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

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Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 9

by John Gregory Betancourt


  and were staring at him. He swallowed a little nerv-

  ously, not liking the attention.

  "He killed five Klingons bare-handed last week!" he

  overheard one saying to another. "Five!"

  It seemed the rumor mill had started spreading

  Quark's tale. O'Brien shook his head. All he wanted

  was a quiet game of darts. He didn't want a reputa-

  tion as some kind of Captain Kirk.

  "Chiefl" he heard a familiar voice shout.

  Glancing toward the door, he spotted Bashir there

  along with Dax and a pair of humans he didn't know.

  He grinned and waved toward the dartboard, and

  Bashir gave him the "okay" sign. Now O'Brien

  grinned happily. He had a feeling Bashir's lucky

  streak--three winning nights in a row--was about to

  come to an end.

  Dax sensed a hesitation in Myriam Kravitz as they

  stood in the doorway of Quark's place. A pair of

  inebriated Denuvians staggered past them, reeking of

  synthale, and Kravitz took a quick step out of their

  way. Her face showed distaste.

  "You said you wanted to learn darts," Bashir was

  saying to Twofeathers. "O'Brien there is a true master

  of the sport. Taught me everything I know, in fact."

  "I would like to meet him, then," Twofeathers said.

  "Follow me." Bashir started forward, then paused.

  "Coming, Dax?"

  Dax glanced at Ambassador Kravitz, then shook

  her head. "Not tonight. I'd like to find a quieter place.

  How about you, Ambassador?" "I'11 join you," she said.

  "Great," Dax said. She gave Bashir a bright smile.

  "Next time."

  Turning, she followed the Denuvians out. They

  headed up the Promenade toward their crossover

  bridge... probably planning to spend the night on

  their ship, she decided.

  "Is it always so crowded there?" the ambassador

  asked, following her.

  "Quark's? No, not usually. It's busy because of the

  negotiations."

  She looked puzzled. "Aren't they private?"

  "Of course. But there are quite a few Bajorans here

  to protest the Cardassian ambassador's presence. So

  the crews of the ships that brought them are here,

  waiting to bring them back. And there are interested

  observers from the Federation and, unless I miss my

  guess, from quite a few of the Maquis Homeworlds.

  Plus there's the normal station traffic. DS9 can get

  pretty full when something big is happening."

  "Ah," she said.

  "What kind of food do you want? There's a

  Klingon restaurant, but it's not for timid palates."

  "I don't think so," she said. "I've heard about

  Klingon meals. I don't think I could eat something

  that's still moving. i'm more of a nice matzo ball soup

  type."

  "In that case," Dax said, steering her toward the far

  side of the Promenade, "may I recommend the public

  replicators?"

  Twofeathers deliberately missed the bulls-eye for

  the third straight time. He found it almost painful, in

  a way, to deliberately lose a contest. It went against

  his every instinct.

  "Close," Bashir said. "You're catching on." He

  moved forward and removed the darts from the

  target.

  "I need another drink," Twofeathers said.

  "Charge whatever you want to the station's ac-

  count," Bashir said. He returned to the throwing line,

  took aim, and let fly. The dart struck the tiny red

  circle at the center of the target a perfect bulls-eye.

  The engineer--what was his name, O'Brien?--let out

  a loud groan.

  "May I bring you something?"

  "I'm still fine," Bashir said, throwing his second

  dart. It landed a hairsbreadth to the left of the first

  another perfect shot. The doctor hadn't exaggerated,

  Twofeathers thought. He was an excellent dart player.

  "I'm fine, too," O'Brien said, lifting his mug.

  Twofeathers smiled and nodded pleasantly. Now

  was his chance, he thought, to make contact with

  Quark. He'd spotted the Ferengi behind the bar when

  he came in.

  Weaving between the full tables, he reached the bar

  and pushed his way up to the front. Quark bustled

  over, looking harried.

  "What can I get you?" he asked.

  "Synthale... and a Mark III attack cruiser," Two-

  feathers said. "More, if you can get them."

  Quark studied him. "Now where," he said, "would

  I get a Mark III attack cruiser?" he said.

  "Bajoran military surplus. I know you have con-

  tacts."

  Quark leaned forward. "How do I know you're not

  Federation security?" he asked in a voice barely

  audible over the background roar of the crowd. Two-

  feathers found himself straining to hear.

  "The Grand Nagus's second cousin, Goff, sent me

  to you. He thought you might have a line on Bajoran

  war surplus. And by the way, he says you still owe him

  fourteen strips of gold-pressed tatinum. Plus a ten

  percent commission for referring me to you."

  "That sounds like GotT, always kidding." Quark

  laughed, but Twofeathers saw the greed in his eyes.

  "How long will you be here?" the Ferengi asked.

  "As long as the peace negotiations take." Twofeath-

  ers leaned back. "I'm one of the Maquis ambassa-

  dors."

  Quark nodded subtly. "Here's your synthale," he

  said, putting a mug on the counter and filling it from a

  pitcher. "I'll be in touch."

  Twofeathers nodded, accepted his drink, and

  headed back for the dart game. Quark was hooked, he

  knew. Now it was all a matter of playing everything

  out to its all too inevitable conclusion... victory.

  He began to smile.

  Bashir aimed his last dart carefully, threw, and

  knew the second he released that it was another

  perfect shot. Sure eno ugh, it hit the target dead center.

  "Yes!" he cried. "Game, set, and match!"

  O'Brien groaned again. "That's quite a streak you

  have going," he complained as he went to retrieve the

  darts.

  Bashir smiled. "Your game's off tonight," he said.

  "Is something bothering you?"

  "I had a run-in with some Bajorans at the bar," he

  said, and then he quickly explained what had hap-

  pened. "They've been staring at me ever since."

  "Don't worry, Chief, it'll blow over."

  "I certainly hope so." He handed three darts to

  Bashir, then stepped up to the throwing line.

  "You," a low voice growled. "You, the human."

  Bashir glanced back and found a Caxtonian ap-

  proaching. It had a decidedly unfriendly look on its

  face, and he swallowed uneasily. He followed the

  alien's gaze... to Chief O'Brien. "Uh, Chief..." he said softly.

  "Not while I'm throwing, Julian," O'Brien said.

  "I really think--" he began.

  The Caxtonian knocked a chair out of the way and

  continued its inexorable advance. They weren't the

  brightest of beings, Bashir knew, but they made good

  pilots. They also never bathed, Bashir real
ized, as the

  smell of this one reached him a sour-sweet reek of

  animal musk and sweat and decades of grime.

  "--that you should look over here," he went on,

  still backing away. He tapped his badge. Better call for

  help now, he thought, before things got ugly. "Bashir

  to security," he said. "There's going to be a riot at

  Quark's. Hurry!"

  O'Brien threw his dart. It not only missed the bulls-

  eye, it nearly missed the dartboard altogether, hitting

  a 5 point area in the outer ring.

  "Look what you made me do!" O'Brien com-

  plained, turning. "So what is it, Julian, that's so damn

  important--"

  "Human!" The Caxtonian seized O'Brien's tunic,

  heaved, and in one motion sent him flying ten meters,

  across two tables, and into a knot of humans playing

  cards at a table. Poker chips flew in all directions.

  Players began to curse and pick themselves up.

  Bashir saw shock on O'Brien's face and winced a bit

  in sympathy. That had to hurt, he thought. Luckily

  O'Brien didn't seem to have any broken bones.

  "For my dead brothers!" the Caxtonian screamed.

  Then he headed for O'Brien again, shoving everyone

  and everything out of his way. Men and women began

  pushing and shoving one another in their haste to

  escape.

  "Revenge!" the Caxtonian roared. "I kill you!"

  Clearly, Bashir thought, he had believed Quark's wild

  rumor.

  Half a second later, the whole bar exploded with

  fists, flying chairs, and angry screams. Bashir saw

  O'Brien scrambling out of the Caxtonian's way, then

  a Bajoran leaped on the engineer's back. They van-

  ished beneath a heap of bodies.

  Bashir dove for cover. No sense getting hurt, he

  thought. He ducked as a half-empty bottle of

  Romutan ale came flying past and smashed to shards

  on the wall behind him. He had a feeling half the

  people here would need his medical services soon

  enough. How long till security arrived to break things

  up?

  CHAPTER

  11

  AN ALARM SOUNDED aboard the Progress, and Odo

  returned to full consciousness with a jolt. What had

  happened? Jem 'Hadar?

  He poured himself up from the pail in a golden

  stream and allowed himself to coalesce into his usual

  humanoid form.

  "What's wrong?" he demanded. He hurried for-

  ward to gaze out the front viewport. Stars blurred into

  lines around them from the distortion of their warp

  field. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but

  then he was a security officer, not a pilot.

  "We've got trouble," Kira called from the pilot's

  seat.

  "What sort of trouble?"

  "Three ships," Worf said from the seat next to

  Kira's. He looked up. "Jem'Hadar, from their warp

  signatures. We are already within their sensor range.

  They are altering course to intercept."

  "They're powering up their weapons systems!"

  Kira said. "Going to evasive maneuvers--"

  "No!" Odo said. "Leave the ship on autopilot. Get

  into the back and hide. Get ready to activate your

  personal cloakers in case they board and search for

  you. I'll start the automatic distress call. We can fool

  them into leaving us alone." Kira hesitated.

  "Do it!" he told her. They didn't have time to

  argue. Why didn't humanoids ever do things the first

  time he asked?

  Nodding, she ducked into the back section of the

  ship, and Worf followed. Chief O'Brien had done an

  excellent job of camouflaging the hidden compart-

  ments, and Odo felt certain they'd pass any

  Jem'Hadar inspection.

  He slid into the pilot's seat and activated a low-

  powered distress call. The Jem'Hadar would pick it

  up, he knew. He was counting on it.

  That only left himself. He flowed up onto one wall

  and changed into the shape of a support beam. It felt

  good to try a new form. He blended in so completely

  that not even the Jem'Hadar would be able to detect

  him.

  From that position, he watched and waited with

  growing impatience. The largest of the three

  Jem'Hadar ships appeared on one of the monitors,

  approaching quickly from behind. It looked like an

  odd accumulation of spikes and rounded cornpart-

  ments placed on a huge boxlike ship. It was a design

  he had never encountered before. For a second he

  wondered if it could be a different species than the

  Jem'Hadar, but then he shook his head. No, it had to

  be them. Who else would be policing this sector of

  space?

  Suddenly the Progress trembled all over--a tractor

  beam had locked onto them, he guessed. Their ship's

  engines automatically powered down to keep from

  burning out, and the sudden silence that filled the

  ship screamed more loudly than words. Suddenly

  they dropped out of warp, the stars in the front

  viewport changing from streaks of light to slowly

  moving dots. Then the Jem'Hadar ship began to pull

  them in toward a wide rectangular opening in its

  side... a landing bay of some kind, he guessed.

  They passed through a series of force fields which

  cast shimmering blue lights across the monitors, and

  then they were inside, slowly settled onto what looked

  like a broad expanse of durasteel deck. Extruding a

  tendril of himself to get a better look through the front

  viewport, he saw rows of shuttles and small fighter

  ships lined up. There had to be dozens of them in this

  one landing bay, he realized. They were aboard some

  kind of transport ship. But did that mean well or ill

  for their mission?

  Ten seconds after they touched down, he heard the

  airlock pop open. Quickly he withdrew his tendril

  from the front viewport, once again assuming the

  shape of a support beam.

  Below him, a dozen Jem'Hadar troops stormed

  aboard, their disruptors held ready. He watched with

  interest as they advanced quickly through the cabin,

  covering one another, looking for any signs of life.

  They didn't discover the hidden compartments, he

  saw with relief. O'Brien's shielding held up. As they

  milled about, one of them produced a small black box

  with readouts on the top... a scanner of some kind,

  Odo thought.

  A Jem'Hadar ofifcer boarded last. He looked at the

  pilot seats, grunted once, then circled the seats in the

  main part of the cabin and peered into the back area.

  He frowned in puzzlement.

  "Where are they?" he demanded of the Jem'Hadar

  with the scanner.

  "There are faint life signs," the Jem'Hadar with the

  scanner reported. Odo felt a flash of panic. The

  shielding wasn't completely hiding Worf and Kira, he

  realized.

  "Where?" the officer demanded.

  "I cannot get a lock on it, sir."

  The officer struck him backhanded across the face.

  "Fool. Give me y
our scanner."

  The warrior handed it to him silently.

  "They are hidden somewhere aboard," the officer

  announced. "Rip the ship apart. Find them."

  "Yes, sir." Two of the warriors sprinted through the

  hatch. Probably going for heavy equipment, Odo

  thought. He'd have to do something. Even with their

  personal cloakers, Kira and Worf wouldn't stand a

  chance against a high-powered laser cutting through

  the bulkheads in search of hiding places. They'd be

  sliced to pieces.

  "Is there anything else here?" the officer demanded.

  "Just these," another trooper said, bringing out the

  message cube Sisko had given Odo back on DS9. He

  set it on a chair next to Odo's pail.

  "Find out what it is," the officer ordered, handing

  the scanner back to the warrior he'd taken it from. "Is

  it a bomb?"

  "No..." the Jem'Hadar said. "It appears to be a

  recording device of some kind."

  Odo mentally nodded. Come on, he thought, acti-

  vate it--this might be the distraction Kira and Worf

  need to get out.

  The officer stepped forward and looked the box

  over suspiciously. Then he touched the button on the

  top. Instantly a holographic projection of Captain

  Sisko in full dress uniform appeared. He was bigger

  than life, towering a full half meter over the

  Jem'Hadar.

  "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko, a Starfleet officer,"

  Sisko's recording said in a booming voice. "This

  message is for the leaders of the Dominion. On behalf

  of the United Federation of Planets, I wish to invite

  the Founders to join us in a peace conference. This

  message box contains full instructions for getting a

  reply safely back to us, as well as all necessary

  diplomatic protocols this conference will require. We

  hope to meet with you soon."

  The hologram disappeared as quickly as it ap-

  peared. It had been short and to the point, Odo

  thought. Hopefully it would be enough to fool the

  Jem'Hadar.

  "A Federation trick," the officer sneered. The two

  Jem'Hadar who'd left reappeared, lugging what

  looked like a heavy-duty welding laser between them.

  "Tear the ship apart," the officer said. "Kill anything

  that moves. Find the source of those life readings."

  "What about the box?" the Jem'Hadar with the

  scanner said.

  "I'll take care of it." Drawing his di sruptor, the

  officer took careful aim.

  Odo knew this was the time to act. He couldn't let

 

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