3
MID-EVENING, Odo came out of his office to meet Kira, who was heading along the Promenade. They walked together a while, discussing the day’s business. Kira related a few tales of shopkeepers who had not been pleased to learn that parts of the Promenade would be out-of-bounds once the Ariadne arrived, and told with relish how she had handled them. He listened happily. He had always enjoyed her triumphs, as if they had been his own.
“I knew there was something I meant to ask,” she said, as they drew nearer to Quark’s, “you have run background checks on the crew of the Ariadne, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” Odo replied. “The captain of the ship is an interesting case; a Federation citizen who seems to prefer a less ordered life outside in the wider universe.”
“Or found herself unable to come back,” Kira suggested.
“Maybe,” Odo said. “But the crew of the Ariadne is not really my concern at the moment,” he confessed. “I’m more interested in someone else who has recently arrived on the station; particularly in the light of the business arrangement he appears to have struck with Quark.”
“Anything I need to be worried about?”
“I believe I have the situation well under control, Major. I’m on my way to Quark’s now to make sure no mischief is being planned this evening. Beyond the usual, that is.”
Kira laughed, and they walked on companionably. “You know,” she said, after a moment or two, “Jadzia has got this strange idea that you’ve been avoiding her.”
“And she would be entirely correct in her assumption,” Odo confirmed. They exchanged smiles. “She is very keen for me to involve the doctor in one of my current cases. I myself am less enamored with the idea.” They had reached the entrance to Quark’s, and came to a halt.
“Well, I think it’s a good idea, Odo!” Kira said. Her eyes were sparkling at him, something like they used to. “You know, we hear a lot from Julian about just how smart he is—I think he should prove it!”
“Perhaps it would be interesting to see whether he has the makings of an investigator,” Odo conceded.
“I can’t imagine anyone doing the job as well as you,” Kira answered, quickly. There was a slight pause, and then she looked past him. “Well,” she said, “I should let you get on. Good luck with Quark!”
“Thank you, Major.”
He watched her head off down the Promenade, and then went into the bar. It had been something like their old warmth, he thought. Something very like.
The evening was hazy; a thin mist was hovering over the bay and the plaza. The sky was gray, and reflected gray in the glass of the building. In front of it, a stage had been erected, with large screens so that those at the back of the crowd could still see the speakers. Crash barriers had been put in front of HQ building itself, and around most of the plaza, to keep those gathered contained within a set space.
Sisko had taken Garak to an inconspicuous spot toward the back of the square near a little artificial lake. Chaplin had followed them, keeping her at a distance. From where they were standing, they could look out across the whole of the arena. It was beginning to fill up. The people arriving were a mixture: many of them were young—students, Sisko guessed—but most were just ordinary folk. Some had even brought their kids. There was a buzz of expectation, but the people were gathering themselves together in an orderly way. Some recognized friends and called out to them. Others started up eager conversations with strangers, all here together on a common purpose. Sisko thought about the crash barriers and wondered idly if the organizers were really expecting any trouble. He dismissed the idea. Not at a peace rally. Not in front of Starfleet HQ.
He was aware that quite a few people were looking at them. Never mind the Cardassian standing next to him; Sisko was beginning to feel a little conspicuous himself in his uniform. He folded his arms and turned to look at Garak.
Garak was certainly oblivious to the looks being thrown at them, and apparently unaware of the crowd. His whole attention was on the lake. “So much water,” he said, staring out across it, transfixed. “I can see why they chose to put the buildings here.”
“It’s artificial,” Sisko said.
“What?”
“The lake. It’s man-made.”
Garak blinked at him. “Of course.” He smiled wryly, as if coming to some kind of understanding. “You don’t see that much on Cardassia. Or you didn’t, when I was last there. Who knows what’s going on these days.” A couple of swans glided past, imperiously. Garak watched their course with undisguised fascination. “You don’t see that either.”
“They’re swans,” Sisko said, and then gave a short laugh. “If I’d known we were going to come this way, I’d have saved some of my breakfast. We could have fed them.”
Garak looked at him in horror. “Why?” he said. “Are they starving?”
“No…” Sisko struggled to think how he could explain. A brief memory came back, of Jake as a very little boy, standing next to Jennifer, both of them laughing as they tried to throw their bits of bread as far as they could, both of them laughing at the ducks as they rushed and dived to be the first to the prize, then rushed and dived again and again. “It’s fun, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll take your word for it.” Garak propped himself against the railings and sighed, drawing in a deep breath of the clear air. Sisko watched him, covertly. Garak looked around until he could see where Chaplin was, and then stared out across the water again. “I must say, I continued to be disappointed in Chaplin and Marlow this afternoon.”
“Why’s that?”
“All we did was talk,” Garak said. It was clearly a source of frustration. Sisko thought he had a better idea now why Rhemet had provided such an irresistible target.
“I think I learned more about them than they did about me,” Garak was saying, “and how very exceptional their careers have been. Oh yes,” he cast Sisko a dry look, “somehow I found myself fully apprised of all that.” He nodded in the direction of the lieutenant. “Did you know that Chaplin there is one of the youngest people ever to serve as an adjutant to an admiral? A field promotion of course; if the previous holder of the position hadn’t been killed in action, then perhaps she might have been a little older when she got the post. And as for Marlow—well, he was shot in the chest during the retreat from the Kepla sector. A very brave young man—I should imagine that a medal or two were handed out there. And it certainly explains the desk job.”
It would also explain why both of them seemed just that bit older than their years, Sisko thought.
“Still,” Garak went on, “an intelligence officer finding himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting shot for his pains—it’s good to know some things are no different whether you’re human or Cardassian. But both of them were so”—Garak seemed to be struggling to find an appropriately condemnatory word—“so pleasant! I was expecting a thinly veiled threat or two, at least. Just for the sake of appearances, if nothing else.”
Sisko shook his head. “So, basically, you’re disappointed that they didn’t try to break your fingers or anything like that?”
“One should always be prepared.”
“Torture isn’t exactly standard Starfleet practice, Garak.”
“A pity. I have a whole host of talents to put at Starfleet’s disposal that your colleagues seem unwilling to use.”
Sisko refrained from answering. As far as he was concerned, Starfleet had made more than enough use of the full range of Garak’s talents already.
“If nothing else, at least it would be quicker.” Garak hissed in a breath of air. “It was exactly the same on Starbase 375. All we did was talk,” he said again. “It almost drove me insane!”
“So you’d prefer it if they were torturing you?”
“At least it would give me a little more confidence in your intelligence service. I mean, look at us!” Garak gestured at their surroundings.
“What’s your problem, Garak? We’re just standing out
side.”
“And that’s exactly my point. I’m Cardassian. On Earth. It’s preposterous I’m able to move around this freely!”
“The Federation isn’t in the business of restricting civil liberties, Garak,” Sisko murmured. Not since the last time he had been home, at any rate. Not since Leyton. And God only knew, they had been close enough that time round.
“Well, perhaps they should be! Who knows what I could be up to?”
“Right now,” Sisko pointed out, “you’re just standing outside.”
“I can see,” Garak muttered, “that I am unlikely to make myself understood on this point.” He turned back to contemplating the swans as they progressed unhurriedly toward the other side of the lake. Suddenly, with a great splash, their wings beat the water, and they took flight. Garak leaned forward a little over the railings to see better. They wheeled around overhead, massive and beautiful, before heading off across the wet sky. Garak twisted round to watch them go. “Extraordinary…” he murmured. As he turned, Sisko saw his expression change as he registered the number of people that had arrived. “This is a lot busier than I imagined it would be,” he said. “Was this what you were expecting, Captain?”
“Not really,” Sisko admitted. Again, he considered the distance between Earth and the front line. Was this really what the war meant, back here? The plaza was so full now that people were filling up the space near them, even as far back as Sisko had brought them, and they were attracting more and more curious looks. He gave a curt, polite nod to a young couple standing beside them who had brought their little boy with them. The husband smiled back; the wife did too, a little more cautiously.
“Look,” Garak said, gesturing behind them at the water. Sisko twisted his head to see. Another swan was gliding past. It was black. “They come in two colors,” Garak said. He seemed charmed by the idea.
“Black swans aren’t very common,” Sisko told him.
“No?”
“No,” he said. Then the sound system blared, and a voice filled the whole of the plaza, welcoming people to the meeting. The crowd began to applaud. The first speaker was coming on.
The bar was busy this evening, but Odo had no trouble picking out his targets in the crowd. Brixhta and Quark were huddled together in conversation. Odo watched them for a little while from the door, and then went inside. He saw Quark register his imminent arrival almost straight away and alert Brixhta.
“Odo,” Quark called out to him, “I have something I want to ask you.”
Odo reached the bar. “How eager I am to hear this,” he said.
“Don’t be too quick to dismiss it,” Quark said, “because I want to lodge a complaint.”
“A complaint?” Odo snorted. “Have you nothing better to do this evening, Quark? Is it proving a bad night for profit?”
“A complaint,” Quark ignored the interruption entirely, “about the high-handed way in which the hard-working business community of this station was informed that part of the Promenade was going to be sealed off. Do you have any idea,” Quark, Odo saw, was beginning to work himself up into a close facsimile of outrage, “just how disruptive that is for commerce? How much of an effect it could have on the proprietors of all those shops? How it shows, once again”—here he remonstrated Odo with the wave of a finger—“how little value you and the major place on the contribution we ordinary people make to everyday life on this station; not to mention the disgraceful disregard you’re showing for our freedom to move around wherever we choose—”
“I can only assume,” Odo cut in, having allowed Quark plenty of rope, “from this laudable display of civic-mindedness that you have not yet worked out that practically the only eating establishment on the Promenade that will not be affected by the closure is this bar?”
Quark stopped dead. He ran his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his ear. “The Replimat will be closed?”
Odo nodded.
“For twenty-six hours?”
“According to our current estimates. It might even,” Odo added helpfully, “turn out to be longer.”
“Now that I come to think about it…” Quark said.
“Yes?” Odo prompted.
“Most of those spaces are to do with administration, aren’t they?” Quark waved a vague hand. “Never really sure what goes on round that bit of the Promenade, but nothing essential to the running of the station…”
“Yes…?”
“There’s Garak’s shop, but he isn’t here anyway…”
“Yes?”
“In which case,” Quark concluded, “in the spirit of…” He thought for a moment. “…civic-mindedness, perhaps the Merchants’ Association could see its way to assisting you and the major during what I can only guess must be a particularly busy time for you.”
“Quark,” Odo said, turning away, “you are deplorable. Brixhta,” he said, to his new object of attention, “may I say how very considerate it is of you to spend so much time in this bar—it certainly makes it easier for me to keep an eye on you both. Did you have a successful afternoon?”
Brixhta drained a little from his glass of water. “How kind of you to take an interest, Odo. Indeed I did.”
“You were certainly sending out a lot of communications earlier.”
“Business, Odo, all business. A number of very rare and interesting pieces are coming onto the market.” He sparkled beneath the hat. “Perhaps there will be something I could procure for you? You seemed enchanted by the Bajoran dolls I showed you earlier.”
“Bajoran dolls?” Quark bared his teeth in a smile. “Odo, I would never have guessed.”
Odo growled. He began to look around the bar not, he told himself, for a means of escape, but for someone more pleasant to talk to. As he watched, his eye fell on the conspicuous figure of Worf, rising from a table opposite, bidding goodnight to Bashir. Perhaps this would be as good a time as any, Odo thought, to keep his word to Dax. He left Quark and Brixhta without a further word, and went to join Bashir at his table.
“Doctor,” Odo said. “Good evening.”
Bashir looked up. “Oh, hello Odo,” he said, giving him what looked to Odo’s eyes to be a tired smile. “What brings you in here this evening? Keeping an eye on Quark?”
“I’m always keeping an eye on Quark, Doctor. And I certainly don’t need to be in here to do it.” Odo glanced back over at the bar. Quark and Brixhta had hunched together again.
“No, I suppose you don’t,” Bashir murmured. His attention had strayed back to his drink.
“In fact,” Odo continued, “I have another, quite particular reason to be here this evening.” He nodded at the chair that Worf had just vacated. “Would you mind if I joined you, Doctor?”
“Yes, of course.” Bashir picked up Worf’s empty glass and put it to one side. “Be my guest.”
Odo placed himself carefully in the seat. “Thank you,” he said.
“I was waiting for Miles,” Bashir said, “but he’s running late. This ship that’s due to arrive has had him scrambling around reorganizing the duty rosters.”
“The arrival of the Ariadne has been keeping us all busy. And, in fact,” Odo took his cue from Quark and Brixhta, and leaned toward Bashir, conspiratorially, “that was what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Bashir instinctively moved in toward him. “Oh?”
“That’s correct, Doctor.” Odo lowered his voice, so that it was just audible against the din in the bar and, with exaggerated caution, he looked back over each shoulder, then he leaned his elbows on the table, and shifted further forward. Bashir, he was pleased to see, was starting to look a little intrigued—and the doctor’s expression turned into frank amazement at what Odo said next.
“I would like to enlist your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. I want you to help me commit a crime.”
Garak had listened to the first two speakers with intense interest and what Sisko was fairly sure was increasing disbelief. Sisko had a certain amount
of sympathy. The gap between soldier and civilian had never seemed so wide to him before.
The news had broken about Sybaron; and the mood of the crowd had altered subtly. It was grimmer, more febrile. Some people at the front had begun to chant. The speaker was responding to them; her voice buoyed up by their resentment.
“They said that with new allies,” she was shouting, “this whole war would turn. But what do we have now? Even more dead—”
Garak could not restrain himself any longer. He covered over his mouth, and leaned in to speak to Sisko. “Is this just a skewed sample,” he asked, “or is everyone on Earth this naïve?”
Sisko shrugged. He agreed, but he had his eye on the people standing around. “It’s difficult…” he murmured.
“But the Seventh Fleet has held at Sybaron! I’ll admit there were severe losses, yes, but…really!”
“You have to remember that not that many civilians on Earth have seen action.”
“A case for conscription if ever there was. Perhaps in the meantime they should listen to people with experience—”
The woman standing nearby picked up her little boy. The young man with her turned to Garak. “And I suppose you think you’re one of those people with the requisite experience?” His tone, Sisko was glad to hear, was challenging but by no means unfriendly.
“More than I would wish upon anyone,” Garak replied, with a courteous tilt of the head.
“So we should listen to you?”
“I would of course naturally suggest that,” Garak said, beginning to smile.
“But you’re Cardassian,” someone else called out. A young woman, Sisko saw, no more than Jake’s age, maybe a year or so older. Probably a student at the university. “You’re the reason we’re at war in the first place.”
“My dear young lady,” Garak said politely, “looks can be deceptive. I can assure you that the Dominion occupation of Cardassia is neither my fault nor to my benefit.”
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