by S. D. Perry
It sounded like one of Malic’s bodyguards. Damn, Gaila thought. Almost made it.
He turned around and saw that it was indeed one of Malic’s two mountains. He was aiming his disruptor right at Gaila’s head.
So this is it, he thought. I’m going to die.
Then, suddenly, Gaila found himself looking down at the bodyguard from what felt like inside the ceiling.
That rather bizarre sensation only lasted an instant. Then the world dissolved into a confused mess before coalescing into the very face Gaila had imagined himself punching repeatedly only moments before.
“Quark.”
“Good to see you too, Gaila.”
He looked around to see that he and Quark, along with a Bajoran sergeant, an Orion slave girl, and Quark’s dabo girl—who was a brunette now—were crammed into the flight deck of a Bajoran Militia flitter. “Where are we?”
“A Bajoran Militia flitter,” Quark said.
“I know it’s a Bajoran Militia flitter,” Gaila said impatiently. “I mean where?”
“On our way to the Clarus system, and then to DS9. Oh, and Gaila?”
“What?”
“You’re welcome.”
Gaila’s stomach hadn’t felt this unsettled since the last time he had to eat cooked food in order to suck up to a potential client. He looked past Quark’s self-satisfied smile to the viewscreen to see that they were indeed heading to the gateway in this system—which would take them to Clarus.
The Bajoran sergeant spoke up. “The Orion ship’s shields just went down. The Petraw are firing again.”
Then she touched a control and the image on the viewscreen changed to an aft view, showing the small ship commanded by Kam doing as the sergeant had indicated.
“Petraw?” Gaila asked.
Quark’s oh-so-smug smile widened. “You mean you didn’t know that you weren’t working for the Iconians? Well, I’m surprised, Gaila. These Petraw were running such a weak scam that I thought for sure you’d be involved.”
“Very funny, Quark. Their latinum was good enough regardless of—”
Gaila was interrupted by the rather impressive sight of Malic’s ship exploding in a fiery conflagration.
“Well, if Malic did have a backup of that padd, it’s gone now.”
“Any sign of the Petraw ship?” the erstwhile dabo girl asked the sergeant.
“Negative. They could’ve warped out under cover of the explosion.” The sergeant then looked up. “Entering the gateway now.”
As usual, there was no real sensation of travel. Unlike wormholes or transporters or warp drive or any other method of getting somewhere fast, the Iconians had built their portals with a minimum of bells and whistles. One moment they were in the Farius system, the next they were in the Clarus system. No disorientation, no disruption of the very air, just a simple movement from one place to the next.
“Set course for DS9,” the dabo girl said, holding up a padd. “I want to get to work on cracking this thing.” Gaila realized after a moment that it was Malic’s padd, thus explaining Quark’s comment about a backup.
He then looked at his most hated cousin, who still hadn’t lost the smug smile. “You saved my life.”
“Looks like I did, yeah.” Quark put his hand on Gaila’s shoulder. Gaila looked at it with all the disdain he could muster—which right now was considerable—but Quark did not remove it. “Don’t worry, Gaila. I promise not to ask for too much to settle the debt.”
“And you have Malic’s padd.”
“Mhm. All in all, it’s been a good day for me.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Gaila said, taking a seat next to the Orion slave woman—who had been watching the exchanges between Gaila and his cousin with a level of amusement that Gaila found inappropriate in a female—“you can drop me off at Clarus IX. I have no interest in accompanying you to that wretched station.”
The dabo girl turned and smiled in a way that Gaila hated even more than he hated Quark’s. “This isn’t a ferry service, Gaila. We’re heading to DS9, so that’s where you’re heading. If you have a problem with that, we can always send you back where we found you.”
“Look—” Gaila started, but Quark interrupted him.
“I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced. Gaila, this is DS9’s new security chief, Lieutenant Ro Laren.”
Gaila shot Quark a look. “Security chief?”
Quark nodded.
Sighing, Gaila leaned back. I suppose it won’t be so bad. I don’t have any outstanding warrants or bad business contacts on Bajor. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll arrange transport on DS9.”
“Good luck with that,” Ro said, still smiling. “Right now, DS9 is chockfull of refugees from Europa Nova. I doubt there are any quarters available.”
“Oh don’t worry, cousin,” Quark said quickly. “I’d be more than happy to put you up in my quarters for a very reasonable fee.”
Gaila looked up at his cousin for a long time before coming to a realization.
“I hate you, Quark.”
Chapter Twenty
Europa Nova
“Commander Vaughn, the last of the refugees have been evacuated from Europa Nova.”
At Nog’s words, a cheer went up from all around the Defiant bridge. Vaughn did not join in that cheer, but he did smile. There had been several hundred cases of theta-radiation poisoning, but—between the efforts of Bashir and Dr. DeLaCruz on the surface and the sickbays of both the Intrepid and the Gryphon—none of those cases were fatal. The combined efforts of the five Starfleet ships, ten Bajoran ships, one Cardassian ship, one gateway, and the assorted civilian and Europani military vessels had resulted in a complete evacuation of the adult population.
And not a moment too soon, as the regions directly beneath the mouth of the gateway—which included the large cities of Spilimbergo and Chieti and half a dozen smaller towns—were at fatal levels of exposure at this point.
The cheering continued for several seconds. Prynn got up from the conn and gave Nog a hug. When the embrace broke, Prynn found herself looking right at Vaughn in the command chair.
Vaughn was expecting a look of disdain or annoyance, so he was rather surprised when Prynn actually smiled at him and nodded her head.
He returned both the smile and the nod, and with that, she went back to the flight controls. Vaughn had no idea if Prynn was just feeling giddy from the success of their mission or if she was truly softening in her attitude toward him. He hoped for the latter, but he was cynical enough to believe it was more likely the former. Still, he thought, it’s a step. And not a small one, either.
When the din finally quieted enough to speak over, Nog said, “According to Captain Emick, President Silverio was the last person to board the Intrepid.”
Vaughn nodded. Good for her, he thought. The captain should be the last one off the sinking ship. “That’s excellent news, Lieutenant. Open a channel to the entire convoy, please.”
“Yes, sir,” Nog said, returning to his console. “Channel open.”
“This is Commander Vaughn. Excellent work, all. We still have a long way to go, but the most important thing—getting the Europani out of danger—has been accomplished. At this time, we will prepare to bring the last remaining refugees to Bajor and Deep Space 9. Lieutenant Bowers, you and the Rio Grande will remain behind and await any new signals from Colonel Kira or Taran’atar.”
Vaughn hesitated. It galled him that he could do no more than that. It had also galled Nog that the gateways had come back online after only being off for ten minutes. While it did leave the door open, so to speak, for Kira and the Jem’Hadar to return, it also meant that Ensign ch’Thane’s solution was not the cure-all they’d hoped for. He wished he could inform Nog of the eyes-only communiqué he’d gotten minutes before from Bill Ross, telling him that the disruption of the gateways had been useful in exposing the “Iconians” for the frauds they truly were. Apparently, the people peddling the gateways—under false pretenses
—were known as the Petraw, and their helplessness in the face of the temporary disruption proved their undoing.
At least, when the gateways had come back online, the Euphrates was still there blocking the radiation, keeping the Europa Nova situation from getting even worse. There was still the matter of somehow disposing of all this theta radiation—but that was a solution for more scientifically bent minds than that of Elias Vaughn.
Prynn said, “The convoy is getting into formation for the return voyage, Commander.” A pause. “Except for the Trager.”
They weren’t part of the original convoy, Vaughn thought. “Open a channel to the Trager,” he said, standing as he faced the viewscreen.
Gul Macet’s image was suddenly looking back at him. “What can I do for you, Commander Vaughn?”
“I merely wish to confirm that you’ll be joining the convoy back to DS9, Gul.”
“Of course, Commander, I simply was not sure where, precisely, to align myself.”
“Have your conn officer coordinate with Ensign Tenmei.”
Macet nodded. “Very well.”
Vaughn was about to order the connection cut, then hesitated. Oh what the hell, he thought, you’ve been wanting to ask him since they got here. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir—why are you here?”
At that, Macet threw his head back and chuckled. “Not an unreasonable question under the circumstances, Commander.” His face grew more serious. “Are you familiar with a former Starfleet captain named Benjamin Maxwell?”
In fact, Vaughn had known Ben quite well when the latter was a junior officer, though he’d lost track of him by the time he made captain. The erstwhile commanding officer of the Phoenix had been court-martialed and imprisoned following his attacks on several Cardassian ships. Maxwell had been convinced that they were carrying weapons, in violation of treaty, and had taken matters into his own hands.
Aloud, Vaughn simply said, “Yes. And to answer your next question, I know why he’s now a former captain.”
“I was assigned by Central Command to work with a Starfleet ship to track Maxwell down when he went rogue. That ship was the Enterprise.” Macet took a deep breath. “I did as I was told, and we were eventually able to stop Maxwell before he murdered any more citizens of Cardassia. But the strange thing was—Maxwell was right. Those ships were carrying weapons. I did not agree with the actions of Central Command in that case, but I was a good soldier, and said nothing, not even when Captain Picard told me that he knew the truth.
“I learned an important lesson that day, Commander, and that lesson is why I am here today. You see, both Maxwell and Picard knew that we were violating the treaty. But where Maxwell’s reaction was to madly destroy our ships, Picard’s was to work to preserve the peace.”
Macet took another deep breath and folded his arms. “My people have been too much like Maxwell of late. We have worked against the galaxy. At a time when the entire Alpha Quadrant united against a common threat, we alone stood with the threat—well,” he added with a smile, “we and the Breen. We did not realize our mistake until it was too late. Now many of us—including myself—believe that we are better off trying to become part of the quadrant once more. We were a nation to be reckoned with once, Commander. If we are to be so again, we must work with our neighbors to preserve peace, not against them in conflict. You may consider this,” he said, holding his hands outward, as if to encompass the entire convoy, “the first step on that road.”
Vaughn nodded. At worst, it was a good speech. At best, it was an encouraging sign for the future of both Cardassia and the Alpha Quadrant. “Thank you for your candor, Gul Macet.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And perhaps when we arrive back on Deep Space 9, we can discuss future steps on that road of yours.”
“I would like that, Commander. Trager out.”
Macet’s image disappeared. As Vaughn returned to his chair, a voice from his right said, “Weird.”
“What’s ‘weird,’ Lieutenant?” Vaughn asked Nog.
“He looks so much like Dukat. When I first moved to the station as a boy, Dukat was the prefect of Bajor. He was always coming into Uncle Quark’s bar. I used to be scared of him. Later on, I hated him. Seeing someone who reminds me so much of him…”
“There’s an old human saying, Nog—don’t judge a book by its cover. You of all people should be aware of that. Give Macet a chance to prove himself.”
Nog nodded. “Oh, I will, sir. But it’s still going to be weird.”
“Convoy is in position, sir,” Prynn said before the conversation could continue.
“Very well, Ensign. Ahead warp six.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cardassia Prime
“This price is outrageous, Deru.”
Deru sighed at the face of the Kobheerian on his personal comm unit. He’d been going around in circles with him for almost an hour now over the price of the land he and Quark had acquired on Chin’toka IX. He got up from his chair—which was comfortable in theory, but after sitting in it for an hour his back was starting to ache. He paced around the sitting room of his large house, the maroon walls covered with Bajoran paintings he had taken during the occupation.
Riilampe was an entrepreneur Quark had brought in. He claimed to be looking for landowning opportunities, and was therefore perfect for the operation Deru and Quark had going. The price he had offered was of course three times what Deru and Quark had paid that retired gul for it (they had paid in kanar and taspar eggs).
“The price is commensurate with the value. Think about it, Riilampe—this land is arable. Cardassians all over the union are starving. Replicators can’t handle all of it—farmland is going to be immensely valuable. In fact, I could easily justify charging more, if it weren’t for—”
“If it weren’t for the battle damage,” the Kobheerian interrupted.
Deru sat back down. “And the amount we lowered the price is about what it would cost to restore the scarred topsoil to proper form. I know Quark went over all this with you before, and when you arrive at Deep Space 9—”
“The Ferengi hasn’t gone over anything with me. I haven’t been able to get through to him for a couple of days. I’ve also been turned away from DS9. Some kind of crisis—they’re not letting anyone on-station.”
Frowning, Deru said, “That’s odd. Perhaps—”
“I’ll be on Cardassia Prime in two days, Deru. We’ll finalize the deal then, all right?”
“So you accept this price?”
The Kobheerian hesitated. “Provisionally. Let me look over the deal memo one more time.”
“You won’t regret this, Riilampe. You’re getting in on the ground floor of one of the best land-development deals of the century.”
Laughing, Riilampe said, “You’ve been hanging around that Ferengi too long—now you’re starting to sound like him. Screen off.”
Deru’s comm went dark. He then entered some commands into his computer.
Odd, he thought, that he couldn’t get through to Quark. Wonder if it has to do with that emergency. Not to mention all those rumors of strange portals opening up all over the galaxy…
Ah, well. Not my concern.
In the middle of his file update, the screen went out. So did the lights, plunging his house into utter darkness.
Damn, another power outage. I thought they’d solved the power problems. That, he supposed, was wishful thinking. The Dominion had inflicted obscene damage onto Cardassia Prime, and even well-to-do citizens like Deru had had to live with this sort of thing. He walked toward the window—
—to see that the other nearby houses all had power.
The emergency power kicked in. It wasn’t enough for him to get his computer back, but at least now there were lights, albeit dim ones, and the doors would work. I can’t believe that just my house had an outage. It’s not like I haven’t kept up with my payments. Somebody’s going to answer for this.
He walked out to the hallway, and then
ce to the front door.
It opened to reveal the smiling face of a Cardassian that Deru recognized immediately. He’d never met the man, but it was impossible for anyone living on Cardassia not to know him.
Former agent of the Obsidian Order. Living for almost a decade in exile on Terok Nor—or, rather, Deep Space 9. And the man now spearheading the rebuilding of the Cardassian Union.
“Garak.” Deru’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
“Good evening, Mr. Deru,” Garak said in a most pleasant, affable tone. “I’ve only just become aware of your charming little enterprise here…and I believe we need to have a little chat.”
Deru swallowed hard.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Deep Space 9
“Excuse me, but how long am I supposed to stand here?”
Ro Laren rubbed her temples. Never a particularly religious person, right now Ro would happily worship the great god Ho’nig if they would just take this damn Orion woman away from her.
They’d returned to DS9 to find absolute chaos. Intellectually, Ro had expected this—Ychell had received coded updates from Dax on the Europa Nova situation, and Ro had talked with the lieutenant directly when they were en route from Clarus—but she hadn’t been emotionally prepared for the reality of the station being so completely inundated with refugees. From the minute she arrived, all her deputies had questions and Dax had half a dozen tasks that needed Ro’s attention.
Pointedly, none of the Starfleet security people came to her with questions or requests. Most of them treated her with indifference at best, which was to be expected given Ro’s somewhat rocky Starfleet career—and just at the moment, it meant that one less set of people was harassing her.
Unfortunately, every time she looked up, she saw a green torso standing in front of her desk. The Orion woman who dressed in a skimpy outfit carefully tailored to look like rags would not leave her office.
“Treir, I’m really busy now. Can’t you go somewhere else?”
