Quark hadn’t expected the conversation to veer so abruptly from treacly Federation drinks to the hinterlands of quantum philosophy. “Whoa, there. I just pour the drinks around here. I make it my policy to leave the philosophizing to the people who leave their latinum behind.”
The Jem’Hadar’s next words appeared to be for his own benefit. “Do you believe a holographic entity can have a soul?”
Seeing how hard Taran’atar appeared to be struggling with the idea, Quark decided to step outside his usual conversational boundaries. “I dunno. Do you have one? Do I? In my experience, if the commodity can’t be bought, sold, or rented, it’s probably not even worth discussing.”
Taran’atar downed the rest of his drink, in the process washing off half of the sticky ice cream smeared above his mouth. He stood, placing his final tankard on the counter beside its emptied brethren.
Taran’atar moved to depart, then turned back to the bar, tapping his finger on its smooth surface as he addressed Quark. “I have two requests to make of you, Quark.”
Quark grinned, finally feeling that he had begun to connect with the dour Jem’Hadar on something approaching a personal level. “Name ’em.”
“I would like to book some holosuite time today, to see this Vic. I wish to hear how he saved Nog’s life.”
“Done. Just as long as you’re cleared out by twenty hundred tonight. And please try not to kill anything while you’re in there.”
Taran’atar nodded solemnly. “If nothing attacks me, I’ll do as you ask.”
Quark felt relieved to hear that. He wanted Vic’s establishment to be in perfect working order tonight for his date with Ro. “What’s your other request?”
The Jem’Hadar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t ever address me as ‘Tarannie’ again.”
The Ferengi barkeep watched as the behemoth left his establishment, and only then noticed that his knees were quaking. You try to be friendly to someone and what does it get you?
He shook his head, then noticed a patron whose Alterian fizz was almost empty. He rushed over with another, the encounter with Taran’atar almost forgotten.
Almost.
By the afternoon, Ro Laren had ceased personally welcoming the Federation dignitaries aboard the station, allowing Starfleet Lieutenant Costello and some of the other junior officers to greet the arriving lower-echelon diplomats. Ro accompanied Kira to meet the higher-level guests. Several of these officials evidently knew of Ro’s past run-ins with the Starfleet hierarchy, and her subsequent imprisonment, as well as the time she had spent fighting alongside the anti-Cardassian Maquis guerrillas. A few of the dignitaries, most notably the scowling martinet who represented Kostolain, hadn’t tried very hard to disguise their disgust at having to be in her presence.
So this is the sort of abuse Kira has to deal with every day from her fellow Bajorans, Ro thought, her soul rendered desolate by the hours-long drumbeat of subtle disapproval. She wondered how much of it Kira had perceived, and to what extent the colonel was reining in her own reactions. But Ro didn’t feel inclined to discuss it. All she wanted was to get away before she complicated her life even further by sending someone plunging over the Promenade railings.
She recalled the words of one of her Starfleet tactical training instructors. Welcome to the future. It’s where we’re all going to spend the rest of our lives.
As the afternoon wore on, and an opportunity to get away presented itself, she decided to spend at least a few minutes relaxing at Quark’s. She fervently wished there was time to get gloriously, obstreperously drunk.
Perhaps a minute or two after she had taken a seat behind one of the place’s more unobtrusive back tables, Frool, one of Quark’s waiters, appeared as though by magic. The obsequious-mannered Ferengi set a tall glass of dark, steaming liquid onto the table before her.
“Thank you, but I didn’t order this,” she said. “And I’d really prefer to be left alone.”
“It’s a gift,” said Frool.
Ro lifted the glass by its heat-resistant stem and sniffed its contents. Hot Pyrellian ginger tea. Quark must have read my mind.
It felt good to receive a kind gesture, however small. She smiled politely at Frool. “Sorry for snapping at you, Frool. Please pass my thanks along to your boss.”
“Quark wasn’t the one who sent this,” Frool said, gesturing over his shoulder toward one of the tables in the far corner of the bar. Only then did Ro notice the strikingly handsome man who sat quietly in the shadows. Trill diplomatic aide Hiziki Gard smiled and raised his glass in Ro’s direction. Gard was in charge of security for the Federation delegations, led by Trill Ambassador Seljin Gandres. When he’d first come aboard the station weeks ago, Gard had taken an immediate and thorough professional interest in the security measures Ro was planning for the coming Federation induction ceremonies—as well as an unmistakable extraprofessional interest in Ro herself.
Ro heard a querulous voice coming from a short distance behind her seat. “So what do you suppose he wants?”
“Gard and I are in the same line of work, Quark,” Ro said as she lifted her own drink in Gard’s direction, returning his salute. At least for now. Who knows what I’ll be doing a year from now?
Quark looked suspicious. “He’s a cop? A pity Odo never learned to drink like that. He’d have been a lot easier to deal with. I wonder why he’s singling you out for attention.”
“Maybe it’s professional courtesy,” Ro said with a shrug.
Quark took the seat beside Ro’s while casting a withering glare in Gard’s direction. “I’ll believe that when he starts sending drinks over to Sergeant Shul or Sergeant Etana.”
Though Gard was seated at a darkened table a good ten meters away, Ro could easily make out the pattern of Trill spots running down from his dark hairline into the high collar of his impeccably tailored, dun-colored civilian suit. She couldn’t help but wonder how far down the markings went.
Ro took a careful sip of her tea, then said, “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Quark.”
“Jealousy? Why should I be jealous?” Quark said. “Unless you’re planning on holding a private security briefing with Tall, Dark, and Joined over there tonight instead of partaking of the evening I’ve planned for us.”
She recalled that tonight was to be her “second date” with Quark in the holosuites—and that he was in charge of setting the evening’s agenda this time, since she had chosen their holographic milieu on the previous occasion. He had asked her to dress nicely, so she had high hopes that he wasn’t merely trying to maneuver her into some cheap oo-mox trap.
“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” She realized that she was actually looking forward to whatever Quark had planned this evening. Even though he could sometimes be crude and grabby, an evening with him was still a welcome escape from a reality that seemed to be growing grimmer by the hour. But her increasingly warm feelings toward Quark were no reason not to enjoy his obvious discomfiture at Gard’s attentions. And now seemed like a good time to clear the air with the Trill security man.
As she made a beckoning gesture toward the smiling Gard, Quark’s scowl deepened. “What are you doing?”
“Simply returning Mr. Gard’s professional courtesy. See you tonight, Quark.”
Quark rose, taking her blunt hint. “I’ve gotta go,” he said, then vanished.
A moment later, Gard was sitting in Quark’s former place. The Trill’s smile was even more dazzling close up, his white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark goatee. “I’m not sure,” Gard began, “but I get the sense your Ferengi friend doesn’t like me very much.”
Ro chuckled. “What gave it away, the frown, the loathing stare, or the bared teeth?”
“Ah. You’ve obviously had as many years of detective training as I’ve had.”
“Don’t mind Quark. He’s just got a mild self-esteem problem.”
Gard nodded knowingly, then took a quaff from his own glass. “I suppose being the last bastion of Ferengi ca
pitalism can render a man’s ego a little fragile.”
Ro maintained a neutral expression as she sipped her tea, but she was nevertheless impressed; Gard had clearly done his homework regarding Quark. If his security arrangements were this thorough, then Ambassador Gandres ought to feel quite safe indeed.
“So,” Ro said, “do you prefer being addressed as Hiziki or Gard?”
His dark eyes twinkled, and for a fleeting moment Ro regretted having already committed her evening to Quark. “My joined name is fine,” he said, “except in professional situations. I find that when clients refer to me as ‘Gard,’ it only reminds them of what they hired me to do and keeps them ill at ease. I’ve heard all the puns and jokes, believe me. During more than one lifetime.”
His breezy manner put Ro genuinely at ease. “You’ve had many previous hosts then?”
“Oh yes,” he said, apparently very much at ease as well. “And I’ve worked in law enforcement or security during most of those lives. It seems that the Symbiosis Commission has either stereotyped me, or that the initiates themselves have.”
She laughed slightly at that. “Most of my direct experience with joined Trills has been with Ezri Dax. If she weren’t away on a Starfleet exploration mission in the Gamma Quadrant right now, I’d introduce you to her. Dax has had eight previous hosts, and they were a pretty diverse lot from what I hear.”
Gard smiled again, and Ro saw a flash of recognition in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve met Dax. Her lives probably make mine seem quite dull by comparison.”
“To boredom,” Ro said, and they spontaneously clinked their glasses together before they each took another drink.
Ro set her glass down. “So how do you know Dax?”
Gard paused as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. At length, he said, “Let’s just say that one of her earlier incarnations once ran into a spot of trouble with the law.”
Ro’s eyebrows rose, but the conversational lull that followed made it immediately clear that Gard was far too professional to tell her anything further. My, she thought. Attractive and discreet.
She decided to change the subject. “Thank you for the tea, by the way. Now what can I do for you? I don’t imagine you came here intending to let a relative stranger interrogate you about your previous lives as a Trill cop.”
“Oh, you’re hardly a stranger to me, Lieutenant,” he said. “I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I hadn’t studied the files on everyone in attendance at this summit—or whoever was providing security for it. I know we’ve only spoken at a couple of general security briefings so far, but I’ve made a point of reading your rather checkered public record. I was particularly interested in your time with the Maquis, and your Starfleet mission to Garon II before that.”
Eight of her fellow crew members from the Wellington had died on Garon II because she had disobeyed her commander’s orders. Ro would never forget that day, nor the years she had spent imprisoned on Jaros II because of it. Nor, apparently, would anybody connected with the Federation ever tire of reminding her of it. The anger the senior dignitaries had stoked within her over the past few hours suddenly reignited, though she did her best to rein it in. Fistfights among the security providers would only endanger the diplomatic guests.
Her reply was stiff and formal. “If you’ve really researched me as much as you say, then you have to be aware that there were certain…extenuating circumstances on Garon II.”
“Please, don’t misunderstand me, Lieutenant,” Gard said, making a placating gesture. “I’m not criticizing your past performance. In fact, I rather admire most of the decisions you’ve made throughout your career, if not your luck. Mavericks aren’t usually very popular with the top brass. But they know damned well they need people like us to get their dirty work done, don’t they?”
Hiziki’s reassuring words and gentle smile went a long way toward putting Ro at ease once again. “Not everyone sees it that way,” she said, nodding.
“Which brings me to what’s really on my mind. In reviewing the last six months or so of the goings-on aboard Deep Space 9—most specifically the rogue Jem’Hadar attack here about five months back—I have several concerns about the security for tomorrow’s treaty signing, and for the subsequent celebratory events.”
Now he’s second-guessing my job performance. Ro was just about to spit out a curt response when Gard held a hand out, palm facing her, as if to gently silence her. “Please do not in any way misinterpret my concerns. I, too, resent it when bureaucrats intrude into my work. But I was hoping that, as fellow mavericks, we might review the security plans together. Perhaps I can be helpful to you in ways other than keeping Ambassador Gandres and the other delegates from wandering about the station and getting underfoot. After all, we both have junior staffers who can do that.”
Once again, Ro’s anger dissipated. She was impressed. Gard was extremely smooth for a veteran cop. Perhaps all the time he had spent among diplomats—and the experiences of his past lives—had paid off. She realized that she might not only find his advice useful, but could also learn a thing or two about tact and persuasion from him as well. She had a feeling that such skills would be at least as valuable on Federationized Bajor as her Starfleet advanced tactical training.
“If you’d like, I can set up a formal security briefing for you first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “In my office at, say, oh six hundred.”
“How about this evening? Over dinner?” His eyes glittered. Ro felt herself blushing slightly in spite of herself.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already made dinner plans.” Ro looked across the room and saw Quark, still glowering at Gard from the other side of the bar. Following Ro’s eyes, Gard glanced toward Quark, then offered an understanding smile to Ro.
“Considering the caliber of Quark’s dinner company, I think his ego is needlessly fragile.” He rose to his feet, a small but provocative smile playing at his lips. “Oh six hundred tomorrow it is, then.”
After Gard had left, Ro sank back into her chair. She realized that she was still blushing; it had been aeons since anyone had flirted with her so overtly—and so charmingly. Most of her earlier romances had been quick wartime dalliances with other freedom fighters. Her time among the Maquis had afforded few opportunities for true emotional sharing. With Jalik, Kyle, and even Dana, there had been time only for brief physical intimacies, vital affirmations of life that punctuated an endless series of bloody engagements with the Cardassians, and later, the Jem’Hadar.
After draining the last of her tea, Ro noticed that Quark was appraising her from across the bar, though no longer glowering. Clearly, that was an expression he was keeping in reserve for Gard. With no small amount of wonder, she reflected yet again on how much she was actually beginning to like the little scoundrel, even though she acknowledged that she still didn’t entirely trust him. Who would have seen that coming?
But as she made her way back onto the Promenade, planning on visiting Hatrim Nabir’s dress shop to prepare for her date with Quark, she found that Gard’s bewitching smile still lingered in her thoughts.
10
Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53577.8
I woke up soaked in sweat, and as tired as though I’d just come off a double shift. I realized with a start that I was lying on one of the biobeds. Fewer things are more disconcerting to a ship’s doctor than suddenly finding himself horizontal in his own medical bay.
But suddenly remembering that you recently almost killed three of your patients is far worse. Krissten noticed my agitation immediately and offered me a sedative to help me rest. I mustered up as much courage as I could and tried to reassure her that after being unconscious for the past several hours, what I needed most was to get back to work and try to get to the bottom of what had happened to all of us who had been aboard the Sagan. I pressed her with questions about my patients, and she reassured me that Nog, the Dax symbiont, and my accidentally wounded alien patient were all doing well—and
that Ezri had returned to duty on the bridge. Ezri was already on her way down to see me, apparently at least as worried about me as I was about her.
As I began trying to calibrate the scanning equipment, Krissten noticed the unsteadiness of my hands and pitched in to help. Actually, she ended up handling the task essentially on her own. I was grateful for her help, but unsure how much of my own unsteadiness stemmed from simple fatigue and how much I could chalk up to my obviously deteriorating mind. I felt as though I’d stepped into a thick fog.
Over the course of perhaps an hour, I noticed that the mere act of thinking through technical problems was growing enormously wearying. As my fatigue mounted, I thought about the sedative Krissten had offered me and realized that Morpheus might as well be the Grim Reaper. If I risked going to sleep again before finding a solution, how much worse off would I be the next time I awoke?
“Den D’Naali.” The alien said, its vertically cleft mouth parts wrapping awkwardly around the sounds. Shar was surprised at the pure, almost crystalline quality of the synthetic voice issuing from Bowers’s hand-held universal translator unit. “Den D’Naali bu kereve. Croi Ryek’ekbalabiozan’denlu bu Nyazen den. Enti Leyza.”
Shar’s antennae pitched forward in the alien’s direction. Thanks to the ministrations of Dr. Bashir and Ensign Richter—to say nothing of several miniature antigrav units now strapped to various points around its body—the creature seemed healthy and strong—and apparently eager to communicate. Shar suddenly felt certain that they had finally broken the linguistic impasse which had so far thwarted all but the crudest attempts at communication. With Shar’s certainty came a surge of unalloyed joy, the heady rush of imminent discovery. It reminded him of why he’d joined Starfleet in the first place.
Another realization startled him then: This was the first time he’d experienced this sensation since he’d learned of Thriss’s suicide.
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