Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17

by John Gregory Betancourt

  save us a little money, true, but manpower is the

  primary factor."

  "Surely we can come to some arrangements?"

  Quark said, a bit of a desperate whine creeping into

  his voice. "I know this ship is perfect for your needs.

  How much would it take to persuade you to use my

  ship instead?"

  Sisko tilted his head to the side. "Quark, is that a

  bribe you're offering me?"

  "No, no," Quark said hastily, raising both hands.

  "What I meant is, how much of a reduction in price

  would it take for you to consider my ship instead of

  your friend's?"

  Sisko gazed down at the baseball on his desk

  thoughtfully. "Forty bars of latinum?" he suggested.

  "Done!" Quark cried. "I'll put through the invoice

  at once for two hundred and ten..." His voice

  trailed off.

  Sisko was shaking his head. "Forty bars of latinum

  total," he said. "Not one bar more."

  Quark let out a strangled cry. "You're killing me!"

  "It's the best I can do," Sisko said. "And I'll wave

  the docking fees your ship has incurred while it's been

  here."

  "I'll get back to you," Quark said. Muttering to

  himself, he stabbed the disconnect button. Sisko

  found himself staring at a blank screen, which was

  quickly replaced by the Federation logo of a starfield

  and two olive branches on a blue background.

  "Let me guess," Dax said. "Right now he's finding

  out how much the hull is worth from salvage dealers."

  "I expect so," Sisko said. "And thanks to Kira, we

  have a good idea what that is."

  Kira was grinning. "Right, Captain," she said.

  Half a minute later, Quark called again. "It's a

  deal," he said to Sisko. He seemed more subdued

  than usual, Sisko thought, and almost sulky. Perhaps

  he was mourning the loss of two hundred and ten

  undeserved bars of gold-pressed latinurn.

  "Excellent," Sisko said. "If you'll put through your

  invoice, I'll see that it receives priority payment

  authorization."

  "Thank you," Quark said sullenly, disconnecting.

  Now, Sisko thought, to see about the wreck on the

  Bajoran moon. Then it would all be up to O'Brien and

  his people.

  CHAPTER

  5

  FIVE O'CLOCK IN the morning is too early for delegates

  to arrive, Dr. Julian Bashir thought with a yawn as he

  strolled down the crossover bridge toward the dock-

  ing ring. He hefted the DNA analyzer he was carrying.

  It only weighed fourteen kilos, but lugging it with him

  across half the station, he found it growing increas-

  ingly heavy. He'd have another look at the schematics

  later, he thought, and see if he could get the size

  trimmed down a little more.

  At this hour, the station seemed oddly still, almost

  serene in its emptiness. None of the shops in the

  Promenade had opened for the day yet. Even Quark's

  bar was closed, and that, he reflected, spoke volumes

  about how dead the station became in the early hours

  of the morning. He'd only passed two other people so

  far, and one of them had been Dax out for her

  morning jog. She had waved and called a brief invita-

  tion for him to join her before passing by, but he'd

  declined. Her energy never ceased to amaze him.

  Ahead, at the end of the crossover bridge, he

  spotted a knot of men and women blocking the

  passage. Something had to be going on here, he

  realized. Their low babble of voices grew steadily

  louder and more anxious. If someone was hurt, they'd

  need a doctor. Bashir quickened his pace to a near jog.

  But if someone was hurt, why hadn't he been called?

  "Kill the Butcher of Belmast!" he suddenly heard a

  loud voice shouting.

  "We want justice!" another cried.

  "Bring him back to Bajor for trial!" a third voice

  called. "We know how to deal with Cardassians!"

  Bashir groaned inwardly and drew up short. Not

  again, he thought. The crowd faced away from him,

  but now he recognized them all as Bajorans. The

  dangling earrings gave them away, if not their civilian

  clothes and anti-Cardassian sentiments. Somehow

  they'd found out that the Cardassian delegation had

  arrived, and they'd turned out in force as an unofficial

  harassment party. It seemed to happen every time a

  high-ranking Cardassian boarded the station.

  But who was this "Butcher of Belmast" they were

  talking about? He frowned, trying to think back to

  where he'd heard of Belmast before. Wasn't it a

  remote province on Bajor? Hadn't some war atrocity

  been committed there? He shook his head. It wasn't

  his concern right now--he had delegates to screen for

  the peace conference. If he remembered, he'd ask

  Major Kira about it later.

  Taking a deep breath, he started forward with

  determination. He'd never liked angry mobs, but he

  couldn't see any way around this one--they were

  completely blocking the walkway. To get around

  them, he'd have to retrace his steps to the Promenade

  and take a turbolift. Best to get it over with, he

  thought. Besides, they weren't mad at him.

  The crowd seemed a little thinner to the left, so

  he eased his way between two women in pink and yel-

  low robes. "Excuse me," he murmured. "I need

  through--station business."

  "Aren't you Dr. Bashir?" one of the women asked.

  She was short and slightly overweight, with long

  reddish brown hair tied up behind her head, and her

  pale blue eyes held what looked like a fanatical gleam.

  Bashir gulped and tried to remember if they had

  ever met before, but couldn't place her sharp features.

  "Uh, yes," he admitted. "Do I know you?"

  Instead of replying, she seized his arm and pulled

  him forward. "Let us through!" she called. "Let us

  through to Werron!"

  Everyone around them turned to look, and Bashir

  found himself the center of attention. A little ner-

  vously, he forced a small nod and an even smaller

  wave. What have I done to deserve this? he wondered.

  He was almost certain he'd never met the Bajoran

  woman before. And who was Werron?

  The crowd parted, and he rapidly found himself

  pulled to the front. There, the Bajorans held placards

  in a variety of languages--English, Cardassian, and

  Bajoran. He scanned the ones he could read, and they

  all talked about "Justice" and "Cardassian War Crim-

  inals," as he'd half expected.

  Six of Odo's men in tan and brown security uni-

  forms held the line of Bajorans at bay. A couple of

  them gave Bashir welcoming nods, and the doctor felt

  a little better. They would rescue him if trouble

  started. Not that he really expected trouble. Relations

  remained good between humans and Bajorans at the

  moment, what with them applying for Federation

  membership and Captain Sisko being their Emissary

  and all.

 
"Vedek Werron," the woman said, "this is Julian

  Bashir, the station's medical officer."

  A Vedek--no wonder they were so riled up. Bashir

  focused on the tall Bajoran wearing gray robes who

  turned at her voice. The man might dress simply,

  Bashir thought, but he carried himself like someone

  important. Vedeks were among the highest religious

  positions a Bajoran could attain, he knew, and their

  unique authority in Bajoran society allowed them to

  incite the masses with their words. Most of the

  trouble on DS9 between Bajorans and Cardassians

  could be traced to Bajoran religious leaders.

  Vedek Werron had the thin, almost emaciated fea-

  tures of one who habitually fasted. His intense green

  eyes focused on Bashir, who felt instantly dissected by

  that gaze. Like he can see into my soul, Bashir thought

  with a shiver. Werron's short brown hair had been

  swept back over his scalp, and when he smiled,

  showing perfect white teeth, the image that leaped to

  Bashir's mind was that of a hungry tiger catching sight

  of breakfast.

  "Doctor," Werron said in a low, powerful voice,

  stepping forward and taking Bashir's hand. He shoo k

  it in the human fashion. "I am delighted to make your

  acquaintance, sir. I have heard good things about

  you."

  "And I am delighted to meet you, Vedek," Bashir

  said quickly. He extricated his hand as gently as he

  could; no sense offending the fellow. The sooner the

  niceties of introduction ended, the sooner he could

  get back to his work and away from here.

  Vedek Werron searched Bashir's face. "It must be a

  great privilege serving with the Emissary," he said.

  "Uh, yes, it is," Bashir said. Was this leading

  somewhere? He had a suspicion it was. "Captain

  Sisko is a fine commanding officer."

  "I would like the chance to confer with him, but I'm

  afraid I haven't been able to reach him."

  Bashir nodded. So that was it; Sisko didn't want to

  meet with Vedek Werron. Now Werron hoped to use

  him as an intermediary. Bashir felt a flash of triumph

  at having figured the man out.

  But Werron merely said, "I am certain we'll be

  seeing more of each other, Doctor. It is, after all, a

  small universe." He motioned to his people, who

  drew back a half meter, leaving him a clear path. "I

  believe you were on a business call?" Again his smile

  reminded Bashir of a predator's.

  "That's right," Bashir said. He swallowed and

  forced his eyes from Werron's face, feeling a cold knot

  form in his stomach. This was a dangerous man,

  something inside him said. He wished they hadn't

  met. And he certainly hoped they wouldn't meet

  again. Luckily business called.

  Taking a deep breath, he ducked past Odo's depu-

  ties and continued toward the docking ports. He had

  to get to the Cardassians and administer his DNA

  test.

  Behind him, he heard the Bajorans begin their

  chanting again "Justice for Bajor... Justice for

  Bajor... Justice for Bajor..." Vedek Werron's

  deep, powerful voice boomed over the others, loud as

  a bell on a clear summer day.

  When Bashir glanced back, he found Werron facing

  his own people, exhorting them to louder shouts of

  protest.

  He forced his attention back to the task at hand.

  The Cardassian shuttle had parked at Docking Port 2.

  Odo stood just outside the open airlock door with two

  more deputies. Half a dozen Cardassians were stand-

  ing just inside, out of sight of the Bajoran crowd, and

  they did not look happy.

  "You're late, Doctor," Odo said gruffly.

  "Sorry," he said. "I had a little trouble getting

  through the crowd."

  Odo glanced back at them. "Yes, I can see how that

  might happen."

  Bashir scanned the Cardassians' faces and was a

  trifle disappointed not to recognize anyone among

  them. The enemy you know and all that, he thought.

  Though their people might officially be at peace, he

  had seen little to end his distrust of Cardassians

  during his time on the station. If anything, he was

  more paranoid when dealing with them than ever.

  And he felt quite a bit of sympathy for the Bajorans--

  Cardassian occupation had nearly destroyed their

  world.

  "I am Dr. Bashir," he said to the Cardassian at the

  front of the group, who seenled to be in charge. "I'm

  the station's chief medical officer."

  "Gul Mekkar," the Cardassian replied. He was

  short and heavyset, with a lumpy, grayish face and

  thick corded neck. Mekkar folded his arms and

  glared. "We are here on a peace mission, Doctor. Why

  are we greeted by rioters, detained in our ship's

  airlock, and met by underlings instead of diplomats?"

  Bashir wanted to roll his eyes and groan. It was

  going to be one of those days. "I'm sorry if we weren't

  prepared for you," he said, a trifle archly. "As you

  may recall, you arrived three hours early and wouldn't

  wait for proper clearance. Captain Sisko is in confer-

  ence now and cannot be disturbed. He will join us as

  soon as he is able. In the meantime, I am here to

  ensure the safety and security of these proceedings.

  Anyone who plans to debark your ship will be re-

  quired to undergo a DNA test to prove that they are in

  fact Cardassian."

  Mekkar snorted. "Who else would we be--

  humans, perhaps? Or maybe VulcansT'

  Odo said, "As I already told you, we have reason to

  believe changelings from the Gamma Quadrant may

  try to infiltrate these proceedings. This is a routine

  security measure, I assure you."

  "Rubbish," Mekkar sneered. "It's another excuse

  for harassment, nothing more. No one mentioned

  tests when this conference was arranged."

  Bashir said, "It's a surprise test, to make sure the

  changelings have no chance to prepare some way

  around it. The Valtusians have already submitted to

  the procedure, as has the entire command staff of

  DS9. It's fast and painless. I assure you, you won't

  feel the slightest discomfort."

  Odo added, "You will not be allowed aboard the

  station until you and your entire crew submit to the

  screening process."

  "This is an outrage!" Mekkar gestured angrily.

  The Cardassian woman behind him leaned forward

  and whispered something in his ear. He listened for a

  second, then frowned.

  "Very well," he said coldly to Bashir. "If it will

  allow us to get on with our work, you may proceed.

  But I warn you, if this is some sort of trick..." He let

  the threat hang between them.

  One of those days, indeed. "And the rest of your

  people?" Bashir asked.

  Many of the Cardassians behind Mekkar stirred,

  muttering to one another. None of them seemed

  happy with the idea of being tested.

  Mekkar turned to his people. "They
will submit as

  well," he said flatly. There were a few grumbles, but

  they quickly died down. Mekkar was not a Cardassian

  who was used to being argued with, Bashir saw.

  At least it would be over soon. "Please place your

  hand on top," he said. He held out the DNA scanner.

  Still glaring, Mekkar did so. The computer voice

  promptly announced that he was Cardassian.

  "As you can see," he snarled, "I am who I say I

  am."

  Bashir nodded and stepped back. "You may pro-

  ceed."

  Mekkar stomped out of the airlock, then turned

  and surveyed the mob cordoned off twenty meters

  away. His sneer grew, and Bashir heard him mutter,

  "Rabble!"

  "That's him!" Bashir heard one of the Bajorans

  shout. "That's Mekkar!" Other voices cried, "Cardas-

  sian Butched" and "Murderer/"

  Mekkar set his hands on his hips and glared at

  them. "On Cardassia," he announced in a loud voice,

  "this display would be punishable by death!"

  More jeers came from the Bajorans.

  Bashir sighed. He'd better get this over with

  quickly, he thought. The crowd was turning ugly. He

  only hoped Odo's people would be able to keep them

  in line.

  The Cardassian woman who'd reasoned with Mek-

  kar was next, and she placed her hand on the scanner

  before he asked. "Proceed," she said. There seemed to

  be a trace of amusement in her voice.

  Bashir activated the scanner.

  "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Kloran." She brushed back her long, stringy black

  hair with one hand and gave him a brief smile. "I am

  Mekkar's second in these negotiations."

  "Subject DNA passes," the computer said. "Sub-

  ject is Cardassian." A wave of relief passed through

  Bashir. Every time he ran the scanner, he found he

  half expected someone to fail.

  "You may proceed," he told her. "And thank you

  for your help."

  "It was done in the interest of cooperation." She

  gave him a brief smile, then stepped forward and took

  Mekkar's arm. More jeers came from the Bajorans.

  Bashir glanced over and found Kloran smiling faintly,

  almost mockingly, at them, and a chill went through

  him. The two Cardassians made a rather daunting

  couple, he thought.

  Chief Miles O'Brien felt beads of perspiration start-

  ing to form on his brow and shook his head. Damn

  space suits. He felt an overpowering urge to wipe his

  forehead, but there was no way he could reach inside