and were staring at him. He swallowed a little nerv-
ously, not liking the attention.
"He killed five Klingons bare-handed last week!" he
overheard one saying to another. "Five!"
It seemed the rumor mill had started spreading
Quark's tale. O'Brien shook his head. All he wanted
was a quiet game of darts. He didn't want a reputa-
tion as some kind of Captain Kirk.
"Chiefl" he heard a familiar voice shout.
Glancing toward the door, he spotted Bashir there
along with Dax and a pair of humans he didn't know.
He grinned and waved toward the dartboard, and
Bashir gave him the "okay" sign. Now O'Brien
grinned happily. He had a feeling Bashir's lucky
streak--three winning nights in a row--was about to
come to an end.
Dax sensed a hesitation in Myriam Kravitz as they
stood in the doorway of Quark's place. A pair of
inebriated Denuvians staggered past them, reeking of
synthale, and Kravitz took a quick step out of their
way. Her face showed distaste.
"You said you wanted to learn darts," Bashir was
saying to Twofeathers. "O'Brien there is a true master
of the sport. Taught me everything I know, in fact."
"I would like to meet him, then," Twofeathers said.
"Follow me." Bashir started forward, then paused.
"Coming, Dax?"
Dax glanced at Ambassador Kravitz, then shook
her head. "Not tonight. I'd like to find a quieter place.
How about you, Ambassador?" "I'11 join you," she said.
"Great," Dax said. She gave Bashir a bright smile.
"Next time."
Turning, she followed the Denuvians out. They
headed up the Promenade toward their crossover
bridge... probably planning to spend the night on
their ship, she decided.
"Is it always so crowded there?" the ambassador
asked, following her.
"Quark's? No, not usually. It's busy because of the
negotiations."
She looked puzzled. "Aren't they private?"
"Of course. But there are quite a few Bajorans here
to protest the Cardassian ambassador's presence. So
the crews of the ships that brought them are here,
waiting to bring them back. And there are interested
observers from the Federation and, unless I miss my
guess, from quite a few of the Maquis Homeworlds.
Plus there's the normal station traffic. DS9 can get
pretty full when something big is happening."
"Ah," she said.
"What kind of food do you want? There's a
Klingon restaurant, but it's not for timid palates."
"I don't think so," she said. "I've heard about
Klingon meals. I don't think I could eat something
that's still moving. i'm more of a nice matzo ball soup
type."
"In that case," Dax said, steering her toward the far
side of the Promenade, "may I recommend the public
replicators?"
Twofeathers deliberately missed the bulls-eye for
the third straight time. He found it almost painful, in
a way, to deliberately lose a contest. It went against
his every instinct.
"Close," Bashir said. "You're catching on." He
moved forward and removed the darts from the
target.
"I need another drink," Twofeathers said.
"Charge whatever you want to the station's ac-
count," Bashir said. He returned to the throwing line,
took aim, and let fly. The dart struck the tiny red
circle at the center of the target a perfect bulls-eye.
The engineer--what was his name, O'Brien?--let out
a loud groan.
"May I bring you something?"
"I'm still fine," Bashir said, throwing his second
dart. It landed a hairsbreadth to the left of the first
another perfect shot. The doctor hadn't exaggerated,
Twofeathers thought. He was an excellent dart player.
"I'm fine, too," O'Brien said, lifting his mug.
Twofeathers smiled and nodded pleasantly. Now
was his chance, he thought, to make contact with
Quark. He'd spotted the Ferengi behind the bar when
he came in.
Weaving between the full tables, he reached the bar
and pushed his way up to the front. Quark bustled
over, looking harried.
"What can I get you?" he asked.
"Synthale... and a Mark III attack cruiser," Two-
feathers said. "More, if you can get them."
Quark studied him. "Now where," he said, "would
I get a Mark III attack cruiser?" he said.
"Bajoran military surplus. I know you have con-
tacts."
Quark leaned forward. "How do I know you're not
Federation security?" he asked in a voice barely
audible over the background roar of the crowd. Two-
feathers found himself straining to hear.
"The Grand Nagus's second cousin, Goff, sent me
to you. He thought you might have a line on Bajoran
war surplus. And by the way, he says you still owe him
fourteen strips of gold-pressed tatinum. Plus a ten
percent commission for referring me to you."
"That sounds like GotT, always kidding." Quark
laughed, but Twofeathers saw the greed in his eyes.
"How long will you be here?" the Ferengi asked.
"As long as the peace negotiations take." Twofeath-
ers leaned back. "I'm one of the Maquis ambassa-
dors."
Quark nodded subtly. "Here's your synthale," he
said, putting a mug on the counter and filling it from a
pitcher. "I'll be in touch."
Twofeathers nodded, accepted his drink, and
headed back for the dart game. Quark was hooked, he
knew. Now it was all a matter of playing everything
out to its all too inevitable conclusion... victory.
He began to smile.
Bashir aimed his last dart carefully, threw, and
knew the second he released that it was another
perfect shot. Sure eno ugh, it hit the target dead center.
"Yes!" he cried. "Game, set, and match!"
O'Brien groaned again. "That's quite a streak you
have going," he complained as he went to retrieve the
darts.
Bashir smiled. "Your game's off tonight," he said.
"Is something bothering you?"
"I had a run-in with some Bajorans at the bar," he
said, and then he quickly explained what had hap-
pened. "They've been staring at me ever since."
"Don't worry, Chief, it'll blow over."
"I certainly hope so." He handed three darts to
Bashir, then stepped up to the throwing line.
"You," a low voice growled. "You, the human."
Bashir glanced back and found a Caxtonian ap-
proaching. It had a decidedly unfriendly look on its
face, and he swallowed uneasily. He followed the
alien's gaze... to Chief O'Brien. "Uh, Chief..." he said softly.
"Not while I'm throwing, Julian," O'Brien said.
"I really think--" he began.
The Caxtonian knocked a chair out of the way and
continued its inexorable advance. They weren't the
brightest of beings, Bashir knew, but they made good
pilots. They also never bathed, Bashir real
ized, as the
smell of this one reached him a sour-sweet reek of
animal musk and sweat and decades of grime.
"--that you should look over here," he went on,
still backing away. He tapped his badge. Better call for
help now, he thought, before things got ugly. "Bashir
to security," he said. "There's going to be a riot at
Quark's. Hurry!"
O'Brien threw his dart. It not only missed the bulls-
eye, it nearly missed the dartboard altogether, hitting
a 5 point area in the outer ring.
"Look what you made me do!" O'Brien com-
plained, turning. "So what is it, Julian, that's so damn
important--"
"Human!" The Caxtonian seized O'Brien's tunic,
heaved, and in one motion sent him flying ten meters,
across two tables, and into a knot of humans playing
cards at a table. Poker chips flew in all directions.
Players began to curse and pick themselves up.
Bashir saw shock on O'Brien's face and winced a bit
in sympathy. That had to hurt, he thought. Luckily
O'Brien didn't seem to have any broken bones.
"For my dead brothers!" the Caxtonian screamed.
Then he headed for O'Brien again, shoving everyone
and everything out of his way. Men and women began
pushing and shoving one another in their haste to
escape.
"Revenge!" the Caxtonian roared. "I kill you!"
Clearly, Bashir thought, he had believed Quark's wild
rumor.
Half a second later, the whole bar exploded with
fists, flying chairs, and angry screams. Bashir saw
O'Brien scrambling out of the Caxtonian's way, then
a Bajoran leaped on the engineer's back. They van-
ished beneath a heap of bodies.
Bashir dove for cover. No sense getting hurt, he
thought. He ducked as a half-empty bottle of
Romutan ale came flying past and smashed to shards
on the wall behind him. He had a feeling half the
people here would need his medical services soon
enough. How long till security arrived to break things
up?
CHAPTER
11
AN ALARM SOUNDED aboard the Progress, and Odo
returned to full consciousness with a jolt. What had
happened? Jem 'Hadar?
He poured himself up from the pail in a golden
stream and allowed himself to coalesce into his usual
humanoid form.
"What's wrong?" he demanded. He hurried for-
ward to gaze out the front viewport. Stars blurred into
lines around them from the distortion of their warp
field. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but
then he was a security officer, not a pilot.
"We've got trouble," Kira called from the pilot's
seat.
"What sort of trouble?"
"Three ships," Worf said from the seat next to
Kira's. He looked up. "Jem'Hadar, from their warp
signatures. We are already within their sensor range.
They are altering course to intercept."
"They're powering up their weapons systems!"
Kira said. "Going to evasive maneuvers--"
"No!" Odo said. "Leave the ship on autopilot. Get
into the back and hide. Get ready to activate your
personal cloakers in case they board and search for
you. I'll start the automatic distress call. We can fool
them into leaving us alone." Kira hesitated.
"Do it!" he told her. They didn't have time to
argue. Why didn't humanoids ever do things the first
time he asked?
Nodding, she ducked into the back section of the
ship, and Worf followed. Chief O'Brien had done an
excellent job of camouflaging the hidden compart-
ments, and Odo felt certain they'd pass any
Jem'Hadar inspection.
He slid into the pilot's seat and activated a low-
powered distress call. The Jem'Hadar would pick it
up, he knew. He was counting on it.
That only left himself. He flowed up onto one wall
and changed into the shape of a support beam. It felt
good to try a new form. He blended in so completely
that not even the Jem'Hadar would be able to detect
him.
From that position, he watched and waited with
growing impatience. The largest of the three
Jem'Hadar ships appeared on one of the monitors,
approaching quickly from behind. It looked like an
odd accumulation of spikes and rounded cornpart-
ments placed on a huge boxlike ship. It was a design
he had never encountered before. For a second he
wondered if it could be a different species than the
Jem'Hadar, but then he shook his head. No, it had to
be them. Who else would be policing this sector of
space?
Suddenly the Progress trembled all over--a tractor
beam had locked onto them, he guessed. Their ship's
engines automatically powered down to keep from
burning out, and the sudden silence that filled the
ship screamed more loudly than words. Suddenly
they dropped out of warp, the stars in the front
viewport changing from streaks of light to slowly
moving dots. Then the Jem'Hadar ship began to pull
them in toward a wide rectangular opening in its
side... a landing bay of some kind, he guessed.
They passed through a series of force fields which
cast shimmering blue lights across the monitors, and
then they were inside, slowly settled onto what looked
like a broad expanse of durasteel deck. Extruding a
tendril of himself to get a better look through the front
viewport, he saw rows of shuttles and small fighter
ships lined up. There had to be dozens of them in this
one landing bay, he realized. They were aboard some
kind of transport ship. But did that mean well or ill
for their mission?
Ten seconds after they touched down, he heard the
airlock pop open. Quickly he withdrew his tendril
from the front viewport, once again assuming the
shape of a support beam.
Below him, a dozen Jem'Hadar troops stormed
aboard, their disruptors held ready. He watched with
interest as they advanced quickly through the cabin,
covering one another, looking for any signs of life.
They didn't discover the hidden compartments, he
saw with relief. O'Brien's shielding held up. As they
milled about, one of them produced a small black box
with readouts on the top... a scanner of some kind,
Odo thought.
A Jem'Hadar ofifcer boarded last. He looked at the
pilot seats, grunted once, then circled the seats in the
main part of the cabin and peered into the back area.
He frowned in puzzlement.
"Where are they?" he demanded of the Jem'Hadar
with the scanner.
"There are faint life signs," the Jem'Hadar with the
scanner reported. Odo felt a flash of panic. The
shielding wasn't completely hiding Worf and Kira, he
realized.
"Where?" the officer demanded.
"I cannot get a lock on it, sir."
The officer struck him backhanded across the face.
"Fool. Give me y
our scanner."
The warrior handed it to him silently.
"They are hidden somewhere aboard," the officer
announced. "Rip the ship apart. Find them."
"Yes, sir." Two of the warriors sprinted through the
hatch. Probably going for heavy equipment, Odo
thought. He'd have to do something. Even with their
personal cloakers, Kira and Worf wouldn't stand a
chance against a high-powered laser cutting through
the bulkheads in search of hiding places. They'd be
sliced to pieces.
"Is there anything else here?" the officer demanded.
"Just these," another trooper said, bringing out the
message cube Sisko had given Odo back on DS9. He
set it on a chair next to Odo's pail.
"Find out what it is," the officer ordered, handing
the scanner back to the warrior he'd taken it from. "Is
it a bomb?"
"No..." the Jem'Hadar said. "It appears to be a
recording device of some kind."
Odo mentally nodded. Come on, he thought, acti-
vate it--this might be the distraction Kira and Worf
need to get out.
The officer stepped forward and looked the box
over suspiciously. Then he touched the button on the
top. Instantly a holographic projection of Captain
Sisko in full dress uniform appeared. He was bigger
than life, towering a full half meter over the
Jem'Hadar.
"I am Captain Benjamin Sisko, a Starfleet officer,"
Sisko's recording said in a booming voice. "This
message is for the leaders of the Dominion. On behalf
of the United Federation of Planets, I wish to invite
the Founders to join us in a peace conference. This
message box contains full instructions for getting a
reply safely back to us, as well as all necessary
diplomatic protocols this conference will require. We
hope to meet with you soon."
The hologram disappeared as quickly as it ap-
peared. It had been short and to the point, Odo
thought. Hopefully it would be enough to fool the
Jem'Hadar.
"A Federation trick," the officer sneered. The two
Jem'Hadar who'd left reappeared, lugging what
looked like a heavy-duty welding laser between them.
"Tear the ship apart," the officer said. "Kill anything
that moves. Find the source of those life readings."
"What about the box?" the Jem'Hadar with the
scanner said.
"I'll take care of it." Drawing his di sruptor, the
officer took careful aim.
Odo knew this was the time to act. He couldn't let
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 9