the message box be destroyed--not yet, anyway.
Letting his body change and flow like liquid gold,
he dropped from the ceiling, then flowed up before
them into his normal humanoid form. Folding his
arms, he glared with all the strength he could muster.
The Jem'Hadar dropped to their knees before him.
This, he thought, was a sign of the power the change-
lings wielded in the Gamma Quadrant.
"Your name," Odo demanded of the officer, trying
to sound imperious.
"Sub-Garn Thok, Founder." He still didn't look up.
"I came personally to deliver this peace summit
invitation, Sub-Garn Thok," Odo told them in the
angriest voice he could muster, "in case anyone felt
like intercepting it. I see my precautions were justi-
fied. Your superiors will hear of this. Leave my ship--
you are forbidden to touch it in any way. I will have
need of it soon enough, when I return to the Alpha
Quadrant."
"Yes, Founder," Thok said, still not looking up.
Moving with a confidence he didn't feel, Odo
picked up Sisko's message box and stalked purpose-
fully down the ramp and out of the ship. If he was
going to be a Founder, he knew he'd better act the
part--blustering, angry, and oh so superior.
Thok ran to catch up. Odo did not look back, but he
could hear the rest of the Jem'Hadar warriors scram-
bling out the hatch as fast as they could.
"Sir," Thok said, "we had no idea you were
aboard."
"Of course you didn't," Odo said. "That was the
idea. I can see that I will have to deliver the peace
summit invitation myself." He paused twenty meters
from the Progress and turned slowly, surveying the
vast landing bay. It had to be three hundred meters
wide and easily fifty meters across. Perhaps as many
as fifty small ships had been parked here. Suddenly he
felt small and lost.
"Which way?" he asked.
Thok hurried to take the lead. "Follow me, Found-
er," he said, heading to the left, toward what looked
like a bank of turbolifts on the far side of a pair of
shuttles. "I will take you to a waiting place. Then I
will let the captain know you are on board."
Odo nodded. That would do, for starters. He
glanced back at the Progress. All of the Jem'Hadar
had vanished, exactly as he'd ordered, and the ship
now sat unguarded with its hatch open. At the very
least he'd bought Worf and Kira some extra time.
Kira felt herself beginning to breathe again. If not
for Odo, she knew they would have been caught.
Slowly she eased open the door to her hidden
compartment and crept out. Worf joined her. She
pantomimed looking out the hatch, and he nodded in
agreement. They had to get out of here as fast as
possible; no telling if Odo's orders would be counter-
manded by someone higher up.
Lowering herself to the floor, she crawled forward
on her belly to the edge of the open hatch. There she
peered out, taking in the long line of small starships
standing between them and the far wall. Fifteen
meters away, half a dozen gaunt, hairless, almost
skeletal aliens with triangular heads appeared to be
doing maintenance work on a small vessel. Then a
line of Jem'Hadar warriors marched into view around
another ship, and she ducked back to avoid being
seen.
"We're not being guarded," she said in a low voice,
"but there are plenty of people outside."
"We will never get this ship into space again," Worf
said. "We must find another way to Daborat V."
"And we have to rescue Odo," Kira added.
"The mission must come first."
"I'm not leaving him." That was one thing you
learned in the resistance You took all your people
with you when you left. She had no intention of
abandoning Odo.
"We may not have that option," Worf pointed out.
Kira paused a heartbeat. One thing at a time, she
told herself. For now, Odo could look after himself.
Considering how the Jem'Hadar treated changelings,
he wouldn't be in any immediate danger. They could
save him later.
"We must find better cover," Worf said. "The
Jem'Hadar may come back to check for us despite
Odo's orders."
"All right," Kira said. She stood. "I'll go first."
She reached down and activated the cloaker be-
neath her blue dress. The controls were so simple, she
could have operated them in her sleep. Just a little
push and--
A shimmer of colors enveloped her, then grew clear.
She found herself inside what appeared to be a bubble
about twenty centimeters from her skin. She could see
out, but murkily, as though through a thick glass wall,
and all sounds suddenly took on a muted quality.
She glanced back and could just make out a dim
form that had to be Worf. At least she could see him
She'd half expected him to be invisible to her, too.
"Don't lose me," she said, starting down the ramp.
Eight minutes... that wasn't a long time. They'd
better find a hiding place before then, she thought, or
they were going to be in a great deal of trouble.
Odo watched the turbolift's readouts. They were
rising rapidly, and when the doors finally opened onto
a long corridor lit by bright overhead panels, he had
counted seventeen decks. This Jem'Hadar spaceship
was more enormous than anything he had ever seen
before, practically a space-going city. Five or six DS9s
would have fit inside with room to spare.
Thok stepped out ahead of him and ushered him
forward to the sixth door on the left.
"Please wait here, Founder," he said, touching the
hand pad. "I will inform my superiors of your pres-
ence."
The door dilated open, and Odo stepped into a tiny,
almost unfurnished room. It had a narrow bunk, a
small table that folded out from the wall, and a hard
metal bench that was welded to the floor. There were
no decorations or personal touches of any kind. He
found it distinctly unpleasant... a cell more than
anything else.
"What is this room normally used for?" he asked.
Thok stared at him, looking puzzled. "This is my
cabin, Founder. You can rest comfortably here."
Odo swallowed and looked around again. He had
always lived a life that others on DS9 considered
austere, but compared to this officer's Spartan exis-
tence, he lived in decadent luxury.
"It will do," he said gruffly. For all he knew, this
might well be among the nicest cabins on the ship, he
reflected. The Jem'Hadar were notably lacking in
decorator touches.
The door irised shut and he found himself alone.
He glanced around again, then placed the message
box on the table. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself
to flow freely from one shape to another, mimicking
ever
ything around him... first the bed... then the
table... then the bench...
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, the door opened
again. Odo pulled himself back up into his humanoid
form and found himself facing a new Jem'Hadar
officer... this one considerably older than the other
one had been.
"I am Jezrak, Captain of the Sespar's Revenge," he
announced, studying Odo with a calculating expres-
sion. Jezrak carried himself like someone used to
being obeyed, Odo thought.
"My name is Odo," he said.
"I know, Founder. I have orders to bring you to the
docking bay." He stood back away from the door.
"This way, Founder. The others are waiting for you."
Others? What did that mean? Other changelings, a
small voice inside him said. That had to be it. He
swallowed. It didn't take them long to get here. But did
that bode well for him?
Keeping his expression a careful neutral, Odo
picked up the message box and stepped through the
door. He would keep up his pretense of delivering the
message, he decided, and see what happened.
Ten Jem'Hadar guards had been waiting outside.
They fell in around him. Probably an honor guard
more than anything else, he decided. They couldn't
hurt him; their genetic programming made that im-
possible. And his own skills as a changeling--small
compared to other members of his race, but huge next
to solids like them--would be more than enough to
save him in any emergency. No, he thought, the real
danger would come from his own kind. He was the
first changeling ever in history to have harmed anoth-
er member of his own race. What if his people
decided he had to be destroyed before he contami-
nated others of their kind?
He forced those dark thoughts to the back of his
mind. He had no reason to expect trouble, he told
himself. He'd have to see what developed. His main
goal now had to be buying more time for Kira and
Worf so they could carry out their mission. He could
make it back to DS9 on his own later if he had to.
Jezrak escorted him back to turbolift, and they all
rode back down to the huge open landing bay. As soon
as he stepped out, he deliberately avoided glancing
around for Kira or Worf; if they had any sense, they
would have used their personal cloakers to get away
from their ship and under cover by now, waiting their
own chance to escape. He'd return to help them if he
could, but that possibility seemed more and more
remote.
"The others are waiting on their ship for you,
Founder," Jezrak said. He started to the left, between
a row of sleek little fighters, and after a half second's
hesitation Odo followed.
They seemed to be heading for the largest ship
there, a long, sleek white and silver craft. Its side
hatch stood open, and a ramp had telescoped to the
deck. Standing in the opening, waiting for him, were
two changelings dressed in long, pale yellow robes. He
didn't recognize either one.
Jezrak stopped at the foot of the ramp and folded
his arms. Odo didn't see any other options, so he
marched up to the open hatch with a confidence he
didn't feel--best to play up his role, he thought. He
would be the Federation's messenger. If he didn't act
the part, they might suspect he had come here for
other reasons.
The two changelings moved back, and he stepped
between them and into the ship. It was nothing like he
had expected. The main cabin was all white, from the
floor to the walls to the ceiling, and two long, curved
benches ran lengthwise down the cabin. It had no
other furnishings. Between the benches, suspended in
midair, hung a large holographic projection of a
planet, which completely filled the center of the room.
It was a beautiful world, Odo thought deep azure
oceans, four huge continents, tiny polar ice caps, all
wisped with white clouds. Was that the new change-
ling Homeworld? He had no way of finding out, short
of asking, and he wasn't quite prepared to do that yet.
He glanced forward, into the pilots' compartment.
The four seats there were occupied by Jem'Hadar in
black uniforms--pilots, Odo assumed. They didn't
seem to be paying attention to anything behind them.
"You are Odo," one of the changelings said. It was a
statement, Odo noticed, rather than a question.
"Yes," he said.
"I am Auron and this is Selann."
Odo gave them a quick nod. "I have come on behalf
of the United Federation of Planets--"
"To deliver a peace message," Auron finished for
him. "We find it curious," he said, moving forward
and taking the box out of Odo's hands, "that you did
not come through more diplomatic channels, Odo."
"After the reception given to our last few ships,"
Odo said gruffly, "the Federation thought it prudent
to come in more subtly this time."
"And to send you."
"That's right."
Auron set the message box on the floor, activated it,
and watched impassively as Sisko's image appeared
and repeated the peace initiative. When it ended, the
changeling dismissed it with an idle wave of one hand.
"The Federation and the other powers in the Alpha
Quadrant know our terms for peace," he said. "We
will gladly take them under our protection. No other
alternative is possible."
"Surely there must be room for negotiation."
"None," Auron said.
The hatch suddenly swung closed with a whump of
displaced air, and Odo felt a sudden vibration run-
ning through the soles of his feet--the pilots had
begun to power up the engines. He had a sudden
sinking feeling inside as he realized Kira and Worf
were about to be stranded here without him.
"Where are we going?" he demanded.
"Carnalia VIII," Selenn said. A shiver of sudden
apprehension went through Odo as the changeling
added, "A delightful little world, as you will soon
discover."
CHAPTER
12
"BREAK IT UP in here/" a loud voice boomed, and a
phaser hummed twice as it struck. A Caxtonian and a
Klingon, arms locked around each other, fell to the
floor.
That seemed to catch everyone's attention, Bashir
saw. He watched as eight security guards jogged
through the front doors of Quark's bar with phasers
drawn and took up positions around the periphery of
the fight. Although their weapons had undoubtedly
been set for stun, Bashir knew nobody would want to
be hit by them. Spending several hours unconscious,
then waking up in a holding cell, was nobody's idea of
a good shore leave, and most of the fighters looked
like seasoned spacers.
"Break it up/" the lead security officer's voice
boomed again. He was a Bajoran named ertan,
officially Odo's third in command, but second until
Lieutenant Commander Rodington returned from
leave.
The rioters had all paused. Bashir saw fists un-
clench, chairs about to be thrown suddenly get low-
ered to the floor, and fallen comrades helped to their
feet. Odo would have been proud of Vertan's work,
Rashir thought.
"You will disperse!" Vertan called again. "Leave the
bar in an orderly fashion/ Return to your ships/Anyone
still on the station in five minutes will spend the night
in a cell/"
A few last bottles and glasses crashed to the floor,
shattering, as the crowd headed for the doors. All,
Bajorans, humans, Klingons, and aliens alike, gave
the guards guilty glances as they passed by.
"Who's going to pay for this damage?" Quark
demanded, appearing from behind the bar. "Arrest
them!"
A stampede started. Quark could not have said
anything to get them moving more quickly, Bashir
thought. Security followed to make sure new fighting
didn't break out. In ten seconds, only he, Quark,
O'Brien, the Dabo girls, and the unconscious Caxto-
nian and Klingon remained. Then Ambassador Two-
feathers poked his head up from behind the bar,
smiled, and stood up.
"Most entertaining," he said.
Quark shot him a dirty look. "That's because you
don't have to clean up the mess." He wandered out
from behind the bar and stood surveying the damage
and shaking his head. "Rom!" he bellowed. "Get a
broom!"
Grinning, Bashir climbed to his feet, dusted himself
off, and headed for O'Brien. Quark's brother, as
always, would get the short end of the deal. Fortu-
nately Vertan had arrived less than a minute and a
half after the riot had broken out, so nobody had been
seriously injured that he could see. Now, how much
damage had that CaxtonJan done to O'Brien?
Perched on the edge of a round table, O'Brien was
gingerly feeling his right arm and grimacing a bit. No
blood or broken bones showing, Bashir noted, looking
him over quickly, although he'd have an old-
fashioned black eye in the morning. Bashir pulled out
his medical scanner and passed it over O'Brien's right
arm, face, and chest.
"Wrenched shoulder," he said, studying the read-
outs. "A few bruises. Just soft tissue damage, nothing
to be concerned about. You'll be right as rain in a day
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 10