Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17

by John Gregory Betancourt

  dropping to his knees.

  Odo turned slowly. Every one of his attackers had

  bowed down before him, he saw. They were no

  different than the other Jem'Hadar he'd encountered.

  They had been genetically programmed to feel awe,

  respect, and dedication bordering on devotion to any

  changeling they encountered. Well, he thought, if they

  wanted a Founder, he'd play the part.

  "What is the meaning of this attack?" he de-

  manded, trying to sound as irritated as possible. Now

  that he thought back to their joining, he remembered

  Selann's memories of dealing with Jem'Hadar. The

  changeling always used this same tone.

  "Sir," the leader said, meeting his gaze. "This is a

  trap to find and capture the Federation spies--"

  "Enough," Odo said, waving one hand curtly.

  "Send your men back to their positions. If your real

  targets show up, I trust you'll do a better job of

  capturing them."

  "Yes, Founder." He saluted, then rose and sent his

  men back to their hiding places.

  Odo watched expressionlessly as the Jem'Hadar

  fitted themselves into the shadows, behind market

  stands, and down in recessed doorways. If he hadn't

  known they were there, he never would have spotted

  them, he realized. Only the officer remained out of

  position, next to him.

  The trap also confirmed his worst fears, Odo

  thought Selann had indeed picked up on the details

  of their mission while they had been joined. He'd

  have to watch out for that in the future, he knew.

  Turning, he strolled up the steps toward the interro-

  gation center's front doors. He felt a flash of appre-

  hension as the officer kept pace with him.

  "Is there anything I can do for you?" the officer

  asked.

  "I am here to interrogate the prisoner," Odo said.

  "Which one?"

  Which one? There's more than one? He'd better

  bluff, he thought. No--he had a better idea. What

  would Selann have done in this situation?

  He whirled and glared down at the Jem'Hadar.

  "You forget your place, Soldier. When you need

  information, you will be provided with it."

  The officer's face fell. Odo strode forward alone. It

  had worked, he thought triumphantly.

  The huge door slid aside for him, and he found

  himself in a long, high chamber. The walls and floor,

  made of some amber-colored stone, had been pol-

  ished to mirror smoothness. Except for a single guard

  fifty meters ahead, the place seemed deserted.

  His footsteps echoed loudly as he moved forward.

  The guard snapped to attention, staring at Odo.

  "Where are prisoners held?" Odo demanded as he

  neared.

  "Level three, Founder," the guard said without

  hesitation.

  Odo gave a nod, then stepped up to one of the

  turbolifts. The doors slid open for him. He entered

  without a backward glance. Let them think he knew

  what he was doing, he thought. "Level three," he said.

  Instead of heading up, though, the lift headed

  down. When the doors opened again, this time onto a

  narrow corridor, two more Jem'Hadar guards

  snapped to attention. Odo strode past them without

  so much as acknowledging their existence. Selann

  should see me now, he thought. The changeling had

  inadvertently provided him with better training to

  infiltrate this Jem'Hadar prison than he would ever

  have expected.

  The corridor opened onto the interrogation center's

  holding area. It was odd, Odo noted, how uniform

  prisons seemed to be across the galaxy. They fell into

  two categories. If you came from a high technology,

  you used force fields. If you came from a low technol-

  ogy, you used metal bars.

  This prison was of the 1ow-tech variety. Each cell

  had been cut into solid bedrock. Durasteel bars ran

  from the floor to the ceiling along the front wall.

  There had to be hundreds of cells on this level, he

  thought, moving forward between rows of cells. Some

  prisoners stared sullenly out at him. Others lay with

  their faces turned to the stone wall. Several wept

  openly. Odo felt a wave of sympathy and wished he

  could do more. Although the cells looked clean

  enough, there was an atmosphere of doom about the

  place. No wonder the Groxxin in the Empty Coffin

  had said nobody ever escaped from the interrogation

  center.

  Finally he came to a cell with a yellow-furred

  Groxxin inside. He lay on his bench staring up into

  infinity with large round eyes. Manacles held his

  wrists to the wall. Half-healed burn wounds covered

  his arms. Odo felt a rush of anger at seeing a prisoner

  treated in such a manner. He couldn't stand the idea

  of torture--he found the concept criminal.

  "You are Orvor?" he said, trying to sound authori-

  tative.

  "What of it?" The Groxxin sneered openly at him.

  The prisoner's spirit hadn't been broken yet, Odo

  saw. That had to be a good sign. Perhaps he hadn't

  talked yet. He still might have the retrovirus that

  would unlock the Jem'Hadar's DNA.

  Odo risked a sidelong glance up the corridor. The

  two guards hadn't moved. They were muttering qui-

  etly between each other and watching him, though.

  What would be the best way to handle the situation?

  What would a real Founder do if he wanted to remove

  a prisoner?

  "You," he called loudly to one of the guards.

  "Come here."

  The Jem'Hadar hurried over. "Yes, Founder," he

  said.

  "Who is this one?" Odo demanded.

  "A Groxxin terrorist."

  "Has he talked yet?"

  "Not yet, Founder."

  "What are you doing about that?"

  "Standard procedure. He will be interrogated again

  tomorrow, and if he still proves uncooperative, he

  will be terminated."

  Odo nodded. He didn't have much time left. "I

  wish to interrogate this one myself," he said.

  "Sir?"

  Odo whirled and struck him across the face. "Do

  not question me! Move.r' "Yes, Founder."

  Quickly the guard unlocked the cell door, stepped

  in, and released Orvor's manacles from their magnet-

  ic clamps to the wall. Orvor rose with a sigh and

  shuffled out, his chains rattling. "I won't talk," he said.

  "We'll see about that," Odo countered. He looked

  at the Jem'Hadar. "The keys to his restraints?"

  Silently the guard passed them over. Then, pulling

  Orvor along by his manacles, Odo turned and led him

  down the corridor and into the turbolift.

  The doors closed, and they started up.

  "Pause," Odo said to the computer. "Lock access to

  this turbolift."

  "What are you doing?" Orvor demanded.

  "Hyperspace links lead us all together," Odo said,

  unlocking the manacles and pulling them off of

  Orvor's wrists and ankles. "But you're--"

  "Yes," Odo said. "I don't
have time to explain. I'm

  here with two others to get you out." He pushed the

  manacles into the corner, where they couldn't be seen

  from outside the turbolift. It would have to do, he

  decided.

  Standing, he said, "Resume. Surface level."

  The lift started upward once more.

  When the doors opened, Odo half expected to see

  changelings and more Jem'Hadar waiting for him, but

  the one guard still stood there. He snapped to atten-

  tion again as Odo and Orvor walked past him.

  Together, side by side, they walked out the front

  door and down the steps. Odo felt the eyes of the

  hidden Jem'Hadar on him, but he didn't acknowledge

  their presence in any way. He simply walked out to

  the middle of the street, turned left, and kept going.

  He spotted Kira and Worfat one of the fruit stands.

  They saw him, then followed at a leisurely pace, as

  though they were casual shoppers moving on to a

  different stand.

  Six blocks from the interrogation center, Odo be-

  gan to think they might get away with it. Twenty

  blocks later, as the crowds thinned out, he knew they

  had. He turned down a side alley and paused, and a

  few seconds later Kira and Worf joined them.

  "This is Orvor," Odo said, and he made the intro-

  ductions.

  "We did it!" Kira grinned and slapped him on the

  back. Worf nodded solemnly.

  "All we have to do is get back to our ship," Odo

  said.

  "Tell me... my wife?" Orvor began.

  "She's safe," Kira said. "You'll be back with her in

  three days, maybe sooner if the debriefing goes well."

  Orvor shook his head. "There won't be any debrief-

  ing," he said.

  Odo tensed. "Why?"

  "The retrovirus--they took the files when they

  arrested me. I'm afraid you've c ome for nothing."

  "We'll discuss that later," Odo said. "Right now

  we've got to get out of here. As soon as they discover

  you're gone, this place is going to be crawling with

  Jem'Hadar looking for us."

  He nodded. "You're right. Which way to your

  ship?"

  Odo took the lead. Once more they passed through

  Old Town, and once more he glimpsed furtive figures

  paralleling them, trying to gauge their strength, trying

  to work up their courage to attack. Kira and Worf

  drew their phasers and carried them openly. That

  seemed to turn the trick, Odo saw. They made it to

  the spaceport's landing field unscathed.

  As soon as they stepped onto the duracrete, into the

  brightness of the landing field's lights, Odo felt almost

  safe. They headed up the row of shuttles. He began

  counting, so he'd know exactly where they'd left their

  ship.

  When they got there, though, he stopped in shock.

  Their berth between the two Jem'Hadar warships lay

  empty.

  Their ship had vanished.

  CHAPTER

  26

  SISKO TOOK A second runabout to Bajor with Dax and

  Dr. Bashir aboard, following the ship he'd loaned to

  Vedek Werron. Sisko kept a careful eye on the sensors.

  For all he knew, Werron might throw Mekkar out an

  airlock along the way.

  But it seemed Vedek Werron truly did intend to

  turn Mekkar over to the authorities. The Vedek

  landed his ship in a field just outside the small

  southern city of Belmast--the site where Mekkar had

  supposedly committed his atrocities--and Sisko

  brought his own runabout down there, too.

  Thousands of Bajorans had turned out to meet the

  runabouts, Sisko saw, and lines of Bajoran security

  guards held them back a safe distance. Some of the

  crowd held up placards saluting Werron. Others held

  signs in various languages screaming for justice and

  death for the Butcher of Belmast. News reporters

  swarmed everywhere with cameras.

  "It looks like quite a welcoming committee," Dax

  commented.

  "A circus is more like it," Sisko said.

  Bashir said, "Let's hope they're friendly."

  "I didn't allow Mekkar to be brought here only to

  have him lynched," Sisko said. Rising, he opened the

  hatch and hopped to the ground.

  The noise was incredible, Sisko thought, staring out

  at the thousands of Bajorans being held back by a line

  of security guards. They all seemed to be screaming

  insults directed at Mekkar. Dax joined him, then

  Bashit. Dax shouted something to him, but he

  couldn't make out the words; he tapped to his ears

  and shook his head. She nodded and pointed to the

  other runabout.

  Sisko turned. The hatch had opened and now Vedek

  Werron climbed out. He r.ised both arms in saluta-

  tion, and the crowd went wild. Sisko had to cover

  his ears. Next, following him, came two of the Vedek's

  followers, and they dragged a limp Gul Mek-

  kar between them. Mekkar appeared unconscious--

  or so Sisko hoped. That was infinitely better than

  dead.

  A few people in the crowd began throwing stones.

  One struck Mekkar on the cheek, opening a jagged

  wound. Dark blood flowed out.

  Bajoran security officers hurried forward, seized

  Mekkar's arms, and hustled him to a waiting vehicle.

  It looked heavily armored, Sisko saw. The guards

  locked themselves inside, then the vehicle took off,

  flying low over the crowd. A few more rocks struck its

  sides, then it accelerated toward the city and rapidly

  vanished from sight.

  The security officers let down their crowd-control

  barriers, and the mob surged forward, beading for

  Werron and his men. They lifted the Vedek into the

  air and began parading him forward. Grinning, Wet-

  ton waved to everyone around him.

  He's quite the hero now, Sisko thought. But what

  would the Bajorans think when they found out the

  truth?

  Spontaneously most of the crowd began to sing a

  battle hymn Sisko had never heard before. Still sing-

  ing, they bore Werron and his followers off toward the

  center of the city. Five minutes later, they were alone.

  Bashir was shaking his head. "I've never seen

  anything like that," he said. "It was... incredible."

  "I think we'd better see the local authorities," Sisko

  said, "before this thing gets any more out of control."

  He glanced at Dax. As soon as they'd learned Vedek

  Werron's destination, she'd looked up the city on the

  ship's database. "Which way?"

  "That tall building with the spires," she said,

  pointing to the left, "is the Hall of Justice."

  Three hours and ten meetings later, Sisko had a bad

  feeling in his stomach. True to her word, Kai Winn

  had expedited proceedings. Unfortunately, she'd

  failed to tell anyone that Mekkar wasn't the Butcher

  of Belmast. Every official who met with Sisko insisted

  Mekkar would get a fair trial--"All of Bajor is

  watching, after all! "--and then went on to say that his

 
execution had been scheduled for the following week.

  They weren't taking him seriously, Sisko realized.

  They all wanted Mekkar to be guilty. Like Vedek

  Werron, they saw what they wanted to see and noth-

  ing else.

  At one point he saw a photograph of the real

  Butcher of Belmast. The moment he did, he realized

  where the mistake had come from. The two Cardas-

  sians looked enough alike to be identical twins. But

  that doesn't help our Gul Mekkar, he thought.

  Worst of all, Kai Winn suddenly made herself

  unavailable to talk whenever Sisko called. He began

  to grow frustrated. He started to think he'd been

  duped by her. She hadn't believed him and had used

  him to bring Mekkar to Bajor for trial. Gul Mekkar

  really was going to be tried and, Sisko assumed, found

  guilty and executed for crimes he did not commit.

  "Nobody here will speak on the Butcher's behalf,"

  a frustrated magistrate finally snapped at Sisko after a

  long argument about due process. "Since you think

  the Butcher's innocent, why don't you have yourself

  appointed as his Speaker?"

  Dax leaned close and whispered, "That might not

  be a bad idea, Benjamin. As I understand the judicial

  system in Belmast, it will give you a lot more leeway

  to present Mekkar's case."

  That made sense. "Is there a downside?" he asked

  her.

  "If you plead his case and lose, it's bound to affect

  your standing as the Emissary."

  "That's a chance I'm willing to take." Sisko nodded

  to the magistrate. "Very well. What do I need to do to

  become Mekkar's Speaker?"

  "I have the forms... Yes! Here we are." He

  handed Sisko a set of pages.

  Sisko signed everywhere he indicated. "That's it?'

  he asked as he finished.

  "Yes," the magistrate said. "The trial begins at first

  light tomorrow. Be here an hour beforehand to see the

  Butcher."

  "I want to see him now."

  "Impossible."

  Sisko barely managed to keep his anger in check.

  This wasn't a trial, it was murder. He'd never run into

  so many roadblocks before. They didn't want justice,

  he realized, they wanted blood. Mekkar's blood.

  Dax took his arm and pulled him from the magis-

  trate's office. "I know that look," she said. "You were

  going to do something you'd regret."

  He sighed. "You're probably right. What do you

  suggest?"

  "Let's find Julian and get back to the runabout.