save us a little money, true, but manpower is the
primary factor."
"Surely we can come to some arrangements?"
Quark said, a bit of a desperate whine creeping into
his voice. "I know this ship is perfect for your needs.
How much would it take to persuade you to use my
ship instead?"
Sisko tilted his head to the side. "Quark, is that a
bribe you're offering me?"
"No, no," Quark said hastily, raising both hands.
"What I meant is, how much of a reduction in price
would it take for you to consider my ship instead of
your friend's?"
Sisko gazed down at the baseball on his desk
thoughtfully. "Forty bars of latinum?" he suggested.
"Done!" Quark cried. "I'll put through the invoice
at once for two hundred and ten..." His voice
trailed off.
Sisko was shaking his head. "Forty bars of latinum
total," he said. "Not one bar more."
Quark let out a strangled cry. "You're killing me!"
"It's the best I can do," Sisko said. "And I'll wave
the docking fees your ship has incurred while it's been
here."
"I'll get back to you," Quark said. Muttering to
himself, he stabbed the disconnect button. Sisko
found himself staring at a blank screen, which was
quickly replaced by the Federation logo of a starfield
and two olive branches on a blue background.
"Let me guess," Dax said. "Right now he's finding
out how much the hull is worth from salvage dealers."
"I expect so," Sisko said. "And thanks to Kira, we
have a good idea what that is."
Kira was grinning. "Right, Captain," she said.
Half a minute later, Quark called again. "It's a
deal," he said to Sisko. He seemed more subdued
than usual, Sisko thought, and almost sulky. Perhaps
he was mourning the loss of two hundred and ten
undeserved bars of gold-pressed latinurn.
"Excellent," Sisko said. "If you'll put through your
invoice, I'll see that it receives priority payment
authorization."
"Thank you," Quark said sullenly, disconnecting.
Now, Sisko thought, to see about the wreck on the
Bajoran moon. Then it would all be up to O'Brien and
his people.
CHAPTER
5
FIVE O'CLOCK IN the morning is too early for delegates
to arrive, Dr. Julian Bashir thought with a yawn as he
strolled down the crossover bridge toward the dock-
ing ring. He hefted the DNA analyzer he was carrying.
It only weighed fourteen kilos, but lugging it with him
across half the station, he found it growing increas-
ingly heavy. He'd have another look at the schematics
later, he thought, and see if he could get the size
trimmed down a little more.
At this hour, the station seemed oddly still, almost
serene in its emptiness. None of the shops in the
Promenade had opened for the day yet. Even Quark's
bar was closed, and that, he reflected, spoke volumes
about how dead the station became in the early hours
of the morning. He'd only passed two other people so
far, and one of them had been Dax out for her
morning jog. She had waved and called a brief invita-
tion for him to join her before passing by, but he'd
declined. Her energy never ceased to amaze him.
Ahead, at the end of the crossover bridge, he
spotted a knot of men and women blocking the
passage. Something had to be going on here, he
realized. Their low babble of voices grew steadily
louder and more anxious. If someone was hurt, they'd
need a doctor. Bashir quickened his pace to a near jog.
But if someone was hurt, why hadn't he been called?
"Kill the Butcher of Belmast!" he suddenly heard a
loud voice shouting.
"We want justice!" another cried.
"Bring him back to Bajor for trial!" a third voice
called. "We know how to deal with Cardassians!"
Bashir groaned inwardly and drew up short. Not
again, he thought. The crowd faced away from him,
but now he recognized them all as Bajorans. The
dangling earrings gave them away, if not their civilian
clothes and anti-Cardassian sentiments. Somehow
they'd found out that the Cardassian delegation had
arrived, and they'd turned out in force as an unofficial
harassment party. It seemed to happen every time a
high-ranking Cardassian boarded the station.
But who was this "Butcher of Belmast" they were
talking about? He frowned, trying to think back to
where he'd heard of Belmast before. Wasn't it a
remote province on Bajor? Hadn't some war atrocity
been committed there? He shook his head. It wasn't
his concern right now--he had delegates to screen for
the peace conference. If he remembered, he'd ask
Major Kira about it later.
Taking a deep breath, he started forward with
determination. He'd never liked angry mobs, but he
couldn't see any way around this one--they were
completely blocking the walkway. To get around
them, he'd have to retrace his steps to the Promenade
and take a turbolift. Best to get it over with, he
thought. Besides, they weren't mad at him.
The crowd seemed a little thinner to the left, so
he eased his way between two women in pink and yel-
low robes. "Excuse me," he murmured. "I need
through--station business."
"Aren't you Dr. Bashir?" one of the women asked.
She was short and slightly overweight, with long
reddish brown hair tied up behind her head, and her
pale blue eyes held what looked like a fanatical gleam.
Bashir gulped and tried to remember if they had
ever met before, but couldn't place her sharp features.
"Uh, yes," he admitted. "Do I know you?"
Instead of replying, she seized his arm and pulled
him forward. "Let us through!" she called. "Let us
through to Werron!"
Everyone around them turned to look, and Bashir
found himself the center of attention. A little ner-
vously, he forced a small nod and an even smaller
wave. What have I done to deserve this? he wondered.
He was almost certain he'd never met the Bajoran
woman before. And who was Werron?
The crowd parted, and he rapidly found himself
pulled to the front. There, the Bajorans held placards
in a variety of languages--English, Cardassian, and
Bajoran. He scanned the ones he could read, and they
all talked about "Justice" and "Cardassian War Crim-
inals," as he'd half expected.
Six of Odo's men in tan and brown security uni-
forms held the line of Bajorans at bay. A couple of
them gave Bashir welcoming nods, and the doctor felt
a little better. They would rescue him if trouble
started. Not that he really expected trouble. Relations
remained good between humans and Bajorans at the
moment, what with them applying for Federation
membership and Captain Sisko being their Emissary
and all.
"Vedek Werron," the woman said, "this is Julian
Bashir, the station's medical officer."
A Vedek--no wonder they were so riled up. Bashir
focused on the tall Bajoran wearing gray robes who
turned at her voice. The man might dress simply,
Bashir thought, but he carried himself like someone
important. Vedeks were among the highest religious
positions a Bajoran could attain, he knew, and their
unique authority in Bajoran society allowed them to
incite the masses with their words. Most of the
trouble on DS9 between Bajorans and Cardassians
could be traced to Bajoran religious leaders.
Vedek Werron had the thin, almost emaciated fea-
tures of one who habitually fasted. His intense green
eyes focused on Bashir, who felt instantly dissected by
that gaze. Like he can see into my soul, Bashir thought
with a shiver. Werron's short brown hair had been
swept back over his scalp, and when he smiled,
showing perfect white teeth, the image that leaped to
Bashir's mind was that of a hungry tiger catching sight
of breakfast.
"Doctor," Werron said in a low, powerful voice,
stepping forward and taking Bashir's hand. He shoo k
it in the human fashion. "I am delighted to make your
acquaintance, sir. I have heard good things about
you."
"And I am delighted to meet you, Vedek," Bashir
said quickly. He extricated his hand as gently as he
could; no sense offending the fellow. The sooner the
niceties of introduction ended, the sooner he could
get back to his work and away from here.
Vedek Werron searched Bashir's face. "It must be a
great privilege serving with the Emissary," he said.
"Uh, yes, it is," Bashir said. Was this leading
somewhere? He had a suspicion it was. "Captain
Sisko is a fine commanding officer."
"I would like the chance to confer with him, but I'm
afraid I haven't been able to reach him."
Bashir nodded. So that was it; Sisko didn't want to
meet with Vedek Werron. Now Werron hoped to use
him as an intermediary. Bashir felt a flash of triumph
at having figured the man out.
But Werron merely said, "I am certain we'll be
seeing more of each other, Doctor. It is, after all, a
small universe." He motioned to his people, who
drew back a half meter, leaving him a clear path. "I
believe you were on a business call?" Again his smile
reminded Bashir of a predator's.
"That's right," Bashir said. He swallowed and
forced his eyes from Werron's face, feeling a cold knot
form in his stomach. This was a dangerous man,
something inside him said. He wished they hadn't
met. And he certainly hoped they wouldn't meet
again. Luckily business called.
Taking a deep breath, he ducked past Odo's depu-
ties and continued toward the docking ports. He had
to get to the Cardassians and administer his DNA
test.
Behind him, he heard the Bajorans begin their
chanting again "Justice for Bajor... Justice for
Bajor... Justice for Bajor..." Vedek Werron's
deep, powerful voice boomed over the others, loud as
a bell on a clear summer day.
When Bashir glanced back, he found Werron facing
his own people, exhorting them to louder shouts of
protest.
He forced his attention back to the task at hand.
The Cardassian shuttle had parked at Docking Port 2.
Odo stood just outside the open airlock door with two
more deputies. Half a dozen Cardassians were stand-
ing just inside, out of sight of the Bajoran crowd, and
they did not look happy.
"You're late, Doctor," Odo said gruffly.
"Sorry," he said. "I had a little trouble getting
through the crowd."
Odo glanced back at them. "Yes, I can see how that
might happen."
Bashir scanned the Cardassians' faces and was a
trifle disappointed not to recognize anyone among
them. The enemy you know and all that, he thought.
Though their people might officially be at peace, he
had seen little to end his distrust of Cardassians
during his time on the station. If anything, he was
more paranoid when dealing with them than ever.
And he felt quite a bit of sympathy for the Bajorans--
Cardassian occupation had nearly destroyed their
world.
"I am Dr. Bashir," he said to the Cardassian at the
front of the group, who seenled to be in charge. "I'm
the station's chief medical officer."
"Gul Mekkar," the Cardassian replied. He was
short and heavyset, with a lumpy, grayish face and
thick corded neck. Mekkar folded his arms and
glared. "We are here on a peace mission, Doctor. Why
are we greeted by rioters, detained in our ship's
airlock, and met by underlings instead of diplomats?"
Bashir wanted to roll his eyes and groan. It was
going to be one of those days. "I'm sorry if we weren't
prepared for you," he said, a trifle archly. "As you
may recall, you arrived three hours early and wouldn't
wait for proper clearance. Captain Sisko is in confer-
ence now and cannot be disturbed. He will join us as
soon as he is able. In the meantime, I am here to
ensure the safety and security of these proceedings.
Anyone who plans to debark your ship will be re-
quired to undergo a DNA test to prove that they are in
fact Cardassian."
Mekkar snorted. "Who else would we be--
humans, perhaps? Or maybe VulcansT'
Odo said, "As I already told you, we have reason to
believe changelings from the Gamma Quadrant may
try to infiltrate these proceedings. This is a routine
security measure, I assure you."
"Rubbish," Mekkar sneered. "It's another excuse
for harassment, nothing more. No one mentioned
tests when this conference was arranged."
Bashir said, "It's a surprise test, to make sure the
changelings have no chance to prepare some way
around it. The Valtusians have already submitted to
the procedure, as has the entire command staff of
DS9. It's fast and painless. I assure you, you won't
feel the slightest discomfort."
Odo added, "You will not be allowed aboard the
station until you and your entire crew submit to the
screening process."
"This is an outrage!" Mekkar gestured angrily.
The Cardassian woman behind him leaned forward
and whispered something in his ear. He listened for a
second, then frowned.
"Very well," he said coldly to Bashir. "If it will
allow us to get on with our work, you may proceed.
But I warn you, if this is some sort of trick..." He let
the threat hang between them.
One of those days, indeed. "And the rest of your
people?" Bashir asked.
Many of the Cardassians behind Mekkar stirred,
muttering to one another. None of them seemed
happy with the idea of being tested.
Mekkar turned to his people. "They
will submit as
well," he said flatly. There were a few grumbles, but
they quickly died down. Mekkar was not a Cardassian
who was used to being argued with, Bashir saw.
At least it would be over soon. "Please place your
hand on top," he said. He held out the DNA scanner.
Still glaring, Mekkar did so. The computer voice
promptly announced that he was Cardassian.
"As you can see," he snarled, "I am who I say I
am."
Bashir nodded and stepped back. "You may pro-
ceed."
Mekkar stomped out of the airlock, then turned
and surveyed the mob cordoned off twenty meters
away. His sneer grew, and Bashir heard him mutter,
"Rabble!"
"That's him!" Bashir heard one of the Bajorans
shout. "That's Mekkar!" Other voices cried, "Cardas-
sian Butched" and "Murderer/"
Mekkar set his hands on his hips and glared at
them. "On Cardassia," he announced in a loud voice,
"this display would be punishable by death!"
More jeers came from the Bajorans.
Bashir sighed. He'd better get this over with
quickly, he thought. The crowd was turning ugly. He
only hoped Odo's people would be able to keep them
in line.
The Cardassian woman who'd reasoned with Mek-
kar was next, and she placed her hand on the scanner
before he asked. "Proceed," she said. There seemed to
be a trace of amusement in her voice.
Bashir activated the scanner.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Kloran." She brushed back her long, stringy black
hair with one hand and gave him a brief smile. "I am
Mekkar's second in these negotiations."
"Subject DNA passes," the computer said. "Sub-
ject is Cardassian." A wave of relief passed through
Bashir. Every time he ran the scanner, he found he
half expected someone to fail.
"You may proceed," he told her. "And thank you
for your help."
"It was done in the interest of cooperation." She
gave him a brief smile, then stepped forward and took
Mekkar's arm. More jeers came from the Bajorans.
Bashir glanced over and found Kloran smiling faintly,
almost mockingly, at them, and a chill went through
him. The two Cardassians made a rather daunting
couple, he thought.
Chief Miles O'Brien felt beads of perspiration start-
ing to form on his brow and shook his head. Damn
space suits. He felt an overpowering urge to wipe his
forehead, but there was no way he could reach inside
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 5