Ro almost cheered.
“Maybe.” Treir seemed to concede very reluctantly. “But now you’re making me work as a dabo girl on some backwater station run by Starfleet and Bajorans.”
This time, Ro rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s making you do anything, Treir. You’re free to go wherever you want, do whatever you please.” Grabbing a padd at random off her desk, she added, “And the only condition to that is that it isn’t in my office. Now, if you’ll both excuse me . . .?”
Treir went back to standing with her hands on her hips. Ro looked up at her face, which seemed to be wrestling with the decision, even though, to Ro’s mind, she really only could make one.
Finally, Treir threw up her hands. “Fine. It’s not like I’ve got a lot of alternatives, thanks to you,” she said with a glare at Ro.
Biting back a retort, Ro said, “Good luck.”
Quark’s grin widened so much that Ro was sure his head would split in half. “Come along, my dear,” he said, offering his arm. “We’ll get you a proper dabogirl outfit and get you started.”
Smiling a vicious smile right back, Treir said, “No, you’ll get me some real clothes and then we’ll talk about the terms of the employment contract—over a dinner that you’re buying.”
Ro chuckled as she opened the door to let them out. At least she’s not letting Quark play her for an idiot. Whatever Treir’s other qualities, she wasn’t just a mindless slave. Hell, she seemed to enjoy it.
Treir stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Oh, Lieutenant?”
Looking up at her, Ro said, “Yes?”
“Have you ever heard of the Hinarian coding system?”
Ro frowned. “It rings a bell.”
“You may want to use it when you’re trying to crack the code for Malic’s padd.”
With that, she and Quark exited the security office.
Ro stared after them for several seconds. Damn it all, I’m starting to like her.
Then she put the Orion out of her thoughts. The convoy was due with the last of the refugees within the hour, and she had to find somewhere to put them. . . .
“You’ve got a message.”
Quark sighed. He had gotten Treir settled temporarily in his brother Rom’s old quarters. He’d been forced to bribe its current occupants, two Europani officials, with ten free holosuite hours, before returning to the delightfully overcrowded bar, only to have Frool announce what the blinking light on his companel already told him.
It was happy hour, and the place was near to bursting with Europani refugees. Apparently they preferred socializing, eating, and drinking to sulking in their assigned quarters, a philosophy Quark could easily get behind and happily exploited.
Ideally, of course, Quark would have brought Treir to his own quarters, but Gaila was there—and paying a princely sum for the privilege of rooming with his cousin, an amount that more than made up for the lost holosuite time. But this’ll do. And she’ll melt before my charms before too long—and even if she doesn’t, she’ll definitely take the job. An Orion dabo girl! I may have to start charging admission.
Quark’s hand brushed against his lobe as he went to his private area behind the bar to take the message. First Odo’s gone from the station, replaced by the lovely Ro Laren, then I get to save her life, then I save Gaila’s life, the station is full to bursting with Europani who are filling the tables in the bar, and now I have an Orion dabo girl. Life is good.
The message was from Cardassia Prime. Uh oh, he thought, hoping it wasn’t Deru.
Instead, it was Garak.
The always-smiling face of the former Obsidian Order agent smiled warmly at Quark from the viewscreen. “Good day, Quark. I hope this communiquÈ finds you well.”
Oh, this is not good. Quark felt his lobes—which had been all tingly from the moment he’d entered Ro’s office with the proposition for Treir—shrivel to the size of a human’s.
“I just wanted you to know I recently spoke with Deep Space 9’s new security officer, Lieutenant Ro. A delightful young woman. I can see the Promenade is in good hands. I hope you’re treating her well—unless I’m mistaken, she seems to have a soft spot for you. But then, I suppose no one is perfect.
“The lieutenant was kind enough to suggest I look in on an acquaintance of yours from before the Cardassian withdrawal from Terok Nor—a gentleman named Deru. Perhaps you remember him from his days working in the military. Well, he’s done quite well for himself in the private sector—made a sum of money that is, frankly, envious. Distressingly, though, he seems to have been involved in some, shall we say—illicit activities. Some kind of black-market dealings. A most unpleasant business for all concerned. Now he’s fallen on hard times, the poor fellow. Most shocking of all, he’s been saying the most slanderous things about you, Quark, suggesting you were somehow involved in the entire affair. You can rest assured, however, that I set him straight, explaining that Lieutenant Ro had vouched for you, and I had known you to be such an upstanding individual during our time together on the station.
“Such a pity about Mr. Deru, isn’t it, Quark? Fortunes can change so quickly.” Garak heaved a sigh, then said, “Well, I must be going. A pity we couldn’t chat directly, but affairs of state have kept me extremely busy of late. Perhaps at a later date we can catch up on old times—and new ones. Good-bye for now.”
Garak had said it all in the most pleasant tone imaginable. He never lost his genial smile or his affable demeanor.
It was the most terrifying thing Quark had ever experienced.
23
THE DELTA QUADRANT
THE ALPHA TWISTED his blade into the prey’s chest, then removed it. The Jem’Hadar’s blood stained the broken sword end.
A most satisfying hunt, he thought as he rose from the prey’s now-motionless form. Now, however, it is time to see what that alarm is about.
He went to the console. Sensors were working only intermittently, but he was soon able to determine a rather ugly truth: the power core was experiencing a malfunction. The tanker was likely to explode within the next fifteen minutes.
The alpha pounded the console with his fist. To lose my ship was bad enough. Now I lose this one as well.
Still, all was not lost. A quick check of the ship’s inventory—which took longer than it should have, with the console flickering in and out of power— showed that they had plenty of escape pods.
The deck seemed to disappear from under the alpha’s feet as the tanker rocked to the side. The ship righted itself soon enough, but a quick check showed that the stabilizers were working at only forty percent of capacity.
It is time I took my leave, the alpha thought. He had had one disappointing hunt, but one great one with a foe he never thought he’d face. Ultimately, that was what mattered. The Jem’Hadar had been most worthy prey.
He was about to turn when a clattering sound drew his attention. The alpha spun to see the Jem’Hadar struggling to his feet, the Hirogen’s rifle in hand.
The alpha smiled. Truly this is worthy prey.
Blood trickling out of his mouth, the Jem’Hadar spoke, every word sounding like an effort.
“Victory . . . is . . . life . . .”
Then he pulled the trigger.
It was a struggle for Taran’atar to make his limbs work. His right arm was completely useless, and his left arm was slow to respond as well. He felt a weakness in his chest, and his legs were by no means steady.
But the Hirogen was finally dead. Killed by his own weapon.
Oddly, the alien died with a smile on his face. Taran’atar did not understand how one could take joy in losing a battle.
Dropping the heavy rifle to the deck, he moved to the central console. While his body was gravely injured, his mind still functioned at peak efficiency. The Founders had made him well. It was the work of only a few minutes to figure out that the warp drive containment field was in danger of collapse. Within ten minutes, the tanker would explode.
Then he scanned the fifth planet. Readings
were difficult, but he did detect a Bajoran life sign— however theta radiation on the planet was at fatal levels, and the life sign was very weak. It was only a matter of moments before Kira died.
Then the sensors went down. Taran’atar quickly manipulated the console and got them back online.
He no longer saw the life sign. And the theta radiation was increasing by the minute.
“No!” Taran’atar pounded futilely at the console. It was my duty to die for her, not the other way around!
I have failed my duty. I have failed the Founders.
A part of him was tempted to simply remain on the tanker and die when it exploded. But no, he still had a duty to perform. The same sensors that told him that Kira was gone also told him that the gateways were online—apparently ch’Thane’s attempt to shut them down permanently had failed.
Taran’atar had to return to the Gamma Quadrant and inform Odo of his failure. For that matter, Kira’s comrades on Deep Space 9—they too deserved to know how she died.
The ship rocked once again. The stabilizers are failing. There are only minutes until the warp core breaches.
The Hirogen had called up a schematic that showed the fastest route to the escape pods—no doubt intending to make use of one himself. Taran’atar ran in that direction, as fast as he could make his legs move.
24
EUROPA NOVA
“LIEUTENANT, SOMETHING’S COMING through the gateway.”
Sam Bowers set down the birch beer he’d been drinking on the Rio Grande’ s console and checked the runabout console. Ensign Roness’s words were accurate—something was coming through. About time something happened. He’d enjoyed the relative calm after the chaos of the Europa Nova evacuation—for about twenty minutes. Then the restlessness kicked in. Roness hadn’t actually said anything, but it was obvious from the looks she gave him that she was about ready to kill him.
She, of course, liked the quiet. Bowers hated it. He had always been a man of action. That was why he went into tactical when he joined Starfleet.
“Looks like an escape pod,” he said. “I think. It’s just managing to squeak past the blockage created by the Euphrates. I don’t recognize that configuration.”
Roness said, “It doesn’t match anything in the database. But I am reading a life sign.” She looked up, a surprised expression on her face. “It’s Jem’Hadar.”
“Taran’atar?”
Shrugging, she said, “That’d be my guess.”
“Trying to get a transporter lock,” he said, manipulating the controls. The theta radiation was still too intense, unfortunately. “Damn. Can we get a tractor beam?”
Roness nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Do it.” Bowers then set a course for the next planet over.
“Tractor beam engaged. We have the pod.”
“Good.” Bowers took the Rio Grande forward. As soon as they were far enough from Europa Nova to engage the transporter, he did so.
Bowers had to admit that the sight on the runabout’s small transporter platform was one that, in the past, he had enjoyed tremendously: a broken, bloody Jem’Hadar soldier. A part of him wanted to take pleasure in it now, but he forced that out of his head. Taran’atar’s on our side—hell, it was Odo who sent him. He’s part of the team now.
Intellectually, he knew that. It was convincing his gut—and his instincts, which had spent the last several years being trained to shoot Jem’Hadar on sight—that was the problem.
As he got up from his chair, grabbed a tricorder, and approached the unsteady form of the Jem’Hadar—who collapsed to his knees as soon as he materialized—he asked, “What about Kira?”
“Colonel Kira . . . did not . . . survive,” Taran’atar said.
Bowers felt like the temperature had lowered in the runabout. Dammit, no, not another one, he thought. First they lost Captain Sisko—and not even to the war, but to some ridiculous thing with those damn wormhole aliens—then they lost Commander Jast when those rogue Jem’Hadar attacked the station. To lose the colonel . . .
“I . . . must . . . return . . .” Taran’atar couldn’t finish the sentence. Bowers could see why. The tricorder indicated that he’d suffered half a dozen internal injuries, not to mention the obvious stab wound to the chest. He needed Bashir’s services posthaste.
“Set course for DS9, maximum warp,” he shouted to Roness.
“Yes, sir.” After a moment: “Course laid in.”
“Engage.”
It wasn’t until after the runabout went into warp that Roness turned to Bowers. “What about Colonel Kira, sir?” Her tone implied that she wasn’t entirely willing to take a Jem’Hadar’s word for it that she was dead. On the other hand, he thought, she did wait until after we went to warp to ask.
“For now?” he said. “Hope to hell he’s wrong.”
25
THE DELTA QUADRANT
(FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER)
BLISTERS HAD NOW broken out on every millimeter of Kira’s skin. The tricorder told her that the level of exposure was beyond what would be fatal to a Bajoran. Her life could be measured in seconds.
There was no word from Taran’atar.
Breathing became harder with each second. Her vision started to cloud over.
Then, miraculously, the gateway came back online. It once again went back and forth between Deep Space 9 and the comforting glow of the Prophets.
Now the choice was easy. She was already dead. It was just left to her to take the final step.
Colonel Kira Nerys stepped into the gateway, determined to face what lay beyond . . .
TO BE CONTINUED IN . . .
STAR TREK: GATEWAYS, BOOK 7
WHAT LAY BEYOND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Although it’s just my name on the byline for this book, the number of people responsible for it coming to pass are legion—especially since this is both part of a crossover and part of an ongoing narrative. So I need to give them proper credit.
First of all, there’s Pocket Books Editor Marco Palmieri, who has taken up the task of keeping the story of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine going beyond its magnificent seven-year television run. Marco’s taking the unique opportunity to continue what has been, to my mind, Star Trek’ s most compelling subfranchise, without any significant creative encumbrances, and he has done a superlative job. (And if you haven’t, go out and read Avatar Books 1–2 by S.D. Perry and Abyss by David Weddle and Jeffrey Lang. Not because you need to read them to understand this book—you don’t—but because they’re damn fine books, more than worthy of the TV show from which they came.)
Secondly, there’s Bob Greenberger and Pocket Editor John J. Ordover, who dreamed up the “Gateways” crossover, and the other authors—Susan Wright, Diane Carey, Bob, Christie Golden, and Peter David— who helped me bridge the gap between spiffy concept and compelling story. I think we succeeded admirably. (Thanks especially to Bob and Peter for their noble efforts in working with me to keep the Next Generation, DS9, and New Frontier books coordinated.)
Thirdly, I must thank the other nifty folks at Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster Interactive who keep Star Trek alive and well in book and disc form: Scott Shannon, Margaret Clark, John Perrella, Elizabeth Braswell, Kim Kindya, and most especially Jessica McGivney.
The creative minds of Gene Roddenberry—who created Star Trek —Michael Piller and Rick Berman— who got Deep Space Nine started—and Ira Steven Behr and his staff of loonies—who kept the show going—deserve the heartiest of thanks, as do the numerous actors who portrayed the characters seen within these pages, particularly Nana Visitor, Aron Eisenberg, Armin Shimerman, Alexander Siddig, Nicole deBoer, Michelle Forbes, Josh Pais, Penny Johnson, Andrew J. Robinson, and Marc Alaimo. Mention must also be made of Steve Gerber and Beth Woods, the scripters of the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Contagion,” which gave us the Iconians (not to mention Captain Picard’s fondness for archaeology and Earl Grey tea), and without which this crossover wouldn’t exist.
/> Hearty thanks to the other members of “The Roness Nine”: Jeannette, Michele, Andrew, Mike, Cathy, Maria, Tamra, and Charles, as well as Allan, Ann, and Judge Padilla, for alleviating what could’ve been a miserable jury duty experience. And hey, I got four chapters of this sucker written over the course of the five-week trial (I love laptops . . .).
As always, I have to give thanks and praise to the Star Trek Encyclopedia by Mike and Denise Okuda, with Debbie Mirek, and let me repeat my oft-stated mantra: nobody should write a Star Trek novel without this book and/or CD-ROM at hand. Other useful references include Star Trek Chronology: The History of the Future, also by the Okudas; the Star Trek: The Next Generation Companion and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion CD-ROMs; the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Companion book by Terry J. Erdmann, with Paula M. Block; Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Technical Manual by Herman Zimmerman, Rick Sternbach, and Doug Drexler; Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual by Rick Sternbach and Michael Okuda; and the University of Michigan Student Chapter of the Health Physics Society’s web site’s FAQ on Radiation and Health Physics (www.umich.edu/~radinfo).
Not to ever be forgotten: CITH, the best writers group in the entire world, who, as ever, made my writing far better than it would’ve been otherwise; the Forebearance (The Mom, The Dad, The Party Vegetable, and The Tall Fuzzy One); the Malibu gang; the Geek Patrol (Marina, John, Hawk, and Andrea); the wonderful group of regular posters on the PsiPhi.org Trek novels bulletin board, as well as the good folks on the board at Simon & Schuster’s web site, the “ Trek Literature” section of the Trek BBS, Yahoo!’s Star Trek Books club, and PsiPhi.org’s DS9 and NF boards; the wonderful folks who run the Farpoint and Shore Leave conventions; and, of course, most important of all, the Official Editorial Goddesses, GraceAnne A. DeCandido and Terri Osborne.
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