“No, no!” She shook her head, urgency making her angry. “I’m talking about your whole culture. It’s militaristic, expansionist—I mean, just look at your history!” She was gathering momentum. Garak was staring at her as if she were an example of some previously undiscovered species. “And I’m not just talking about the invasion of Bajor,” she went on, “although that’s the worst example! It was only a matter of time before the Cardassian Union turned on the rest of the quadrant. The only thing that held you back was that you didn’t have the resources! Up until now, that is. That’s all the Dominion have done—given Cardassian imperialism the resources it’s always lacked. This is all just…” She took a breath before delivering the coup de grâce. “…just a logical progression of the tendencies inherent in your society!”
Several of her friends were agreeing warmly, and one or two people standing by gave her a spontaneous round of applause. Garak looked like he had just been hit with a copy of the Federation Constitution. A hardback copy. Sisko began to laugh. Free speech in action, and the humanities had just drawn first blood. “You know,” Sisko murmured, leaning toward Garak, “she does have a point there.” Garak glared back at him.
“Don’t you be so smug,” the young woman said, turning on Sisko and jabbing a finger at him angrily. “Because we’re going the same way. It’s all about weapons and war now, isn’t it? What happened to diplomacy? What happened to peaceful exploration? Your generation are making a mess that we,” she gestured round to her friends, “are going to have to live with.” There was another burst of applause, more serious this time. She nodded; satisfied with her words; still angry, but satisfied.
“You know, Captain,” Garak said, “she does have a point there.” He turned back to their challenger. “My dear—” he began.
“Don’t my dear me!”
“I beg your pardon,” he said graciously. “You make a good case, and very persuasively. But the reality is that if Starfleet—if the Allies—struck a deal with the Dominion now, I would give it—” He glanced at Sisko, who shrugged. “—two years, at the outside. In which period of time, they would have rearmed, and they would be even more ready for us. This is a trade-off,” Garak said, as if surprised to have to make such an obvious point, “between a current conflict and a future, lasting peace.”
“But it’s not getting us anywhere closer to peace, is it?” someone called from a little way back. “What’s just happened at Sybaron?”
“A bloodbath,” someone else called out.
“Give people a little knowledge and they’ll abuse it,” Garak muttered to Sisko. “Now do you see my point about censorship?” He called back, “That was holding the line. Do you want to know what a bloodbath would be?” He pointed up past the screens to the roof of the HQ building. Many of the people gathered around them turned to look. “Fifty Jem’Hadar stationed up there, firing on us down here. That would be a bloodbath—and it’s the Seventh Fleet holding the line at Sybaron that means that you can bring your children here and say ill-informed things about war in complete safety!”
Some people around them began to boo. Up on the stage, someone was saying, “Could we have a little quiet down at the back, please!”
“Try to tone it down, Garak,” Sisko murmured. He looked up at the screens. “Roeder’s about to come on. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“He’s had experience of the war,” someone shouted at them, “and he’s seen through it all. He wants peace.”
“Well, all of us are for peace!” Garak called back. “Just not at the price of being…” He hunted for the right word. “…enslaved!” He turned to Sisko impatiently. “Major Kira would know what I’m talking about!”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Sisko said, trying to calm him down. “Let’s just listen to Roeder, shall we?”
“But the captain of the ship is insistent that these biometric scans are invulnerable!”
Julian scratched his ear, suppressed a yawn, and tried to listen to Odo’s lengthy explanation. He had been planning on having a quick, quiet drink with Miles, and then heading off early to bed. The chief was late, Worf had hijacked him for the first half of the evening, and now Odo—arms folded before him, his frown in full display upon his face—looked like he had settled in for the second half. Julian glanced over at Broik, who lurked glumly behind the bar, and waved his fingers unobtrusively. When he caught the Ferengi’s attention, he picked up his empty glass and tilted it. He might as well get started on another drink if he was going to be stuck here all evening. Perhaps he might start thinking about something a little stronger than synthale….
“She is certain that her clients are not the kind of people to take risks with this much latinum. She is also very insistent that under no circumstances would she install second-rate systems, and she gave me to understand that these particular clients would not look too kindly upon her if she did.” Odo snorted. “I, on the other hand, have never come across a security system that cannot be bypassed—should someone happen to be dedicated enough.”
Broik slinked up to the table, bearing the fresh glass of synthale, and gawping fearfully at Odo. Odo glared back at the interruption. Julian mumbled his thanks to the waiter, thumbed Broik’s padd to ensure payment for the drink, and watched as the Ferengi scurried off gratefully back to the relative safety of the bar. He took a sip of his drink, allowing Odo to pick up his tale once more.
“And that amount of latinum would make anyone dedicated, I would think. Which is where you come in, Doctor.”
Julian looked up from his drink to see Odo staring at him intently. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh yes?”
“Yes. Because if anyone can work his way around these biometric scans—it has to be you.”
Julian set his glass down on the table, and shifted about uncomfortably in his chair. “Oh, I don’t know, Odo,” he shook his head, “it’s not something I really have the time for at the moment—”
“But just think about it! Not only are you so intellectually gifted, but this is even in your own field….”
“Really, biometric scans and security systems…it all sounds more like the chief that you should be talking to…” Julian trailed off when he realized that Odo wasn’t listening to him. Instead he was looking down eagerly at a padd he had brought with him.
“Take a look at this, Doctor,” he urged. “I’m sure that once you start reading, you’ll be intrigued.” He pushed the padd across the table. With a sigh, Julian began to give the data a cursory scan. Something caught his eye, and he started to look a little more closely….
Don’t do it, he told himself firmly. Don’t let yourself get dragged into this.
He looked up at Odo’s expectant face, and tried to think of a good question. “What I don’t understand, Constable,” he said, “is why you’re so sure someone’s going to try to steal the latinum.”
Odo frowned at him. This clearly was not the answer he had been hoping for.
“I mean, I quite agree,” Julian said hurriedly, “that it is an awful lot of latinum, but we’ve had shipments like this pass through the station before, with no problems at all—at least, none that you’ve ever mentioned….”
He tailed off as Odo looked over each shoulder, then around the bar, and then leaned toward him. Half-unconsciously, and certainly against his better judgment, Julian leaned in himself, so that he could hear what Odo was about to say.
“Brixhta,” Odo growled.
Julian stared at him blankly. “I’m sorry?”
“Here,” Odo said, “on the station. Right now.”
Julian sat up in his chair. “Odo, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he said.
“He says that he’s here to deal in antiques. Antiques?” Odo snorted. “Most of it is just junk. And he’s here. Now. With all that latinum on the station.” Odo shook his head. “I don’t believe a word of this antiques nonsense.”
Before Julian could answer, another chair was pulled up n
ext to him. O’Brien sat down.
“Thank god you’re here, Miles,” Julian said. “Odo is trying to tempt me into a life of crime.”
“Sounds like I arrived in the nick of time.” O’Brien waved at the bar and pointed at Bashir’s glass, then looked back. His expression became suspicious. “What are you two hunched up together like this for? What’s going on?”
“You can explain it, Odo,” Julian said, just as Odo said again, “Brixhta…”
“Who or what is Brixhta?” O’Brien said.
“If you can find that out, Miles, you’re doing better than I am.”
“The name sounds Hamexi,” O’Brien said.
“It is. Brixhta and I crossed paths once before….” Odo’s face took on a distant expression.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense too long, Odo,” O’Brien said.
“During the Occupation, Brixhta once attempted to acquire a large amount of Numerian blacksilver. I was obliged to go to Bajor to stop him. And, as a result of my intervention in his plans, he has just finished serving quite a respectable prison sentence.” Odo paused. “Don’t look, but he’s at the bar right now, talking to Quark.”
As one man, Bashir and O’Brien turned to look. Quark noticed them at once, and said something to Brixhta. Brixhta turned and tipped his hat at them.
“Stop staring!” Odo growled.
As they watched, Brixhta slid out from his chair and progressed in a stately fashion toward the Promenade.
“I see,” Julian murmured. He raised his glass to hide his smile, and glanced over at Miles, who grinned back. “So…it’s almost as if he’s your archenemy? You’d best keep quiet about this, Odo. Quark’s feelings might get hurt.”
Odo favored him with a rather cool stare. “So, Doctor,” he said, “when you wonder why I am sure that an attempt will be made to steal this shipment of latinum—my answer is that both it and Mexh Brixhta are here at the same time.”
Julian looked at Odo thoughtfully. “You know, I almost hesitate to ask this, but do you have any actual evidence to support that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Julian waved his hand. “It could just be a coincidence.”
Odo snorted.
“Apart from what he did in the past,” Julian said, “for which, I think it should be pointed out, he’s paid the price—has Brixhta given you any real reason to think that he’s intending to steal this latinum? That he’s still a criminal.”
“He is an antiques dealer, Doctor. Of course he’s still a criminal.”
Julian looked at Odo over the rim of his glass. Then he turned to O’Brien. “You know, Miles,” he said, “you and your books have a lot to answer for.”
“Oh, don’t go blaming me for this!”
“Odo,” Julian said, “I think you need to start reading something else other than pulp fiction. I can make you some recommendations if you like. Cardassian, if you want to start with something familiar. I’m sure Garak would be more than willing to help….” Seeing that Odo’s face was getting—if it were at all possible—even stonier, Julian stopped himself and hid away again behind the safety of his glass. “So, this Brixhta,” he said. “Why does he say he’s here?”
“He says he’s here to hold an auction of goods.” Odo pushed a piece of card toward Julian, who grimaced slightly at the colors before reading the ornate script upon it. Brixhta, it said. Antiques.
Julian pushed the card back. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning, here in the bar,” Odo said. “As if Brixhta weren’t trouble enough without going into business with Quark!”
“Well, leaving that complication aside for the moment,” Julian said, “has he brought anything to sell with him?”
“Yes. I went and had a look at them earlier, in fact.”
“And did you see anything suspicious about them? Anything at all?”
“Not a thing,” Odo said unhappily.
“Well then,” Julian took another swig of ale. “Is it not just possible, then, that this Brixhta has no intention of stealing a shipment of latinum under the watchful eye of the very person who once put him in prison?”
Odo frowned and folded his arms, deep in thought. Julian returned to his drink. He glanced across at Miles and raised an eyebrow. Problem solved, I think!
O’Brien grinned back, and reached for the padd. He began reading through it. “Are these the security systems from the Ariadne?” he said.
Odo nodded.
“I thought they were pretty impressive,” O’Brien said, and put the padd back down again in front of the doctor. He looked back at the bar. “Is Quark ever going to bring me that drink?” he muttered, and then looked down at the padd again, thoughtfully. “Hey, that’s someone we should talk to,” he said. “If anyone would know how to steal this latinum, it would be Quark. Takes a thief to catch a thief, doesn’t it?” He swung back on his chair and twisted round to look at the bar. “Quark!” he yelled, over the noise. “Come over here for a minute. And bring my drink with you when you come.”
Roeder was turning out to have quite the gift for public speaking, one that Sisko would never have guessed from serving with him. How many years ago now? People could change in that length of time. Sisko studied the once familiar face, overlarge on the screen. Roeder was a little older than the people who had spoken so far, and he had a harder edge, particularly when he talked about his time in Starfleet. Judith was right. It gave him credibility. Sisko watched him speak, and wondered what the hell had brought about this change of heart; what the hell had brought him here. The people around were responding to his words. Someone jostled Sisko’s arm. He looked around for the couple with their son to make sure that they were safe, but he couldn’t see them. He supposed it was starting to get late.
Roeder said a little about his grief on hearing the news from Sybaron, and then he paused. When he spoke again, Sisko could hear a new steel in his voice.
“We’re here this evening outside Starfleet Headquarters for a particular reason. Inside, there are people making decisions about this war. And we’re here this evening because we want to make sure that our voices are heard, and we want to make sure that the right decisions are made.”
“Let’s hope that if your voice is heard, it’s summarily dismissed,” Garak muttered. Some of the people around began expressing their displeasure again. Sisko murmured to Garak to keep quiet. Up on the stage, Roeder seemed to be aware that there was discontent toward the back of the crowd.
“You know, I can see a lot of people here this evening in uniform. I salute them. I know all about their courage and the choices they have to make. But I ask them to think again about what is being done in their names; what they are allowing to be done.”
Sisko looked again at Roeder’s face up on the screen. You don’t know the half of it. He stared around the crowd. They hated the everyday business of war because it was bloody, he knew, and dirty—but what they failed to realize was that it was clean in comparison to what else it permitted. For a second, Sisko regretted his uniform again; and then he caught himself angrily. He was damned if he was going to let Roeder manipulate him like that. He was damned if he was going to be made to feel ashamed of this uniform. People here didn’t know the first thing about the front line; hell, Jake had a better idea. Someone shoved him, and then Garak was jostled too. Garak held his hands up briefly, palms outward; a gesture of appeasement.
“I don’t know how you can wear that uniform,” someone new shouted from close by. “You’re a commander, right?”
“Captain, in fact,” Sisko said. He looked around until he could see Chaplin. There were about ten or fifteen people between them, but he was fairly certain she was reaching toward the phaser she carried openly at her waist. Sisko shook his head, ever so slightly. The last thing that was needed right now was someone in uniform to fire a weapon.
“So you must be ordering young men and women in to battle, all the time,” another new voice shouted. “And getting them ki
lled.” The mood was becoming angrier. “I bet you’re safe on the bridge of your ship all the time—you should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Now I really must protest!” Garak interrupted. “I doubt that anything could make the captain ashamed of his uniform.”
Sisko shot him an irritated look.
“And why should he be?” Garak continued, cheerfully, having not missed Sisko’s expression. “He has conducted himself judiciously throughout this entire war, and with consummate skill, both strategic and tactical. I can honestly say that it has been an honor to serve alongside him. Captain,” Garak said, breaking off his eulogy to turn and address Sisko directly, “have you noticed that the callow young students and families with whom we were enjoying such a lively exchange of opinions appear to have moved on and been replaced with a crowd considerably less friendly?”
“I know that on Cardassia you don’t have much experience of gatherings like this,” Sisko said, turning to face him and keeping one eye on the people pressing up close, “but one thing you should know about them is that sometimes a certain element may be looking for a focus for less than peaceful action.”
“I see,” Garak’s eyes widened. “Captain, I almost hesitate to ask—but do we, by any chance, happen to be providing such a focus?”
“I think we’re just about to find out,” Sisko replied, moving forward to block the fist that was heading in Garak’s direction.
This was by no means, Odo thought, the direction in which he had intended this conversation to go. He had come over for a quiet chat with the doctor, and the entire station was being drawn into the affair. All that was needed now was for Dax to turn up and start offering more of her questionable advice. He berated himself for starting this conversation with the doctor in such a public place. He should have gone to see him in the privacy of the infirmary.
“Chief,” he said, watching Quark come over to them, “I must urge caution on you—”
“Don’t worry, I just want to sound him out.” O’Brien grinned. “Maybe we can find out whether he knows anything—and how much.”
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