and offered him her hand. "He is resting now. You should eat while you can, and I should get you something to put on that eye."
Bashir glanced at Belem again. The boy was breathing regularly, with a disquieting wheeze, but at least he was not suffering delirium for the moment. "That's a good idea," he admitted. Her answering smile lit the darkness of the cavern as he got to his feet and accepted her handclasp.
It was a gesture of necessity rather than friendship, although he wished it were the other way around. Whenever he left the precincts of the infirmary, he was always taken by the hand and guided through the underground labyrinth that was Borilak Selinn's domain. The twisting passageways with their multiply branching tunnels had an exotic beauty that fascinated Dr. Bashir. Luminous stone columns and frozen waterfalls of ageless rock, slick with the eternal drip of seeping water, all made him think of the tales of lost fairylands he had read when very young.
Fairyland … he mused, gazing at the bowed head of his lovely guide. And a princess of the Fair Folk to lead me.
Then he remembered the whole of those stories: The mortal who stumbled into the enchanted underground realm never returned to the light of day again, or only returned to die.
If I tried to find my way out of here by myself, I would die, Dr. Bashir thought. Borilak Selinn took care to lead me up, down, and sideways all the way in, and I'm never allowed to explore. I sleep in a rocky niche overlooking their infirmary and that old hag brings me anything I need. He smiled as a turn in the path took them past a glowing oil lamp that illuminated the young woman's delicate face. Almost anything. If you're taking charge of things in the infirmary so Mother can have a day off, I hope she gets to take a permanent vacation.
Dr. Bashir's guide led him to a grotto that he had visited only once before. She paused on the way to pick up the makings of a meal in a naturally cold larder among the rocks. The hill fighters' food was crude and scant rations, but Dr. Bashir was relieved to discover that their water supply was an underground spring of remarkable purity. He and the woman sat beside the gurgling pool of water, under a bower of glistening yellow stone. His teeth fought a losing battle with the strips of dried meat she gave him, and the bread was even harder than what he'd tasted at the first refugee camp. She hid her giggles behind her hand as he struggled to work a chewable piece loose.
"You mu
st be hungry," she said. "You aren't even waiting for the broth." She hurried away and was back swiftly, carrying two steaming bowls. Expertly she shredded his portion of dried meat into the bowl of hot broth, then broke off bits of bread and added them as well before handing the whole thing back to a sheepish Julian.
"Well … I am hungry," he admitted. He ate; it tasted good. He recalled the days when his father would brag to his diplomat associates about young Julian's taste for only the finest cuisine. The right words from his father's lips transformed picky eating into a virtue, but using the right words was all part of a diplomat's task. Julian wondered what his father would say if he could see him now, eagerly sopping up a brigand's brew.
At least he couldn't fault me the company, he thought, gazing at the Bajoran woman. She ate daintily, without fuss. Take her out of that tattered shirt and trousers, put her in a fashionable gown, and she could grace any embassy's table.
"I want to thank you for helping me with Belem," he said softly. "I should have thought of that remedy myself, but—"
"You want to think of everything," she replied; her words carried no criticism. "That is the fire in your pagh. Like all fires, it transforms dull wood into a gift of light, heat, beauty, but it also can consume." She bent her head over the bowl in her lap. A webwork of innumerable black braids encircled her head like a gleaming crown. "Keep the light, healer. Turn back from the devouring flame."
He dared to slip his fingertips beneath her chin and make her look into his eyes. "My name is Julian," he told her.
She smiled and did not resist his touch. "You are wise, Julian. If you are called only Healer, you will think that is all you must be." Gently she pushed his hand away. "I am Borilak Jalika."
"The troll-king had a beautiful daughter," Julian murmuted to himself. To Jalika's inquiring glance he responded, "Nothing. I was just thinking of an old story." Embarrassed at being caught in one of his fancies, he changed the subject: "Are you Borilak Selinn's daughter, or—?" Not his wife! he prayed.
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