All right, she thought, let's apply some of the famous Trill science to the situation. It is unlikely to have been a reflex shadow; we haven't seen it again, in thirty-six hours of observation, and a miscalibration should have showed up by now. And it's unlikely to be an asteroid, for much the same reason. By orbital mechanics alone, an asteroid of that bizarre a composition couldn't've moved out of sensor range, unless it had its own impulse drive. And that leaves only a ship, a cloaked ship, and probably Helios. She stared at her working screen, called up the record of the first sighting for what seemed like the thousandth time. A light flashed red in her screen, bracketed an instant later by the gold lines of the tracking systems zeroing in on the sighting, and she frowned, startled. It looked somehow different this time, the numbers not as clear as she remembered—
"Dax to Sisko," she said, her hand flying to her communicator. "We have a second sighting."
Her hands danced across the membrane board, tuning the sensors tighter, locking everything she had onto that pinpoint light, but already the image was fading from her screen. She swore under her breath, words she had learned from Kira, pulled in a secondary system, then shook her head in disgust.
"You've lost it?" Sisko asked, coming up behind her, and Dax glanced up at him, acknowledging his presence, before she turned her attention back to her screen.
"I'm afraid so, Benjamin." She touched keys, setting the various analysis programs to work, and watched the strings of symbols march across her screens. "We had it for a half second longer this time, and I'm absolutely certain it's neither an asteroid or a sensor shadow. I had just checked the system myself, and asteroids don't just come and go like this."
"Even if it's in orbit, being eclipsed by something?" Sisko asked. There was something in his voice that told Dax he was grasping at straws.
"If that were the case, Benjamin, there would be some regularity to it all."
"I know." Sisko sighed, and looked past her toward the main viewer. Dax followed the line of his gaze almost by instinct, even though she knew there would be nothing there. The screen was blank, showing the distant starscape; the Denorios Belt lay invisible in the foreground, a somehow menacing unseen presence.
And that, Dax thought, is utter foolishness. She looked back at her boards, focusing on the numbers that spilled across the screens. "It's a ship, Benjamin, cloaking and uncloaking. I'm sure of it."
"Do you have a fix on it?" Sisko asked.
"I had a fix," Dax said, and stressed the past tense. "I doubt anyone would remain stationary once they'd recloaked." She touched controls again, setting parameters. "Assuming they moved out at top impulse speed, they could be anywhere in this volume of space." The image filled her working screen, a faint blue sphere surrounding the deeper blue fleck of the sighted position. "I'm scanning that—" As she spoke, her hands moved, making it true. "—but so far, no, there's nothing. Not even with the Vulcan filter."
She heard Sisko sigh, and glanced up to see him frowning, brows drawn together as he looked from her screens to the main viewer and back again. "So why uncloak, if you've been hiding quite successfully? Why uncloak at all?"
Dax knew that the question was rhetorical, but answered anyway. "To drop a shuttle, to pick up a shuttle, to fire a weapon, to send or receive a subspace communication—" She broke off abruptly, eyes going wide, and Sisko nodded.
"That's the most likely answer, isn't it? Any signs of a transmission—?"
"Not so far," Dax answered. "We weren't scanning specifically for subspace transmissions, but if there was anything—" She broke off, calling up the station's general computer logs. "No incoming transmissions, we certainly would have picked that up, but let's just be sure that nothing is being sent to the pirate."
She heard Sisko grunt, but did not look up, concentrating instead on the screens that opened in front of her. The general log was too long to look at entry by entry, but the accounting subroutine flashed green, signaling that all transmissions were legitimately logged, and linked to a known and registered user. Dax ignored that—she had expected nothing less—and queried the backup system. There was a brief pause—it was an old and less efficient program, left over from the Cardassian occupation—and then the same message flashed on the screen. Everything was accounted for, except…Her eyes narrowed, and she touched keys, comparing the two results. Except that the checks did not match. She looked up at Sisko again, and was pleased to see that he was following the accounts as closely as she was.
"Bad news, Benjamin," she said. "The sums don't match up."
Sisko nodded. "Which means?"
Dax smiled ruefully. "Nothing yet, at least according to regulations. But I think—I'm certain someone's tapped into the subspace communications systems, and has erased their trail. That's the only thing that could lead to a discrepancy like this."
"Which means we have a spy on the station," Sisko said. "A spy for Helios."
"I'm afraid so," Dax answered.
"Can the accounting logs give us any kind of lead on the person's identity?" Sisko asked.
Dax shook her head. "Not if the person's any good. All it will be able to tell us—unless we get stupendously lucky—is if and when the transmissions went out. Always assuming there has been more than one."
"There will have been," Sisko said, sourly, and Dax nodded in spite of herself. Sisko was right about that, and even the Trill had a proverb about troubles coming in multiple units.
"All right," Sisko went on, and Dax shook herself back to alertness. "From now on, I want the sensors maintained at yellow alert. I want to know if anything moves a centimeter in the Belt—and that includes scheduled Bajoran shipping. Second, I want you to beef up security in the station systems, see if we can trap this person if he tries to use subspace communications again. And I'll also see what Odo can do about real-world security."
"There are a fair number of ships in the docking ring," Dax agreed. "It would be easy enough to slip in unobserved."
"Odo's pretty careful about checking papers," Sisko said.
"But he can double-check this bunch. The main thing, though, Dax, is to keep this person from contacting Helios again."
"I'll get right on it, Benjamin," Dax said.
"Good," Sisko said, and turned away.
Dax turned back to her console, calling up the schematics of the security fence surrounding the subspace communications system, studied its complex workings. There were places she could add trip wires, booby traps, places she could possibly improve the security—but all of that was moot if the spy had already completed his mission. For a moment, she felt a chill run down her spine at the thought—that Helios and her mad captain already had whatever information they wanted, were already on the offensive, ready to proceed with his plan—and then, firmly, put that aside. There was no point to it: all she could do was make the computer secure, and wait.
* * *
Kira stood in the doorway of the Bajoran temple, staring down the length of the Promenade. It was evening, the end of the civilian day, but only a few of the shops were closed. Instead, the crowd had changed, from the bustle of the serious businesspeople, moving quickly from dealer to dealer, buyer to seller and back again, to a slower crowd, mostly brightly dressed Bajorans, wandering from shop to shop, as intent on each other as on the goods displayed in the windows and open shopfronts. Kira sighed to herself, acknowledging a vague sense of inadequacy, and fixed her eyes on the veiled figure four shops down from the temple doors. Today Diaadul was dressed in green, a luminous, not-quite-emerald green embroidered with delicate gold shapes and a wide band of gold and silver flowers at the hem. Watching her, watching the delicate hand that emerged from the folds of the veil, the gold bangles looking almost too heavy for the fragile wrist, Kira felt a stab of—something. It was not jealousy, of that she felt certain, or, if it was, just a little bit, a sort of envy, it was not envy of the clothes or the old-fashioned and assumed fragility, but of the peace Trehan had had that allowed Diaadul to be so mer
ely decorative. And, let's be honest, Kira thought, I wouldn't want to live like her. But she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to dress like that, to wear silk and useless jewelry and a veil heavy with precious metal. Then common sense reasserted itself, and she chortled in spite of herself at the incongruous image. If she put on a veil like Diaadul's, within five minutes it would be knotted around her neck or shoulders, flung out of the way to let her move freely again. And that, Kira admitted silently, pretty much sums up why I haven't had a bit of success with this assignment. There's no way Diaadul would confide in me—there's no way that she could.
The veiled figure was moving again, hands tucked again decorously into the folds of the veil, and Kira sighed, easing out from the shadow of the doors. She followed at a careful distance, grateful for the evening crowd that let her disguise her presence, and was not surprised when Diaadul turned again toward Quark's. This was the routine, the unvarying routine, and had been ever since the Trehanna arrived on the station. She spent her days in her quarters, and then, each evening exactly as the station went from day to night, she would emerge from her cabin and ride the turbolift to the Promenade. There, she would walk its length and back, apparently enjoying the crowds and the bright displays—though she had never bought anything, not in the eight days Kira had been following her—and then return to Quark's. At Quark's, she would buy a single flask of wine, studiously ignoring Quark's inevitable approaches, and sit for an hour, drinking. At the end of that hour, she would pay her bill, and return again to her quarters: A steady, never-varying routine, Kira thought, and one that makes me very suspicious. She had struck up a conversation with Diaadul one evening, and the woman had been polite but distant; when asked, she had said she was waiting for Quark to complete his part of their business. Quark had confirmed it—which of course he would—but Kira still had her doubts. It just didn't feel right that a Trehanna noble should spend so much time doing nothing. When she had broached it to Sisko, however, all the commander had done was agree to increase mechanical surveillance as well. And I still say she's waiting for someone else, Kira thought, and winced at the memory of her last interview with Sisko. She had said—well, shouted—the same thing at Sisko, and had been answered by one of his cold stares. That may very well be true, Major, he had said, probably is true—but how the devil you expect to catch her contact if Odo puts her in the brig is beyond me. Kira felt her face grow warm at the thought, but she couldn't rid herself of the nagging feeling that she was right. Diaadul was up to something, and her instinct, a sense of danger honed by the years of service with the Resistance, told her that the Trehanna had to be stopped first.
But there was no convincing Sisko of that, and Odo was already doing everything he could. Which left it her responsibility. Kira sighed, and paused just inside the entrance to Quark's. She glared at the first Ferengi who approached her, waving him away, and glanced quickly around the busy main floor. It was even more crowded than usual, the crews of a pair of Bajoran freighters filling all the tables along the far walls, and Kira hesitated only for an instant before taking the spiral stairs to the second level. Her favorite table, set in a corner close to the edge of the balcony, was empty, and she seated herself, turning her back to the wall as always. Leaning forward, she had a clear view of most of the lower level, from the bar itself, with its crowd of crewmen and station personnel, to the sea of tables and the gambling consoles. Diaadul had taken her usual place, tucked into a corner where she could watch the door, and even as Kira watched, a waiter—not Ferengi—brought her the usual beaker of wine. Diaadul thanked him with an abstracted nod, and tipped her head forward to bring the glass under the folds of the veiling.
And that, Kira thought, was absolutely as usual. She heard someone approaching her table, turned to see one of the younger Ferengi coming toward her, rubbing his hands together in a gesture almost a parody of Quark's.
"Major Kira, so nice to see you. And on the upper level, too." He tilted his head toward the doors that led to the holosuites. "I'm afraid we're all booked up for the first shift, but you're welcome to have a drink or two while you wait. Many people find that it—whets their imagination."
"You can get me a drink," Kira said, keeping a firm grip on her temper—there was nothing to be gained by letting any Ferengi know he'd angered her. "Kalmr claret. And that's all I want." She let him take three steps away before she spoke again. "And, Sorv?"
"Yes, Major?" The Ferengi turned back, his smirk imperfectly concealed.
"I'd be very careful if I were you what I offered to a Bajoran officer."
She saw him blink, the sudden blank expression that meant her words had hit home, and hid her own grin. "Just the claret, Sorv."
"Yes, Major." Sorv turned away again, sulking visibly, and this time Kira did allow herself to smile. Not that Sorv was such a difficult person to face down—he was the least obnoxious of the Ferengi who worked at Quark's—but it did have its satisfactions. Unlike the rest of the job, she added silently, and edged forward slightly, surveying the lower level again, picking out familiar faces in the crowd. Diaadul was still alone at her table, the vivid green of her veil bright even in the subdued lighting; Chief O'Brien was standing at the bar next to a pair of humans Kira didn't recognize—traders, by the cut of their clothes—and a man she recognized as one of Odo's deputies was standing at one of the gaming tables, feeding credit sticks methodically into the slot. Quark, behind the bar, seemed to be watching him, and Kira allowed herself another smile. Odo had been trying to prove that the gambling was less than honest for years. Her smile faded quickly. This was all exactly what she had come to expect, exactly the same thing that had happened the night before, and the night before that, and all the while—all the while, she thought, I know there's something very wrong.
* * *
O'Brien leaned against the bar, waiting to catch Quark's attention to place a second order. The place seemed busier than usual tonight, and he wondered for a moment if all the talk about a mysterious pirate was keeping ships in dock. He grinned to himself, leaned forward to check Quark's progress. If Helios really was out there, which he thought was less and less likely the more time passed from that possible sighting, but if it was…he had an answer for it, even as heavily armed as Helios seemed to be. He could feel himself grinning even more widely, and didn't bother to hide his pleasure. It was a neat trick he and his staff were pulling, an elegant modification that also meant they wouldn't have to try to bring one of the dangerously damaged fusion reactors back on line. All they would do, all they would have to do, was run a simple tap, patch an ordinary exchange node into the existing system, and divert some of the continued output from the damaged reactor into the phasers. His smile faded slightly at the thought. The station would be able to double the phasers' output, all right, but not for very long: ten minutes, his calculations showed, at the most. It wasn't much more than a bluff, but bluffs could be very effective against single ships, even against Helios, and Sisko had approved the idea. And if anyone could pull it off, he thought, Sisko was the man.
He leaned forward again, and bumped elbows with the man to his left. "Sorry," he began, and the stranger waved away the apology.
"No harm done. Busy tonight, isn't it?"
O'Brien nodded. The stranger was human, sounded as though he was from the Federation, something a little out of the ordinary here where most of the clients were Bajorans, and he found himself suddenly wanting to prolong the conversation. "Quark's tends to be popular. But this is a little worse than usual."
The stranger—he was tall and blond, with a crooked smile that went a long way toward mitigating the almost too-handsome features—grinned, and glanced down the bar. "And not getting any better. We put in our order ten minutes ago, and haven't seen the 'keep since. What's going on, is there a trade fair on Bajor?"
"I don't know," O'Brien said. "It might be that pirate everyone's talking about."
"The pirate," the blond man repeated, and exchanged a quick gl
ance with the dark-haired man at his side. "Yeah, we've been hearing talk about that. You're Starfleet, do you think there's anything in it?"
O'Brien shrugged, suddenly uncertain of what he should say, and the blond smiled again. "I'm Vilis Möhrlein, by the way, and this is my partner Kerel Tama. We run the Carabas, out of Geroldin."
"Miles O'Brien," O'Brien said. "I don't think I know Carabas, except from 'Puss in Boots.'" The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished them unsaid: it was highly unlikely that this pair of free-traders would have named their ship after a character out of a fairy tale. To his surprise, however, Tama grinned openly.
"You're the first one to get it."
"'My uncle the marquis of Carabas,'" Möhrlein quoted. "It works with the Cardassians, though—and you need all the authority you can get, dealing with the Guls. But how'd you know? I didn't think anybody read those stories any more."
"My daughter's fond of fairy tales," O'Brien said, and felt himself blushing. This was not the time to talk about Molly, or Keiko—and besides, he told himself, it was always worth hearing about another starship. "But, like I said, I don't think I've seen your ship."
"She's a Delta-class runner, Federation hull," Möhrlein said, accepting the change of subject with equanimity. "But we've modified the engines considerably—we can carry nearly three times our working mass in cargo."
O'Brien pursed his lips. "Impressive." In spite of himself, he knew he sounded skeptical, and he saw Tama grin.
"We brought in a Cardassian power plant," Möhrlein said. "Salvaged it during the war, from a junior frigate. It's clumsy, but there's power and to spare."
"You must've had fun modifying the reactor chambers," O'Brien said. If Möhrlein was telling the truth, or even part of it, he'd done a pretty piece of engineering, and O'Brien caught himself wondering if the other man would be willing to give him a tour of the ship. To get a Cardassian reactor to feed into a Federation hull's usual EPS system—you'd have to use transfer nodes, he thought, and probably a series transformer. "Did you put in their power conduit as well, or use a transformer?"
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