Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Plagues of Night Read online

  As the captain neared the airlock, she heard the tread of somebody approaching from the opposite direction. Up ahead, Lieutenant Prynn Tenmei emerged from a connecting corridor. She saw Ro and stopped, obviously waiting for the captain to reach her.

  “Good evening, Prynn,” Ro said, choosing familiarity over ceremony. The duty shifts of both officers had ended two hours earlier, when Defiant had returned to DS9 from the Gamma Quadrant. “I didn’t think I would see anybody here so long after the ship’s arrival at the station.”

  “I could say the same thing to you, Captain,” said Tenmei.

  Ro noted the wry smile on the lieutenant’s face. Since the captain had used Tenmei’s given name, she normally would have expected her friend to reply in kind. Ever since Ro’s promotion, though, Tenmei appeared to enjoy employing the captain’s new rank, even in casual conversation.

  “So why are you still here?” Ro asked. “Thinking of commandeering the Defiant and taking it out for a little jaunt of your own?” The crew of DS9 knew well Tenmei’s penchants for high speed and piloting starships—or, for that matter, piloting any sort of vehicle.

  “I wish,” Tenmei said. “Actually, do you remember that lag I detected between helm control and the impulse-power readings?”

  “I do,” Ro said. The captain and her crew had taken Defiant into the Gamma Quadrant, where they had spent the past ten days mapping star systems and performing preliminary planetary scans, all in anticipation of Starfleet’s future exploratory efforts. “You reported the lag as an insignificant concern. I’ve got it on my task list for Chief Chao to take a look at.” Lieutenant Commander Jeannette Chao served on Deep Space 9 as its chief engineer.

  “Well, it was definitely a minor issue, but it still bothered me,” Tenmei said. “So I spent some time executing diagnostics on the flight-control systems. It turned out there was a minute misalignment in one of the conn relays. It wouldn’t have caused us any real problems, and it wouldn’t have gotten any worse, but I still wanted to repair it.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have the chief verify the fix and take it off my list,” Ro said. “So are you headed for the station then?” Tenmei nodded, and Ro motioned ahead. They started forward together.

  During her first couple of years aboard DS9, Ro had grown close to Tenmei’s father, Elias Vaughn, though not particularly to Tenmei herself. But once Captain Vaughn’s broken, inert body had been relocated from his mangled starship to the station’s infirmary after the Borg invasion, the two women had found common ground. Tenmei had been estranged from her father for many years, but over the course of their mutual posting to Deep Space 9, they’d found a deeper understanding of themselves and each other, which ultimately had allowed them to permanently renew their family ties.

  For Ro, Vaughn had also provided a father figure, albeit that of a surrogate. She supposed that during the time Tenmei shunned his presence in her life, he had latched onto Ro as something of a substitute daughter. Eventually, after Tenmei and Vaughn had reestablished their relationship, the two women had developed their own friendship, which had flourished in the wake of Vaughn’s devastating injury.

  As she and Tenmei got to the bow of the ship, Ro reached up and keyed a control pad. They passed through an airlock aboard Defiant, and then through a similar chamber aboard the station. They crossed the main corridor of DS9’s docking ring, headed toward the nearest lift. “Any plans for the evening?” Ro asked, though much of the evening had already passed, with station time nearing 2200 hours. “I was thinking of heading to the Promenade.” She’d actually first thought about going to her office, but she realized that she needed to stop pushing herself harder than necessary—harder than would be productive—just because she’d been granted the title of captain. Upon Defiant’s arrival at DS9, she’d immediately checked in with her first officer, Colonel Cenn Desca, so no need existed for her to visit ops.

  “I’m pretty tired,” Tenmei said. “I thought I’d stop by the infirmary for a few minutes before turning in.”

  “Of course,” Ro said softly, a note of tenderness entering her voice. In the year and a half since Vaughn had been wounded in battle at Alonis, he had shown no indications of higher brain function. Six months into his stay in the infirmary, Tenmei reluctantly authorized the removal of her father’s respirator. To the surprise of Doctor Bashir and the rest of the medical staff, Vaughn continued breathing on his own. Despite that, the physical trauma to his brain made recovery impossible. Tenmei understood that, but so far, she had been unable to bring herself to take the final step and have Vaughn’s feeding and hydration tubes disconnected. When aboard the station, Tenmei visited her father every day.

  Ro wanted to offer words of condolence to her friend, but she didn’t know what more she could say than she already had in the previous eighteen months. After so much time, expressions of sympathy seemed only to add to Tenmei’s already terrible burden. Ro chose silence instead, which Tenmei matched.

  They reached the lift and entered it. Ro specified their destination as the infirmary. The cab accelerated smoothly, traveling horizontally along one of the station’s three crossover bridges, past the habitat ring, and then up through the central core to the Promenade. They alighted beside the DS9 medical facilities, and Ro accompanied Tenmei to the entrance. Just inside, Nurse Etana Kol sat at a workstation.

  “Sleep well,” Ro told Tenmei.

  “You too, Captain.” Even in her ongoing grief, Tenmei managed a smile.

  Once alone, Ro turned her attention farther on down the Promenade. At that time of night, she did not expect to find it quiet, and indeed, as she neared the entryway to Quark’s, she heard a dense mix of many voices, punctuated with bursts of laughter. Quark must be happy, she thought, which in turn pushed up the sides of her lips into a smile.

  Inside, Ro didn’t see an empty seat. She spied a few familiar faces scattered about, starting with the waitstaff: Broik, Frool, and Grimp bounded between tables and the bar, serving trays balanced on their outstretched hands, while Aluura and Hetik worked the dabo wheel, surrounded, as usual, by the most boisterous patrons in the room. She spotted Lieutenant Commander Wheeler Stinson, her second officer, who captained Defiant when Ro did not. She also saw the station’s lead science officer, John Candlewood, and Ensign Rahendervakell th’Shant, one of the engineering team. At the far side of the room, Lieutenant Commander Jefferson Blackmer roamed through the crowd, apparently keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. And who’s keeping an eye on Blackmer? Ro thought, still unsure about DS9’s new security chief.

  Mostly, though, Ro saw crew members of U.S.S. Gryphon. The Akira-class starship had arrived at Deep Space 9 nearly two weeks ago to provide its complement a period of rest and relaxation. The vessel’s presence at the station also allowed Ro to take Defiant safely away from DS9 and Bajor for the extended mission in the Gamma Quadrant.

  Ro made her way through the throng to the far side of the bar, where she tucked herself into the corner, trying to keep herself unnoticed. For a few moments, she watched as Treir and Quark took orders at the bar, mixed drinks, and gathered empty glasses. The two moved quickly but smoothly, easily keeping up with the clientele. It didn’t take long, though, before Quark threw a lingering look in Ro’s direction. Somehow, he almost always seemed to sense her presence. She hadn’t opened her mouth since entering the place, so he couldn’t have heard her.

  You never know, Ro thought. Maybe he heard and recognized my footsteps. After all, those are really big ears.

  As Ro chuckled to herself, Quark sauntered over, sporting one of the tailored, varicolored jackets he preferred. He carried with him a tall bottle in the shape of an obelisk, which appeared to contain liquids of two different colors side by side. Despite filling the same container, the green and red fluids remained unmixed.

  “Captain Ro,” Quark said, offering her a toothy smile. “I didn’t know you were back on the station.”

  “If you’re going to lie to me, Quark,” she said without he
sitation, “I may as well not even stay.”

  “Lie to you?” he said. “Where’s the profit in that?”

  Ro arched an eyebrow. “Make sure you don’t forget that,” she told him. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know that the Defiant got back two hours ago. You’ve got better tracking software than Starfleet Intelligence.”

  “Well, I might have heard something about the Defiant returning to the station,” Quark admitted with a shrug. “But that didn’t mean that the crew didn’t discover some new, highly intelligent civilization in the Gamma Quadrant who decided to keep you around as their queen.”

  Ro leaned in over the bar to respond. Before she did, she noticed that Quark wore another new scent—something Bajoran, she thought. She liked it, and she appreciated his effort as well. “So you think I should be treated like a queen, do you?”

  “I absolutely do, and I say that—” Quark set down the unusual bottle, spread his arms, and bowed his head. “—as your most loyal subject.”

  “Oh, really?” Ro said, feeling herself relax, and thoroughly enjoying the playful banter. Through her years on DS9, she’d certainly enjoyed that and more with Quark. When Ro had first come aboard, she and the Ferengi barkeep had realized that they had a great deal in common—not the least of which included their feeling like outcasts no matter where they went. They ended up spending time together and getting to know each other, both finding pleasure in the other’s company.

  At one point, when Bajor stood poised to join the Federation, both Ro and Quark came to believe that their time on Deep Space 9 had come to an end. A moneyless economy would undermine Quark’s business, and Starfleet’s absorption of the Bajoran Militia would put a halt to Ro’s career; her record during a previous stint in Starfleet included disobeying orders, a court-martial, imprisonment in the stockade, and desertion. And so, knowing that they would no longer have a place on DS9, they considered leaving the station together. But then Quark’s brother, Rom—who also happened to be the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi Alliance—added another function to Quark’s Bar, Grill, Gaming House, and Holosuite Arcade: Ferengi Embassy to Bajor. And Ro’s former commanding officer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard, not only persuaded Ro with a simple gesture to consider rejoining Starfleet, he also managed to convince Starfleet Command to offer her that opportunity.

  In the years since deciding to remain on the station, Ro and Quark had shared a solid friendship, as well as an intermittent flirtation that occasionally moved beyond mere playfulness. That relationship contributed significantly to Ro’s feeling something on Deep Space 9 that she had seldom, if ever, felt before: a sense of home. She felt that still.

  “So you’re willing to cast yourself in the role of my most loyal subject?” Ro teased, still leaning in over the bar, her voice low. “So what if I asked you to come over to my quarters and do whatever I told you to do?”

  Quark reached up and errantly tugged at his right earlobe. “I’ll leave Treir in charge,” he said anxiously. He started to turn away, but Ro reached across the bar and caught him by the upper arm.

  “Wait,” she said. “Don’t you want to know what I’m going to tell you to do?”

  “Oh, I think I know,” Quark said with a roguish tilt of his head, his mouthful of sharp, skewed teeth encompassed by a broad smile.

  “Good,” Ro said. “Because I really need somebody to clean my quarters.”

  Quark’s smile evaporated like dew on a hot summer’s day. He began to pull away from Ro, but with her hand still on his arm, she pulled him closer, bringing the side of his head up beside her face. “But when you clean,” she whispered, “maybe you don’t need to wear any clothes.” Then she pursed her lips and blew a quick, warm breath directly into the center of his ear, into his external auditory canal—lacking a feather, an otherwise perfectly executed tympanic tickle.

  Ro released her hold on Quark’s arm, then sat back on her barstool. She savored the look of surprise that blossomed on his face. It lasted only a moment, replaced in the next instant by a devilish grin.

  Out of the side of his mouth, quietly enough that she could barely hear him, Quark said, “It is definitely worth it to be your loyal subject.” He turned and surveyed the bar. “I can leave Treir in charge,” he said, “but it’s a pretty large crowd tonight—”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Ro said. “But if you want to, come by after you close up.”

  “I look forward to it,” Quark said, his tone matter-of-fact. He’d really gotten much better at controlling his lascivious demeanor in public when they flirted with each other. “Until then, is there something I can offer the station’s captain?”

  The idea of a drink before she headed to her quarters appealed to Ro, but nothing in particular came to mind. Pointing at the bottle Quark had carried over with him, she asked, “What’s this?”

  “This,” Quark said dramatically as he grabbed the bottle and hefted it up from the bar, “is my newest concoction.” He set the bottle back down and pointed to it. “The green liquid is Aldebaran whiskey, and the red is a Tzenkethi spice called leskit.”

  “Tzenkethi?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not illegal,” Quark said. “There’s no Federation embargo against the Coalition.”

  “I’m not concerned about it being illegal,” Ro said. “I’m concerned about it being poisonous.”

  Quark raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “So far, it’s killed fewer than a quarter of the customers who’ve tried it.”

  Ro could not suppress her own grin. Quark’s sense of humor rarely failed to amuse her. “All right,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got there.”

  Quark reached under the bar and produced a large snifter, which he placed in front of Ro. He twisted off the pyramidal cap of the bottle, then poured two fingers of the potion into the glass. The green and red liquids mingled briefly, then quickly separated out into their distinct selves. Quark then retrieved the bottle’s transparent cap, which Ro saw contained a white powder, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Magic.” Quark upended the cap and shook it once, sending a quick shower of the white granules into the glass. The contents of the snifter immediately reacted, roiling furiously as the two different liquids appeared to combine. In just a few seconds, the solution settled down, leaving behind a bright-yellow drink.

  “Wow,” Ro said. “I didn’t realize I’d be getting a drink and a show.”

  “I love chemistry,” Quark said. “Give it a try.”

  Ro curled her fingers beneath the glass’s large bowl and brought it to her lips. A bit warm, the drink glided silkily down her throat, slightly sweet, and actually finished with a cooling sensation. “Very nice,” Ro said. “What do you call it?”

  “A Tzenkethi cauldron.”

  “And you invented this?” she asked, impressed.

  “Well, I imported it,” Quark said.

  Ro took another sip. “You made a good find,” she told him. “This should be popular—”

  A loud but indistinct voice coming from the other side of the room startled Ro. Both she and Quark looked around, seeking its source. Before she could determine who had spoken, a tide of agitation rippled through the bar. Here and there, Ro spotted anxious expressions, and then she saw somebody holding up a padd, presumably so others could watch something on its display.

  Ro quickly looked back at Quark to ask him to activate the Bajoran comnet. He must have seen the same thing she had and drawn the same conclusion, though, because he’d already turned to the companel behind the bar. He expertly worked its controls, and the image of a Bajoran man appeared.

  “—cited the deciding reason as the discovery that the Federation, for more than a century, has held in secret a cache of advanced genetic knowledge that could have been employed to treat the Andorian reproductive crisis,” said the reporter.

  What? Ro thought. She knew that the Andorian people faced a mounting problem with t
heir ability to successfully procreate at a rate that would sustain their society, but she also understood that scientists on Andor and throughout the Federation were searching for a long-term solution. It seemed absurd to think somebody would hide information that could prove useful in resolving such a serious situation.

  The reporter continued. “The head of the government, Presider Iravothra sh’Thalis, suffered a vote of no confidence by Parliament Andoria because of her close ties with Federation and Starfleet authorities. After the deputy presider, Ledanyi ch’Foruta, took office as the new leader, a worldwide referendum was conducted over four days, and then acted upon today by Parliament.”

  A referendum? Ro wondered. A head of government removed from office? Doesn’t the Federation have enough to worry about without this sort of political theater?

  “The results of the referendum,” the reporter went on, “while not unanimous, were nevertheless decisive. The Andorian ambassador, Gilmesheid ch’Pavarzi, delivered the news directly to Federation President Nanietta Bacco earlier today. The new presider will speak before Parliament Andoria shortly, in an address that will be broadcast via the Federation News Service. In his remarks, he will formally declare the secession of Andor from the United Federation of Planets.”

  “What?!” Ro heard herself say through the uproar that rose in the bar. She looked at Quark and saw his mouth agape, his eyes wide. Ro felt her own mouth hanging open and realized that the expression on her face must match his. As she heard the reporter saying that President Bacco would speak to the Federation Council in her own broadcast address immediately after the Andorian declaration, Ro hopped to her feet from her barstool. On the heels of such a momentous announcement, she felt that she needed to do something, that she should take action, though she didn’t know precisely what sort of action.

  In the bar, she heard Security Chief Blackmer’s voice as he moved through the crowd, attempting to calm the patrons. Ro looked for him, but instead her gaze fell on one of the station’s engineers: Vakell th’Shant. Even across the room, Ro could see that his blue face had gone pale. He sat motionless, looking stunned.