HollowMen

by Una McCormack

  “I have very precise information on his whereabouts for the duration of the lockdown,” Odo replied. “Unfortunately, that is in the holding cell in which I myself had placed him the previous day.”

  “And you’re absolutely sure of that?” Kira said. “That he didn’t get out.”

  “I have the evidence of the two security guards who were on duty at the time, and who passed the hours mostly in conversation with him,” Odo said. “Any proof that Brixhta was involved in the robbery will have to come,” he nodded toward Dax and O’Brien, “from what we can determine of the whereabouts of the missing runabout, or from investigations of the programs that were used to seize control of the station.”

  Dax shook her head. “Nothing on the runabout. It’s gone.”

  “And I’ve not got much in the way of good news either,” O’Brien said. “It’s proving impossible to trace how the programs penetrated our systems. It’s like they burst their way through our systems, and then burnt themselves out. But it’s not how it was done that worries me so much as how well it was done. Somebody knew an awful lot about the procedures we would try to get past their blocks.”

  “I thought that at the time too,” Dax agreed. “As if the program was anticipating everything I tried, or everything the chief suggested.”

  “It is imperative,” Worf said, “that we set up new protocols immediately.”

  “Getting on top of that now,” O’Brien said. “It’ll set back repairs on the Ariadne for a bit though—”

  “Which is no longer as urgent,” Worf pointed out.

  “True enough.” O’Brien nodded. “I’ll keep a decent-sized team on there; better to get them off as soon as we can. Unless you need to keep the crew here for your investigation, Odo?”

  “No need,” Odo replied. “Captain Steyn and her crewman Auger were in Quark’s almost from when they arrived on the station, and certainly for the duration of the lockdown.” He nodded at O’Brien. “And her engineer was with you on the Ariadne throughout.”

  “Never left me for a moment. And obviously knew nothing about the sabotage. He was quite upset about his engines. Retuned them himself—not a bad job. We’ll get them fixed and away as soon as we can then.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” Kira said. “Anything else?”

  “There is one strange thing,” O’Brien said slowly. “Did anyone else notice that Quark’s is the only place on the Promenade where you can get something to eat at the moment? The replicators are jammed everywhere else. Have been since the lockdown. I thought you might find that interesting, Constable,” O’Brien said. “Given how friendly your prime suspect and Quark have been.”

  “And yet—much as I would welcome the opportunity to be able to say otherwise—Quark was sealed away just as we all were,” Odo pointed out. “As far as I have been able to determine, the business arrangement between Quark and Brixhta is entirely legitimate, and entirely connected with the buying and selling of antiques.”

  “So,” Kira said. “The theft. Where are we with that? Could it really be the case that somehow another Hamexi was on this station and none of us even knew about it? I mean, just how difficult are they to spot—?”

  Odo and Bashir exchanged a glance.

  “What is it?” Kira said. “Constable? Doctor?”

  “Has the doctor not yet mentioned his theory?” Odo said.

  Bashir frowned back at him. “I thought it was our theory now?”

  “Which is?” Kira prompted.

  “Well,” Bashir replied, “that it was an android.”

  “The doctor,” Odo put in, “has demonstrated, to my satisfaction at least, that there could not have been another Hamexi on board the station.”

  Kira had not yet caught up that far. “An android?” she said, looking between the doctor and the constable.

  “Yes, Major,” Odo replied.

  “An Hamexi android?”

  Odo and Bashir both nodded.

  Kira stared at them both for a moment and then raised her hands in defeat. “After my day,” she said, “I’m ready to believe anything.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. This is not a matter for humor,” Worf said, impatiently. “At the end of a day’s investigations, all we in fact know is that some latinum has been stolen—”

  “A great deal of latinum has been stolen,” Odo corrected.

  Worf gave him a curt nod, acknowledging the correction. “That a runabout has also been taken,” he continued, “and that we have a prime suspect who cannot be guilty.”

  Kira pressed her fingers against her temples. “I really am not looking forward to explaining all of this to the captain.”

  “Could be worse,” O’Brien said.

  “Could it?” Kira said.

  O’Brien nodded. “We could have lost the station while we were at it.”

  Steyn and Quark were splitting their winnings. Auger was perched on a seat nearby, still, Quark noticed, gazing in wonder around the bar. He appeared to have no interest in the transaction taking place just beside him. Quark watched the slips of latinum pile up on his side of the bar. Profit from loss. He supposed it had a certain charm, but it wasn’t something he’d want to try too often. Still, he thought, listening to the commotion out on the Promenade, he was having a lot more success today than Odo.

  Just as Quark had finished doling out the final few slips, a hand slammed itself down upon Steyn’s cut. Nice cuffs, Quark thought, reaching out to stop Auger’s glass before it flew off the bar.

  “Hello, Mister Mechter,” Steyn said. A note of resignation had crept into her voice.

  “Foolproof, Steyn?” Mechter said.

  Steyn looked down sorrowfully at her share of the latinum. She reached out and touched it with a sole fingertip, as if to say hello and then goodbye. “Go on then,” she said. “Take it. But that’s quits.”

  Mechter claimed his payoff, and was out of the bar before anyone unwise had a chance to ask him whether his employers were likely to see any of this compensation. Quark settled his hand protectively upon his own pile of latinum, and turned to Steyn, leaning glumly on the bar. Profit to loss in less than a minute. The Great River had some truly treacherous turns.

  “You have got to be,” Quark said, “one of the unluckiest people I have ever met.”

  Steyn looked up at him and shrugged. “Made it through another day,” she said. “More than I expected.”

  Odo had been putting Bashir off all day, but after the meeting in the ward room, Bashir came with him back to his office and insisted on another checkup.

  “I wanted to thank you, Doctor,” Odo said, as Bashir worked, “for keeping…my situation yesterday to yourself.”

  “Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Bashir murmured, concentrating on the tricorder’s display. “Nobody’s business, unless you think there’s a security risk….” He looked up quickly. “And I suppose that’s your business too.” He snapped the tricorder shut. “You’re fine,” he said. “No ill effects that I can see.”

  Odo nodded slowly.

  “What are you going to do about Brixhta?” Bashir said.

  “I’m going to the holding cells now,” Odo said.

  “To question him some more?”

  “To release him,” Odo said. “Of course.”

  Bashir looked back him in amazement. “You can’t be giving up on the investigation?”

  “And what evidence do I have, Doctor?”

  “We all saw the figure that went round the station. It was Hamexi—isn’t that evidence enough?”

  “Is it? Of what?”

  “That Brixhta allowed himself to be locked up,” Bashir replied. “So that he couldn’t be held responsible for the crime, of course—”

  “Did he?” Odo allowed himself a small smile. “Perhaps somebody used an Hamexi figure in order to point the blame at Brixhta. A most distinctive figure; and someone whom I was likely to suspect from the outset. Did anyone actually see the Hamexi in person? All I saw—and all I know that you saw, Doctor
—were images on a viewscreen. And we were meant to see those images—again, was that because somebody wanted to put the blame on Brixhta?”

  “Oh, come off it, Odo!” Bashir said in disbelief. “You don’t believe any of that for a second!”

  “It could be anyone on the station. Which seems increasingly likely—the chief told us that whoever prepared the program that sabotaged the station knew a great deal about our security protocols. How would Brixhta get access to information like that? Anyway, I myself am still not satisfied that I know all there is to know about Steyn and her crew, for example—”

  “And you certainly don’t believe that,” Bashir said.

  “In fact, Doctor,” Odo admitted, “I am as certain as I can be that Brixhta is responsible for this theft. But in the absence of any evidence, it’s only conjecture.” He gave a very wry smile. “Now, should Brixhta elect to tell me what happened, then I would have evidence—but I think that you and I both know that that is hardly likely to happen, is it?”

  Bashir put the tricorder he was holding down on the desk, and sighed deeply. Odo watched him carefully.

  “Odo,” he said, at last, “you showed me that Special Order—you know you can keep Brixhta in custody for as long as it takes for you to get him to confess—”

  “Doctor,” Odo replied, gently, “I am not in the business of forcing confessions from my prisoners. Not even those that I believe are guilty.” He thought a little more about what he had just said. “Particularly not those that I believe are guilty.”

  “That device he used,” Bashir said, “to stop you shapeshifting out of your office. It was terrible….”

  Odo himself had a number of questions about that, but neither Bashir nor Brixhta were the people to whom he intended to pose them. “It was, Doctor,” he agreed, quietly. “But to keep him imprisoned out of revenge? That would also be a terrible thing to do.”

  “It just seems so wrong,” Bashir said, staring down at the tricorder on the desk in front of him, “that nobody will be punished for what happened. I don’t mean the latinum,” he said, shaking his head, “I couldn’t care less about that. I mean, for what happened to you.”

  “Leaving that aside, Doctor, I will not continue to keep a man in custody after the crime has been committed, and without proof that he was involved. To hold someone against their will without evidence? That would be unjust. And I am sure, if you thought about that, you would realize that yesterday you would have agreed with me, in the strongest possible terms.”

  Bashir looked up at him. He looked, Odo thought, quite troubled.

  “Yes,” Bashir said, quietly. “Yes, I do agree.” He picked up the tricorder again. “That was a stupid thing to say,” he said. “I’m sorry, Odo; I didn’t meant to push. I was out of line.”

  “It’s been my observation,” Odo replied, “that even the most scrupulous can find themselves willing to bend or even break the law. In fact, I’ve begun to suspect that they are the ones most easily tempted to do so.”

  “Really?” said Bashir. “Why?”

  “Because they value morality and justice above the letter of the law. Or,” he smiled at Bashir, “so I would like to flatter myself.”

  Odo watched with interest as Bashir processed all of this; he saw the doctor’s expression shift from its angry tension to something more relaxed, if a little resigned. Solids, Odo thought, were very malleable, in their own way.

  “So,” Odo concluded, briskly, “I shall uphold the principles of the law by operating within its constraints. Therefore,” he put his hands down decisively upon the desk in front of him, “Brixhta will be released, and without charge. Besides, as you say—it’s only latinum. I’m not Quark to value it so highly that I would sacrifice all my principles.”

  Bashir began to laugh. He made to go, and first reached out to touch the little wooden box standing at the side of Odo’s desk. “You should give them to her, you know,” he said.

  Odo gave him a frosty look. “Your interference in my health I’m willing to permit, Doctor. Your opinions on upholding the law I’ll listen to, if under duress.” His expression warmed, just a little. “Everything else is none of your business.”

  Bashir smiled back at him, unreservedly. “I’ll bear that in mind for the future,” he said. He tapped his fingers on the box and made for the door. “See you later, Odo. And—thank you.”

  The conference closed with a formal ceremony and on a cautious note of success; with agreement reached on much of the key business. After the documents had been signed, all of the delegates assembled for another reception. Fleet Admiral Shanthi, at the center, was looking very pleased. She deserved to, Sisko thought. The news from Sybaron and the death of Roeder could have derailed the entire summit, but Shanthi had kept things on track.

  As Sisko wandered around the reception, he saw Veral, and made a point of passing by. “Another frivolous occasion, I’m afraid,” he said.

  She smiled at him and bowed her head. “I am sure I can adapt.”

  Sisko walked on, looking around the gathering until he saw Garak, on the perimeter, talking to…Rhemet of all people. Sisko went over, and listened in to some of the conversation.

  “Should you ever care,” Garak was saying, “to learn something about how the fates of empires are decided—you might wish to speak to me.”

  Garak was not, however, who Sisko was looking for. “Marlow,” he murmured, “A word.”

  The lieutenant nodded, signaled to Chaplin, and came to join him.

  “Did anyone ever get to the bottom of that other Cardassian lifesign you picked up?” Sisko said.

  “Yes, sir, they did. It turned out to be something of a strange story—she looks completely human. And yet she seems to have no idea at all that she’s actually Cardassian. Have you come across anything like that before, sir?”

  “Yes,” Sisko said. “The late and entirely unlamented Obsidian Order had a program of placing agents in deep cover; they altered their features and made them undergo memory reprogramming so that they believed their new identities completely.” He glanced over at Garak, recalling the whole series of events. “They could remain in the part for years,” Sisko went on. “In the case I came across the agent had been on Bajor for a decade—and may still be, for all we know. Still living blissfully unaware as a Bajoran.”

  Marlow seemed to be fascinated. “What an interesting idea…” he murmured. “Even if she found out, you’d have to wonder where her loyalties would be now.”

  “You think?” Sisko frowned.

  “After so long sitting on the other side? Could make anyone go native,” Marlow answered.

  Sisko nodded, and moved on. He went over to Bill Ross, and they found a quiet place where they could speak.

  “You’ve been busy,” Ross commented.

  “Not what I’d expected from the week,” Sisko said. “How about you?”

  Ross handed him a padd. “Had an interview with Michel Le Brun, Roeder’s secretary,” Ross said. “He’d been with him since Roeder resigned his commission, knew him as well as anyone.” He let Sisko scan through the transcript for a while. “Did you know,” Ross said, “that Roeder refused to use communications systems, if he could help it?”

  Sisko frowned. “No, I didn’t know that,” he murmured. “That’s odd.”

  “Always wrote by hand, apparently. Turns out there were quite a few idiosyncrasies lurking behind that polished veneer. Le Brun was also of the opinion that Roeder had been getting more and more withdrawn recently.”

  “He was pretty quiet anyway,” Sisko pointed out.

  “Well, his secretary seems to think it was more than that—”

  “But didn’t think to do anything about it?” Sisko glanced up.

  “Benefit of hindsight, I think. The man’s devastated—he’s absolutely dedicated to the work they were doing together. Blames himself for not realizing how close to the edge Roeder was.”

  Sisko looked up from the padd. “You think that was it? You
think Roeder snapped?”

  Ross gave him a sharp look. “Why? What’s your reading, Ben?”

  Sisko rubbed at the muscles in the back of his neck. “It all moved too fast for me to read anything,” he said. “He did seem to focus his anger against me particularly—”

  “You’re the face of the war, Ben.”

  “I guess so….” He kneaded at the muscles a little more.

  “We’re only just starting to open up parts of Roeder’s file,” Ross was saying. “And quite a lot of it makes for bleak reading. Undercover with the Maquis; even spent some time on Bajor before the Occupation ended…” Ross shook his head. “People can find themselves in some bad places, Ben; end up seeing some bad things. Maybe it wasn’t something particular that tipped him over. Maybe it was all of it, piling up.”

  Sisko thought again of what he had seen as the moonlight fell on Roeder’s face. Was that really what it was? A man whose duty had taken him to extremes, and then who had driven himself further? Had he done things that he regretted, in the name of duty? Had he been unable to tolerate a guilty conscience? Perhaps Roeder’s death did make sense, Sisko thought. It still did not make it any less of a tragedy.

  Sisko looked out across the room. “How did the members of the other delegations take the news?”

  Ross gave a dry laugh. “From what Shanthi told me, that was an interesting series of meetings,” he said. “The Romulans have been making a great deal of noise about the fact that an assassin was loose at the reception last night.” He gave Sisko a bland look. “I think most of them were talking about Roeder, although Subcommander Veral asked specifically about Mister Garak.”

  Sisko thought of his conversation with Veral—hell, had that only been last night? “She’s shown a certain amount of interest in Garak all week,” he said.

  “And quite the guardian angel he turned out to be,” Ross replied. “I gather you’d be dead now, if it wasn’t for him.”

  Sisko tilted his head in acknowledgment. “He has his uses,” he murmured. “I guess.” He looked around the room, moving the subject onward. “Did the Romulans manage to use it all to their advantage?”