CHAPTER
18

GUL DUKAT of the Cardassian ship Ravage hailed Deep Space Nine once more. He maintained his air of decorum and pleasantry, but only just.

“Well, Commander?” prompted Dukat. “What news?”

“Your deadline has not arrived, Gul Dukat,” replied Sisko. “Or are you going back on your word?”

“It has not arrived, true. But it does loom closer. I thought I would remind you of that.”

“As you know full well, Gul, we have chronometers on board the station. They are keeping us apprised of the time very nicely, thank you.”

“That is good to know. Oh, and Commander . . . I do hope you won’t do anything to upset the delicate status quo.”

“Such as?”

“Such as raising your shields, taking offensive action, allowing any ships to depart—that sort of thing.”

“We would not raise shields unless we were attacked, Gul Dukat,” Sisko said. “Nor would we take offensive action unless we were similarly provoked. As for departures . . . many of the difficulties we’ve encountered have resulted from my determination to make certain that everyone stays put.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Thoroughly. Oh . . . and do tell that Edemian ship to keep its distance from us. Religious fanatics are always tiresome, and I have little patience with them.”

Abruptly Dax announced, “Another hail . . . from the Zealous.”

“You can tell them yourself, Gul. Considering that you both showed up here waving your weapons around, I’m not particularly inclined to be generous toward either of you. I’ll attend to my affairs, and you may feel free to do the same for yours,” said Sisko unhurriedly. “Sisko out.” And Gul Dukat’s image had barely blinked off the screen before Sisko said, “All right, let’s have the other one.”

Mencar materialized on the viewscreen. He didn’t seem to be in any better a frame of mind than earlier. “Commander! We have not yet heard from the Mas.”

“That may very well be because we’re holding him incommunicado,” Sisko said.

“We are awaiting his instructions!”

“Well, then, it’s to my advantage to keep the two of you from conversing with each other, isn’t it?”

“This is—”

“An outrage. Yes, so I’ve been told,” said Sisko.

Mencar paused a moment, as if figuring out the best way to approach the situation. “Commander,” he said slowly, “just because I wish to receive my instructions from the Mas does not mean I am incapable of taking action on my own. Furthermore, the presence of the Cardassian ship does not sit well with me. Not well at all.”

“We’re not ecstatic about the situation either. If you would like to tell the Cardassians to leave, you are welcome to try. I doubt they’ll listen to you with any greater attentiveness than they will to us.”

Mencar frowned. “Do not,” he said, “do anything to change the status quo until this matter is settled.”

“You know, Mencar,” said Sisko, his temper flaring, “I am getting somewhat tired of having everyone waving guns at me and telling me what I should and should not do. Now, here’s what I’m telling you to do: get the hell off my subspace channel and permit me to attend to more important things! Sisko out.” And he snapped off the channel.

“Were you absent from the Academy on the day they taught diplomacy, Benjamin?”

“Be quiet, old man,” said Sisko tiredly. The strain of watching his back every waking moment—and of not having a lot of sleeping moments, for that matter—was beginning to take its toll.

The turbolift rose up into Ops at that moment, and a dog-tired Miles O’Brien stepped off. His normally curly hair was matted down with sweat. His uniform was filthy, covered with dirt and scoring from the several occasions when junctures had flared during cross-routing and singed his clothes. One had apparently come even closer: Sisko noted that half of one of O’Brien’s eyebrows had been burned off.

“Chief . . . ?” Sisko was almost afraid to ask.

O’Brien nodded gamely. “ ’Sdone,” he said. He headed over to the engineering station. In the crook of his elbow he was carrying a black box with a very old-style lever switch fitted into the top. Upon seeing Sisko’s look, O’Brien told him, “We have to make do with what’s available.”

“By all means,” said Sisko.

O’Brien placed the box atop the engineering console and within moments had it wired into his main circuit board. He scanned it, checked the readings, and was apparently satisfied with what he saw. “All right,” he said. “Either this is going to work or . . . ”

“Or what?” Sisko asked, somehow suspecting he wasn’t going to like the answer he got.

“Or else it’ll blow out every system on the station,” O’Brien informed him.

“So it’s all or nothing.”

“That’s about right.”

“That’s good to hear, Chief. If, God forbid, we want to contemplate a fallback position, knowing that we haven’t got one will help me to save time down the road.”

O’Brien looked at him bleary-eyed. “You want a fallback position, sir? I can think of one, if you’d like.”

Sisko glanced at the viewscreen, on which the images of the Cardassian and Edemian ships were floating ominously.

“Somehow,” said Sisko, “I don’t think we’re really going to have a lot of time.”

Glav hadn’t seen Quark for a while. He was starting to get apprehensive. He wandered along the Promenade, looking to see where Quark might have stashed himself. But there was no sign of him.

There was, in fact, no sign of anyone.

The absence of a crowd was starting to make Glav extremely nervous . . . and then he saw Rom ambling out of a storage closet, carrying a bowl of seenash for nibbling. He put it out on the countertop, and Glav headed over to him. Rom looked up questioningly.

“Where’s Quark?” asked Glav.

“What? You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Then his eyes widened. “Did . . . the creature . . . ?”

“Oh, no! No, nothing like that.” Rom grinned and gestured around the casino. “Welcome to Rom’s.”

Glav gaped openly. “What?”

“Yup. Quark sold it to me barely an hour ago for a song, and getting off DS Nine for good.”

Glav couldn’t believe it. “How . . . how much did you pay?”

“I told you. A song. I write songs on the side, and Quark has always liked them. So I traded one, along with all rights to it, in return for the casino. Quark thinks it could be a big hit. Listen.” And in a badly off-key voice, Rom proceeded to yowl, “Oh, baby, oh, baby, now, you may think it’s queer! You say you want to travel to the Big Dipper, but I got your Big Dipper right here! Oh . . . ”

“That’s very impressive!” Glav shouted over the caterwauling.

“You think so?” asked Rom. “There are eighteen more verses.”

“Listen . . . listen to me,” said Glav. “I don’t understand. Why is Quark leaving? For that matter . . . how?”

“Oh . . . he said he decided that there’s no future for this place. I think he worked out some sort of deal with a ship that’s out there right now. He’s in his quarters packing. In fact, he may be gone already. If not, maybe another five, ten minutes at most.” He sighed. “Won’t be the same without him.”

“No . . . no, of course it won’t,” said Glav. “I . . . must go to see him off. If you’ll excuse me . . . ”

And he bolted from Rom’s—formerly Quark’s—as fast as his bowed legs would carry him.

Rasa opened his eyes.

Then he yawned rather loudly and tried to stretch . . . only to find himself encumbered by the medical unit.

Through his bleary eyes he was able to make out a familiar face smiling down at him. “Mother . . . ?” he asked.

“Yes, darling.” She bent over and kissed him on the forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“A little achy,” he said. “But . . . not like before. I feel better than I did before.” He seemed genuinely surprised by the realization. “Mother . . . am I getting better?”

She nodded. “Yes. Dr. Bashir is making you better. He’s going to give us medicine, and before you know it, you’ll be just like you used to be. You’ll be my boy again.”

Rasa leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His breathing was far more regular, and Bashir studied his vital signs with satisfaction.

Over on the other examination bed, Del snored peacefully.

Glav ran half the circle of the habitat ring before reaching Quark’s quarters. Behind him, on a tether, he was pulling a wheeled suitcase, which rolled along briskly.

Arriving at Quark’s quarters, he found the door locked. Disdaining the chime, he began to pound on the door. “Quarrrkkk!” he shouted. “You son of a space cow! Let me in! Let me—”

The door hissed open.

The light in the room was dim—dimmer than Glav was accustomed to. He thought he saw someone moving about, and he called out, “Quark! What’s going on?”

He could make out Quark’s dim outline as the Ferengi moved around in the quarters. There were suitcases out. Quark was clearly in the midst of packing. Now, though, he stopped, his back to Glav, as if he’d been caught looting someone’s home. He sighed heavily and said, “What do you want, Glav?”

Glav pulled the suitcase in after him, and the doors hissed shut. “What do I want? Quark, I thought we were partners! I thought we were business associates! I thought—”

“No,” said Quark softly, shaking his head, more subdued than usual. “No . . . that’s what I thought, because that’s what you wanted me to think. I figured it out, Glav. I figured it all out.”

“Figured what out?” Glav laughed uncertainly. “What are you talking about? First you sell your bar, then you arrange safe passage out of here . . . without thinking to extend it to me. And now you speak in riddles.”

He took a step forward, but Quark spun away, keeping his arms in front of his face and cowering in the corner in the traditional Ferengi cringe.

“Quark! What in hell has gotten into you?”

“It was you,” said Quark, his voice low and intense, still cringing. “You’re behind it. You’re behind it all.”

“Behind what all?” Glav didn’t sound quite so indignant anymore. Actually he sounded more curious than anything.

“You didn’t want to break Ferengi law, Glav—the law which says that if a deal is fairly and lawfully made, then seeking revenge—especially unprofitable revenge—is illegal. But you wanted me dead anyway. . . . Even after you had made your fortune, you still wanted my head.

“And then you encountered the shapeshifter. He was not a crazed creature, though, no. He was a cool, thoughtful assassin for hire. And he seemed the perfect agent to do your dirty work for you, because you were too much of a coward to do it yourself. And you also wanted to make absolutely sure that no evidence would point to you.”

“This is an intriguing fairy tale, Quark,” said Glav. “Please . . . go on.”

“So you hit on a plan. You brought the shapeshifter aboard DS-Nine with you, disguised as something. He then went on a killing spree, murdering innocent people. But those crimes were a smoke screen for the real target: me. And you . . . you would be in the clear, because after all, you appeared to be in as much danger as anyone else. Because the killings seemed to be the random acts of a serial killer rather than the careful scheme of an assassin. Kill a few people, kill me, kill a couple more . . . and then disappear. No one would think to investigate a homicide individually when it was just one of a string. . . . You even kept me busy with your nonsense about a plan to buy this station.”

Glav was silent for a long time.

Still cringing, Quark started to scamper backwards, bumping up against the wall. In the dim light he was a difficult target, but he was still accessible. “Glav, please . . . I’m begging you. Let me go. I . . . I won’t tell anyone!”

“Unfortunately, Quark,” said Glav, “it’s not that simple.”

His suitcase melted down. It became a mass of red and then re-formed, acquiring the surface and texture of a four-limbed being.

Meta now had two arms, two legs, and a head, but he had hardened his body into a solid red mass with only vaguely human features. Here he had no reason to ape human appearance. Here was going to be only blood and screaming and death.

He advanced on Quark, who let out a loud, terrified shriek. His begging and pleading did not register on the shapeshifter.

“A pity, Quark,” Glav told him. “For a while there I was actually starting to like you, but you have to understand . . . it’s just business.”

The metamorph took two quick steps forward, his arms became two deadly spikes, and without hesitation, without mercy, he slammed them into the upper torso of the screeching Quark. He ripped his vicious weapons in opposite directions, like a twentieth-century doctor with a rib spreader, and tore Quark apart from crotch to sternum.

Quark stumbled back, his arms pinwheeling from his shoulders, his ruined body thrashing about helplessly. And then, soundlessly, the Ferengi crashed to the floor.

Glav laughed triumphantly.