“Well, I didn’t,” Rasmussen said. “Sounds like a lot of rationalization to me.”
“Actually,” Sarlak said, “many fine Vulcan minds have spent centuries pondering this issue. I am here to test it.”
And he had been testing it well. He clearly was not a traditional poker player, Bashir thought, but his comments made sense. Sarlak played a very odds-friendly game with little bluffing, and had managed, so far, to do quite well for himself.
Better than the Romulan who had joined them at the table and frowned when he saw a Vulcan present. The Romulan had informed them all that he was the best player at the table. None of them complained when the Romulan was the first to lose all his chips. When he lost the final pot to Sarlak, the Romulan had thrown his hole cards at the dealer and stalked out of the room. The tension at the table had lessened considerably after that.
Bashir missed the company of the second casualty of the table. An old freighter captain, who had traded stories with Rasmussen, had played well, but had had marginal cards. When he lost his final chip he stood, bowed, and wished everyone better luck than he had. So far his wish had almost come true.
Bashir’s holdings had only decreased by about two thirds. Yet he knew he had enough to stay in any big hand and get back to being ahead. Sarlak was holding even, but Bashir figured his play was too predictable. He would probably lose a little each hand from now on and be out of the game by morning. Pera seemed to be doing all right in chips, but Bashir figured he would be the next to go. He played aggressively, but unwisely at times, holding onto cards when he should have folded.
The two Ferengi worried Bashir the most. They were terrible players, often betting a small fortune on a pair of deuces, but they had had a string of luck that seemed uncanny. Haurk’s luck in the last hand had returned him to his original stake.
“Each century seems to have developed stories about its most famous poker players,” Rasmussen said, obviously trying to change the subject, and return the focus of the conversation to himself.
“Most of us don’t care about stories.” Pera ran a hand through his dark hair. “Just the game.”
“I think someone should cut,” Bashir said, as the dealer set the cards on the table. He didn’t want to hear the stories any more than Pera did.
“Some of those stories are fascinating,” said Sarlak, “and led to ways that the game evolved.”
Morn, the rather silent, lumpy alien who often traded jokes with Quark in the bar, reached across Rasmussen and cut. The movement was illegal, but no one protested. They all wanted the game to continue.
“My father used to tell of an uncle who—”
“Pardon me,” Bashir said, “but let’s leave the story-telling for a moment while we play out the hand.”
The dealer dealt the hole cards. Bashir waited until the second card was dealt before picking them up. He had a mild superstition about waiting until all his cards were in front of him before examining them. The habit began in childhood, when he believed that touching the cards before it was time ruined his luck. Sometimes, late in a game, that old belief returned.
The dealer set her deck down and waited. Bashir was the last to scoop up his cards. The ace and king of spades. What wonderful luck! This would be the hand that would catch him up. He just felt it.
He was reaching for his chips when the entire room went black. Pitch-black. He couldn’t even see the cards in front of his face.
The room fell into a shocked silence.
“Cards down!” Quark’s voice boomed. No backup lights were coming on. Wasn’t this room equipped with emergency preparations? “Hands on your own chips. And please remain that way until the lights come back up.”
Bashir set his cards down and gathered his chips against him. He knew that Sarlak wouldn’t touch the chips, but he didn’t trust the Ferengi. Or Pera for that matter.
“Rom!” Quark’s voice held that bossy, obnoxious tone he used with his brother. “Where are those emergency lights?”
Rom’s response was lost in the growing conversation. Once everyone in the room realized that the lights weren’t coming back on right away, mutters of dissatisfaction began.
“—stupidity of playing in a place designed by Cardassians—”
“—what if we’re under attack?—”
“—some ploy by the Ferengi to steal all our money—”
“—Krax! Where is my idiot son? Krax!—”
Above the snatches of conversation, Bashir caught a steady, menacing cursing. The hair rose on the back of his neck. The lights had been out the night before, when Naralak died.
A chair fell over behind him. He turned in the direction of the noise just as the lights came back on.
Bashir blinked in the brightness.
A Ferengi was on the floor beside his table, twisting in pain. Bashir could see the blood from where he sat.
Odo had left his chair near the door and was hurrying across the room. Quark was behind him.
Bashir jumped up. “Watch my chips,” he said to Sarlak. Sarlak nodded.
Garak, the clothier, was sitting in a chair near the Ferengi, his hands raised as if to protect himself. He half-stood when Odo got there, then hovered. Bashir pushed him aside and kneeled beside the bleeding Ferengi who tried to sit up.
“No,” Bashir said, gently pushing him back. “Stay down.” He quickly checked the wounds. The entry was clean—not ripped. Stab wounds from a knife with a smooth edge, like those that had killed Naralak the day before.
But Nam had been somewhat lucky. The attacker had had no knowledge of Ferengi physiology. The four wounds would have been instantly fatal to a human—and would have put a Romulan in critical condition. A Klingon might not have survived either, but Ferengi physiology was very different from other species. Bashir worked quickly to slow the bleeding of the wounds beneath the rib cage and across the stomach. It appeared the Ferengi’s heart might have been grazed. He was going to need help quickly.
“Ops!” Odo almost shouted into the intercom. “Transport two at once to the infirmary.”
“No!” Bashir shouted. “He’s too weak to transport.” Bashir slapped his comm badge. “Medical assistance to Quark’s. Stat!”
“Anyone see anything?” Odo said to those standing and sitting nearby, staring intently at each one.
Bashir glanced around at the shaking heads. Then he focused on stopping Nam’s bleeding.
“Klar was claiming the Ferengi had cheated him,” Garak said.
“Klar?” Odo asked.
“He was cheating me,” Klar said.
Bashir put pressure on the wounds, staunching the blood flow. His hands were big enough to cover two wounds at once. Fortunately Nam was small, even for a Ferengi. Then Bashir looked up.
Odo stepped toward Klar and Klar retreated.
“So you tried to kill him?” Odo asked.
Klar shook his head. “Why would you think I did it?”
“For a start,” Odo said, “from the bloodstains on your hands.”
Bashir was shocked at the speed the knife appeared in Klar’s hand. It had the blood of the Ferengi still fresh on its blade.
Odo reached for the knife, but Klar was quick. He thrust hard at Odo’s stomach.
Odo didn’t even flinch or try to jump back. His stomach turned into fluid metal and the knife and hand passed right through.
Then, as the shocked Klar tried to withdraw his weapon, Odo grabbed him above the elbow and with a quick twist sent the knife bouncing across the floor in front of Bashir. Nam flinched, but Bashir gripped him tightly and peered at the weapon. It was the same type of knife that had killed Naralak.
Klar struggled in Odo’s grasp, but couldn’t free himself.
Odo yanked hard on the man’s arms to stop the struggle. “I believe that Starfleet will have your records under the name . . . L’sthwan. Am I right?”
Nam gasped and then choked and Bashir turned his full attention back to his patient. He should have brought his medical
kit to the game. He had thought about it, but ruled it out. What was taking his medical team so long?
“Nam?” Quark crouched beside Bashir.
“You’re in my light,” Bashir snapped. Then, seeing the concern on Quark’s face, he softened. “I’m doing everything I can. He’ll be all right once I get him to the infirmary.”
Quark nodded thanks to Bashir and then looked up at Klar, or L’sthwan, if that was his name. “You tried to kill Nam for cheating you?”
“I understand that cheating is the way of your race,” L’sthwan said. “Perhaps genocide is in order.”
His voice was flat and cold and sent shivers down Bashir’s spine. If he had a chance he would run a psychological battery on the man. But he knew what he would find.
“Quark settled a dispute between the two of them over cheating an hour ago,” Garak said.
Odo snorted. “It doesn’t look as if he did it very well.” He shoved L’sthwan toward the door. “But I have settled it for good.”
CHAPTER 21
SISKO HESITATED A MOMENT before stepping into the Promenade. He glanced behind him at the stairs where his son had disappeared. Jake had seemed odd, a little more reserved than normal, and younger than usual. He hadn’t asked to be with Sisko during a crisis in a long time.
The stairs were empty. He couldn’t see his son. Sisko sighed. Times like these they both needed Jennifer. She would have taken care of Jake while Sisko took care of the station.
But she was gone. He still had trouble with that, even with the acceptance he had reached shortly after he arrived on Deep Space Nine. He was raising their son alone.
He hoped Jennifer approved of the job he was doing.
He wasn’t sure he approved sometimes.
He walked into the Promenade. All of the stores were closed. Garak had changed his clothing display and his CLOSED sign blocked much of the door. How unusual. When Garak didn’t want business his store was usually dark. Most of the other stores had signs that read CLOSED DUE TO STATION REGULATIONS.
Some of the stores had printed those signs when it became clear that the Federation insisted on certain behavioral principles from shopkeepers. Many of them had had to close their operations for short periods of time just to meet those regulations. The shopkeepers had kept the signs and often used them whenever a station crisis occurred.
Only Quark’s remained open. Open and empty. The game had to be going on in a back room.
Sisko was alone on the Promenade. The handful of people he had seen as he was approaching had disappeared. He heard a very faint buzz of conversation, but it appeared to be coming from Quark’s.
He was about to step inside when the lights went off. A faint beeping let him know that a turbolift was stuck. The smell of rotted flesh, mixed with roses, reached him. How odd. What would cause an odor like that?
He grabbed onto the wall near the entrance, more to keep his bearings than for support. This darkness was absolute. He didn’t know why the Cardassians had never installed emergency lighting in the Promenade. He had asked O’Brien to do so in his spare time, but with the problems in the station, O’Brien never had spare time. Sisko would have to make the lighting a priority soon.
“Come on, O’Brien,” he whispered. “Let’s get some light here.”
The noise behind him had grown louder. Apparently the people he couldn’t see in Quark’s didn’t like the darkness either. He didn’t want to move while it was still dark, but he would if it lasted too much longer.
Then the lights came back up. Sisko let out his breath. Normally darkness didn’t bother him, but with all the unexplained problems, he worried each time the lights went out. All he needed was the entire station to malfunction permanently. He hoped Kira would be able to reach Starfleet sometime soon. He needed help here.
He glanced around. The fact that the Promenade was empty—despite all that’d been happening—bothered him. Voices rose in Quark’s. Sisko stepped inside.
The Dabo girl was standing beside the table, peering at a closed door near the back. The voices were coming from there.
“Is the game still going on back there?” Sisko asked.
The Dabo girl started. She smoothed her scanty metallic dress against her skin. “Commander,” she said, her voice shaking.
Sisko couldn’t remember if he had ever spoken with her before. She had always been supervising a game when he had come to Quark’s, laughing and shouting “Dabo!” with the players.
“Well?” he asked.
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
“It’s a poker game, sir.”
“I know that,” Sisko said.
“It’s closed, sir.”
“I don’t want to play. I would just like to speak to Quark.”
“Oh.” She laughed, and he recognized that full-throated sound. He had heard that often enough. “Sorry. I’ll get him.”
“Wait,” Sisko said. Actually Quark wouldn’t do him any good. “Where’s Odo?”
“In there.” The Dabo girl pointed at the closed door.
“Tell him I want to see him.”
“Yes, sir!” she said. She moved away from the Dabo table as the door hissed open. The low conversation he had heard since he arrived in the Promenade got louder and that rotted roses smell grew stronger. The smell was mixed with human body odor, Ferengi sweat, and Deluvian coffee.
Sisko turned. Through the door he saw about fifty people, most sitting at tables. Quark was standing, wringing his hands. A greenish Meepod sat near the back, the source of the rotted flesh smell Odo was making his way through the door, his hand firmly holding the arm of a tall, broad-shouldered human male.
Three members of Doctor Bashir’s staff bumped Sisko as they hurried by him, each carrying a medical kit. They ran toward the back of the room where Bashir stood.
“What’s happening, Constable?” Sisko asked when Odo got close to him.
“We have found the infamous L’sthwan,” Odo said. “Almost at the expense of one of Quark’s Ferengi friends.”
L’sthwan struggled in Odo’s grasp. “He had no right to take me from the game, Commander.”
“Actually,” Sisko said, “he has every right. Is the Ferengi seriously injured?”
Odo nodded. “Bashir assures us that he will live.”
“Unfortunately,” L’sthwan said, “the little bastard cheats.”
“He’s a Ferengi,” Sisko said. “They’re more interested in profit than rules.”
L’sthwan smiled. “And what are you interested in, Commander?”
“Getting you off my station,” Sisko said.
“And yet you can’t. You seem to be having problems.”
“You’re very astute,” Sisko said. He didn’t like the man. Odo needed to get him to the brig. Sisko turned to go.
“In your readings,” L’sthwan said, “have you discovered a subspace fluctuation accompanied by solitrium waves?”
Sisko stopped and peered at L’sthwan. Dax had been getting solitrium waves, among many others, during each incident. “Yes, we have,” Sisko said.
“Well, well,” L’sthwan said. “The Ghost Riders are ranging pretty far from home.”
“Ghost Riders?” Sisko asked.
L’sthwan smiled and rocked back on his heels. Sisko had seen that look before. L’sthwan wanted something.
“Are you saying you know what’s causing these problems in the station?” Odo asked.
“I believe you need my help, Commander,” L’sthwan said, ignoring Odo. “But I have a price for the information I give you.”
“And that is?” Sisko asked.
“Let me finish the game and keep my winnings.”
“He can’t play!” Odo said. “He kills anyone whom he suspects of cheating.”
Sisko looked at Odo. Odo had been locked in Quark’s. He didn’t realize how vital this information was. “Well, then, Constable, that is something you will have to deal with.”
“You’ll let me continue playing?
” L’sthwan asked.
“Only if you give me information I need,” Sisko said.
“We have a deal?” L’sthwan asked.
“You may keep your earnings if you win,” Sisko said. “You will need them when you stand trial for the murder you committed here.”
“Fine,” L’sthwan said.
“So—” Sisko moved over to a table and motioned to Odo to let L’sthwan sit down. L’sthwan sat and so did Sisko. “Tell me about the Ghost Riders.”
“Well,” L’sthwan said, leaning back in the chair as if he and Sisko were old friends. “I first encountered them on the far side of this sector. I was in a supply ship heading back from a tournament on Risa. The ship was nearly destroyed in a fashion that reminds me of this. The old trader who piloted the thing managed to get us out of the area. Then he told me about the Ghost Riders.”
Odo paced behind the chair. He kept sending Sisko pointed glances. Odo early did not like having L’sthwan out in the open.
“Go on,” Sisko said.
“The old guy said that the Riders couldn’t see us. They use special ships that function slightly out of phase, and their prototype phase shifters cause violent subspace distortions. They’re hunting an energy creature that they call Espiritu. Capturing one of the beings alive brings the Riders a huge profit.” L’sthwan grinned. “I’ve been studying the Riders. I would love to go on one of their hunts with them.”
“They would let you?” Sisko asked.
“They let anyone, for a large enough fee. Even you, Commander.”
“This information does not help you, Commander,” Odo said. “Let me take him to the brig. He doesn’t need to play anymore.”
“It was an interesting story,” Sisko said. “But you haven’t told me how to save my station.”
“It’s quite simple,” L’sthwan said. “You move it, or hold on until they’re gone.”
“I would prefer to communicate with them,” Sisko said.
L’sthwan laughed. “Can you make this station vibrate to the exact wavelength as those solitrium waves? I would doubt it. It would take more energy than even the Espiritu have. No, Commander. You have to send someone to Risa. The Riders have a small headquarters there, where they take funds for the next hunt. Ask them to stay out of this area. But, of course, that won’t do much good. They go where the Espiritu go.”
THE BIG GAME Page 12