Quark frowned. He’d always wanted to touch a Romulan woman, but not like this. He bent over the body and grabbed hold of Naralak’s arms.
“Don’t you think you should wait for . . . ?” Baun asked.
“He’ll see it soon enough,” Quark snapped. He shoved his shoulder in Naralak’s stomach and lifted her. Her blood was sticky and smelt faintly of copper. He felt it seep into his new sweater—the one he had saved especially for this occasion. Her hands and feet scraped the ground. She was heavy. Ferengi women never got that heavy.
He closed his eyes. He had to remember all the money he would make. That kind of profit made anything possible. Then he opened his eyes and started toward the storage room. Each step elicited a small grunt from the back of his throat.
He was three steps away from the door when it hissed open. He looked up.
Odo was framed in the doorway, his usual frown on his half-formed face.
Suddenly the weight on his shoulders felt twenty times heavier.
“Well, well,” Odo said, sending chills through Quark’s body. “What have we here?”
CHAPTER 3
CHIEF ENGINEER O’BRIEN tugged the shirt of his uniform as he hurried to Ops. A man needed—rest—every now and then. Was it his fault that Keiko had come to their quarters at the same time? He hadn’t seen his wife in almost two days, since their rotations didn’t match, and Molly was off at a friend’s for the afternoon. He had taken off his communications badge and set it on a chair in the bathroom with the rest of his clothes. Not a crime, really. After all, he was supposed to have twenty-four hours off. And of course he hadn’t noticed the flickering lights. No lights had been on in their quarters. Kira had no right to be angry with him. He had been on his own time.
The unpainted girders in the corridor looked strange in the thin light. His ears still rang from the alarms, and Kira’s curt scolding. He was not at her beck and call. He would tell her that if she gave him a hard time in Ops.
He would have enough to deal with, judging by that last power outage.
It had caught him just outside his quarters. In the darkness and in his sleepy state, he had gotten confused for a moment and thought he was in a corridor on the Enterprise. No such luck. The Enterprise at its worst never achieved the level of engineering disaster O’Brien dealt with each day in the Deep Space Nine. And, judging from Kira’s tone, that level of disaster had suddenly grown measurably worse.
Outside the turbolift a Ferengi and a humanoid escorted an ancient Ferengi down the corridor. The Nagus. As if the engineering problems weren’t enough. O’Brien nodded at them, trying to not stare at the fine white hairs growing out of the Nagus’s oversized ears. The Ferengi made him nervous. Their unabashed avarice made him feel as if they ran naked in public. Such blatant emotion grated against his own conservative upbringing.
The turbolift had the dry, almost mothball-like scent that Ferengi seemed to prefer. Mixed with the smell of burnt wiring and a rising heat which could only mean that the environmental controls were down again. O’Brien really didn’t want to get on. But he did. He hoped by the time the lift reached Ops the headache threatening behind his eyes would disappear.
As he expected, Ops was a mess. A thin haze of smoke filled the room, filtering everything through a gray gauze. Most of the smoke gathered at the top of Ops, near the portals, blocking O’Brien’s favorite view. The burnt electrical smell was stronger here, and some wires still sparked near the transporter unit behind his desk. Everything was dark in Sisko’s office—something that should never happen. Lights blinked on every visible panel.
Sisko manned one station, while Dax huddled over the science console. Sisko glanced up and nodded, not saying a word as O’Brien scrambled to his engineering station.
Kira stood up from behind the station. When she saw O’Brien, her brown eyes narrowed. “We could have used you earlier, mister.”
Half a dozen more lights lit up on his board as he stood there. He didn’t have time to make excuses or to fight with the major. He stepped in front of her and bent over his console.
Most of the major systems, including all power and life support, were running for the moment. But it was going to take him most of the day to recalibrate some of the smaller systems and processors. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he figured out what had caused all this in the first place.
“I’ve got what is left of the Ferengi ship,” Dax said, as if she were continuing a conversation. The sound of her low, calm voice made him realize how silent Ops really was. “It’s in a safe orbit away from the station. It will hold there for salvage.”
Ferengi ship? A lot had happened since he went to his quarters. “The Ferengi caused this?” O’Brien asked.
Sisko did not look up. “Whatever bounced us around destroyed their ship. We tried to grab it, but the tractor beam cut out.”
One more problem. But a bit of relief as well. The in-station malfunctions happened because of an outside event. O’Brien had been afraid that with the Cardassian systems and his jury-rigging, some important connector he didn’t even know about had blown.
“You don’t know what happened?” O’Brien asked.
“No,” Kira snapped. She was at another station, paging for more help on the bridge. “But whatever hit us had to be big. A wide area was affected.”
“Any idea how wide?” Maybe if he knew the source, it would help him determine the quickest way to solve the problems.
“We have had reports from as far away as Bajor,” Dax said.
“Any fix as to location? Or source?” O’Brien asked.
Dax shook her head. “At this point I don’t even know what hit us.”
“Well,” O’Brien said, “perhaps the damage will give us a clue. We can eliminate a number of possibilities just by looking at the destruction pattern.”
“Do it,” Sisko said.
“We need to have systems up and running first,” Kira said. O’Brien would never get used to the blunt rudeness of Bajoran women. He had often wondered why Sisko, a Starfleet commander, had not insisted that she use more formal address.
“Well, then, Major,” Sisko said, humor lacing his deep voice. “I guess you’ll have to investigate the damage yourself.”
O’Brien suppressed a smile as he told the computer to trace system malfunctions and separate out the work assignments. If he could pass the easy stuff to some of his support staff, he could worry about the larger problems, like the tractor beam.
He rubbed his forehead. The smoke was making that headache worse, and a tickle grew in the back of his throat. Maybe he would work on the replicators first. He needed coffee.
“Call coming in from the Cardassians,” Kira said.
The hair on the back of O’Brien’s neck tingled. Cardassians. Would they know a way to disable the station without being traced? He punched in three diagnostic programs with that scenario in mind.
“Put them on the main viewscreen,” Sisko said. He stood and walked to the operations table. A Cardassian face O’Brien had never seen before dominated the main viewscreen. The Cardassian’s ridges and lines, wide eyes, and down-turned mouth made O’Brien very, very uneasy.
“I am Commander Benjamin Sisko, Captain.” Sisko’s voice had grown deeper, more authoritative. “I run Deep Space Nine.”
“I am familiar with you, Sisko.” The captain did not introduce himself. “I want to know if your assault on our ships was intentional.”
“I can assure you that we had nothing to do with any attack on your ships. Check your sensors and you’ll see that the interruption happened in a wide section of space near the wormhole. We were affected as well.”
“We read no significant damage to your station, Commander,” the Cardassian said. “We, on the other hand, have had two ships knocked off-line, and a power core disruption in another. All evidence points to a subspace distortion that came from this system. Explain this.”
“I wish we could,” Sisko said. “We lost lights and power a few
moments ago.”
The Cardassian pushed his face closer to the screen. “We have kept our agreement with the Federation, despite incursions by Bajoran terrorists and the increased activity caused by the wormhole. The agreement is no longer binding when you attack our fleet.”
O’Brien gripped the edge of the console. The Cardassians could get ugly when they were angry. Sisko put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath.
“We did not attack your fleet. Something affected us both. We are doing what we can to discover the cause.”
The Cardassian’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Do that, Commander. And I hope your explanation is a good one. But let me warn you. If these attacks continue it will be perceived as an act of war.”
The viewscreen went blank. Sisko frowned. He turned to Dax. “The affected area must have been larger than we suspected.”
His calmness surprised O’Brien. But then, Sisko had never experienced the full wrath of the Cardassians.
O’Brien studied the board in front of him. The diagnostics had shown no evidence of Cardassian attack. In fact, the first diagnostic found no cause at all.
The lights flickered.
O’Brien did not glance up. Maybe if he ignored the lights, the problems would go away. The second diagnostic he ran showed that all the replicators were off-line, as well as the environmental controls in Ops, the Promenade, and most of the docking ring.
“Benjamin,” Dax said, “I am getting a strange subspace surge. I can’t seem to pinpoint it, but . . .” She stopped talking for a moment as her fingers flew over the board in front of her. “The sensors have gone dead.”
“O’Brien?” Sisko said.
The headache had spread in a tight band around his skull. A hundred warning lights flared into being. The diagnostics stopped as the system overloaded. Everything was just going wrong at once—again.
The lights flickered.
Then the station rocked as another wave hit it and the inertial dampers cut out for a moment. In his bed, the wave had felt like an earthquake, but here it felt as if a giant had grabbed the station and shook it in his overlarge hands. O’Brien clung to the engineering console and kept an eye on the sparking connectors near the transporter.
When the rocking stopped, he rerouted power from some backup systems in time to stop another total blackout. A bit more rerouting, and some of the warning lights went out. Except one very important one. The station’s power core containment had been slightly damaged. He did a quick run-through of the core systems, checking every detail until he was satisfied everything was fine.
Ops was stifling hot, and the tickle in his throat had grown worse. He permitted himself a small cough before turning to Dax. “Sensors back up?”
Dax nodded.
“We lost the transporters and half the station’s turbolifts on that one,” O’Brien said. “And there was slight damage to power core containment. I have that under control.”
Sisko nodded. “Start with the turbolifts and get everything back up as soon as you can. Dax, can you tell how widespread that one was?”
“There is nothing to measure, Benjamin.”
“Another message coming in from the Cardassians,” Kira said. “They don’t sound happy.”
No one was happy. O’Brien least of all. “If the Cardassians got hit again,” O’Brien said, “we’re dealing with something really big.”
And not very discriminating. After the turbolifts, he would work on the replicators. He had a hunch coffee would grow in importance as the hours wore on.
CHAPTER 4
THE FLICKERING LIGHTS reminded Odo, Chief of Station Security, of the last days of the Cardassian reign. While the station rumbled and shook, he sat on his chair, letting it bounce around while he maintained his dignity. Lieutenant George Primmon, Starfleet Security, who was sitting across from him, had gone pale in that delightfully unconscious way humans had of showing fear. Primmon wasn’t as tough as he thought he was. He had actually stifled a cry when the lights went out this last time.
Odo sighed with impatience. In his hand he held a printout of a communiqué from Starfleet. The communiqué had come to Primmon, and Odo had noted, even before the lights went out, that it was incomplete. Now that the lights had returned, he scanned the document. It said nothing of any use.
He waited until the alarm sirens went off before continuing the conversation. He could have spoken over the noise, but no sense straining himself. Besides, he didn’t want to put Primmon at ease.
“So,” Odo said as if the conversation had never stopped. “Who is this L’sthwan?”
Primmon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He ran his palms over the legs of his uniform, as if he were trying to put himself back together. “Don’t you want to check with Sisko and see what the problem is?”
“If it concerned me, he would have contacted me,” Odo said. “Obviously the problem is technical, and that falls into Chief O’Brien’s area.” Odo leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “You were going to tell me about L’sthwan?”
Primmon shot a nervous glance at the door. Through it Odo could see people in the Promenade, hurrying to get out of the public areas before the station’s lights went down again.
“L’sthwan?” Primmon said, as if he had already forgotten. His Adam’s apple bobbed again. The man was not only officious. He was afraid of the dark. Primmon took a deep breath. “I have never dealt with the man personally. He is a compulsive gambler, and unlike most, he’s excellent at it. He also kills. He started out in the Vukcevich Sector, where gossip attributes fifteen deaths to his hand. He’s also wanted for murder in the Hoffman colonies. Oltion Four has a warrant out for him—seems he murdered an entire family just after supper and the Oltonions want to execute him for it. He was caught red-handed in the Patterson Belt, murdering a companion over a game of cards. Four guards showed up and L’sthwan killed them too—only the last one lived long enough to send a communiqué to the district commander. Unfortunately, no one ever got a complete description of L’sthwan, and he has always managed to achieve a quick escape. Starfleet considers him dangerous.”
“Obviously,” Odo said. “Or they wouldn’t have sent you to protect us.”
“I am not here to protect—” Primmon stopped himself and jutted out his chin, realizing a beat too late that Odo was being sarcastic. “I served many years on starships. Problems like these often lead to bigger things.”
“So instead you moved into a comfortable job and spend your time harassing me.”
“Look, Constable, the Federation wants L’sthwan. He’s dangerous—”
“—even the communiqué says that,” Odo said, the sarcasm making his words sound flat.
“—and Starfleet doesn’t need any problems from you.”
“No,” Odo said. “You need my help. You complain about my efficiency, and you give me nothing to work with. A communiqué. A name. Personality traits that could describe half the customers at Quark’s. If you give me something to work with then maybe I will give you results.”
“We know he’s here.”
“Do you? The communiqué says nothing about that.”
Primmon shrugged. “The Federation would not have sent me to you without a reason.”
“Of course they would,” Odo said.
Primmon’s face lost its paleness. A bright red flush was working its way up his neck to his chin. Odo loved that flush. It was visible proof that he angered Primmon as much as Primmon angered him. “I’ll get his record sent from the Federation.”
“Good,” Odo said. “By the time it arrives, L’sthwan will have left.”
The flush had made its way to Primmon’s eyebrows. He stood. “I would check Quark’s if I were you. If L’sthwan is on the station, he will be there.”
“Brilliant,” Odo said. “You want me to search for a man I don’t know, who could be using a different name, who is human or humanoid, and a gambler. Do you suggest I arrest half of the clientele?”
“I suggest you interview Quark. Quark may know him.” The flush had reached the roots of Primmon’s hair.
“Indeed,” Odo said. “And Quark will turn one of his paying customers over to me. It astounds me how little you know of the Ferengi mind.”
“Odo.” Primmon’s voice raised a notch.
Odo stood. “I will go to Quark’s because I planned to go there anyway. Have you noticed how few people are in the Promenade?”
Primmon glanced out through the door’s glass. He shrugged. “With all the technical problems, they’re probably staying on their ships or in their quarters. It makes sense to me.”
His tone implied that he would like to be off the station too. Odo nodded. Of course Primmon didn’t notice the real problem. People like Primmon never did. Instead, he wanted Odo to search for a murderous gambler at Quark’s, which was something like searching for a scout ship in the wormhole: one was always easy to find, but not the right one. Odo shoved past Primmon and opened the door for him. Primmon paused in front of him.
Primmon paused in front of him. “Why did you ask me that?”
Odo stared at him, wondering how the man had ever worked in security. “Because the docking rings are nearly full. Most of the ships have arrived in the last twenty-four hours. Crews usually shop in the Promenade. When there are that many ships, the station is crowded. It’s not.”
“You think that’s significant?”
“I’m going to find out,” Odo said. He escorted Primmon out the door, which closed behind them. Primmon headed toward his quarters. Odo turned toward Quark’s.
He had checked the duty rosters on all the ships that had docked and found that most had given their crews shore leave on Bajor. The makeup of the crews seemed odd to him as well. Most of them had little or no experience, while others were known for their smuggling and nefarious dealings. When Primmon had said the word “gambler,” Odo had been way ahead of him.
But Odo had seen nothing unusual at Quark’s. If anything, the number of players at the Dabo tables had been down the last few nights. Still, an uneasy feeling had grown in Odo’s stomach and that uneasy feeling usually meant Quark was up to something.
THE BIG GAME Page 3