And Jadzia sighed. Her meeting with Julian to work on a paper on Trill immune systems just got postponed until the game—and the fight—was over.
But still, she had to let him know she was there. Maybe he would want to escape.
"Julian!" she shouted over the din.
He turned, saw her, waved, and then lurched forward as Miles poked his chest, still shouting. Julian took a step backward, made a motion that looked like fluttering wings, and then called to the winged Ardwanian, who got a frightened look on her frail face, shook her head, and flew away.
Dax turned her back on the disagreement. Obviously Julian was enjoying himself. And she couldn't fault him that. He worked too hard, even though he admonished the rest of the crew not to, and he took his responsibilities—and his reputation—far too seriously. Because she had often requested that he take time off, she really couldn't be the one to drag him away from his fun.
Besides, she wanted a drink.
She shoved her way to the bar. Quark was behind it, his small hands working furiously as he piled drinks on another tray for Rom.
"You seen my nephew?" he asked Dax.
She shook her head.
"You here on business."
She shook her head again.
"Ah, a paying customer." Quark reached across the bar and shoved Morn's shoulder, dislodging the hulking barfly from his favorite stool. "Give your seat to the lady, Morn."
"I'm not a lady," Dax said, smiling.
"Close enough," Quark said. He set a coaster with the bar's logo in front of her—one of Rom's innovations that Quark had complained about until Rom explained that some customers would keep the coasters, thus advertising the bar all over the galaxy. "I've got some lovely Trill amber shot."
Dax suppressed a shudder. Curzon had gone on a two-day drunk on amber shot and the memory of that hangover was still fresh. "How about synthale?"
"Working?" Quark asked, since synthale had none of the morning-after punishment that the expensive—and real—liquors had.
"I might be," she said.
"I have Ardwanian sweet nectar." The sweet nectar was like sugar to humanoids—and it was more costly than the Trill amber shot would have been.
She nodded. "And a squadron of winged Ardwanians losing loft because of it."
Quark piled the last drink on the tray and shoved it at Rom, who staggered beneath its weight. He tottered off through the crowd. Quark grabbed the synthale and placed it in front of Jadzia.
"I expect you to drink at least five of those to make up for the cost of taking Morn's place."
"I thought he wasn't a paying customer."
"He is. He's just not regular about it. And he drinks whatever I place before him." Quark reached under the bar for more glasses.
"You're not usually this grumpy when you have a full bar, Quark."
"I can't get the drinks to them fast enough," Quark said. "The last time this happened, a group of Cordwellians smashed every chair in the place. If this goes on too much longer, I might have to make you a barmaid, Lieutenant." Then he smiled. "In fact, I have the most perfect little dress. If you help out for just an hour or two—"
"Just how little is the dress?" Dax sipped the synthale. She would have preferred the sweet nectar.
Suddenly Quark took a step backward and brought a hand up to his nose. The odor of rotted steak wafted over Dax, and she blinked back tears. Only a Caxtonian would have body odor bad enough to overpower the other stenches in the room. Caxtonians were big, hairy humanoids who made excellent pilots but knew few social skills. And bathing—something they could benefit from—was one that seemed to always be left out of the lessons.
A huge Caxtonian, his shoulders bulging against a shirt that hadn't been washed since Dax was first joined ever, leaned between Jadzia and the ensign beside her.
Quark, obviously holding his breath, set a coaster in front of the Caxtonian and started to back away.
The Caxtonian reached across the bar and grabbed Quark by the lapels. The Caxtonian pulled Quark forward and spoke directly into his face. "I have something to sell you."
Quark leaned his head back as far as it would go.
The Caxtonian's breath was twice as bad as his body odor. Dax was glad she was upwind.
"I—ah—I'm too busy to look at goods right now," Quark said. "Perhaps if you come back after you've taken a room and—ah—had a chance to freshen up—"
"I won't wait," the Caxtonian said. "But if you're not interested, I'm sure someone else would be."
Dax hid her nose in her synthale glass and watched Quark wrestle with the dilemma. If he asked to see whatever the Caxtonian had to sell, he would have to put up with the stench a few moments longer. But if he didn't, then he might miss an opportunity for profit.
"All right," Quark said, pulling his lapels free and stepping away from the Caxtonian's breath. "But make it quick."
The Caxtonian pulled a pouch from the inside of his filthy shirt. The pouch was made of stained leather, and it too had seen better days. Dax sipped her synthale but kept the glass protectively over her nose. The young ensign on the other side of the Caxtonian did the same.
Quark took the cork off a bottle of Ardwanian sweet nectar and wafted the bottle around as if it held perfume. The Caxtonian didn't seem to notice. He carefully pulled a small statue out of the pouch.
"If you think …" Quark started and then he stopped. He set down the sweet nectar and leaned forward, right into the stench.
Dax frowned. Only one thing could grab Quark's attention like that. Something rare. Something expensive. Something that might make him a profit.
She took one more sip before replacing her glass on its coaster. Then she leaned in as well.
The statue stood about a hand high and seemed to glow a faint green all by itself, even in the bright light emanating from behind the bar. The statue was of a delicate woman humanoid. She twisted upward in a spiral toward some unseen light above. Her delicate hands formed a point at the top, and the woman's dress flowed out onto a simple base at the bottom.
Dax's stomach seemed to float as well, and she was glad now she had ordered the synthale. She studied the woman's skirt, looking for a tiny oval design she half hoped she wouldn't find.
As if picking up the daintiest of flowers, Quark reached out and touched the statue. "Where did you find this?"
"Never you mind that, little man," the Caxtonian said. "Do you want to buy it?"
Quark nodded, never taking his eyes from the statue. He didn't even quote a price. He had to be in as deep a shock as Dax was.
"How much?" the Caxtonian pilot demanded.
Quark looked up at the pilot as if suddenly remembering his place. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement," he said, half choking. "But first, my friend, a drink."
On the flare of the woman's skirt, just above the base, was the tiny oval. Dax pushed away from the bar and moved into the crowd. Her hands were shaking. She wanted to be wrong—and she wanted to be right.
Either way she had to move quickly. She quietly tapped her comm badge. "Dax to Sisko."
"Sisko here," the commander's deep reassuring voice answered almost immediately.
"Benjamin," Dax said. "You need to come to Quark's right now."
"Problem?" Sisko's voice softened with concern.
"I think that depends on your point of view," Dax said.
"Dax—" Sisko's voice held a warning. He hated mysterious comm messages. She knew that, but she was reluctant to state her hypothesis out loud.
She moved out of the crowd into the hallway, the action taking less than a second. "Benjamin," she said as softly as she could, "I think someone has found the Nibix."
There was a very long moment of silence on the other end as the news sank in, then Commander Benjamin Sisko said with an urgency she had never heard before, "On my way."
Nog and Jake Sisko were as far away from Quark's as they could safely be and still be on the Promenade. Several stores in this out-of-the-w
ay sector had closed, probably due to lack of customers. A lot of people came this way but only on station business. The guests at Deep Space Nine—the freighter pilots, the Federation representatives, the starship crews—never seemed to make it back this far.
And that served them just fine.
"Fastball this time," Jake said. He was in a crouch, mimicking as best he could the poses of the great pitchers in his father's favorite holoprogram. "Be ready."
Before Nog could complain, Jake wound up and hurled the baseball as hard as he could at the outstretched mitt.
Nog gave a little shriek and ducked as the ball barely missed him and banged into the bulkhead. The bang reverberated, and the metal rang hollowly.
"You could have killed me," Nog said as he scrambled after the ball. He grabbed it and tossed it against his mitt. "Then I would never have gone to Starfleet Academy, and it would have all been your fault."
Jake still wasn't sure how he felt about Nog attending the Academy. Sometimes he was proud that his father and the other members of Starfleet had inspired Nog. And sometimes Jake was lonely in advance. He wasn't sure what he would do around Deep Space Nine with his best friend gone.
"You've been complaining since we started this game," Jake said. He rubbed his shoulder. The movement had pulled something. That's what he got for not warming up properly.
"This is a hu-man game," Nog said. "It's not fair for a Ferengi to play a game designed for tall humans."
"I can't help it that I've grown."
"You didn't have to grow so tall." Nog tossed and caught the ball with one hand.
"I may not be done growing yet," Jake said. Nog scowled at him. Nog had reached his full growth.
"You make fun of me," Nog said. He whirled.
Jake hurried toward him. Nog had a habit of throwing the ball at anything when he was annoyed. "Nog!"
But Nog didn't pause. With a perfect imitation of Jake's form, Nog slammed the ball against the bulkhead, right in the same spot it had hit before.
The bang sounded like an explosion. The sound reverberated again, and the metal pinged. Jake frowned, then caught the ball absently as it bounced toward him.
"I don't care if I ever learn to play stupid games," Nog said.
Jake walked toward the bulkhead. Chief O'Brien had said to pay attention to sounds. Sounds held the key to almost everything in engineering. Machines, metals, even lights, had their own voices. And this bulkhead spoke with a tone different from all the others.
"If you keep getting taller, you can—you can—"
Jake passed Nog without giving him a second glance.
"You can play catch alone!" Nog said, triumph in his tone, as if he had thought of the perfect revenge.
Jake crouched in front of the bulkhead. The metal was slightly dented from the impact of the ball. Other than that, it looked like any other bulkhead in the ship. Gray metal with Cardassian bolts holding the panel in place.
"I said—," Nog started, his voice even louder.
"I know what you said." Jake pulled off his glove, put it on the floor, and placed the ball in it. "Come here."
Nog sighed loudly. He hated to have his tantrums interrupted. "I suppose you broke something," Nog said.
"You're the one who threw a fastball against the metal," Jake said.
"You made me!"
Jake shook his head. Then he tapped on the panel. The sound had a wobbly edge to it. "Hear that?"
"I hear you going crazy is all I hear," Nog said, but he crouched beside Jake and ran a stubby finger over the dent.
"It's hollow." Jake said. To prove his point, he banged his fist on it again. The wobbly sound reverberated, then faded.
"So?" Nog said.
"So what's behind this? There should be equipment here."
Nog shrugged. "Probably a maintenance tube. Let's go. I don't want to play any more."
"You want to go work for your uncle?" Jake asked.
"It beats staring at dented metal." Nog stood. Jake understood now. Nog was still afraid he would get in trouble for throwing that ball against the bulkhead.
"Go ahead," Jake said. "I'll meet you in the rec area in two hours."
"And don't be late," Nog said, even though he was the one who was always late these days.
"I won't," Jake said. He waited until Nog had disappeared down the Promenade before rapping a final time on the bulkhead, listening as the chief had taught him to do. The wobbles and pings meant the echo was inside the bulkhead, not outside.
Jake frowned, trying to remember the schematic of the station. He still didn't have as much memorized as the chief. And Jake was glad that Nog had left. Nog had told him once that this kind of interest in machines was unbecoming. But Jake loved the engineering tasks he had learned with the chief, and he loved learning. Jake felt that each experience was going to be important, whether he became a writer, an engineer, or a Starfleet officer like his father.
Nog's view of the world was a lot more utilitarian. If he didn't have an immediate use for the information, it was worthless. Sometimes he used that as a cover for his spotty knowledge of hu-man things. But sometimes Jake believed that Nog meant it.
Jake picked up his mitt and ball and hurried back to the cabin he shared with his father. He tossed the equipment on the couch and pulled up a station schematic. It took a moment to isolate that particular bulkhead.
Then he stared at the diagram. The area behind the panel was blank, according to the diagram. Not hollow. The bulkhead should have thudded when the ball hit it.
Jake grinned. At last, something the chief hadn't found. A little mystery all Jake's own.
CHAPTER
2
DAX HAD WORKED her way back into the crowded bar. She stood on the stairs leading into the holosuites. From there, she could face the dart game still going on between Julian and Chief O'Brien and still see the Caxtonian and Quark discuss the statue at the bar.
The Caxtonian had forced most of the other patrons away from the bar. He and Quark leaned together as close as possible given the Caxtonian's stench and were discussing things heatedly.
The dart game was equally heated. Julian had agreed to forfeit his bull's-eye in exchange for one of O'Brien's bull's-eyes. The chief had declined that offer, saying his bull's-eye was untainted by the wing speed of an Ardwanian. Then a heated discussion of the physics of movement followed, ended by Dax herself when she said that if the wings of an Ardwanian could affect dart trajectory, so could the breath of all the nearby observers. Knowing that Quark would not let darts in his bar without the wagers placed on the games, O'Brien had begrudgingly agreed to Dax's interpretation.
The fighting ceased, and she was able to stare at the darts while actually watching Quark and the Caxtonian. For once, the stench worked in her favor. None of the other patrons, traders all, had noticed the detail work on that statue. She hoped none of them would.
That statue sent shivers down her spine. Its existence meant that someone had found the Nibix, the legendary lost ship of the Jibetian Confederacy. Eight hundred standard years ago a revolution on Jibet had sent the ruling family, most of the crown jewels and wealth of the planet, and about a thousand of the ruling family's loyal followers into a cold-sleep ship, fleeing into space in search of a new world. The ship was never seen again.
But the revolution failed shortly after the ship left. Jibetian belief said that the royal family descended directly from Jibet's gods. Suddenly the Jibetian culture found itself with a missing god and royal family. It set up a provisional council to rule until the Supreme Ruler was found, and that council had ruled now for eight hundred years.
Within a hundred years of the revolution the Jibetians had developed their own form of warp drive and began expanding into the systems around them in search of the world where the Nibix had landed. Jibetian space was an area much farther from the galaxy center than the Federation. The neighboring systems around Jibet are spread extremely far apart. But the Jibetians over the centuries still mana
ged to hold together a rough confederation of eighty planets. Finally, one hundred standard years ago a Jibetian warp ship met a far-reaching Federation starship.
A cheer from Julian's supporters made Dax focus on the dart game. Another bull's-eye. O'Brien's face was red and not from the growing heat in the bar. If Dax were still going to have her meeting with Julian, she would call the game, but she couldn't. She had to wait for Benjamin.
He knew almost as much about the Jibetians as she did. Maybe more when it came to Jibetian and Federation relations. If the Jibetian Confederacy did join, they would add a large area of space and eighty worlds. The economic impact of such a joining would be felt throughout the sector, because many of the Jibetian worlds were very rich indeed.
Since the first meeting of the Federation and Jibetian ships, the legend of the lost ship Nibix and all its treasures had spread through space. Rumors of its discovery always sent both Federation starships and Jibetian Confederation ships speeding to the area. Recently, the Federation Council, in an effort to improve relations with the Jibetians and slow the treasure hunting, passed an edict that the Nibix, if found, would be protected under Federation law and returned in its entirety to the Jibetians.
Curzon Dax had mixed feelings about the ruling, although Jadzia Dax saw the sense of it. Curzon Dax had been on two Nibix salvage missions in the early years after the first meeting of the Jibetians. Both missions had found ghost ships but not the Nibix. Dax had studied the listed contents of the ship, all the royal family wealth packed on that one cold-sleep ship. Dax knew the type of art and wealth on that ship. She knew what to look for and how to identify it and how to spot fakes.
The tiny oval design was difficult to duplicate. The faint green glow was impossible to make without Jibetian gemstones—gemstones that had been protected for centuries. Dax would have to do tests, but they would be redundant, for Starfleet records only.
She knew the statue that Quark was poking with his greedy little hands was from the Nibix.
Another cheer went up, this one from the Dabo table. Quark didn't even look up. So he recognized the statue, too. That might make things more difficult.
The Long Night Page 2