Her reply was stiff and formal. “If you’ve really researched me as much as you say, then you have to be aware that there were certain…extenuating circumstances on Garon II.”

“Please, don’t misunderstand me, Lieutenant,” Gard said, making a placating gesture. “I’m not criticizing your past performance. In fact, I rather admire most of the decisions you’ve made throughout your career, if not your luck. Mavericks aren’t usually very popular with the top brass. But they know damned well they need people like us to get their dirty work done, don’t they?”

Hiziki’s reassuring words and gentle smile went a long way toward putting Ro at ease once again. “Not everyone sees it that way,” she said, nodding.

“Which brings me to what’s really on my mind. In reviewing the last six months or so of the goings-on aboard Deep Space 9—most specifically the rogue Jem’Hadar attack here about five months back—I have several concerns about the security for tomorrow’s treaty signing, and for the subsequent celebratory events.”

Now he’s second-guessing my job performance.Ro was just about to spit out a curt response when Gard held a hand out, palm facing her, as if to gently silence her. “Please do not in any way misinterpret my concerns. I, too, resent it when bureaucrats intrude into my work. But I was hoping that, as fellow mavericks, we might review the security plans together. Perhaps I can be helpful to you in ways other than keeping Ambassador Gandres and the other delegates from wandering about the station and getting underfoot. After all, we both have junior staffers who can do that.”

Once again, Ro’s anger dissipated. She was impressed. Gard was extremely smooth for a veteran cop. Perhaps all the time he had spent among diplomats—and the experiences of his past lives—had paid off. She realized that she might not only find his advice useful, but could also learn a thing or two about tact and persuasion from him as well. She had a feeling that such skills would be at least as valuable on Federationized Bajor as her Starfleet advanced tactical training.

“If you’d like, I can set up a formal security briefing for you first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “In my office at, say, oh six hundred.”

“How about this evening? Over dinner?” His eyes glittered. Ro felt herself blushing slightly in spite of herself.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already made dinner plans.” Ro looked across the room and saw Quark, still glowering at Gard from the other side of the bar. Following Ro’s eyes, Gard glanced toward Quark, then offered an understanding smile to Ro.

“Considering the caliber of Quark’s dinner company, I think his ego is needlessly fragile.” He rose to his feet, a small but provocative smile playing at his lips. “Oh six hundred tomorrow it is, then.”

After Gard had left, Ro sank back into her chair. She realized that she was still blushing; it had been aeons since anyone had flirted with her so overtly—and so charmingly. Most of her earlier romances had been quick wartime dalliances with other freedom fighters. Her time among the Maquis had afforded few opportunities for true emotional sharing. With Jalik, Kyle, and even Dana, there had been time only for brief physical intimacies, vital affirmations of life that punctuated an endless series of bloody engagements with the Cardassians, and later, the Jem’Hadar.

After draining the last of her tea, Ro noticed that Quark was appraising her from across the bar, though no longer glowering. Clearly, that was an expression he was keeping in reserve for Gard. With no small amount of wonder, she reflected yet again on how much she was actually beginning to like the little scoundrel, even though she acknowledged that she still didn’t entirely trust him. Who would have seenthat coming?

But as she made her way back onto the Promenade, planning on visiting Hatrim Nabir’s dress shop to prepare for her date with Quark, she found that Gard’s bewitching smile still lingered in her thoughts.

10

Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53577.8

I woke up soaked in sweat, and as tired as though I’d just come off a double shift. I realized with a start that I was lying on one of the biobeds. Fewer things are more disconcerting to a ship’s doctor than suddenly finding himself horizontal in his own medical bay.

But suddenly remembering that you recently almost killed three of your patients is far worse. Krissten noticed my agitation immediately and offered me a sedative to help me rest. I mustered up as much courage as I could and tried to reassure her that after being unconscious for the past several hours, what I needed most was to get back to work and try to get to the bottom of what had happened to all of us who had been aboard theSagan. I pressed her with questions about my patients, and she reassured me that Nog, the Dax symbiont, and my accidentally wounded alien patient were all doing well—and that Ezri had returned to duty on the bridge. Ezri was already on her way down to see me, apparently at least as worried about me as I was about her.

As I began trying to calibrate the scanning equipment, Krissten noticed the unsteadiness of my hands and pitched in to help. Actually, she ended up handling the task essentially on her own. I was grateful for her help, but unsure how much of my own unsteadiness stemmed from simple fatigue and how much I could chalk up to my obviously deteriorating mind. I felt as though I’d stepped into a thick fog.

Over the course of perhaps an hour, I noticed that the mere act of thinking through technical problems was growing enormously wearying. As my fatigue mounted, I thought about the sedative Krissten had offered me and realized that Morpheus might as well be the Grim Reaper. If I risked going to sleep again before finding a solution, how much worse off would I be the next time I awoke?

“Den D’Naali.”The alien said, its vertically cleft mouth parts wrapping awkwardly around the sounds. Shar was surprised at the pure, almost crystalline quality of the synthetic voice issuing from Bowers’s hand-held universal translator unit. “Den D’Naali bu kereve. Croi Ryek’ekbalabiozan’denlu bu Nyazen den. Enti Leyza.”

Shar’s antennae pitched forward in the alien’s direction. Thanks to the ministrations of Dr. Bashir and Ensign Richter—to say nothing of several miniature antigrav units now strapped to various points around its body—the creature seemed healthy and strong—and apparently eager to communicate. Shar suddenly felt certain that they had finally broken the linguistic impasse which had so far thwarted all but the crudest attempts at communication. With Shar’s certainty came a surge of unalloyed joy, the heady rush of imminent discovery. It reminded him of why he’d joined Starfleet in the first place.

Another realization startled him then: This was the first time he’d experienced this sensation since he’d learned of Thriss’s suicide.

Shar turned to Bowers. “I believe we’ve just made a major breakthrough.”

“You mean you understoodthat?” Bowers nodded toward the insectile alien, then resumed scowling at the translator in his hand.

Shar shook his head, his antennae bobbing. “Not a word of it. But we’re finally hearing phonemes that humanoids can reproduce. We now have a starting point.”