Transporter?Vaughn thought. But that would hardly explain everything. Time travel? Holograms? Illusions or delusions? A sensor sweep revealed no residual energy readings, other than those present everywhere on the planet. No transporter signatures, no chroniton particles, no photonic emissions.
He replayed the scans that he had initiated when he had first started toward the man. He saw the same readings: a healthy, fifty-year-old human male. Then he played back the visual record the tricorder had captured. He worked the controls in order to display a magnified image of the man’s face. Vaughn recognized it at once: the long, narrow countenance, the angular features, the graying hair above the ears. He remembered the day— What? Sixty, sixty-five years ago?—when he and the man had run down the corridor of a starship together, making the same gestures they had just made in the street of this dead city. And Vaughn remembered all that had been lost back then, so many years ago.
He doubted his perceptions, and even his sanity. But he also suspected the technology running through the city, despite that his tricorder registered nothing functioning within its confines. Regardless of the explanation for whatever had just happened, though, it was time for him to move on.
Vaughn turned back in the direction he had been traveling before he had seen the man, and started walking again. He would be out of the streets in another hour, back into open land. He had to focus on his journey now, on reaching his intended destination and stopping the pulse from launching into space.
And still, as his footfalls bounced between the wasted buildings of this wasted city, he could not banish from his mind the image of the man he had just seen: Captain John Harriman of the U.S.S. Enterprise.
44
Kira reviewed the list of food and drink for the reception. She sat at the desk in her office, tapping at the padd, which emitted tiny electronic tones as she paged through the entries. The Bajoran selections pleased her, and included alva,shrimp, hasperatsoufflé, and mapabread with mobajam, along with several bottles of spring wine and a variety of teas. One other item at the end of the list caught her attention. “How did you get foraiga?”she asked. The delicacy was very difficult to obtain, even on Bajor itself.
“Colonel, I’ve been doing business in this system for more than a decade,” Quark said. “And I’m a Ferengi. I know how to get things.” He stood across from her, waiting for her to authorize his catering menu.
“You know how to get things,” Kira told him, “and you also know how to overcharge for them.” His greed never slackened, she thought as she looked at his charge for the foraiga.
“Fine, take it off the list,” Quark said, with what Kira took to be feigned nonchalance. “I thought Minister Shakaar would enjoy it, but if you think it’s too expensive…” He left his statement dangling, obviously probing for information.
“I never said Shakaar would be at the gathering,” Kira reminded him, offering a cold smile.
Quark patted his chest with one hand. “My mistake,” he said. “I guess I just assumed that all of this fine Bajoran food wouldn’t be for just you and Lieutenant Ro.” His voice seemed to catch when he mentioned Ro, but the sound was so slight that Kira might have imagined it. Perhaps the security chief had been giving Quark a particularly difficult time lately—something she would have to laud Ro for, if true. “Besides, you don’t usually wear your dress uniform.”
“All right. The foraigais fine,” Kira said, choosing to ignore Quark’s observation, and moving on to the rest of the menu. She could have—and probably should have—delegated this responsibility, but she liked Quark to know that she personally kept her eye on him. And with the importance of the summit, she wanted to ensure that the reception this evening would be a success. Of course, Kira knew virtually nothing about Alonis or Andorian or Capellan food, and Jadzia’s tastes had ranged well beyond her homeworld of Trill. “What’s this?” Kira asked, spying another item with a sizable price. “Kagannerra?”She highlighted the item on the padd, then leaned forward and held the device out to Quark so that he could see it.
“That’s a type of kelp,” he said, only glancing at the padd. “Very large fronds. Quite flavorful, I understand.”
“Kelp?”Kira said. She pulled the padd back and looked again at the price beside the item. “This is what you want to charge for kelp?”
“Excuse me,” Quark said, affronted—or pretending to be affronted, Kira assumed. “There’s not a lot of call for food for water-breathers on this air-filled station.” He held his arms out wide, as though to take in the whole of DS9. “I couldn’t find any food native to Alonis anywhere in the sector. I did manage to locate a shipment out of Pacifica that contained the kagannerraand some other items known to be enjoyed by the Alonis.”
“All right,” Kira relented.
“And I was lucky to find that,” Quark continued, as though Kira had not spoken. “The ship won’t even arrive at the station until two hours before the gathering. The fees I had to pay just to have the ship diverted to Deep Space—”
“All right, Quark,” Kira said, louder. She applied her thumb to the authorization control surface, then handed the padd back to Quark. He took it, and in the same motion, held out a Ferengi banking device, which had appeared in his hand as though from nowhere. She applied her thumb to the control surface on that device, sighing with exasperation. She found her dislike for Quark only exacerbated by having to do business with him.
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” he said, unapologetically checking Kira’s thumbprint on both the padd and the banking device, as though she might have attempted to cheat him in some manner. “Perhaps if I’d had more time—”
“Yes, you’re right,” she said, cutting him off again, but this time, she actually regretted doing it. She had to admit that she had asked a great deal of him, calling him to her office late this morning, and then requesting his catering services for this evening. Remarkably, it had taken him only an hour to prepare a menu that included food and drink for people of five different races. He might be overcharging for his services, but he really did know how to cater a function. “Thank you, Quark,” she said. “Next time, I’ll try to give you more notice.”
Quark nodded. Their business at an end, Kira reached forward and activated the computer interface on her desk, intending to return to her work. When Quark did not move, though, she looked back up at him. “Something else?” she asked.
“Actually, I was just curious what the occasion was for a gathering of such an eclectic group of people,” he said. This time, Quark’s attempt at nonchalance was completely transparent. Given his avarice, it seemed clear that he thought there might be some sort of business prospect for him here—a supposition that actually worked to Kira’s benefit in this case. She had waited as long as she had to approach Quark about catering the reception as part of her general intention to keep news of the summit quiet for as long as possible. After the war with the Dominion, numerous powers had expressed concerns about Starfleet maintaining an exclusive military presence at the wormhole. Both the Klingon and Romulan Empires had been particularly vehement in their opposition to such an arrangement, although nothing had yet come of that opposition. The Tholians and the Gorn had also voiced apprehension about perpetuation of the status quo at Bajor, as had several other governments. The longer Kira could keep word of the summit from spreading, she thought, the better.