"Indeed." Odo gave the Ferengi just enough attention to keep the conversation alive. A constant visual scan of the Promenade while talking was so much a part of his habitual behavior—and deliberately so—that it shouldn't arouse any due notice on the other's part. "And exactly what corners have you been cutting lately? Not watering down your synthale again, are you?"
"Cutting corners? Me? Never." Quark drew himself to his height, bringing himself almost to Odo's shoulder. "I was speaking in general terms about these matters. And that synthale wasn't watered—it was an experiment, to create a lighter, less filling beverage for my customers."
"And at full price, of course."
Quark shrugged. "I was charging for the creativity involved." His expression soured with a deep brooding. "Your accusations are really unjust, you know—especially when you consider the unsavory nature of certain other individuals doing business around here."
That remark drew a fraction more of Odo's attention. "And who might that be?"
"Never mind. Perhaps at a later date we'll discuss these matters. Right now, I don't think you're even listening to me." Quark's puzzled gaze swung parallel to that of the security chief. "Just what is it that you find so fascinating over there?"
"It's nothing to do with you." Across the Promenade, the sweating, heavy-jawed face of Ahrmant Wyoss was still visible, his small eyes glaring beneath a brow furrowed in concentration. Odo could see, as others passed in front of the suspect, how his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, the cords of his wrists tautening with each squeeze. Even from this far away, Odo could pick up the murderous radiation given off by the man. He glanced over at Quark. "Now might be a good time for you to go back behind your bar."
"Oh?" Quark had had similar discreet warnings before, and had learned to heed them. He took an apprehensive step back from Odo's side. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't do anything to scare the customers away. That'd be only right, considering your plans to use my premises for your little conference with Commander Sisko."
"I don't know what you're talking about." To Odo, the Ferengi's voice had started to seem like an insect buzzing around his head, one that he wished he could brush away with a stroke of a hand. "I'm not having any conference with the commander. In your establishment or anywhere else."
"But . . . I just received a communication from one of Sisko's adjutants, asking me to reserve a private booth for two. With all the usual mandatory security screening, of course. So I just naturally assumed, what with the rather . . . unusual developments we've had on the station lately, that you were the other party involved."
Odo felt a familiar anger ticking upward inside him. The Ferengi's mannerism of constant hinting, of never coming right out and speaking what was on his mind, probing every word in a conversation for some possibility of gain, had driven him to the boiling point on several previous occasions. Right now, he didn't have the time to waste.
"Listen to me, Quark." He managed to keep his voice under control, his sight still trained upon his quarry across the Promenade. "I promise you that we are going to have a detailed discussion—soon. And if there's something you should have already told me about, I'll pick you up by the heels and shake you until you do so. Is that clear? In the meantime, perhaps you should go back and wipe off the table in one of your booths. Commander Sisko has, I'm sure, a great many other things on his mind beside some outbreak of prehensile-fingered sneak thieves, or whatever else it is that's troubling you so much."
The sarcasm had no effect on Quark. "I wish that's all it were." His face had clouded once more, eyes narrowing and voice filled with an uncharacteristic bitterness. "Very well. I can see that the scope of your duties doesn't include defending the principle of free enterprise against unfair competition." He turned on his heel and started toward the ramp leading down to the Promenade's main area.
With the Ferengi gone, all of Odo's attention focused again on its original target. With careful timing, each step taken when Ahrmant Wyoss's simmering gaze swung away, the security chief moved in closer.
She watched as Commander Sisko ran a hand along the edge of the wooden crate. He nodded slowly, his expression one of deep, even melancholy contemplation.
"Here are the keys, sir." Major Kira extended the small primitive bits of metal on her palm. "For the locks."
"What's that?" Sisko turned toward her. "Oh . . . of course." He took the keys and closed his fist around them. "Do you know if there's any special procedure we should follow about breaking the seals? I did a search through all the onboard databases concerning Bajoran religious practices, but I couldn't really find anything regarding this situation."
"I don't think there's anything special you have to do, Commander." It wasn't the first time that she had to admit to gaps in knowledge of her home planet's faith, gaps that seemed to grow larger the longer she was away. "The seals are more of a formality than anything else; the elders wanted to assure us that the contents are genuine."
"There's little doubt of that, I'm afraid." Sisko pressed his fist against the wood. "I wish it were otherwise—I'd give a great deal for everything inside here to be fake." He shook his head. "You've done a good job with this assignment, Major. Just a shame that it was necessary."
Kira held her silence. The commander had spoken her feelings as well.
Inside the crate were mute bits and pieces, fragments of the past and tokens of remembrance. Of the Kai Opaka, the one who had served as the very soul of Bajor. A soul that had fled from that world, to an eternal life . . . and death.
It didn't matter now, what the Kai's choice had been. Her absence from Bajor had left an equal emptiness inside Kira. And in Commander Sisko—she could sense that, in the sad hush of his words.
Sisko pushed himself away from the crate. "I require a full debriefing from you, regarding the present political developments on Bajor. Right now, if you're up to it."
"Of course, Commander." That had been the other part of her assignment. "I can give you a quick verbal rundown if you like, then a complete written report in two shifts from now."
"Excellent. I've had Quark reserve us a security-screened booth in his establishment on the Promenade. You might find that more relaxing than this office."
Kira took a deep breath. "If you don't mind, sir—I'm not really in the mood for dealing with the crowds down there. I'm pretty tired."
"I can appreciate that, Major. However, I'm also aware of how rumors can spread from the Ops crew throughout the station. The official word is that you went to Bajor solely for the purpose of escorting these relics into our possession. If we take the time to go over your political analysis here, it may generate some speculation. Whereas a visit to Quark's will be seen as no more than some much-needed relaxation after completing your assignment."
What she really felt like was falling backward onto the bunk in her quarters and passing into dreamless sleep. The brief catnaps she had been able to grab on Bajor and in the freight shuttle's hold had been barely enough to keep her going. "Very well," she said, nodding. Inside her head, she was already sorting through and condensing her report to the barest essentials.
The details were just about ready, lined up for presentation, when she and Sisko stepped from the turbolift and onto the Promenade deck. That was when she saw the flash of metal.
He opened his eyes, even though he didn't want to. Jake had to; he had to see.
"Here you go—" The other boy's voice had broken through the silence Jake had tried to pull around himself. "It's your turn now."