by S. D. Perry
So to not feel it in his pocket now…
While quickly checking his three other pockets, he whirled and bellowed, “Loga! Turn on the tracer for my padd, now!”
Loga nodded and operated his console. Then his face went almost yellow. “Uh—you’re not going to like this.”
Clenching his fists hard enough that he could hear his rings scraping against each other, Malic said, “Where is it?”
Turning to Malic, Loga said, “You’re really not going to like this.”
“I like your procrastinating even less,” Malic said in a low, menacing tone.
“It’s on the Bajoran ship.”
Several thoughts went through Malic’s head at once, from disbelief to outrage to anger. That damn dabo girl, whoever she truly is. She had knocked the wind out of him when she tackled him, and had apparently managed to make off with his padd. If she is Starfleet—or if she turns it over to Starfleet—it will be the end of me.
Looking at the communications console, Malic said, “Vincam, add this to the message regarding the penalty for any harm coming to Treir: the pilot responsible for disabling the Bajoran ship and bringing its contents directly to me will be rewarded with a hundred bricks of gold-pressed latinum.”
Vincam’s eyes went wide, and it took him a moment to recover his wits enough to send the message.
Malic then left the bridge, ordering the turbolift to the conference room. Initially, he had been concerned with how to conclude these negotiations in light of Quark’s sabotage. However, the Ferengi, damn his ears, had actually negotiated a good deal for them. True, the actual process had taken longer than necessary—and Malic had his suspicions as to how that was accomplished—but the deal itself was a solid one.
This new wrinkle about the gateways, however, gave Malic a concern regarding the Iconians themselves. From the first time they approached him two weeks previous, Malic had never gotten the feeling that they were as—well, old as they said they were. Admittedly, one could hardly judge what a member of an ancient civilization would truly act like—Malic hadn’t met all that many, after all—but something about these Iconians felt wrong.
Let’s see how they react to this latest news.
He arrived at the conference room to see Werd and Snikwah standing on either side of the doorway, Klingon disruptors in their hands, though lowered. That was on Malic’s instruction—he was taking no chances. The head Iconian, Kam, and his aide Pal, were standing in the same spot in the back of the room where they had been when Malic left. The Ferengi Gaila was currently at the buffet table, stuffing tube grubs into his mouth.
“Would you care to explain,” Malic asked the room in general—he didn’t care if it was Gaila or the Iconians who answered, as long as someone did, “why the gateways have all gone offline?”
The Iconians’ facial expressions were as bland as ever, but Gaila’s eyes went wide. “What?” he said through a mouthful of grubs.
Kam spoke up quickly. “It is nothing to be concerned over. We wish to conclude these negotiations.”
“These negotiations will not be concluded until I have a satisfactory answer as to why the gateways are all dead.”
Smiling a small smile, Kam said, “We said from the beginning that we would not reveal all the secrets of the gateways to you unless and until you consummated the deal.”
“And I’m telling you now that no deal will be consummated until you explain to me why a relative of your negotiator has sabotaged your product.”
Gaila, who had by this time swallowed the tube grubs, actually smiled at that. “If you’re referring to young Lieutenant Nog—why would you assume that our family relation is meaningful?”
“For the same reason you assumed that his relationship to Quark was meaningful. You proposed that as sufficient reason to discredit him as my negotiator—I am starting to wonder if it is equally sufficient to discredit you.”
“Malic.” It was Vincam’s voice.
“Excuse me a moment,” Malic said. “I must speak with my bridge. In the meantime, see if you can concoct a compelling reason for me not to have all three of you shot.”
With a nod to his bodyguards, Malic moved toward the exit. As the doors parted, the two large Orions raised their weapons, and Malic could hear Gaila gulp.
Malic went to an intercom. “What is it, Vincam?”
“The gateways just came back online. They were only down for about ten minutes. As far as Loga can tell, they just seemed to reboot.”
“Very well.”
“There’s more. We’ve been monitoring the Iconian ship. They’ve been doing the exact same thing we’ve been doing—examining it with sensors. And they’ve been in constant contact with the two in the conference room.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“Yes,” Vincam said, and Malic could hear the pride in the younger man’s voice, “but we finally were able to break their code.”
For the first time in several days, Malic smiled.
“Kam, the gateways are back online.”
“Good work.”
“It wasn’t my work! I think they just rebooted and came back online.”
“We’ll take what we can get. The Orion is suspicious of us. We have to inform him that this was our intention all along.”
“How you coming along with that code, Ychell?”
Ro asked the question as she maneuvered the fighter through the asteroid belt. Already a skilled pilot, she had learned every trick in the book for evading capture during her time with the Maquis—and, in fact, had taught them a few tricks before the Jem’Hadar all but wiped them out.
Memories of a raid on a Cardassian supply depot came unbidden to Ro—piloting that ancient crate that was called the Zelbinion for reasons no one in her cell could adequately explain. They had been chased into an asteroid belt then, too, the depot’s guard ships flying around in a standard search pattern while Ro kept the Zelbinion out of their sensor field.
That in turn led to another memory, of piloting another ship—one that didn’t even have a name—through a field of antimatter mines laid by the Jem’Hadar en route to Osborne’s World. They lost a lot of good people on that mission. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Jalik’s sacrifice, they all would have died…
Ychell suddenly spoke, forcing her to put those bad memories aside. “I don’t think I can do it, Lieutenant,” she said.
“You need a code broken?”
Ro looked back briefly to see that Quark had moved to stand between the pilot and copilot seats, then turned back to her console as she said, “Quark, get back in the rear.”
“I need something to do, Laren. Besides, I’m an expert codebreaker.”
Ychell made a dismissive noise. “Expert? I spent most of my time in the resistance cracking Cardassian codes.”
Quark waved a hand dismissively. “Any idiot can crack Cardassian codes.”
Before Ychell could respond, Ro said, “Sergeant, let him have a shot at it. We’ve got nothing to lose, and I’d really like to know what’s in all the comm traffic we’re picking up.”
Glowering at Ro, Ychell said, “Fine. I’m transferring access to the comm systems to the aft panel.” With a sneer at Quark, she said, “Have a party, Ferengi.”
Quark gave her an equally mocking smile in return and went back to the aft compartment.
“Why do you allow him such familiarity? Hell, why do you let him stay in business? He worked for the Cardassians—and for the Dominion when they took over.”
“You should know better, Ychell. He was part of the resistance movement that kicked the Dominion off the station,” Ro said as she maneuvered around one particularly large asteroid. Sensors said it had a high enough magnetic content that it should confuse the hell out of the Orions. “And his bar serves an important social function.”
“If you say so. I never went much for the type of socializing that goes on in those establishments.” She checked her console. “I’m picking up two Orion pursuit ships ne
arby—the others are still outside the asteroid belt.”
Ro studied the sensor readings. “Well, if they’ve found us, they’re hiding it well. That’s a pretty standard search pattern. We ought to be okay here for a few more minutes at least.”
“I broke the code!” came a triumphant voice from the rear of the fighter.
Ychell whirled around. “What!? That’s not possible!”
“Let me rephrase,” Quark said as he bounded triumphantly back to the fore. “I broke one of the codes. That’s why you were having trouble, Sergeant, there were two different codes there—the Orions’ and the Iconians’.”
“Which one did you break, the Orions’?”
“No,” Quark said, to Ro’s surprise, “the Iconians’. You should be getting a translation of the last five minutes’ worth of comm traffic on your panel, Sergeant.”
Ychell looked down. “Looks like it, yes. It—” Her eyes went wide. “Interesting.”
“What?” Ro asked.
“If I’m reading this right, Lieutenant, these aren’t the Iconians at all.”
Ro repeated, “What!?”
“They’re still transmitting—I’ll put it on audio.”
“You’re lying.”
Kam had just spent several minutes explaining what had happened to the gateways, that it was a simple maintenance cycle, and Malic’s reaction had been those two words.
He stood between Werd and Snikwah in the conference room. The bodyguards had their disruptors trained on the two Iconians and the Ferengi, who were now all standing against the wall together. The Iconians looked as unconcerned as ever, but Gaila seemed a bit panicky.
“I don’t think you even were the ones who opened the gateways,” Malic continued. “I think this was all part of an elaborate plot on the part of the two Ferengi, the Bajoran Militia, and perhaps Starfleet to undermine the Orion Syndicate. Well, your accomplices will be captured soon enough.” They had better be, at least, he thought, remembering his stolen padd. “And we have our weapons trained on your ship.”
“There’s no need for these hostilities,” Gaila said. Malic could hear the Ferengi attempt to keep his voice calm, but he was failing. “We can discuss this like rational beings.”
Malic snorted. “The time for discussion is over. It’s obvious that you withheld intelligence on the gateways, not as a bargaining tactic, but because you didn’t have that intelligence. It’s also obvious that you didn’t know about the gap in the gateway lattice in the Bajoran sector—otherwise you wouldn’t have dispatched a ship there as soon as we brought it up. And it’s equally obvious that you have no idea why the gateways went offline, nor why they came back online. You’ve lied to us. The syndicate doesn’t appreciate being made fools.”
“We haven’t made fools of you!” Gaila said quickly. “It was Quark! He made fools of all of us! He’s a crafty one, my cousin. But I can assure you—”
“Be silent, Ferengi. I have learned the hard way not to trust the mouthings of anyone from your wretched species.” He turned to the Iconians—or whatever they truly were. “Well, Kam? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
Kam simply regarded Malic with the same calm expression that never seemed to leave the alien’s face. “Are you familiar with subvocal communication?”
Frowning, Malic said, “No.”
“We perfected it some time ago. I have been in constant communication with my ship while we have been speaking. They have armed their weapons. You will allow us safe passage back to our ship and then allow us to leave the Farius system, or we will destroy you.”
Malic didn’t need a century of experience in business to know when someone was talking a better game than they could truly play. “Don’t be fooled by the fact that this vessel was constructed by pacifists, Kam. It is more than armed enough to eliminate your ship.” He turned to Werd and Snikwah. “Kill them all.”
Then the lights went dead.
The darkness was short-lived, as the room was lit by a rather spectacular explosion from one of the walls. Malic heard someone scream, but he couldn’t tell if it was the Ferengi, one of his own people, or one of the aliens.
Vincam’s voice sounded over the speakers. “We’re under attack!”
“We’ve got to save Gaila.”
Ro turned in surprise at Quark’s statement. “I beg your pardon?”
“He’s still on that ship,” Quark said, pointing to Ro’s tactical display. “The Orions and the Iconians—or whoever they are—”
“They’re called the Petraw,” Ychell put in, “based on these comms we’ve been intercepting.”
Nodding in acknowledgment, Quark said, “They can kill each other for all I care, but we have to save Gaila.”
“Not that I disagree with the sentiment or anything, Quark,” Ro said, “but why this sudden outburst of compassion? Gaila was the one who betrayed you in there.”
Quark just shrugged. “That was just business. He’s still family.”
“Isn’t there a Rule about how family should be exploited?”
Smiling, Quark said, “And how am I supposed to do that if he’s dead?”
“Lieutenant,” Ychell said, “the pursuit ships are breaking off—they’re heading back toward Malic’s ship. Probably to help out against the Petraw. That firefight is getting worse. Both ships have taken heavy damage.”
Ro looked down at her own console. As it happened, the most direct course from their current position in the asteroid belt to the gateway—which had gone back online only ten minutes after shutting down—involved going straight through the battle between the Petraw and the Orions. The only way to go fast enough to escape their notice would be to go in a straight line at near-lightspeed. So that works out fairly nicely anyhow…
“Sergeant, can this crate do a near-warp transport?”
Ychell whirled toward Ro. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m dead serious.”
Snorting, Ychell said, “Bad choice of words, Lieutenant.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose it’s possible, but I’ve never done it.”
“I have,” Ro said confidently. Of course, that was on the Enterprise—a top-of-the-line Starfleet ship that was designed for those kinds of maneuvers. In fact, the operation had been performed at least once before she’d signed on. In addition, back then she’d been working in concert with Miles O’Brien, an expert in transporter technology.
She set the course she’d need to take in order to make this work. I just hope the gateway doesn’t wink out on us again. “Can you get an accurate life-form reading from the Orion ship?”
Ychell nodded. “Scanning for Ferengi life-forms now.” A pause. “Got him.”
“Good,” Quark said, “let’s move while he’s still alive.”
Without looking up, Ro said, “Quark, get back aft. The ride’s gonna be a little bumpy. You and Treir need to strap in.”
Quark didn’t look terrifically pleased by the notion of a bumpy ride, but said nothing as he moved back aft.
“Course set,” Ro said and looked over at Ychell.
“Transporter standing by.”
Ro took a deep breath, and remembered something one of her Academy instructors always said right before flight simulations. “Here goes nothin’.”
Gaila ran.
He had no idea where he was running to, but he thought remaining in a dark room waiting for one of the two moon-sized Orions to shoot him was not in his best interests. So he made a dash for where he remembered the door being, was favored by that door opening at his approach, and proceeded to run down the hallways, which were now lit only by green emergency lights.
Escape pods, he thought. That’s what I want. They have to have them here. No self-respecting Vulcan would build a ship without escape pods. Wouldn’t be logical.
Gaila did not allow himself to think that getting rid of them might have been one of the (several) modifications Malic had made to the ship.
This is all your fault, Quark. Every time I turn
around, you’re there to thwart me.
A small voice in the back of Gaila’s head reminded him that it was Gaila’s own actions that led to this particular state of affairs, in his attempt to take his revenge for Quark’s indignities. After all, if it hadn’t been for Quark, Gaila would still own a moon. But if it hadn’t been for Gaila, the Orion ship probably wouldn’t be falling apart around him right now.
And then there’s the Iconians. If they really are the Iconians. Not only did I break the Sixth Rule to get revenge on Quark, it’s looking like I broke the the Ninety-Fourth as well. Cost me a perfectly good client, too.
Or maybe not so perfectly good, if Malic’s suspicions were right. Frankly, Gaila didn’t really care much one way or the other if they really were the Iconians or not. They’d paid him half up front, and that—along with most of the other seven bars of latinum he’d gotten from Zek—was safe in a despository. All I need to do is live to get off this ship, and everything will be fine. I’ll live without the rest of Kam’s fee. I won’t live if I stay here any longer.
He turned a corner to see a male Orion who looked like he’d been worked over by a particularly cranky Klingon standing there.
Regarding him with two eyes that were half-swollen shut, the Orion asked through his split lip, “What’re you doing here?”
“Trying to find the escape pods. Didn’t you hear the order to abandon ship?” The first sentence was truthful, the second somewhat less so.
“Abandon ship?” The Orion started to quiver. Gaila supposed his eyes might have widened in shock if they weren’t so swollen. “No, I didn’t hear that! Follow me, the escape pods are this way.”
Gaila smiled. That’s more like it.
As they moved as one toward a turbolift, a voice from behind Gaila cried, “There he is! Good work, Alhan.”
