Star Trek Deep Space 9 17 Heart Of The Warrior

Star Trek Deep Space 9

17

Heart Of The Warrior

CHAPTER

1

STATION LOG, CAPTAIN Benjamin Sisko, Arconina.

The Valtusian peace conference is scheduled to

begin in two days aboard DS9. The Valtusians

have managed the near impossible through

tireless behind-the-scenes work, persuading not

only representatives of the Cardassian govern-

ment, but Maquis and Federation representatives

to sit down together in the hopes of finally settling

the Maquis problem.

Complicating logistics will be the loss of three

key station personnel Major Kira, Lieutenant

Commander Worf, and Security Chief Odo, who

are being dispatched on a high-priority mission

into the Gamma Quadrant one day before the

conference begins...

Major Kira Nerys leaned forward as far as she

could, gazing out the vast curve of the Promenade's

viewport toward the docking ring. She felt a growing

sense of anticipation as she scanned the ships at-

tached to the space station's outermost section for the

one at Docking Pylon 7. She gazed past a beautiful

new planet-hopper at Docking Pylon 5, past an old

but serviceable Bajoran cargo carrier at Docking

Pylon 6, and then found herself staring at an ancient,

battered-looking transport ship parked just beyond

them.

The moment she saw it, she thought she'd made a

mistake. That hunk of junk couldn't possibly be their

ship. Quickly she began counting out around the

docking ring, and once again she came to the same

broken-down wreck in Docking Port 7. What was

Quark trying to do, get them all killed? A flash of rage

passed through her, and she struggled to keep her

temper under control. This wasn't anything like the

sleek, fast little starship she'd been led to expect.

The transport ship had to be at least fifty years old.

Its hull held hundreds if not thousands of pockmarks

from collisions with space debris, and more than a

couple of phaser burns scarred the nacelles, which

hunched over the passenger cabin. One such burn had

been sloppily patched with what looked like scrap

iron. She leaned closer, straining to make out the

details. Not durasteel, she thought, appalled, and not

even regular steel--raw scrap iron.

I'm going to strangle him, she thought, gripping the

railing as though it were the Ferengi's scrawny little

neck. There's no doubt about it this time. I'm going to

strangle him.

She felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle with

indignation. She had suspected Quark would try to

pull a fast one, and of course he had. When would

Sisko learn not to deal with him? Trusting a Ferengi to

get a civilian ship for them--it was nothing short of

suicidal.

She shook her head in disgust and released the

railing. "He can't be serious," she said, turning to

Chief O'Brien beside her. She pointed at the ship.

"Tell me that's not it!"

O'Brien frowned as he peered at the note in his

hand. "Docking Port 7," he read. "That's her, all

right. Perhaps she's not as bad as she looks."

"Right." She gave a derisive snort. "It's going to be

ten times worse."

"We won't know till we look inside," O'Brien went

on. His words sounded forced even to Kira.

"Come on, then," she said, turning toward the

turbolift. "Let's get it over with so we can start

looking for a real ship."

She wove her way through the crowds on the

Promenade toward the nearest lift, letting her anger

build to a white-hot fury. The station was packed, and

crowds swelled the Promenade to bursting, but she

noticed that everyone who saw her face or met her

gaze had the good sense to scramble out of her way. I

never was very good at hiding my feelings, she thought.

At least Quark won't mistake my reaction to his ship.

She'd known Quark for quite a few years, and

though he'd always cut comers in his rush to make a

profit, this was the most blatant rip-off she'd ever seen

him try to pull. It bordered on criminal. And he had

nerve to pull it on her--on all the station's command

personnel! Well, he wasn't going to get away with it,

she vowed, quickening her pace. She'd see to that.

The turbolift doors opened as she approached, and

a pair of Vulcans in dark cloaks strolled out, gazing

around with faintly curious expressions. They had

probably come to monitor the peace conference, she

thought... not that she had much hope for success.

It had taken her people decades to wrest freedom

from Cardassia. How could the Maquis expect suc-

cess practically overnight? She nodded politely to the

Vulcans and entered the turbolift, with O'Brien right

on her heels.

"Docking ring," she snapped to the computer. The

doors whisked closed, and they rode out in silence.

"Perhaps..." O'Brien mused.

Kira glanced at him and was shocked to find an

intrigued look on his face. She'd never been great at

reading people, but there couldn't be any mistaking

his expression.

"You're thinking of taking that ship, aren't you?"

she demanded.

"Uh... well, I'd have to have a closer look first, of

course," he said, shifting a little uncomfortably. A

hint of a blush crept into his cheeks. "It's not what's

outside that counts, after all--"

"Forget it! Just forget it!" Kira said, waving her

arms for emphasis. Had everyone on the station gone

crazy? "It's not going to happen! There's no way I'm

going off to the Gamma Quadrant in that pile of

junk!"

The lift door opened before O'Brien could answer,

and Kira whirled and strode out angrily into the

bustle of travelers, cargo handlers, and station person-

nel. DS9 never seenled to sleep anymore, she thought,

and with the peace conference coming up, ships were

arriving at a dizzying rate. Every berth on the docking

ring was occupied, and more sat waiting in queue to

disburse passengers and cargo. Dax and half the Ops

staff were busy juggling schedules to make sure every-

one got aboard the station in a timely manner.

She paused and glanced up and down the broad

curve of the docking ring. Where was that Ferengi

bastard? With so much going on, he had to be here.

Kira finally spotted Quark and his brother Rom

standing off to one side talking to a pair of Andorians.

The Andorians kept glancing around nervously; they

seemed to be trying to keep a low profile, Kira

thought. Although they wore long, concealing brown

tunics with simple brass-colored belts, their shocks of

white hair, bright blue skins, and antennae stood out

in sharp contrast to everything around them.

Close by them, she noticed a pair of Bajoran cargo

handlers in one-piece red uniforms lounging incon-

spicuously, as though on break. I know those two, she

realized, and then managed to place their faces. They

were two of Odo's deputies. They had to be keeping

Quark under surveillance, Kira thought with a touch

of glee... leave it to Odo. Even with all the bustle

going on, the constable still had time to keep tabs on

the station's number one suspect.

Surveillance or not, she had her own problems with

Quark right now, and she wasn't about to wait for him

to finish his business with the Andorians. She stalked

forward. The Andorians spotted her, muttered some-

thing to Quark, and hastily turned and walked farther

up the docking ring. Probably smugglers, Kira

thought with distaste; Quark would deal with anyone

or anything if it meant profit. Still, she would trust

Odo to keep him in check.

Her thoughts turned to the ship he was trying to

foist off on them, and again her anger boiled up. I can

handle this, she told herself. I will not strangle him.

Yet.

"Quark--" she began, drawing to a halt in front of

him.

"Major Kira!" Quark said, grinning happily. "Your

ship has just arrived, exactly as ordered. And what a

beauty, too--the Galactic Queen, a pleasure cruiser

serving the Orjax Cluster until two weeks ago. Why,

she only has fifty million light-years on her warp

engines--"

Kira clenched her jaw. I'm not going to strangle

him, she told herself again. She opened her mouth to

give an angry retort, but O'Brien interrupted.

"And I'll bet," O'Brien said from behind her, "that

she hasn't had a single day of regularly scheduled

maintenance. We looked her over from the observa-

tion deck on the Promenade. We couldn't help but

notice all the damage she's sustained over the years."

"Decades, rather," Kira muttered. Leave it to a

human to try to play peacemaker, she thought. She

gave O'Brien a displeased glance, but he flashed her a

quick grin.

"A few minor cosmetic blemishes..." Quark be-

gan, giving them both a reassuring smile. "A little

paint and you won't even know the difference. Isn't

that right, Rom?"

"True, brother," Rom said quickly. "A little paint

is all she needs."

"There you have it," Quark said with a winning

smile.

"Paint." Kira folded her arms and contented her-

self with leveling a piercing stare at the little Ferengi.

It seemed to work, she noticed with some satisfaction;

Quark shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

"You won't find a better ship," he said.

"Come on," O'Brien said, holding out one hand.

"Let's get it over with. I need the technical specs and

the registration papers."

"Of course." Quark held out his palm and Rom

slapped a datachip into it. Quark passed the chip over

to O'Brien, then turned and led the way toward

Airlock 7, saying, "She's a Delphi-class transport

ship. As you no doubt already noticed, she is built

using the finest Thelorian construction from human

blueprints, with only fifty million light-years on her

warp engines--"

"It won't do," Kira said flatly. Quark could talk it

up until his tongue fell out, but it didn't change one

simple fact The ship was a disaster. "For one thing,

we need an airtight hull."

"Delphi-class?" O'Brien said, nodding. "I thought

so. I worked on a couple of Delphi-class ships during

the Cardassian w ar."

Delphi-class? Was that important? Kira glanced

over at him. O'Brien's forehead had wrinkled in

thought again. What was so great about a Delphi-class

ship? It was just another obsolete model, as far as she

knew. Wasn't it?

"That's right," Quark said smoothly, "a classic,

isn't that so, Rorn?"

"Right, brother," Rom said, rubbing his hands

together nervously. "They don't make them like that

anymore."

Kira gave a snort. "I can see why," she said. "It's a

death trap."

Reaching the proper airlock, Quark punched an

access code into the hand pad, then stood back as the

huge red door rolled to the side like a cog in some vast

clockwork mechanism.

Instantly a dank, wet, unpleasant odor flowed out

through the airlock. Kira gagged and took a step back.

"What the hell is that stink?" she demanded, cover-

ing her nose and mouth with one hand. It had to be

coming from inside the ship, she thought. What was

Quark trying to do, poison them on top of everything

else?

The smell got worse. Gasping, Kira retreated a

couple of meters. It smelled like rotting meat and raw

sewage mixed together, she thought, fighting down

bile. She'd never smelled anything quite so foul.

Quark, too, was covering his nose. "Rom?" he

demanded. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Brother, I think they mentioned a small problem

with the ship's air filtration system," Rom said. "I'm

sure I can fix it."

"No problem, then," Quark said. He turned back to

O'Brien and gave a nervous little laugh. "Rom can fix

it later tonight. Shall we look inside?"

"Close it up," O'Brien said, frowning and covering

his own mouth and nose. "I'm not going in there with

anything less than an environment suit!"

Quark punched in the code again and the door

rolled shut. "Rom will get right on it," he promised.

"This ship is not even remotely acceptable," Kira

said. She continued to fight down nausea. "You'll

have to do better, Quark, if you expect to make a

deal."

"It's the only thing on the market!" Quark pro-

tested. "You should see what I turned down to get this

beauty for youm"

"It'll do," O'Brien said. He was nodding to himself

and smiling faintly.

Kira gaped at him. "What?" she demanded. She

could barely believe what she'd just heard. "How can

you say that! This is a... a..." Words failed her.

She didn't know where to begin.

"Prize?" Quark suggested. "Bargain?"

"It's no prize," O'Brien said, "but it just might do.

If the systems check out, that is," he added hastily.

"I'll get back up here with a team in environment

suits to look everything over in half an hour." He

nodded toward the turbolift. "Come on, Major. Let's

talk to the captain about it."

Kira set her feet. "Are you insane?" she demanded.

She had no intention of accepting the ship. "It's a

disaster waiting to happen!"

"Come on, Major," O'Brien said, still softly but

more intensely. He gave a jerk of his head toward the

lift. "Let's see the captain first, okay?"

She shrugged in despair. What was going through

O'Brien's mind? Either he had a plan or he really had

gone insane, she decided. If it was a plan, it had better

be a damn good one.

"All right," she said. "We'll talk to the captain."

O'Brien started for the lift, and Kira trailed after

him. How he could even suggest accepting this ship

was beyond her. She puzzled over it. More than once

she'd decided all humans were crazy, but there always

seemed to be a method to their madness. Even so,

O'Brien couldn't possibly accept such a pitiful excuse

for a ship... could he? He hadn't even checked out

the interior systems. Didn't he care about them?

Didn't he at least want an airtight hull?

"Another pair of satisfied customers," Kira over-

heard Quark saying proudly to Rom.

That did it. She whirled, leveling another piercing

glare at him. "Don't think this is over, Quark," she

called. "Captain Sisko still has to sign off on the

ship." And ifI have my way, she mentally added, Odo

will lock you up in that stinking hull for the rest of

your life for trying to cheat us. Let the punishment fit

the crime!

She hurried to join O'Brien in the turbolift. The

second the doors shut, she demanded, "Are you

insane? That ship--"

"Give me ten minutes at a comm station," he said,

"and I'll let you know."

CHAPTER

2

"Just ONE SMALL adjustment." Dr. Julian Bashir hid

his nervousness behind a studied expression of calm.

He flipped open the back panel of his new DNA

analyzer, which he'd designed and built with the help

of the station's computer. He bent down and peered

inside at the complex tangle of circuits and relays and

power couplings. What was wrong with it? It should

be working. He'd gone over it a hundred times

already, and every circuit checked out perfectly.

He glanced up at Captain Sisko. His commanding

officer was frowning with impatience. Sisko's new

beard and shaved head only emphasized that expres-

sion. Bashir swallowed. I'd better finish up in a hurry,

he thought. Sisko was a busy man, juggling the

Valtusian peace conference and a mission into the

Gamma Quadrant, and he didn't have time to waste.

Behind Sisko, Lieutenant Commander Worf and

Security Chief Odo both looked on with bored,

slightly put-upon expressions. Worf sighed audibly

and shifted from foot to foot. I'm losing them, Bashir

thought.

Nevertheless, he continued to keep his expression a

careful neutral as he examined the delicate micro-

connections inside the scanner. It should be working,

he thought. Why wasn't it? He simply didn't under-

stand the problem.

"Doctor..." Sisko began.

"One second more." His training at Starfleet Acad-

emy hadn't just covered biology and medicine.

Bedside--in this case, tableside--manners were just

as important, he knew. Like they said at Starfleet, as

long as you look like you know what you're doing,

your patients will have faith in you. Of course, he'd

have to make sure that faith wasn't misplaced.

He sucked in a deep breath. The scanner had to

work. Everything from the schematics to the pro-

gramming parameters had checked out perfectly dur-

ing computer-simulated tests. So why wouldn't it

power up now?

Then he spotted the problem. It was so simple, he

could have slapped himself. One power coupling had

worked its way loose. He must have failed to lock it

into position when he was assembling it, he realized.

Carefully he reached in with two fingers, fitted it into

the proper position, and pushed gently. He felt the

two pieces lock together with a faint snap.

That should do it, he thought with a mental sigh of

relief. He hoped.

"Well?" Sisko prompted.

Bashir smiled with new confidence as he stood up

again. It would work, he told himself. You didn't

graduate second in your class from Starfleet Academy

without learning a thing or two about machines.

"Ready," he said.

He closed the DNA analyzer's back panel. Running

one hand nervously through his short brown hair, he

took a deep breath, then for the second time touched

the activation button. Now work, damn it, he mentally

instructed the machine. He willed it to start with

every fiber of his being.

A low hum spread through the medical bay. Bashir

slowly let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been

holding. It had powered up, he thought triumphantly.

It was working. The power coupling hadn't been quite

in place, that was all. It had been his own fault, not

the machine's... simple human error.

"That fixed it," he said. "Sorry about the delay.

Commander, if you wouldn't mind?"

Worf stepped forward. "What exactly do you want

me to do?" the tall Klingon asked, his voice a low

growl. He sounded a little nervous, Bashir thought.

Klingons were just like human patients in that

respect. They all had to be coddled and encouraged

when it came to visiting sickbay. Sometimes he

thought every intelligent life-form in the galaxy had

an inborn distrust of the medical profession.

"Simply place your hand on top," he said. He

pushed the gray box toward Worf, giving him a

reassuring smile. Best tableside manner and all that.

"The scanner will do the rest."

Worf hesitated a second, glancing first at Captain

Sisko, then at Odo. Slowly, tentatively, he reached

out.

"You won't feel a thing," Bashir said encouragingly.

At this rate it was going to take all afternoon.

"I am not afraid of pain," Worf said sharply. He

slapped his hand down hard on top of the DNA

scanner. The slap made a sharp crack loud enough to

make a few of the nurses on the other side of the room

jump.

Bashir winced a bit. Luckily the DNA scanner

didn't seem to have been injured; it continued to hum

along smoothly.

"Sorry," Worf said a little more meekly.

"No harm done," Bashir said. "I didn't mean to

imply that you were afraid of pain," he added. One

difference between Klingon and human patients, he

realized, was that most human patients couldn't

break you in half if you got them angry. "I simply

meant that the process is painless."

The display panel on the side of the DNA scanner

flashed twice. "Reading," it said, its computer voice

faint and tinny. "Subject DNA passed. Subject is

Klingon."

Worf withdrew his hand. Slowly he flexed his fin-

gers, staring at them as though he thought they might

have been changed. No chance of that, though, Bashir

thought. It had removed a single skin cell with a

microlaser.

"Very impressive, Doctor," Sisko said. "Now let's

try a human."

"Shall I?" Bashir asked, starting to pull up his right

sleeve.

"No. I'd like to try it myself."

Sisko placed his own hand on the scanner. After a

second's analysis, the computer announced, "Subject

DNA passed. Subject is human."

Sisko nodded. "Now it's your turn, Doctor," he

said, stepping back and fold ing his arms.

Bashir stepped forward. The captain undoubtedly

wanted to confirm that none of the command staff

had been replaced by changelings, and he was happy

to oblige. Bashir g DNA Scanner to the rescue, he

thought. When he published a paper on the device, he

was certain it would rapidly become the de facto

standard in testing for changeling infiltration. A work

of near genius, if I do say so myself he thought with

satisfaction.

He put his own hand on the scanner, and after a

second it announced that he, too, was human. Of

course.

That just left Odo. Bashir glanced at the station's

changeling security officer. This, he thought, would be

the real test.

"Your turn, Constable," Sisko said.

Without a moment's hesitation, Odo stepped for-

ward and put his hand on top of the box just as the

others had done.

"Reading," the device said.

Bashir leaned forward expectantly. Anyone could

detect DNA in carbon-based life-forms. But detecting

a changeling...

"Subject has no DNA," his DNA analyzer an-

nounced. "Subject is not a carbon-based life-form."

"Quite true," Odo said. "But what if they try to

sneak aboard by impersonating a life-form that

doesn't use DNA? Wouldn't that fool your device'?"

"Some variant of DNA appears to be a universal

constant in all carbon-based life-forms," Bashir said.

"The Federation has only encountered a handful of

silicon-based life-forms, like the Hortas, and none of

them are likely to be on the station during these peace

negotiations. Valtusians, Cardassians, Bajorans, all

the races making up the Maquis, and in fact every

carbon-based race that belongs to the Federation has a

DNA signature on file with Starfleet Medical." He

patted the top of the DNA analyzer proudly. "If

changelings have replaced one or more of them, we'll

know it, believe me."

"And since we're pulling this test as a surprise, they

won't have any chance to prepare any sort of counter-

measure," Sisko said.

"I doubt that's possible--" Bashir began, but Odo

interrupted.

"Don't underestimate my people," he said. "Re-

member what they did on Earth."

Bashir nodded, then swallowed. They had indeed

infiltrated Starfleet Command and the Federation

headquarters, even going so far as blowing up a

conference with the Romulans. Starfleet had lost

many key personnel. The changelings were crafty and

resourceful. In time, they might indeed find some way

around his device... but hopefully not before he

smoked out any spies aboard DS9.

The captain's badge chirped. "Sisko here," he said.

"Benjamin," Lieutenant Jadzia Dax's voice said,

"the Valtusian ambassadors have arrived. I'm routing

them to Docking Pylon Three. I thought you might

want to welcome them aboard."

"Thank you, Dax," he said. "I'm on my way." He

glanced at Bashir and said, "Doctor, I believe it's time

to field test your DNA scanner."

"Right," Bashir said with a grin. This was what

he'd been waiting for, after all.

"And, Constable," Sisko went on, "I think you

should join us as well. And you too, Mr. Worf, if

you're willing."

"Certainly," Odo said.

"Agreed," Worf said.

Bashir picked up his DNA analyzer and tucked it

under his arm. He'd never met a Valtusian before,

though of course he knew their reputation as a race of

tinkerers and philosophers. Few of them left Valtusia,

preferring to live in their own communal villages,

pondering the universe, writing poetry, tinkering with

intricate clockwork mechanisms, and devoting them-

selves to the mysteries of their kind. This should

Star Trek Deep Space 9 17 Heart Of The Warrior

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