Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 062 - The Missing

by Una McCormack

  Oioli’s eyes closed again. Crusher kept hold of the long hand, gently stroking it. She thought she was beginning to understand now why the People had begun their journey. Their world—the world of the Chain—might have many technological riches, but they were clearly not shared among everyone. “ ‘The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas’ . . .” she murmured to herself. But why had Oioli been so secretive about this? How had Oioli thought she would not understand a motive like that?

  “I promise,” Crusher said softly, “that we will do all we can to bring Ioile’s murderer to justice. But it might mean facing some hard truths about some of your fellow travelers. Will you trust us, Oioli? Will you help us?”

  Oioli looked at her bitterly. “Whatever help you need from me, I am more than willing. But Ioile’s murderer is not one of the People. I will help if you can find out why the Chain has done this.”

  “The Chain?” Crusher frowned. “But that’s not possible—”

  “You want my aid, you’ll have my aid. But this is my condition: discover why the Chain did this. You need look no farther.”

  With a sigh, Crusher said, “I promise. We’ll pursue that lead—however we can.”

  Oioli nodded. Crusher looked over at Blackmer, who was frowning. She bit her lower lip. Grief, surely, was making Oioli say these things, but the truth was that the Chain could not possibly be responsible for the death of the beloved Ioile. They were too far away. Oioli must be mistaken—angry, yes, at what had happened to Ioile, and at the circumstances that had made them leave their home, but mistaken nonetheless. But what was the point of saying so? Crusher simply sat stroking Oioli’s hand. Her mind was racing. She needed samples from as many different members of their species as possible if she was going to come up with a test that could reliably differentiate their DNA not only at a species level but also at an individual level. But she had access to only a handful of them: Ioile, Oioli, Ailoi, and a few children. How could she get her hands on more samples? Crusher smiled wryly to herself. If she was going to fulfill this promise to Oioli, she was going to have to enlist the help of Pulaski.

  * * *

  As Crusher’s luck would have it, Katherine Pulaski’s interests were heading in the same direction—although at first she had a more pressing problem to deal with. A dark and forbidding ship full of aliens armed with unknown weapons was one thing, she was learning, but there were few things in the universe more alarming than a Tzenkethi showing her fury in all its might and color. It was like watching a particularly spectacular and violent fireworks display.

  “Doctor Tanj,” Metiger said, and Pulaski noted with a wince that first names were off the table again, “I am sorry to say that I must lodge a formal complaint about Commander Alden.”

  Tanj gestured to Metiger to sit down, but the Tzenkethi woman remained standing. She was much taller than both of the other women, and with the flashing white light crackling from her skin it was rather like a visitation from an archangel. But which one, wondered Pulaski: Michael or Lucifer?

  Given the circumstances, Tanj was keeping remarkably cool. “Metiger, please explain what’s happened. A formal complaint is very serious—”

  “I am very serious. You told me that this mission was about building trust.”

  “It is about building trust.”

  “Why then have I been interrogated by a member of your security services—”

  “Interrogated?” Tanj was horrified.

  “Am I to understand that you consider me responsible in some way for the assault on our visitor?”

  “And this was why I said he shouldn’t be let on board,” Pulaski muttered to Tanj, who waved an impatient hand to quiet her friend.

  “Metiger, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Tanj. “You say that Alden has been questioning you?”

  “He came to the lab earlier today and interrogated me for the best part of an hour about my movements during the time of the assault. You know that I was with you and Doctor Pulaski the entire time! It would be a simple matter of checking sensors. He seemed to think I was capable of being in two places at once! Why am I a suspect? What have I done to deserve this?”

  “Absolutely nothing, Metiger, let me assure you of that,” Tanj said. “Alden was certainly not acting on my instructions—”

  “If I did not know better,” Metiger went on, “I would think that your people are setting up this mission to fail.”

  Tanj shook her head. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Perhaps it’s not true of you, Maurita, but is it true of the whole of Starfleet? Is it true of your intelligence service? Not everyone in the Federation is well disposed toward us.”

  Pulaski glanced at Tanj. Not everyone on the Athene Donald was well disposed toward them. Could this be another reason that Alden was on board? It was not beyond the bounds of possibility that there were hardliners at Starfleet Intelligence who would see any movement toward the Tzenkethi as risky and inadvisable. But would they go so far as to try to torpedo this mission before it had the chance to succeed?

  “I’ll speak to Alden,” said Tanj in her firmest tone. “He’s gone against my specific instructions speaking to you this way, and it’s not acceptable.” She offered Metiger her hand. “I want to be completely clear—I have no doubts about your commitment to this mission, and no doubts about the desire for friendship that brought you on board. I hope you know that I share that desire.”

  Slowly, Metiger nodded. The white light was beginning to dissipate.

  “I’ll speak to Alden,” Tanj said again. “He’ll be in no doubt about my opinions. You are not a suspect, Metiger. You are a friend.”

  “You know,” said Pulaski, after Metiger had gone, “I think we’ll travel a long way before we see a sight like that again.”

  “I’d be glad never to see anything like it.” Tanj studied her hands, folded before her on her desk. “You know, Alden came to see me earlier this morning.”

  “Let me guess,” said Pulaski. “He thinks Metiger is responsible for the assault on our visitor, for some strange Tzenkethi purpose that you and I cannot divine, but that he, an expert in reading the auspices of Tzenkethi Affairs, can. The man really is obsessed. I bet he didn’t mention that he’d been questioning Metiger.”

  “He didn’t. But he did make one good point—”

  “A good point? I don’t believe he has any good points,” Pulaski muttered. “Go on, what did he say?”

  “He reminded me that this is, ultimately, a Federation vessel. Even if there are other stakeholders in the project, Federation law takes precedence.”

  “And what did he mean by that? I assume there was a threat behind that. But it can’t amount to much, can it?” Pulaski glanced at Tanj. “Can it?”

  “He implied that if he wasn’t satisfied with how our security team progresses with the investigation, he’ll apply to his superiors to be given authority to proceed as he sees fit.”

  “Damn the man!” Pulaski leaned forward angrily in her chair. “It’s obvious that these crimes—the burglaries, the assault, the murder—are all connected in some way. But I don’t see how Corazame can be responsible for the murder, and even if she and Metiger are in league, Metiger can’t be responsible either—she’s too damn far away!”

  “Unless the Tzenkethi have transwarp beaming.”

  The ability to beam an object or person from one star system to another. Pulaski shook her head. “No. We’d know. Our intelligence services would know. Alden would know.”

  “So you see the point to Alden now?” Tanj said. “But think, Kitty—what if it was true?”

  They stared at each other.

  “If it was true, Maurita, we’d all have been bowing and scraping before the Autarch years ago. You don’t get to transwarp beaming without picking up some fairly powerful capabilities along the way.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Tanj shook herself. “At the very least, I don’t want to accept that Metiger has lied to us.”

&
nbsp; “None of us likes to think we’ve been hoodwinked.”

  “No. But if she does turn out to be connected to these crimes in some way, we might have to swallow our pride and admit that the Tzenkethi have been playing us.” Tanj glanced at the view screen, where the image of the Chain ship loomed. “That ship is big, and it’s serious. If the Athene Donald and her crew are being put at risk because the Tzenkethi are working to some agenda that we know nothing about, then I have a responsibility to everyone on board this ship to find out what’s going on and stop it.” She looked past Pulaski, a worried expression on her face. “Perhaps it’s time to sit down with Alden and listen to what he has to say. I assume he has information about Metiger and the Tzenkethi intelligence services that could shed light on this whole situation—”

  “Sit down with Alden? Over my dead body!”

  Tanj winced. “An unfortunate turn of phrase . . .”

  “I’d rather sit down with Aoi.” Pulaski suddenly brightened. “You know, that’s not such a bad idea. We could ask the Chain to act as arbiters in our dispute—”

  “I’m not sure Aoi would be receptive to that right now.”

  “We could ask.”

  Tanj gave a wan smile. “I don’t think so, Kitty. Aoi’s last message to me was fairly explicit: arrange for the People of the Open Sky to be returned, or else the Chain ship will consider it a hostile act.”

  “Ro won’t do that.”

  Tanj shook her head. “Not yet. Not while it’s possible that the murderer is among their number. And she and Doctor Crusher both doubt that the People are likely to be responsible. They’ve formed a very positive view of them.”

  “If Crusher won’t accept that the People are behind all this, then I won’t accept that the Tzenkethi are responsible either,” Pulaski replied. “If only because I want Alden to be proved wrong.”

  “That’s not proof! And you call yourself a scientist.”

  “Science starts with hunches,” Pulaski said. “You know that as well as anyone. Hunches that you either prove or else have the guts to discard when the evidence stacks up against them. And my hunch is that the Tzenkethi are not behind any of this—not Metiger, not this Corazame, friend of Alden or not.” She smiled at her old friend. “Will you let me prove it?”

  Tanj held up her hands. “I’ll take anything, if it can salvage this mission. What do you intend to do?”

  “First,” said Pulaski, staring out the porthole, “I want to get onto that ship.”

  Back in her office, Pulaski got a message from Crusher asking for help collecting as many tissue samples from the Chain as possible. Now how, wondered Pulaski, could she go about doing that? “Ship first,” she muttered, staring at the big black vessel on her view screen, “samples next.” What Katherine Pulaski wanted, she generally got—although not always in a way she liked.

  * * *

  The day had started with a murder, and was ending with a riot. Which was all well and good, thought Ro, but couldn’t she have been allowed to get a couple of hours’ sleep under her belt first?

  She came out of the turbolift onto the Plaza and sprinted toward the Romulan consulate. As she approached, her heart sank. The scuffle was well under way: Bajorans and Cardassians, and a few of Quark’s regulars who had no particular stake in this particular fight but liked to throw a few punches whenever the opportunity arose. Blackmer and his team were already stuck in, trying to pull people apart.

  Odo, standing outside Quark’s, saw Ro from his vantage point and came over to speak to her.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t have any success with Pa’Dan,” Ro said.

  “My apologies, Captain,” he said grimly. “Whoever has Mhevita’s ear at the moment is obviously more persuasive than I am.”

  There was one positive outcome to this, thought Ro, ducking sideways as one of the holos of the missing that a Cardassian had been holding came flying her way. Blackmer would feel better if Odo didn’t always seem to be on top of things. “Don’t worry about it,” she said shortly. “I think this was always going to happen.”

  Odo grunted. Ro, catching sight of her chief of security in the midst of the fray, waved to him, signaling that she was on her way over. She squared her shoulders and began to force her way through the crowd. But before she could get anywhere near Blackmer, she heard an energy blast. Ro ducked—and then realized that the weapon had been fired not into the crowd but above it.

  Her immediate reaction was fury. Blackmer! That’s not how we do business around here and you know it! And then she registered the sound the weapon had made, and thought, That’s not Starfleet issue! That’s Romulan! Her third thought was, It’s gone quiet . . .

  And it had. Everyone had frozen, midfight. There were a few mumbles and grumbles here and there, but even they were beginning to subside, as people nudged each other and pointed toward the door of the Romulan consulate. Ro looked that way too.

  On the threshold stood a Romulan officer—a major, going by her insignia—in full dress uniform. She was incredibly imposing. Some small part of Ro’s mind that wasn’t busy holding two brawlers apart couldn’t help but envy this woman’s poise. Ro’s dress uniform tended to slump around her, as if knowing how much the body it covered resented being pressed into ceremonial duties. This woman knew how to make a dress uniform work for her. And she’d brought the fight to an immediate halt and was commanding the crowd’s attention.

  “What is happening here?” she cried.

  Whatever noise was still going on disappeared completely in response. Everyone was staring at this woman—or else at their feet. The Romulan stared back imperiously. “Is this how representatives of the Romulan Empire are treated on Deep Space 9?” She looked around. “Who is in charge here?

  People looked pointedly at Ro. She put up her hand, like a schoolchild caught in the middle of a playground fight. “That’ll be me,” she said. “Captain Ro Laren, commanding officer, Deep—”

  “Captain Ro,” said the woman, saying the name with some distaste. “I am Major Varis.”

  Varis. Of course. Who else would it be? The person responsible for detaining the Cardassian prisoners of war. Someone Ro needed desperately to impress, and she had failed to recognize her in the melee.

  Ro took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders back, and tried to look authoritative. “Major Varis,” she said, “welcome to Deep Space 9.”

  “This is hardly what I would call a welcome, Captain Ro.” Varis looked disdainfully around the chaos throughout the Plaza. “Perhaps when your station is once again under your control you might find some time in your schedule for us to talk?”

  Part Three

  * * *

  Death Is Her Hobby

  Nine

  Captain’s Log, Personal.

  I am often asked the secret of success in assembling away teams. I wish heartily that I could give some clear advice here. Naturally one looks first to specialisms: the security officer in a potentially physically dangerous situation; the xenolinguist when the universal translator fails; the doctor if there is a question of disease or ill health. And of course, all must be willing and able to make swift decisions, and unafraid to live with the consequences of these decisions. (I have seen too many good potential officers freeze when put to the test, to the detriment of all concerned.)

  And the captain’s role in all of this?

  To know the crew. To know who are willing and able, and who are willing but unable; to know who have more to give despite appearances; to know who have reached their limit despite assurances. To give praise where praise is due, but to take on ultimate responsibility at every point . . .

  With swabs taken from Oioli, the data from the medicals she had performed, and a not inconsiderable amount of skill on her own part (though she would be too modest to admit it), Crusher inched her way toward a complete DNA map of Oioli’s species. It was a slow and slippery process (the proteins seemed to shift and change even as she came close to identifying them), but steadily she found
what she believed were their unique features. On a whim, she applied her test to samples taken from her office after the intrusion. The results gave her the first real break since Corazame had been found (and Blackmer would surely be the first to admit that had been a lucky break). But Crusher was now certain that at least one of the three—Oioli, Ailoi, or Ioile—had been in her office.

  That opened up a whole new set of questions, Crusher thought as she pondered these results. What if Ioile had been the one to go into her office? Was this connected to the murder in some way? Or was there a simpler explanation? The children, after all, had been running in and out of the medical unit during the time she and her staff had been carrying out the medicals, but Crusher (the mother of a small child) was certain she had taken the precaution of keeping her office door firmly locked throughout. But could this be the innocent explanation that she was hoping for? The one that would clear Oioli?

  “All conjecture,” she muttered under her breath. “I won’t know anything for certain until I get more samples.”

  She contacted Pulaski, who she knew had been using her test on tissue samples taken from the assault on board the Athene Donald. Pulaski had good news for her: based on Crusher’s work, she believed she had pinned down a means of testing for individual members of the species.

  “It’s a kind of magnesium signaling test,” Pulaski had explained. “We can go into the specifics later, but I’m sure I’ve got something that will work. Test it against whatever Blackmer and his people managed to get off the murder weapon. And see if you’ve any match with the samples from your office.”

  Crusher was shocked by the result she got. The sample taken from her office not only matched the sample taken from the murder weapon, but both matched the swabs she had taken from Oioli. If Pulaski’s test worked, the burglar—and the murderer—was none other than Oioli.