or two."
O'Brien groaned loudly.
"Do you need something for the pain?" Bashit
asked, frowning a bit. It shouldn't hurt all that much,
he thought--had he missed something?
"I'm groaning," O'Brien said, "because I'm going
to have to forfeit the game to you, Julian! I can't
throw with my arm like this!"
Bashir grinned in relief, then quickly covered it up.
"You're right," he said with mock seriousness. "But
look at the bright side. Now you'll have an excuse
when you lose to me, Chief."
O'Brien groaned again.
Quark scurried over, a stylus in his hand. "Did you
see who started it?" he demanded. "I'm taking
names!"
"Yes," O'Brien said. He slowly worked his shoulder
in a circle. "I was there."
"Well?" Quark demanded, hand poised to write.
"Who're responsible?" "You are."
"Me?" Quark's expression of shock was priceless,
Bashir thought. "I think you hit your head a little too
hard there, Chief."
"It was that stupid rumor you started about me
killing two Caxtonians!" O'Brien snapped. "When a
real Caxtonian heard it, he decided to avenge his
fallen comrades!"
Bashir made a tsk-tsk sound. "Sounds like you
stuck it to yourself there, Quark."
"Everyone knows rumors don't count," the Ferengi
said. "So, it was the Caxtonian..." He glanced over
at the alien's unconscious form where it still lay.
BasMr knew Vertan and his men would be back to
collect the two bodies once they'd seen the other
rioters safely off the station. "I have his ship's credit
account number," Quark said. "They'll be getting a
pretty sharp bill, I can tell you." He glanced around.
"'Six tables," he muttered, writing quickly. "Sew
enteen--no, make that eighteen chairs..." He wan-
dered off, still taking notes of the damage.
"Tell me," Ambassador Twofeathers said, joining
them, "is it always this exciting here? I joined the
Maquis in part for the adventure, but I have never
seen anything quite like this before."
"This doesn't happen very often, fortunately,"
Bashir said. He glanced at the chronometer over the
bar, which thankfully hadn't been broken by flying
debris. It was nearly 2300 hours. "Maybe I should
show you to your suite now, Ambassador. It's getting
late, and I don't think much more is going to be
happening here tonight."
Twofeathers nodded. "Yes... I think I'm done for
now." He shot a quick glance at Quark. "Though I
may be back tomorrow."
It was going to be a good day, Captain Benjamin
Sisko thought. He awakened from a long, deep sleep
feeling refreshed, almost rejuvenated. Rising, he
showered quickly, shaved around his beard, and put
on a dress uniform. His son, Jake, was still asleep, so
he sat down to have a light breakfast of toast, orange
juice, and strong black coffee. On the computer moni-
tor, he called up the daily reports and flipped through
them quickly.
A small riot at Quark's, but no injuries... sixteen
ships queued up for docking today... no emergen-
cies, no problems, no disasters. For once, the station
seemed to be running smoothly on its own.
He wiped his mouth, stood, and put the dishes int
the recycling bin. With everything going so well, he
wondered briefly if he should tempt fate and stop by
Ops on the way to the peace conference. After a
second he decided he had the time. Besides, with
everything going so well, what could possibly go
wrong?
He tabbed his dress blouse closed at the throat and
headed out. The second his door opened, he knew it
was a mistake. A crowd at the end of the corridor
spotted him.
"There he is!" someone shouted. Instantly a dozen
people holding signs and placards rushed toward him.
Bajoran protesters, he realized in dismay. They'd been
staking out the habitat ring waiting for him, and now
they'd found him.
Holding up both hands, he motioned for silence.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Pro-
tests are restricted to the Promenade. Clear this
corridor at once or I will have you removed by
security!"
A Bajoran man in a brown robe waved his people to
silence. "A thousand apologies for the disturbance,
Emissary," he said. "I am Vedek Werron."
"This is not the best time, Vedek." Sisko folded his
arms, leveling a stern gla re at the Vedek. He would
have to handle this delicately, he thought. Werron
might be an extremist and a reactionary, but he had
quite a few followers.
"It's always the right time for justice!" Werron said
loudly.
"Justice for Bajor!" the crowd began to chant.
"Justice for Bajor! .lustice for Bajor!"
"Vedek, there are channels for this sort of thing,"
he said, turning toward the turbolift at the far end of
the corridor. He'd catch that one to avoid riding with
any of the protesters. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have
work to do."
"Of course," Werron said, catching up to him. "I'll
just walk with you. I had something important I
needed to tell you."
"What is that?" Sisko stopped and faced the Vedek
with a sigh. He didn't seem to be taking the hint.
Vedek Werron drew himself up to his tallest, which
still only came level to Sisko's shoulder. "I must
demand that the Cardassians be put off Deep Space
Nine at once," he said.
"That's impossible," Sisko said flatly. "We have
delicate negotiations going on right now--"
"Gul Mekkar is the Butcher of Belmast." He
whirled and addressed his followers. "And what do
we do to Cardassian war criminals?" he shouted.
"Death!" the crowd roared.
"What else?" Werron cried.
"Justice/Justice for Bajor!"
Sisko tapped his badge. "Security," he said.
"Verton here, Captain," a voice said instantly.
"Get some people to the habitat ring," Sisko said.
"Vedek Werron and his followers are staging a protest
outside my cabin."
"I'11 have people there in thirty seconds," Verton
said. That was as good as Odo could have done, Sisko
thought.
The crowd began chanting, "Justice for Bajor! Jus-
tice for Bajor!" again.
Smiling triumphantly, like he'd proved some point,
Vedek Werron turned back to Sisko. "Justice cannot
be denied, Emissary," he said darkly.
"Of course," Sisko said. Over Werron's shoulder,
he saw the turbolift doors open. Four human security
officers sprinted up the corridor toward him. Verton
had had the good sense to send humans rather than
Bajorans, Sisko noted. Odo had picked the right man
to leave in charge.
The security officers lined up two on each side of
Sisko. Their hands were on their phasers, but they
; didn't draw their weapons yet. The were waiting for
his go-ahead, Sisko realized. Hopefully it wouldn't
come to that.
Werron's followers had begun to shift nervously,
though. Good He didn't want them getting too cocky
with their protest. He didn't like being cornered.
"I'm not unsympathetic to the problem of Cardas-
sian war criminals," Sisko said to Werron. "Many
great injustices were done to your people during the
occupation. Let me work through proper channels to
look into the matter."
"When?" Werron demanded.
"How does this afternoon sound?"
Werron considered for a second, then nodded.
"Thank you, Emissary," he said. "All we want is
justice." Turning to his people, he held up his hands
for silence. Instantly the chanting ceased.
"Join me for prayers and meditation," he said,
cutting through them and heading for the turbolift.
"The Emissary will help us!"
A cheer went up, and they followed him down the
corridor.
Sisko relaxed. "See that they make it to the Prome-
nade," he said to the security guards. "Then post a
guard to make sure they don't hold any more im-
promptu protests on the habitat ring."
They nodded and followed Werron and his group.
As soon as he was alone, Sisko turned and headed in
the opposite direction. He'd take the other turbolift,
he decided, to avoid any chance of running into any
more of Werron's followers.
That still left his promise to fulfill. Tapping his
badge, he said, "Sisko to Dax." "Dax here," she replied.
Quickly he briefed her. "Find out all you can about
Werron and his movement," he said. He would have
done it himself, but he was going to be wrapped up
with the peace negotiations all day.
"Easy enough," Dax said. "I'11 tap into the Bajoran
databases and see what they have on him."
"And see what you can find out about Gul Mek-
kar," Sisko added, "the so-called Butcher of Be!mast.
If Werron has a real grievance, I want to know it."
CHAPTER
13
KLINGONS WERE NOT meant for sneaking around, Wolf
thought in frustration. Their hands, their bodies--
their very mindsmwere designed for clean, honest,
open combat.
So what was he doing hiding in a small cleaning
closet just off the landing bay? He rose and paced
the few steps there was room for. There was no honor
in hiding. If only their mission hadn't been so crit-
ical...
He glanced down at Kira, who was now asleep. She
sat on the floor with her knees pulled up and her head
resting on her arms, snoring softly. He snorted. How
she could rest while being penned in here like some
animalm
He shook his head. Discipline, he told himself, is the
heart of the warrior. Kira was depending on him, and
the future of the whole Federation might well depend
on the success of their mission. He could wait in a
supply closet for a few more hours.
At least the supply closet door had a few holes for
ventilation. The air inside, thick with the scents of
cleaning solvents, made him want to sneeze.
Rubbing his nose, he eased forward and pressed his
eyes close to the top vent just in time to see a line of
Jem'Hadar warriors jog up in formation to the calls of
their superiors. He tensed as they turned and faced
the supply closet, but then they moved into a drill of
some kind.
Warm-up exercises, Worf thought. What better
place to exercise than the open space of the landing
bay?
He allowed his breathing to quicken. Martial arts
had always been of keen interest to him, and he had
tried everything from Klingon to human to Romulan
to Doldarian forms of combat.
Their warm-up done, the lines of Jem'Hadar warri-
ors suddenly broke into groups of four. Instructors
passed among them, passing out wooden sticks about
a meter and a half long. The foursomes began spar-
ring.
Worf focused on one warrior, a tall Jem'Hadar who
seemed to be single-handedly keeping the other three
in his group at bay. He moved with the lightning
reflexes of a natural athlete. Worf found himself
tensing his own muscles as he sought to emulate what
he was watching. Parry--parry--thrust--kill!
His breath quickened as he compared their moves
to the Klingon martial arts he practiced. His respect
for the Jem'Hadar as warriors began to increase.
What other similarities to Klingons did they have,
beyond their obvious love of battle?
He wanted to see more, but just as suddenly as the
fights had begun, they ended. The Jem'Hadar raced
back into formation, then began jogging farther down
the landing bay. He listened, straining to hear, and
heard the fighting beginning again, but he couldn't see
it from the closet.
Frustrated, he turned and sank down to the floor.
Idly he raised his tunic and glanced down at the
cloaker. The readout said 000514. Not much time
left. He couldn't risk going outside to see... and
anyway, someone might notice the door opening and
sl-.utting by itself.
"What was that noise?" Kira asked.
He glanced over and found her awake. "Jem'Hadar
warriors training in the landing bay."
"Great," she said sarcastically. Opening her pack,
she dug out a protein bar. "Want one?" "Perhaps later," he said.
She opened it and bit. "I've been thinking," she
said as she chewed. "If this ship follows the
Jem'Hadar flight patterns that the Federation has
been charting, it should enter the Daborat system in a
day or two. That will be our chance to get out and find
Oreor."
"This ship is too big to land," he said.
"Shore leave, Worf. Jem'Hadar have to go some-
where to burn off their energy. I'm willing to bet
everyone goes down to the planet, leaving a skeleton
crew watching things. We can sneak aboard a trans-
port ship and ride down with them."
"You are forgetting how little time we have left on
our cloakers," he said. He didn't think they'd have
time to sneak aboard a Jem'Hadar ship and hide. And
what if they were caught?
"Do you have a better plan?"
He hesitated. "Not yet," he said.
"Well, you have two days to think of one."
Worf leaned back and closed his eyes. Might as well
rest, he thought. If he slept, the time would pass more
quickly. And perhaps something would come to him.
A low rustling noise from his left brought him
sharply back to consciousness. What was that? Kira,
directly across from him, didn't seem to have heard it.
Probably some small scavenger, he thought.
He turned and tensed. It wasn't some animal. A
panel in the back of the closet was slowly sliding open.
Silently, Worf rose to his feet, gest
uring frantically
to Kira. She paused in midbite.
Then a small, gnarled-looking alien in a silver tunic
slipped through the opening. Worf reached for his
phaser. Whatever it was, it seemed to be sneaking up
on them.
It took one look at Kira and Worf, let out an
alarmed squeal, and bolted back into the opening.
Worf leaped forward and caught the door before it
could slide back into place. He couldn't let the alien
escape, he thought. He forced his shoulder through
the opening, pushed, and managed to squeeze
through.
He was in some kind of access corridor between the
walls, he realized, taking in the unfinished walls and
the bare metal floor. A few open panels revealed
delicate-looking circuits and other equipmentmkind
of like the Jefferies tubes aboard a starship, Worf
thought, only built to a practical scale.
The alien had dropped to four legs, sprinting like a
wild hzork. Worf climbed to his feet, tucked down his
chin, and raced in pursuit. Klingons were not known
for speed or long endurance in wind sprints, but now
Worf thanke d his grueling workouts on the holodeck
on the Enterprise and more recently in Quark's holo-
suites. He was in top form. He actually started to gain
ground on the alien.
The alien skidded around a corner and disappeared
from sight. Worf put on a burst of extra speed,
rounded the corner himself, and found the little alien
prying open another access door.
"Got you!" he snarled, tackling it around the waist,
trying to pin its arms. It bucked and twisted like a
wild animal beneath him, hissing. It was stronger than
it looked, Worf found, and he had trouble holding it
down. Then it suddenly twisted its long, limber neck
and sank its fangs deep into the flesh of his shoulder.
His whole right arm went numb. What--he
thought, as a fuzzy-headedness spread through his
mind. The alien wriggled out from under him. He
tried to catch himself, but both his arms were com-
pletely numb. They hung like lead weights.
Distantly, he heard the hum of a phaser. With the
last of his strength, he raised his head. Kira had
stunned the alien, he saw. It fell just beyond him.
Good, he thought with satisfaction. He'd slowed it
down enough for Kira to catch up with them. That
was important. Now it couldn't betray them to the
Jem'Hadar.
His vision grew cloudy, and he realized he was
having trouble breathing. The numbness had reached
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 11