Creek Johnson and Nance Hurt
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Disclaimer: We are but fleas on the elephants' posterior that is Paramount. No infringement on their rights is intended. We hope none is taken.
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In a place that is neither light nor shadow, in a land that is neither of dreams nor of dreaming, two shadowy figures are locked in an endless struggle. You move through swirling mists - not mere mists of vapor for these mists are made of living memory. The further you move through them, the further into memory you go. Memory so dense your pulse pounds, your breath comes in rasping gasps.
Voices cry out to you from the mist. Voices filled with laughter, voices filled with love, voices raised in anger, voices from the depths of despair. Above them all you can hear the gasps of the shadow warriors.
You try to reach them, desperate to end the endless struggle. No matter how you fight against the mist, you are trapped. Your chest heaves; your heart strains. You can move no further.
You awake in a cold sweat.
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"So," said Jack dropping his spoon into the empty soup bowl and picking up his drink. "Tell me about this Awards ceremony?" Flato Rey glanced at her companion's reflection in the mirror behind the bar and thought she had never in her life encountered such an average looking human being. Although the Replimat had been packed with diners, Quark's remained fairly empty during the lunch hour and she had not been surprised when the Station's newest resident had asked if he could join her for lunch.
"There's not much to tell," she replied. "Mainly because it's not much of a ceremony."
"Really? I would have assumed it would be quite a 'to do'."
"Well," explained Flato. "You have to remember this is the first time the recipients are still alive. Normally it just starts off with a speech about the Freedom Medal and what it stands for followed by the roll call of past recipients. Then it moves on to a second speaker who recounts the reasons the award is being given to the latest recipient. Then the Medal is presented to the closest relative of the deceased."
"Only this time not," commented Jack.
"Exactly. Only this time it will be given to the honoree in person. And that's it. End of ceremony, on to the reception."
"Surprisingly brief for a people whose funerals take two hours and whose wedding ceremonies take four."
Flato snorted with laughter. "If you'd care to watch, it will be broadcast over subspace. You could drop by Security, all the Bajoran deputies will be watching."
"Well, as tempting as the offer is, I'm afraid duty calls and I really must be heading back to the office. Quark," Jack stood and wiping his chin, motioned for the proprietor to join them. "Put these two meals on my tab, if you please?"
"Now wait a minute," protested Flato. "I didn't mean…"
"Of course you didn't, Captain." Jack brought his heels together with an audible click and gave her a short bow. "The pleasure was all mine."
"I like him," commented Flato as Jack sauntered out of the bar humming happily to himself.
"I don't," replied Quark.
"Why not?"
"I'll tell you why not. There's something not right about him."
"Like what?" asked Flato. "He's pleasant company? He's fairly honest?"
"Well, there you go. No one's that fairly honest or that pleasant unless they're trying to hide something."
"I suppose you are going to claim that the only reason he bought my lunch was because he wanted information from me about the Awards Ceremony?"
"Nah," replied Quark dismissively. "The only reason he bought you lunch is because his company put him on an expense account and they will only reimburse him for business lunches. Any meal he eats by himself comes out of his living expenses. I will say this for him, he knows how to work the system and that I can respect."
"Okay, so he has an expense account. You're getting paid. What isn't there to like?"
"It's just something - something that doesn't add up. Something like this," said Quark picking up the empty bowl of soup. "It's clean."
"The man was hungry."
"And," continued Quark. "I don't remember serving it to him."
"But that didn't stop you from putting it on his tab now did it?" asked Flato.
"I'm suspicious. Not stupid."
"And I'm late getting back to work."
"Fine," muttered Quark. "There's something not right about that man," he called after her. "You mark my words."
Muttering to himself, Quark went back to his books. Meanwhile, on the upper level, Admiral Pendergast quietly congratulated himself of a most interesting lunch.
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"Remind me," said Kira Nerys, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on Odo's chest. "To find the holographer. I'd like a picture of you in your dress uniform." "You'd better," Odo replied. "Considering this is the first and last time you are likely to see me in it."
They were standing in an almost deserted corridor behind the stage. Despite his insistence he could find his own way, Kira had thought it best to escort him to the waiting room. She dropped a kiss on his cheek and gently wiped the lipstick mark from his face. "Nervous?"
"Apprehensive."
"It's okay," she assured him. "There will be quite a few people at the reception you don't know, so don't worry if you can't remember a name or a face."
"Nerys, it's not that…"
"I know," she pressed her finger to his lips. "Everything is going to turn out fine, I promise." She stifled a yawn.
"Tired?" he asked. "You did not sleep well last night."
"Strange dreams. It's nothing," she replied. "It takes me a day or two to get used to being planet side again. Speaking of which, you didn't get much rest either."
"No," he replied his face suddenly clouded with concern.
"Just concentrate on getting through today, Constable," she said slipping her arms around him. "Then we'll have two uninterrupted weeks to…catch up on our sleep."
"This is hardly the time or the place," he cautioned, lowering his lips to meet hers nonetheless.
"I would hate," said a voice behind them. "For my last official duty to be arresting the two of you for conduct unbecoming."
"I know that voice," replied Kira only breaking the embrace after she gave Odo a quick apologetic kiss. "How are you Rifa?"
"Fatter than I should be," replied Rifa Yto, placing his hands on his ample midriff. "And grayer than anyone has the right to be. I'd ask you for a hug, Colonel, but I'm far too old."
Kira gave him a hug and held him at arms length. "You were too old to be building plasma bombs for the Resistance, but you didn't let that stop you."
"Water under the bridge, Nerys. After today, no one will care anymore and I will spend the rest of my life boring my grandchildren with stories of how life on Bajor used to be. I'm rather looking forward to it." The door at the end of the corridor opened briefly and the sound of applause drifted through. "Won't be long now," continued Rifa. "Looks like things are getting underway."
"And I have to go," replied Kira. "I want to hear about these grandchildren of yours, Rifa." She drew Odo aside and kissed him on the cheek. "Relax," she whispered in his ear. "Just try to enjoy yourself."
Odo merely nodded his consent and watched as she disappeared down the corridor.
"Who would have thought?" asked Rifa holding the door to the waiting room open for the two of them to enter. Inside the other honorees were already in attendance. Odo stood quietly inside the door and prepared to wait.
"Who would have thought what?" asked Remak Sen, his tall, impossibly thin frame draped over the only couch in the room.
"It's about time you two showed up," remarked Tepic Dow, standing before a mirror checking to see that every hair was in place.
"Little Kira Nerys," replied Rifa. "Who would have thought she would grow up to be the Kira Nerys?"
"Who would have thought she would have grown up at all?" remarked Trema Kok, tossing aside the padd she was reading. "You think that there would be something more interesting around here to read than last years budget."
"Who would have thought any of us would have lived long enough to retire?" commented Tepic.
"If you don't quit preening yourself in front of that mirror," remarked Remak. "I just may kill you now and save the government the expense of your pension."
"They'd probably give you another medal," mused Trema.
"Gentlemen and lady, please," said Rifa. "We're all friends here."
"What I don't understand," remarked Tepic. "Is why I'm being retired?"
"I could give you 17 reasons, Tepic," replied Remak. "Or was she 16?"
"A little tipsy are you, Remak?" retorted Tepic. "Of course you are, you're awake."
"You are all ignoring one thing," remarked Nokis Orr, who had been sitting quietly in the far corner of the room and until now had not spoken.
"And what would that be?" asked Trema.
"We are all senior members of the Security branch of the Militia," replied Nokis. "We know too much. Know too many people. Remember too much."
"Remember too much?" asked Remak. "Exactly what are you getting at?"
"You're thinking someone wants us out of the way aren't you?" asked Rifa.
"Well, that's fine for us," remarked Trema. "But rumor has it, Odo here doesn't remember much at all. Isn't that true?"
Odo shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.
"Leave the poor fellow alone," said Rifa.
"Well?" asked Tepic unwilling to let the subject go.
"My memory isn't what it was," admitted Odo reluctantly.
"Whose is?" replied Rifa. "Look, I can't speak for the rest of you, but it's time I retired. Why fight it?"
"And," persisted Tepic. "There's the question of whether or not Odo is Odo?"
"Of course he is," countered Rifa. "Do you know any other changelings?"
"No," replied Tepic. "But Odo does."
"You know, Nokis," said Trema with a smile. "I had almost forgotten just what a paranoid old bastard you were. Remind me again why I didn't marry you?"
"I was too much of a coward to ask," replied Nokis.
"Still chasing ghosts, Nokis?" asked Tepic turning his attention away from Odo.
"Ghosts?" asked Remak. "What's all this about ghosts?"
"Rumor has it," volunteered Trema. "That Nokis has been prowling around the old Kai's palace on the trail of a ghost. What about it Nokis?"
"Winn's old place?" asked Rifa. "I wouldn't be caught dead in the old heretic's palace during the day much less at night."
Any further conversation was cut short by the door opening and a young ensign announcing it was time. As the others filed out, Nokis placed his hand on Odo's arm allowing the others to go first.
"Don't trouble yourself over what those magpies say, old friend," he told Odo. "Rest assured you're not being retired because of what you have forgotten."
"I don't understand," replied Odo clearly puzzled. He had known Nokis for as long as he had been a security officer. Theirs had always been a professional relationship based on mutual respect. It was not like him to issue warnings without having solid evidence behind them but Odo was at a loss to know who or what Nokis was referring to.
"There isn't time to go into it now. Just know this; they know you are who you claim to be, that is what has them frightened. More importantly you are being retired not because of what you have forgotten, but because someone is deathly afraid of what you might remember."
"Gentlemen, please," urged the ensign and Nokis was out the door before Odo could question him further.
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D. McKinley looked around their cramped offices and wished not for the first time that he had chosen another post. But the allure of adventure in the far flung reaches of territory beyond Federation space had been too strong for him, and now here he was on the third floor of the Promenade, tied to a desk in an office not big enough to swing a vole in, wedged in between a waste management pump station and the storeroom of a firm that specialized in particularly foul smelling specialty food items. And the highlight of his day so far had been rummaging through the personal items of a man who for all intents and purposes led an even duller life than his. The comm. on his desk sounded, alerting him that the Admiral wanted to see him in his office. With a sigh, he picked up the report, straightened his tunic, and knocked on the connecting door. Tom Pendergast sat at his desk. To McKinley he looked every inch the picture of a Starfleet senior officer - tall, rigid posture, athletic build only slightly running to fat, and more than a little authoritarian in demeanor. As he entered, Pendergast looked up from the pile of padds that littered his desk.
"Well?" he demanded.
"As requested, Sir, our teams combed every inch of the offices of the Centurion Corporation and found nothing irregular."
"Of course you didn't," barked Pendergast. "What kind of fools do they think we are?"
"They did volunteer for the Security check, Sir," McKinley reminded his superior officer. "It's not as though it was required…"
Pendergast cut him off with a glance. "Information Brokers? What the hell is that all about?"
"From what I understand, Sir, it's a form of think tank."
"Think tank," scoffed Pendergast. "What utter nonsense. What do we know of this assistant? The human. What's his name?"
"Jack Blankman," replied McKinley. "According to Starfleet records, he has been an employee of the Centurion Corporation for the last five years. His permanent address is 811 East 68th Street, Suite 12-B, New York, New York, Earth…"
"That's the same address as the headquarters of this Centurion Corporation isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir. Although it's not unusual for interstellar businesses to list employees permanent addresses…"
"And how long has the Centurion Corporation been at that address?" demanded Pendergast.
"As far back as Starfleet has records."
"Hmmm. What else can you tell me about this Mr. Blankman?"
McKinley thumbed through his report thinking it was going to be a very long afternoon. "His posting prior to coming to DS9 was as project director on Vulcan, where one assumes he directed projects…"
"What do the Vulcan authorities have to say about this man?"
"Nothing really," replied McKinley. "Again, no real record of his activities. Neighbors saw very little of him, no complaints from anyone. Apparently he did his job and minded his own business."
"What else?"
"Centurion employee records list him as married, but his wife is not presently on the Station, so we can assume she either lives elsewhere or will be joining him later. Other than that information is rather vague. He's never been in Starfleet, never been arrested – at least not within Federation space, never attended university – at least not a University within the Federation. No children. No pets. No known hobbies. A completely average guy."
"There's no such thing," mused Pendergast. "No one is completely average."
"Yes, Sir."
"Which is why we need to keep an eye on him," concluded Pendergast.
"Spy on him, Sir? That's hardly within Starfleet protocol…"
"We are going to do nothing of the sort," announced Pendergast with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I happened to know that disreputable bar tender, what's his name?"
"Quark, Sir?"
"Yes. Quark already has suspicions that something is not quite right about this Blankman fellow. As you pointed out, protocol prevents us from monitoring someone without cause; we do have cause to monitor Quark."
"We do, Sir?"
"Of course we do," insisted Pendergast. "Quark is, for all intents and purposes, a supplier of goods for Starfleet personnel and as such, we can monitor his activities. For all we know, he could be working for the Dominion. We already know he is a known associate of that Odo person."
"I'd hardly call them associates…"
"Close enough. And we know that he suspects this Blankman fellow of being up to something, so what I want is this: let Quark do all our detective work for us."
"From what I know of Quark, Sir," observed McKinley. "Quark isn't exactly the sort of person who would willingly work for us on a project such as this. Not, that is, without something being in it for him."
"Quark isn't going to know he's working for us," replied Pendergast with a look of smug satisfaction. "Quark is going to spy on Blankman. You are going to spy on Quark."
"Me, Sir?" asked McKinley. "Wouldn't Commander Marshall be better suited to the task?"
"Remember this, McKinley," cautioned Pendergast. "Commander Marshall serves two masters. Starfleet and the Bajoran Militia. The majority of his staff are Bajorans and who knows where their loyalties lie, eh? No, keep Marshall and his people out of this. I want to know everything Quark discovers about this Mr. Blankman, everything, understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
Well, thought McKinley, at least it would get him out of the office.
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"It's a pity Jake couldn't make it," commented Ezri Dax. "Hmm?" asked Kira. The reception hall was crowded with people milling around. Kira surveyed the crowd, nodding to old acquaintances, keeping watch on the room should Odo make his appearance. Her eye, though, kept trailing back to a small, rather wizened looking woman in the far corner of the room. "I'm sorry, who?"
"Jake."
"Yes," replied Kira. "He sent his apologies. Kasidy is off on Cestus III visiting her brother and he is home looking after the baby. We promised to drop by for a visit."
"Who are all these people?" asked Rifa.
"I suppose," remarked Ezri Dax. "That the population of Bajor has grown quite a bit since the end of the Occupation."
"That it has," replied Rifa Ventana, Yto's wife. "Since the end of the War a lot of people have moved back from outlying worlds and some are just here for the Lunar convergence."
"I'm sorry I won't be able to stay and see it planet side," volunteered Ezri. "It must be spectacular."
"If you're looking for Odo, he's not here," remarked Rifa noting Kira's attention had been drawn to the crowds once again. "Probably hasn't finished with his interview yet."
"I'm sorry," said Kira, realizing she had not been paying attention. "Who's that woman over there with the rather prominent eyes?"
"Who? Her?" asked Ventana. "That's Ramo Ket. She's rather new - some minor functionary in the Ministry of Trade. Why do you ask?"
"She keeps staring at me," replied Kira.
"Interviews?" asked Dax.
"Oh yes," replied Rifa. "The archive arranged for us all to be interviewed following the ceremony. I pity the poor archivist who got stuck with Odo. They could be at it for hours and all the poor fellow will get is a series of monosyllabic answers." Rifa pretended to hold a recording device in front of Dax's face. "So, Odo," he said mockingly. "You left the Bajoran Insitute for Science?"
"Yes," replied Ezri doing a passable imitation of Odo.
"What then?"
"I traveled."
"I see. Eventually you came to work for the Cardassians on Terok Nor. Was it difficult serving two masters?"
"Yes."
"I see," said Rifa. "And then after the Occupation you stayed on to work for the Militia. What was it like keeping order on the most important space port in the Quadrant?"
"Busy," replied Ezri.
"He's not that bad," remarked Kira.
"Isn't he?"
"I pity the poor archivist who got stuck with Tepic," volunteered his wife. "That man does not know when to shut up."
"How'd you wind up that old curmudgeon anyway?" Rifa archly asked Kira.
"I could ask your wife the same question."
"Ask what?" asked Julian Bashir handing Kira a drink. "Sorry about the delay, there was quite a crowd at the bar."
"We were just discussing Odo," volunteered Dax gladly accepting the glass offered to her by the doctor.
"Odo? I just saw him."
"The archivist must have given up in disgust," commented Rifa.
"Disgust?" asked Julian clearly at a loss. "No, he didn't seem disgusted – distracted is more like it."
"Did he say why?" asked Dax.
"No, he just excused himself saying he really had to find someone named Nokis something or other."
Odo scanned the crowd and fought down an ever-increasing feeling of frustration. It seemed that every time he drew closer to Nokis, someone would block his path.
"Yes," he murmured distractedly to the latest well-wisher. "Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me." Damn, he thought, as he realized he had lost track of Nokis yet again. Finally he spotted his old friend in the far corner of the room talking to a rather small, wizened individual. He set off in pursuit only to find his path blocked once again.
"Odo," cried Dr. Mora Pol taking Odo by the arm. "You're looking well and may I just say how proud I am of you?"
"Thank you, Doctor. But if you'd excuse me for just one moment, I really do need to speak to someone…"
"Who?"
"Nokis Orr," replied Odo distractedly. "He was near the door…"
"I'm afraid you're too late," said Mora refusing to release Odo's arm. "I saw him leave just before I came to see you."
"Leave?"
"Yes, he was talking to that Ramo Ket person, the one in the Ministry of Trade. Can't say I like her much, but she was very interested in you and our work together."
"Nokis?" asked Odo somewhat puzzled. "But Nokis knows all about that?"
"No, not Nokis. Ramo," replied Mora. "Ramo was the one interested in our work. I was going to introduce you, but apparently, they both had other business to attend to. Now, tell me, Odo. How have you been lately? Still having problems adjusting to life outside the Link? Tell me about this new job of yours…"
Odo took one last desperate look around the room before realizing Nokis was indeed absent. With a sigh, he resolved himself to his fate and patiently began answering Mora's endless stream of questions.