Proud Helios Page 7

  "And none of your friends, your colleagues, have seen anything?" Odo asked.

  "Not that they've told me," Keiy answered. "There hasn't been any gossip—except the usual talk about the Ferengi, of course."

  "Of course," Odo said. He studied the Farruna for a moment longer. Keiy seemed nervous, but there could be any number of reasons for that, from his involvement in a badly planned smuggling scheme three years before to a general discomfort with legal authority. The Farruna looked back at him, grey face utterly without expression. "If you hear any talk about a pirate ship, I would appreciate your telling me. It's reputed to go by the name of Helios."

  "Helios," Keiy said, on an odd note, like an indrawn breath. "No, I don't know any ship by that name."

  "Are you quite sure?"

  Keiy shook his head again, showing teeth in his determination. "Never heard of it."

  "Very well," Odo said. "That was all I wanted to know."

  "Than may I go, Constable? I have a ship to see to." Keiy lifted himself off his tail without waiting for an answer.

  "Of course," Odo said, and watched the Farruna maneuver himself carefully through the doorway. Keiy had not told him everything, of that he felt certain, but he couldn't pinpoint the evasion. He ran the Farruna's words through his memory again, but the vague impression refused to become more precise. He shook his head, and turned his attention to the next captain on the list.

  * * *

  Sisko stared at the latest report that filled his desktop screen, wishing that O'Brien and Dax had been less thorough. Unfortunately, there wasn't much doubt about their results. Helios was an enormously powerful warship, even damaged; if that was lurking in the Cardassian shipping lanes, or, worse still, heading into the Federation, even Starfleet would have its work cut out to contain the menace. And yet, and yet…He tapped one finger on the edge of the display, not quite ready to move on to the next screen. If a ship this big, this aggressive, had been active in the border sectors, why hadn't the Federation heard rumors of it before now? Why hadn't it moved into Federation space before this?

  The door chime sounded, and he looked up, to see Odo signaling for admittance. Sisko touched the button to admit the constable, not sorry for the interruption, and Odo shouldered his way into the office. There was always something a little jerky about his movements, as though he were not yet fully comfortable with the shape he wore. Or maybe, Sisko thought, as he gestured for the other to take a seat, maybe it takes more practice than I could ever imagine to learn to manage a humanoid shape.

  "What can I do for you, Constable?" he asked. Instinctively, he ran down the list of possible disasters that would fall under Odo's jurisdiction—conspiracy, terrorism, smuggling, even Bajoran quarrels escalating into a full-blown feud—but none of those seemed to match the rather perplexed expression on Odo's face. Of course, Sisko thought, it's hard to be sure what he means by any given expression. It's worse than a foreign language, almost impossible to read a face that "speaks" with an accent.

  "You asked me to talk to the starship captains currently docked to the station," Odo said. As always, his voice was gruff, almost harsh, and Sisko wondered again how much of that was due to the alien shape. "I've done so, and I have my report."

  Which you didn't need to make in person, Sisko thought, and waited. When it became clear that Odo didn't intend to continue, he said, "All right. I'm listening."

  Odo laid a dataclip on the desktop. "The details are there," he said, "but, in summary, there's nothing. No one here at present will say that they know anything about this mystery ship. They haven't seen or heard of it, not even as a rumor."

  Sisko raised an eyebrow at that. "Starfleet records report, what, forty-two attacks. And no one's heard anything?

  "No." Odo's mouth curved into an unmistakably sour smile. "That they'll admit to, anyway."

  "And do you believe them?" Sisko asked.

  "I'm not certain," Odo said. "Commander, I've interviewed seven captains of assorted skills and reputations, and all of them claim to have heard nothing more than the usual rumors of rough trade practices. The Ferengi were, of course, willing to sell me any story I'd buy, but I'd have to discount most of what they said. And, while we're speaking of the Ferengi…"

  "You have another complaint against Quark." In spite of his best intentions, Sisko sounded resigned, and Odo gave him a sharp glance.

  "With all due respect, Commander, it is my job to stop anyone from evading station's law. I can't help it that Quark is the most egregious offender on the station."

  "I know." Sisko sighed. "It's just—"

  "He amuses you," Odo said. "And he provides some useful services. I'm aware of that, I assure you. But the fact remains that I caught him trying to slip an extra fifty cargo containers of gravis onto the Sticky-Fingers this morning."

  "Fifty!" Sisko shook his head. "Even for Quark, that's excessive."

  "Quite." Odo smiled. "However, the situation has been dealt with. He has agreed to pay the necessary fees, and I have a man stationed in the hatch to make sure he does so."

  "Excellent," Sisko said, and meant it. "That was well handled, Odo."

  "Thank you."

  Sisko lifted an eyebrow again. The shapeshifter sounded preoccupied, as though for once he was uncertain of a situation. Before he could say anything, however, Odo cleared his throat.

  "There was one other matter."

  "Yes?"

  "There was a passenger on the Shannar when she arrived."

  "I heard something about that," Sisko said. A mysteriously veiled woman, the station grapevine had reported; he had overheard one of the Bajorans saying something about a princess, while her compatriot shook her head, insisting the stranger was some kind of spy.

  "I gather that the station is talking already," Odo said, sourly.

  Sisko grinned. "I've heard everything from a Tuareg in drag to a runaway princess," he said frankly, "with the Bajorans voting—no surprises—for her to be a Cardassian spy. What is she, and where's she headed?"

  "Nowhere," Odo said. "Or, more precisely, she was coming here." He reached into his coveralls, and produced a second dataclip. "I've included her passport records and verification, not that there's much information on them.

  Her name is Diaadul, widow of Innaris—Lady Diaadul is her title—and she's a Trehanna. Apparently, it's customary for their women to go veiled."

  "So what brings her here?" Sisko asked.

  "Apparently it's also their custom for the widow to finish her late husband's business affairs," Odo said. "I checked the library computers. It seems to be a religious duty of some sort." He glowered at Sisko. "And that's what I'm concerned about. Lord Innaris seems to have had some sort of deal going with Quark."

  "I see," Sisko said.

  "With all due respect, Commander, I'm not sure that you do," Odo said. "Diaadul is grossly inexperienced. The Trehanna believe that it's inappropriate for women to concern themselves with trade or finance, and she seems to follow their customs pretty closely. By her own admission, she's never been off Trehan before—she could barely work the scanners in the immigration section. I have no desire to see her cheated by Quark."

  Sisko eyed his constable warily. He had never heard Odo so passionate about anyone before—no, he thought, not passionate, but protective. She must be quite something, the Lady Diaadul, if she could find the protective streak in Odo so quickly. "I assume you've already warned her of Quark's reputation."

  "Of course. She insists she has to carry out her late husband's wishes." Odo leaned forward slightly. "I would like your permission, Commander, to do whatever's necessary to protect her."

  Sisko sighed. He could understand Odo's position. It would be impossible for Quark, or any Ferengi, given their cultural biases, not to cheat when confronted with an inexperienced trading partner. Quark might well complain that she was hardly worth the effort, but that wouldn't stop him from robbing her. And it was the station's responsibility to look after transients' interests as
well as their own. "All right," he said aloud. "But bear in mind that Quark hasn't actually done anything yet."

  Odo looked briefly affronted. "I had planned to keep Diaadul under loose surveillance until she meets with Quark, and observe their meeting if I could. I hope that meets with your approval?"

  Sisko nodded. "I think it's an excellent idea." He hoped he didn't sound too relieved: Odo's intensity could sometimes lead him into schemes that were problematic under Federation law. "Keep me informed."

  "Of course, Commander," Odo said, and pushed himself to his feet. "You have my report. I don't want to trouble you further."

  "Not at all," Sisko said. "Thank you."

  Odo nodded again, sharply, and turned away. Sisko watched the door close behind him, and wondered, not for the first time, precisely where the shapeshifter's loyalties lay. It was not that he distrusted Odo—far from it; Odo had proved himself already to be completely worthy of trust—but he occasionally worried that Odo's commitment to his own ideal of justice might someday conflict with the more mundane considerations of law. Odo was adamant in his convictions—perhaps he had to be, Sisko thought. Perhaps that abstraction was the one solid fact in an otherwise all-too-mutable life. After all, what else could a shapeshifter instinctively trust as solid, but an ideal?

  * * *

  Odo rode the turbolifts back down toward the Promenade, wondering how best to set a watch on the Trehanna woman. It would not be easy—mechanical surveillance was not always reliable, and he was already badly understaffed. He would probably have to rely on a daemon in the computer, set it to record Diaadul's computer usage and entrances and exits from her quarters. He was deep in his plans as he stepped off the turbolift onto the Promenade's main level, and nearly tripped over O'Brien, on his hands and knees beside the open shaft of the second turbolift.

  "Careful, Constable," O'Brien said, disgustingly cheerful, and Odo gave him a withering glance.

  "Perhaps if you weren't in the middle of the corridor, I wouldn't need to be."

  "Sorry," O'Brien said, without sincerity. "Oh, Constable?"

  Odo turned back reluctantly. "Yes?"

  "That woman, that Tre—Tre-whatever-it-was, the one who came in on the Shannar. She was just by here, asking the way to Quark's place."

  "Was she, now?" Odo said, softly.

  "Yeah." O'Brien stood up, wiping the pale gold lubrication onto his uniform. "You might want to look in on her. She seemed awfully, I don't know, naive to be going in there by herself."

  Odo glared at him, and mastered himself with an effort. O'Brien did not, could not, know that Odo had spent the last thirty minutes worrying about Diaadul's business. "What a clever idea," he said. O'Brien started to frown, looking at once insulted and a little hurt, and Odo relented. "The thought had already occurred to me, Chief," he said.

  "Oh. Well, sorry," O'Brien said.

  "But thank you for the information," Odo said, and turned away. This was the chance he had been looking for, the chance not only to protect Diaadul, but—with any luck at all—a chance finally to catch Quark in the middle of something unmistakably illegal. He had long ago investigated all the corridors and passages that gave onto Quark's establishment, as well as the ventilation and water supply systems. He had even memorized the layout of the centimeters-wide conduit housing that carried the lines that supplied Quark's machinery with power, and his computers with data, just in case one of those passages could take him into some otherwise inaccessible part of the Ferengi's space. This time, though…He frowned, and paused at the mouth of a narrow access tunnel. This time, the ventilation system should provide as much access as he needed; the conduit housing gave more direct access, but the available space was small enough to push him to his absolute limits. He moved slowly down the narrow tunnel, scanning the engineer's symbols engraved on the walls with an ease that would have surprised O'Brien, and paused at last beside a hatch marked with warning notes in both Cardassian and newer Federation characters. It was locked, of course, and security-sealed, but Odo produced a slim cylinder from a pocket, and fed it into the port. A moment later, the hatch sagged open as the lock released itself. Odo smiled, tucked the cylinder away, and lifted the hatch a scant dozen centimeters, enough to give him clearance, in an altered form, but not enough to attract O'Brien's instant notice. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure he was still unobserved, then exhaled sharply, concentrating.

  He felt the internal loosening as taut-held form eased, became liquid, mobile, felt the familiar giddy pleasure as his body contorted, turning in on itself in a series of smooth curves and partial spheres, and then re-formed in an instant in the shape of an ashikhan, a Bajoran land spider twenty centimeters long. He stretched his new legs, adjusting to the needs of controlling all eight of them—six for travel, two for rudimentary manipulation—and heard his new shell click softly against the floorplates. That was not something he had counted on; he tilted his head to one side to listen, and tapped again. The noise was perceptible, but not obtrusive: with any luck at all, it would be drowned in the general hubbub that always filled Quark's establishment. And if it wasn't, Odo thought, with an inward grin, Quark would be more likely to call O'Brien to fix a loose connector sleeve than to suspect an observer. He extended a gripping claw, and saw, in the dully reflective surface, a pale brown creature like a cross between a crab and a spider reaching out to him. Double eyestalks rose above his tiny head—the ashikhan's brain was located in the center of its body, well protected by its heavy carapace—and the magnetic buds, used to track prey in the utter darkness of the seaside caverns, were tightly furled above the true eyes. He smiled to himself, pleased with his handiwork, and eased the hatch back another few centimeters.

  He made his way through the familiar network of the ventilation system, the claws at the ends of his walking legs fully extended to keep his balance on the smooth surface. The buds worked perfectly, the reward of constant practice, outlining the shapes of the ducts and baffles in shades of golden grey. The constantly moving air whistled past him, its pitch changing every time he tilted his head, but it was not fast enough to be more than an annoyance. As he passed the ducts that led to the main club, he could hear the usual hum of voices, conversations rising and falling like the tides of Bajor's seas, but he ignored them, following the familiar markers deep into the heart of Quark's establishment.

  He stopped at last at a familiar duct—he had marked this one before, a splotch of high-iron paint that glowed like a beacon in his changed "sight"—and tilted his head to listen. He could hear voices approaching, Quark's familiar tones without distinguishable words, and he edged closer to the grille that covered the opening. Quark's main office was empty, indistinct, painted in shades of grey and gold, and he frowned to himself, and opened his true eyes, furling the magnetic buds at the same time. The scene sprang into sudden relief, the bright colors a momentary shock after the monotones. Quark stood just inside the door, hands clasped—to keep from rubbing them in glee, Odo thought—as he bowed Diaadul into the brightly lit space.

  "Delighted to be of service to any lady," the Ferengi was saying, "and doubly so when I've had such good fortune in my dealings with your husband. I hope you'll allow me to take a kinsman's privilege in advising your investments, as I advised the good Lord Innaris in his."

  Diaadul bowed slightly, her veils held tight around her. "If I may say so," Quark went on, closing the door behind them, "it's a great shame you Trehanna still adhere to so unflattering a custom. Women—women are like jewels, like flowers, and should be seen. It makes business so much more pleasant—"

  Diaadul's hand shot out from among the concealing folds, her bracelets clashing, and caught the Ferengi by his throat. Quark jerked back, trying to pull away, but her long fingers held him fast. She lifted him then, pulling him up onto his toes and then holding him for an instant suspended in midair, before she dropped him briskly onto the carpet.

  "We have business," she said. "Get on with it."

  "Of course,
madam—my lady," Quark said. One hand stole to his throat, rubbed hastily at the places where her fingers had pinched. "Let's go into my other office."

  "Excellent," Diaadul murmured. She waited, her hands once again folded demurely into her veil, while Quark manipulated something on his main control console. A moment later, a section of paneling slid back, and Quark gestured, bowing, for Diaadul to precede him. She nodded once, and sailed past into the hidden room.

  Had he been able, Odo would have growled with frustration. The ventilators for Quark's second office—the private private office, in the Ferengi's own words—were on a separate air shaft. He would have to retrace his steps, go all the way back to the junction with the main tunnel, before he could enter the section of the system that fed air to Quark's inner sanctum. But there was no avoiding the necessity. He scrabbled backward, rear claws gripping, until he emerged into the larger main tunnel where he could turn around, and retraced his steps as quickly as he could. At the main shaft, the air flowing through the system was strong enough to force him to crouch low to the ground, head tucked in and eyestalks retracted, using his walking claws to pull himself along. It took him almost five minutes to cover as many meters, but at last he reached the junction, where a smaller shaft split off from the main tunnel. This one, too, was marked in his own familiar symbols, and he dived into it gratefully, glad to be out of the wind. He scrambled over and under the baffles that cut the force of the wind—typical inefficient Cardassian technology, he thought, send everything out at full power and pull off what you need, damping it down at the end point—and then hurried down the long tunnel toward Quark's final office.

  The grille at the end of the shaft was dark. Odo paused for a fraction of a second, furious—if he had been able, he would have cursed long and loudly—but then training and nature reasserted itself. He continued up to the grille, swiveling his true eyes on the ends of their stalks to make sure that the room really was empty and that nothing useful had been left behind. The magnetic buds confirmed what sight had told him: not only was the room empty, but the computer terminals had been shut down completely. And that, Odo thought, was that. He had done his best to protect the Trehanna woman, and he had failed. Or, more precisely, he had failed to witness her interview with Quark. From her behavior, she might not need as much protection as he had thought. Odo paused for a moment, still sitting at the mouth of the ventilator, and wondered what he should do. This was not typical Trehanna behavior, at least according to the information he had gotten from the library computer; on the other hand, Trehan was a strict aristocracy, and it was just possible that she had been reacting to a slight to her status. Possible, but not, he thought, not quite right. I think I should report this to Sisko. Perhaps he can explain this behavior better than I. Patiently, he began to extricate himself from the system, retracing his steps back toward the still-open hatch.