A bevy of voices roared out in the main room, and Quark kicked himself for his inattention. He jumped up from behind the companel and hied toward the door. The single panel opened before him. He sped through it, stopping only long enough to lock his office.
Down the corridor and past the stairs that led up to the second and third levels, Quark emerged into his large, main room, separated from the Plaza walkway by a half wall and the wide entrance in its center. Customers packed the dining tables. A few players sat at the poker tables on the far side of the room, and another few circled the dom-jot table, but it pleased him most to see that a large crowd had formed around the dabo wheel. That typically didn’t happen until the evening.
Quark stood and briefly observed the run of a few spins in the native Ferengi casino game. Perhaps the sound of the unhappy customer—which he no longer heard—had come from there; to his delight, Quark saw that most of the chips on the table had been raked over to the house’s side. As he watched, he judged Orcam’s running of the wheel competent, maybe even a little better than that. Of greater import, he appeared to have the effect on the players for which Quark had hoped. Though not tall or muscular like Hetik, Orcam exuded a quiet, androgynous confidence that seemed to appeal to just about everybody.
As Quark turned toward the bar, intending to resume his place behind it, a familiar profile caught his eye. He grabbed a circular tray and a towel from the nearest workstation, then hurried across the room. When he reached the small table for two, he leaned in to wipe down the surface, although it looked perfectly clean.
“Quark.”
“Oh, Captain,” he said, as though he hadn’t realized Laren sat at the table. “I guess I didn’t recognize you. It’s been such a long time.” He spoke lightly, but his words carried more than a hint of truth. Since the starbase had become fully operational a little more than three months earlier, Quark and Laren had spent almost no time together. Not particularly unusual, that had happened with some degree of frequency during the almost ten years since Laren had first arrived on the old Deep Space 9. In her various roles since she’d come aboard—chief of security, first officer, captain—Laren had taken on a great deal of responsibility, and as a consequence, she went through periods where she had little opportunity—and in some cases, little desire—to spend personal time with anybody.
I can’t blame it all on her, Quark thought. His business interests sometimes crowded his own schedule, and even occasionally took him away on various interstellar jaunts. Blame didn’t matter to him, though. He only knew that he missed Laren.
“I know, you’re right, it has been too long,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve been incredibly busy lately.”
“I understand,” Quark said, letting go of his wounded feelings at once. “Have you heard anything about Doctor Bashir?”
“Only that he’s been remanded into Starfleet custody,” Laren said. “It looks like he’s going to be court-martialed.”
“For saving the people of Andor?” Quark asked, incredulous. “Or because that led directly to the Andorians rejoining the Federation?” He could taste the sarcasm in his mouth. Doctor Bashir had been a fine customer for many years, and Quark didn’t appreciate—or understand—him not being permitted to return to DS9. His interim replacement as chief medical officer, Beverly Crusher, had briefly transferred to the starbase from Enterprise, but she had spent almost no time in the bar. At least the new CMO, Pascal Boudreaux, had been known to stop by Quark’s, though still not with the frequency of Bashir.
“I’m not sure precisely what the charges will be, but I’ve gotten the impression that they will be significant,” Laren said. “At least the charges against Captain Dax and the others were dropped.” She didn’t specifically mention Lieutenant Commander Douglas, but Quark knew that some people on DS9 accepted as a matter of course that the security officer had abetted Bashir, her paramour, in his efforts, first to access classified Starfleet information, and then to escape his subsequent detention. Regardless of whether she had or not, Douglas had taken a leave of absence from her duties so that she could visit the doctor while he remained in custody.
“If you ask me, it’s not right,” Quark said. “If the doctor had to break the rules in order to save the Andorians . . . maybe it’s the rules that are the problem.”
Laren offered a half-smile, seemingly genuine, but Quark could see in the unfinished expression the fatigue she clearly felt. Having to deal on a daily basis with ten thousand civilian residents and a full slate of visiting ships and crews, on top of trying to help her own people—and herself—recover from the assassination, she must have been emotionally drained. But Quark worried about more than simple exhaustion; he feared that Laren might be withdrawing into herself, walling off her feelings, even from him. He didn’t really know what to make of their relationship—they had never really defined it—but in all the time they’d known each other, they’d both been able to talk openly, and to provide each other with understanding and support. He hoped that he could provide that again for her.
“So what can I get for you, Captain?” he asked. He did not call her by her given name in public. He did slip into the chair across from her, though, lean in close, and say, “How about a Ferengi surprise?”
The partial smile did not leave Laren’s face as she asked, “And what’s in that?”
“It’s a surprise,” Quark told her playfully. “But I can have it delivered directly to your quarters . . . say, after the start of gamma shift?”
“Oh, Quark,” Laren said, that same lopsided smile dressing her lovely features. “I’m tempted. I really could use a little rest and relaxation—”
“And a surprise!”
Laren chuckled. “Yes, and a surprise, too,” she said. “But I have so much work to catch up on. It’s incredibly time-consuming and effort-intensive to run this starbase in the easiest of times, but with everything that’s happened lately . . .” She let her words drift into the obvious implication. “This lunch isn’t even a break for me,” she added. “I’m meeting with Doctor Altek to figure out how best to deal with his situation.”
Quark had heard about Altek Dans. Arriving on DS9 aboard an Orb just after the wormhole had reopened, the Bajoran man defied identification. Though he was initially confined to the stockade, the captain released him shortly thereafter, assigning him quarters and providing him an escort. Conventional wisdom suggested that he had come from some point in the past. Quark had seen and heard him on the Plaza, though Altek’s visit to the bar that day would be his first.
The barkeep had taken it upon himself to do his own research on the mysterious stranger. He believed it good business to know about new customers before they ever walked through his door—the 194th Rule—but he also hoped that he could provide Laren some assistance. Unfortunately, his efforts had proven futile.
“Maybe we can have dinner sometime, then,” Quark said.
“Soon,” Laren said, but while Quark did not doubt her sincerity, he didn’t care for the noncommittal response.
“All right.” With little else he could do, Quark shrugged and stood up. “So what can I bring you for lunch?” Out in the Plaza, he heard two voices he recognized.
“I think I’ll wait for Doctor Altek to arrive.”
“If I’m not mistaken, he’s just arriving right now,” Quark said. He pointed back over his shoulder, but he didn’t look in that direction. Even through the din of the lunchtime press, he knew the voice of Grant Masner, an ensign on Commander Blackmer’s security staff, as well as that of Altek Dans. Quark had first heard the potential time traveler’s voice when he’d sought information about him. The barkeep had enlisted one of his employees to use a remote sensing device to record data about Altek, including what he both looked and sounded like.
Laren leaned to one side to look where Quark had pointed. “After all this time, I shouldn’t be impressed,” she said, “
but those ears are really good.”
“A man is nothing without his lobes.”
“So you tell me.”
Quark smiled, the points of his irregularly set teeth comfortably sharp against his lips. “I’ll come back in a little while to take your order.”
“Thanks.”
As Quark started away, he glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of Altek Dans as Ensign Masner accompanied him into the bar. Altek looked taller in person than he had on the sensor recording, and his dark eyes and dark complexion gave him something of a smoldering appearance. Handsome, Quark thought, if you like that sort of thing.
Back behind the bar, he took orders and served his customers. He occasionally peered over at Laren and Altek, until he perceived that they were ready to place their lunch orders. He began toward their table, but then he stopped and sent one of his waitstaff over instead. Then Quark made his way back into his office, alone, and closed the door.
He even closed the soundproof panel.
THE CAPTAIN STARED at the bowl of ratamba stew sitting before Altek Dans as he ate his lunch. Three months earlier, Ro had released the mysterious Bajoran man—the mysterious Aleiran man—from the stockade. She and her security chief still believed that he had been displaced forward in time from Bajor’s past, despite that Altek’s name could not be found in any history texts—or in any historical documents at all. Moreover, the details he employed to describe his life—the names of cities, like Joradell and Shavalla, and the description of a segment of Bajoran society called the Aleira—had also never been chronicled. It could have been that he had fabricated it all, or even that he had come from an alternate universe, but the more that both Ro and Blackmer had spoken with him, the more they had become convinced that he had traveled in time, from a period for which records no longer existed. That might mean he had come from centuries in the past, or possibly even millennia.
Before the captain had released Altek from the stockade, she’d revealed what she and her crew believed had happened to him. He understood the concept of time travel, but doubted its reality. Ro went on to explain that Bajorans had left their world, and that alien beings existed. She described Deep Space 9 to him, and then she showed him the starbase.
Altek had at first been visibly stunned, his mind gravitating to more mundane explanations than the actual truth of the situation. He theorized to Ro that he’d been drugged, or perhaps hypnotized, or maybe he’d even fallen into a coma. The possibilities he offered rooted everything he saw and heard and experienced in the realm of his imagination. Ro didn’t attempt to convince him otherwise, but she and other members of her crew spoke with him often, answering his questions as best they could. The captain also assigned Lieutenant Commander Matthias to counsel him.
Eventually, Altek had had little choice but to accept the reality of his situation. For the six weeks or so after the captain released him from the stockade, he mostly remained in the guest quarters she assigned to him. He requested both Bajoran histories and annals of current events. The crew initially provided him with written texts, and later instructed him on how to use the computer interface so that he could watch recaps of the information he sought, accelerating his education.
Since finally coming to accept his fate, Altek had begun venturing out of his quarters to explore the starbase. As agreed, a member of Ro’s crew always attended his excursions, although the captain and every member of her senior staff believed he posed no threat. Lieutenant Commander Blackmer insisted on the precaution, though, citing Altek’s own safety as a concern, and Ro agreed. Keeping an officer assigned to him also satisfied Admiral Akaar.
Akaar, Ro thought, absently shaking her head. Since the assassination, the captain had faced mounting criticism from the commander in chief, despite that the DS9 crew had worked hard to put the terrible event behind them, and that operations aboard the starbase had more or less settled into a routine. The admiral had not blamed her outright for the death of President Bacco, but since the resolution of the Baras Rodirya conspiracy, he had asked her more than a few pointed questions about the security procedures she’d implemented on the starbase for the dedication ceremony. Akaar also took her to task for the actions of Doctor Bashir, even going so far as to suggest that he did not have full confidence in either her or her crew. As a result, the admiral initially refused her recommendation that Doctor Boudreaux succeed Bashir as DS9’s chief medical officer, although once Doctor Crusher departed for Enterprise and submitted her report clearing the medical staff, he relented.
“Captain?”
Ro blinked, and she saw that Altek had completely emptied the bowl in front of him, his spoon sticking out of it and leaning against the rim. She realized that she had drifted into her thoughts as he’d been speaking. She’d heard nothing of what he’d said.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Altek. I was thinking of other things.”
“I could see that,” he told her, not unkindly. “Not at first, though. I was too caught up in my own situation. I guess not everybody loves the sound of my voice as much as I do.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” Ro said, embarrassed for her lapse. “It’s no excuse, but I’ve just got a great deal on my mind.” She chose not to mention that she hadn’t slept well during the previous few nights, her mind turning again and again in the darkness of her quarters to Akaar’s implications about her crew. She deeply resented the insinuations of incompetency about those serving under her.
“I realize that your head must be full,” Altek said, waving his hand in an arc before him, a gesture plainly meant to take in the whole of Deep Space 9. “The responsibility for all these people, in this huge, enormously complex place. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you for adding to your burden.”
“No, please don’t think that, Doctor,” Ro said. “This starbase and everybody aboard it are my responsibility, yes, but I feel privileged to hold such a position.”
“Spoken like a true leader.”
Ro chuckled. “It’s certainly the case that I’m not much of a follower.”
“I know the feeling.”
Ro tilted her head to one side. “The anti-slavery movement you talked about?”
Altek nodded. “There weren’t really enough of us for there to be followers,” he said.
Ro glanced down at her plate, and it surprised her to see that she’d taken only a single bite of her argendi sandwich on mapa bread. She knew that she should eat, but she just didn’t feel hungry. Instead, she picked up her glass of pooncheenee and sipped at the orange-red beverage. “So would you tell me what you were saying when I so rudely got lost in my own thoughts?”
“I was just talking about what I’ve been learning,” he said. “I’ve been reviewing a great deal of Bajoran history, but I haven’t been able to determine when my time might have been.”
“From the information you provided, Lieutenant Aleco and his team haven’t been able to ascertain a timeframe either,” Ro said. A Bajoran, Aleco Vel had studied his homeworld’s history at university, and the captain had assigned him to lead three other officers with similar expertise in a research effort to at least narrow down from whence Altek had come. “It’s difficult, because even though a great deal is known about the First and Second Bajoran Republics, there are still long periods within them that are poorly documented.”
“So I’ve found out,” Altek said. He looked down for a moment and fiddled idly with his spoon, as though reluctant to continue. “I have to say, I am anxiously looking forward to when I can actually visit Bajor.”
“I know,” Ro said. She remembered the drive she’d felt several times in her own life to return to the world on which she’d been born and raised, even though the Occupation had forever changed Bajor. She could not imagine how much Altek must have wanted to see the civilization to which he had sometime long ago contributed. Ro had been deeply moved at the relief and pride he’d displayed wh
en she’d informed him that slavery had not been practiced in Bajoran culture for a very long time. “I wasn’t going to mention this to you just yet, but I finally received a reply from the Ministry of State late yesterday.”
When Altek had first indicated a desire to go to Bajor a few weeks earlier, the captain had at that point released him from his promise to remain aboard the starbase, and she sent a message directly to Gandal Traco, the minister of state. Ro had requested that his staff generate official documentation for Altek, and that they arrange for him to visit. She hadn’t even mentioned his desire for possible repatriation, but regardless, she had not garnered a response. Her second request had also gone unanswered for longer than it should have, before finally resulting the day before in a terse missive, not from Gandal himself, but from the general office of the ministry. Unsigned, it stated only that Altek’s applications for identity and travel credentials would both be taken under advisement.
Ro explained to Altek what had happened, as well as the next step she’d taken. Putting to good use the solid professional relationship she shared with Asarem Wadeen, the captain contacted her office directly, detailing her correspondence with the Ministry of State and their unacceptable reaction. Ro hoped that the first minister would intervene, at least compelling Gandal and his staff to action. “I have yet to hear back from Minister Asarem,” she said, setting down her glass. “I hate to say it, but I think if we do get a response, there’s a good chance it won’t be what you’re hoping for.”
“They still believe I might be a threat?” Altek asked.
“Honestly, I don’t think it even rises to that level of concern,” Ro explained. “After all the political turmoil of the past few months, I think the government is just exceedingly sensitive to the potential risk of any public event involving a Bajoran.”
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