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

by John Gregory Betancourt

  in the galaxy?"

  Auron laughed. "That's what we've done. All

  changelings live in peace. No changeling but you has

  ever harmed another. It's only the solids who are a

  threat and must be restrained."

  Odo sighed and shook his head. His people didn't

  want to understand, he realized. Perhaps they had

  grown too comfortable with their power, or too

  drunk on their success. He had to escape. He had to

  find some way to return and help Worf and Kira if he

  could. But how?

  "Perhaps," he said hesitantly, "if you could show

  me more of what you've done here, in the Gamma

  Quadrant...?" Maybe he could persuade Auron to

  take him to Daborat V, he thought.

  "Of course," he said. "We will take you on a tour

  of the nearby worlds so you can see how well every-

  thing is run. Perhaps then you will come to under-

  stand the magnitude of what we have accomplished

  here, and what we will accomplish in the future,

  when you rejoin us. The Alpha Quadrant is ripe with

  possibilities, Odo, and with your knowledge and

  secure position within DS9, you can be of invaluable

  aid."

  "Perhaps," Odo said, but he swore to himself that

  he would never let that happen.

  "This way," Auron said, heading back toward the

  domes. "We will leave at once."

  CHAPTER

  16

  THE CONFERENCE HAD been scheduled to start

  promptly at 0900 hours. Sisko arrived at the proper

  section of the habitat ring fifteen minutes early,

  determined to get everything off on the right foot.

  His run-in with Vedek Werron had soured his mood,

  but whatever coddling the ambassadors needed to

  get things rolling, he would provide it. Admiral

  Dulev had been more than clear on that subject, and

  he planned on taking no chances with these negotia-

  tions.

  The four security guards posted in the corridor

  outside the conference room snapped to attention the

  second they saw him.

  "Status report, Ensign?" he asked the closest, a tall,

  fair-haired man whose name he recalled was Dan

  Cziraky.

  "None of the ambassadors has arrived yet,"

  Cziraky said. "Security measures are all in place. The

  room hasn't been left unguarded for a second, sir.

  Only Quark has been inside, and I accompanied

  him."

  Sisko frowned. "Quark?" he asked. Now, what

  would the Ferengi want in the negotiation room?

  "He dropped off the refreshments, sir," Cziraky

  said. Sisko nodded. He vaguely remembered signing

  off on the requisition. "I accompanied him the whole

  time. And I screened everything he brought in with a

  tricorder. There were no poisons or listening devices,

  sir."

  "Very well," he said. "Keep up the good work."

  Punching his access code into the hand pad, he

  surveyed the room when the doors slide open. A

  square table three meters across had been set up in the

  exact center, with place cards indicating assigned

  seats. The Federation negotiating team would have

  their backs to the door, facing the Maquis members;

  to the left would be the Valtusians and to the right the

  Cardassians. Sisko would sit in as an observer on the

  Federation side of the table whenever he joined them.

  Four extra chairs sat agains t each of the side walls.

  He circled the table, looking everything over one

  last time. A small table at the back of the room held

  various pitchers of drinks--water, fruit nectars,

  juices--and a selection of small pastries, thanks

  to Quark. There were plenty of padds for note tak-

  ing... in short, everything the ambassadors could

  possibly want. He nodded to himself. Everything

  seemed perfect. Now, if everyone would only agree on

  peace ....

  The doors opened suddenly, and he turned to find

  the Cardassian negotiators filing into the room, led by

  Gul Mekkar. Mekkar dressed in a slate gray shirt and

  pants, with a silver belt and more silver trim on his

  sleeves and shoulders. The other two Cardassian

  ambassadors--both women--dressed much the

  same way.

  Mekkar took one look at the table and sneered,

  "This is totally unacceptable."

  Sisko sighed inwardly. "What's wrong?" he asked

  in a deliberately even tone. Mekkar's reaction did not

  bode well for a timely start to the negotiations, he

  thought. "If any changes are needed, of course we will

  be happy to comply."

  "We must be seated facing the door, at the head of

  the table," Mekkar demanded. "And furthermore--"

  No, Sisko thought, as his head began to throb, it

  looked like it was going to be a long opening session.

  Jadzia Dax had always had an affinity for research

  work. Perhaps it stemmed from Jadzia's days as a

  novice, before she got her symbiont. In her youth, she

  had spent most of her studies on computers, locked

  away from people, reading and researching. Now that

  she had been joined with her symbiont, the part of her

  that had been Curzon Dax--adventurer, explorer, and

  rogue--she realized how foolish that choice had been.

  You had to embrace the wonders of the universe, get

  out of your house and off your planet, explore the

  galaxy and experience new things. The joining of

  Jadzia and the Dax symbiont had produced little in

  the way of new research, but she still had her old

  skills, and now it was time to put them to good use.

  Accessing Bajor's computer systems, she began a

  global search for anything to do with Vedek Werron's

  career. Almost at once a stream of articles began to fill

  the computer's memory buffer. She punched up the

  most recent and skimmed it quickly. It told of his trip

  to DS9 to protest Gul Mekkar's presence. In fact, she

  discovered as she read one article after another, all of

  the recent stories seemed political in nature--the

  Vedek's somewhat controversial interpretations of

  prophecies, the protest marches he led in the capital,

  that sort of thing. The Prophets could be interpreted

  quite a few different ways, she knew, but the Vedek's

  take on them seemed rather... militant might be a

  good word, she finally decided. It seemed he'd taken a

  personal interest in bringing Cardassian war crimi-

  nals like Gul Mekkar to justice, and he used the

  ancient Bajoran prophecies to justify the often ex-

  treme nature of his actions.

  As she continued to work her way back through the

  news stories, she found the articles suddenly stopped

  about a year previously. It seemed almost as if Mek-

  kar had appeared out of nowhere. That threw up

  warning flags, so she jumped back to the earliest

  article in the buffer and read more deeply into the

  story.

  It told how Vedek Werron had emerged from an

  extended period of meditation. He claimed to have

  had a new
series of visions from the Prophets after

  spending nearly twenty years--most of his adult

  life--in secluded meditations in the Retollan Monas-

  tery on Bajor. His sudden emergence and very public

  life had caused something of a stir in Bajoran reli-

  gious circles. Kai Winn had been particularly critical

  of Werron and his visions, but then, Dax reflected,

  Winn was critical of anyone whose views didn't

  match her own. For all Dax knew, Kira would have

  put that down as a mark in Werron's favor.

  Vedek Werron appeared completely on the level

  as far as his presence on DS9 was concerned. Dax

  rose, crossed to a replicator, and got a glass of prune

  juice. She sipped as she sat back down, then grimaced

  a bit. Not her favorite among the human fruit juices

  by any means, she decided. Still, she'd overheard

  Worf claiming it was a drink fit for a warrior, and

  she'd always had an interest in the Klingon way of

  doing things. She sipped again, a little more deeply,

  and this time the flavor didn't seem so bad. In fact,

  she thought, it just might begin to grow on her, in

  time ....

  She returned to her reading. Now, who exactly was

  this "Butcher of Belmast" he claimed to be stalking?

  The negotiating session was not going well.

  Sisko, sitting next to Ambassador T'Pao on the

  Federation side of the table, had developed a splitting

  headache. If he heard Mekkar whine one more time

  about protocols, he thought he'd scream. And the

  same went for the Federation ambassador, Harold

  DuQuesne. The Maquis and the Valtusian ambassa-

  dors sat in near silence, watching with what Sisko

  could only assume was amazed shock as questions of

  who sat where, who spoke first, and whether the table

  was really big enough or the right shape or the right

  height were argued back and forth in mind-numbing

  detail and at sometimes deafening volumes.

  It was amazing, Sisko thought, that peace had ever

  been declared between Cardassia and the Federation.

  Heaven save us from diplomats, as his father might

  have put it.

  "These matters are irrelevant," one of the Valtu-

  sians finally announced, and the three ambassadors

  rose as one. "Summon us when you are ready to talk."

  Sisko stood, too. "Ambassador," he began. Zhosh

  regarded him with an unblinking green eye. "I will

  call you as soon as possible," Sisko said.

  The Maquis ambassadors followed the Valtusians

  out. Twofeathers had been shaking his head in dis-

  gust. "Fools," Sisko overheard him murmuring to

  Ambassador Kravitz, "I told you this would be a

  waste of time--" Then the doors closed, leaving the

  Federation and the Cardassian ambassadors alone.

  "Can't we wrap this up?" Sisko demanded.

  T'Pao leaned over and whispered in his ear, "The

  first side to surrender on a point of protocol loses a

  vital edge in negotiations, Captain. Have patience.

  We know what we are doing."

  Still the debate raged back and forth. Finally Sisko

  recessed for lunch, and when they reconvened an

  hour later, nothing had changed.

  At last the Cardassians gave in on the table The

  present height and dimensions would be acceptable.

  The Federation gave in on the seating order, and

  everyone exchanged places, with the Cardassians now

  sitting at what they considered the head of the table,

  with the Federation to their left, the Valtusians to the

  right, and the Maquis facing them.

  Mekkar seemed to be gloating inwardly about this

  supposed victory, Sisko thought. It made him bristle,

  and when he glanced at T'Pao, DuQuesne, and

  Strockman, none of them seemed entirely comfort-

  able... though it was hard to tell with a Vulcan.

  "Agenda next," the Valtusian ambassador said.

  "That's another problem," Mekkar began.

  Sisko sighed again. They really didn't need him for

  this, he thought. It was almost time for the session to

  end for the day, and he had important duties to attend

  to.

  He leaned over to T'Pao and said softly, "Nothing

  is going to be accomplished today. Please call me if

  you need me."

  "Affirmative, Captain," she said, equally softly.

  "However, you are mistaken. In the initial jockeying

  for position, we have achieved a minor victory."

  "I'11 take your word for that." Sisko rose. "Good

  day," he said, nodding to everyone else in the room.

  "Station duties call, but I trust I will hear from you if

  you have any comments or suggestions."

  "You can count on that," Mekkar said.

  I'm sure I can, Sisko thought.

  He strode from the room, and the moment the door

  closed behind him, he let out a deep sigh and rubbed

  his temples. How could T'Pao possibly think they had

  accomplished anything? He crossed to the turbolift

  and a second later one came.

  "Ops," he said to the computer.

  It whisked him to his destination, and ten seconds

  later he stepped out into the familiar bustle of the

  nerve-center of Deep Space Nine. He surveyed the

  men and women moving about their tasks, monitor-

  ing their stations, and generally keeping the business

  end of the space station going. There were no argu-

  ments or egos at play here; it felt good to be back.

  "Benjamin," Dax called, "I have that information

  you wanted."

  "In my office," he said, and he led the way.

  As he settled into his chair, he realized his headache

  had vanished. Five minutes away from Gul Mekkar

  was all it had taken. If only Bashir could bottle that,

  he thought a bit wryly.

  "What have you got for me?" he asked.

  She held up a datachip. "Every news report from

  Bajor that mentions edek Werron."

  "Give me the short version." He leaned forward,

  interested.

  "He is apparently something of a militant outsider

  in Bajoran political and religious circles--if there's a

  difference these days--due to a series of rather ex-

  traordinary visions he claims to have experienced

  during a twenty-year seclusion in a Bajoran monas-

  tery."

  "A twenty-year seclusion? That sounds a little

  odd," he said.

  "It gets better," she said. "He suddenly emerged

  from that seclusion one year ago, when he began a

  crusade to capture and punish all Cardassian war

  criminals. He has surrounded himself with a band of

  militant radicals, and several times Kai Winn has had

  to publicly chastise him for his zeal."

  Sisko frowned, considering the facts. Changelings

  could disguise themselves as anyone, he knew, and

  the Bajorans weren't equipped--mentally or

  technologically--to defend themselves against that

  possibility. If a changeling wanted to infiltrate DS 9,

  what better way than through a Bajoran religious

  figure? How hard would it be to replace a Vedek who

 
; hadn't been seen in public in twenty years?

  If they had Vedek Werron set up as a "sleeper" of

  some kind, what better time to use him than now? If

  they could disrupt the peace talks, it might well

  prolong the Maquis conflict and keep the Alpha

  Quadrant divided and weak and therefore ripe for

  attempted invasion and takeover.

  "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked.

  "That he could be a changeling? The possibility did

  occur to me."

  "Good, then I'm not paranoid." He tapped his

  badge. "Sisko to Bashir, please report to Ops." Sud-

  denly he wanted a DNA scan run on Vedek Werron.

  "Right away," came the doctor's response.

  "You know how touchy the Bajorans are about their

  religious figures," Dax said.

  Sisko nodded. Bashir couldn't just walk up to one

  and demand a cell sample. That would be a good way

  to start a riot.

  'Tll just have to rely on the good doctor's wits and

  subtlety," he said. He knew Bashir liked to play spy in

  Quark's holosuites. He'd heard quite a tale of it from

  Garak while the Cardassian tailor was letting out his

  uniform a bit the other week. Now was the time for

  Bashir to use those finely honed skills in real life.

  CHAPTER

  17

  "QUIET!" WORF HELD up one hand, straining to hear.

  A Klingon's senses were more acute than a human's,

  he knew, so he stood a better chance of detecting any

  dangers that might lie ahead of them.

  The weird cry came again, echoing through the

  corridor like a brush-devil's hunting scream. It sent

  shivers of anticipation down Worf's back. He had

  only hunted brush-devils once, on the Homeworld

  with his brother Kurn, but it had been one of the most

  satisfying experiences of his life.

  He glanced back. Kira and Snoct had paused,

  hardly moving, hardly breathing. Snoct looked fright-

  ened nearly out of his wits. They would have to get to

  safety soon, he thought. The corridors seemed to be

  rapidly filling up with Jem'Hadar warriors, all giving

  hunting cries.

  Worf slowly leaned forward, turning his head ever

  so slightly. As he'd thought, below the loud cry he

  heard the mutter of voices from just ahead, along with

  an odd whisking sound that he couldn't identify.

  He felt Kira tap his arm and, frowning, he glanced

  back at her. She pantomimed a broad shrug. Of

  course, he thought, with her poor hearing, she wanted