Star Trek - TNG - Double Helix 2

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Double Helix #2
VECTORS
Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Vectors BOOK 2
Chapter One
TEROK NOR. Its name was as dark as its corridors. He
actually found himself seeking the light, but carefully.
Oh, so carefully. Sometimes his cloak malfunctioned,
and he was seen. Partially, like a heat shimmer across
desert sand, or an electronic memory buried in an old
computer. But he was seen.
He didn't dare make that mistake here. The Gener-
al didn't tolerate mistakes from his agents.
He stood in the shadows just to the left of the main
entrance to a place called Quark's Bar. The area the
Ferengi bartender had called the Promenade lay be-
fore him, turning away to the right, bending with the
shape of the station design. The walls were gray, the
floors gray, everything was gray. The Cardassians had
made no effort to decorate this place. Even the bar
seemed dismal.
He shuddered and drew his cape around his body.
He was glad he wouldn't have to stay here too long.
This Terok Nor reminded him of his prison cell. He
had lost too many years of his life there. He had
spent too much time staring at gray metal walls,
dreaming of escape. The metal walls, the ringing
sound of boots against hard surfaces, the stench of
fear--impossible to hide, even though the Cardassi-
ans kept their Bajoran prisoners separate from the
rest of the populationapermeated the place. If he
shut his eyes, his other senses would find nothing to
distinguish Terok Nor from that hideous cell, from
that prison he had finally left. The prison had
changed him--made him bitter, made him wiser,
made him more careful. Oh, so careful.
Two Cardassian guards walked the wide passage.
Their gray skin matched the depressing decor. The
only thing that seemed wrong to him was the heat. By
rights this station should have been as cold as its
walls, but it wasn't. The heat was thick and nearly
unbearable. He didn't know how anyone could stand
being here for long. The heat also accentuated the
smells: the processed air, the unwashed bodies, the
Rokassa juice wafting out from the bar. The sensa-
tions were almost too much for him.
He reminded himself that Terok Nor was the per-
fect testing ground. Two races, living in close prox-
imity, with others coming and going. Their petty
differences didn't matter. That one race kept the other
prisoner, that one made the other labor in uridium
processing were merely details. The important factor
was much larger.
Terok Nor was the perfect testing ground for the
General. A closed system, for the most part. But any-
one entering the systemmor departing the system~
would leave a record. A trail he could follow, should
he so choose.
He didn't choose at the moment.
Now he was most interested in Terok Nor itself.
To his right in the bar, crowds of uridium freighter
pilots and crews shouted and laughed, the sounds
echoing off the high ceilings. A few moments before,
he'd been in there sitting at the bar, watching.
Waiting.
Trying to stay cool and block out the uridium smell
with the odor of one of the pilots' Gamzian wine. But
it hadn't helped, and besides, he couldn't see that well
or hear that clearly with his cloak on.
A clang from the far end of the Promenade caught
his attention. One of the Cardassian guards had
dropped his phaser pistol, then grabbed the wall as if
for support. The other guard bent over him, then
glanced from side to side, as if worried that a Bajoran
might see and take advantage.
He was too far away to hear their words. The first
guard shrugged the other off. The second guard
picked up the pistol and spoke on his communicator.
Two guards who had apparently been patrolling just
out of his line of sight ran toward the far end of the
Promenade.
The first guard put an arm around the second, who
again shrugged him off. The second tried to stand,
and nearly collapsed. The first guard supported him,
and together they walked along the walls, keeping as
far out of sight as possible.
He felt excitement flash through him, and he
tamped it down. He couldn't let his emotions inter-
fere with his observations. This might be nothing. It
was a bit early to see results. He hadn't expected
anything so soon.
The guards passed him. He had to press himself
against the gray metal so that they wouldn't brush
him. They weren't conversing, although he wished
they would. He wanted to know exactly what had
happened.
He needed to know.
He had moved to follow the guards, but the Prome-
nade gave him no cover. So he remained in the
shadows.
He would wait here, in the heat and the stench, just
as he had done in his cell. He was good at waiting,
especially when he knew it would end. And it would
end.
Soon he would get his answer.
Chapter Two
"I TELL YOU, BARTENDER," the drunk Cardassian
freighter pilot was saying, none too softly, "someone
has been sniffing my Gamzian wine."
"You don't sniff Gamzian wine," Quark said for the
eighteenth time. He loaded up another tray, carefully
balancing the Saurian brandy bottle in the center so
that Rom wouldn't drop the whole thing. As if train-
ing his brother weren't enough of a headache, Quark
had a bar full of pilots and crew--mostly Cardassian,
all of them drunk, and none of them more annoying
than the pilot at the very edge of the bar, nearest the
door. He had been complaining about hearing sniffing
sounds, which, Quark had to admit, he had thought
he had heard too. But they had been coming from an
empty chair beside the pilot. They were probably an
acoustical trick, caused by loud voices and even
louder laughter, not to mention--
A crash echoed through the bar, and all the noise
stopped as everyone looked at the table closest to the
Dabo game. Quark couldn't see what was going on,
but he knew. He knew even before his brother Rom
pushed his way out of a group of Cardassians, looking
like a misbehaving child trying to find his way past a
group of annoyed grownups. Rom was bowing and
apologizing and moving quicker than Quark had ever
seen him move.
Rom darted behind the bar, just as a Cardassian
stood, drenched in Romulan ale. The blue liquid
coated his neck ridges, making him look as if some
fanciful person had decided that he needed a spot of
color.
"Ferengi!" he barked.
Rom was cringing behind the bar, clinging to
Quark's legs. Quark kicked him off.
"It wasn't my fault, brother," Rom said.
"Sure looks like it to me," Quark said.
Rom peeked over the bar, then ducked quickly,
narrowly missing the tray Quark had just filled. The
Cardassian was heading toward them. He looked
bigger than most Cardassians, if that was possible,
and meaner too.
Quark shook his leg, but Rom wouldn't let go.
The Cardassian shoved two patrons aside as he
reached the bar. "You!" he said, grabbing Quark's
collar and lifting him against the bar itself. Rom was
still clinging to his leg, and Quark felt as if he were
being stretched so hard that he might actually snap.
"Me?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.
"You!" The Cardassian pulled harder. Quark shook
his foot desperately. They were going to break some-
thing or worse--he'd be tall as a Bajoran when they
were done.
"Me?" Quark said again, still shaking that foot.
Rom was like a tube grub.
"You!" the Cardassian said, and yanked. Quark's
foot slipped through Rom's grasp, and he overbal-
anced the Cardassian, who fell backwards, pulling
Quark with him. Quark grabbed at the bar, then a
customer, then a table to catch his balance. Instead,
he bounced on the Cardassian's chest.
The man smelled so fiercely of Romulan ale that
Quark nearly sneezed. He apologized and rolled off
the Cardassian, resisting the urge to scramble behind
the bar as Rom had done. Quark had learned, in his
years on Terok Nor, that the best way to handle
Cardassians--usualty--was to act as if their most
unreasonable behavior were normal.
He braced himself on a chair, got to his feet, and
tugged his shirt in place. The Romulan ale smell had
followed him, and he resisted the urge to glance down.
Once that stuff was on someone's clothing, it never
came off. He didn't want to add a ruined shirt to
Rom's list of errors this night.
"Much as I enjoyed our game," Quark said to the
Cardassian, "I must get back to work. Is there any-
thing I can get you?"
The Cardassian held a hand to his head. Quark
couldn't tell if that was because the man had hit it or
because the liquor he had consumed was finally
making itself felt.
"Get me the Ferengi weasel whom you use as a
serving wench."
"Wench?" Quark heard Rom's voice from behind
the bar. This was the wrong time for Rom to take
offense, at anything.
"You must mean my brother," Quark said, trying to
think of a way to placate the Cardassian. "He's filling
in tonight. He has never worked in a bar before--"
"That's obvious," someone said from behind
Quark.
"-so if he's offended you in some way, let me
make it up to you. I could refill your ale, or give you a
half hour in one of my holosuites, or find someone to
clean and press your uniform--"
"I want the Ferengi," the Cardassian said. He was
sitting up on one elbow, his face prayer than Quark
had ever seen Cardassian skin look.
Quark glanced at the bar. Rom would pay for this.
All of it. The entire day. The entire week.
"I'm a Ferengi," Quark said.
"I'm not blind," the Cardassian said. "I want the
other one!"
Quark closed his eyes for a moment. He would
never get into the Divine Treasury. Never. Certainly
not with Rom on Terok Nor.
"He's behind the bar," Quark whispered.
"What?" the Cardassian said.
"Behind. The. Bar." Quark opened his eyes. His
eleven-year-old nephew Nog was watching him from
the stairs, the boy's round face filled with a mixture of
sadness and anger.
The Cardassian got to his feet. "You, you, and
you," he said pointing to three other Cardassians. He
certainly wasn't big on names. "Get that little maggot
out here."
Quark held up his hands. "I really don't approve of
bloodshed in my bar."
"I am not interested in blood," the Cardassian said.
The three Cardassian crewmen pulled Rom out
from behind the bar. He was kicking, shaking his
head, and apologizing all at the same time.
"Hold him there." The Cardassian pointed at the
chair Quark was standing near. Quark took a few
steps back, sneaking another glance at Nog.
The bar was silent except for Rom's protests. Nog
mouthed, Help him, to Quark, who promptly turned
away.
The Cardassians did as they were bid, placing Rom
on the chair. Their ale-covered leader grabbed the
Saurian brandy off the tray.
"Wait! Wait!" Quark said. "That's rare and pre-
cious and--"
The Cardassian was staring at him, the stench of
Romulan ale coming off him in waves. "And?"
Quark bowed slightly so the Cardassian couldn't
see his expression. "And I hope you enjoy it very
much."
"I will." The Cardassian uncorked the brandy and
poured it slowly, lovingly, over Rom's head. A roar of
laughter went up in the bar, and then all the other
Cardassians piled forward to pour their drinks on
Rom.Quark scuttled through the crowd and made it back
to the relative safety behind the bar. He used a napkin
to mop the ale off his shirt, and winced as another
roar of laughter filled the place. The mixed drinks
were turning purple on Rom's skull. He was splutter-
ing, using his free hand to wipe at his nose and mouth.
"Stop them." Somehow Nog had found his way
behind the bar. If Quark had thought his brother
annoying, he had been mistaken. Annoying was this
kid who seemed to think he knew everything, even
though he believed his father was worthy of respect.
"After all the glasses Rom has broken today,"
Quark said, "I think I owe him one."
"You owe him one," Nog said. "They do not.
They're making a fool of him."
"He made a fool of himself," Quark said, and
moved to the edge of the bar.
The lone Cardassian pilot still sat there, staring at
his Gamzian wine. He was muttering. Quark hurried
away.
Laughter again rose from the group.
"Why aren't you doing anything?" Nog asked.
"I am doing something," Quark said. "I'm making
more drinks. Everyone will be out in a moment."
"How can you?" Nog said. "He's your brother."
"Don't I know it," Quark said. Rom was still
standing on that chair. No one was holding him any-
more. His head was covered with a sickly yellow
liquid; his clothing was drenched; and it looked like
his shoes were melting, even though they couldn't be.
The drinks, even mixed together, weren't toxic
enough.
But the shoes could be cheap enough.
The Cardassians were standing around him, shout-
ing and laughing each time someone poured a drink
on Rom, but more and more the Cardassians were
noticing that they were running out of liquor. A few
were already bellying up to the bar to order more.
Then a few more came. And a few more.
Suddenly, he was swamped. "Nog?"
He turned. The boy was gone. Nog was as bad as his
father and as worthless, too.
Quark moved faster than he had in a long time,
mixing drinks, trying to keep the drunken Cardassi-
ans from tearing up his bar further. Rom would have
to clean up those drinks before anyone fell. Quark
didn't want to think about the damage that a falling
Cardassian could cause. He didn't want to think
about money at all. Right now, all it would do was
make him mad.
Even though he was raking it in at the moment.
Maybe he shotfid hold a "Drench the Ferengi" contest
once a month. The only catch would be that the
customers would have to buy the drinks that they
poured on Rom. And it would have to be on Rom. He
wasn't good for anything else.
He had been that way since he was a boy. Useless.
No business sense. Quark had sold Rom's birthday
presents, swindled him in his school ventures, even
made Rom pay a toll to get into his own room, and
still Rom had not learned. Not even by example.
Not even when he was young.
Quark shivered. And now he was stuck with his
brother. His brother and his nephew, both of whom
managed to inherit Quark's father's business sense, or
rather his lack of it.
The traffic at the bar was slowing down. Quark
looked up. Nog was helping Rom off the chair. Rom
was shaking himself like a wet dog, drenching custom-
ers on either side. Fortunately, they were still too
pleased with themselves to care.
With Nog's assistance, Rom squished his way to the
bar. Quark slid a pile of towels across the bar. "Go
clean up your mess," he said to his brother.
"My mess? Brother, they assaulted me and you did
nothing."
Quark set his lower'lip. He had had enough of
Rom's whining. If this new relationship were to
work--and part of him truly wished it wouldn't--
then Rom would have to learn a few things.
"Nog," Quark said. "Clean up the spill before
someone slips."
"No," Nog said. "My father--"
"Nog," Quark said with some force.
Nog glared at him, then picked up the towels and
headed back to the sodden chair.
"Come back here," Quark said to Rom.
Rom squished his way around the bar, leaving
prints. A few Cardassians watched, still chuckling.
The rest had gone back to their drinks and their Dabo
game.
When Rom made it to the side of the bar, Quark
grabbed him by the ear and dragged him toward
the stairs leading to the holosuites. The tables were
empty, and no one was looking at them.
"Ow!" Rom said. "What was that for?"
"For being stupid enough to dump Romulan ale on
a Cardassian pilot. I'm lucky you didn't dump it on
Gul Dukat. He'd close us down."
"It was a simple mistake, brother. I--"
"If I had a strip of latinurn for each stupid mistake
you've made since you arrived on the station, I'd be a
rich man," Quark said. He had been quiet as long as
he could. "You brought this on yourself, and you're
lucky it wasn't worse."
"Worse? Didn't you see what they did? The Visscus
vodka and the Itharian mol~ turned into a fizzing
powder that--"
"I saw what they did," Quark said, lowering his
voice so that Rom had to lean forward to hear. "And
if you had dumped that ale on Gul Dukat, you'd be in
the brig now. Or worse." "Worse?"
"Worse." Quark crossed his arms. "I let them pick
on you for your own good. Maybe you'll learn to be
more careful. This is a dangerous place. You can't go
around being your happy-go-lucky self. You have to
watch everything you do."
"Yes, brother," Rom said, meekly. Then he added,
"And here I thought you were just mad at all the
glasses I broke."
"That too," Quark said. "I'm going to start deduct-
ing the price of everything you break from your
salary."
"But brotherre"
Quark held up a hand. "I'm doing you a lot of
favors, Rom. I didn't have to give you a home and a
job when Prindora's father swindled you out of all
your money."
"You weren't going to bring that up again," Rom
said, glancing over his shoulder for Nog. The boy was
still wiping the floor. Those Cardassians had poured a
lot of liquid on Rom.
"It's kind of hard to forget, Rom. What kind of
idiot fails to read the fine print in a contract?"
"It was a marriage contract," Rom said.
"So?" Quark asked. "How is that different from a
regular contract?"
"It was even an extension of the marriage contract.
I read the first one."
"Twelve years ago," Quark said. "And I'll bet you
forgot the terms, didn't you?"
Rom swallowed and looked down.
"You loved Prindora, so you trusted her."
Rom nodded.
"She's a female, Rom."
"She was my wife," Rom said miserably.
"At least she remembered the Sixth Rule of Acqui-
sition."
"That's not fair," Rom said.
"What is it?" Quark asked. "Do you even know?"
Rom straightened his shoulders. "'Never allow
family to stand in the way of opportunity.'"
"Good," Quark said. "Then you should understand
why I let the Cardassians pour drinks on you. I made
money, and that's more than I've done since you
showed up."
"I'm sorry, brother," Rom said.
"You should be. Now go put on some clean clothes
and get back out here. There's a lot of work to do."
Quark glanced over at Nog. "And your son isn't a
very good substitute."
"He's just a boy," Rom said.
"Go," Quark said, and Rom ran for their quarters.
Quark shook his head and returned to the bar. Some-
times even he forgot the Sixth Rule of Acquisition. If
he had remembered it, he wouldn't have allowed Rom
here in the first place. But Rom had looked so pathetic
when he arrived, dragging Nog behind him. Quark
had actually felt sorry for them, although that emo-
tion was quickly fading now~ Every time he heard the
sound of shattering glass.
"Nog!" he yelled. "When you finish that, I have
some other things for you to clean."
The boy looked at him for a long moment. There
was something in Nog's eyes, something a bit too
rebellious for Quark, but then it disappeared as if it
had never been.
"Yes, uncle," Nog said.
Quark nodded curtly, then leaned back and sur-
veyed the bar. The Cardassian freighter crews were
thinning. Drink had forced some of them to leave.
The remaining ones weren't as rowdy as they had
been earlier. The muttering pilot at the far end of the
bar was still staring at his Gamzian wine. The glass
was as full as it had been before the trouble started,
but the Cardassian was an odd shade of green.
"And I thought the gray looked bad," Quark mur-
mured. He frowned. A few of the Cardassians around
the Dabo table were also faintly greenish. He had seen
a lot of drunk Cardassians in his day, but he had never
seen them turn vaguely green before. He had always
thought that a hu-man trait.
Maybe they were all from the same ship. Or maybe
the greenish tinge was being caused by something
they'd eaten. Or maybe they were from a part of
Cardassia Prime that made them look that way natu-
rally.
"Or maybe that's how Cardassians look when they
tan."
"What, uncle?"
Quark jumped. He hadn't realized Nog was beside
him. "Do those Cardassians look strange to you?"
Nog peered at them. "They all look strange to me."
Quark nodded. Nog had a point. Maybe Quark had
been here so long that everything abnormal was
beginning to look normal.
What a frightening thought. He shuddered one
more time, and then went back to work.
Chapter Three
THE LIGHTS IN THE MEDICAL LAB seemed dimmer than
usual. Gul Dukat stepped inside, hands clasped be-
hind his back. He was used to being here when
colleagues and subordinates were wounded, but he
felt uncomfortable here in cases like this. Illness.
Especially unrecognized illness. The very idea made
his skin crawl.
The displays were flashing, the monitors constantly
recording various bits of information. In the main
section, the physician assigned to Terok Nor, Narat,
sat at his desk studying a screen before him. On beds
hooked up to the monitors were two of Dukat's
guards. Their skin was an odd greenish color, almost
the color of a body shortly after it begins to decay.
Dukat raised his head slightly. Through the door of
the second, smaller room, he could see the blanket-
covered feet of the two Bajoran patients. Their doc-
tor, Kellec Ton, stood beside them studying a Cardas-
sian padd as if it were in a strange language. It looked
odd to Dukat to see Bajorans here. They belonged in
the medical part of the Bajoran area. It wasn't as well
appointed as this, but then, they were workers. They
didn't need all of this equipment.
He wouldn't have allowed them up here if Narat
didn't believe that the disease the Bajoran workers
had was related to the disease these two guards
seemed to have.
Dukat took another step into the medical lab. Narat
turned. He was slight, and his neck scales were hardly
prominent. His eyes almost disappeared into his thin
face. They were always bloodshot, but they seemed
worse now. His thinning hair was cut short, almost
too short, and stood straight up. He wore a lab coat
over his uniform, and it gave him a scholarly air.
"Ah, Gul Dukat. I appreciate you coming here so
quickly."
Dukat glanced at the patients on the bed. He felt
uncomfortable, so he wasn't going to give any lezway
to Narat. "I don't like to have Bajorans up here."
"We have a forcefield at the doors, just as you
recommended," Narat said. "But they're not going
anywhere. They will die here, probably within a few
hours."
He sounded certain.
"I'd like you to see them."
Dukat frowned, glancing again at the guards. One
of them moaned and thrashed, clutching at his stom-
ach. Narat uttered a small curse, then found a hypo-
spray and shut off the quarantine field around the bed.
He stepped inside, restarted the quarantine field, and
administered hypo to the man's neck. The guard
calmed slightly.
"What about them?" Dukat asked.
"In a moment," Narat said, as he let himself out of
the quarantine field. "Let me tell you this in my own
way."
He led Dukat to the second room. They stopped at
the door. The forcefield Dukat had insisted on was
more for the Bajoran doctor than it was for the
patients, but Dukat didn't tell Narat that. Dukat
wanted Narat and Kellec Ton to work together as best
a Cardassian and a Bajoran could. He just wasn't
going to take any chances.
As if he knew that Dukat was thinking of him,
Kellec Ton looked up from his padd. He had the wide
dark eyes that Dukat found so compelling in Ba-
jorans. His nose ridge set them off. His face was long,
but didn't give an impression of weakness like Narat's
did. On Kellec, the length accented his bone structure
and gave him a suggestion of power.
Dukat had been careful around this Bajoran doctor,
and had limited his access to the Cardassians. Women
found him attractive, and Dukat didn't like that.
Kellec Ton had the kind of charisma that could be
dangerous if allowed to run free.
Dukat couldn't study him any longer. He had to
look at the patients.
The Bajorans on the table were not a strange shade
of green. In fact, their color was normal. Better than
normal. If he hadn't known better, Dukat would have
thought them the picture of perfect health.
It was the stench that made their illness dear. The
pervasive odor of rot clung to everything, as if there
were food spoiling along the floors and walls of the
mom-4ood and unburied bodies decaying in a pow-
aeful sun.
He resisted the urge to bring his hand over his face.
~11ec Ton was watching him, as if measuring Dukat's
te~onse. '~gusting, isn't it?" Kellec said. "You
~hould go into the Bajoran section. The smell is so
overpo~ there I have no idea how anyone can
~t2' 17ae~ he tilted his head slightly. "Not that
~here's much to eat in the first place."
Dukat would not get into political discussions with
this man. He was on Terok Nor because Dnkat cared
for his Bajoran workers. He was here because a
healthy worker was a strong worker. The more
uridium the Bajorans processed, the better for all
concerned.
"What is this disease?" Dukat asked.
"If I knew, I might be able to help them." There
was a controlled frustration in Kellec's voice. "So far,
we've lost twenty Bajorans, and these two aren't far
behind. They look good, don't they?"
Dukat nodded, then asked, "What is the odor?"
KeUec glanced at Narat, who nodded that he should
continue. Kellec set the padd down on the instrument
table. "Exactly what you think it is. Their bodies are
decaying internally. I keep them sedated, but this
disease, whatever it is, is incredibly painful. Some of
the others broke through the sedatives before they
died--I couldn't give them enough medication to
ease the suffering."
Somehow, he made that sound like Dukat's fault.
But Dukat had done nothing to cause this disease.
Some Bajoran had brought it onto the station. He had
left it to the Bajorans to cure. They handled their own
health. That was why he allowed them Kellec Ton. If
they needed specific supplies, Kellec Ton was sup-
posed to act as liaison with the Cardassians.
"You should have notified us sooner. Perhaps Narat
has something that will--"
"No, I don't," Narat said.
"Well," Dukat said, "I don't like diseases that
destroy my workers. You should have brought this to
me before it got out of control."
"The disease first showed up a day and a half ago,"
Kellec said. "I've been a bit busy since then."
"And it will only get worse," Narat said.
Dukat turned to him. Narat's face looked even
more pinched than it had moments ago. "Why is
that?"
He took Dukat's arm and led him to the edge of the
摘要：

DoubleHelix#2VECTORSDeanWesleySmith&KristineKathrynRuschVectorsBOOK2ChapterOneTEROKNOR.Itsnamewasasdarkasitscorridors.Heactuallyfoundhimselfseekingthelight,butcarefully.Oh,socarefully.Sometimeshiscloakmalfunctioned,andhewasseen.Partially,likeaheatshimmeracrossdesertsand,oranelectronicmemoryburiedina...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：129 页 大小：1.39MB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-05

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