Star Trek - DS9 - Fall of Terok Nor Read online

  "Oil and water?" she asked.

  Sisko shook his head. "Matter and antimatter. And you're about to experience it first-hand."

  CHAPTER 7

  "quark, quark, quark..." The expression in Sisko's eyes revealed such an unsettling combination of exasperation and pity that Quark couldn't hold the captain's gaze. Instead, he glanced furtively around the infirmary to avoid it-but everyone else present was looking at him too.

  Everyone except the two very dead Cardassians on the examination table.

  What was left of them.

  "Can't you... cover them up or something?" Quark finally asked. "It's disgusting."

  "Hmm," Odo said.

  "What 'hmm'?" Quark demanded. "And don't say it's another sign of a guilty conscience. I've never seen them before. My conscience isn't guilty."

  "I wasn't aware you had one," Odo said.

  "Besides, Quark," Dr. Julian Bashir added, looking

  up from his continuing inspection of the corpses, "after being blasted with microwaves, transporter-fused to hull metal, and exposed to vacuum for a few years, these two are so mummified that one of them could be Garak and you wouldn't be able to recognize him."

  "However," Garak added with a polite cough from his position overlooking Bashir's shoulder, "one has-tens to add that a simple process of elimination should serve to confirm that I am not one of the dear departed."

  With open-mouthed disbelief, Quark watched the decidedly striking new Bajoran Starfleet officer who had entered the Infirmary with Captain Sisko turn to address DS9's sole Cardassian inhabitant. "Oh, are you Garak?" She held out her hand. "I'm Commander Aria. I've heard so much about you."

  After a moment's hesitation, Garak shook the Bajo-ran officer's hand as if it were coated with a Brigellian nerve toxin. "I'm sure you have."

  "Excuse me," Quark interrupted, "but can we get back to me for a minute?"

  "That depends," Odo said gruffly. "Are you ready to make a confession?"

  "That's it! That is absolutely it!" Quark bared his artfully stained fangs, which had cost his parents a small fortune in orthodontic bills to twist into such Ferengi perfection. "You people-oh, you take the spore pie, all of you. Two nights ago, an unexplained death, and what do you do? You play Let's Blame the Ferengi! And now, two more unexplained deaths- from ten years ago-and what do you do? The same thing! Well, I'm sick of it." He jabbed an accusatory finger at Odo. "I'm sick of being your one-size-fits-all

  answer to crime on DS9!" Then he pointed at Sisko. "And I'm fed up with Starfleet not standing up to Odo's lax standards and sloppy investigations!"

  Odo bristled with predictable indignation. "Let's talk about 'sloppy' after we've discussed those Denevan crystals you sold to the Nausicaan last Satur-day night. You thought I didn't know, didn't you?"

  "Arrrghh! You're doing it again! Changing the sub-ject! Every time I make a point in my own defense, it's as if you people don't even want to pretend you've heard me."

  Quark turned to Captain Sisko. "When the Cardas-sians withdrew, you were the one who wanted me to stay on this station as an example to others. To keep the community together."

  "As I recall," Sisko said calmly, "first I had to threaten to put Nog in jail."

  Quark waved his hand dismissively. "Negotiations. That's all that was. The point is, I stayed, didn't I? Even in the middle of this war, the Promenade is thriv-ing. Do you have any problem hiring workers to live on board these days? No. Because I've done exactly what you wanted me to do."

  "Let's not forget you made considerable profit at the same time," Major Kira said pointedly.

  Quark felt as if he were in a shuttle spiraling out of control. "Of course I'm in it for profit! I'm a business-man! But there are rules to business!"

  "Two hundred and eighty-five. Isn't that right, Quark? Some of which have never been revealed to a non-Ferengi." Odo's condescendingly snide tone was utterly maddening to Quark.

  Quark was so overcome by frustration, his voice almost rose to shouting level. "When the Dominion

  took over this station, I could have made immense profit by turning in the major and... and your son, Captain... and everyone else working in the Resis-tance. I could have become an honorary Vorta and ended up with a ship made of latinum. But I stayed here and I risked my life-and my business-for you people! And this-this is how you repay me. You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

  This time, there was only silence in the Infirmary. Quark straightened his jacket, wondering if it just might be possible that he had finally managed to get through to these small-lobed, microencephalic aliens.

  And then Sisko ruined it all by saying, "Why ten years?"

  Quark sighed. "Didn't you hear a word I said?"

  "Every one of them," Sisko confirmed. "And the two that concern me are 'ten years.' How do you know when these two Cardassians were killed?"

  Quark's ridged brow crinkled in puzzlement. "Isn't... isn't that what Dr. Bashir said? That they were killed during the Occupation? That was ten years ago."

  'Technically," Kira said, "the Occupation spans anywhere from six to sixty-six years ago. Though the station wasn't built until twenty-four years ago."

  "All right!" Quark sputtered. "I confess! I took a number out of thin air! I was confused! I suppose the almighty Federation has laws against Ferengi busi-nessmen being confused and I deserve everything I've got coming to me!"

  "Calm down, Quark," Bashir said. "You're jumping to far too many conclusions."

  "Me?!"

  Bashir nodded. "The only reason I've called every-

  one in here is to see if we can't get some answers." He turned to Garak, who was still hovering behind the examination table on which the Cardassian corpses were displayed. "Garak, may I call upon your exper-tise?"

  Garak regarded the doctor warily, the reptilian gray nobs of his forehead bunching together in deep fur-rows. "Oh, Doctor, I'm afraid that in matters of myste-rious deaths, I am entirely bereft of experience."

  Quark took some comfort in noting that no one in the Infirmary appeared to believe Garak any more than they appeared to believe him.

  "I was speaking of your expertise as a tailor," Bashir clarified.

  Now smiling expansively, Garak nodded graciously. "But of course. You'd like me to examine the clothes these two are wearing."

  "Please," Bashir said. "They're carrying no artifacts, no currency, weapons, I.D. rods... all they have is their clothes."

  Without further hesitation, Garak bent over the table as if he saw such grotesquely mutilated bodies every day of his life. The only reason Quark watched what happened next was because the thought had occurred to him that his freedom might be dependent on the outcome of Garak's examination.

  Garak's sharp gaze traveled from one wizened corpse to the next. One body-the one truncated at the waist-was clothed in an undistinguished tunic of brown fabric. The other body, which had been severed approximately at the knees, wore a similar garment, this time of blue.

  Quark held his position as Garak picked up a pair of medical tongs from the side of the examination table

  and pushed them through the slightly elastic resistance of the medical containment field that surrounded the bodies. No doubt Bashir had set up the field more to protect the sensibilities of his visitors than out of con-cern for medical contamination. That simple act, how-ever, released a sudden and most unpleasant odor of charred flesh mixed with the sickly-sweet-smelling antiseptic spray the doctor had used to coat the bodies. Quark turned away, coughing and gagging, noticing that even the doctor held a hand against his mouth.

  Garak, however, appeared impervious to the stench. Concentrating on his task, he delicately nudged the head of the body in the brown suit. Quark's eyes nar-rowed. The Cardassian tailor's handling of the tongs made it seem as if he was quite experienced with autopsy procedures. "Ah, here's your first clue, Doctor, and one doesn't have to be a tailor to see it."

  Quark stopped breathing so he could take a closer glance at the gru
esome mess on the table. He stepped back quickly, having seen nothing that told him what Garak was talking about. From his expression, neither had Bashir.

  "His hair," Garak said. "See how long it is? The way it's tied? Very characteristic. This man was a soldier in the Invidian Battalion. They managed the southern provinces."

  "Managed?" Kira repeated angrily. "They were a death squad."

  Sisko put a hand on Kira's shoulder as if passing her an unspoken signal. "Then why is he in civilian clothes?" he asked.

  Hew-mons, Quark thought, with a shake of his head. Always changing the subject.

  "Perhaps he died on his day off," Garak said lightly,

  directing his answer to Kira. "Whatever his reason for choosing this attire, I'm sure his DNA profile will be on file at Central Records. Determining his identity should make it easier to discover his date of death."

  "What about the other one?" Bashir asked.

  Garak glanced over at the slightly more complete body in the blue tunic. He used the tongs to lift up a tattered flap of cloth from the corpse's chest. "This one... I believe he might have been in a struggle. See how the fabric is torn on the shoulder?"

  Now everyone crowded around the table to verify the tear in the body's tunic, then just as quickly reeled back. With all of Garak's movement through the sur-face of the medical containment field, the distressingly sweet, cloying odors of death and disinfectant had become even stronger.

  "Any way of dating the clothes?" Bashir asked, with a hand shielding his nose. "The width of the lapels? Length of the sleeves?"

  Garak cocked his head, as if puzzled. "Fashion is more a function of geography than time, Doctor. What is stylish on one world is hopelessly garish on the next. There are colony worlds in the Union right now where this brown tunic would be the latest word in male furnishings. And other worlds where a man wear-ing anything blue would be arrested for disrupting public morals."

  "Can you at least make a guess as to where the clothes were made?"

  Still holding the torn shoulder fabric in the tongs, Garak frowned in disapproval. "I'm afraid this tunic was replicated. It could come from thousands-tens of thousands of different suppliers across the quadrant." He released the fabric remnant, then turned his atten-

  tion to the second corpse's brown tunic with an approving smile. "Ahh, but this is-or at least was-a hand-tailored garment of the finest quality." With his customary, fastidious touch, he manipulated the tongs to open up the tunic to examine its lining. "It should be possible to trace the fabric, and from there...." Garak froze.

  "Do you see something?" Bashir asked, though everyone, including Quark was aware that something had shocked the Cardassian tailor into utter stillness.

  "The lining." The tone of Garak's voice seemed oddly flat to Quark.

  The doctor looked over Garak's shoulder. "What about it?"

  "I often used this fabric myself. It's from a very small mill on Argellius II. I... look at the exquisite workmanship of that cross-stitching... oh my." Garak looked up at the curious faces of the people who sur-rounded him. "This is one of mine."

  "That's an enormous help," Bashir said to Garak. 'Isn't it?"

  "I'm... not absolutely certain that's true," Garak replied, almost haltingly.

  Quark couldn't remain silent any longer. Did he have to do everything himself? "Are you kidding? The kind of records the Cardassians keep put Ferengi records to shame. And I guarantee you, if I had sold someone a hand-tailored suit twenty years ago, I'd still know the name of his mate, his offspring, and his pet vole."

  Whatever honest reflection of mood that had been revealed in Garak's face disappeared as quickly as if an Ark had been closed on an Orb of the Prophets. From across the examination table, Garak delivered a

  withering cold glare in Quark's direction. "Ordinarily, I might say that the random sand scratchings of an unhatched krimanganee would put Ferengi records to shame, but alas, this is not the time for banter." Resent-fully, Quark noted how the Cardassian tailor softened his expression as he turned to Bashir. "And again, ordi-narily, I would have to agree with you, Doctor. It should be a simple matter to discover to whom I sold this tunic, because I, too, never forget a customer." Garak's face showed he was as in the dark as they were. "Unfortunately, though, it appears I have forgot-ten this one."

  Kira voiced the next logical question before Quark could shout it out. "Is it possible someone else bought the tunic and gave it to this man as a gift? Or that he stole it?"

  "No, no, Major, you misunderstand," Garak said with an exaggerated display of patience. "Obviously, I could not remember this customer by his features, given the condition he's in. What I meant to say is, I have no recollection of selling this tunic to anyone. In fact, I have no recollection of even making it. Yet it is unquestionably my handiwork."

  While everyone else looked mystified, Quark sud-denly saw the pattern that was emerging from the void of confusion. But before he could act to confirm his suspicions, he saw Odo looking thoughtfully at Garak.

  Aha, Quark thought, Odo sees it, too.

  The changeling's next question was proof enough.

  "Garak, is it possible that you made or sold this tunic about the time of the Withdrawal?"

  'The lining fabric is old enough. It's... possible," the tailor admitted.

  But Quark had no intention of standing idly by

  while Odo proceeded with his typically, time-consum-ing, step-by-step approach to an investigation. It was as if the changeling had never heard of the 9th Rule and the value of acting on raw instinct.

  "Garak," Quark quickly said, "tell me-can you remember anything that happened on the Day of With-drawal?"

  "Of course," Garak said forcefully. "Every detail. Why are you smiling at me like that?"

  Quark shot a sideways glance at Odo. The changeling was frowning, but Quark knew it was for the same reason that he himself smiled.

  Garak was lying.

  And Quark and Odo knew it.

  "Would you like to try answering that again?" Odo asked Garak.

  Garak looked at Quark, looked back to Odo, drew himself up rigidly. "I would not. And now, since I appear to have answered everything I can about these garments, I have a business to attend to."

  Then Garak turned and left the Infirmary without another word.

  Quark grinned at Odo, daring him to tell the others about what they both knew to be true. "See? The same thing happened to him."

  "Am I the only one who's missing the point of this conversation?" Sisko asked.

  Odo said nothing so Quark moved immediately to exploit the changeling's reluctance. "Captain," he announced, "allow me. Because unlike Odo, / have nothing to hide. You see, neither Odo nor I can recall anything about what happened to us on the Day of Withdrawal. And I think it's obvious that Garak doesn't remember anything, either."

  "It was a long time ago," Sisko said.

  "Not to me," Kira interrupted.

  "Not to any Bajoran," Commander Aria added.

  "And certainly not to any Cardassian," Quark said, "or Ferengi, or changeling who was on the station at the time. I'd say we've got a real mystery brewing here."

  Sisko rubbed at his goatee. Quark suppressed a shudder of distaste. Even though the captain had worn the look for several years now, Quark still thought it made him look half-Klingon. "Quark, why am I feel-ing that you're changing the subject now?"

  "It's the same subject, Captain. Two Cardassians dead from ten-I mean six years ago. An Andorian dead today. Dr. Bashir says everyone was killed by the same type of microwave energy discharge. Now what you have to do is find someone with a link to all three victims."

  "We have," Odo said firmly. "You."

  Quark turned in a full circle, appealing to the rest of them. "Does anyone else find it suspicious that Odo is going out of his way to blame these murders on me?"

  Odo leaned forward and put his hands on the edge of the examination table. "You're heading into danger-ous territory, Quark."


  "See?" Quark said to Sisko. "See how defensive he is?"

  Odo's voice actually shook with anger. "Quark, I'm warning you...."

  But, undaunted, Quark pressed the attack. "So, where were you on the Day of Withdrawal, Odo? In fact, where were you when Dal Nortron was killed? By a weapon that couldn't be detected by your own security scanners, I might add."

  "That's it! You're going back to your cell." The changeling made a move as if to vault over the exami-nation table and its grisly contents.

  To Quark's relief, Sisko intervened again. He held up a hand. "That's enough, Constable. This is an open investigation."