Security Chief Odo both looked on with bored,
slightly put-upon expressions. Worf sighed audibly
and shifted from foot to foot. I'm losing them, Bashir
thought.
Nevertheless, he continued to keep his expression a
careful neutral as he examined the delicate micro-
connections inside the scanner. It should be working,
he thought. Why wasn't it? He simply didn't under-
stand the problem.
"Doctor..." Sisko began.
"One second more." His training at Starfleet Acad-
emy hadn't just covered biology and medicine.
Bedside--in this case, tableside--manners were just
as important, he knew. Like they said at Starfleet, as
long as you look like you know what you're doing,
your patients will have faith in you. Of course, he'd
have to make sure that faith wasn't misplaced.
He sucked in a deep breath. The scanner had to
work. Everything from the schematics to the pro-
gramming parameters had checked out perfectly dur-
ing computer-simulated tests. So why wouldn't it
power up now?
Then he spotted the problem. It was so simple, he
could have slapped himself. One power coupling had
worked its way loose. He must have failed to lock it
into position when he was assembling it, he realized.
Carefully he reached in with two fingers, fitted it into
the proper position, and pushed gently. He felt the
two pieces lock together with a faint snap.
That should do it, he thought with a mental sigh of
relief. He hoped.
"Well?" Sisko prompted.
Bashir smiled with new confidence as he stood up
again. It would work, he told himself. You didn't
graduate second in your class from Starfleet Academy
without learning a thing or two about machines.
"Ready," he said.
He closed the DNA analyzer's back panel. Running
one hand nervously through his short brown hair, he
took a deep breath, then for the second time touched
the activation button. Now work, damn it, he mentally
instructed the machine. He willed it to start with
every fiber of his being.
A low hum spread through the medical bay. Bashir
slowly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been
holding. It had powered up, he thought triumphantly.
It was working. The power coupling hadn't been quite
in place, that was all. It had been his own fault, not
the machine's... simple human error.
"That fixed it," he said. "Sorry about the delay.
Commander, if you wouldn't mind?"
Worf stepped forward. "What exactly do you want
me to do?" the tall Klingon asked, his voice a low
growl. He sounded a little nervous, Bashir thought.
Klingons were just like human patients in that
respect. They all had to be coddled and encouraged
when it came to visiting sickbay. Sometimes he
thought every intelligent life-form in the galaxy had
an inborn distrust of the medical profession.
"Simply place your hand on top," he said. He
pushed the gray box toward Worf, giving him a
reassuring smile. Best tableside manner and all that.
"The scanner will do the rest."
Worf hesitated a second, glancing first at Captain
Sisko, then at Odo. Slowly, tentatively, he reached
out.
"You won't feel a thing," Bashir said encouragingly.
At this rate it was going to take all afternoon.
"I am not afraid of pain," Worf said sharply. He
slapped his hand down hard on top of the DNA
scanner. The slap made a sharp crack loud enough to
make a few of the nurses on the other side of the room
jump.
Bashir winced a bit. Luckily the DNA scanner
didn't seem to have been injured; it continued to hum
along smoothly.
"Sorry," Worf said a little more meekly.
"No harm done," Bashir said. "I didn't mean to
imply that you were afraid of pain," he added. One
difference between Klingon and human patients, he
realized, was that most human patients couldn't
break you in half if you got them angry. "I simply
meant that the process is painless."
The display panel on the side of the DNA scanner
flashed twice. "Reading," it said, its computer voice
faint and tinny. "Subject DNA passed. Subject is
Klingon."
Worf withdrew his hand. Slowly he flexed his fin-
gers, staring at them as though he thought they might
have been changed. No chance of that, though, Bashir
thought. It had removed a single skin cell with a
microlaser.
"Very impressive, Doctor," Sisko said. "Now let's
try a human."
"Shall I?" Bashir asked, starting to pull up his right
sleeve.
"No. I'd like to try it myself."
Sisko placed his own hand on the scanner. After a
second's analysis, the computer announced, "Subject
DNA passed. Subject is human."
Sisko nodded. "Now it's your turn, Doctor," he
said, stepping back and fold ing his arms.
Bashir stepped forward. The captain undoubtedly
wanted to confirm that none of the command staff
had been replaced by changelings, and he was happy
to oblige. Bashir g DNA Scanner to the rescue, he
thought. When he published a paper on the device, he
was certain it would rapidly become the de facto
standard in testing for changeling infiltration. A work
of near genius, if I do say so myself he thought with
satisfaction.
He put his own hand on the scanner, and after a
second it announced that he, too, was human. Of
course.
That just left Odo. Bashir glanced at the station's
changeling security officer. This, he thought, would be
the real test.
"Your turn, Constable," Sisko said.
Without a moment's hesitation, Odo stepped for-
ward and put his hand on top of the box just as the
others had done.
"Reading," the device said.
Bashir leaned forward expectantly. Anyone could
detect DNA in carbon-based life-forms. But detecting
a changeling...
"Subject has no DNA," his DNA analyzer an-
nounced. "Subject is not a carbon-based life-form."
"Quite true," Odo said. "But what if they try to
sneak aboard by impersonating a life-form that
doesn't use DNA? Wouldn't that fool your device'?"
"Some variant of DNA appears to be a universal
constant in all carbon-based life-forms," Bashir said.
"The Federation has only encountered a handful of
silicon-based life-forms, like the Hortas, and none of
them are likely to be on the station during these peace
negotiations. Valtusians, Cardassians, Bajorans, all
the races making up the Maquis, and in fact every
carbon-based race that belongs to the Federation has a
DNA signature on file with Starfleet Medical." He
patted the top of the DNA analyzer proudly. "If
changelings have replaced one or more of them, we'll
know it, believe me."<
br />
"And since we're pulling this test as a surprise, they
won't have any chance to prepare any sort of counter-
measure," Sisko said.
"I doubt that's possible--" Bashir began, but Odo
interrupted.
"Don't underestimate my people," he said. "Re-
member what they did on Earth."
Bashir nodded, then swallowed. They had indeed
infiltrated Starfleet Command and the Federation
headquarters, even going so far as blowing up a
conference with the Romulans. Starfleet had lost
many key personnel. The changelings were crafty and
resourceful. In time, they might indeed find some way
around his device... but hopefully not before he
smoked out any spies aboard DS9.
The captain's badge chirped. "Sisko here," he said.
"Benjamin," Lieutenant Jadzia Dax's voice said,
"the Valtusian ambassadors have arrived. I'm routing
them to Docking Pylon Three. I thought you might
want to welcome them aboard."
"Thank you, Dax," he said. "I'm on my way." He
glanced at Bashir and said, "Doctor, I believe it's time
to field test your DNA scanner."
"Right," Bashir said with a grin. This was what
he'd been waiting for, after all.
"And, Constable," Sisko went on, "I think you
should join us as well. And you too, Mr. Worf, if
you're willing."
"Certainly," Odo said.
"Agreed," Worf said.
Bashir picked up his DNA analyzer and tucked it
under his arm. He'd never met a Valtusian before,
though of course he knew their reputation as a race of
tinkerers and philosophers. Few of them left Valtusia,
preferring to live in their own communal villages,
pondering the universe, writing poetry, tinkering with
intricate clockwork mechanisms, and devoting them-
selves to the mysteries of their kind. This should
prove most interesting, he thought.
CHAPTER
3
As SOON AS Kira and O'Brien were out of sight, Quark
rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. They
were going to buy his ship. He had that tingling
sensation in his lobes that meant a deal was going
perfectly. He smiled, thinking of the latinum to come.
First the ship, then the peace conference. He could
look forward to record profits this month. He chuck-
led. Yes, things were certainly going well.
"I don't understand--" Rom began.
"That's why I'm in charge," Quark replied smugly.
"Remember the one hundred and third Rule of Ac-
quisition."
"'Fill a desperate need with your most expensive
product, then mark it up five hundred percent?'"
Rom's brow furrowed. "I still don't understand,
brother."
Quark sighed. His brother might be a mechanical
genius, but he still needed someone to hold his hand
during complicated business deals. "You may recall
some pilgrims from Aryanus Six who ended up
stranded here six months ago," he began. "They
came--"
"In a Delphi-class starship!" Rom finished. Quark
saw the realization in his brother's eyes. "It's still
there, on the seventh Bajoran moon!"
"If I remembered that fact, I knew Chief O'Brien
would, too," Quark said smugly. "The pilgrims' ship
doesn't have working warp engines, but the passenger
compartment should be fine. It shouldn't take
O'Brien and his men long to assemble one working
ship out of the two. Because it's such a perfect match,
I quadrupled my original asking price for the Galactic
Queen." He patted the airlock affectionately. "A
small fortune, Rom, and it's all mine!"
"Brilliant," Rom breathed. "But I believe you're
forgetting something." "What?"
"My cut, brother! In exchange for my technical
help, you promised--"
"A fortune less five percent is still a fortune,"
Quark said, waving one hand dismissively. Rom nev-
er seemed to grasp such fundamentals of business.
"Come on, let's get back to the bar before the Dabo
girls rob me blind."
In Ops, Major Kira leaned against one of the
consoles and watched as Chief O'Brien fed a series of
queries into the computer. Maybe humans weren't
crazy after all, she thought, as the information began
to trickle back out.
The first thing O'Brien looked at was the station's
recording of the Galactic Queen's warp signature as it
entered Bajoran space. It appeared completely nor-
mal, which meant the ship's warp engines worked
within acceptable parameters. It seemed almost mi-
raculous, considering the otherwise deplorable condi-
tion of the Galactic Queen.
"All right," Kira said, "the engines work. But what
about everything else? What about the hull--that
stench is enough to smother anyone!"
"I'm getting to that." He punched up a series of
salvage records and began scanning them. Kira shook
her head in bewilderment. They weren't even the
Galactic Queen's records--they belonged to another
ship, this one called the Progress. Crazy, indeed.
"Just as I thought," O'Brien said suddenly.
"There's still a Delphi-class ship sitting on the sev-
enth Bajoran moon. It hasn't been picked up for
salvage yet."
"The pilgrims..." Kira said, suddenly remember-
ing the problems that had left them stranded on DS9
with no way back to Arvanus VI six months previ-
ously. That had been one logistical nightmare, all
right. Luckily Captain Sisko had been able to arrange
transport home for them aboard a freighter. She
frowned, thinking back to the incident. What had
been wrong with their ship? It had been their warp
engines, she recalled. They had damaged their warp
core and fried both nacelles.
She snapped her fingers, suddenly putting two and
two together. "Quark's ship has working engines,"
she said.
"That's right." O'Brien leaned back in his chair and
laced his fingers behind his head, grinning widely.
"Still think I'm crazy, Major?"
She could have laughed with relief. "No. But can
you assemble one working ship out of the pair?"
"If the engines are in decent shape aboard Quark's
ship--and I suspect they are from the warp
signature--I can have them out and fitted aboard the
pilgrims Progress in six hours. The Delphi-class is
modular. I've done it before."
"Then our only problem," Kira said, sliding into
the seat next to O'Brien, "will be acquiring salvage
rights to the pilgrims' ship." She transferred the
salvage claim he'd been studying to her terminal.
"Loran Devys Salvage," she read aloud, "owns the
hull."
The name sounded familiar. Where did she know
Loran from? Suddenly it came to her. There had been
a fellow named Loran Devys in another cell during
the resistance. She'd worked with him at least once. If
this was the same man, p
erhaps he'd remember her
and cut her a deal. It was worth a try, anyway.
"Do you think you can get the rights to it?" O'Brien
was saying.
"There's only one way to find out." She opened a
link to Bajor and called the number on the salvage
claim.
A Bajoran woman in a gold and silver one-piece
suit answered. An intricate earring dangled from her
right ear. "Loran Devys Salvage," she said, then her
eyes widened. "Nerys!" she said in surprise.
Kira forced a smile. "That's right," she said. Who
was this woman? She didn't look familiar.
"You don't remember me, of course," the woman
said. "I'm Jael--Koratta Jael, from Devys's cell? We
only met once, and it was many years ago. But I've
seen you quite a few times lately on the news reports.
You're making quite a name for yourself. Are you still
stationed on DS9?"
"Yes," Kira said. Koratta Jael... that name did
sound vaguely familiar, even if her face wasn't. It had
been quite a few years, she reminded herself. People
could change a lot in all that time. She tried to think
back to the others in Devys's cell. "Didn't you used to
have your hair..." she began, sketching vaguely with
her hands.
Koratta was nodding. "Yes, much longer. You do
remember. It's wonderful to talk to you again, Nerys,
but is this a social call?"
"I'm afraid it's business," Kira said. "Devys owns
salvage rights to a Delphi-class transport ship on the
seventh Bajoran moon. Perhaps you know the one I'm
talking about."
"We own a lot of salvage . Wait a second." Jael
punched something up on her computer terminal.
"Yes, I see the one you mean. The Progress, a Delphi-
class transport. We picked it up at auction six weeks
ago. It's scheduled for retrieval next month."
"I'd like to buy it," Kira said.
Jael stared at her in surprise. "It's a dead hull," she
said. "No power--"
"I know," Kira said, and quickly she explained that
they hoped to assemble one whole ship out of two.
"Do you think Devys might be willing to sell it to
me?"
"I'm sure he would," Koratta said, studying the
records before her. "We have the estimated salvage
value as scrap duranium at twenty-two bars of gold-
pressed latinum. If you'd like to buy it, that would be
the price. Frankly, I'm sure he'd jump at the offer--it
would save us a lot of work."
"Thanks, Jael," Kira said with a smile she truly felt
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 2
