We continue our adventure aboard Deep Space Nine as the mystery surrounding the true identity of Gul Drojeer thickens while an old friend of Quark’s arrives on the station—only to end up dead.
Need to catch up? Click here to read Part I
“Star Trek: Deep Space Nine – Lasting Impressions” Part II
Phil Giunta
CHAPTER TWO
At midday, the Promenade traditionally became so busy, and hence so noisy, that some found it difficult to even hear themselves think. For a Betazoid, such conditions were more than an inconvenience. It was not the overwhelming chatter of voices, or the occasional shouts of ‘Dabo!” that distracted Deanna Troi. Rather, it was the motley array of raw emotions that assaulted the mental barriers she placed around the empathic part of her mind. It was a discipline she had learned at a very early age when dealing with those who either could not, or would not, practice self-control. After the conference she just came from, Troi needed a respite from such an environment.
Being alone in the upper level of Quark’s bustling bar made Troi want for something to focus on, to clear her mind or more appropriately, to clear other minds from hers. Looking around at the crowded tables, she spotted Jadzia Dax seated alone at the opposite end of the floor.
“May I join you?” Troi asked as she stepped up to the empty chair across the table from the Trill.
In response, Dax glanced up and with a straight face, patted her stomach gently with her hand. “Sorry, but this spot’s taken.”
For an awkward moment, Troi stared blankly at Dax. Then at once, she realized the joke and both women broke out in laughter. Dax motioned for Troi to sit.
“I’ve wanted to say that to someone for a long time,” Dax said with a broad smile. “By the look on your face, it was worth the wait.”
“I bet,” Troi rubbed her head for a moment before dropping her hands into her lap. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m somewhat drained after recent events.”
Dax’s smile faded into a look of concern. She was aware of the inherent side effects empaths experienced, the price they paid for their ability. Dax decided to change the subject in an effort to comfort the counselor.
“Can I order something for you?” she asked.
“Anything chocolate.”
Dax hailed a waiter and ordered two chocolate milkshakes.
“I’m anxious to hear about what happened with the Borg,” Dax said.
“Unfortunately,” Troi began. “I can’t tell you anything first hand, I was on Earth with Commander Riker trying to convince a very reluctant Zefram Cochrane to go through with the launch of his warp ship. It was Captain Picard and Commander Data who led the fight against the Borg on the Enterprise.”
Dax shook her head in amazement. “Defeating the Borg and meeting the inventor of warp technology on Earth in one mission sounds like alot to handle.” She paused a moment before continuing. “I suppose Worf also stayed aboard the Enterprise.”
“He’s a warrior,” Troi said with a sigh. “I’m sure you know Worf by now.”
“Yes, I do,” Dax said with an impish smile that abruptly shook Troi out of her fatigue. The counselor sat upright in her chair.
Just then, the milkshakes arrived. Troi remained silent as the waiter placed them on the table. Taking a sip from her straw, Troi sat back in her seat, faking a nonchalant appearance that she hoped was not too obvious.
“We do miss Worf on the Enterprise,” she said tactfully. “Tell me, what has he been up to here?”
As Dax launched into her reply, Troi took another sip of her shake. A very long sip.
***
“I sometimes wonder how much time you actually spend in your shop, Garak.”
At yet another table on the upper level of Quark’s, Doctor Bashir shared a traditional daily lunch with the station’s only resident tailor, who also happened to be a Cardassian.
“I cannot help but to be observant, Doctor.”
“So what do you know about Gul Drojeer?”
“Quite frankly, I’ve never heard of him before now,” Garak admitted. “And since he appears to have been in the military during the occupation, that is most bothersome. The Obsidian Order knew everyone, no exceptions.”
“Did you know Reve Talin?” Bashir asked.
Garak smiled broadly. With a gleam in his eye, he replied. “Oh yes, Doctor. In fact, he was extremely popular with Gul Dukat.”
“Really?” the doctor’s curiosity was piqued. “And why was that?”
“At one point during the occupation, Reve was put to work processing ore on this station. One day, he managed to step away just long enough to plant a bomb in Dukat’s office. Regrettably, Dukat was not actually present at the time of the explosion.”
“I’m surprised Reve wasn’t executed,” Bashir said.
“The Cardassian military did not have enough evidence to make a case against him.”
“I thought you just said the Obsidian Order knew he–”
Garak raised a hand to interrupt. “Of course, we knew he did it. If Reve were a Cardassian, we would have congratulated him on a valiant attempt. Instead, he was placed in a forced labor camp in Hiala where he promptly escaped with seven others and managed to make it off Bajor right under Dukat’s nose.” He sat back in his chair. “The commander of Terek Nor was too busy rebuilding his office to pay much attention to a stolen Cardassian supply freighter.”
“Did you ever encounter Reve personally?”
“So many questions, Doctor,” Garak glanced down briefly at the main level of the bar. “No, I never met him personally. In fact, I never even knew what he looked like until today.”
“If you didn’t know what he looked like, how did you know Reve when you saw him?”
Again, Garak peered down through the railing to the lower level. This time, he kept his sights fixed there even as he spoke. “Because if my assumption is correct, the subject of our conversation is sitting downstairs with Major Kira. And it seems our Bajoran friend has taken an interest in me as well.”
***
Seated at the bar, Kira took the time to bring Reve up to date concerning recent events on Bajor and the station. More than once, Morn, a regular at Quark’s who never seemed to know when to stop talking, filled in a few details from his seat at the end of the bar. Finally, after a few dirty looks from Kira, he decided to mind his own business.
It was after the last of these dirty looks that Kira turned back to find Reve staring up at something. Kira tried to follow his gaze.
“Why is that Cardassian here?” Reve asked.
“That’s Garak,” a voice chimed in from behind the bar. Of all the people who remained on the DS9 after the Cardassians relinquished it to the Federation, Quark knew everything and everyone, not to mention everything about everyone, on the station. “He’s a tailor.” The Ferengi stroked the sleeve of his royal blue dress jacket. “And a very good one I might add. He was kicked off Cardassia for betraying the Obsidian Order somehow. I don’t think anyone except Garak himself knows all the details. So, can I get you two another round?”
Kira waved the Ferengi off.
“Nice chatting with you, too, Major,” he muttered as he moved off to the other end of the bar.
“Garak has actually helped us on more than one occasion,” Kira explained. “Even when it meant killing one of his own people.”
“If I were running this place,” Reve said flatly. “He’d be dead.”
***
“Perhaps it would be wise if you left,” Bashir suggested. “He doesn’t appear very happy to see you. Of course, I can’t really blame him.”
“Thank you for your support, Doctor.”
Bashir shrugged. “Or you could go down there and talk to him. Take the first step towards open communication—‘break the ice’ as we humans say. And none of the verbal sparring and sugar-coated insults you’re so fond of.”
“Really, Doctor,” Garak said as if offended by the thought of such behavior. “Although I am reluctant to agree with you, the idea does have some merit.” He rose from his seat and gave a sharp nod to Bashir. “If you’ll excuse me.”
***
As he watched the Cardassian approach, Reve Talin placed his glass down atop the bar and turned to face Garak with a deadly expression.
“I can’t stop Captain Sisko from tossing you into the brig, Talin,” Kira warned.
Reve said nothing as Garak stepped up to them.
“Major,” he nodded to Kira before looking at Reve. “Pardon me, sir, but I couldn’t help but to notice that you have been staring at me for the past five minutes. Is there something I can do for you?”
“You can drop dead.”
Kira placed a hand on Reve’s arm. The Bajoran man ignored it.
“I’m sorry,” Garak said with mock sincerity. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”
“Maybe I can,” Reve threatened.
Kira’s grip tightened. “Talin.”
“I can certainly understand your hatred toward my people,” Garak said. “But you and I have never met before today. As far as I know, we have no quarrel.”
“Why don’t you go home?” Reve asked. “You don’t belong here.”
“I wish I could but my government has exiled me from Cardassia.”
“You have my deepest sympathy.”
“I’m sure,” Garak raised a finger as if just recalling something. “While on the subject of home, might I ask why you left Bajor after escaping from Hiala? If you hated Cardassians so much why didn’t you stay and fight for your world?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“Of course not, forgive me. It is, however, convenient that you managed to return long after the conflict was over. Is it not?”
Reve glared at Garak for a long moment. “What are you implying, Cardassian?”
Garak feigned surprise. “Nothing at all, merely an observation.”
By this time everyone at and around the bar was staring at the two men. Quark stepped close to the comm panel.
“Garak, this is not the time,” Kira said gravely.
Reve turned away from Garak and lifted his glass to his mouth for the final time. Finally, he looked back at the Cardassian as he rose from his seat. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” Garak insisted.
“I’m not leaving. You are.”
With lightning speed, Reve smashed the glass across the side of Garak’s head. This was followed up by a kick to the midsection that sent the tailor sprawling onto an occupied table and over the other side. Bystanders cleared the way as Garak tried to pick himself up. He barely made it to his knees before Reve picked up an overturned chair and slammed it over Garak’s upper back, sending the Cardassian to the floor with a final thud.
Behind the bar, Quark slammed a button on the comm panel and yelled for security as Kira grabbed Reve in a full Nelson and wrestled him to the floor. Within moments, five security guards dashed in. Bashir was already tending to Garak by the time they arrived and ordered two of them to assist the unconscious man to the Infirmary. The remaining security officers hauled Reve out of the bar followed closely by a seething Major Kira.
Once the troublemakers were gone, Quark walked around to the front of the bar and stopped to survey the scene of the brawl. As he picked up a mangled chair, he shook his head in disgust. “Who’s going to pay for this?” He motioned two waiters over to clean up the mess. “At this rate, I’ll end up with an ulcer one of these days. And who’s going to pay for that? Me, of course!”
***
Twenty minutes later in Odo’s office, Kira, Reve, Bashir, and Garak sat together while Odo himself paced back and forth in front of them. “You’re both lucky Captain Sisko left on the Enterprise for the Chandai System an hour ago or you’d be in separate cells right now.” He stopped in mid-stride and leaned in close. “That may happen yet.”
“Constable,” Kira spoke up. “I apologize for this and I take full responsibility for–”
“No, Nerys,” Reve interrupted. “You don’t have to be responsible for me. I can take care of myself well enough.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Odo remarked. He turned to face Garak. “What a surprise to see you in the middle of this, Garak. Someday I hope your brain catches up with your mouth. Now I don’t care what hard feelings either of you have about the past. On this station, I maintain order. If you fall out of order, you land in the brig. Is that clear?”
Both men nodded their assent.
Garak looked over at Kira and Reve, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot through his neck. “Please accept my apologies for my remarks. They were most… uncalled for.”
Reve inhaled deeply. “If Nerys says you are not an enemy, then I trust her and I also apologize.”
“My, how touching,” Odo said.
“Is it just me,” Bashir asked. “Or is sarcasm spreading like a virus around here today?”
Ignoring the comment, Odo took his seat behind his desk. “We have more important problems to deal with than petty squabbling. I’ve checked and re-checked my information on Cardassian military and I’ve found almost nothing on our Gul Drojeer. So, I’m going to ask you, Garak. What do you know about him?”
Just as he explained to Bashir earlier at Quark’s, Garak admitted to knowing nothing about the man. “However, that does not mean I can’t obtain the information you’re looking for. I still have contacts on Cardassia who are quite capable of updating me on current affairs.”
“Friends?” Odo inquired.
“More importantly, enemies of Dukat,” Garak grinned. “And for my purposes, they’re better than friends.”
***
Closing time at Quark’s was always a hassle with one or two stragglers. Closing early didn’t make the situation any easier. Quark was tempted to tell Morn to go on a diet as he shoved the enormous alien towards the door.
“We’ll open early tomorrow,” Quark assured him as the doors closed. He leaned against them for a moment to catch his breath before making his way behind the bar. As he crouched down to retrieve a box of gold-press latinum, he failed to hear the door open and a lone figure enter the establishment.
As Quark straightened up, a hand slapped him on the shoulder. This was followed by two sounds. The first was a surprised yelp from Quark and the second was that of several bars of latinum crashing to the floor.
“The bar is clo–” Quark spun around angrily and immediately froze. His expression changed to one of shock.
“What’s the matter, Quark, drop some pocket change?” the figure asked in a boisterous tone.
“Gresh,” Quark whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you, old friend. Why else would I be in this armpit of the galaxy?”
It had been twelve years since Quark had last spoken with Daimon Gresh of the Ferengi Alliance. The man had commanded a Marauder class vessel, the Avarice. Quark’s uncle has served on the vessel as Gresh’s first officer for many years. He and the Daimon had made several shrewd business deals, bringing incredible profit to the Alliance.
“I thought you were still commanding a ship,” Quark prodded suspiciously. He needed an old ‘family friend’ coming around to borrow money like he needed a hole in his lobes.
Gresh leaned closer to the bar and looked around to ensure that he would not be overheard in the deserted bar. “I made the deal of a lifetime, Quark. Raked in so much profit, I was able to retire and purchase my own private ship.”
Quark’s eyes widened. “Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll get a bottle of my best synthehol and you can tell me all about it.”
“I’ll take you up on that, old friend, but I really can’t give you any details about the deal. Only that I’ll never have to worry about lifting a finger to do anything ever again.”
“Some of us aren’t so lucky,” Quark grumbled.
“How true.” Gresh took a seat at a table in the middle of the restaurant. It was dark there since Quark dimmed most of the lights at closing time. He was about to suggest that they sit at the bar but instead just shrugged and walked over to the table with a bottle and two glasses.
As the two Ferengi reminisced about past profits and losses, all the while polishing off an entire bottle of synthehol, Quark offered the retired Daimon a new holosuite program he had just created. Gresh gladly accepted and dropped five hundred bars of gold-press latinum on the table. “Can you spare another bottle for an old friend? I’d like to take it with me as a reminder of this fine establishment. Maybe then, I’ll you fill you in just a bit on how exactly I obtained my recent fortune.”
Quark scooped up the bars and hurried back to the bar. He took a few extra moments to collect the latinum that had fallen on the floor earlier and replaced them in the box before returning with the holosuite program and Gresh’s synthehol. When he reached the table, he found the other Ferengi slumped over, his head resting on the table, arms dangling at his sides.
“How do you pass out from synthehol?” Quark asked in amazement. He shook Gresh’s arm vigorously. “Wake up, I have your holosuite program.”
Gresh did not budge.
Quark grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him upright. The first thing he noticed was a stream of blood trickling from the corner of Gresh’s mouth. This was followed by two sounds. The first was Gresh’s head hitting the table as Quark suddenly released his grip and the second was a panicked shriek from Quark himself.