“There have been many struggles for our people in the past,”Shakaar went on, “but now we look to a bright, positive, and peaceful future.”He paused—rather melodramatically, Quark thought—and Quark knew that the moment was at hand. The summit had only begun today, he had only found out about its purpose a few hours ago, and yet here the first minister was, already making the announcement. After all these years in the bar, and after all that he had been through on the station, Quark’s time here was finally at an end. “Today,”Shakaar droned on, “I am happy to report to you that Bajor’s petition for membership in the Federation has been approved.”
The bar erupted, cheers and applause going up from the Bajorans present. And probably the Starfleet types too,Quark thought bitterly. He did not bother to look around or listen closely enough to find out. He remained frozen behind the bar, glaring at the image of Shakaar on the display. Amazingly, the oaf kept talking, obviously not understanding either the value of a good exit line, or the dreariness of an anticlimax.
At last, Shakaar finished speaking, and the companel blinked into standby mode. Quark continued to stare at the screen. “I guess that’s really something,” Treir said next to him, reaching up and touching him on the arm. Quark shrugged her hand away, then reached forward and jabbed at the companel’s controls, deactivating it.
“I’m sorry,” a voice said softly behind him, perfectly audible through the buzz that now filled the room. He turned to see Laren sitting at the bar, her hands folded together in front of her. He had been so preoccupied with the announcement that he had not even heard her come in. An expression of concern dressed her features, which touched Quark. Even with the difficult decisions that lay ahead in her own life, she still managed to feel badly for him.
Laren looked at Treir, who still stood next to Quark. There seemed to Quark to be no animosity in the look, but it also seemed clear that Laren wanted Treir to leave the immediate area. “Uh, I need to go see if Hetik needs any help,” the dabo girl said at once, and she quickly moved away.
“So,” Laren said once Treir had left, “what are you going to do?” They had each asked the same question earlier, when they had spoken in her office, but neither of their answers had been terribly specific.
Quark regarded Laren for a long moment, appreciating her strong features, the girlish cut of her hair, and the closeness that he had begun to feel with her. He suddenly felt the urge to make a bold gesture, not to impress her—not for her at all, really—but to symbolize for himself the new and indeterminate path down which his life had just begun to travel. He smiled broadly, then reached back and touched a control on the companel. Two loud chimes rang through the bar, and the lively hum of conversation faded. “The next round of drinks,” he called loudly, locking his gaze with Laren’s, “is on the house.” Another cheer went up in the bar, actually even louder than the one following Shakaar’s announcement.
Laren smiled back at Quark, apparently delighted by his gesture. The moment seemed to stretch out as they stared into each other’s eyes. Everything around Quark seemed to wilt out of existence, and he and Laren together seemed to make up the entire universe. Then a tall, ribbed metal mug came streaking down between them, slamming onto the bar and ending the moment.
“Yridian brandy,” said a loud, slurred voice belonging to the Yridian whose hand gripped the mug. Laren turned her head slowly toward the bleary-eyed drunk. Quark watched as she reached up and, just as slowly, slid the mug out from between them.
“Sorry,” she said. “Quark isn’t working right now. Find one of the waiters to help you.”
“But…but…” the Yridian stammered.
Laren reached out quickly as Grimp raced past, headed for the bar, a tray of empty glasses in his hands. She stopped him with a touch to his arm, and said, “Grimp, would you please find this—” She paused and glanced over at Quark, offering him a comic expression. “— gentlemana table to sit at.”
“Uh, okay,” Grimp said. “I just need to—”
“Do it now,” Quark ordered the waiter.
“Here,” Laren said, and she took the tray from Grimp, then passed it over the bar to Quark. Quark turned and put it down beside the recycle shelf, then turned back to see Grimp leading the staggering Yridian away.
“Thanks,” Quark said to Laren, and he knew that his gratitude carried well beyond her relocation of the drunk.
“Believe me,” she said in a soft tone, “it was my pleasure.” Then she asked, “Are you all right?”
Quark considered the question briefly, and then shrugged. “Not everything always turns out the way you expect it to,” he said. “And you know what? That’s not always a bad thing.” To his great surprise, he realized that he actually believed that.
“I think you’re right about that,” Laren told him. Then she leaned in over the bar, and Quark moved forward and leaned in himself. “Now then,” she said, “can I buy youa drink?”
Quark smiled again, already feeling intoxicated.
66
Vaughn was drowning.
He had struck the surface of the vortex and felt an immediate series of sensations. His body seemed buoyant within the gray eddies, as though floating in muddy light. Electrical currents streamed across his flesh, and blue jags of radiance filled the null vision of his closed eyes. Unexpected warmth surrounded him, and acceleration gathered him in its grip. The force, smooth and circular, carried him down and around—somehowpushed him down—until, at last, he fell from the universe.
And had continued falling. The warmth vanished, leaving him not cold, but empty. Gravity, too, disappeared, and still he fell. His lungs hungered for air, but feeling the void about him, he resisted the impossible attempt to breathe.
Vaughn had forced open his eyes. In the dusky absence of reality, he saw himself plunging down. The other-Vaughn tumbled away, unseeing, and thenhis eyes opened.
Does he see me? Vaughn had thought, and knew that the other-Vaughn could not. The other-Vaughn was from the past, from moments ago, had only just now opened his eyes.But what does he see? Vaughn asked.Another-Vaughn, from farther back in the past? Vaughn did not know, but he saw fear in the other-Vaughn’s eyes, and knew that it must also surely be in his own. He closed his eyes, unwilling to see.
Vaughn’s lungs had formed their own version of the void by then, and he exhaled in an explosive burst. His body went through the motions of breathing in, but there was no air here. His muscles moved anyway, trying to inhale, trying to help sustain him.
The gray existence had surged into Vaughn, through his mouth and throat, down into his lungs. Filling his lungs with the pseudomatter of the thoughtscape. A spasm closed his larynx.
Vaughn was drowning.
Vaughn was dying, but he did not wait to die. For almost as long as he could remember, he had gazed up at the stars and yearned to explore. And for nearly as long, he had been forced, had been requested, had been constrained, to fight. He could not say that the fighting had come to nothing, because it had not; it had been necessary, always necessary, sometimes for the greater good, sometimes for the smaller, and still other times, merely for survival. But now, in the end, he chose not to battle, for he saw no enemy. Instead, he would do what he had always wanted to do; he would explore.