Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles (25 page)

Trakad spotted him and hurried across the Promenade. Dukat started walking as soon as Trakad reached him, steering them toward a quieter spot. They stopped near the entry to Quark’s—the Ferengi bartender did not participate in Merchant’s Days—and Trakad started speaking in a low, quick voice.

“I’ve got information,” he said. “I’ve been monitoring the private channels for transmissions of interest, and—”

“Keep your voice down,” Dukat said, glancing around them. There was no one close, but he disliked having confidential discussions in public. One never knew who might be listening.

Trakad spoke in a stage whisper. “Dalin Russol sent a message to a point outside Cardassian space. To coordinates that are listed as a possible Federation contact.”

Dukat cocked an eye ridge. “Really? When was this?”

“Yesterday, at precisely 2200 hours.”

“What was the message?”

Trakad shook his head. “Encoded. But no code is unbreakable.”

“Indeed not,” Dukat said, starting to smile. In spite of an exemplary record, Dalin Gaten Russol had remained something of an enigma since he’d come to Terok Nor. No matter the conversation, he kept himself removed from it, spouting clichés of patriotism in answer to any direct question. Dukat had half thought him another plant from the Order—they were always dropping their agents clumsily on his station—but perhaps Russol was something else entirely.

“Make an isolinear recording of the transmission and bring it to my office immediately,” Dukat said. He’d had no small experience with code breaking. He would decipher it himself.

“Immediately, Prefect.” He turned his smile to Trakad. “Depending on what the dalin had to say, perhaps we can revisit the idea of upgrading your quarters.”

Trakad bowed as he backed away. “Thank you, sir.”

Dukat waited a moment before turning and heading back to operations, reprioritizing the rest of his day as he walked, smiling faintly at the passing familiar faces. He had too much to do; his walk to the Promenade for lunch had been his only break in what felt like days. There was the famine in Hedrikspool Province to manage, thanks to a
katterpod
weevil infestation that wasn’t discovered until days before harvest. The surface commander summit was coming up, and he was expected to attend, to dispel rumors that a withdrawal was imminent. There were still the daily reports to get to, and a depressingly low weekly ore output to bury in the numbers…

As he stepped into the turbolift, turning to face the door, he saw Dalin Russol walk out of the security office, his head high, his shoulders back. A man with a purpose. He quickly disappeared from sight, but Dukat smiled again as the door slid closed, deciding he’d get to that recording sooner rather than later.

Kalisi considered her options carefully before acting, enjoying the feel of her mind at work again—looking for the best angle, the most propitious path. For the first time since leaving the science institute, she felt like herself, or the self she was before she came to Bajor. Like a woman willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve her goals.

When she felt comfortable with her plan—as comfortable as she could feel, considering the risks she meant to take—she contacted the university representative, double-checking the time difference to be sure she could reach her directly.

Tera Glees was again impeccably dressed, her tastes simple and expensive. Kalisi smiled politely.

“Ms. Glees, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

The woman smiled in turn.
“Doctor Reyar, thank you for returning my contact. Have you had a chance to consider our offer?”

“I have,” Kalisi said. “I would like very much to work at the University of Culat. However, I’m currently invested in a project I can’t afford to walk away from at this time. Might I inquire if you mean to keep the position open much longer?”

The representative tilted her head slightly.
“How long would you need?”

Kalisi tried to read the woman’s face for some indication of how much she could get, but Glees was impassive, her expression carefully controlled. Kalisi went with the truth. “I am uncertain at this time.”

Glees’ smile went flat.
“Unless you can be more specific, I’m unable to promise anything…”

“Of course,” Kalisi said. “Perhaps I might inquire again, once I have a better sense of my time frame.”

Glees nodded.
“That would be best.”

“Might I ask—have you contracted anyone to head the exobiology department?”

Glees blinked.
“We have not. That is, the university already has Doctor Revel Panh on main faculty. He will probably lead the research branch, as well.”

Kalisi nodded. “He is renowned. Who is your exobiology specialist? You have one, of course.”

Glees hesitated just long enough to let Kalisi know she’d chosen the right tack. The representative obviously took great pride in her school; she did not like any oversights to be pointed out.
“Why do you ask?”

“Only because my immediate superior is Doctor Crell Moset,” Kalisi said proudly. “You know of him? He’s been awarded commendations on several occasions—” She allowed a fleeting look of surprise to cross her face, of realization. “You could get him. He is eager to return to Cardassia Prime, to pursue his research.”

Glees looked surprised.
“Doctor Moset is available?”

“He is,” Kalisi said, then smiled. “But don’t tell him I said so,” she added lightly.

Glees’ eyes narrowed.
“Why not?”

Kalisi shrugged. “Oh, of course, tell him if you
wish
. I only meant to say that Doctor Moset is a great man, but of fragile ego. He’s quite proud of his reputation. You know how it is for men in the sciences…”

Glees nodded, catching on. Figuring it out for herself, exactly as Kalisi wanted.
“He might be insulted that we did not contact him of our own initiative,”
she said.

Kalisi nodded gratefully. “You understand.”

Glees offered a wry smile.
“Too well.”

Kalisi didn’t want to overplay. Time to end the call. “I hope very much that I’ll be able to finish this project in short order, and that the weapons research position will still be open,” she said. “Work at the University of Culat…I am truly honored.”

Again, just the right thing to say. Glees’s smile was sincere.
“Contact me as soon as you know anything.”

The two women broke contact, Kalisi pleased with her performance, the first step in the small charade that would end with her freedom—from Bajor, from Moset, from her ghosts, new and old. It wasn’t too late for her, not yet.

Quark’s bar was entirely empty, and he stared glumly at the people outside as they passed his entrance. He usually closed his bar for this event; it was Merchant’s Day, the ridiculous Cardassian tradition that requested all the sellers along the Promenade to provide free samples for the soldiers. It was supposed to bolster business, but all Quark could see was one great big handout. That wasn’t business, it was charity, and Ferengi most certainly did not advocate charity. Not only was it against the law on his homeworld, he could expect to wind up in the Vault of Eternal Destitution in the next life if he were to participate in such blasphemy. The very word was profane, and the idea of it made his gorge rise.

Quark’s back was to the door, his arms folded irritably across his chest, considering that he might as well have closed today, when someone entered, and Quark turned to see the new Cardassian soldier from security approaching the bar with long, determined strides. Quark broke into his best-rehearsed smile. “Welcome to Quark’s,” he said, but the Cardassian did not answer.

“Well, what’ll it—
ugh!
” he gurgled, as the big man grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him up off his feet, almost over the surface of the bar.

The Cardassian spoke with no inflection. “Morn tells me that you refuse to serve him. He’s planning to file a formal complaint.”

“M—Morn?” Quark asked, through quick, hyperventilating breaths.

“The Lurian,”
the man said, with slow and deliberate anger.

“Is…he…a friend of yours?”

“I could care less about him,” the Cardassian said coldly. “I’m doing my job.”

“You’re Dalin Russol, aren’t you? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Quark tried to smile, but the Cardassian said nothing.
What is his problem?
“Lurians are bad for business,” Quark squeaked. “Nobody will want to come in here if he’s hovering at the end of the bar like a ghoul, talking everyone’s ears off…and he wants to drink on credit!” He coughed, strangling. “But…maybe we could work something out.”

The Cardassian continued to glower forcefully as his grip tightened on the front of Quark’s clothes. “I have heard about you,” he finally said through his teeth, his voice a thin, tight line of fury. “From my very good friend, Natima Lang.”

Quark inhaled sharply. “Natima,” he said, the fear temporarily forgotten as he revisited his shame. “How is she? Is she well?” His labored breath slowed as he pictured her, so graceful, so clever and beautiful. He had never met another woman like her, and he didn’t expect he ever would again.

“Don’t you even speak her name,” Russol hissed.

“Please,” Quark begged. “You must tell her—
auch!
” He squealed as the Cardassian went for his ear.
“Please!”
he cried out.
“Not the lobes!”

Russol continued to twist and pull while Quark struggled for his wits, anything he could give this man to make him stop this overt torture. “Wait!” he cried out, “I hear things on the station all the time…
ow!…
please stop!
Listen to me!”

Russol loosened the pressure on Quark’s ear without letting go entirely. “What kinds of things?”

Quark’s head was bent uncomfortably where Russol gripped his lobe. “I heard…Dukat talking about you with his…
ow!…
one of his henchmen. He was talking about…the Federation or something…”

“The Federation?” Russol let him go abruptly, dropping him. “Tell me more, Ferengi, or I won’t just twist your ear, I’ll cut it off.”

From his huddle on the floor Quark cradled his ear, panting with relief and fear. “His lackey said something about you…talking to a Federation person or something…and then Dukat told him to make an…an isolinear recording of the conversation.”

“When was this?” Russol demanded.

“Just now,” Quark said. “Not ten minutes ago.”

Russol turned to leave, appearing very troubled, but he before he left he turned again. “I’m not through with you,” he said menacingly.

“Could you just tell Natima that I never meant to—” Quark stopped as he saw it was no use, Russol was gone. In another beat, Quark saw a massive shape in the doorway, and his first instinct was to shoo him off—it was the Lurian. But any business today was welcome business, and Quark smiled at the hairy alien instead, gesturing for him to sit, thinking that maybe letting this man have a drink on credit wouldn’t be the worst thing that he had ever done.

Odo was beginning to feel better suited to his new role as he crossed into the Bajoran side of the station, though he could not say why. He liked working with Dalin Russol, and the Bajorans here seemed to accept Odo’s authority, for the most part. Perhaps they believed that he was preferable to Thrax, his predecessor—this was Dukat’s estimation of the situation. Odo hadn’t seen any particular evidence of this, but he surmised it was a likely possibility. He was not a Cardassian, after all.

Odo found the red-haired woman named Kira in the same place he’d interviewed her before, sitting at a table in the eatery with a cup of tea in her hands. It was at her request that they met this time, though he couldn’t imagine what she wanted with him.

She wasted no time in telling him. “Constable,” she said in an urgent whisper, “do you know anything about my transport off the station?”

“What?” Odo did not immediately follow. “You were…leaving the station?’

“Of course I was leaving,” she whispered, looking around. “It was arranged that a Cardassian gil was supposed to transport me off the station, but he never came. He was supposed to pull me out of ore processing last night.”

Odo shook his head from side to side. “I don’t know anything about it,” he said. “Probably, though, the Cardassian pocketed the money and left. Motivated by profit, of course,” he added.

The woman only stared at him, no less angry and frantic. “It’s…a possibility,” she said, “but it’s just as possible that he was found out, and something happened to him.”

Odo frowned. “Are you concerned about him?”

“Of course not! I need to get off this station, don’t you understand?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” he repeated.

She sat back in her chair, looking down into her empty cup. She still seemed angry, but there was something else in it, too. Distress. Odo wanted to help her, though he wasn’t sure why. Helping her would certainly welcome chaos here, and Odo had no desire to bring more chaos upon himself.