Möhrlein nodded. "Transformer, actually. I'm not fond of the conduit. I gather you're an engineer yourself, then?"
O'Brien nodded. "Chief of operations."
"Then you know about the reactors, all right," Möhrlein said. "You still run them here?"
"Oh, it's still a Cardassian station at heart," O'Brien said, more grimly than he'd intended. "You should see the living quarters."
"I'm not fond of Cardassian architecture," Möhrlein agreed. "But the power systems aren't bad."
"If you like raw power over safety, sure," O'Brien said, and Möhrlein grinned again.
"I've worked out a step-down system that keeps the ship happy," he began, and Tama touched his shoulder.
"Drinks are here, mate. Your turn to pay."
"Sorry," Möhrlein said, and reached into his pocket for a credit stick. Quark sneered at him, and made a production of checking the holographic seals to be sure it was genuine. "Bastard," Möhrlein said, without heat, and picked up two glasses. Tama held a third, O'Brien saw: Meeting someone? he wondered. Or just greedy?
"We should talk some more some time, Chief," Möhrlein said. "I'd be glad to show you over Carabas, if you're interested."
"Thanks," O'Brien said. "I might take you up on that."
"Vilis," Tama said, and nudged the taller man away from the bar. He looked back at O'Brien, smiling slightly in apology. "Sorry, Chief, but we've got a client to talk to."
"Don't let me keep you," O'Brien said, and turned back to the bar. Quark looked up at him, mouth open to show all his teeth.
"Do you plan to drink tonight, Chief, or are you going to go on polishing my bar?"
"Beer," O'Brien answered. "Just like last time."
"One beer coming right up," Quark said, in a tone that meant precisely the opposite, and turned away.
O'Brien sighed, and turned his back to the bar, leaning both elbows against it. It would be nice to see what the blond man—Möhrlein, the name was, an unusual one—had done to his Carabas. He craned his head to see where they had gone, and saw Möhrlein's blond head towering above a knot of Andreazna tourists. They, he and Tama, were heading for the table where Diaadul sat, alone, her glass almost emptied in front of her. Good luck to you, boys, O'Brien thought. You'll need it to get anywhere with the mystery woman. Möhrlein leaned close, and O'Brien felt his own mouth twist into a wry grin, anticipating the rejection. But then he saw Diaadul's hand move, gesturing to the empty chairs, and the two traders seated themselves opposite the Trehanna woman. O'Brien's eyebrows rose, and Quark's voice said behind him, "Your beer, Chief. But you might want to taste it first."
"What?" O'Brien turned back to the bar, took the foaming glass that Quark held out to him. The beer looked somehow odd, not quite the right deep gold, and he sniffed it warily. The aroma was definitely off, too yeasty, and he set the glass down with a sigh. "Replicators gone out again?"
"I'm afraid so," Quark answered, and this time, O'Brien thought, the smile looked all too genuine. "And since you're here, Chief, I thought you might take a look at it, and save yourself having to come back later."
"And save you the trouble of making an official request and going into an official queue," O'Brien muttered. Still, if he fixed it now, before the system had a chance to drift any further out of alignment, maybe he wouldn't have to come back. "Fine. But I don't expect to be charged for the beer. The real one."
Quark lifted the gate. O'Brien sighed, and ducked back into the space behind the bar, already reaching for his tool kit.
* * *
Kira saw the strangers approach Diaadul's table, drinks in hand, and suppressed her own smile. They looked entirely too sure of themselves; she would enjoy seeing Diaadul turn them down, as she'd turned down every other approach since she came aboard the station. She saw the blond lean down—it was almost a half bow, far more respectful than she would have expected—and then Diaadul's hand came out from under her draperies, gesturing for them to be seated. The two men exchanged a quick glance, then set their drinks down, and took their places. They leaned close, clearly beginning a quiet conversation. Kira swore under her breath—Why did I decide to come up here tonight of all nights?—but put aside her regrets instantly, and touched her communicator.
"Kira to Odo."
There was no answer, and her lips tightened. "Kira to Odo. Come on, Odo, answer me."
There was still nothing, and she bit her lip, wondering if she should call Sisko instead. Then Odo answered, sounding slightly out of breath, and Kira allowed herself a sigh of relief.
"Odo here. What is it, Major?"
"Diaadul's met someone," Kira said. "Two men, human, I don't recognize them."
"Description?"
"One's tall, fair, very blond hair, the other's darker—" Kira broke off, seeing movement on the floor below. "Odo, they're moving. It looks like—they're going into the back rooms. Quark's private space." She started to slam her fist on the table, checked the gesture instantly. "I'm not placed to follow them."
"That's all right," Odo said. "Which room—which door?"
Kira leaned forward cautiously, not wanting to draw attention to herself. "The office section—I can't tell."
"All right," Odo said. "I'm taking over. Odo out."
Kira started to form a protest, but the connection was already broken. She sat back in her chair, hoping the constable knew what he was doing, and tried to look as though nothing had happened. And, for all I really know, nothing has, she thought. Maybe Diaadul finally heard a proposition she liked. The idea seemed unlikely, however, and she scanned the main level again, wondering if anyone else had noticed the Trehanna's odd behavior. Quark was busy behind the bar, dividing his attention between his customers and O'Brien, who was crouched over a replicator's access panel, tool kit in hand. The freighters' crews were busy at the gaming tables, and she saw a fistful of coins pass from one to another. A typical night at Quark's, she thought. I just hope Odo can follow them.
CHAPTER 8
ODO TOOK A DEEP BREATH, released the extruded arm and with it the communicator he had stashed at the head of the ventilator shaft, and allowed himself to flow back into the shape he had chosen. He could see his own reflection in the polished metal of the ventilator mouth, lit by the shaft of light that filtered in from the corridor: a verrior, one of his favorite shapes, a chameleon-like Bajoran lizard with which he had always felt a certain kinship. Its six feet, with their broad, sucker-tipped toes, and the low-slung body were perfectly adapted to the ventilators, especially in the main branches where the rush of air was strongest. And he would need all the grip he could manage, if his guess was right and Diaadul was heading for Quark's inner office. He took another deep breath, working his toes, and started down the narrow passage.
He bypassed his usual paths, heading straight for the main duct, and reached cautiously out into the rushing wind. Though every instinct screamed at him to hurry, that Diaadul and the two smugglers—it couldn't be anyone else, not from Kira's description—were already in the private office, he made himself take his time placing his forefeet, twisting to be sure the suckers were firmly planted before he swung himself out into the wind. He blinked hard as the stream of air hit him head-on, eyes contracting to narrow slits, and for an instant he thought he was about to be carried away. And then a hind foot found its purchase, and then both middle feet, and he took his first cautious steps up the shaft.
He was big enough in this shape, heavy enough, that once his feet were in place he could move almost normally. It was absolutely dark, of course, and in this shape he had none of the special sense organs that would let him follow the splotches of paint he had used to mark the system, but he didn't really need it. The ventilation duct for Quark's private office ran directly from the main shaft; all Odo needed to do was point his face into the wind, and count the openings. The third shaft would be the one he wanted. He suppressed the need to hurry, knowing that that would increase the chances of a mistake, and made himself move methodically, ali
gning himself with the shaft's seam. He found the first opening quickly enough, and then the second, and turned down the third, blinking as he scrambled over the first set of baffles.
The wind diminished almost at once, its strength cut neatly in half, and he used his first and middle feet to lever himself over the secondary baffling. Ahead, the grille glowed yellow from the lights of the room beyond, and Odo finally let himself hurry, his six legs propelling him down the tunnel with surprising speed. He stopped just inside the grille, and rose on his rear and middle legs to peer through the grating, careful not to let his forefeet poke through the narrow openings. Sure enough, Diaadul was there, seated comfortably on the edge of Quark's desk-console; the smugglers were there, too, standing, Tama a little behind Möhrlein. They looked, Odo thought, as though they were waiting for orders.
"So," Diaadul said, and unwound her veil in a single lithe movement. Beneath it, she was older than Odo would have guessed from the habit of gesture and movement, and her dark hair was cut short around her thin, fine-boned face. Her eyes, blue and slit-pupilled, seemed even larger now that the rest of her face was revealed. "Not before time."
Möhrlein and Tama exchanged glances, and Möhrlein said, "We only docked today, Lady. It took us time to get the parts you wanted."
"And the papers that got us in here," Tama muttered.
Diaadul lifted an eyebrow. She had shed her fragility with the veil, so that the green tunic-and-trousers suit that she wore beneath it looked somehow incongruous on her. "As long as everything's there," she said. "That's all that matters to me—or to the captain."
"All present and accounted for," Möhrlein said. "Hardware and software both. As long as you have a decent engineer, which I know you do, the repairs should be a snap."
In the ventilator mouth, Odo ground his teeth in frustration. He had known, he had been absolutely certain, that Möhrlein and Tama had an illegal cargo somewhere, but where? He and his security crew had searched the ship thoroughly—unless one of the apparently legal cargoes was in fact destined for Diaadul, he thought suddenly. And her mysterious captain—and I have a nasty feeling I know exactly who that "captain" is.
"And the items for the cloaking device?" Diaadul asked.
"I told you, Lady, everything's there, everything on your list." Möhrlein looked at Tama, who nodded his confirmation. "Now there's just the small matter of payment."
"You don't really expect to be paid sight unseen," Diaadul said.
"I expect some compensation for the trouble I've gone to, yes," Möhrlein said. "We had a deal, Lady."
"Yes. Cash on delivery." Diaadul smiled.
"We've delivered."
Diaadul shook her head. "Not yet. The parts still have to get to Helios. The captain is waiting at the usual rendezvous. You'll be paid when we get there."
Tama made an odd, skeptical noise, the breath hissing through his teeth. "If we can get there. You lot have everything all stirred up, both sides of the border. This station's on practically full alert, and there's an entire Cardassian fleet just waiting for Kolovzon to show himself again."
"I thought you were the best," Diaadul said.
Möhrlein matched her previous smile. "Even we don't do miracles."
There was a little silence, and then Diaadul sighed. "How much does a miracle cost these days?"
"Half again over what we agreed on," Möhrlein said promptly. "Payable now."
Diaadul gave him a long stare, and even in the safety of the ventilator shaft Odo felt a chill run down his spine. Whatever else she was, Diaadul was clearly a person of authority aboard Helios. "All right," she said at last, and reached under the skirts of her tunic. She produced four bars of gold-pressed latinum, and held them out, saying, "The rest on delivery, as agreed."
Möhrlein nodded.
"Which will be when?" Diaadul asked.
"Another day or two," Möhrlein said. "Odo—the chief constable here—"
"I know Odo," Diaadul said.
"He's very good," Möhrlein went on. "I want to move carefully—I'd like to be able to go on doing business here, Lady."
"That's too long," Diaadul said. She held up her hand to silence their protest, the bangles falling musically down her arm. "Fifteen hours. And I intend to go with you. I'm being watched."
Tama muttered something inaudible, and Möhrlein whistled softly. "You don't give us the easy ones, do you, Lady?"
"I understood the difficult jobs were your speciality," Diaadul murmured.
Möhrlein made a face, and looked at Tama.
The dark-haired man shrugged. "Seven hours to the rendezvous, on impulse engines. That gives us eight hours to make our arrangements. It can be done, but, my God, it's going to look thin."
"It'll have to," Möhrlein said, and sounded grim. "The trick will be getting you aboard, Lady."
Diaadul smiled. "Leave that to me."
Tama made a face—clearly, Odo thought, he was less comfortable than Möhrlein was with this job—but nodded reluctantly. "You'd better let us leave first, Lady. It was risk enough being seen with you."
"And vice versa," Diaadul said. "Go ahead. I'll be at your docking bay in three hours."
"It's bay five," Möhrlein began, and Diaadul smiled.
"I know."
Möhrlein turned away, and Odo didn't wait to see more. He released his grip on the inside of the ventilator grid, and dropped soundlessly to the floor. Not for the first time, he wished there were some easy way to carry his communicator with him in altered shape, but shook the thought angrily away. There was no time to waste worrying about things that couldn't be changed; the main thing now was to get back to his communicator, and warn Sisko.
The trip back through the ventilators was a little easier: the airflow was at his back, and he was able to make better speed through the slick-floored tunnels. Even so, it seemed to take hours to reach the access panel where he had left his communicator. The panel gave onto a secluded corridor, and he made only a perfunctory check to be sure the space was empty before rearing onto his hind and middle feet to push the panel outward. He was already changing shape as he stepped out of the ventilator, so that the movement that had begun as a step turned for an instant into an almost liquid flow. In his humanoid shape again, he reached back into the opening for his communicator, and thumbed it once without pausing to reattach it to his chest.
"Odo to Sisko." He fit the panel back into place automatically, and stood, head cocked to one side as he waited for an answer. "Odo to Commander Sisko. Answer, please."
"Sisko here." The commander sounded preoccupied. "Unless it's urgent, Odo, I'm going to have to ask you to wait. We've sighted Helios again."
Odo glared at the communicator as though Sisko could see him. "I'm not surprised. I've been following Diaadul. She seems to be someone of considerable importance aboard the pirate ship."
"What—?" Sisko broke off as quickly as he'd spoken. "Go on, Constable."
Quickly, Odo outlined what he'd seen in Quark's office, emphasizing the planned rendezvous. When he'd finished, there was a little pause, and he imagined Sisko frowning at his own consoles.
"Good work, Odo," Sisko said at last. "So you think Diaadul will keep this rendezvous?"
"I'm certain of it, sir."
"All right. Keep up the surveillance on Diaadul and your smugglers—what were the names?"
"Möhrlein," Odo said, "and Tama. Of the Carabas. They're known to me."
"Right," Sisko went on. "Keep up the surveillance, but tell your people to stay well back. We don't want to tip them off beforehand. We—you will arrest them as soon as they try to go aboard Carabas."
Odo nodded, and then, remembering, said, "Yes, Commander. That will be a pleasure."
"I need answers, Odo, remember that," Sisko said.
Odo smiled, and was glad this time that the communicator was voice-only. "I guarantee you'll get them, sir."
* * *
Kira stood at the head of the crossover bridge that lay between the s
ection of the habitat ring where Diaadul had been quartered and the docking ring, Odo's instructions ringing in her ears. Pull back, he had said, let Diaadul think we've withdrawn our surveillance—wait for her at the head of the gamma bridge, that's the most direct route from her quarters to bay five. Certainly that was true, Kira thought, and pretended a deep interest in a display panel as a group of Bajorans moved past, talking cheerfully about a lug-ball game as they went off duty. On the other hand, Diaadul must have had some idea she was being watched, and she surely wouldn't be stupid enough to take the most direct route to her rendezvous.
Kira sighed, and scanned the display panel again. She touched the screen to call up a listing of the ships in dock, this time actually making note of Carabas's position. The runner was in docking bay five, adjacent to one of the larger cargo bays: very convenient, she thought, sourly, for getting secret cargoes on and off the station. And that wasn't being fair to Odo, or his crew. He had said from the beginning that Diaadul was up to something; it had taken good luck, and Odo's legendary persistence, to get onto it this quickly.
"Sisko to Kira."
The familiar voice broke into her thoughts, not loud, but she glanced over her shoulder anyway before she answered. "Kira here, sir."
"We're at the docking port now. Carabas has requested takeoff clearance for oh one hundred hours tomorrow morning, and Odo's people report that Diaadul has left her quarters. They can't follow too closely, but she may be heading your way."
"I'll be on the lookout, sir," Kira said. "Kira out."
She eased back into the shadow of a mechanic's alcove even as she spoke, wedging herself between the cover of a Jeffries tube and a diagnostic console and its associated cables. It wasn't much cover, but she had discovered that, to most off-worlders, one Bajoran looked much like another. Oh, they recognized the gross differences of age and gender, but the subtler distinctions were hard to see. Of course—a small, genuinely amused smile quirked her lips, and vanished almost at once—of course, she herself had similar problems with several species.
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