Star Trek: Terok Nor 02: Night of the Wolves (34 page)

The boy cleared his throat noisily. “My name’s Bis,” he said, the proclamation clearly directed at Laren. His voice was deep, but not quite like a grown man’s; there was still a ragged softness to it. He took a step toward her. He extended his hand to her, and it was then that she flinched, as though she thought he meant to strike her. Ro wasn’t much for shaking hands, and in fact, she supposed she had never really done it before that she could remember; she’d only seen adults do it from time to time. To her chagrin, Bis laughed at her. “What’s the matter?”

She put her own hand out, her cheeks burning, and shook with him, without making eye contact. “This is all very friendly and everything,” she said loudly and sharply, “but just where do you propose we sleep tonight? We haven’t brought our bedrolls or anything like that—”

“Laren, you let me worry about that,” Bram snapped, bossy as always.

“We’ve got plenty of room at my house,” Juk suggested, but Bram quickly began shaking his head.

“No, no, we wouldn’t dream of it. Just find us an empty building and we’ll curl up in a corner. Even under a grove of trees—we don’t need much.”

Laren shot him an
are-you-crazy
look, for though it was true that she had often been reduced to sleeping in some very unaccommodating places, she couldn’t imagine turning down an actual bed to do so.

“Let’s take them to speak to Keeve,” Mace suggested. “And then we can figure out where we’ll put them for the night.”

Juk and Mace went on talking, and Laren pulled Bram aside, speaking in hushed tones. “Why are you turning down his offer of a decent place to stay? Is it just that you like to be miserable?”

“I saw the way that boy was looking at you,” Bram whispered. “We’ll not be sleeping in their house.”

Laren was indignant. “Now I
know
you’re crazy,” she said. “You would put a phaser in my hand, train me to fly a shuttle, encourage me to break and enter booby-trapped facilities…but you won’t let me sleep in the same house with a boy?”

Bram snorted. “Let me tell you something, Laren. Bajoran teenage boys can be far scarier than even the most menacing Cardassian soldier.”

It was Laren’s turn to snort, but Bram kept talking.

“I ought to know about teenage boys. I used to be one.” He laughed at his own joke, and Laren, though annoyed, couldn’t help but smile a little—if only at the thought of Bram ever having been as young as she was.

Basso Tromac did his best to avoid making eye contact with any of the Cardassians as he headed to the Bajoran section of the Promenade. There were a handful of them who treated him with at least some facsimile of politeness, but the newcomers generally did not know that there was any distinction between him and the Bajorans in ore processing. They would often stop him and begin asking annoying questions if he looked at them the “wrong” way. Considering the sheer number of new personnel here, it was usually wise to just keep one’s eyes pointed forward, at least until he came to the Bajoran sector, where he could again square up his shoulders, even add a bit of swagger to his gait.

He had almost made it to the heavy barricades that divided the station when Dukat’s lazily authoritative tone spoke out behind him: “Ah, just the man I have been looking for.”

Basso turned around quickly. “How can I be of service, Prefect?” He bowed a bit, as he always did when addressing Dukat.

“Basso, I have a question for you.” Dukat spoke loudly over the din that was beginning to erupt beyond the gates—a fight breaking out, perhaps a lost child, some other trivial scuffle.

“Do you want me to go look into that?” Basso asked.

Dukat waved his hands. “No, no, I’ve got Thrax and a couple of the others patrolling back there, they’ll get to it soon enough. Come. Let’s walk this way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, and Basso followed him. He didn’t mind walking on the Cardassian side so long as Dukat was accompanying him; in fact, he rather enjoyed these rare opportunities to demonstrate for the others that he was no ordinary Bajoran.

“Basso, have you been seeing to Meru, as you have been asked?”

“Of course, sir.” Basso took pains to keep his voice neutral, for he had anticipated this question. He did not have to guess at the tone of the meeting that had taken place between the prefect and his mistress in the office the other day.

“You haven’t noticed her seeming…different, lately? Unsatisfied with her life here?”

Basso shrugged. “Certainly no more than before, sir.”

Dukat’s eyes narrowed and his smile wavered, and Basso quickly tacked on a follow-up: “I mean to say, she seems as happy as ever.”

Dukat looked away, continuing to walk. The two passed several security officers, on their way to the Bajoran side, along with several miscellaneous soldiers and civilian personnel. Dukat nodded to each one, stilling their conversation until they were out of earshot. “Has she said anything to you about…” He trailed off as the chief engineer’s assistant passed alongside them. “…Tora Naprem?”

Basso shook his head, but maintained a look of puzzlement on his face. “No, she hasn’t said anything specifically about her—but now that you mention it, she did seem to indicate to me…well, I suppose I dismissed it as nothing, but it
does
seem a bit odd…”

“What?” Dukat demanded. “What did she say?”

“Well, she said that she worried that one day you would grow tired of her, if you ever found a younger mistress, someone prettier. She said she thought she knew how your wife must feel, having to tolerate dalliances by the man she loved…” Basso shrugged. “Nothing that any woman doesn’t fear from time to time, but perhaps…perhaps she
did
learn something of Naprem…the new baby. It would seem to explain why she is suddenly—”

“She spoke of my wife?” Dukat asked sharply. He stepped into an empty pathway that led toward the habitat ring, and Basso followed him.

Basso nodded. “M-hm, m-hm, she did indeed, sir. She said, ‘Poor Athra, it never occurred to me how difficult it must be for her—I almost feel in her a kindred spirit.’ It was something along those lines.”

Dukat looked furious, though he kept his voice low. “She spoke of my wife by name?”

“Yes, I remember it quite specifically.”

Dukat looked troubled. “I have never told her my wife’s name,” he said. “You’re sure she said those words?”

“I am quite certain, Gul, but you must know that she has the resources to find out just about anything she wants to know.” Basso contrived an expression of sudden realization. “Oh, my. You don’t think—you don’t think Meru would ever try to contact your wife, do you? She is such an impetuous person, and so lonely for female companionship…” Basso stopped, and shook his head. “No, no, that’s ridiculous, of course.”

Dukat looked troubled for a moment. “Lonely?” he said, almost to himself. He turned to Basso, speaking louder now. “She has no means of contacting anyone.”

“Well,” Basso said, “that’s not entirely true, Gul. She has been on the station such a long time now, she has learned how to bypass many of the security protocols that were originally installed to keep her safe. She doesn’t necessarily choose to use them, but I’ve caught her leaving her quarters at unauthorized times, and fooling around with her library computer—”

“Why haven’t you mentioned this to me before now?” Dukat snapped.

Basso did his best to look pained. “I have tried, Gul Dukat, I have really tried to discuss it with you, but you never seemed concerned when I pointed out that Meru had too much freedom…”

Dukat’s eyes became faraway again. “Yes,” he murmured. “You have tried to warn me. At any rate, we must tighten up the security that surrounds her.”

“It’s an excellent idea, though I’m not sure she’ll tolerate it. She has always been so…ah, high-strung, we might want to ease her into the idea. Otherwise, she might try to resist you…”

“High-strung, yes. I suppose that does describe her, somewhat…”

“Although,” Basso added. “If I may say—I sincerely doubt that she would really try to contact Athra, for revenge or any other reason—”

“Did you say
revenge
?” Dukat broke in.

“Well, it
does
make sense. Just as you were saying, she is a high-strung woman, and she does have a great deal of freedom to poke around, if she wanted to…and if it came into her head to try and make trouble for you…”

Dukat shook his head. “I am going to speak with her. You go on to ore processing. I will speak with you later.” Dukat waved him in the direction of the turbolifts.

Basso headed for ore processing with a little more confidence than usual. It wasn’t everyone who could successfully put a bug in the prefect’s ear, so to speak. He hoped he could continue to steer the prefect in the proper direction, for if this went the way he wanted, he could finally rid himself of those duties that concerned Meru, and the effort of watching after her impossible family.

“My name is Mora.” He had said it at least a hundred times today, and he was tired of the sound of his own voice. His mouth felt pasty, his throat sore from speaking, but he could not give up, not until Odo could repeat the words, and produce some indication that he actually understood them.

The shape-shifter gestured to himself, as Mora had been doing. “Mem,” he said. “Mem-ma.”

Mora sighed, exhausted. Did Odo understand what was going on here? Or was he merely mimicking the sound of Mora’s voice? Could it be that he was not sentient after all—at least, no more than a tyrfox or a
batos
? He regarded the readouts on the electrostatic field that surrounded Odo’s “head,” and increased the frequency.

He continued to work with him for another seemingly endless round of call-and-response, with Odo’s pronunciation gradually becoming more precise, and then less so, and then more so again. Mora believed that Odo was eager to please him, but then it may have only been an illusion brought on by Mora’s own isolation. He occasionally feared he was spending too much time with the creature; he hadn’t seen his parents in weeks, usually coming home to his family’s residence long after they had retired for the night. And Prophets forbid he should ever meet an eligible woman! The idea of it seemed about as likely as the possibility that the Cardassians would turn tail and leave Bajor tomorrow. For better or worse, Mora was married to his work here, and he probably always would be.

“Mynameissssmore…uh,” said Odo.

“Very good, Odo!” Mora positively beamed, for this was probably the best pronunciation Odo had managed so far.

Odo’s “eyes” occasionally rolled around, drifting lazily like those of a person touched in the head. It was an unsettling effect, though Mora had noticed lately that he seemed to understand the concept of “looking” at something. Right now, his gaze appeared to be trained on the door to the laboratory, and his expression was convincing enough to compel Mora to turn around and look. Sure enough, Doctor Yopal was standing in the doorway. Mora almost praised Odo for it, but Yopal spoke before he had the chance.

“Do you think he believes…that
his
name is Mora? Or do you think he even understands any of it at all?”

Mora felt immediately dejected, despite all the progress he’d been making this afternoon. “Well, only time will tell,” he said stiffly.

Yopal went on speaking, her usual refrain about men and the sciences, and to Mora’s grave embarrassment, Odo began to chatter behind her, a string of senseless syllables. “Mem. Dobake. Goobsine.”

Yopal at first raised her voice to speak over him, but she abruptly stopped speaking after a moment, looking at the shape-shifter with curious surprise.

“Mem dobake good sine-tiss.”

Yopal turned to Mora with openmouthed astonishment. “Do you hear what he just said?” She turned back to the shape-shifter. “Say it again, Odo’ital!”

“Mem dobe bake good sine-tist.”

“That’s right!” Yopal beamed. “That’s right, Odo! Men don’t make good scientists!” The Cardassian woman then did something Mora had never dreamed she was even capable of: she laughed.

“Odo,” Mora began, not sure quite how to respond.

“He’s making a joke, Mora!” She laughed again, and Mora was stunned at how natural her laughter sounded. But even more alarming than the revelation that the Cardassian scientist was capable of genuine emotion was the change that had come over Odo’s “face.” The strange pulling at the corners of his mouth looked anything but natural, but it was certainly nothing that he had ever even attempted before today—at least, that Mora had ever seen.

“He’s smiling,” Mora said.

“Yes, he is,” Yopal agreed.

This time, Mora laughed along with her.

Keeve Falor was a quiet-speaking man, dressed as shabbily as everyone else on Valo II, but with an even more elaborate earring than the one worn by Akhere Juk. Laren did not recognize the design; she only knew a few of the
D’jarra
symbols, and his was not one that she had ever seen before. Bram, however, seemed to know Keeve right away, though by his face or his
D’jarra,
Laren wasn’t sure.

“Minister,” Bram said reverently, as Juk and Mace began the introductions.

Keeve broke into a sheepish laugh. “Not Minister. Not for a long, long time.” He extended his hand to Bram, who shook it warmly. “We’re all more or less equals here on Valo II.”