There was a pause. Then, grudgingly, Varis said, “No.”
Ro nodded. That, at least, was some good news to take to Mhevita Pa’Dan. “And are they in good health?”
“They were the last time I saw them,” said Varis.
“And when was that?”
Another pause. “Last week.”
“Last week?” Ro fell back in her chair. “You and I were talking by that point! Did you not think I might be interested to hear that you’d seen Terek Pa’Dan and the rest?”
“It was only a brief conversation—”
“You spoke to them? Kosst, Major, what is going on here? Where are these people being held? Why?”
“They are not being held. They remain quite willingly.”
“Willingly?”
“I said that this was an unusually difficult case.” Varis sighed. “Captain, if I gave you my word that the people concerned are all well, happy, and living a life they have chosen, would you press this issue no farther?”
Ro considered this. “I can believe that you don’t give your word lightly—”
“Thank you.”
“But I can’t let this lie. It’s gone too far now. The castellan requires answers—”
“As you know,” said Varis dryly, “I would have preferred it if the castellan had not become involved.”
“Yes, I gathered that. But unfortunately that’s where we are now. The castellan is involved, and more than that, his political opponents are using the case to stir up public opinion against him. Hence the trouble you saw on the Plaza. Castellan Garak is not a happy man. I don’t know about you, but that makes me slightly uneasy.”
“I see.” Varis pressed her hands together before her face.
“My superiors want answers too,” Ro went on. “And—if you’ll forgive me—I think that’s the same for you and your superiors.”
Varis raised her eyebrows. Then she gave a short, brusque nod. “All right. I’ll speak to Pa’Dan and the rest. But I want to be very clear that I’m not bowing to any pressure—whether from the castellan or from Starfleet. I would also like to see a resolution—as discreetly as possible, please, Captain, if that could be arranged.”
By which you mean without your superiors finding out whatever secret you’re keeping.
“We’re talking the same language, Major,” Ro said. “I’m sure we can find a way through this. I’m sure that we can be sensitive to the needs of all parties concerned.”
* * *
Despite the conciliatory note on which that conversation ended, Varis was late for the meeting with Pa’Dan and the other Cardassians in the new briefing room: not very late, but sufficiently that the nestor began to get anxious.
“Are you sure she will come, Captain? Did you make clear the time and the place? She would not return to Romulus without seeing us?”
Ro assured Pa’Dan that the major would come, although after twenty minutes she began to feel anxious herself. But Varis did appear—prim, uniformed, and standoffish. Ro wasn’t surprised by this show of formality. Yes, she would be keen—for whatever reason—to keep her superiors off her back, but she would also want to make as clear as possible that she was the one calling the shots.
Ro took her seat at the head of the table, with Odo to her left. The Cardassians—four in total, including Pa’Dan—gathered on one side of the table; Varis on the other.
“Nestor Pa’Dan,” Ro said gently, after the introductions had been made. “Perhaps you might like to say a little about why you’re here.”
“Why we’re here? To get news of our children, of course!” Pa’Dan turned away from Ro to address Varis directly. “You know something about my son, don’t you?”
Varis didn’t reply.
“You knew he was alive—all this time you knew he was alive! You know where he is right now, don’t you?”
Varis still didn’t answer. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and examined them rather than look at Pa’Dan.
“My son’s name is Terek,” said Pa’Dan. “Look. Here. Here he is.” She pushed forward a holo of a young male, handsome even by Cardassian standards. “This was taken the year before he was caught in Dukat’s Draft. Look, here he is receiving his license from the School of Art in Cemet. He was the best sculptor in his year. Here he is as a boy . . .” Pa’Dan stopped speaking for a moment as she looked at those images. “I could show you more, many more. All of us here could. These are our sons, our daughters. Our children. We are desperate for news of them. Why won’t you help us?”
Varis looked up from her hands. She glanced briefly at the images of Terek Pa’Dan. “How strange,” she said, “that Cardassians require licenses in order to be able to produce and display art.”
“That’s not the case any longer, in fact,” Odo said. “And I fail to see how this is relevant.”
“I’m merely reflecting on the differences between us,” Varis said. “No Romulans would be so cowed by their government. But you’re right—a great deal has changed about Cardassian society. For one thing, there is a greater tendency toward unruliness.” She pushed the images back toward Pa’Dan—gently but firmly. “There can be no more public demonstrations, here on DS9 or anywhere. I must have this assurance.”
“Is that all?” Pa’Dan said. “Is that all you have to say to us? Do you understand how desperate we are?”
“Nevertheless, I must insist. No more demonstrations.”
Ro watched Pa’Dan carefully. She knew that this tactic hardly sat well with the nestor, and while the whole business had caused Ro numerous headaches, she sympathized with Pa’Dan’s plight. What else was the woman supposed to do?
“Why?” said Pa’Dan. “Why should we stop?” Her hands and her voice were shaking—she looked frail, Ro thought. Recent events were starting to take their toll. “What have you done to make us feel that we should stop? Why should we believe that we are being heard?”
Varis turned to Ro. “There can be no further discussion if these people insist on using such aggressive tactics as they have done so far.”
“Aggressive?” Ro said mildly. “All they’ve done is stand outside your consulate and ask for some questions to be answered.”
“The consulate was attacked!”
“No,” said Ro, “that’s incorrect. The Cardassians were attacked—verbally, at least. Admittedly, they hit back, but the consulate wasn’t the target at any point.”
“We will not have demands made on us in this way.”
Ro held up her hand. “This is a distraction. All these people want is news—real news—about their missing family members.” She reached for the holopics and pushed them under Varis’s nose. “You can save these people a lot of heartache. Why are you so resistant?”
Varis studiously avoided looking at the pictures. “You’ve heard my condition. No more attacks on our consulate.”
“You’ve heard my response,” Ro said. “There have been no attacks, and I’ll not prevent anyone from expressing an opinion on this station. And, if I’m not mistaken, Nestor Pa’Dan is not prepared to back down either.”
“Please, Major Varis,” Pa’Dan said softly. “Tell us something. Then we’ll be quiet again. But until then?” Pa’Dan shook her head. “For the sake of our sons and our daughters, we will not be silenced.”
“That’s a great shame.” Varis stood up. “I’ll be here on the station for the next two days. If you change your mind, Nestor, and can assure me that there will be no more demonstrations, then perhaps we can talk once again.” She nodded to Ro and Odo.
“I don’t understand this,” Ro said to Odo, after she had gone. “What’s the sticking point?”
Odo shrugged. “A puzzle to me too. Perhaps she’s been given specific orders. Perhaps there’s something she has to conceal . . .” He glanced over at his friend. “I hope it’s not bad news.”
“She said that she’d spoken to them recently,” Ro pointed out. “So why this posturing? What’s the mystery here?”
“Nobody likes to lose face,” Odo said. He turned to Pa’Dan. “This is still progress,” he said. “Varis is talking to us now, at least.”
But tears were rolling down Pa’Dan’s face. “Am I doing the right thing, Odo?”
Odo glanced at Ro. “You know what we think about these demonstrations,” he said frankly. “But it’s up to you to decide what’s best.”
“I feel more hopeless than ever,” Pa’Dan said. “Perhaps I should give up. Perhaps I should go home and put out the perek flowers for my boy, and chant his name and say good-bye.”
“Don’t do that,” Ro said. “Don’t give up.” She thought of her own mother, who had given up on life. Given up on her. “Don’t say that he’s dead until you have proof. He wouldn’t want that.”
“If he’s still alive,” said Pa’Dan. “Varis could have lied to you.”
“She could, but I don’t think she has.” Ro leaned over and gently placed her hand upon the other woman’s. “We’ll work this out. We’ll bring them home.”
* * *
Would they notice, Pulaski wondered, that Peter Alden was making such a point of shaking hands with everyone who passed him? And would they notice that every so often he apologized for not cutting his nails?
“I’m sorry,” said Alden, after shaking hands with yet another alien and drawing blood yet again. “I really must cut my nails.”
All this cloak-and-dagger business was such nonsense. A quick glance down at Alden’s hands would show that his nails were bitten down to the quick. A tense man, Peter Alden. But perhaps they didn’t know what nails were, Pulaski thought. She suppressed the laughter suddenly bubbling up inside her. Perhaps they thought this was a standard part of a human greeting. She pictured representatives from the Chain arriving in the Federation, stopping everyone they met and solemnly proffering their long thin hands: We are sorry, they would say gravely to each passing stranger. We really must cut our nails.
She looked at Alden. He seemed to be having a whale of a time. Perhaps because he was proving to her how indispensable he was; perhaps because he liked the risk he was taking. With every long thin hand that Alden shook, he was snagging the flesh with a microscopically small needle and thereby collecting the samples that Pulaski wanted. “If you get caught,” she’d said, when Alden explained the details of his plan, “I’m denying all knowledge. You’ll be on your own, mister.”
“Kitty,” he’d replied, “ ’twas ever thus.”
And this pantomime was getting in the way of her concentrating on being on the Chain ship at last—although somehow it was turning out to be exactly as Pulaski had imagined it. Steely halls filled with sleek but opaque black equipment, none of which seemed to show any visible controls. Tall and lugubrious aliens, one of whom was now leading them along a metaled corridor, communicated tersely through clicks and whistles that she could not decipher. Others glanced their way, but without much interest in their guests, and what appeared to be salutes were exchanged at every available opportunity. The whole place was horribly claustrophobic.
“Stuffier than even the stuffiest Starfleet vessel,” Pulaski muttered to Alden.
“Fewer laughs than the funniest Tzenkethi ship,” Alden replied.
Pulaski eyed him. “Perhaps you’ll tell me about that one day,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said.
They were brought into a spherical room that contained a large round black table and nothing else: no pictures on the stark walls; no decoration—not even a rivet. The room was entirely smooth and featureless. At the far end stood the tallest and most lugubrious alien they had seen so far. Tey Aoi, Pulaski presumed. Aoi came around to greet them, and Alden grasped and pumped the long pale hand.
“Don’t say it,” muttered Pulaski, but Alden was already grinning.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I really must cut my nails.”
Aoi looked down at Alden’s hand. There was a moment’s pause, during which Pulaski held her breath, and then Aoi let go of Alden’s hand and, turning to the alien who had brought them here, issued a clicked instruction. Their guide took a few steps back and stood quietly waiting by the door.
“So now you find yourselves aboard our ship,” said Aoi. “I hope sincerely it is to your liking.”
“It’s ever so impressive!” Alden was beaming like an idiot. “I mean—wow! Look at it! Amazing! We’re incredibly honored to be here. Aren’t we, Doctor?”
“What?”
“Honored. Us. To be here. Once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Pulaski. “Hard to think of anything better that has ever happened to me.”
Aoi eyed them for a moment and then sat down, without extending an offer to either of them to do the same. “I bring you here for one quite simple reason. So that you will understand that my demand to come into possession of the People is that exactly—not a request but a demand. I will not rest until I have them.”
Pulaski glanced at Alden. The playfulness that had hitherto been at the fore had vanished. “We’re not in the business of handing over people who have come to us in friendship,” Alden said softly. “Particularly when there’s a threat behind the request—”
“You may be members of a lesser species,” said Aoi, “but you are not fools. You understand. The People will be handed over to me, willingly or not. Take back this message to your superior officers.” Aoi glanced at the alien waiting behind them and issued a few short whistles. Then, to Pulaski and Alden: “Time runs short.”
And so they were dismissed. The alien standing behind them moved forward and gestured to them to follow. They were led back down the corridor toward the small chamber in which they first arrived. When they reached this room again, their guide stopped, looked around, and then whispered: “Listen now! Not all of us want to pursue the People! The Tey, we think, is wrong in this. They deserve their freedom!”
Pulaski opened her mouth to ask a question, but the black ship shimmered around her, and the familiar surroundings of the Athene Donald were there once more. Pulaski turned to Alden. “I didn’t expect that.”
Alden was tugging at one ear. “No, neither did I. It seems they’re not as uniform as they’d like to appear.”
“Who is?” said Pulaski, and shuddered. “I didn’t like it over there. There’s something nasty in that particular woodshed.”
“I agree,” said Alden. “There’s something . . . hard about them. Worse. There’s a rot beneath all that glamour.”
“You’d know all about that, would you?”
“I’ve been on Ab-Tzenketh,” he said simply. He reached up his sleeve and handed her the tiny tricorder hidden there. “I think this is what you need. I hope I’ll be able to pass on good news to Cory soon.”
* * *
But even with the samples Alden had collected, Pulaski found that analyzing them was a laborious process.
“It’s taken sixteen hours to isolate the cell structures in the first one,” she complained to Tanj, who had come to her office to check on the progress being made. “I’ve never seen anything like their DNA before—shifting all the time! It’s hard to tell what’s significant and what’s not.” She sighed. “I think I’ve got a good basic model, though.”
“But you’re still not even sure that your test will work?” asked Tanj. “You still have no idea whether or not it’s actually possible to identify individual DNA?”
“Of course I’ll be able to do that,” Pulaski replied testily. “But it might take some time.”
“Kitty, I don’t think Tey Aoi is going to give us that time. Is there anything you can do to speed things up?”
* * *
Miles O’Brien came to the rescue, as he so often did.
“Sounds like a job for the transporter,” he said. “I can use it to target specific extraneous structures in the cells and filter them out. If we do that to all the samples, that should speed up the analysis.”
Pulaski nodded. “Sounds like a good p
lan to me.”
O’Brien smiled. “Saved by the transporter again, eh?”
“All right,” Pulaski muttered. “Don’t rub it in.”
The filtering worked, and by the end of the day, Pulaski believed she had a set of samples from both the Chain ship and DS9 that she could compare with the samples taken from Crusher’s office as well as those taken from the murder weapon and after the assault. And there was a match. A single, impossible match. The murderer, the assailant, the burglar—they were one and the same person. “Who?” Pulaski muttered. “And, more to the point—how?”
* * *
“That’s Ailoi,” said Crusher. “But that’s not possible! The murderer, maybe, and the burglar—but how could Ailoi have been on the Athene Donald to carry out the attack?”
“I don’t know, Beverly, but that’s what the test says. That’s what the science says.”
“Is it at all possible,” said Crusher tentatively, “that you could have made a mistake?”
“Of course it’s possible, but I don’t think I have! Look, I’m not being awkward old Katherine Pulaski here. I’m not bragging, I’m not being big-headed, and I’m not being any of the other things that everyone thinks I am. But I’m not wrong either.”
Carefully, meticulously, Crusher went through Pulaski’s work. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t think you’re wrong either. But still it’s not possible! How can it be the same person on the station and on your ship? Could it be twins?”
“Oh, give me a break,” said Pulaski. “Look, do you have an image of this Ailoi? Can you send it over to me?”
“On its way.” Crusher waited while the file reached Pulaski and saw the other woman’s eyes widen in recognition and alarm.
“But that’s the security officer who took me and Alden about the Chain ship! Beverly, it’s the same person! Beverly?” Pulaski’s voice became anxious. “Beverly?”
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