Bashir’s smile faded, and he looked at Odo guiltily. “Oh…I’m sorry, Odo, I didn’t really get a chance last night. I was pretty tired—I just went straight off to bed.”
Odo nodded, surprised to discover that he felt a little disappointed. It seemed he had been starting to enjoy his new appointment as provider of distractions for Bashir. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, more carelessly than he felt, “I’m sure you’ll take the trouble as soon as you have the time.”
“Um, later on, I hope…” Bashir said.
“Julian—look over there,” Dax said with sudden excitement, grabbing the doctor’s arm, “could that be Brixhta, by any chance?”
Odo looked out across the bar. “Oh yes,” he said, with a sigh, “that’s Brixhta.”
“Is he everything you were expecting, Jadzia?” Bashir said.
“Quite a bit more. Quite a lot more, actually. How does he hold himself up?” Dax said.
“He really is something else, isn’t he? The surface tension alone must be remarkable,” said Bashir. Both of them stood and stared at the Hamexi for a little while, and then Bashir shook himself from his reverie. “So—have you decided what you’re going to do about him?”
Odo made a noncommittal sound.
“That’s still proving a tricky one, is it?” Bashir grinned again. “Well, I can’t stay here and gawp around the bar all morning,” he said. “I should be in the infirmary. I really will try and take a look at that padd, Odo. Drop by the infirmary later on—it’s not exactly frantic there today.”
“That hardly seems like something to complain about, Doctor.”
“No…but I’ve got out of the habit of being quiet,” he said. “Never mind, I’ve got plenty of reading to catch up on.”
“Read the padd,” Odo said pointedly. “That will keep you busy.”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” Bashir laughed. “I’ll do my best. See you both later!”
Odo nodded a goodbye, and he and Dax watched as Bashir made his way out onto the Promenade. Then Dax turned to him.
“Well?” she prompted.
“Yes?” he replied.
“He was in a much better mood this morning,” Dax said. “Have you been working on him? Did you think of a case for him?”
Odo folded his arms. “That, Commander,” he said loftily, “is a matter of station security.” Dax gave him a good-humored scowl. Odo turned his attention back to the proceedings unfolding in front of them. All the seats were full now, and Brixhta was making his way around his potential customers. He seemed to be giving something to people as he went past. Eventually, he reached Odo.
“Constable Odo,” he said, “what a delight to see you here. May I offer you this?” A padd was held out. “You may find it of interest.”
Odo did not unfold his arms. “No, thank you.”
Brixhta waved it to and fro, just a little. “Are you sure? It might come in useful at a later date.”
Odo reached out and took the padd, quite abruptly. “What is it?” he snapped.
“It is the catalogue for the sale, Odo,” Brixhta said, his voice filled with a patient pity. “Press that button there—”
Odo did as he was told, with marked reluctance. The padd sprang into life, and a little animation began to play, with a tinny, mechanical tune, resolving into the legend: Q & B Enterprises. It filled Odo with a sense of foreboding. Beside him, Dax appeared to be stifling a cough.
“And then that one there—”
To Odo’s everlasting gratitude, the music stopped and the logo disappeared.
“And you will see all the lots for today’s sale.”
As Brixhta had promised, the screen on the padd was now showing a list of merchandise, with a brief description, details of reserve prices, and a summary of provenance. It all looked quite in order—which only served to increase Odo’s suspicions further.
“I’m beginning to think, Brixhta,” he said, ruminatively, “that I should probably just arrest you now.”
A slight wheezing sound came out from beneath the hat. Brixhta, Odo realized, was chuckling. “I suppose you could,” Brixhta replied, “but think how terribly disappointed all these poor people would be.”
Odo looked out across the bar. At the far end, Quark had appeared, and he was taking up his place, behind the podium. He seemed, to Odo’s eye, to be even more gaudily dressed than usual, if that was possible; his jacket was an explosion of bright green and gold. He was extremely pleased with himself. He looked around until he saw Brixhta, and gave him a quick nod.
“That will be my summons, Constable. Which means that you must excuse me—unless you really do intend to apprehend me before the sale begins?”
“Get up there,” Odo growled. “I can wait a little bit longer.”
By the time the door chimed, Garak had once again been reduced to Shakespeare. He put down the padd and frowned, at a loss to think who it could be. Sisko had not been gone very long, and Garak doubted, somehow, that it was Rhemet, coming to reminisce about the people and places they had once both known.
“Computer,” he said, rising from his chair, “open the door.”
It slid open, and two men entered, both wearing Starfleet uniforms. Red-trimmed. Garak checked the rank pips of each. Commanders. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as they came further into the room.
One of the men was thickset, carrying a little too much weight, but he moved across the room toward Garak with a heavy grace. The other man, a shade taller, was younger, and lean, and lugubrious. He was carrying a couple of padds, and was looking at Garak through bored eyes. He spoke first.
“Mister Garak,” he said, giving him a brief nod. His voice was flat and soft and too precise; Garak was reminded of Bashir. “My name is Enderby. Starfleet Intelligence. And this,” he nodded to his colleague, “is Jedburgh. Also of Starfleet Intelligence.”
The big man smiled at Garak, leisurely, and genially. “Ten years we’ve worked together,” he said lazily, favoring Enderby with a look that almost achieved exasperation. “And he’s never once managed to get my name right.” He stuck out a large hand. “Jedburgh.” He pronounced the g.
Garak took the proffered hand. Jedburgh clamped hard, shook vigorously, and then dropped it abruptly. Again, he gave the languid smile. “Welcome to Earth. Your first visit here, yeah?”
“That’s correct.” Garak folded his arms in front of him, and began smoothing at his sleeve with the edge of his thumb.
Jedburgh broadened his smile, generously. “Well, you be sure you see some of this beautiful city,” he drawled. “After we’re through.”
All of a sudden, Garak felt himself relax. He allowed a slight smile to play across his mouth. Chaplin and Marlow really had been too good to be true. Their discussions had been almost pedestrian, by-the-book. Low-level. This was the contact he had been waiting for. These were the kind of people he had dealt with before. These were the kind of people he understood best. He knew exactly how they worked.
“Rest assured,” he said back to Jedburgh, “that I am very anxious for the opportunity to arise. Unfortunately…” He gave a meaningful look around the confines of his quarters. “…at the present moment, I am unable to go any further than this room.”
“Well,” Jedburgh said, shaking his head, “I think that’s a damn shame. A damn shame. But, you know, I think maybe Enderby and I can do something about that. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure of it. What do you say, Enderby?”
Throughout this exchange, Enderby’s lips had been thinning even further, and he had begun to tap the padds he was carrying against his palm. “If you are sure you have quite finished, Jedburgh…?” he murmured. He had not, Garak noted, corrected his pronunciation.
Jedburgh grinned back at him, ear to ear. “Oh, I’d say so, Enderby. Why don’t you just go right on ahead?”
Enderby gave something of a weary sigh and addressed Garak directly. “We’re aware of the incident yesterday and the subsequent restrictions that have been placed upon
your movements. Nevertheless, we have a sufficiently high security rating to accompany you outside…” He paused, and ran the corner of one of the padds against his cheek. It left a mark against his pale skin. “And we’d prefer to hold this conversation outside.”
Garak shrugged. “If that’s what would make you happy,” he said.
For a brief moment, Enderby looked puzzled, as if he had not considered the matter in terms of his own contentment. Then he collected himself, and gestured toward the door. “Follow me, please,” he said. Garak fell in just behind him. Jedburgh ambled along at the rear. They went out into an empty corridor. Marlow was nowhere to be seen. They walked on toward the turbolift. Garak looked around.
“Now, I do find myself wondering,” he murmured, “where the admirable young lieutenant who has been stationed here has gone? He didn’t exactly look the type to just wander off.”
“He needed a break,” Jedburgh said simply, in a manner that suggested he would not be elaborating.
The auction was well under way, and the bar was full, of customers and expectation. The bidding had just closed on the Ferengi automata; two collectors, coaxed on by Quark, had driven the price high. Odo watched the proceedings in wonder, shaking his head. Why anyone would buy any of this rubbish was beyond him. He watched as Quark took from Brixhta a little parcel.
“Well,” said Dax, from beside him, “what about this next one?”
“Commander,” Odo said firmly, “I am not buying anything. Perhaps you might consider refraining from asking me whether I will for every single lot?”
Dax was not listening; she was peering over the crowd toward the podium, trying to see what Brixhta had just handed Quark. “I wonder what that is?” she muttered.
“Now,” Quark said, “we come to something small, but very special. If you take a look in your catalogues, ladies and gentlemen, this is lot number twenty-eight.”
Dutifully, Odo thumbed at the padd, keying in twenty-eight. Dax leaned over his shoulder to look. A picture popped up; Odo saw that it was the little set of figures that he had noticed when conducting his search of Brixhta’s crates. There was an animation onscreen, demonstrating how the dolls unfolded and then were tucked back one inside another. Odo admired it once again; the colors, the symbols, the design, the way that it all interlocked so tidily.
“It really is such a pretty thing,” Dax murmured. “You know, I’m sure that Nerys would love it.”
Odo ignored her, and began instead to listen to the bidding. It was slow at first—or so Quark seemed to think, as he cajoled and wheedled the crowd, trying to tempt them little by little to go higher. But there were only two bidders, and one of those dropped out, shaking his head, after only a few calls. Then, just as Quark was about to close the sale, Odo slowly raised his hand.
If it was something of a surprise to Odo himself, Quark was staring over at him in amazement. Odo enjoyed that for a moment—chances to wrong-foot Quark so thoroughly didn’t present themselves every day—and then he saw Quark’s voracious smile. Odo scowled back at him, across the backs of the assembled company.
“Well, what do we have here?” Quark said gleefully, curling his lip in delight. “A new bidder—and, I have to say, a most unexpected one. Well, Constable, the bidding is with you—at four slips of latinum.”
The other bidder, an elderly vedek, responded but, with Dax urging him on, Odo came back, almost fiercely. His rival tugged at her earring and pulled a face. She had, according to Odo’s careful monitoring of events, already picked up a number of small religious artifacts—a series of icons of the Presati pantheon, some Lissepian prayer beads. It seemed, from the way that she was shaking her head, that this was one item too many. Quark offered the bidding one more time, there were no responses, and so he raised his little hammer and then—bang. The figures were Odo’s. Six slips of latinum. Odo felt a momentary thrill, and then his spirits sank at the enormity of what he had just done. He thought of trying to present these toys to Nerys; of how he would go about explaining to her this unusually impulsive piece of behavior….
“Well done, Odo!” Dax was almost in raptures beside him. She patted his arm in delight. Odo grunted. He put aside his growing sense of regret at the purchase, and tried to bring his attention back to the real business of the day. Brixhta.
There was only one lot left now, the old food machine. Brixhta wheeled it out on a trolley, to widespread and appreciative murmuring from its potential owners. Odo began to shift toward the front, only half-listening to the bidding, which seemed to be going very high. It was of no particular interest to him; he just wanted to be in place, ready and waiting, close to Brixhta when finally the sale came to a close.
Quark hit the hammer down one last time. The antiquated food machine had been sold for what Odo thought was an extortionate two bars of latinum. To Kaga, of all people…Odo blinked. Now that he thought about it, he supposed it did make some kind of sense….
“Ladies, gentlemen, buyers all,” Quark said, “if you could make your way to the front, you can collect your purchases.”
A queue hastily formed in front of Quark. Odo joined it, with Dax close behind. When they finally got to the front, Quark gave him one of his toothier smiles and held out a padd. Odo thumbed at it to pay. “A pleasure doing business with you, Odo,” Quark said, handing over the box of dolls. He turned to Dax. “I suppose it’s you I should be thanking?”
Dax shook her head. “Much as I’d love to have done you a favor, Quark, I can’t take any credit for this,” she replied. “Odo acted entirely on his own initiative.”
“No.” Quark stared back at Odo. “You know, for some reason,” he said to Dax, “that makes me feel even better.” He looked at Odo once again, shook his head, laughed, and turned to his next customer.
Odo set his sights firmly on Brixhta. He offered the box to Dax. “Would you make sure this gets to my office, please, Commander?” he said. “I still have some business to attend to here.”
“Odo,” Dax said, taking the box, her voice more serious, “are you really going to arrest him?”
So Bashir had mentioned that to her too? Information, Odo thought, did pass around the station at a quite alarming rate. “Watch,” he replied bluntly.
The Talavian in front wanted to pay in her own currency, and it was a laborious process complicated by her haggling over the exchange rate with Brixhta. Odo folded his arms and waited patiently. Eventually, they came to an agreement. Quark, with a sly wink at Brixhta, took the chance at this point to step in and offer the woman his services to help her exchange her currency—but whatever arrangement Quark and Brixhta had come up with between them for that was not Odo’s concern…for the moment, anyway. Odo moved politely aside to let the woman past, and then he stepped forward and put his hand on Brixhta.
“I wonder,” Odo said, “if you would mind coming along with me?”
Brixhta seemed not in the least put out. If anything, he was almost preening. “Odo,” he said, “with you—anywhere.”
Sisko was escorted into a small room; it was very bare, and very functional. There was a table, a couple of chairs, and a single window. A flat lamp encased in the ceiling shed a grayish light that was successfully enfeebling the daylight. Sisko looked around with neither much hope nor eventual success for a way to turn it off. He took the seat facing the door, and waited.
A few minutes passed, and then the door slid open with quiet efficiency. Sisko stood up, but kept his finger-tips in contact with the table in front of him, as if to anchor himself. A man walked in, and a security officer followed right behind him, taking up his position inside the room and near the door.
“It’s all right,” Sisko told him. “You can leave us alone.”
The security officer nodded. “Will an hour be enough, sir?”
“I think so.”
The officer left them alone. The other man sat down slowly across the table, keeping his eyes on Sisko as he took his seat. Seeing him again, Sisko realized he had expect
ed to see something different about him. But the man opposite had not changed. Close-cropped hair; beard with white in it, still kept short and trim. No, he had not changed at all.
Sisko took his seat again, and each man warily appraised the other.
“Hello, Ben,” Leyton said finally, breaking the silence. “You look older.”
5
GARAK WATCHED with wry amusement as his companions took up their places. He let them escort him in this fashion out of the building. They passed through the security checks on the doors without any delay. Then they cut across the plaza and into the park, taking a direct route that avoided the pathways. The area was not busy, but there were some people moving around on business. Jedburgh, now leading the way, steered his party clear of them. Garak looked up appreciatively at the pale blue sky printed with white clouds. There was a taste of water in the air. It really was another beautiful day. Heavenly.
Down toward the bay it was even quieter. They hit a path that curved with the water, and began to walk along it. Garak saw no reason not to let the other two men continue flanking him. For the moment, he was content enough simply to enjoy the sight of the sky, and the feel of the air against his face. He was outdoors too rarely these days.
After they had been walking for a few minutes, the pathway became shady; a long line of trees had been set there, and had grown enough so that their uppermost branches overhung the path. There was a little breeze, and the leaves were idly jostling one another. It all felt very fresh and clean, and the trees gave a comforting impression of privacy.
They came to a pleasant spot where a bench had been set beneath one of the trees, apparently for the benefit of anyone who wished to sit and look out across the water. As they approached, Jedburgh slowed down, and finally he came to a halt, standing and staring out across the lake. Garak came to stand beside him, resting his hands on the railings in front of them. The sunlight shifted through the branches of the trees overhead, dappling the water with light and shadow. The sea stretched out before them, rippling in the slight wind. Garak found himself marveling once again at the profligacy of the water.
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