STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change

by Marco Palmieri, Editor

  Thrax impaled the Ferengi with a stare. “That’s not what we’re charging you with, Quark ...”

  “We’re not charging him with anything yet, Thrax,” Odo snapped. “I suggest you keep that in mind.”

  Thrax ignored him, and continued addressing Quark. “Since you claim to have been a silent partner, I’ll assume you knew nothing about the freighter’s cargo.”

  “Assume away,” Quark said, flattening the crease of his trouser leg.

  “The freighter was supposed to be carrying bodies.”

  “Really?” Quark asked. “Whose?”

  “Starfleet personnel,” Thrax said. “The civilian authority I represent has been working to recover the remains of our war dead, so they can be properly honored and interred on Cardassia. We have an arrangement with a similar group in the Federation. Nothing official, mind you. We exchange remains through neutral third parties.”

  “Like the Lurians,” Quark said, his mind like a fish on a mating migration unerringly swimming back to commerce. “Not a bad idea. Wish I’d thought of it myself. I could have made a killing.”

  “Quark!” Odo snapped.

  “Sorry. Slip of the tongue,” Quark said, sounding genuinely contrite. Then, brow furrowed, he asked, “How’s the Dominion letting you get away with this? Doesn’t sound like something they would be too thrilled with.”

  “The Dominion are our allies,” Thrax said, his tone conveying precisely how unconvinced he was of this fact. “They respect our conventions and traditions.”

  “For now,” Quark inserted.

  Thrax’s eyes narrowed at the Ferengi. “For now,” he agreed. “I commissioned the Lurians personally for this run. When I learned that they failed to make their scheduled rendezvous yesterday with a Yridian transport hired by the other side, I knew something had gone wrong.”

  “So here you are,” Quark said. “But I’m still not seeing what this has to do with me,” he continued, turning to Odo. “The ship was destroyed, the crew was lost. Okay, I feel for their families, but the cargo was—no disrespect intended—a bunch of corpses. If they were vaporized, so what? What difference does it make?”

  “No difference,” Odo said, before Thrax could react to Quark’s attitude. “You’re absolutely right. But they weren’t vaporized.”

  “Why not? When a ship’s warp core goes up, every living thing ...”

  “The cargo pods appear to have been jettisoned before the engines went critical,” Odo explained. “The Bajorans retrieved them and towed them back to the station.”

  “Then what is this all about?” Quark asked, turning back to Thrax. “If the bodies have been recovered ...”

  “They aren’t the right bodies,” Thrax said flatly.

  Mouth hanging open, momentarily struck dumb, Quark stared at the Cardassian. I’m going to treasure this moment, Odo thought. I know I shouldn’t, but I will. It almost makes up for the “made a killing” comment.

  “Not the right bodies?” Quark asked. “Then who are they?”

  “That,” Thrax said, “is what I’m here to find out.”

  Odo was surprised when Quark insisted on following him and Thrax to the infirmary, and even more surprised when the Ferengi remained silent through the doctor’s recitation. “My staff has autopsied the forty-seven Cardassians found in the cargo containers and determined that most of them died of essentially the same thing,” Bashir said. “Namely, suffocation and exposure. Their blood supply had been starved of oxygen, and they all showed frostbitten extremities and extensive cellular damage due to radiation and dehydration.”

  “So they were alive before they were jettisoned,” Thrax concluded. “Can you tell me anything about their identities? Were any of them carrying identification rods, personal articles, anything?”

  Bashir shook his head. “No ID rods, no personal articles beyond the clothes they were wearing under their environment suits and the metallic bands most of them wore around their wrists. Some of them were quite ornate and beautiful.” He held up his padd for Thrax to see a close-up of one. “Matrimonial bands, aren’t they?”

  Thrax nodded. “You know something about our customs, Doctor?”

  “Yes,” Bashir said, “but it wouldn’t have taken much to figure it out. We noticed that there were frequently pairs of bands that were similar, one on a man, one on a woman.” He hesitated, obviously disconcerted, but then continued. “And many of those people were found clinging to each other.”

  Showing no signs of having heard, Thrax handed the padd back to Bashir. “It’s an old custom, not much used anymore. I’m surprised to hear you found so many people wearing them.”

  “Might that not be a clue to their identities?” Bashir asked.

  “It might,” Thrax said, “but it would be much faster if you just gave me access to the genetic data you took during your autopsies.”

  Having anticipated this request, Bashir handed Thrax an isolinear rod with a copy of the files.

  “Doctor,” Odo asked, “can you tell us how long they lived after they were jettisoned?”

  “We can estimate. The answer is, not long. The first deaths occurred immediately after the explosion. Trauma. The ejection system the ship used to launch the cargo containers wasn’t meant to be used on living beings. The rest died of asphyxiation soon thereafter.”

  “How soon?” Odo asked.

  “Very soon. Apparently, they all had about the same amount of air and power ... which was to say, none.”

  Odo already knew the answer to the question he’d asked—he and Bashir had conferred briefly earlier that day—and he watched Quark’s face carefully as the statement sank in.

  Ever a quick study, the Ferengi only required a moment. “What are you saying?” he asked.

  “I’m saying ...” He glanced at Odo for permission, then continued when he got the nod. “When the bodies were found, they were wearing EV suits. But they had neither air supplies nor battery packs.”

  No one spoke for several seconds, but then the absurdity of the idea sunk under Quark’s skin. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why have environment suits, but no batteries or air?”

  “The other question that suggests itself,” Bashir replied, maintaining his reputation as the cleverest man in any room, “is, if they did have air and batteries, what happened to them?”

  “These are precisely the questions Colonel Kira has asked me to investigate,” Odo explained. “One possibility is that these men and women did not wish to be identified.”

  “You’re about to suggest a military mission,” Thrax said.

  Odo looked at him. “Even you can understand that the Bajorans and the Federation would both be concerned about the possibility—some kind of covert operation gone awry.”

  Before Thrax could protest, Bashir interrupted. “These men and women weren’t soldiers, Odo. Most of them were middle-aged if I’m any judge of Cardassian physiology—which I am—and a few were even older than that. None of them was in particularly good shape, certainly not compared to most Cardassian military men and women I’ve seen.”

  “Spies, then,” Odo said. “They would be able to blend in.”

  “Spies?” Thrax repeated. “Spy on whom? And where? No doubt the movements and activities of any Cardassians within Federation territory are closely monitored.”

  “Nonaligned planets,” Quark offered, obviously sensing an opening. “Like Luria and Fereginar.”

  “If that was the case,” Thrax said, temper flaring, “and I emphasize the word ‘if,’ then we would just go there. In a ship. Not inside a cargo pod. There are no laws against it. The Federation doesn’t rule the spaceways.”

  “And neither does the Dominion,” Quark retorted. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  Thrax lifted the hand holding the datarod as if he was about to strike the Ferengi. Quark flinched and Odo willed his arm to a more pliable state in preparation for blocking the blow, but then he saw that there would be no need. Thrax lowered his a
rm. Turning back to Odo, Thrax said, “I have a hunch about who these people really are, and I brought with me records that may prove it. May I use your office to check this data?”

  “Certainly,” Odo said and beckoned to one of his men standing watch outside the infirmary. “Sergeant Shul will escort you.”

  “I know the way,” Thrax said.

  “I realize that,” Odo said. “But there are enough people still on the station who remember your work that I suspect I’d have another investigation on my hands if I let you move about unescorted.”

  The corner of the Cardassian’s mouth lifted ever-so-slightly. “And I would regret having to put you to the trouble, sir.” He glanced at the Bajoran deputy who was now standing beside him. “Lead the way, Sergeant.”

  Odo watched him go, reflecting—not for the first time since Thrax’s return—that his predecessor was both everything and nothing like what he’d imagined.

  Quark turned and said with practically no trace of sarcasm in his voice, “Thanks, Odo. I know that must have been tough for you—giving up a chance to turn me over to the Cardassians.”

  Odo grunted. “It was tempting,” he admitted. “But for your sake, you’d better hope I continue to believe that this isn’t one of your schemes.”

  “Oh, come on, Odo! You know me, I would never do anything like this.”

  Odo’s eyes moved to the door leading into the morgue and watched as one of Bashir’s many assistants came out carrying a small case, full, no doubt, of tissue samples and instruments for taking them. “I suppose this would be a little low, even for you,” Odo said. “Locking people in a windowless box, only for them to be set adrift ...” His mind drifted then and he felt a flash of emotion, a mingled rage and impotence, and saw an image of an endless void dotted with tiny white lights. The strength and suddenness of the feelings shocked him and Odo felt seconds ticking past where neither he nor the Ferengi spoke.

  When he finally glanced up, he saw that Quark was staring at him with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, and Odo worried that the Ferengi had somehow read his thoughts, but his next comment showed that, as ever, Quark was more concerned with his own affairs. “If the price was right and the customer told me that it was something they wanted to do, of course I would do it. But they were Cardassians. Everyone is at war with them; their currency is basically worthless. What would a bunch of Cardassians have that they could use to pay someone to take such a chance?”

  Ignoring Quark’s cynicism, Odo pondered the question. “That,” he said, “is a very insightful question. But you were invested in the freighter.”

  “Like I said, silent partner,” Quark reminded him. “No say in what they did. If I had known they were stupid enough to get mixed up in something like this, I never would have accepted the deal. There are better opportunities to take risks on.”

  “And you would know.”

  Quark smiled toothily, but otherwise remained silent.

  Odo noted with approval how alertly Shul watched each passerby as they sauntered or scurried or meandered along the Promenade. More than one person slowed as they passed the security office, straining to look through the glass and catch sight of the Cardassian. Obviously, word of Thrax’s return had spread around the station.

  Thrax was just turning off a Cardassian padd as Odo entered. The lines of his face were, if possible, even grimmer than when last they spoke. He began to rise from the chair, but Odo waved him back down. Looking around the room, Thrax commented, “It hasn’t changed much since my day.”

  “No reason why it should,” Odo said, seating himself in one of the two chairs facing the desk. Oddly, he had never sat here before, never faced “the constable” from this angle. A disconcerting sensation, he decided. Good.

  “Even the chair is the same,” Thrax mused, bouncing in the seat a little. “It needs new springs. Doesn’t this bother you?”

  “No,” Odo said. “No muscles or bones, unless I want them.”

  “Ah, right. But didn’t I hear somewhere that you were briefly a ‘solid,’ as your people call us?”

  “Briefly,” Odo said, wondering how this information had filtered through to Cardassia and wondering, too, whether Thrax had no more connections to the military as he had claimed. “But by the time I realized the chair was bothering me ...”

  “Yes, I see,” Thrax said. “Time passes.” He ran his hand along the edge of the desk. “It seems like only yesterday I was in this office ...”

  Seeing his opening, Odo asked, “Why did you leave?”

  Thrax leaned back in the chair, stroked the armrest and stared at the walls, but did not respond.

  When the seconds had stretched uncomfortably into a minute, Odo asked, “Have I offended you?”

  “Offended? No. I’m just not used to hearing such direct questions, and I’m sorting through all the possible reasons why you’d wish to know the answer to that one.” He locked eyes with Odo. “The peculiar thing is that I’m not able to think of any ulterior motive.”

  “There is none,” Odo said. “I’m simply curious.”

  “An admirable trait for a security chief, except, alas, when your commanding officer would rather it was not.”

  “This has never been a problem since the Federation took over the station,” Odo said.

  “Good for you,” Thrax said, then sighed. “All right. The answer is because I grew weary of Dukat. His displays of ... what? Ego?” He shook his head. “I simply couldn’t trust him, and I’d reached a point where I felt I could no longer be a willing instrument of his authority. Despite his claims that he had no animosity for the Bajorans, he had a capacity for brutality that didn’t require much provocation. Have you had to spend much time with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then perhaps you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  Thrax frowned. “Then why didn’t you leave?”

  Odo was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The Bajoran Occupation ended four years after I left. That means you, a non-Cardassian, worked under Dukat for four years. Why?”

  Odo grunted. “Maybe I was trying to clean up the mess you left me with.”

  “Or maybe that’s what Dukat wanted you to believe,” Thrax mused. “It’s not hard to imagine. My resignation would have made it easy for Dukat to blame the harshness of station life on me, and give him the opportunity to seem more just by bringing in a non-Cardassian security chief with a less ... forceful hand. But only slightly less, am I right, Constable?”

  Odo’s eyes narrowed. “Think what you like, Thrax. Your opinion is of no interest to me.”

  “Oh, come now, Odo. Can you honestly say that once I was gone, Dukat didn’t blame me for the conditions Bajorans had been enduring on the station while I was here?”

  “That’s because you were to blame.”

  “Really? And how much did matters improve after you became chief of security?”

  Odo felt his hand harden involuntary into a mallet capable of crushing Thrax’s skull. The impulse surprised him; he wasn’t one to allow himself to become provoked. He had to wonder if it was really because he was angry at Thrax, or at himself. He was still haunted by some terrible choices he’d made during the Occupation, before he’d thrown his support behind the resistance very late in the game. He tended to avoid asking himself why it had taken so long, preferring to believe that while he was doing the job Dukat had forced upon him, he’d might actually have been able to make a difference.

  Thrax was right about one thing, though: Dukat had presented Odo to the station population with assurances that the new security chief would be a vast improvement over the departed Thrax. And looking back on his own career under the Cardassians, Odo knew he had always tried to serve justice first. But had he really made a difference for anyone on Terok Nor other than Gul Dukat?

  Don’t be a fool, he told himself. Maybe you weren’t perfect, maybe you couldn’t end the Occupation single-handedly, bu
t you damn well did your best to make life here less brutal, less unfair.

  Less hopeless.

  “You don’t talk very much, do you?” Thrax asked.

  Odo forced his hand to relax. “What do you want me to say?”

  “You haven’t really answered my question. Why did you stay?”

  The image of distant lights in a silent, oppressive emptiness filled Odo’s mind again. He blinked it away. “Because someone had to.”

  Thrax nodded, as if Odo had just confirmed something for him. Odo decided he was growing weary of the man.

  Thrax held up the Cardassian padd and said, “I imagine you’re curious to know what I’ve found out.”

  “I’m waiting,” Odo said.

  Thrax sighed, set the padd on the desk and slid it across to the edge where Odo could pick it up. Touching the read button, Odo scrolled through a list of names, each one followed by a string of Cardassian alphanumerics. “Crime codes,” he said. He scanned the first several, then looked up at Thrax. “Thieves, extortionists, petty thugs, prostitutes. A little of everything this side of murder and rape.”

  “Yes,” Thrax said. “As I had suspected. Those people were using my body-recovery program as a means of escaping the Union.”

  “Criminals ...” Odo mused. “So the Lurians thought they were carrying Federation bodies to be exchanged for dead Cardassians, but instead they were transporting live Cardassian fugitives?”

  “That, or these Lurians were in on it. Which may support the idea that Quark was as well.”

  Odo scanned down the list of names. Icons next to them indicated that the data files contained medical records. “I’ll need to show this to Dr. Bashir,” he said.

  “Of course,” Thrax said. “But what about Quark?”

  “What about him?”

  “Don’t you think he’s complicit in all this?”

  Flicking off the padd, Odo replied, “As you pointed out, whenever a crime has been committed on Deep Space 9, it’s always a good first assumption to think Quark had something to do with it. However, the burden of proof is ours.”

  Thrax shook his head reproachfully. “In my day, things were so much ... simpler.”