The Long Mirage

by David R. George III

  “The last I knew, the Dominion didn’t much consider the Federation at all,” Odo said. “That also should be considered a positive.”

  “I suppose so,” Blackmer said. “Still, I have a responsibility to ensure the safety not just of this starbase, but of Bajor as well. Since we’ve been unable to make contact with the crew of the Jem’Hadar ship, I want to send a vessel into the Gamma Quadrant to ascertain their intentions—and to do so while they’re still far enough away to sound the alert to Starfleet, if necessary.”

  “That sounds like a prudent course of action,” Odo said, “although I would suggest not attempting to intercept the Jem’Hadar ship on an offensive footing. There’s no sense in assuming an antagonistic posture.”

  “Agreed,” Blackmer said. “Our second officer, Lieutenant Commander Wheeler Stinson, is currently preparing the Defiant for the journey. Given your familiarity with the Dominion—with the Founders, the Jem’Hadar, and the Vorta—I would appreciate it if you would join the mission.”

  The request irritated Odo, in part because he found it disingenuous. “Are you sure it’s because of my knowledge of the Dominion,” he said, “and not because a Jem’Hadar crew wouldn’t fire on a ship carrying a Changeling?”

  “That occurred to me as well,” Blackmer said. “But you think that the Jem’Hadar don’t intend to attack, so I am sincerely hoping that your ability to communicate with them will allow us to swiftly determine their purpose.”

  “I see,” Odo said. He didn’t want to believe Blackmer. He wanted more than anything to make his way to Bajor as quickly as he could so that he could find Nerys and reunite with her. To his dismay, though, he did believe Blackmer. More than that, Odo actually thought it would be wise for him to accompany the Defiant crew to find out about the Jem’Hadar ship before it reached the wormhole. Even after such a long time away from the Dominion, he bore an obligation to the beings living under its aegis to help them develop a just society. A Jem’Hadar ship taking aggressive action against DS9 or Bajor would serve the Dominion no more than it would the Federation.

  Odo opened his mouth and expelled a burst of air, a mannerism he had long ago refined for use in dealing with humanoids. The grumble, part sigh and part derisive laugh, signaled his displeasure in such a way that his meaning could be accurately interpreted by multiple species. In this case, he did not appreciate having to delay his reunion with Nerys. “I’ll go,” he said, “provided that, upon my return, you will have the Defiant or some other vessel take me immediately to Bajor.”

  Blackmer rose from his chair. “You have my guarantee,” he said. “You can board the Defiant at Docking Bay One. Thank you.”

  Odo stood up as well. “You’re welcome, Commander,” he said. “But I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it in the interest of keeping the peace—on both sides.” He didn’t wait for a response, but moved away from the desk and exited into the corridor that would take him to the turbolift.

  vi

  * * *

  Ro piloted the Nexvahl vessel through the atmosphere of Mericor toward the lone spaceport on the planet’s surface. The mud-colored landscape filled the forward port, a few tufts of cloud threading here and there through the sky. Ro followed the approach vector she’d received from Planetary Injection Control, an orbital facility that monitored and directed arriving and departing vessels. When the ship reached the designated altitude, she opened a channel directly to the spaceport.

  “Nexvahl Scoutship Seven-Eight-One-Eight dash Seven-Three to Mericor Anchorage,” she said. “Requesting a landing berth.”

  “Nexvahl vessel, this is Mericor Anchorage,” replied a fluttery male voice. If Ro had to guess, she would have bet that it belonged to a Callandran. “Targeting a navigational beacon to your position.”

  Ro worked the conn. “Confirming detection of nav beam,” she said.

  “Proceed through the outermost shields,” the voice said, “then switch to antigravs and power down your engines. A tractor beam will set your vessel down in the Eastern Terminal, Berth Thirty-Five Triangle.”

  Ro acknowledged the directions by repeating them, then glanced back over her shoulder. “We should be landing shortly,” she said.

  “Good,” Quark said from the cockpit’s aft seat.

  His voice carried no attitude with it, but the brevity of his response confirmed the ongoing tension between him and Ro. They had both largely been quiet since their dustup the previous night—not ignoring each other, but also not saying anything more than they needed to say. It made a marked contrast to the way they normally related to each other, talking with an ease brought about by familiarity and affection.

  More than anything, Quark seemed sad to Ro, but he also walked tall—as tall as a Ferengi could, anyway—from which she inferred his satisfaction that he’d finally gotten to speak openly with her about what had obviously been bothering him for some time. Ro felt sad too, recognizing that even though she had been the one to end their relationship, it still counted as yet another loss in her life. In addition, she took herself to task for how she had treated Quark. She had apologized to him, and he had accepted it, but the dynamic between them had definitely changed.

  Ro saw a blue flash as the scoutship passed through the outer hemisphere of shields that surrounded Mericor—both the spaceport and the adjoining city that it served. When the vessel jolted a moment later as a tractor beam took hold of it, she immediately activated the antigrav system and then shut down the drive. She peered through the forward port and spotted the twin domes up ahead. The closer structure, colored white and with a large circular opening at the top, covered the spaceport, while the more distant, sky-blue edifice protected the city proper. The two domes afforded a sharp contrast with the drab, undistinguished planetary surface on which they stood.

  Wanting to move past the tensions that had grown between them, and hoping not to lose Quark from her life entirely, Ro turned her chair to face him. “I know that I’ve hurt you, and that you’re upset with me,” she told him, “but whatever other reasons I might have had for coming on this trip, I also wanted to help you. I still do. I hope you’ll let me.”

  Quark stared at her for so long that she thought he had decided not to speak with her for the duration of the trip—or perhaps not to speak with her ever again. But then he said, “We’ll need to go to the northern terminal. I got a contact from Lenk, an old . . . acquaintance . . . of mine. It’s somebody he knows who works in spaceport security.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Ro asked, pleased not only to have Quark talking to her, but that he would allow her to help him recover his lost funds, something patently important to him.

  “I won’t know until we meet him,” Quark said. “But it might be something like what we did at Farius Prime.”

  Ro recalled well her turn undercover as a dabo girl. Despite having to wear what she initially thought of as a degradingly skimpy outfit, she actually enjoyed the experience. Even with Quark so upset with her, she doubted even he would have the lobes to actually suggest a similarly outrageous plan. Although I’ve often heard people use the word outrageous when describing Quark and the things he’s done.

  “Whatever you need, Quark, I’m here to help.” Too little, too late, Ro thought, but something is better than nothing. At the very least, it would mark the beginning of her making amends.

  vii

  * * *

  In every direction, ships of various configurations, sizes, and colors stood on landing gear in berths delineated by low walls. From a begrimed Pakled travel pod barely larger than an individual Pakled to a massive Frunalian clipper that looked like a collection of tall, flame-red triangles intersecting at their bases, the spaceport comprised a wildly variegated collection of planetary landing craft. A circular grid of wide pedestrian thoroughfares, joined by radial segments, ranged among them, thick with travelers. Runs of small squarish buildings housed various concess
ions, purveying foods, goods, and services. Quark saw one stand that advertised tube grubs for a price he wouldn’t pay if they were wrapped in latinum. He also spotted a stall that offered detective services, and he wondered if he should have turned down Laren’s offer to join him, instead employing a professional to help him once he reached Mericor.

  For that matter, I could just have brought Zirk along, Quark thought. At least he wouldn’t have crushed my lobes like Laren did. Quark felt equal parts angry and sad about the loss of their relationship. In part, he directed some of that anger toward himself. He had sensed their bond slipping away ever since leaving Bajor for the new starbase—and maybe even before that. Laren claimed an overriding fixation with her expanding crew and the increasing size and scope of her duties, and while Quark could see truth in those assertions, he also willed himself to ignore the signs that her passion for him had waned. His sustained pursuit of her was like continuing to bid in an auction when nobody had yet topped his previous offer—not a question of diminishing returns, but one of no return for a greater and greater investment.

  Multiple Rules of Acquisition rattled through his mind, but he mentally batted them away. He also sought to bury his emotions with respect to Laren. At the moment, he had a more important matter with which to deal: the recovery of his stolen latinum from the treacherous Mayereen Viray.

  At an intersection of walkways, Quark turned down a spur marked NORTH 19 SQUARE. He heard Laren’s footsteps behind him as she followed at a distance. Quark visually scanned the avenue ahead and spotted the security office set off to the side. Like others they had passed, the freestanding conic structure stood wrapped in a highly reflective finish, making it difficult to distinguish from its surroundings.

  Quark moved to that side of the pedestrian thoroughfare and trod forward at a rapid pace. When he came abreast of the security office, he stopped and spun toward it. It took a moment for him to see the outline of the door. He raised a closed hand and rapped his knuckles on the polished surface.

  The upper half of the door glided open, revealing a shadowy interior lined with control panels. An Andorian male—either a thaan or a chan—stood just inside and gazed down at Quark. Another man—a pale, nondescript humanoid who might have hailed from Earth—looked on from where he sat at one of the consoles.

  “May I help you?” the first man asked in heavily accented Andorian, which Quark’s universal translator interpreted for him.

  “I need to report a security violation,” Quark said, employing the precise language Lenk had given him.

  The man’s antennae moved subtly, turning ever so slightly outward before returning to their previous position. “What sort of violation do you need to report?” The response, word for word, which Lenk had told him to expect, sounded to Quark like the ring of latinum slips and scintillas in a child’s savings box.

  “I saw somebody outside my landing berth with a scanner,” Quark said, following the script. While Mericor did not outlaw the possession of sensing devices, since virtually all ships carried them, it did prohibit the use of such instruments—as well as transporters—within either the spaceport or the city. The other security officer stood up and joined the first, listening to what Quark had to say. “He appeared to be taking readings of the ships in that area.” At his waist, Quark surreptitiously made a motion with his left hand.

  “We didn’t pick up any sensor activity,” the second security officer said, obviously suspicious. He did not speak Federation Standard, but Argelian.

  “He’s probably masking his scans,” the Andorian said.

  “Can you describe the man?” the second security officer asked.

  “He’s tall,” Quark said, offering the first adjective all Ferengi generally used when discussing the characteristics of an alien individual. “He’s bald, has wrinkled, grayish skin, a deep line across his skull and down his nose, medium-sized ears—”

  “An Yridian?” the first man asked.

  “Yes, yes, an Yridian,” Quark said, as though the name of the species had until that moment eluded him.

  “Damned information merchants,” the Argelian said.

  At that moment, Laren walked up beside Quark, responding to his furtive gesture. “Pardon me,” she said in Bajoran, in a register higher than that of her normal speaking voice. “I can’t seem to find the berth I’m looking for.” She smiled alluringly, in a way that Quark desperately missed.

  The Argelian man tapped at a control and the lower half of the door slid open. He squeezed past the Andorian and stepped out to face Laren. “What berth are you looking for?”

  “Circle North Three,” Laren said, intentionally misstating a proper berth designation. She took a couple of strides away from the security office and peered in both directions down the walkway, as though lost.

  “Do you mean the Northern Terminal?” the Argelian asked. “Berth Three Circle?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Laren said, feigning excitement.

  The Argelian leaned in close to her—too close, Quark thought—and pointed back the way they had come. “If you go back to the second intersection,” the security officer said, “then turn left, follow the arc around to—”

  “Wait, what?” Laren said, seemingly confused.

  “Follow this back to the second intersection,” the Argelian repeated, “then go left and make your way to the third . . .” His voice trailed off in the glare of Laren’s bewildered expression.

  “Would you show me?” she asked coyly.

  The man sighed as though frustrated by the request for assistance, but when he peered back over at the Andorian, he did so with a visibly satisfied look. “Rethik, would you mind if I escorted this lovely lady where she needs to go?” he asked the other security officer in pidgin Andorian.

  “You have to do your duty,” the first man said with a grin. Quark watched as the Argelian took Laren by the elbow and strolled at a leisurely pace with her back down the avenue. Then he looked back up at the other security officer.

  “Lenk sent me,” he said quietly.

  “If you’ll step into the office for a moment,” the Andorian said in a voice clearly calculated to allow passersby to hear, “I can take a report for you.” Quark entered the hutlike structure, and the man followed, closing both sections of the door behind them. “What do you need?” Rethik asked brusquely.

  “A Mizarian transport is traveling here from Janus Six,” Quark said. “I want to know when it’s scheduled to land and where.”

  “How much?” The Andorian clearly asked not how much Quark wanted to find out the information, but how much he would pay for it.

  Quark reached into his bright, multicolored jacket, to an inside pocket where he’d placed a specific amount of latinum. He pulled out all the slips there and held them out in his open hand. Rethik leaned in and counted.

  “That’s it?” he said with forced indignation.

  “All I’m asking for is information I could find out for myself if I had more time,” Quark said.

  “But apparently you don’t have more time,” Rethik said, “so that makes what you want not only information, but timeliness.”

  Quark nodded, fully expecting such a reaction after he’d spoken to Lenk about Rethik. He found a different pocket inside his jacket and retrieved three more slips of latinum. He added it to the others. When Rethik reached for it, Quark closed his hand around the shiny currency. “Information first.”

  Rethik didn’t spend any time thinking about it. He crossed to a panel and quickly worked its controls. “There’s a Mizarian freighter slated to arrive in . . . twelve days.”

  “Twelve days?” Quark asked, more than a little discouraged by the response. “Where is it coming from?”

  Rethik checked the panel again. “Kobheeria.”

  “That’s not it; Kobheeria is in the wrong direction,” Quark said. “Check again.”


  Rethik operated the console once more. “You’re right,” he said. “A Mizarian transport arrived seven hours ago. It came in from . . . Khefka Four . . . and before that, it traveled from—” He looked over at Quark. “It traveled from Janus Six.”

  “That’s it,” Quark said. Rethik grabbed for the latinum, but Quark kept his hand closed. He instead reached back into his jacket, found a third interior pocket, and pulled out an entire strip of latinum. “I was told that you might have something more than information . . .” He let the implication dangle.

  Rethik smiled, which had the odd effect of smoothing out some of the wrinkles around his mouth. “You mean like a scanner.”

  “I mean like an undetectable scanner,” Quark said. “I don’t need to end up in a Mericor jail.”

  Rethik moved over to a control panel, bent, and opened a cabinet beneath it. He pulled out a small device, easily concealable in a humanoid hand. “It’s got good range—enough to cover either the city or the spaceport, depending on where you are,” Rethik said. “But it can only scan for one or two search patterns, which have to be preprogrammed. I presume you know who or what you’re looking for.”

  “A Petarian,” Quark said.

  “That’s easy enough to encode,” Rethik said. He made a circling motion around Quark’s closed fist with the slips of latinum and the open hand with the strip. “I get all of it.”

  “All of it,” Quark said. “And if the scanner works, you get to keep all of it. Otherwise, we’ll both end up in a Mericor jail.” Quark didn’t typically care to threaten people, at least in a nonfinancial context, but his desperation drove him to it—that, and the fact that Lenk had told him that Rethik responded to such warnings.

  The Andorian went back to the control panel, tapped in a sequence of commands, then checked the scanner. He held it up so that Quark could see its small display. He saw the emblem of the Petarian people, a jagged white streak that resembled a bolt of lightning, atop of pair of overlapping yellow circles.