Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 062 - The Missing

by Una McCormack

  Five more minutes passed. Ro began to think she had been forgotten, and then suddenly Oioli flopped into the seat beside her, giving her a friendly, lazy smile. “Well now, Captain Ro. What brings you here to see us?”

  Ro, with no small amount of self-parody, said, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Captain Ro Laren, commanding officer of the Starfleet station Deep Space 9. First-contact protocol says that I must formally welcome you. So”—she lifted her hand—“hi.”

  Oioli burst out laughing. “A very pretty greeting, yes! I think you understand us!”

  Ro spent two hours among the People, a most relaxing time. The smaller children were firmly but kindly sent off for naps, whereupon the rooms became merely pleasantly full of quiet chatter. Cups of a very nice green tea appeared at regular intervals. At some point she loosened her uniform jacket. And she learned something about the People of the Open Sky. Not that there was a great deal to learn, as Oioli kept on insisting. They were travelers. They traveled. That was it.

  “But you’re not all one species, are you?” Ro said. She was well able to observe, even with her feet up.

  Oioli smiled. “Well done, very good! It seems you have been watching. There are one or two of us who share a common background. Others come and others go. But everyone is welcome.”

  That was all Ro got, and she was willing to believe that was all there was. There were three adults of the same species—Oioli, Ioile, and Ailoi—with the same olive green markings and the same casual way of introducing themselves, and the same wide and unblinking eyes that kept you fascinated. Oioli and Ioile had been traveling together for many years, Oioli explained, with Ailoi a later addition from their home. Often, when they came to a world, someone would choose to join them, and sometimes people decided to leave their ships, settling on worlds where they felt at home. There was no pressure to remain.

  “But for most of us, our home is always moving,” Oioli said. “We’ve found our place among the stars. We do not need to settle.”

  “There are a lot of children traveling with you,” Ro said.

  Oioli smiled. “Yes, there are. Lots of them. They keep us very busy!”

  And that was that. Oioli had no more to say, and it all seemed pretty self-explanatory to Ro. Ailoi then began to press Ro about the station, and Bajor, and the Federation. She gave her audience a quick sketch of Bajoran history—they were profoundly interested in the Prophets, the wormhole, and the Orbs. Ioile’s pale eyes flashed in anger when she explained the Occupation, but Oiloi’s face saddened, the green markings at the throat deepening almost to jet-black.

  “So much loss and so much grief,” Oiloi said quietly, before Ioile could speak. “Too many times I’ve seen this. There must be many people here who lost their homes and families. Some of us have suffered this. I hope your people thrive now.”

  Ro was touched. The Occupation seemed to be passing into history—a matter of dates to be learned and events to be memorized. There was a new generation growing up on Bajor for whom the Occupation was part of the past. Yet Oioli had immediately thought of the millions of people whose small quiet lives had been destroyed: the children who had grown up in camps, the homes that had been destroyed, the families that had been ruined or had never happened. “I think we’re thriving,” she said softly. “We have an ancient culture dating back thousands upon thousands of years. We won’t let the Occupation become the defining moment of that history. We are so much more.”

  Oioli smiled. “There, now, that’s the start. The way to proper healing.”

  They talked a little more about what the People hoped to do while they were on board the station. This amounted to nothing more than seeing the sights and collecting some essential supplies. Oioli asked if they could make use of the medical facilities, and Ro readily agreed. They parted in friendship, but when Ro got back to her office, Blackmer was waiting for her, hovering around like a small storm cloud ready to burst.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?”

  “How did the meeting go?”

  Ro eased herself into her chair. “I had a very pleasant afternoon,” she said as Blackmer was saying, “I’m monitoring their movements around the station.”

  There was a pause.

  “I’m not sure that’s strictly necessary,” said Ro.

  “A precautionary measure. We don’t want any . . .”

  They stared at each other. Dead presidents, thought Ro. “No,” she said. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep on monitoring whatever you think needs monitoring. It’s very sensible.”

  * * *

  “What do you want to do while we’re here, Cory?”

  She jumped at Alden’s voice. She had been miles away, back home, as ever, where the Spring Festival would be under way. Her workmates would be taking a half day from their tasks to walk beneath the coral canopies by the lagoon. That evening there would be songs in the square and food, gifts from their Ap-Rejs, their superiors, acting on behalf of the Autarch. They would raise their hands to the Royal Moon and thank the Autarch for the blessings that he bestowed upon them and the comfort that he gave them, and they would all sing together how much they longed to serve throughout the coming year and every year of their lives . . .

  “You could take a look around,” Alden said. “The old place was certainly worth a look.” He glanced around their quarters. “Anything’s better than sitting in here all day.”

  “I am happy enough to do that.”

  Alden sighed. “Only if you want to.”

  She thought carefully about what to say next. “When did you visit the old station, Peteh? I thought that it was a very unhappy place.”

  “It was, for a long time. It was bleak under Cardassian rule, a facility operated by Bajoran slaves. Then it was a war zone for several years when the Federation ran it.”

  “The Dominion War, yes?”

  He looked at her steadily. “You’ve learned a lot. More than you give yourself credit for.”

  “The teacher has been good. What brought you here, Peteh? To such a sad place?”

  “I passed by during the Occupation. I looked Bajoran then . . .” Alden shook himself. “Let’s not dwell upon the past. This new place is a real sight. Go and look around. Take a walk along the Plaza. You can hire a bike, go all the way around. It’ll be nice. You deserve some fun, Cory.”

  She uncurled herself from her sitting position. “Will you join me?”

  “What?” He was already busy with his comm. “No, I have some work to do. I have to meet Captain Ro later today and I need to do some reading beforehand.”

  “I could assist with your preparations?”

  “No, no, it’s okay. Go and have a nice time.”

  He was lost in his files. Cory waited a moment longer, in case he remembered her, and then slipped out the door.

  For several reasons, she would, in fact, have preferred to remain quietly in their quarters. For one thing, she was tired of Federation architecture, which she increasingly compared negatively to the beauties of the coral structures in which she had grown up. Even the modest billets in which E followers, such as she, spent their rest hours were more to her taste, being small and cozy, and with the sounds of your workmates through the walls to keep you company. The Federation made too much use of open space, which was anathema to the Tzenkethi. Go for a walk? A bike ride? Cory shuddered. She would find a covered corner and do what she liked best: sit, and watch, and think.

  She wandered unhappily along a wide, bright corridor filled with greenery. There was another reason she disliked being out in the open: people stared. They had never seen a Tzenkethi before, and even Cory, with her unobtrusive ways and her dull copper skin tones (she carefully maintained the workmanlike hue of her daily life back home, like someone who prefers modest dress), attracted attention. Look now—someone wearing Starfleet uniform was watching her (a security officer, Cory noted, because whatever she believed about her capacity to learn, she in fact was very receptive to ev
erything she saw). And there—the tiny person with the great ears . . . Watching, watching, everyone was watching.

  Ordinary Tzenkethi do not like open spaces, not even on their homeworld, which has plenty of outstanding natural features that, as a result of the claustrophobia of the lower echelons, can remain the playgrounds of the elite. Ordinary Tzenkethi—whether by custom or design—prefer to congregate in covered areas, with plenty of their own kind around them. After only half an hour or so wandering along the Plaza, Cory felt shaky. She needed to be alone—no, not alone; she needed to be with her own kind, but that was not an option, so alone would have to do, away from all this space and all these watchers. She saw a little door ahead and caught a strange appealing scent coming out. Pausing for a moment’s silent decision, she slipped through the door and into the Bajoran temple.

  * * *

  “I hope this isn’t a bad time, Your Eminence.”

  On the view screen, the castellan of the Cardassian Union gave the other man a very sharp look. “That is not my official title, Constable, as well you know.”

  “I meant it in the sense of éminence grise.”

  “Also inaccurate. An éminence grise is a power behind the throne. I, for my sins, am very firmly stuck on this throne.”

  Odo folded his arms. “Public life not suiting you, Garak?”

  “Public life suits me very well. No, I tell a lie—”

  “Surely not.”

  “Public life would suit me very well were it not for the constant demands that I justify my decisions. This time next week I shall be addressing the assembly in order to tell them my agenda for the next session.” Garak pursed his lips. “What a ridiculous pantomime! As if I’m going to say anything remotely truthful: ‘My aim is to outmaneuver those idiots on the benches over there so that their political capital is reduced to the equivalent of a few leks, because they are reactionary fools whose continued election never fails to baffle me.’ No, I have to recite a long list of legislation that all political sides would enact because they are palpably the best thing to do—Am I boring you, Odo?”

  “On the contrary, I am considerably amused.”

  Ro watched this conversation with no small amount of amusement of her own. She had on occasion had call to speak to the castellan, but she was impressed at how direct Odo’s channel had turned out to be. Garak had even apologized at how long it had taken him to respond, explaining that the castellan’s annual Shape of the Union address was scheduled for the following week, and he was naturally busy preparing for that. Ro was amazed, too, at how much liberty Odo felt able to take with this powerful, notorious man. He spoke to the castellan as if he were speaking to a criminal—which, Ro thought, Elim Garak pretty much had been, once upon a time. A war criminal, and therefore eminently suited for the highest office in the Cardassian Union.

  “I’m glad I’m offering so much entertainment.”

  “No doubt I’ll derive as much pleasure from seeing your speech. I’m sure you’ll enjoy having all those holo-cameras pointed at you. The Cardassian people are showing good sense keeping you under near-constant surveillance.”

  The castellan shuddered. “Don’t.”

  “It’s good for you.”

  “I know,” said the castellan mournfully. “But much as I would love to spend the morning sitting here being baited, I do have work to do. How may I help?”

  Quickly, Odo explained the plight of Mhevita Pa’Dan and the others whose family members were still in Romulan hands. Garak, Ro noticed, looked increasingly impatient.

  “This really is a very minor matter, Odo. Can’t you take it up with the relevant people at the respective offices? The Romulans have some sort of repatriation committee, if I remember correctly.”

  “They do indeed, but they’ve long since stopped responding. Mhevita has not had news of her son for over four years.”

  “That is a long time,” Garak conceded. “Any idea why?”

  “When I say no news, I mean exactly that. The Romulans have gone completely silent on the subject.”

  The castellan’s eye ridges went up. His blue eyes were now very sharp. Ro had the impression that the matter now had his undivided attention. “That’s alarming. I wonder why I hadn’t heard about this . . .” Turning away from the screen for a moment, he spoke softly into a nearby comm. “Akret, I’m sending across details of some prisoners of war being held by the Romulans. Could you send me everything we have? Immediately, please.”

  “Not quite on top of everything, Garak?” Odo said.

  Palpably irritated, Garak said, “Give me a little time, Constable.”

  “You used to be on top of everything.”

  “I used to be sitting in a shop with nothing to do. Now I’m running an empire.”

  “From where I’m sitting, it looks like the empire is running you. Are you still calling it that, by the way? I thought Cardassia had forsworn imperial ambitions.”

  “If my previous trade taught me anything, it would be the importance of window dressing. Did you want my help, Odo?”

  Odo gestured with his hand.

  Garak’s comm chimed. “Thank you, Akret,” he said, and then he turned his attention away from Ro and Odo in order to read.

  Ro tapped Odo on the arm. “Will he help?” she whispered.

  Odo nodded. “Of course he will.”

  “Well,” said the castellan after a few minutes. “This is all something of a surprise. I simply had no idea how many of our citizens were being held by the Romulans. This is not good. In fact, I would go so far as to say that this is unacceptable.”

  “You may thank me for bringing this to your attention.”

  “Yes, I’m always grateful for having my life made more complicated.”

  “Consider it payback for all the times you made my life more complicated.”

  Garak beamed. Suddenly, he turned to Ro. “The constable is far too familiar with me, don’t you think, Captain?”

  Odo growled. “I’m not a constable, Garak.”

  “No, I’m the one with the title now—which should surely earn me a little respect.”

  “And yet instead my heartfelt pity goes out to the Cardassian people. If it makes you feel any better, you’ll always be plain, simple Garak to me.”

  “Another insult,” Garak said gravely. “All this could be the basis for a serious diplomatic incident. How do you think I should respond, Captain Ro?”

  Ro shrugged. “I’m keeping out of this one. But thank you both. I’m enjoying the show.”

  “We do go back a long way,” said Garak.

  Odo growled again.

  “I even had reason to interrogate Odo once,” Garak said with breezy nonchalance.

  “I had reason to interrogate you on many occasions.”

  “Showing great wisdom as ever, Constable.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I know. That’s why I keep on saying it.” Garak smiled, which caused Ro some unease. “Well,” he said, “this really can’t go on. Rest assured this has the full attention of my office, Odo. I’ll get back to you as quickly as possible—”

  “You mean someone in your office will?”

  “No, I mean I will—personally. But now I must go and consider further how to justify my policies to the representatives of the Cardassian people. What a strange and frankly inefficient system of government democracy is.”

  “It’s the worst system,” Odo said, “apart from all the others.”

  Garak smiled again and cut the comm.

  “He seemed . . . slippery,” said Ro.

  “Yes,” Odo agreed. “He found his calling in life when he turned to politics.”

  “But will he help?”

  Odo gave a grim smile. “Oh, yes. He’ll help. In his own inimitable way.”

  * * *

  Pulaski could smell a spy a mile off, and Commander Peter Alden—in her less than humble opinion—reeked.

  “So with your permission, Doctor Tanj,” Alden said, “my associa
te and I will travel on board the Athene Donald for the first leg of your journey. We’ll leave at Outpost 293 and return from there to Federation space.”

  “Your associate?” Tanj said.

  “They always come in pairs, Maurita,” Pulaski muttered. “One to ask the questions, one to turn the thumbscrews.”

  “This is a very straightforward request,” Alden said mildly. “We want to come along only for a short while and observe how things are getting on. Starfleet Intelligence naturally has a great deal of interest in your mission and wants it to be a great success.”

  Pulaski snorted. In her opinion, there was nothing straightforward about Starfleet Intelligence. They were, in fact, what was wrong with Starfleet these days. Too many spooks and not enough scientists.

  “You didn’t mention anyone else before now,” Tanj said. “Is this a colleague?”

  “No, not exactly—”

  “What exactly?” Pulaski shot back.

  Alden studied her calmly. “Cory is a refugee,” he said. “She is under my protection. She is my friend.”

  “A refugee?” Tanj said. “Where from?”

  Pulaski didn’t miss the brief hesitation before Alden replied. “Cory,” he said, “is Tzenkethi.”

  Pulaski leaned back in her chair and laughed. “Oh, now I get it! That’s why you’re interested in us.”

  “I have many interests—”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m senile.” Pulaski leaned across Tanj to use the interface on her desk. “There we are—Commander Peter Alden, Tzenkethi Affairs. It isn’t hard to guess why you’ve come out of the woodwork. This is about Metiger, isn’t it? You’re here to spy on her.”

  Alden smoothed an invisible crease from the sleeve of his uniform. “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “I bet it is as simple as that. So what’s the idea?” Pulaski went on. “You think she’s up to no good, don’t you? Something on behalf of her government, some covert op or whatever it is you people call your playground games.”

  “We won’t be on board long,” Alden said, addressing Tanj.