to join the Maquis when the Federation ceded her
Homeworld, too, to Cardassia in a peace treaty--that
bought her a place at the negotiating table.
The airlocks slowly matched pressure between their
ship and Deep Space Nine, and then their hatch
opened. Twofeathers saw a gigantic blood-red cog
slowly roll to one side. It was the space station's
hatch, he realized suddenly, disconcerted.
"You first," Myriam whispered.
He nodded reassuringly to her, keeping his face
impassive, then proceeded down the short passage
and out into the docking ring. There were three
humanoids waiting to greet them one tall, imposing-
looking black man in a command uniform, with his
head shaved and a short beard; a Trill woman, her
straight black hair tied behind her head, revealing the
patterning of her spots on her forehead and neck; and
another human, this one with short wavy black hair.
"Philip Twofeathers?" the Trill asked.
"Yes," he said, his voice deep and booming.
"I am Lieutenant Commander Dax," she said. "We
spoke earlier."
"Yes," he said.
"I am Captain Sisko," the black man said, nodding
politely. "This is Dr. Bashir. On behalf of the Fed-
eration, I would like to welcome you aboard DS9,
Ambassadors."
"Thank you," Twofeathers said. "This is my associ-
ate, Myriam Kravitz."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain
Sisko," she said.
He nodded to her. "We have one security test
before we admit you to the station," he went on. "A
DNA test to verify that you are, indeed, who you say
you are."
"My DNA patterns are not on file with Starfleet,"
Twofeathers said. Was this some kind of trick? He
didn't like the sound of it.
"It's to make sure you're human and not change-
lings trying to infiltrate the peace process," Bashir
said quickly. "Anything which brings stability to this
quadrant is against their best interests."
"But what else can you do with my DNA once you
have it?" Twofeathers said. He shook his head. No,
this would not do at all. "This is against all diplomat-
ic protocols as I understand them. I refuse."
"Then," Sisko said, "you can get right back on your
ship. Go back to the Maquis. Tell them that you
single-handedly derailed the entire peace process be-
cause you didn't want to prove to us that you are
human."
"We don't do anything with the DNA except scan it
to make sure you're human," Bashir said. "Use a tricorder."
"The changelings can fool even a tricorder," he
said.
Twofeathers snorted. Paranoid fools.
Kravits stepped forward. "My DNA is already on
file with Starfleet," she said. "Test me."
Bashir held out the box he was holding. "Place your
hand on top," he said. "It's painless. You won't feel a
thing."
Twofeathers watched, feeling his heart start to beat
a little faster with concern, as Myriam did what she
was told.
"Scanning," the box said. "Subject DNA passes.
Subject is human."
Myriam stepped back, flexing her fingers and star-
ing at her hand. The breath caught in Twofeathers's
throat--was she all right?
Suddenly she looked at him and nodded. "Do it,"
she said. "I don't see any harm."
The Federation officers looked relieved. Twofeath-
ers studied them a second, then nodded his assent.
They had DNA on file from many members of the
Maquis, he thought, and it had done them little good
in the past. He didn't see how it could hurt now,
either.
"Very well," he said and stretched out his hand. A
second later the box announced that he, too, was
human.
"This way," Sisko said. "Perhaps you'd like a tour
of the station before we show you to your quarters?"
"Yes," Twofeathers said. "I have heard of a place
here called... Quark's?... which a number of
friends recommend."
Sisko blanched a bit at that. "Quark's," he said,
sounding completely nonplussed.
Twofeathers folded his arms, tilted back his head,
and stared impassively up at him. "Quark's," he
repeated.
Lieutenant Dax smiled. "Why don't you let me
show them around," she suggested to Sisko.
"Very well," he said. He smiled briefly at Twofeath-
ers and Kravitz. "I leave you in Dax's capable hands."
As he turned to go, Twofeathers overheard him whis-
per, "Just keep them out of trouble, okay, old man?"
Old man? Twofeathers frowned in bewilderment.
What kind of nickname was that for a woman?
But Dax merely smiled and hooked her arms
through theirs, leading them toward the turbolift.
"One of the station's many attractions is Quark's
Place," she said. "Julian here is an excellent darts
player--do you know the game?mand I believe he's
going to be in a tournament tonight."
"Darts," Twofeathers said. It was a game he'd
always enjoyed as a boy, though he preferred throwing
knives these days. "Aren't those similar to tiny ar-
rows?" he said, trying to sound naive.
"Very similar, actually," Dr. Bashir said from be-
hind him. "I'd be glad to give you some pointers, if
you'd like."
"I think I would," Twofeathers said. A tournament
might be a good way to make a little money, he
thought. He smiled inwardly. It was rather amusing,
actually, that Federation losses would go straight into
the Maquis war fund.
But he couldn't let himself forget the other reason
he'd come. There was a lot of war surplus available on
Bajor... arms and equipment the Maquis desper-
ately needed if they were going to win the fight with
Cardassia. Peace negotiations were fine, but knowing
the Cardassians and the Federation, he had little hope
of success. So while he could operate here in the open,
he intended to take advantage of his every opportuni-
ty. Rumor said that Quark could get anything you
wanted, for a price ....
CHAPTER
9
AFTER ^ BUMPY ride through the wormhole, Kira
brought the Progress into the Gamma Quadrant.
Instantly she ran a long-range scan... and picked
up nothing. Not a sign of a ship, Jem'Hadar or
otherwise. That had always amazed her. If this were
her quadrant, she would have put some kind of
watchers here to monitor traffic through the worm-
hole. But then, if the changelings had a weakness, it
had to be their cocky attitude. They felt they were
born to rule the universe. Present company ex-
cluded, of course.
"We're safe," she said. "No sign of Jem'Hadar
ships."
"Excellent," Worf said from behind her.
Kira punched in the coordinates and set the auto-
pilot. The ship accelerated smoothly on a new
beari
ng... the Daborat system, fifty-seven light-
years distant.
"Since there's no sign of trouble," Odo said, 'TII
leave you to your piloting."
"We'll call you if anything comes up," Kira prom-
ised.
When she glanced back, she saw Odo transforming
into a shining golden glob. He oozed across the floor,
then one end arched up and fountained into a bucket
sitting on top of one of the padded seats in the
passenger section. She didn't know how he managed
to fit all of himself into such a small space, but
somehow he did.
"I would never be able to get used to that," Worf
said, dropping into the copilot's seat beside her. "It
looks so--confining."
She swiveled around to face him. His knobby
forehead was furrowed as he stared back toward Odo.
"I'm sure he finds it safe and comfortable."
Worf grunted, then turned around to look at her.
"Since we're going to be flying for most of the day,"
she said, "this seems like a good chance to get to know
one another better. Tell me about yourself, Com-
mander. What's it like being the first Klingon in
Starfleet?"
Worf sighed and rolled his eyes. "That is the
question everyone in the universe seems to ask," he
said.
"And you're sick of it."
He nodded.
"I understand. I can't tell you how many times I've
been asked by Bajorans what it's like to serve under a
Federation captain." "Oh?"
Kira thought she saw a spark of interest in his eyes.
Perhaps that was the key to winning his friendship,
she thought--finding common ground. But wasn't
that the case with all sentient life-forms throughout
the galaxy? Every life-form except Ferengi, she
thought. They didn't have friends. They had cus-
tomers.
She shrugged. "It's a living."
"A living... I will remember that answer," Worf
said. He seemed to relax a bit.
"I was raised by human parents," Worf said, "so I
grew up with Starfleet. Had my Klingon parents lived,
I would never have joined." He jerked his chin back
the way they had come. "I would probably be with my
brothers now, helping to seize Cardassian territory."
"You don't sound thrilled with that idea."
"It is a living."
Kira did a double take. Was that a sense of humor?
"I always used to think I'd make a great farmer,"
she said. "As a child, I dreamed of running through
the fields, smelling the sun-ripened plants, feeling the
sun on my back and the soil between my toes. I
sometimes wonder if that's what I'd be doing today, if
it weren't for the Cardassian occupation. I might be a
mother with four or five children, running my farm,
living off the land..."
"I cannot picture you as a mother," Worf said. "Or
as a farmer."
Kira sighed. "It's hard, but a part of me still wants
it."
Then Worf began to tell her of life on the Enterprise
before its destruction, of his son Alexander and his
friends Data and Geordi LaForge and Deanna Troi
and she found herself actually enjoying his company.
Secretly she had been half dreading the long flight
with him. Now it seemed it might be more pleasant
than she would have thought possible.
Four hours later, as Worf and Kira were comparing
their encounters with the life-form named Q, alarms
began to ring. Instantly Kira swiveled her seat around
and disengaged the autopilot.
Worf said, "We're being scanned. There's a vessel
approaching quickly from behind."
"I see it," Kira muttered. Then she looked up. "It's
not on an intercept course. And they're no longer
scanning us." She reached over and switched off the
alarm. Silence flooded through the cabin. Kira found
her heart racing. She took a deep breath to calm
herself. It sounded like a gulp.
"We do not have weapon systems aboard," Worf
pointed out. "Perhaps we did not register as a threat."
"Or perhaps they're smugglers watching out for
Jem'Hadar patrols," Kira said. She continued to
watch the ship on the monitor until it left scanner
range. Only then did she return control of the Progress
to the autopilot.
It was going to be a long trip, she realized.
CHAPTER
lO
QUARK'S BAR WAS packed. Jammed toe to claw to wing,
O'Brien thought a little gloomily as he surveyed the
hundreds of beings massed around the bar, crowding
the gambling tables, and generally mobbing the place.
He was wedged in at the end of the bar between a pair
of Bajorans who wer e noisily arguing about some
aspect of the Cardassian occupation and a grizzled
old Taltic whose iridescent blue-green scales stank
from too many months locked aboard a starship. You
could always tell a Harden space traveller spacer by
his odor, O'Brien thought. Half the tramp freighters
working this sector seemed to make DS9 a port of call
these days, and he would have bet that not one of
them carried proper bathing facilities anywhere
aboard. The Taltic, nursing a bottle of Qualian sea-
brandy, was typical. And he didn't seem to be
going anywhere soon. In fact, the only place that
wasn't packed was the dartboard area at the back,
stuck under the walkway to the holosuites.
O'Brien sucked in an angry breath as one of the
Bajorans accidentally jostled him, almost spilling his
mug of Tirellian stout. Bloody hell, would Bashir
never show up? Had the doctor completely forgotten
their dart game?
Taking another sip of the stout, he winced and tried
to catch Quark's eye. The stuff was vile, no doubt
about it, and he regretted letting Quark talk him into
trying it. Good old-fashioned lager, that's what he was
in the mood for tonight. "That and a dart game," he
muttered to himself.
Quark was too busy piling orders onto Rom's tray
to notice O'Brien. Now that Nog was off at Starfleet
Academy, Quark seemed to be perpetually short-
handed, O'Brien thought, and the Ferengi was just too
cheap to hire another waiter. O'Brien took another
sip of the stout. It had a certain afterkick, he decided,
which wasn't half bad. He could get used to it.
The Bajorans jostled him again, this time spilling
half his stout across the bar.
"Watch it," he said sharply.
The Bajoran glanced back at him. "You talking to
me, human?" he demanded.
"That's right," O'Brien said, standing to face him.
"You knocked my drink over."
"Maybe you shouldn't sit on top of me," the
Bajoran countered rudely. "Maybe you owe me an
apology, Earther."
O'Brien sucked in an angry breath. "I'11 have you
know," he began hotly.
Suddenly Quark was there, patting his arm sooth-
ingly. "Easy there, Chief," he said, l
eaning forward to
refill O'Brien's mug from a pitcher. "I can't afford any
more murder investigations this month. It cost me a
fortune paying off the families of the two Caxtonians
you killed in that brawl last week."
O'Brien blinked in puzzlement. Caxtonians were
huge, hairy humanoids with great natural piloting
skills but few social graces. He knew better than
tackling one in a fight. He'd certainly never killed a
pair of them in a brawl.
"Two... Caxtonians?" the Bajoran said.
Quark nodded seriously and lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, yes, O'Brien here, he's
an expert in Klingon martial arts. You should have
seen it. Ten seconds after he waded into the fight, he'd
decapitated one and shattered the other's skull with a
flying kick." He shook his head. "I've never seen
anything like it."
Catching on, O'Brien bared his teeth and snarled a
bit, the way he'd once seen Worf do it when Quark
had pissed him off.
The Bajoran paled. "My apologies for spilling your
drink," he said quickly. "Put it on my tab," he told
Quark. Then he quickly gathered up his own glass and
hurried off toward the gambling tables with his friend.
"Thanks," O'Brien said, leaning on the bar, "but I
can take care of myself, Quark."
"Nothing to do with you," Quark said, setting up a
new batch of glasses. "They were too busy arguing to
drink. I was just clearing space for paying customers."
A pair of long-necked Igrids, tall and graceful,
almost birdlike creatures covered in blue feathers, but
with six tentacles instead of arms, quickly took the
vacant seats. Quark gave them a hideously toothy but
sincere-seeming smile.
"What can I get you ladies?" he asked.
Ladies? O'Brien thought. How could he tell?
The two Igrids tittered drunkenly, tentacles slap-
ping on the bar's counter. "Mooth!" one said.
"Make mine a double!" said the other.
"Mine, too!" said the first.
"Coming right up," Quark said, and he began
mixing a fluorescent green concoction in a pitcher for
them.
"Let me know if Julian shows up," O'Brien said,
sliding off his stool. "I'11 be practicing."
"You got it," Quark said.
O'Brien headed for the dartboard, weaving his way
between tables. As he went, he became conscious of
the fact that quite a few Bajorans had grown silent
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 8