The door signal chimed, sounding twice, indicating that somebody had come to her office via the corridor, rather than through the Hub. Ro turned from the replicator and said, “Come in.” The door panels parted and withdrew into the bulkhead, revealing Asarem Wadeen. Two members of her protective detail stood behind her, and Ro knew that, even though she couldn’t see them, two of DS9’s own security team also attended her.
“First Minister,” Ro said, surprised by the visit—and also wary of it. She had not lost sight of the fact that she had arrested Asarem’s chief of staff for the murder of the Federation president. “Please come in.”
Asarem entered the office by herself, and the doors whisked closed behind her. The first minister wore a puce, calf-length dress, with a chocolate-colored bolero jacket. She looked elegant and professional, though signs of strain showed on her face. “I trust I’m not interrupting,” she said.
“Not at all,” Ro said. “Please, have a seat.” She waved in the direction of her sofa. Asarem walked over and sat down. “I was just thinking of getting myself a glass of juice. May I offer you something?”
“No, thank you, Captain,” Asarem said. “I won’t be staying long. In fact, one of the reasons I’ve come is to let you know that I’m leaving for Bajor.”
Ro crossed the compartment and took a seat at the other end of the sofa. “Thank you for informing me, Minister,” she said. “Obviously, I wish we could have hosted you here in better circumstances.”
Asarem nodded. “I also came here to thank you for your handling of this situation. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t easy only because of what caused the need for our arrest of Enkar Sirsy,” Ro said. “Honestly, there were no political considerations for me. Enkar was captured almost in the act of the crime, and the evidence against her is exceedingly strong.”
The first minister looked down into her lap, where she folded her hands together. When she looked back up, the expression on her face displayed determination. “Notwithstanding all of that evidence, I stand by my chief of staff.”
Ro didn’t quite know how to respond. Since Enkar had been taken into custody, Asarem had mentioned more than once that she had trouble believing that a woman she’d known for fifteen years, a woman with whom she had worked in close proximity for a decade, could have committed the heinous crime of which she’d been accused. Ro had listened to those plaints, but she had not addressed them. It seemed clear, though, that Asarem wanted her to say something.
“Minister, I can certainly understand why all of this bothers you,” Ro said, trying to find her way to a diplomatic reply. “I’ve known Enkar Sirsy for almost ten years myself, and I never would have predicted her doing anything even remotely like this. I can’t explain it. I can only have my crew collect and analyze all the available evidence.”
“I understand that, Captain,” Asarem said. “Please understand me, though: I am not complaining to you that somebody I know and like is not guilty because I know and like her, or because her guilt could cause me considerable political strife. I am telling you that Enkar Sirsy could not have assassinated President Bacco so that you will not lose sight of the need to find out who actually did so.”
“We have not stopped searching for additional evidence, or analyzing the evidence we’ve already collected,” Ro said. “I can assure you that we all want to learn the truth and to ensure that President Bacco’s assassin faces justice, and holding an innocent person responsible would satisfy neither of those aims. If anything casts the slightest doubt on Enkar’s guilt, it will be brought to light.”
“The next time you speak with your chief of security,” Asarem said, “you will learn that I have questioned one small piece of evidence already.” The statement surprised Ro, both because of the first minister’s claim, and because she hadn’t heard anything from Blackmer. “I asked to read the statement that your security chief made about him finding Sirsy. He declared that she was lying on the floor and possibly unconscious when he first saw her.”
“That is my understanding,” Ro said cautiously, not wanting to contribute to any sort of misunderstanding that had arisen.
“Lieutenant Commander Blackmer also asserted that the weapon used to . . . used against the president lay on the floor beside Sirsy’s right hand,” Asarem went on. “But Sirsy is left-handed.”
The first minister’s contention reminded Ro of a plot point she might have read in a mystery novel. “I will check on those details,” she told Asarem. “I believe what you say, but even if it’s true, I’m afraid that it is hardly irrefutable proof of Enkar’s innocence. Assuming that she is guilty but invented her story of not remembering what happened, she could well have placed the weapon beside her right hand specifically in an attempt to sow doubt.”
“I grant you that the possible inconsistency I’ve identified is a slight detail,” Asarem said. “I mention it only to suggest to you that all may not be as it seems to be.” She stood up and started toward the door, and Ro followed. “I urge you not to abandon your search for the truth, Captain. Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you, First Minister.”
Asarem exited, and the captain watched her go. Even after the door closed, Ro stood there, trying to evaluate her brief conversation with the first minister. She had always read Asarem as genuine, although most certainly a politician. Ro couldn’t tell if the first minister had been looking for some sort of political cover by saying what she had, or if she meant to coerce—or even threaten—the captain.
Or maybe she just really believes in her chief of staff ’s innocence, she thought.
Alone in her office, Ro shook her head. “You know what?” she said aloud. “I do need a drink.”
She left her office, headed for Quark’s.
• • •
Lieutenant Commander Nog peeked inside the cabin, stealing one last look at his half sister as she lay sleeping in her bed. When Bena had been born, he’d thought her combination of Ferengi and Bajoran characteristics an unfortunate mix: the outsize shape of her head and her wide nose, joined with rhinal ridges and a patch of brown hair, along with ears too small by one standard and too large by the other. Just shy of her ninth birthday, though, she had become a darling little girl. Her hair had grown long and full, and she wore it down over her ears. Nog thought that her wide Ferengi nose with Bajoran folds lent her an exotic look. Of course, he might have been a bit biased.
Nog stepped back and let the door ease soundlessly closed. He walked back to the center of the living area of his father’s quarters aboard Wealth. “She’s so adorable,” he said.
Rom looked up from where he sat beside Leeta on the sofa. “I know,” he said. “She takes after her mother.”
“Oh,” Leeta said, reaching over to place a hand atop Rom’s chest. She had her shoes off and her legs curled up beneath her. “Nobody could be cuter than you.”
“She’s got Leeta’s brain too,” Rom said. “Bena knows all the Rules of Acquisition, and she can name every single grand nagus, all the way back to Gint, in order.” He beamed with a father’s pride.
“And she can list every single kai, all the way up to Pralon Onala,” Leeta added.
Nog smiled around his mouthful of sharp, misaligned teeth—an act that felt very good after the past few days on DS9. The murder of the Federation president had been horrible by itself, but it still made Nog shudder to think that, just moments earlier, his father had stood exactly where Bacco had when she’d been killed. He thanked the Great Exchequer that Rom had not been a victim himself.
Not wanting to dwell on what had happened, he told his father and Leeta, “I think you two might already have mentioned all that about Bena.” Lately, every single message that Nog received from them included a catalogue of his sister’s most recent feats. “You two probably expect her to become the grand nagus and the kai.”
Leeta looked abashed, pulling her head into her shoulders, and she turned toward Rom.
&nbs
p; “She could do it,” he said. “If she wanted to, I’m sure she could do both jobs.”
Nog just shook his head, while Leeta laughed. “You really are the proud papa, aren’t you?” she said.
“Absolutely I am.” Rom actually puffed out his chest. “My son was the first Ferengi in Starfleet, so why couldn’t my daughter be the first Bajoran nagus and the first Ferengi kai?”
Leeta sat up, still smiling. “No reason whatsoever,” she said. She stood and walked over to Nog. “I hate to have to say good-bye, but I’m really tired.” She opened her arms and hugged him.
“That’s all right,” Nog said. “It was so good to see you, even if . . .” He had no interest in finishing his sentence and mentioning the assassination, and so he didn’t. “Have a good trip back to Ferenginar.”
Rom rose from the sofa as well. “Uh, I was thinking about going to say good-bye to Quark.”
“Your brother just left here an hour ago,” Leeta said. “We already said our farewells.”
“I know,” Rom said, “but I don’t get to see him very often these days.”
“I’ll go with you,” Nog chimed in, and Rom looked pleadingly at Leeta.
“Oh, all right,” she said, and then she pointed at Nog. “Don’t you let your father stay out too late; he hasn’t gotten very much sleep the last few nights.”
None of us has, Nog thought but didn’t say.
As Leeta crossed the living area toward their bedroom, Nog and Rom headed out of the cabin and toward the hatch that would take them to Deep Space 9. The nagal bodyguards—a pair of muscle-bound bruisers from Clarus IV—followed behind them. When the group reached the starbase, two Starfleet security officers joined them as well. They all boarded a turbolift, which Nog directed to take them to Quark’s.
“Obviously this trip didn’t turn out like you planned,” Nog told his father.
“Not like any of us planned,” Rom agreed.
“But I’m still glad that I got to see you, Father.”
“I’m glad I got to see you too,” Rom said. “This is really quite a starbase you’ve designed and built.”
“Well, I didn’t do it by myself.”
“No, of course not,” Rom said. “But you’re a good engineer. I can tell that there’s a lot of you in this place.”
“Thank you, Father.” Rom’s pride gratified Nog more than he could say.
“So . . . how is my brother doing?” Rom asked. “Really?”
“I think he’s doing quite well these days, actually,” Nog said.
“Really? I know he tells me that when he sends me messages on Ferenginar, but there have been so few people in the bar since we got here. And my brother did nothing but complain.”
“Oh, you know Uncle Quark,” Nog said as the turbolift slowed to a stop. “If he earned all the latinum in the quadrant, he’d complain that he had no place to keep it.”
Rom chuckled as the doors opened. “That does sound like my brother.” He and Nog stepped out into the atrium and headed toward the outer circle of the Plaza.
“The place he opened on Bajor has done really well, and even though he’s moved to Deep Space Nine, he’s still going to keep it,” Nog said. “And the reason that the bar here has been mostly empty is that the crew were so busy getting the station ready for full operation, and then after what happened . . .” Again, Nog chose not to mention the obvious. “Once all the new civilian residents arrive and we open for business, Uncle Quark’s will be packed, I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” Rom said. “For his sake.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Nog said. “He’ll be—” As they reached the wide main walkway of the Plaza and turned left toward Quark’s, Nog stopped talking. “Do you hear that, Father?”
“I do,” Rom said. “Voices . . . coming from Quark’s.”
“I thought the place might be empty tonight, but I guess not.”
As they neared the bar, Nog realized that, although the place might not be empty, the customers spoke in quiet tones. Rather than the raucous environment Quark preferred to promote, and that typically produced greater profits, it sounded more like the hushed conversations heard in the presence of liquidators from the Ferengi Commerce Authority. That seemed understandable, considering the mood on the starbase.
“I hear Chief O’Brien,” Rom said as they continued toward the bar.
“I do too,” Nog said, listening. He tried to distinguish other voices. “I also hear Doctor Bashir . . . and Captain Ro.”
As they reached the bar, Nog saw a handful of people scattered throughout the first level, with the largest contingent seated around a sizable table near the center. Chief O’Brien, Doctor Bashir, and Captain Ro all sat there, as did Captain Dax and even Captain Sisko. “Look,” Rom said, gesturing toward one end of the bar. “I thought he was on Bajor.”
Nog peered over to where his father pointed. “As far as I know, he mostly is,” he said. “But Uncle Quark said he’s been in a couple of times in the last few days. He was waiting for a Starfleet vessel to arrive, but after what happened, there’ve been a lot of changes in ship assignments.”
“After all the bickering they used to do,” Rom said, “they look like old friends.”
Nog regarded Quark’s relaxed pose, one elbow up on the bar and talking out of one side of his mouth to Odo. “Uncle always said that the constable loved him.”
Nog and Rom entered the bar, leaving the nagal bodyguards and the Starfleet security officers to ensure their safety at a remove. As his father walked over toward Quark, Nog stopped at the table with his current and past crewmates. “Would it be all right if my father and I joined you?” he asked.
To a person, they all said yes.
Twenty-two
The trek through the caverns had never gone smoother or faster for Keev Anora. She hadn’t needed to employ tools or explosives in any confined locations, as she’d expected to have to do; somehow, the ark containing the Tear of Destiny managed to clear each tight space, and even she seemed to move herself more easily through those same areas. In what felt like half the time it normally required, Keev reached the final stretch of the cave that would take her out the other side of the Merzang Mountains.
When she saw daylight up ahead, excitement overwhelmed her, and she began to run. The beam of her beacon swung wildly across the cave walls as she ran, its light becoming more and more difficult to discern as the tunnel grew brighter. She held the ark firmly in her arms, one side rapping against her chest as she dashed forward.
Keev exited the cave at a sprint, but then she stopped at once, nearly losing her balance and tumbling to the ground. She had not emerged on the road to Shavalla. Beneath clear blue skies, she saw no road, but a rolling, sun-bathed grassland. Trees of various shapes and sizes dotted the landscape, interspersed with low-lying foliage. Flowers of various hues lent color to the verdant setting.
Keev looked back at the entrance to the cave. She did not see that either. Instead, she saw a coarse, rocky plain marching away from her, with sheer cliffs rising up on either side. Above, blue sky disappeared from view behind a roiling mass of unbroken gray clouds. Flashes of lightning illuminated the scene in staccato bursts.
Between the two dichotomous vistas, a wide chasm split the land, extending from one ridged rock face to the other. At its center, a series of columns rose at intervals between the two sides of the canyon, and support beams lay across them, while still more beams formed a deck. The structure bridged the wide gap and glowed from within, blue and white streamers of movement flowing through them.
Did I do that? Kira asked herself. Did I build that?
She didn’t know, but a wisp of memory occurred to her, an image of herself carrying beams, setting them in place, scanning them, calibrating them. But not across a chasm, Kira thought. Through a tunnel.
She turned again, away from the canyon. She thought that she’d been carrying something, but her empty hands came together in the open air before her. Up ahead, though, she s
aw her destination, remembered striking out toward it when she’d been on the other side of the chasm.
An Orb of the Prophets.
The sparkling hourglass shape hovered just above the grass. It spun slowly in space, emitting an otherworldly green-white glow. I have to go to it, Kira thought. I have to learn what it has to tell me.
She started forward. As she drew nearer, she expected the ground to shatter, for brilliant white light to engulf her. None of that happened.
Finally, after a journey she didn’t know if she could explain, Kira stood before the hallowed artifact. She waited for what would happen next, neither anxious nor fearful. She trusted in the Prophets.
Suddenly, the green radiance of the Orb reached out toward Kira. It swirled around her for an instant, then seemed to coalesce in the center of her body. The light flared a dazzling white.
And then she was gone.
Twenty-three
Lieutenant Commander Sarina Douglas read through the latest pass she’d made at the duty roster. Since she finally knew for sure that they’d begin the arrival process for Deep Space 9’s ten thousand new residents in two days, she needed to firm up the assignments of security personnel. She and Blackmer had been working on putting it together over the prior week or so, but the assassination had changed everything.
Fortunately, things have calmed down, she thought, although she couldn’t claim that things had returned to normal. Still, with each day that passed, members of the crew seemed to lose some of the glaze that appeared in just about everybody’s eyes. And it’ll help even more if we can get the assassin off the station.
The thought of Enkar Sirsy triggered Douglas to look up from where she sat at a desk in one of the offices in the stockade complex. A viewscreen on the bulkhead displayed an image of the assassin’s cell. The first minister’s red-haired chief of staff sat in the center of her bunk, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. She rocked forward and back, not much, just a few centimeters, but she kept moving. She’d begun doing that the day before, perhaps after her initial captivity had convinced her that she might never taste freedom again.
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