CHAPTER
4

“THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! I am doing the work of the holy K’olkr! How dare you interfere?”

The gentleman on the Ops main viewscreen was not happy. And he looked like someone who, when he was unhappy, went out of his way to make sure that as many people as possible were unhappy along with him.

He wore a hood pulled up, obscuring much of his face. But what they could see of his skin was solid ebony black. His deep-set eyes glowed red from within the folds of his hood.

O’Brien leaned over from the engineering station and muttered to Kira, “All he needs is a scythe.”

She looked at him curiously. “Why?”

He was about to explain, but decided that it would take too long. “Never mind,” he said.

From his station, Sisko tried to sound calm and reasonable. “Sir,” he said, “I appreciate your situation . . . ”

“Do you know who I am?” His voice became louder, and he practically thundered, “I am Mas Marko! I am one of the premier spiritual leaders of the entire Edema system! I am the voice of the spirit of K’olkr. Who are you to tell me that I cannot follow his will?”

Sisko was one of those people who, the angrier people got at him, the more composed he became. It was as if he fed off the hostile energy. “I,” he said, “am the commander of Deep Space Nine who is endeavoring to save your life. The wormhole is, at this time, closed to all travel. We sent out warnings about it; we were very specific.”

“Commander, your warnings mean nothing to one who has heard the word of the spirit of K’olkr. He has told me that I am to do his work in the Gamma Quadrant. I am to spread the message of his truth. I am,” he said fervently, “charged with a sacred mission to spread his word. Compared to that most holy duty, Commander, your warnings—restricted by the concerns of mere mortal existence—are of no relevance.”

“Is that a fact? Very well, Mas Marko, I make you this offer,” said Sisko, unruffled by Marko’s belligerent tone. “My first officer will feed through to your shipboard computers a replay of the events related to the subspace compression of the Bajoran wormhole.” He didn’t even have to turn in order to know that Kira was doing as he had mentioned. “I ask that you view them. Then touch base with the spirit of K’olkr and see what he has to say about it. If he still encourages you to commit suicide, I won’t stand in your way.”

“Are you mocking me?” Mas Marko said dangerously.

“Not at all. I’m speaking the truth. You see, Mas Marko, as your viewing of the incident in question will testify, you won’t have a prayer once you enter the wormhole. So all I’m saying is that you might as well get your praying in now. Sisko out.”

The screen went blank, and Sisko turned to Kira. She nodded and said, “All right . . . it’s been sent through.”

“You weren’t serious, Benjamin,” Dax said. “Were you? I mean, you wouldn’t really let them . . . ”

“If I were a cynic,” Sisko said dryly, “I would say that if Mas Marko and his party are stupid enough to hurl themselves into oblivion for no reason, then the galaxy’s gene pool is well rid of them. I am not, however, a cynic. Chief, bring tractor beams on line.”

“Aye, sir,” said O’Brien.

“The Edemian ship will be in range in . . . ?” He looked questioningly at Kira.

“Twenty-two minutes,” she told him.

“Twenty-two minutes. Prepare to snag the Edemian ship before it gets within range of the wormhole.”

“To be fair, sir,” Kira pointed out, “you did say you wouldn’t stop them from going in if they wanted to.”

“I lied, Major.”

She smiled. “Good for you, sir.”

It did not, however, come down to the question of whether or not Sisko should have kept his word. Because less than two minutes later Mas Marko’s dark image once again appeared on the screen.

This time, however, he sounded somewhat less aggressive than before.

“K’olkr has had a change of heart,” said Mas Marko. To Sisko’s great surprise, Marko even sounded amused at his own words.

“How fortunate for all of you,” Sisko dead-panned.

Marko took a step closer to the screen, his eyes glowing brighter. “Commander,” he said, “I am not a fanatic. I have no desire to see myself or my family become fodder for a cosmic anomaly. Obviously the work of K’olkr cannot be accomplished by his servants if his servants have had their molecules scattered across thousands of light years.”

“I admit I am not familiar with K’olkr,” said Sisko, “but from where I stand, he seems a rather reasonable deity.”

“I may indeed have the opportunity to sway you over to his view of the universe,” Mas Marko said thoughtfully. “Presuming, that is, that you can find room for me and my followers at Deep Space Nine until the wormhole is safe for passage. The trip from Edema has been a lengthy one; I have no desire to turn around and end this mission prematurely if that can be avoided.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Myself, two retainers, and my wife and son.”

“That will not be a hardship,” said Sisko. “When you are within range, we will specify docking instructions.”

“It will be a pleasure to chat with you in person,” said Marko. The screen blinked off.

Sisko let out a slow breath.

“How pleasant,” Kira said, “to see that we aren’t dealing with a fanatic. That could just as easily have gone the other way.”

“Yes. But just to make sure . . . monitor them very carefully once they get within range. Their warp-coil emissions in particular. If those accelerate, it will be the first indicator that they’re going to make a run past us and try to get into the wormhole.”

“But Marko said they would stay here until the wormhole is passable.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a monopoly on lying, Major.”

 

The Edemian ship, however, made no suicidal run at the wormhole. Indeed, once the course of action had been decided upon, the ship glided to the docking ring with nary a complaint or whisper of trouble. Sisko, deciding to exercise protocol, was on hand to greet them personally. He also decided to exercise caution, and for that reason he took Odo with him.

Mas Marko was the first off.

Sisko and Odo looked up.

And up.

Marko was nearly seven feet tall, it seemed. He had to bend over slightly to get through the docking bay door. But he did it so smoothly that it was clear he was quite accustomed to situations that were inconvenient for someone of his height.

What impressed Sisko most was that he didn’t walk so much as glide, as if he had wheels instead of feet. For all Sisko knew, he did, for his robes trailed down to the floor and whisked about the deck.

He’d heard O’Brien’s whispered wisecrack earlier and now was certain that there was indeed some merit in it. If Mas Marko had been carrying a scythe, he would indeed have been the image of the Grim Reaper.

This impression was diluted somewhat when Mas Marko pulled back his hood. His face was still a gleaming ebony, but now enough features could be discerned to give him a somewhat human aspect.

His eyes still gleamed a disconcerting red, however.

“Commander Sisko.” He spoke slowly, as if giving thoughtful weight to every syllable. His voice was deep and seemed to originate from somewhere around his shoes.

“Mas Marko. An honor.”

“You seem a bit surprised, Commander.”

“I admit,” said Sisko, “that when major dignitaries arrive, they are usually preceded by their entourage. Standard-bearers, as it were, announcing their leader’s arrival.”

“How egocentric,” said Marko mildly. “And somewhat disingenuous in depicting their station in life. I am Mas Marko, Commander. I am my people’s leader. What sort of leader would I be . . . if I merely followed?”

“As you say. This is Security Chief Odo.”

“An honor.” He seemed to regard Sisko with some amusement. “Security chief? Are you anticipating difficulty, Commander?”

“I always anticipate difficulty,” Sisko said easily. “Ninety percent of the time, there isn’t any. But I’d rather be wrong ninety percent of the time so that I can be prepared to be right that irritating ten percent. Because those are the times when my people’s welfare is on the line.”

Mas Marko appeared to consider that. “A very reasonable approach,” he said at last.

He turned and extended a large hand in the direction of the airlock. Several other Edemians now emerged from behind him—two males, a female, and a child. They were somewhat shorter than he, but still hovering around the six-foot range, except for the child, who was a more reasonable five feet. Then again, for all Sisko knew, the boy might be at an age where, if he were human, he’d be averaging around three feet.

They are one tall damned race, thought Sisko.

All were dressed in flowing robes, but the patterns were far brighter, less solemn, than Marko’s own. Perhaps, Sisko reasoned, Marko’s robes were a sign of his office. Either that or he just liked to look ominous.

The two males stepped forward first. As near as Sisko could determine, they were almost indistinguishable from each other. “This is Del,” said Marko, “and this is Lobb.”

“An honor, sir,” said Del, bending slightly at the waist.

Lobb seemed a good deal less formal. “Handshakes, right?” he asked. His voice sounded younger than Del’s although it was impossible to truly discern his age based on his face.

“Pardon?”

“Humans do handshakes. Is that correct?”

“Uh . . . yes,” said Sisko. “That is correct.”

Lobb pumped his hand, and Sisko endeavored not to wince at the strength of the grip. “A pleasure, sir.”

“Lobb is new to missionary work,” said Mas Marko. “His enthusiasm is rather contagious. It gives me fond recollections of my days as a novice.”

“We’re going to do K’olkr’s work,” said Lobb, still shaking Sisko’s hand. “There is no greater honor than that.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Sisko politely disengaged his hand. As he flexed his fingers to restore circulation, Marko gestured for the woman and boy to come forward. They did so, with that same remarkable glide effect.

“She who is my mate,” said Mas Marko. His voice sounded slightly more formal. “Azira, daughter of Eweeun and Kragar. Out of deference to your rank, Commander, you may address her as Azira. And my son, Rasa, who supports the spirit of K’olkr and hopes to enter into the presence of his holiness pure of thought and deed.”

Sisko blinked. Something about that introduction sounded just a little . . . strange.

If there was anything odd about it, Azira did not let on. She bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction. Rasa did likewise.

Sisko stared at Rasa for a moment. There was something in the boy’s eyes, something in his demeanor . . . 

“Commander,” said Mas Marko, sounding curious, “is there a problem?”

“No,” said Sisko gamely. “No. No problem at all. Azira . . . Rasa . . .  a pleasure to meet you both.”

Azira smiled—an amazingly sweet smile, considering the fierce-looking face that the mouth was a part of.

Rasa did not do anything. He simply stood there.

Trying not to be distracted by the lack of vigor in the boy, Sisko said, “The constable here will guide you to your quarters. You have free access to any unrestricted area of DS-Nine, although I’d explore the Promenade cautiously if I were you. Some of the inhabitants there can be somewhat . . . rowdy.”

“Rowdy.” Marko’s interest seemed piqued. “Without religion, one would think?”

“Depends how you define ‘religion.’ They worship drinking, gambling, and profits. They’re as fervent about that as the holiest of men about their own respective gods. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Marko said. “Indeed, we may be performing K’olkr’s will, despite our original intention of passing through to the Gamma Quadrant. It is possible that he has arranged for this . . . what did you call the wormhole’s condition?”

“Subspace compression.”

“Yes. He might have arranged for this compression expressly so that we could spend some more time here at your station spreading his word to those who need it.”

“K’olkr moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform,” said Sisko.

Mas Marko looked at him as if truly seeing him for the first time.

“That is very profound, Commander,” he said. “Do you mind if I quote you on that?”

“Not at all,” Sisko said, as generously as he could.

“This way, please.” Odo gestured to the turbolifts.

Mas Marko and his entourage preceded them. But Sisko held Odo back just long enough to say in a low voice, “If they wander about the Promenade, keep an eye on them. We don’t need Marko or his people getting roughed up if any of the Promenade inhabitants feel disinclined to convert to the ways of K’olkr.”

Odo nodded his understanding and followed the Edemians. “Please be careful in the turbolifts,” he called. “They can be a little bumpy.”

Sisko shook his head and was about to head back to Ops when his comm badge beeped. He tapped it. “Sisko here.”

“Commander,” came Kira’s voice. “We have another arrival. This one’s unexpected. Is Odo there?”

“He’s guiding the Mas Marko party to the habitat ring.”

“A suggestion, then, sir: we may want to keep our new guest in the docking ring until Odo can handle him personally. This is definitely a security matter, and considering what’s involved, the constable will probably want to deal with it himself.”

Sisko was confused. Kira was describing a situation that sounded as if it had the makings of being very dangerous, but the tone of her voice suggested that she was entertained rather than alarmed. Trying to get a handle on it, Sisko asked, “Is it another frustrated wormhole passenger?”

“Actually, no. He’s here specifically to do business with someone on Deep Space Nine.”

“Oh, really? Who?”

 

“Quark . . . ”

The Ferengi recognized Odo’s voice even before he turned around. Quark’s face bore his typical expression when dealing with Odo: smugly confident, but with a bit of caution. After all, he never knew when Odo might have something on him.

He turned slowly, saying, “What can I do for—”

But the words caught in his throat.

There was a Ferengi standing next to Odo. He had a singular triangle of brown spots on his eye ridge. He grinned at Quark, exposing his sharp and fairly vicious-looking teeth to their best advantage.

“Quaaaaark,” he said in a low drawl.

Quark uttered a small shriek and promptly assumed the defensive posture commonly known as the Ferengi cringe. He held one arm out as if to ward off an enemy, and the other encircled his head so that, if something hideous did happen to him, he wouldn’t see it or hear it.

He backed up rapidly, knocking over a table.

The other Ferengi, standing next to Odo, looked up at the constable calmly. “I told you he’d react this way.”

“Keep your distance, Glav!” Quark said shrilly. “Just . . . just keep your distance!”

“Oh, stop it, Quark,” Odo said. His patience with the rodentlike Ferengi was not great to begin with, and this was pushing it far beyond its tolerance. “I’m not going to let him do anything to you.”

“Oh, reaaaallly.” Quark’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. He had backed up against a wall—another common Ferengi maneuver, that way, no one could attack from behind. “And you would just be sooo upset if something happened to me, wouldn’t you, Odo?”

“If it happened here, yes,” Odo said firmly. “I put aside my personal feelings when it comes to enforcing the law. If I didn’t, Quark, I can assure you that something would have happened to you a long time ago. Glav here wants to talk.”

“Glav here wants to see me stripped naked and strangled with my own entrails!”

“You’re confusing Glav with me,” came Odo’s sarcastic reply.

Glav held up his hands, looking as nonthreatening as a Ferengi could possibly look. “Sir,” he said to Odo, “I believe I can clear this up.”

Odo folded his arms and waited.

“Some years ago I had a major investment deal going on,” Glav told him. “I had put all my personal fortune on the line to ensure that it would go through. And then Quark here came swooping in and persuaded my clients to bargain with him instead. He undercut me, offering the same material at a lower price.”

“I did nothing wrong!” snarled Quark. “Everything was done in accordance with the Ferengi law of dealing! Besides . . . I was a youngster back then. You can’t hold me accountable just because—”

“Because I was driven into bankruptcy,” said Glav. “I had extended my credit too far. My creditors wanted payment. I had failed to make the sale. They took practically everything. I was ruined.”

“And now he’s come back for revenge!” Quark reassumed the Ferengi cringe.

“No, Quark. I’ve come back here to tell you that it all worked out for the best—for better than the best.”

This prompted Quark to peer out from under his own elbow. “What do you mean?”

“I was left with only one thing, Quark—some property on Xerxes Six that was deemed so worthless that no one took it from me. I went there to live . . . and, I admit, to nurse dark thoughts against you. But—” He paused dramatically.

Quark, curious in spite of himself, slowly lowered his arm. “But what?”

“I started doing geological surveys.” Glav smiled raggedly at his own ingenuity. “The preliminary surveys when I first arrived revealed nothing of interest, but I had time on my hands, so I probed deeper. And I found a massive deposit of calvinum.”

Quark gasped. “Ca . . . calvinum?”

“That’s right. The stuff that the Byfrexians use to power their ship engines. The stuff is in remarkably short supply.”

“The Byfrexians will pay an arm and a leg for even a gram of it!”

“Bah! Arms and legs I have no use for. Two million bars of gold-pressed latinum, however . . . ”

Quark put his hand to his chest. “Tuh . . . tuh . . . tuh . . . ”He gulped. “Two . . . muh . . . muh—”

“Million,” said Odo peevishly. “Oh, do get on with it.”

“There’s not much more to get on with,” said Glav. “I’m rich, Quark—‘rich beyond the dreams of avarice.’ If it hadn’t been for you, I’d still be eking out a living wheeling and dealing, not knowing that I had a fortune right under my nose. I even made a few safe investments, and I’ve doubled my fortune since then.”

A crafty look crossed Quark’s face. “This is a con! That’s it! He’s coming in here pretending he’s rich so he can pull some sort of scam on me! Get my place away from me!”

Glav looked around Quark’s establishment with barely concealed disdain. “Why would I possibly want it? Look, Quark . . . you don’t have to believe me. Run a thorough check on me using the Ferengi Bureau of Audit. I’m listed on the exchange; my net worth is no secret. I’m proud of it—wouldn’t you be?”

He stepped forward and took Quark firmly by the shoulders. Quark flinched, still expecting a sudden blow to land on the top of his head.

“Luck was with you, Quark. With both of us,” said Glav. “Bear you ill will? Pfaw! In a way, I owe you everything. As I said, check me out. Satisfy yourself through as many different sources as possible. I’ll keep my distance from you until you’re ready to talk with me. Because once you are ready, Quark, I’m going to make you a very, very rich Ferengi.”

He released Quark and stepped back. He nodded slightly toward Odo and said, “Thank you, sir. I can find my way from here.” And he turned and strolled casually down the Promenade, hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like someone who had everything he could possibly want.

Quark watched him go and then muttered, “I don’t trust him for a second.”

“No reason you should,” said Odo. “We know how far we can trust Ferengi.”

“Yes, we know how . . . ” Quark began to echo, but then he caught himself and gave Odo a dirty look. Odo walked away without further comment.

 

“You have been doing a most impressive job with the station, Commander,” said the Cardassian. “Gul Dukat is most impressed.”

They were sitting in Sisko’s office. Sisko was more than aware of the occasional look of utter revulsion that Kira delivered in the Cardassian’s general direction. Wisely, however, she kept silent, not particularly trusting herself.

Sisko nodded. “Thank you, Gotto. And you may report to Gul Dukat that he is welcome here at any time.”

Gotto smiled thinly at that. “Oh . . . Gul Dukat hardly believes that to be the case. That is why he has sent me, his trusted envoy, to do his business for him.”

“And his business is . . . ?

“His.”

“I see.” He paused. “And Deep Space Nine is my business. And where those two overlap . . . I do not like being unaware.”

They regarded each other for a moment, and then Gotto shrugged. “Oh, it’s of no consequence, truly. Gul Dukat simply likes to keep all those aboard this station subtly aware of the Cardassian presence. To do otherwise would be a sign of weakness. I am instructed to spend the next several days mingling, chatting, making myself seen. That is really the extent of it. You do not have a problem with that, do you, Commander?”

“Of course not,” said Sisko calmly. “As long as that is all you intend to do. Who could possibly find fault with that?”

“We have an understanding, then.” The Cardassian slapped his thighs and rose from the chair.

At that moment Dr. Bashir walked into Sisko’s office.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked.

“Dr. Bashir . . . Gotto Lon,” said Sisko. “Gotto Lon was just leaving.”

“A pleasure as always,” said Gotto, and he walked out of the office.

As the Cardassian left, Sisko motioned for Bashir to sit. “Doctor, how well informed are you on Edemians?”

Bashir smiled. If there was one thing on which he prided himself, besides his looks, it was his expertise in multi-species medicine. Indeed, his encyclopedic knowledge amazed Sisko, although he tried not to let on.

“Fairly conversant, sir,” he said. “They’re a fairly hardy race.”

“Would you know a sick one if you saw him?”

“Just on sight? Possibly. If I examined him, definitely.”

“A group of them just arrived on DS-Nine. One of them—the youngest—seems a bit . . . off. Nothing I can put my finger on . . . ”

“Was he bleeding? Coughing? Anything overt?”

“No,” admitted Sisko. “Nothing overt, but . . . well, Doctor, all I can tell you is that when you’re a parent, you develop a sixth sense about these things.”

“It happens occasionally to doctors, too,” Bashir said soberly. “Do you want me to go to their quarters?”

“Not yet. I’m still uncertain enough about this that I don’t want to make too much of it. The Edemians shouldn’t be difficult to spot; they’ll probably set up shop in the Promenade and try to do missionary work among the poor godless denizens therein.”

“Indeed? Then they have their work cut out for them.”

“I agree. I want you to get close to them. Observe what you can. And if you deem it necessary, bring the youngest one to the infirmary for in-depth testing.”

“And if they object?”

“They do not have that option. This is a closed environment, Doctor. I’m in favor of being tactful, but the bottom line is . . . if the boy is carrying a disease, we’ll have to isolate him. I have no desire to see another virus get loose in this station. Do you?”

“No, sir,” said Bashir, shuddering inside. Not long ago an aphasia virus had gripped the entire station. That nightmare had nearly resulted in the death of practically everyone on board. The only ones who had proven immune were Quark and Odo.

Odo had privately told Bashir that for him, the possibility of everyone on the station dying was only part of the problem. The true horror for Odo was his concern that he and Quark were both carriers . . . which meant that they could not leave DS9. Ever. With the station quarantined, and with no way of filtering the virus out of the air, Odo and Quark would have been stuck together forever on the empty station, each being the only living individual for the other to converse with. “You, at least, would have been dead,” Odo had informed Bashir archly. “For me, the nightmare would have just begun.”

“All right, then, Doctor,” said Sisko. “Thank you. That’s all. And keep me apprised.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

 

Several other travelers—two humans, a Tellarite, and a Boffin—stopped at Deep Space Nine for a variety of reasons. None of them were particularly pleased to learn that the wormhole was closed to passage until further notice, but all seemed willing to make the best of a difficult situation.

And down in one of the ships that had docked along the great outer ring of Deep Space Nine . . . 

A suitcase began to move.

It seemed to melt, becoming a thick mass of gelatinous goo. And then it oozed forward.

It flowed out of the ship and into the airlock. The seal into the docking bay was airtight, but the mass did not attempt to break it. Instead it moved up and along the paneling until it found a section that seemed weak enough.

The slime drew back, as if coalescing for a fleeting moment into a fist, and then it punched through the paneling. The panel crumbled under the impact, and the mass seeped through and around the heavy docking clamps.

Within seconds it had made its way along the clamps and reached the far end of the airlock. It was only a moment’s work for the slime to push out another panel and trickle down onto the floor.

Then the mass started to come together, to re-form. It became a small tower of ooze, and then it assumed form and definition.

Within moments it had morphed into a passable imitation of a humanoid.

It looked down at its hands, touched its face, and nodded in satisfaction.

The metamorph walked away from the docking bay. Within minutes it had reached the Promenade deck and was mingling freely with the other denizens of the station.

Deep Space Nine was under siege.

But no one knew it yet.