As he approached Quark’s, he stopped. No noise. No laughter. No shouts of “Dabo!” True, the problems at the station might have affected the clientele, as Primmon suggested, but it never had before. Everyone played at Quark’s whether there was a problem or not.
Two Bajoran men argued quietly at a table in the center of the bar. The Dabo girl leaned on the Dabo table, holding her stick and moving the pieces herself. She smiled when she saw Odo, then the smile faded when she realized who he was.
The bar smelled faintly of wet dog, and the climate controls were out. The heat was enough to drive anyone away, apparently even Quark who, contrary to his norm, was nowhere to be found. Neither was Rom. Quark never left the bar unattended. Odo scanned the upper tables. Not even Nog showed his young Ferengi face.
“Is your boss here?” Odo asked the Dabo girl.
She glanced at the door leading into the back room, then at the table, her gaze never touching Odo. “No,” she said. “He left me in charge.”
Very strange. Quark wouldn’t trust the profits of his bar to anyone, let alone a non-Ferengi. Which meant that the profits were being made elsewhere. The back room? Quark used it for special games, private playing sessions, and occasional auctions. “You’re in charge,” Odo said.
The Dabo girl nodded.
“In charge of sending clients into that back room?”
Again, that quick glance. She turned the Dabo stick over in her fingers. “No,” she said quietly. “I can use the replicator just as well as anyone else.”
“I bet you can,” Odo said. He pushed past her and strode across the room to the big door that led into the back room. The Dabo girl touched his arm, but he shook her off. The door hissed open, revealing ten tables covered with green felt, about twenty clients—human, alien, and Ferengi—and Quark, his body half hidden under the weight of a Romulan woman. Her hair brushed the floor, her hands and feet dragged on it, and her green blood covered half of Quark’s shirt.
She had to be dead. No living woman, let alone a Romulan, would let Quark touch her like that.
“What have we here?” Odo asked.
Quark peeked from under the Romulan’s armpit, took a deep breath of air and seemed to hold it. “I can explain,” he said.
“I certainly hope so,” Odo replied.
CHAPTER 5
THE STATION’S POWER OUTAGES had taken the environmental controls off-line. Dr. Julian Bashir pushed his shirtsleeves over his elbows. He had created a stasis field over the body of the dead Romulan woman, but once that was broken, he would have only a few minutes to conduct the autopsy. The heat would begin the process of decay even quicker, and that much blood would attract some of the more interesting staph infections onto the body’s surface.
To make matters worse, Odo and Primmon, the Starfleet security officer, were hovering over the body, as if it were a prize to be given to the best detective. Bashir wiped his forehead, then went to the counter and sterilized his hands.
“I don’t want either of you close to that body,” he said. “We’ll have enough troubles as it is.”
Both men backed up. No matter what they thought of Bashir outside of the infirmary, inside he was God. He was about to remove the stasis field when the door hissed open.
“I told you to run the sterilization program in the other room,” he snapped without looking up. New assistants often had to hear instructions twice before completing them.
“Then I didn’t hear you correctly, Doctor.” The answering voice was deep and warm, with a trace of humor. Bashir felt a heat that had nothing to do with the environmental controls run through his body.
He whirled. Commander Benjamin Sisko stood at the door, hands clasped behind his back, his normally trim uniform marred with smoke stains on one sleeve. “Commander, I didn’t realize—”
“I know,” Sisko said with a smile. Then he approached the body, and frowned. “Have you found anything?”
“I need to do a blood and urine analysis, and a DNA scan,” Bashir said, “but I can already tell you that the cause of death is exactly what it appears to be: five stab wounds. Three to the stomach, one to the left lung. The fifth wound killed her: it punctured the heart.”
“Then what are you completing the other scans for?” Sisko asked.
“There was a bit of material on the knife that I didn’t recognize,” Bashir said. “I’ll do a poison analysis, as well as a fiber trace. The knife had no prints. It was a Ferengi knife, the kind they use for some of their more grotesque cold dishes.”
Sisko looked at the body. Bashir followed his gaze, trying to see with Sisko’s eyes. The woman was now nude. The stab wounds had discolored her greenish tinted skin, leaving large bruised areas along her torso. Her eyes were still open, haunted, empty. Her black hair was swept back, revealing swooping eyebrows and small, pointed ears. She had had a kind of beauty.
“Who did this?” Sisko asked. When no one responded, he turned his head slightly toward Odo. “Why did someone die on my station?”
Bashir moved to the other side of the body and removed the stasis field. He wanted to be as far from Sisko as possible. Something in Sisko’s voice let Bashir know that the commander would not tolerate any uncertainties.
“It seems our dear friend Quark has decided to hold a poker tournament,” Odo said, “and has invited every undesirable he can find from inside and outside the Federation.”
“Actually, sir,” Primmon said, “we have a suspect. His name is L’sthwan. Starfleet sent us a communiqué telling us to watch for him. He is a noted gambler and murderer, wanted on Starbase Five for—”
“If we have a suspect,” Sisko said, “why isn’t he in custody?”
The metallic odor of blood rose from the body so strongly that Bashir had to step back. He programmed the computer to run a scan while he removed blood traces for later examination. Even though he was working, he was listening.
“What Mr. Primmon didn’t tell you, Commander,” Odo said, his voice even flatter than usual, “is that Starfleet’s communiqué is extremely vague. They warn us about L’sthwan, but do not tell us his age, race, or appearance. They don’t even know for sure if he will be on Deep Space Nine. Mr. Primmon has assumed—”
“I don’t want assumptions,” Sisko snapped. “I want answers.”
“Here is what we know so far,” Odo said. “The door to Quark’s back room was closed just before the big power outage. The computer tells us that the door opened and closed once in the darkness and that no one beamed in. I have run a preliminary DNA trace and fiber scan, matching the information against the thirty people in the room, and have found nothing unusual. But I am sure that someone in that room killed her.”
“Wonderful. One chance in thirty of catching a killer.” Sisko stood over the body. He was staring at Bashir’s hands. Bashir tried not to look up. He didn’t want his hands to shake. “I want no ship to leave this station until the murderer is caught. Close down Quark’s poker game and let me know as soon as you have something.”
Bashir finished running the diagnostics. He reinstated the stasis field until he could put the body into cold storage. “Do you really think shutting down the game is such a good idea?” he asked. “After all, the murderer came here to play poker.”
“The doctor has a point,” Odo said. “I would love to shut down Quark’s little game, but I think we have a better chance of catching the killer if the game goes on.”
“Do you have a plan, Odo?” Sisko asked.
“With all due respect, sir.” Primmon imposed his small frame between Sisko and Odo. “If the game continues, the killer might kill again. I think any plan the constable has will be a poor one.”
“The killer will not kill again,” Odo said, “because I will have joined the game.”
Bashir frowned. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t know you gambled.”
“I don’t,” Odo said. “But I am willing to do what I must to catch a killer.”
“Sir.�
�� Primmon leaned against the autopsy table. Bashir tapped his shoulder and moved him away. Primmon grimaced at him. Bashir resisted the urge to grimace back. The man was difficult, but making faces at him would not impress the commander. “I would like to advise against this action.”
“Mr. Primmon,” Sisko said, his voice firm, “we have had this discussion before. Odo is highly qualified to do his job. If he believes that his plan will flush our killer, then I believe it will as well.” Sisko stepped around Primmon so that Primmon was excluded from the conversation. “Odo, will Quark let you into the tournament?”
“I can handle Quark,” Odo said.
Sisko nodded. “I believe you can.”
Bashir moved away from the table. He envied Odo, spending his time at the poker game, even with a killer on the loose. This was the kind of frontier that Bashir had imagined. He had begged Quark to let him into the game, but Quark had repeatedly said no. He believed that Bashir wouldn’t be able to hold his own. But Bashir had always done well in late night games in the Academy Medical School, and knew he would be able to now.
“Dr. Bashir,” Sisko said. “If you find anything unusual in the remaining lab work, notify me immediately.”
The commander’s curt tones snapped Bashir from his reverie. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Sisko glanced at the Romulan woman on the table and then back at Odo. “Find whoever did this.”
Odo nodded. “I will. That you can count on.”
The lights flickered. The stasis field fluctuated and disappeared. Bashir hurried back to the table to reestablish the field.
Sisko glanced up at the overhead light and then back at Odo. “Good,” he said. “At the moment we need something around here we can count on.”
CHAPTER 6
ODO LOVED TO HEAR Quark whimper.
And Quark had been doing just that for the past fifteen minutes. The temperature in Odo’s office had risen since the last power outage, and the sharp, fermented smell of Ferengi sweat filled the room. Beads of moisture dripped off Quark’s brow ridges onto his nose. Some traveled around the rims of his oversized ears. Quark swatted at the drops as if they were Bajoran liccie bugs.
Odo stood over Quark, hoping to make the Ferengi even more nervous. Quark made mistakes when he was nervous. He kept glancing over his shoulder at the door. The Promenade was still empty and Quark’s place was not visible from Odo’s office.
“If you aren’t going to ask questions, you should let me go,” Quark said. The left side of his clothing was stained with the Romulan’s blood.
“Oh, I plan to ask questions.” Odo paused for maximum effect. He had avoided questioning Quark, hoping the tension would make Quark more talkative. Quark had hovered around Odo in the back room while they waited for Bashir to arrive. Once the doctor took the body away for autopsy, Odo had hurried Quark to his office, commanding him to stay or get charged with murder. Quark had stayed while Odo watched the autopsy and spoke with Commander Sisko.
When Odo arrived, Quark was pacing. Small dusty footprints marred Odo’s normally clean floor. Quark had apparently been pacing the entire time Odo was gone.
“Commander Sisko wants your game closed down,” Odo said.
“What for?” There was just a hint of panic in Quark’s voice.
“Well,” Odo said slowly, “since it is the scene of a rather interesting murder, I believe he’s afraid that another may occur. So until we catch the killer, I will have to shut down the bar.”
Quark stood. “You can’t do that! I need it open. At least, the back room. By tomorrow morning. I’m sure that will be possible.”
“Really?” Odo smiled. “What do you need the room for?”
“Nothing really. Just a few games.”
“Nothing? Then you won’t mind having the bar closed for, say, a week.”
“A week!” Quark stood. “I can’t have that!”
“I am investigating a murder, Quark. You were found holding the body.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“So you say.”
“The room was dark. Anyone could have come in or left.”
“The computer records say that only Rom used the door. Are you saying Rom killed the woman?”
“Yes! No! I am not saying anything.” Quark slid his chair back, away from Odo.
“Except that you want to have the room available tomorrow morning. For a few games, Quark? Exactly what type of games?”
Quark shifted in his chair. A bead of sweat fell from his chin onto his shirt. “Card games,” he said. “Nothing more than a few simple card games. Actually, poker.”
“Don’t withhold information from me, Quark,” Odo said. He leaned toward Quark. “You are holding a poker tournament and you expect to make a great deal of money doing so.”
“But how did you . . . ?” Quark let the question drop.
“You can’t hide things from me in this station.” It had been a fairly simple deduction. He had never seen so many formal looking tables in Quark’s back room. That, plus the information Odo had received on the visitors landing at the station, combined with the news of L’sthwan, made Quark’s plan very clear.
The handful of players Odo had spoken to after the murder had confirmed it: Quark was planning one of the biggest poker tournaments the quadrant had ever seen.
But Quark hadn’t counted on L’sthwan. Identifying him among all the players might take some effort.
“The tournament will be quite entertaining,” Quark said. “You should drop by and watch some of the action.”
“Assuming,” Odo said, “that I allow the card tournament to go on.”
“No! You couldn’t. I’ve been planning this for years. Some of the best players in the sector are here.”
“There is the little matter,” Odo said, “of the murder.”
“I’m sure,” Quark said, “that with your great detective skills you will soon have the guilty party in custody.”
“I may already have the guilty party in custody.”
“I did not kill her!”
“No,” Odo said. “You merely moved her body.”
Quark looked down. “I was bringing her to you.”
“You were going to hide her until the tournament was over.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference!”
Some days Odo wished that Quark had vanished with the Cardassians. If that had happened Odo’s job would have been a lot easier, if less interesting. “Of course not,” Odo said, letting the sarcasm control his tone. “It would only give the murderer time to escape.”
“He may already have done that.”
“So you said.” Odo leaned on his desk and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If you are as innocent as you claim, that means the murderer was in the room when the lights went out.”
“People were using the door.”
“Rom used the door, at your insistence. I got that much of the story from the handful of people I spoke with. I do not believe that someone would wait for accidental darkness, then slip into a room he had never seen before to murder a specific person. No, the murderer was there.”
Quark frowned. “What’s your point?”
“My point is this,” Odo said slowly. His skin tingled. He would enjoy Quark’s response to this suggestion. “When the tournament starts tomorrow morning, I need to have a seat at one of the tables.”
“You can’t play poker! You won’t understand a thing.” Quark stood, as if that settled the matter.
“You have been encouraging me for a long time to learn to gamble,” Odo said, walking to Quark’s side and looking down on him.
Quark’s body trembled. The sweat dripped off his ears. “You need one hundred bars of gold-pressed latinum to enter.”
“No, I don’t,” Odo said. He graced Quark with a rare half-smile. “You need to make money off this game, and as host, you can’t play yourself. The house take would never satisfy a Ferengi. Am I right, Quark?”
“I will make a
good profit on this game,” Quark said.
“Yes.” Odo blocked Quark’s path to the door. The sharp fermented scent of Ferengi sweat had grown stronger. “You will make a profit by putting your own players in the game. I suspect they will not always play by the rules.”
“Everyone has to play by the rules.”
Odo tilted his head. “Don’t lie to me, Quark. I can shut your tournament down in an instant.”
Quark’s chin jutted out. “If I let you play, will you keep the bar open?”
“Yes,” Odo said. He resisted the urge to rub his hands together. Quark was finally beginning to understand.
“I only have room for eighty players,” Quark said, “and there was already someone waiting to take the dead woman’s place.”
“Get rid of one of your players,” Odo said. “I will take his place.”
“You can’t be a ringer if you can’t play cards.”
“You want to make a profit,” Odo said, “and I want to catch a murderer. It seems to me, Quark, you had better teach me how to play poker.”
“By tomorrow morning?”
“Unless you want to postpone your game.”
Quark gritted his teeth. “You’d better be a quick learner, Constable, because if you aren’t, those other players will eat you alive.”
“I believe that’s your problem,” Odo said.
CHAPTER 7
JAKE SISKO tried to look relaxed as he walked through the Promenade. But the emptiness of the Promenade bothered him. So did Nog’s insistence that everything would be all right.
The last time Nog had told Jake that, Jake’s father had grounded him for a week. Jake didn’t want that to happen again.
And it would if his father caught him. His father had clear rules: when there were problems in the station, Jake was supposed to return to their quarters. The flickering lights, the awful earthquakelike shaking, and the blackouts meant trouble.
Jake had tried to stay in his quarters. He had contacted Nog and asked him to come over for some cake. But Nog didn’t like cake—at least, not chocolate cake. He always complained that it didn’t crunch and that it had been dead far too long to taste good. Instead, Nog had suggested that Jake meet him in the Promenade.
THE BIG GAME Page 4