HollowMen

by Una McCormack

  The first confronts the other with his case. He launches the facts across the room like artillery fire. He intends to take no prisoners.

  “What the hell have you been doing? What are you playing at? What have you done?”

  The other tries to deflect the accusations being thrown at him. “Take it easy, take it easy!” All the motions of appeasement. “We can talk about this, surely?”

  “Talk about it? What is there to say? What can there be to say? Have you no comprehension—”

  “Maybe there’s been a misunderstanding. A miscommunication somewhere along the line. I know,” he’s speaking more slowly now, smoothing at the edges between them, “that you and I can come to an understanding—”

  “An understanding? How can there be an understanding? This is beyond belief!”

  “Let’s talk about it—”

  “This is not what I signed up for. This is not what we are for!”

  From the other, there is the first sign of resistance to the onslaught. “You see, I would have said that this is exactly what we are for—”

  “Not this. Not this far. This is well beyond containment. Dammit, this is well beyond going on the offensive!” He plunges on with his attack, reckless, uncaring of the consequences. “This is abhorrent—”

  “Think about what you’re saying now. Those are strong words you’re using—”

  “And you’d better believe I mean every single one of them—”

  “It’s still the same end. Still the very same end that you signed up for. Just the methods have changed—”

  “No, no! That’s exactly my point—are you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

  “I’m about as sure as I can be,” says the other, “that I understand you perfectly.”

  The first at last perceives the threat that the other now poses. Silence falls. A respite. When he speaks again he has now become anxious to consolidate the truce. “I…can understand how it might seem to make sense to you; but I cannot in good conscience countenance it—”

  “Don’t let it trouble you.” Back to persuasion. Soothing again. Better the first is coaxed than threatened. “Leave this to me. Let me handle it.”

  “But that’s exactly what troubles me.” The fury has left his voice. He is now only stating the facts as they appear to him. “What happens when you are left to handle things. You’ve already turned a tool into a weapon. More than a weapon—”

  “Don’t make it your problem. Let it lie with me. You have your own work to attend to—”

  “My own work?” He is laughing now, gently, making a mockery of all that he has done; grasping fully the limits to his actions. “On your behalf.”

  “No,” says the other. “Our work.” He is speaking softly to him, almost as if to embrace him. “You know you’re one of us.”

  A kind of peace has broken out; a kind of resolution. The first man leaves and the door is closed; not slammed—not anything so definite. The other turns to the third man. He is sitting in a chair positioned in the corner; sitting where one might be best placed to observe, to analyze, and, later, to recall.

  “Have to wonder if we’ll see him again. Have to wonder if that particular alliance might just be coming to an end—”

  “No,” corrects the third man. “It has already come to its end.”

  This is how it stands. The lines have crossed each other; they are heading to their end points. All that’s needed now is for a ship and its crew to make their entrance. All that’s needed now is for two men to reach their destination.

  Part Two

  The Bridge

  It is well that war is so terrible;

  else we would grow too fond of it.

  —Robert E. Lee

  We are having one hell of a war!

  —George S. Patton

  1

  WITH A GRUNT OF SATISFACTION, Odo switched off the padd, and set it neatly in place upon the pile. Between them, he and Steyn had at last finalized the procedure for bringing the latinum shipment onto the station, securing it, and returning it to the Ariadne after the repairs on the ship were complete. The original plan—Steyn’s idea—had been that, since the Ariadne was going nowhere, the shipment should remain on board throughout. But this had proven unsatisfactory; now that her engineer had given a fuller picture of the extent of the damage, it was clear that too many people would need ongoing access to the ship throughout the process of repairs. Bringing the latinum onto the station had its own problems—making sure that the route to the assay office and back was secure for one thing—but it was to Odo’s mind (and Steyn’s, in time, once Odo had finished his explanations) without doubt the better choice. Or, to put it in the plainest possible terms, Odo would be much happier if the latinum was close by, and if his people were working on the territory that they knew best. Steyn’s assurance that her security systems were state-of-the-art was no guarantee for Odo. Faults in the system were exploited by people, not technologies—and, in Odo’s experience, if the rewards were great enough, then people were endlessly creative when it came to finding faults. He often thanked providence that the chief had not chosen a life of crime.

  He got up from his chair, and briefly surveyed his office. All was in order. It was time to carry out his morning ritual, and make his inspection of the Promenade.

  He stood for a little while, as was his habit, in the doorway of his office, his arms folded, and watched the ebb and flow of the people as they passed him by. One of the shopkeepers, on her way to opening up, saw him and gave her customary salute. Odo gave a small nod in reply. From here, everything seemed just as it should be.

  He progressed out onto the Promenade itself, the door sliding shut efficiently in his wake. He contemplated visiting the infirmary but, try as he might, he could not think of an excuse other than Dax has asked me to keep an eye on you. He passed by. As he went on, he glanced around at the shops and the morning trade; the usual people selling their wares; and their customers, residents and visitors alike. He ticked off the familiar faces as he checked automatically for any changes in routine or appearance, and kept a mental tally of the new faces. He nodded approvingly as he passed two of his security staff, making a scheduled sweep, right on time. He saw one of the Klingon liaison officers striding purposefully (did a Klingon ever stride any other way?) a little distance ahead. Just to be on the safe side, he resolved to check up on the officer’s schedule later. It paid to treat even allies with caution. Odo walked on, briskly. When he got as far as the tailor’s shop, however, he stopped and stood looking at the door. It was tempting, so very tempting….

  The permanent battle of wits between Odo and Quark was the stuff of legend around the station—conducted openly and to the never-failing absorption of the other residents, who seemed to be most appreciative of this ongoing cabaret. The similar state of hostilities that existed between Odo and Garak, however, went on in complete secrecy. Odo would increase the levels of his surveillance of the shop; Garak would have the devices disabled within the week. Garak would in passing seem to suggest that he had more information about a topic than his very narrow security rating should allow; Odo would promptly introduce new cryptographic protocols around his databases. It was years now since Odo had first put Garak under observation and Garak had first slithered out, but the combatants themselves had not mentioned the situation to each other even once. Odo had a vague impression that Garak would have found the subject vulgar.

  He looked over his shoulder. This part of the Promenade was quiet. The shop door was closed, and Odo knew for a fact that its owner would not return unexpectedly. It was more than tempting. It was tantalizing.

  What would I find in there? Odo wondered, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his sleeve, and staring at the blank slate of the door. Would I learn what he and the captain have been up to recently?

  He snorted. It was a pleasant fantasy to think rummaging around the shop might lead to some discovery—a pleasant fantasy but, it had to be admitted, a most unlikel
y one. As if Garak would leave anything incriminating in plain or easy view. It would only be a waste of time, and Odo had quite enough to worry about without adding another task to his list. Better to treat Garak’s absence as one trouble fewer, rather than take more on. And anyway, he reflected, almost as an afterthought, it could be construed as breaking and entering. Technically.

  A little regretfully, Odo moved on. He took the steps to the upper level, and walked along, looking out past the bright flags draped above the Promenade. He came to a halt at the spot where, in years past and on countless occasions, he would find the younger Sisko and his partner-in-crime lurking. The spot was quiet these days, unless Odo himself was there. He could quite understand why the two had liked it so much. It gave an excellent view.

  He had been standing there no more than a minute or two, watching the morning traffic, when the sound of a familiar voice drifted through the muddle of the crowd. It was a voice to which he was attuned.

  “No, absolutely no way—”

  Her companion said something that Odo, high up on his perch, and despite leaning forward a little, was not quite able to hear.

  “I don’t care what Worf has to say about it, Jadzia—it’s not going to happen and that’s final!”

  Odo watched as Dax’s shoulders rocked with laughter. Even so, she was still trying to change the other’s mind—but Nerys was having none of it.

  “Yes, well, if he can prove that, then I’ll think about it.” Kira waved her finger, with finality. “Think about it, mind you. Look, Jadzia—I’ve got to go. You get any more trouble from Worf, you send him my way, okay?” She gave Dax her wide and generous smile, and they parted.

  Odo hurried toward the steps and made his way down onto the Promenade. As was in his nature, he timed his interception perfectly. “Major,” he greeted her.

  “Constable!” She favored him with the same smile she had just granted to Dax…was it his imagination or was it a little less wide than the one she had given the commander? Was it the same? “Have you heard yet from the Ariadne?” she said.

  “Indeed I have, Major.” He fell in step alongside her. “I’ve just spent the past hour in discussion with the captain and she has at last been persuaded that her cargo will be safer on the station throughout the time it will take to make repairs to the ship.”

  Kira gave a brisk nod. “Good,” she said. “Trying to keep track of who was going in and out of the ship would have been a real strain on resources. Thank you, Odo.” She looked around her. “Hopefully we won’t hear too many complaints from the Merchants’ Association when we tell them we’ll be sealing off this section of the Promenade. I imagine there’ll be some talk of lost earnings and so on….” She frowned. “I guess I’d better get on to that next.”

  “It is unlikely to affect them for much more than a day,” Odo pointed out. “And we are fortunate in that at least one proprietor in that section will not be affected at all.” Odo looked meaningfully back at Garak’s shop.

  “Yes…” said Kira. “I have to wonder if the captain is getting along all right….”

  “Assuming Garak doesn’t talk all the way to Earth,” Odo said, “I have high hopes for the survival of both of them.” That earned him another smile, but then there was a beat of silence where once some more informal conversation might have taken place.

  “So,” Kira said, “when are you briefing your team?”

  “In an hour,” Odo answered.

  “Good,” she said again. They were coming up to Quark’s now. Odo customarily went in around this time, on his inspection of the Promenade. Kira knew his habits. She had already slowed their pace a little, and when they reached the entrance of the bar, they both came to a halt.

  “Well,” Odo said, “I should go and check on how Quark’s morning is progressing.”

  “Thanks for keeping me up to date on the Ariadne, Odo.” Her smile was full and open. He nodded his goodbye and watched her go on down the Promenade. Their accommodation in their working relationship was a great relief to him, but still mixed with regret. No one watching them would be able to tell, but Odo felt the space where their close friendship had been very keenly. It was, he thought, as if they were not quite in alignment with each other. Carefully, he put that thought to one side, and considered instead the security briefing he would lead later in the morning.

  Just as he was about to turn to go into Quark’s, Odo could not help registering a figure walking toward him along the Promenade. He checked his mental tally of visitors. I think that’s someone new, he thought, and stepped out a little more to get a better look at the man strolling toward him.

  He was carrying a large, formless bag, slung across his larger, bulky body. He capped it all with an elaborate black hat, pulled down over his head at a rakish angle. Beneath the brim of the hat, Odo caught a quick glimpse of something—something that might have been smiling, as if at some private joke. Something disquieting, formless; a face without a face, shifting and swelling behind an invisible skin, the station lights kaleidoscoped within something—something that still might have been smiling. He shuddered involuntarily, then controlled himself.

  That’s a hat I know, I’m sure….

  It took Odo a moment or two to sift through names, and events—and court hearings—but eventually he placed him. Mexh Brixhta, he thought, watching the bulbous figure curve along with the line of the Promenade. What, I wonder, could have brought you here just now? Breaking the habits he had built across his whole career, Odo turned away from Quark’s, and began to follow Brixhta back along the Promenade. His day, he knew, had just become a great deal more complicated.

  The shimmer of the transporter beam settled at last, and Sisko was able to take a proper look at his surroundings. His eyes began to water a little, and he blinked in the white glare of the morning sunshine. The light silvered the water on the bay over to the west, hit the glass and chrome of the building ahead and the white stones of the paving of the plaza in front of it, and cast long, deep shadows on the trees and the green grass of the parkland opening out behind them. Sharp, bright colors; the taste and the scent of fresh air—it was too easy to forget it all, he thought, living on the station. Too easy to lose sight of Earth.

  He took a quick glance over at his companion. Garak was shielding his eyes against the light, and he was staring all around. He seemed ill at ease. Then he caught Sisko watching him, and produced a dry, closed smile. “So this is Earth,” he said. “How dazzling.”

  Sisko pointed in front of them. “That building over there is Starfleet Headquarters,” he said. “I guess we should go straight on in….” He looked around uncertainly. “I was expecting Admiral Ross to be here to meet us.”

  Garak was staring up at the front of the HQ building. “That’s the Cardassian flag up there,” he said, in surprise. “Why, I wonder, would that be flying here? Have we managed to arrive in the middle of a coup d’état? Someone might have taken the time to inform me.”

  He was edgy. “It’s customary to fly the flags of visiting delegates,” Sisko explained. “It’s meant to welcome them to Earth, and it’s also meant as a mark of respect. I guess that flag up there might even be for you. And for your government-in-exile too, of course.”

  Beneath the shade of his hand, Garak’s eyes glittered coldly back. “It is not my government, Captain,” he replied. “But that is a revealing custom, to say the very least. On Cardassia, we would certainly try to impress you with a display of pageantry. But you would never see another empire’s flag flying over any of our cities.” His smile twisted. “Well, not until very recently.”

  Sisko didn’t answer. He gestured vaguely at some of the other buildings dotted around the plaza. More chrome and glass. All very glossy. “Starfleet Academy, campus housing, consulates, that kind of thing,” he said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The rest of the city is over that way.”

  “And I’d like to see more of it,” Garak murmured, gazing around. His eyes were still under protec
tion, hidden away, but he seemed to be surveying everything, Sisko thought—the vivid sky, the white light, the lines and contours of the buildings, out to the city beyond…. Watching him take the measure of it all, so methodically, so efficiently—so Cardassian—Sisko felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. It felt as if something precious was being intruded upon, invaded—violated, even.

  Serpent in Paradise…

  “A lot to do first, wouldn’t you say, Garak?” His voice came out perhaps a little angrier than he had intended. “A lot to talk about.”

  Garak snapped his attention back to him. “That really depends on whether or not you’re feeling talkative, Captain.” Ice cold. Alien. Here, on Earth. Right at the center of it all. “I am very clear on exactly what information I wish to share.”

  Sisko stared up at the building ahead and the flags flying and, with an effort, considered it more carefully. “You know,” he said, after a moment or two, “I think they may have tinted all that glass since I was last here.”

  “Costly,” Garak remarked.

  “Moneyless,” Sisko reminded him.

  “Oh yes,” Garak murmured. “Of course.” Sisko risked another sideways glance at him. Garak seemed to have adjusted now to the daylight; he had dropped his hand, but he was still staring all around. And he still, Sisko thought, had a faint edge of unease.

  Garak pointed ahead. “I wonder, Captain,” he said, “whether these two officers approaching are coming to meet us?”

  Sisko looked up. Two figures were coming down the steps of the HQ building. Considering the identity of his companion, they would, he reckoned, most likely be Starfleet Intelligence. It certainly looked as if they were coming over to them. He was aware that Garak shifted slightly, straightening up and folding his arms across his chest. They both stood and waited in silence as the welcoming committee crossed the grass.

  When they got closer, Sisko thought that the two officers, a man and a woman, looked very youthful. The spies are getting younger every day. Sisko glanced at Garak and saw that he too had relaxed a little. That gave him a moment’s pause, since he had to wonder at the risks of putting Garak into the care of what seemed to be two relatively inexperienced officers. Or maybe Garak wasn’t considered as much of a security risk these days? Not as much as he would have been in the past? He had, after all, proven himself useful—even reliable—since the start of the war. Still, in Sisko’s own extensive experience, it paid to keep an eye on Garak. If only to make sure he wasn’t killing people when you weren’t looking.