Quark smiled. “Good evening, Odo! Come to watch our favorite tailor in action?”
Odo sniffed. “Garak’s doings are of little interest to me.”
“Of course not,” said Quark. “Pull up a seat. Your lurking always puts the customers off their drinks.”
Odo, with a growl that came from whatever counted as the back of his throat, sat down, folding his arms and turning his back to the barkeep. Quark winked at Ro.
On the view screen, Garak was in full flight. And it was a good speech: well written, funny at appropriate moments, and full of the kinds of progressive and democratic policies that would make the Federation Council and Starfleet Command sleep peacefully in their beds. This was certainly, Ro thought, a new Cardassia—even with the last of the Obsidian Order at its head.
Ro’s ears pricked up when she realized that Garak was talking about Mhevita Pa’Dan and her family.
“Those of you who follow the news will have seen that certain members of the assembly have been complaining that I have been slow to act on behalf of several of our citizens who had been held prisoner by the Romulans since the end of the Dominion War. They suggested that I—a former operative of the Obsidian Order—was falling into my old ways, using citizens as political pawns, without care or concern for the lives that were being affected by this tragedy.”
Garak took a breath before continuing.
“I am proud to say that through the efforts of our diplomatic corps and with the help of our friends in the Federation—”
Quark nudged Ro. “That’ll be you!”
“Ssh!”
“—these families have now been reunited. As to the accusation that I am careless with the lives of our citizens—let me address this here and now.”
Suddenly Garak grasped the lectern with both hands. His eyes became wide and unblinking.
“Hang on a minute,” said Ro. “Has he gone off script?”
“Probably,” said Odo.
“Garak always did like to improvise,” Quark said.
“He’s improvising the most important political speech he’ll do this year?” said Ro.
Quark shrugged. “He’s Cardassian. Speeches come naturally, like breathing—and murder.”
“Let me be clear,” Garak said. “The days of the Obsidian Order and the Central Command running roughshod over our citizens are over. All citizens are now protected under the law. It is your right to speak your mind, and you can do so safely. Those who violate this principle will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. People of Cardassia, you no longer have any need to be afraid of your representatives. We do not rule you. We serve you. But that brings a responsibility on your part—to ensure that we perform our tasks adequately, to hold us to account, and—most of all—to participate.”
“He’s . . . quite good at this,” said Ro.
“Of course he’s good at it,” Odo said. “He’s always been a smooth talker. But how anyone could let a man like that anywhere near so much power, I simply don’t understand. A murderer, a torturer, an assassin—”
“I hired him to assassinate me once,” Quark said in a tone of fond reminiscence.
“A rare and unfortunate failure on Garak’s part,” Odo said. “If there were any justice in this universe, Garak would be locked up for the rest of his natural life. But, to the best of my knowledge, he’s been incarcerated in total for no more than six months.” He preened, slightly. “That was under my jurisdiction, of course.”
Quark winked at Ro, who covered a smile. “Of course.”
“Cut him some slack, Odo,” said Quark. “He’s trying to make amends.”
“As well he might.”
The speech had moved on from the question of the repatriated soldiers. Garak was now talking about ensuring voter rights in some of the Union’s more far-flung colonies.
“The Federation must love all this,” Quark muttered.
“The Cardassians are our allies now,” Ro pointed out. “For better or worse.”
“I suppose at least that means Starfleet has its eyes on them,” Quark said.
“And I have my eyes on Garak,” said Odo.
“Even from your hermitage?” Quark said.
“My hermitage?”
“You’ll be going back to Bajor now, won’t you?” Quark said. “Burying yourself in some miserable old monastery in the middle of nowhere and sulking about . . . whatever it is that you’re sulking about now.”
“Who says I’m returning to Bajor?” Odo said. “No,” he went on, looking around the bar like a man surveying a new kingdom and not entirely liking what he saw, “I’ve found my time here on the new station . . . exhilarating. I think I’ll stay awhile yet.”
Ro didn’t think she’d ever seen Quark look so rapturous. “Take up your old job!” he pleaded. “It’ll be like old times!”
Ro lifted a finger. “Er, I do in fact have a chief of security—”
“Oh, him,” Quark scoffed. “He’s not worthy of the title. Come on, Odo. Let’s do it all over again.”
“I don’t have space for a chief security officer,” Ro said. “But I do have an opening for a chief medical officer. Beverly Crusher is going back to the Enterprise.” She saw Quark’s expression. “What? You hadn’t heard about that? You must be slipping, Quark. I said you were getting old.”
* * *
Her office was empty. Her quarters too: the packing cases already loaded onto the ship. She had said her farewells. But something was still holding her back.
Crusher walked slowly around the bare room. There was nothing to show that she had been here, nothing to show that she had been chief medical officer on Deep Space 9. She felt she had barely arrived—and now she was leaving.
The companel gave a soft chime: a message had arrived. Crusher went around to sit down at her desk—her former desk—to listen.
It was from Pulaski. How strange, Crusher thought, but she was grateful as she started the playback that this correspondence had begun. Who would ever have thought that she and Pulaski would become friends? But there it was. Life changed you, and the people you thought you could not stand suddenly made sense to you.
“So we’re on our way again, and you won’t believe who’s signed up for the mission—only that damned Starfleet Intelligence flunky Peter Alden! He says he’s quit his day job. We’ll see. I have my eye on him.” Pulaski sniffed. “I will say, though, I’m getting some great reports from Delka on the work they’re doing together. So if he is faking it, he’s doing a good job. Anyway,” she said, “enough about me. I heard on the grapevine that you’re done with DS9 and you’re heading back . . . well, home. I guess that’s the right thing to say about you and the Enterprise? Not that it’s any of my damn business, but I think you’ve made the right choice. But don’t let family get in the way of work, Beverly. Find a way to have both, a way that satisfies you. God knows I never did, but if anyone can, I’m sure it’s you.” She smiled, rather evilly. “And give my love to Jean-Luc. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I’ll come and visit when the Athene Donald comes back your way. Pulaski out.”
Crusher laughed at the thought of Pulaski coming to stay. She imagined Jean-Luc would arrange a short vacation. And of course she was going to enjoy passing on Pulaski’s regards to him once she was—
Home.
Yes, she thought, switching off the companel, she was going home, or as close to home as she had ever been, out among the stars. She would see her husband, and her little boy, and that would be enough. Leaving the office for someone else, she headed toward the docking bays where her ship was waiting to take her on her way. Soon she was in flight again.
Acknowledgments
Grateful thanks to Professor Dame Athene Donald, who greeted my request to name a starship in her honor with kind enthusiasm.
Thank you to Daniel Tostevin, who thought that Pulaski should have her own book. Thank you to Margaret Clark, editor extraordinaire, who was very patient with my rapidly declining outlining skills as I entered the third t
rimester, and equally patient with my need for extensions as I learned to juggle writing and motherhood.
Thank you to my smashing daughter, Verity, who let Mummy work in the mornings and evenings. And thank you as ever to Matthew, without whom nothing is possible and with whom everything is possible.
About the Author
Una McCormack is the author of five previous Star Trek novels: The Lotus Flower (part of The Worlds of Deep Space Nine), Hollow Men, The Never-Ending Sacrifice, Brinkmanship, and the New York Times bestseller The Fall: The Crimson Shadow. She is also the author of two Doctor Who novels, The King’s Dragon and The Way Through the Woods, and numerous short stories and audio dramas.
She lives in Cambridge, England, with her partner of many years, Matthew, and their daughter of one year, Verity.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Una-Mccormack
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Cover design by Alan Dingman
Cover art by Doug Drexler
ISBN 978-1-4767-5023-1
ISBN 978-1-4767-5025-5 (ebook)
Contents
Historian’s Note
Part One: Old Women Ought to Be Explorers
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Part Two: Cease from Exploration
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Three: Death Is Her Hobby
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 062 - The Missing Page 23