textfiles/sf/STARTREK/murderon

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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu
Subject: Murder One part 1 (for alt.startrek.creative)
Date: Mon, 01 Aug 94 10:14:54 EDT
Status: RO

 STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE
 "MURDER ONE"
 by Mark D. Shuchat

 "You're out!"
 Approximately four seconds before he heard the umpire's pronouncement, the
batter for the Boston Red Sox was rounding the bases in triumph, having
knocked the ball into the stands for a grand slam and thus clinching a
seventh-game World Series victory over the hated New York Mets.
 The batter could hear the wild roar of the crowd as the Boston fans
already began to celebrate. The roar grew to even higher levels of decibels
as he crossed home plate.
 That was when the umpire made his call.
 The batter stumbled and turned on the umpire in outrage. "What?!"
 "You heard me. You're out!"
 "But I hit a home run!"
 "Argue with me," threatened the umpire, "and you're outta here!"
 The batter sighed. "Computer, freeze program."
 The umpire halted in mid-threat as the batter tapped the insignia on his
uniform. "Sisko to Quark."
 "Quark here," came the slightly nasal voice of the Ferengi.
 "Quark, there's something wrong with my baseball program in Holosuite G,"
said Commander Benjamin Sisko. "This is the third time this month. Please
fix it and get it right this time."
 He distinctly heard a snort of exasperation from the Ferengi bartender on
the other end of the comm channel. "Now, Commander?"
 That snort, mused Sisko, meant one of three things. One, Quark was
presently busy with a big legitimate business deal and didn't want to be
disturbed. Two, Quark was presently busy with a big illegitimate business
deal and didn't want to be disturbed. And three, Quark was just trying to
annoy him. The hell of it was that he was succeeding.
 "Today, Quark," rumbled Sisko warningly.
 "Of course, Commander," Quark replied, in full smarm mode. "Quark out."
 Sisko sighed and terminated the program. Fenway Park faded away to reveal
the gold-on-black grid that was the holosuite in its natural state. "Exit."
 The doors slid aside and Sisko stepped onto the Promenade.

 Station Log, Stardate 46772.9:
 Trade with the Gamma Quadrant is really heating up. Ships have been moving
back and forth through the wormhole almost constantly, and it's taking a
lot of our resources just to keep up with the flow. It's also taking a lot
of my resources to keep Odo from arresting everyone who comes to see Quark.

 The turbolift stopped at Ops and Sisko walked out into the control center
of what had once been the Cardassian mining station for all of Bajor. Now
it was Deep Space Nine, a technically Bajoran station under Federation
administration.
 It was also, ever since the discovery of the wormhole, the jumping-off
point for trade with the Gamma Quadrant.
 "Good morning, everyone," he announced as he walked down the stairs.
Getting the usual absorbed mutter of reply from his staff, he stepped over
to Major Kira Nerys. "Status, Major?"
 "Two ships coming in today," Kira answered. "A small trader ship called
the Achilles, and the Gowron, a Klingon ship."
 "Klingons on the station," breathed Sisko. "That should be interesting."
 "You may want to warn Odo in advance," advised Kira. "The last time a
shipload of Klingons arrived, he couldn't sleep for three days."
 "Agreed, Major. What about the Achilles?"
 "It's owned and operated by Deborah Jarvis," piped up Lieutenant Jadzia
Dax, "an independent trader who hails from somewhere in the Centauri
sector."
 "Somewhere?"
 "According to customs officials, she's never been entirely clear on her
origin."
 Sisko rubbed his chin. "I'll talk to Odo and have her checked out. What
about the Klingons?"
 "Seeking passage to the Gamma Quadrant," said Kira. "Probably setting up a
colony or something."
 "Probably," agreed Sisko. "Let me know when they arrive."

 Miles O'Brien leapt back to avoid being singed by a sparking conduit in
Upper Pylon Two and cursed. This is not my idea of fun, he kept telling
himself. Exactly twenty-eight minutes earlier he had been cooing sweet
nothings into his wife Keiko's ear and hoping like hell that their daughter
wouldn't wake up. It had been their first "private time" in over a week,
what with her teaching schedule and his rather erratic work hours.
 It was when they were really getting down to business that the call came
through from Ops.
 Trying to ignore Keiko's cries of displeasure (instead of her cries of
pleasure) O'Brien managed to snarl something faintly civil into his
combadge.
 Kira had not been particularly impressed by his pleas for mercy and, in a
foul mood herself, had ordered him to the failed pylon conduit on pain of
being shot out of a photon torpedo launcher without a spacesuit.
 So O'Brien went, grumbling every centimeter of the distance between his
quarters and the conduit. He could feel a monster headache (not to mention
other parts of his anatomy) coming on and he knew he was going to have to
face the wrath of his wife. He briefly considered the possibility of
picking up where they left off upon his return home.
 He then looked down at his uniform, saw the smudges and the occasional
singe, and smelled the distinctive scent of human sweat and lubricating oil
upon his person. Not very likely, Miles, he told himself.
 His combadge beeped. "O'Brien here."
 "Status, Chief?" came Sisko's voice.
 "I'm almost done here, Commander," he replied. "You can tell the Gowron to
dock in five minutes."
 "Sooner than that please, Chief," Sisko said mildly. "The Gowron's weapons
officer has an itchy trigger finger."
 O'Brien grunted and worked faster. One or two sparks later, he tapped his
combadge again. "That should do it, sir."
 "I sincerely hope so, Chief." Sisko's voice cut off and O'Brien could hear
the grinding noise of the Gowron docking. He closed his eyes and prayed for
the conduit to hold. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until
he let it out in a big whoosh.
 He scuttled back as the inner door opened, revealing several very large
Klingons standing in the airlock. They looked down on him as if he were
some interesting new sort of grub to be eaten along with a fistful of other
grubs.
 O'Brien smiled a touch weakly. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine."

 The Achilles smoothly slid into place on the docking ring. At least that
was working normally, O'Brien thought in relief as he passed by the airlock
en route back to his quarters.
 The airlock door opened and Deborah Jarvis emerged. The head of every
male, human and otherwise, on the Promenade swiveled to look at her. She
was utterly beautiful, with glowing blonde hair and clothing to accentuate,
rather than complement, her hourglass figure.
 More than a few men in her life had made the mistake of treating Jarvis as
just another floozy whose assets tended to concentrate below the neck. As
payment for their patronizing, she would often clean them out, then skip
town on the Achilles before they realized their financial accounts were
now, for some unfathomable reason, as empty as their beds after that last
night of passion.
 In this manner, she had not unnaturally produced a number of enemies in
Federation space, some of whom were mean enough to give her the shivers.
That was why she had set a course for this blighted corner of the galaxy.
Bajor and Deep Space Nine did not particularly interest her, aside from the
usual facilities of refitting and resupply.
 It was the wormhole, the express lane to the Gamma Quadrant. That was why
she was here. In the Gamma Quadrant, she could lay low for as long as it
took for the nastier of her former lovers (and business partners) to froth
over her disappearance then turn to other matters and forget about her. It
could take many years, but she was wasn't worried about that. She was more
than capable of hunkering down on an M-class planet and living as a farmer
for however long she had to.
 But first, she thought as she stepped onto the Promenade and drank in the
expressions of disbelief, curiosity and lust, a bit of fun.

 Jake Sisko saw Jarvis from the second-level walkway and fell in love.
 Quark saw Jarvis from his bar and wondered how much gold-pressed latinum
he could get out of her. He also wondered how much of her he could get out
of her clothing.
 Garak saw Jarvis from his clothing shop and idly considered what color
cloth would go best with her hair.
 Odo saw Jarvis from his office and decided to keep an eye on her.

 Someone else also saw her and almost leapt up shouting before controlling
himself. She was here! The woman who had ruined him and driven him out to
this godforsaken junk pile was really here!
 She had destroyed his family. She had ruined his life.
 Now it was time to return the favor.

 The part of Quark's brain that dealt with sexual fantasies nearly shorted
out when Jarvis headed towards his bar. "My most beautiful customer of the
month!" he salivated as she took a seat at a table. "For you, my dear, the
best drink in this sector, on the house." He turned back long enough to
shout an order at his brother Rom.
 "May I join you?" he smarmed back at her.
 Jarvis smiled a killer smile. "Of course."
 Quark sank into a seat opposite her and exulted in the hormones flushing
through his body. "How may I serve you?"
 Jarvis halted for a moment as Rom brought something tall, blue and frothy,
then sipped it. Her face lit up with surprised pleasure. "What is it?"
 "It's a Ferengi improvement on Romulan ale," Quark said.
 "Can I have the recipe? After all, what am I going to do when I'm not here
on this station?"
 Quark stumbled for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Of course, my dear.
Is there anything else I can do for you?"
 "As a matter of fact, there is." Jarvis leaned forward and began to
whisper in Quark's ear. As she talked, his eyes grew wide.

 "She's amazing, Dad!" Jake exclaimed in the quarters he shared with his
father.
 "Really?" asked Sisko with an amused gleam in his eye. He remembered all
too well what life was like at Jake's age; hormones surging through every
cell of your body, falling hopelessly in love with every pretty girl you
saw on the street.
 He sighed and brought himself back to the present. "Who is she?" Jake was
asking.
 "Her name is Deborah Jarvis," said Sisko. "According to her flight plan,
she's just stopping here before going through the wormhole."
 Jake's face fell. "She's not staying?"
 "For a few days, she is. Who knows what could happen until she leaves?"
 Jake's face lit up again. "Do you think I should, you know, try to talk to
her?"
 Sisko leaned back and thought about that for a moment. The odds against
her being interested in Jake were, quite frankly, astronomical, but
still...
 "Of course," Sisko decided. "Just remember, she may not be as interested
in you as you are in her."
 "Dad," Jake replied, in that well-known tone of voice which said, 'Just
how stupid do you think I am to even think that I need reminding of that?'
 "Just making sure," Sisko said neutrally. "Go get her, kiddo."
 Jake grinned and practically flew out of his quarters.

 "You want that?" asked Quark.
 Jarvis nodded. "Your holosuites are infamous across the Federation. Of
course I have to try one out."
 Quark smiled. "My reputation has proceeded me. The charge will be -"
 "Don't worry about that," Jarvis interrupted. "I have enough."
 Quark went into ecstasy. Someone who requested a holosuite program yet
didn't care about the price was almost too good to be true! "In that case,"
he said smoothly (or at least as smooth as a Ferengi could be), "will you
accompany me?"
 "Absolutely," said Jarvis as she giggled. That giggle had cost a lot of
men a lot of money at one time or another.
 They got up and climbed the stairs to the narrow hallway where the
holosuites were located. There were ten of them, five on each wall.
Although small in real area, the holographic simulators contained within
them could make the suites appear as large as a planet.
 Three of them were in use by other customers, but Holosuite G was free.
"There's a three hour time limit," said Quark almost apologetically.
 "That's all right," said Jarvis easily. "I intend to enjoy every minute of
it."
 They walked up to the holosuite door and Quark punched in a program code
along with his personal authorization code, allowing the mechanism to
function in the first place. The holosuites were some of the most expensive
equipment in his establishment; just the normal maintenance consumed a ton
of money. Holo-diodes were not easy to come by this far out from the center
of the Federation, so whenever a holodeck-equipped ship visited the
station, it was Quark's practice to buy out their entire spare supply of
diodes. It cost a lot of latinum, but it was better than having the suites
damaged by a customer irate over a diode burnout at the best part of a
program.
 The door slid aside. "The program will start in one minute," said Quark.
"Enjoy."
 "I will," said Jarvis as she giggled again. Throwing one last smile at the
Ferengi, she walked inside and the door closed behind her.
 Quark sighed in happiness, lost in his fantasies starring the beautiful
trader. He almost forgot to turn on the recorders, the most secret piece of
gear in his entire establishment. They kept a constant eye on whatever
happened inside a suite, and safely recorded it in the bar's computer,
coded to Quark's retina pattern only.
 After all, those recordings couldn't be allowed to fall into the wrong
hands.

 Jake reached the Promenade just in time to see Jarvis disappear inside
Holosuite G, and his hopes crashed. Nog, who was Quark's nephew and also
the only person on the station even remotely close to his own age, saw him
and scuttled over to his side.
 Nog saw his friend's bleak expression and frowned. "What's the problem?"
 "It's her," gloomed Jake. "I didn't even get a chance to talk to her."
 "The woman who came in on the Achilles?" asked Nog. "For a human, she's
very beautiful."
 "Yeah," Jake said dreamily. "She sure is."
 Nog glanced at his friend. "You like her?"
 Jake snapped back to the present. "She's terrific."
 "Don't worry," said Nog cheerfully as he slapped Jake's shoulder. "She's
got to come out sometime. And in the meantime, we can see what's going on
in there."
 Jake blinked. "We can?"
 "Sure. My uncle has a setup that records whatever happens in a holosuite.
Don't you ever go into one?"
 "Only to play baseball with my dad," Jake admitted. "He won't even let me
near them the rest of the time."
 "It's the next best thing," said Nog with a grin.
 Jake began to feel uneasy. "I don't know..."
 "Come on, Jake!" said Nog. "You think you'll be a Peeping Tim?"
 "That's 'Peeping Tom,'" Jake corrected. "Maybe later."
 Nog shrugged. "Okay. I'll let you know what you missed." He scampered off
to the secret room behind Quark's bar, leaving Jake behind.

 The stark white interior of Holosuite G faded to mist as the program began
to run. The mist shimmered and re-formed into an enormous bedroom,
dominated by an equally enormous bed that could have held a Roman orgy with
room left over for a few more.
 Jarvis laughed out loud and sauntered over to the bed, stripping off her
clothing as she did so. With a steady stream of cloth behind her, the naked
Jarvis hopped onto the bed and made her way to the middle of it. She
flopped onto her back and stared up at her surroundings. The "bedroom" had
no roof, only walls that seemed to stretch up forever into a misty sky.
Even as she was experiencing it, she was still amazed at the detail of
Quark's holographic programs.
 Then she smiled as her holographic companion stepped out of the shadows
and approached her. She closed her eyes and waited for the ecstasy to
overwhelm her senses.

 O'Brien finally managed to stumble into his quarters, exhausted and
filthy. En route to the shower, he risked a glance at the chronometer and
winced at the knowledge that he had been away for more than four hours.
After the conduit work, there had been half a dozen other niggling things
that had to be done Now, Chief. He couldn't exactly say that he was in the
middle of conceiving a second child, so he just closed his mouth and got to
work.
 At times like these, O'Brien could swear that not only was the station
alive, it was out to get him. How else could he explain all the failures,
all the repairs needed Now, Chief, at exactly the wrong time?
 He had even revealed his pet theory to Keiko, who had merely crinkled her
nose at him (God, how he loved it when she crinkled her nose at him) and
called him paranoid.
 Stepping out of the shower, O'Brien felt a lot cleaner and definitely more
human. Perhaps Keiko would be more interested in him now.
 Theatrically whipping the towel from around his midsection, he pranced
into the bedroom, ready to do whatever it took to regain the trust of his
beloved. It was quite a show, and would have caused palpitations of Keiko's
heart - had she been there. The bedroom was empty.
 Scratching his head, O'Brien hunted around the apartment until he found a
message for him on the living room computer terminal:
 "Miles: I've taken Molly to day care and gone to enjoy a holosuite
program. Keiko."
 He was aghast. He knew all too well what kinds of programs were available
in Quark's holosuites. His wife - acting out a holosuite scenario? It was
almost too much to contemplate.
 Almost, but not quite. Throwing on a clean uniform, O'Brien stormed out of
his quarters and in the direction of Quark's bar.

 Jarvis was in utter ecstasy. Her nerve endings pulsed and roared as if
they had been dipped into a deliciously erotic flame. Her holographic lover
was atop her, moving in perfect synch with the gyrations of her body. She
clasped him to her and cried out in her passion.
 She groaned in disappointment when she felt his weight leave her, but she
did not open her eyes. Even if she had, she would not have been able to
prevent what happened next.
 Deborah Jarvis felt something penetrate her. In a program like this, she
would have expected something along those lines to happen. But this was not
an ordinary penetration.
 It felt icy and metallic.
 It was pushing through the thin layer of skin into her chest.
 She opened her mouth to scream...


From MShuchat@aol.com Mon Aug  1 09:19 CDT 1994
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Subject: Murder One part 2 (for alt.startrek.creative)
Date: Mon, 01 Aug 94 10:16:12 EDT
Status: RO

 A burst of raucous laughter filled the bar as the five Klingon officers
off the Gowron knocked back their glasses of prune juice.
 "Bartender!" shouted Captain Krinoth. "Another round!"
 Quark muttered something not very polite to himself and programmed the
replicator to produce yet another quintuple set of glasses of prune juice.
Damn Klingons, he thought. He stone a glance at the rest of the bar and the
few alcoholic denizens residing within. Most of his regulars had heard who
was stopping by and decided to visit a different watering hole for a few
hours.
 The hell of it was that there were no other watering holes on Deep Space
Nine. Quark lamented the lost latinum as he carried the tray of prune juice
through the din of laughter over to the table and plunked it down, jumping
back just fast enough to avoid losing a few fingers as the Klingons grabbed
the glasses.
 Please, the Ferengi prayed, let someone else come in here.
 He got his wish.
 Quark saw O'Brien thunder into the bar and grinned in utter relief. "Why,
Chief! This is an unexpected pleas-"
 His voice cut off as a furious O'Brien grabbed him by the neck, hauled him
clear off the floor and began to shake him like a rag doll. "Where is she?"
the human demanded.
 "Where's who?" Quark managed to squeak.
 "Where's my wife?"
 "Holosuite J," Quark rasped, and fell back gasping as O'Brien released him
and headed for the stairs at full speed.
 O'Brien ran up the stairs and barreled down the corridor holding the
holosuites. He stopped outside the last one - Holosuite J. He firmly
pressed the intercom button that would allow someone to communicate with
anyone inside the holosuite. "Keiko? Come out of there!"
 There was no answer, so O'Brien turned to the computer interface terminal
and said, "Computer, open Holosuite J. Command override O'Brien delta two
seven."
 The computer beeped and the door slid open, revealing Keiko O'Brien
sitting alone in the middle of a sunny meadow by a gurgling brook.
 O'Brien paused for a moment to make sure he was really seeing what his
eyes were conveying to his brain. No, Miles, he said to himself, you are
not seeing your wife enjoying herself carnally with a holographic
simulation.
 Keiko looked up at the sound of the opening door and smiled at her
husband. "Come in, Miles. You look silly standing there with your mouth
open."
 O'Brien tentatively made his way inside the suite, allowing the door to
close behind him. "I see you got my note," his wife said conversationally.
 "Your note," O'Brien said slowly. "I got it. I thought that you were..."
 Keiko looked at him curiously for a moment, then her eyes widened and she
blushed hard enough to heat up the entire room. "You thought that I was
running one of those programs?"
 Her husband stammered, "Well, since I got the call from Ops and left you
all alone...I thought that..."
 Keiko smiled, a bright and sunny smile. She stepped forward and took her
husband's face in her hands. "You were jealous."
 "Honey," said O'Brien, "I know my schedule isn't exactly easy on our
marriage. I just don't want to lose you because of it."
 She kissed him gently. "You can't lose me that easily, Miles. And I'd
still love you even if you were always off fixing something on this
station."
 But I am always fixing something on this station, O'Brien thought, and
wisely left that sentiment unsaid.
 As they began to kiss passionately, he thought of nothing except how
beautiful his wife was and how much he loved her.
 One of the attractions of Quark's holosuites was that they were totally
soundproof; sounds from the inside could not penetrate to the outside and
vice versa. This was why the station's chief of operations did not hear the
commotion outside, even if he had been in a mood to hear it.

 A quiet chime sounded from behind the bar, drawing Quark's attention to a
screen. TIME LIMIT ON HOLOSUITE G EXPIRED, it said. Finally, Quark thought
with relief, some diversion from the Klingons and their endless noise.
"Rom!" he shouted above the cacophony.
 His brother scuttled over from the Klingon table and came to a halt in
front of the bar. "Yes, brother?"
 "The time limit in Holosuite G is up," said Quark. "Go get her out of
there and let someone else take their turn."
 Rom paused as he thought this over for a moment. At times like this, Quark
could swear that he could actually see the sluggish chemical reactions
taking place in his brother's brain. Rom finally got the idea, grinned that
foolish grin of his, and shambled up the steps to the holosuites.
 He stopped in front of Holosuite G, which had automatically shut down when
the timer had counted down from three hours. Rom cleared his throat and
pressed the intercom button. "Ms. Jarvis," he stuttered, "I'm sorry, but
you'll have to leave now."
 There was no answer.
 Rom frowned. He was not particularly good with problems.
 So he pressed the button again, again bringing only silence.
 Thinking hard for a moment, he remembered the override code that only he
and Quark knew and punched it in. The computer beeped, acknowledging the
code, and the door slid open.
 Rom looked at what was inside and screamed.

 Odo heard the scream from his office and ran out, bumping into several
people on the Promenade who had also heard the Ferengi scream. He darted up
the stairs, followed by Quark and about a dozen other people.
 He stopped in front of the open holosuite door to find Rom, pale and
stammering and in shock. He turned, motioned to the others to stay back,
and stepped into the suite.
 Deborah Jarvis was sprawled out on the floor, very beautiful, very naked,
and very dead. Blood still trickled from a gaping wound in her chest.
 Odo tapped his combadge. "Odo to Bashir."
 "Bashir here," came the voice of the station's head doctor.
 "Doctor, we have - a problem at Holosuite G."
 Dr. Julian Bashir hesitated for only an instant. "On my way," he said
simply, and closed the channel.
 Odo took up position in the holosuite's doorway, solid as a rock (and with
the humor of one, as Quark would say). It was less than two minutes later
that Bashir and a medtech arrived with a crash cart and entered the suite.
Sisko and Kira were right behind them.
 Sisko's expression was dark and thunderous as he looked at Jarvis' body.
"Who did this?" he hissed as Bashir began to examine it.
 "Rest assured, Commander," said Odo, "I will find the killer."
 "Cause of death is pretty obvious," said Bashir as he straightened up.
"Massive coronary failure brought on by a stab wound to the chest. Looks
like the object went between her left ribs and hit her heart."
 "When did she die?" asked Kira.
 "My guess is anywhere from one to two hours ago. To get more specific than
that, I'd have to perform an autopsy."
 "Do it, Doctor," ordered Sisko. "In the meantime, Major, I want the
station sealed off. No one gets in or out."
 "Yes, sir," said Kira.
 "Where's Quark?" Sisko asked as he looked at the gaggle of heads peeping
in around Odo.
 "Here, Commander." The Ferengi ducked under Odo's arm and entered the
suite, glancing forlornly at Jarvis' body.
 "This holosuite is being closed for the duration of this inquiry," said
Sisko.
 Quark actually gasped. "You can't do that! I need this suite to stay
profitable!"
 "You have nine others," remarked Kira coolly.
 "Besides, she never paid me."
 Growling, Kira stepped forward and grabbed Quark by the collar much as
O'Brien had done shortly before. "Listen to me, you little frog. A woman
has been murdered, and the fact that all you can think of is your balance
sheet makes me very upset."
 If there was one thing Quark had learned in the eighteen months since the
station had been turned over to the Federation, it was never to make Major
Kira Nerys angry. Another thing Quark had learned was the Eighty-Ninth Rule
of Acquisition: Never make the authorities mad at you.
 "Of course I'm not totally insensitive," Quark said soothingly. "I just
talked before I thought, that's all."
 Kira nodded sarcastically. "Of course, Quark."
 Bashir and his medtech straightened up and the doctor tapped his badge.
"Bashir to Ops. Two people - and one other - to transport to the
infirmary." They were snatched away in a haze of red light, and Odo raised
his hands.
 "It's all over," he announced to the spectators. "Go back to whatever you
people were doing before this whole thing started."
 Muttering amongst themselves, the spectators left, not particularly happy
at the thought of being locked in the station along with a killer. Had they
known the past histories of, say, Quark's clientele, which had a not
insignificant number of killers to its name, they would not have felt so
apprehensive. At least they knew who those killers were.
 It was at this point that the door to Holosuite J opened and Miles and
Keiko O'Brien emerged, their arms wrapped around each other and both of
them glowing like the sun itself. O'Brien blinked at the sudden crowd in
the corridor. "What's up?" he asked Odo.
 Odo snorted. "Funny you should ask that..."

 Bashir took a deep breath and approached the lifeless body of Deborah
Jarvis as it lay in an anteroom of the infirmary. It was not like he had
never done an autopsy before. He had; he had done dozens in his medical
career. But he had never had to do one on someone murdered like this
before.
 He switched on the sterile field, thus ensuring that any microorganisms
still active in the corpse could not escape into the larger environment of
the station and wreak some havoc. He set the auto-scanner to examine every
inch of her body, especially the chest wound, and activated it. The scanner
would take several minutes to do the job, and Bashir took advantage of the
moment to look closely at the dead face.
 If he could assign a name to the emotion on that face, it would be
surprise. Whatever had happened to her had happened very quickly. Fear and
terror took time to be generated. The saving grace in all of this is that
she probably didn't have enough time to suffer.
 The scanner beeped and the results came up on a monitor screen. Bashir
tore himself away from the body and examined the data. He was especially
interested in the composition of the wound; it would tell his what kind of
weapon Jarvis had been killed with.
 The results were conclusive, and a very specific kind of weapon jumped out
from the dry on-screen language.
 It was a weapon that worried Bashir a great deal.


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Subject: Murder One part 3 (for alt.startrek.creative)
Date: Mon, 01 Aug 94 10:18:10 EDT
Status: RO

 "It was a d'k'tahg - a Klingon ceremonial knife," Bashir reported in
Sisko's office, in front of the commander, Kira, O'Brien, Dax and Odo.
 "Are you absolutely certain?" asked Sisko quietly.
 "Yes, sir," nodded Bashir. "The wound made from such a weapon is very
distinctive. The way it works is that once the knife is inserted into the
flesh, other, smaller blades spring out from the sides." He moved his hands
to illustrate. "When the knife is pulled out, the smaller blades grab hold
of whatever organs happen to be in the way and pull them out as well."
Thankfully, he did not illustrate this.
 "Do you think that someone off the Gowron killed Jarvis?" asked Kira.
 "I suppose it's possible," the doctor said thoughtfully. "The only other
Klingon on the station is the one who runs the Klingon food kiosk on the
Promenade. Personally, I find it difficult to believe he could be capable
of murder."
 "Capability has nothing to do with it," said Odo gravely. "There were at
least seven witnesses who saw him in the booth at the time of the murder.
He is not a suspect."
 "Could someone else have gotten hold of the knife and killed Jarvis in
such a way as to put blame on the Klingons?" asked Dax.
 "No," Odo said firmly. "I know of every single weapon on this station. No
one owns a knife like the one the doctor described."
 "It does sound like the Klingons are the prime suspects," O'Brien said.
 "Leave the detective work to me, Chief," said Odo.
 "People, please," said Sisko. "No squabbling until after we catch the
murderer."
 The attempt at levity helped to ease the tension in the office.
 "Now, when did Jarvis die?" asked Sisko.
 "She died at 0930, plus or minus about fifteen minutes," Bashir replied.
 "Very well," said Odo as if the minor confrontation had not occurred at
all, "I will question every Klingon who was not definitely fixed as being
on the Gowron at the time."
 Sisko nodded. "I'll tell Captain Krinoth, but I don't think he'll like
it."

 "This is an outrage!" Krinoth shouted in a voice that echoed around Ops.
"You cannot believe that a Klingon committed this crime."
 "I'm saying that it's a possibility," Sisko said calmly in his office,
with Odo there as a minor reminder of just who was in charge. "Dr. Bashir
has determined that a d'k'tahg was the murder weapon. Since no knives of
that sort are owned by anyone on the station, we must consider the
possibility that one of your crew is the killer."
 "This is a conspiracy," Krinoth growled. "The Cardassians have been trying
to wreck the alliance with the Federation for years." He pushed his face to
within a few inches of Sisko's. "How do I know that you are not lying?"
 "You don't," replied Sisko coldly. "You have only my word to go on."
 The Klingon was not impressed.
 "Besides," Sisko continued, "if you refuse to allow us to speak to your
crew, then I must conclude not only that someone on your ship is guilty,
but that you know who it is and are covering for him."
 The temperature began to rise in the office as Krinoth became more and
more angry. Odo tensed slightly as it looked as if the Klingon captain
might try something. But the danger passed as Krinoth realized the trap
Sisko had cleverly laid for him and that he had walked straight into. If he
refused to allow the questionings out of pride, then he would already have
a strike against him.
 "Very well," he said abruptly. "Besides, I know that none of my people
could have done this - dishonorable crime."

 Bashir returned to his office in the infirmary and dropped into the desk
chair, allowing himself to sag onto the desk. Since coming to the station,
he had dealt with more than his share of murders, usually committed by the
scum of the sector. Many of them were believed to be connected to Quark,
but the Ferengi was either totally innocent of any wrongdoing (and if you
believe that, Julian, he thought with a sort of desperate humor, have I got
a bridge to sell you) or so good at covering his tracks that even Odo
hadn't been able to figure him out.
 But this one was different. A phrase from an old mystery novel he read
years ago returned to him in that odd way memories did - a locked room
mystery. The way he remembered it, the scenario concerned a dead body in a
room in which all the windows and doors were locked from the inside. Of
course, the dashing, debonair detective always managed to solve the puzzle
and finger the killer by the last chapter, which didn't particularly help
in a real locked room mystery. Besides, all mystery writers cheated, Bashir
thought; they always held back the once clue you needed to solve the
mystery on your own.
 "Hell with it," he said aloud. "I need a drink."
 So he went to Quark's.

 Sub-Commander K'tork was proving no easier to question than any of the
other twenty-six Klingons Odo had questioned that day. If it were up to
him, he would gladly tell the whole shipload of them to get the hell off
his station. However, he knew that Sisko would have his head if he even
thought of doing something like that.
 Not that having the head of a shape-shifter would do much good. He could
always grow another one.
 Odo returned his attention to K'tork long enough to note that the Klingon
was at last starting to wind down from his tirade. By believing that K'tork
might have in any way been connected with the Jarvis murder, it appeared
that Odo had not only insulted him, but his father, his sons, his entire
family and, in fact, most of the Klingon Empire. Odo could live with being
rebuffed in this manner, but what he found intolerable was that the Klingon
was taking so blasted long to make his point.
 "Besides," said K'tork.
 Finally, thought Odo.
 "I wasn't even on the station at 0930."
 "Where were you at 0930?"
 "I was on the Gowron, supervising the dilithium recharge sequence in the
engineering section."
 Odo glanced at the Gowron's crew locations at 0930. Sure enough, one
Sub-Commander K'tork had been logged as being in engineering on the Gowron.
"Why didn't you tell me this when we started?"
 "And let an insult like this go unanswered?" K'tork shot back, and Odo
could feel another tirade coming on.
 "Thank you, Sub-Commander," the security chief said wearily as he
scrambled to keep K'tork from starting all over again. "You can go now."
 The Klingon sniffed and stalked out of Odo's office. Odo himself looked
with longing at his bucket. Twenty-seven interviews with twenty-seven
Klingons who all had twenty-seven extremely long things to say about him
and his (apparently dubious) parentage were enough to take the spring out
of anyone.
 Just an hour or two, thought Odo as he let his pseudo-human form dissolve
into the puddle of shape-shifting goo which then flowed into the bucket.
Then I can get back at it.
 It was three hours later that Odo went to Sisko's office and reported that
the Klingon theory had officially gone nowhere. All of the Gowron's crew
were either on their ship at the time or had unbreakable alibis. They were
back at the beginning.

 Bashir stepped into Quark's establishment (everybody comes to Quark's, he
thought wryly) and looked for somewhere to unwind. Then he saw Garak
sitting at a table and beckoning to him.
 Sidling through the crowd, Bashir joined Deep Space Nine's only permanent
Cardassian resident. Garak owned a small clothing shop on the Promenade,
and his tailoring skills were second to none; neither was his unerring
sense of fashion. What Garak actually was had been a matter of sometimes
heated debate ever since the Cardassians had abandoned the station to the
tender mercies of the Federation more than a year earlier.
 Some were absolutely convinced that Garak had been left behind as a spy to
keep an eye on the station and report back from time to time to the Central
Command on Cardassia Prime. Others were just as convinced that Garak had
been left behind in disgrace in response to some real or imagined
transgression to live out the rest of his life on the station. But no one
could deny that Garak was, when he wanted to be, a veritable fountain of
useful information. Soon after the Cardassian withdrawal, he had proved his
worth by derailing a plan by the Klingon family of Duras to ship weapons to
a band of anti-Cardassian terrorists.
 Since then, he had lived relatively quietly, outfitting the station's
residents (he had even done up a casual suit for Bashir some months
earlier) and making cryptic comments from time to time. The two of them
made a hobby out of meeting for lunch at Quark's, but Bashir had often
wandered in for a drink or something to find Garak there anyway.
 "Terrible thing, this Jarvis business," Garak said sympathetically after
Bashir had ordered his favorite drink - a Virgin Mary.
 "How much do you know about the murder?" asked Bashir, getting right down
to business.
 "Only what you know, my friend. I understand she was not well liked?"
 "You understand correctly," Bashir confirmed. He briefly filled in the
Cardassian on what they knew of Jarvis' exploits.
 "Her reputation has even extended so far as to be heard on Cardassia
Prime," said Garak. "She sounded like a perfectly dreadful woman, but she
certainly did not deserve this."
 "Nobody deserved that," Bashir replied sourly. "What do you think?"
 "I," said Garak thoughtfully, "would see if anyone on the station had any
past associations with her."
 "You mean someone deliberately targeted her as opposed to a random
killing? Yes, we thought of that as well. The problem is that Jarvis lived
in a world that is rather hard to keep track of." Bashir sipped his drink
and felt his taste buds tingle at the sharp flavor. "If anyone on the
station knew her before the murder, they won't talk. She ruined a lot of
lives."
 "Nevertheless, Julian," Garak said, "I would keep it in mind. You never
know what might turn up." His face lit up as he saw someone. "Mr. DiFusco!
You never came by for that fitting!" As he got up, he muttered, "Excuse
me," and was gone.
 Bashir blinked in surprise at the rapid exit and took a long swallow of
his drink.

 Late that night, Bashir slept. It had been a horrible evening, one he
would much rather forget.
 He had brooded on the Jarvis case for most of the day and all of the
evening. He didn't know why, but he was sure that he had missed something
in the autopsy. He had spent several hours in the infirmary, checking and
rechecking the autopsy results. He had even done the autopsy again - twice
- but had found nothing.
 It was driving him nuts.
 To make matters worse, his scheduled date with Marsha Ruzhnikov, a
particularly cute ensign from Odo's security squad, was a washout. He had
been trying to get a date with her for weeks, and she finally agreed.
 He had almost forgotten about the date entirely and worked straight
through it in the infirmary, except that he had thoughtfully programmed the
computer to remind him about it. Barely managing to tear himself away from
his work, he made it to the Promenade just in time to meet her.
 They had a very nice dinner. Just for the hell of it, they decided to
sample the cuisine offered by the Klingon restaurant. Both passed on the
live serpent worms, protesting that humans liked their food to be dead
before they ate it (the Klingon now thought all humans were culinary
Neanderthals) but enjoyed something with a very long name and great taste.
 Unfortunately, he had been a terrible dinner companion. More than once,
Marsha had prodded him with a fork when he was thinking too hard about what
it was that he had missed. As the evening mercifully drew to a close, they
had made their polite good-byes and parted. Marsha absolutely certain that
the infamous Don Juan she had just spent the evening with was either
secretly impotent or gay.
 So Bashir went to bed alone that night and slept fitfully.
 Until he sat straight up in bed, wide awake. "Computer, lights!" he
shouted.
 The computer obediently turned on the lights, and he hopped around his
quarters, struggling into his uniform. He was grinning like a fool, with a
look on his face that would have caused most people to run for the hills.
 He knew what it was that he had missed.
 After what seemed like far too long a time, he finally got dressed and
tore out of the infirmary at a dead run.

 Crewman David Jones sighed and went on to another screen of his novel as
he glanced at the clock. 0356. By any stretch of the imagination, a
particularly godless hour.
 The daily schedule of Deep Space Nine was divided into three work shifts.
Alpha Shift worked from 0700 to 1500, Beta Shift went from 1500 to 2300 and
Gamma Shift toiled from 1500 to 0700. Gamma Shift was known as the
graveyard shift.
 Nothing happened during the graveyard shift, and Bashir's medtechs knew
it. When the system had been set up shortly after the Federation takeover
of the station, there had been an active market in shift assignments, with
Alpha shifts going for the highest price while you could barely give away
graveyard shifts.
 Finally, Bashir stepped in and put a stop to it. He told his people to
draw straws as a way of determining who got what shift. He didn't really
care who got what shift, as long as the work got done and got done well.
 It was not unusual to work an entire week on graveyard with nothing
happening whatsoever. That was why Jones was surprised when Bashir barreled
into the infirmary as if he were being chased by a horde of rabid
Cardassians and Romulans, all howling for his blood.
 "Doctor," said Jones, "is there anything wrong?"
 Bashir caught his breath and waved at the monitor screens. "Call up...the
results of...Jarvis' original autopsy," he gasped. "Contaminants in the
wound."
 Jones, perplexed, did as he was told. Bashir looked over his shoulder as
nodded in increasing excitement until it looked like his head was about to
fly off his shoulders. "Yes," he murmured, "yes, yes, yes! Thank you,
Crewman." As suddenly as he had come, he headed for the door.
 "Doctor," Jones called after him, "did you find what you were looking
for?"
 "No!" Bashir called over his shoulder as he vanished down the hallway.

 "Deborah Jarvis was not killed by a d'k'tahg," Bashir announced the next
morning in Sisko's office.
 Sisko, Kira, O'Brien and Dax all blinked. If Odo could have blinked, he
would have. "Why do you say that, Doctor?" asked Sisko mildly.
 "Because," the doctor said triumphantly, "there was no trace of the knife
in the wound. It was driving me insane all day yesterday, but I didn't
really see it until last night." His enthusiasm heightened as he explained.
"The d'k'tahg always has a few tiny particles flake off when it's used to
stab someone. If Jarvis had really been stabbed by a knife, there would
have been some particles found in the wound. Even if it's only a molecule
or two, the scanners would have found it."
 "So what you're saying," said Kira slowly, "is that..."
 "Is that the holosuite was programmed to attack and kill her with a
holographic d'k'tahg," finished Bashir.
 "That would require overriding the mortality fail-safe," said O'Brien.
 "How difficult is that?" asked Odo.
 "Not difficult at all," answered Dax, "if you know the proper programming
codes."
 "I've seen several articles on it in the Starfleet Journal of Holography,"
said O'Brien.
 "How many people on the station would have the experience necessary to
reprogram the holosuite?" asked Sisko.
 "Not many," said O'Brien. "I'll take a look at the suite's programming to
see if the killer left any traces."
 "In the meantime," rumbled Sisko, "I'm ordering all the suites closed
indefinitely. If Quark doesn't like it, that's his problem; I'm not leaving
the possibility of someone else being turned against by a hologram."

 "Someone reprogrammed one of my holosuites?" asked Quark, aghast.
 "It looks like it," said Odo, talking to the Ferengi in his security
office.
 Quark sank into a chair, pale. "I assure you, Odo, I had nothing to do
with this."
 "I know."
 Quark stopped in his tracks. "You know?"
 "Yes."
 "Why?"
 "Because," said Odo, "while you are a thief, a liar and a coward, you are
not a killer."
 "Gee, thanks. Quite a compliment."
 Odo leaned forward over his desk. "But if you know anything about this
case - anything at all - that can help catch this killer, I might be
inclined to look the other way on this Denebian jewel deal you're working
on."
 Quark immediately became defensive. "What Denebian jewel deal?"
 "Oh, come now, Quark," said Odo as to a child who, when caught surrounded
by cookie crumbs and a shattered cookie pot, insists that the house was
invaded by drug-crazed terrorists who wanted to get high on the cookies,
"you can't possibly believe that there is a single crooked deal you have
going that I don't know about. Not after all the time we've known each
other."
 As much as he hated to admit it, Quark realized that Odo did in fact have
a point. But even to catch a killer, when he was about to do went against
his better judgment.
 "I have -" His voice caught in his throat.
 "What do you have?" asked Odo.
 Quark cleared his throat. "I have a time-stamped recording of everything
that goes on in the holosuites or in the holosuite corridor."
 Odo nodded and snorted. "For blackmail purposes, no doubt. I want to see
the recordings of everything that happened between 0830 and 1030
yesterday."
 "You'll have them," said Quark as he got up to leave.
 "And Quark?"
 "Yes?" asked the Ferengi, turning in the doorway.
 "I want the recording system dismantled. Now. And I also want all of the
recordings you've made with the system."
 Quark's eyes bugged out. "Odo, without that system, I would have nothing
to give you on all the criminal types who meet in my place."
 Odo's eyes told the Ferengi that he wasn't buying it.
 "Then again," Quark quickly backtracked, "maybe I should take the system
apart."
 "Good decision," Odo deadpanned. "Remarkably like the one I would have
made."
 "I'll do that now," said Quark as he almost fled the office.
 Odo leaned back and actually smiled. "I love it when I do that."


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To: jfy@cis.ksu.edu
Subject: Murder One part 4/4 (for alt.startrek.creative)
Date: Mon, 01 Aug 94 10:19:58 EDT
Status: RO

 "Now, class," said Keiko O'Brien, "we'll look at the Federation-Klingon
Alliance. The incident which helped to cement this alliance was the
destruction of a Federation starship. The Enterprise was responding to a
distress call from Norendra III, a Klingon colony under Romulan attack.
What happened was -" The clock chimed, signifying the end of the class.
"Saved by the bell," she said with a smile. "See you all tomorrow.
Remember, your elementary calculus test is on Monday, so start studying!"
 When the children had left, boisterously and otherwise, she looked up to
see her husband standing in the doorway. "Hi love," he said.
 "Hi, honey. What brings you here?"
 "Our holosuite romp will have to be postponed," O'Brien said sadly.
 "Oh no. Why?"
 "Well..." O'Brien told her of Bashir's discovery and Sisko's edict.
 "How long will the suites be closed?"
 "As long as it takes for me to flush this thing out of the system," said
O'Brien. "It could take several days."
 "You know," said Keiko seductively, "we don't need a boring old holosuite
to do all this."
 "True, true," said O'Brien, a glint in his eye. "What did you have in
mind?"
 "Well," said his wife, "we could leave Molly in day care for a few more
hours, go back to our quarters and have you boldly go where no man has gone
before..."

 For once true to his word, Quark brought the recordings over to Odo's
office and quietly let him know that the system had been turned off. It
would be dismantled within a day or two.
 "Good," said Odo, "because I'll check."
 Now was the task of watching the recording of the time in question.
Ignoring the goings-on in the various holosuites, Odo concentrated on the
corridor and who passed through. There was quite a lot of traffic; more, in
fact, than Odo would have believed possible. He knew that the holosuites
were popular, but not that popular.
 He frowned as he saw Quark and Jarvis walk up to Holosuite G, talking
between themselves about such useless trivia as time limits. He saw Quark
punch in a code and Jarvis enter. Quark paused for a moment, no doubt with
lustful thoughts running through his Ferengi head, then he headed back to
the stairs and the bar.
 Odo put the recording into fast-forward, seeing the people zip along like
bugs running from a cloud of insecticide. Nobody stopped by Holosuite G and
Odo's attention began to wander.
 Hold it.
 "Computer," snapped Odo, "freeze!"
 The computer obediently stopped the playback, freezing the corridor and
everyone in it in time. "Back up one minute real-time."
 The recording flowed into reverse, clearly showing someone walking
backwards, stopping by Holosuite G to tamper with the controls, then
walking backwards to the stairs and down to the bar.
 "Resume normal playback."
 Time resumed its normal course, and the person walked up to Holosuite G,
looked around furtively, then punched a series of codes into the control
terminal.
 Odo paused the recording again, then backed up slowly until the person's
face was in full view. "Enlarge and enhance."
 The person's face filled the screen. It was a worried face. It was a face
worried that its owner might be caught doing whatever he was doing.
 "Identify."
 The computer buzzed for a moment, then answered, "Crewman Peter Riley,
Medical Section."
 Odo tapped his combadge. "Odo to Bashir."
 "Bashir here, Odo."
 "Doctor, we have a main suspect. He is in your section; Crewman Peter
Riley. Keep him busy until I get there." His voice was clipped and harsh.
 "Understood. Bashir out."

 Bashir's mind reeled. Riley? The man had come aboard the station only a
few months ago, a volunteer from Earth. He got his thoughts in order and
turned from his desk, prepared to give Riley some menial task that would
occupy him until Odo arrived.
 That's when he saw Riley, standing in the doorway to his office.
 His face was pale and frightened.
 He heard, thought Bashir. He knows.
 "Crewman - Peter -" Bashir started to say.
 Riley did not stay to listen. He ran for his life. Bashir tried to grab
him but the desk got in the way. By the time he ran out into the main room,
Riley was gone, leaving two other medtechs looking at each other in
confusion. "He ran out, doctor!" cried Jones. "He looked liked was
panicking."
 "I'd panic too, if I were him," muttered Bashir as he tapped his combadge.
"Bashir to Odo. He's gone; he heard our earlier conversation and ran for
it."
 "Don't worry, doctor," said Odo confidently. "I'll get him."

 Riley dashed down corridor after corridor, his legs pumping, his heart
racing, and his mind utterly blank. He only heard a few words of what
Bashir and Odo were saying to each other, but it was enough. And when he
saw Bashir's face, he knew that it was all over.
 Fighting to bring his panic under control, Riley deliberately slowed down
until he could think again. Where to go? For a moment, he thought of
commandeering the Achilles. What better way to escape than by using the
ship of the object of his revenge? But no, he realized, the ship was
probably locked down and inaccessible.
 Then he skidded to a halt as he remembered his escape hatch. When he had
first arrived on the station, he created a computer program to facilitate a
fast departure should it become necessary. He had never even tested it, for
testing this program would set off every security alarm on the station.
 As he saw Odo round the corner and make a beeline for him, he realized
that his options were at best very limited.
 Odo saw Riley and shifted his form, making his body longer, his arms
longer, his reach longer. He reached out for the suspected killer and
prepared to grab him.
 Riley tapped his combadge and shouted into it, "Computer! Run program
Riley five nine!"
 He vanished in a haze of transporter energy and Odo plunged through the
space where he had been, an instant too late.

 "Transporter activity!" cried Dax. "Level seventeen, section 32-A!"
 "Sisko to Odo," snapped the station commander.
 "Odo here. Riley must have rigged a transporter; he was snatched away
right before I could grab him."
 "The Mekong is powering up," reported Kira.
 "Abort launch procedure," Sisko ordered.
 Kira's hands flew over the controls, to no avail. "Nothing, sir. He's
locked out the security controls. Tractor beams are also off-line."
 "Major," said Sisko, "take the Rio Grande and go get him."
 Kira nodded. "Dax, you're with me." The two women dashed up to the
transporter platform. "Ensign, transport us directly to the Rio Grande. Get
Odo there as well."
 Ensign Matt Ainsworth, O'Brien's chief assistant, worked at the console
until the Cardassian transporter beamed the people to the runabout.

 The Mekong zoomed away from Deep Space Nine, with Peter Riley at the
controls.
 Everything had fallen apart. How, thought Riley, could they have found
out? He had been so careful to cover his tracks. He had even wiped the
holosuite programming log so as to erase any record of his ever being
there.
 Within seconds of takeoff, he knew where he was going.
 Through the wormhole, to the Gamma Quadrant. Seventy thousand light-years
from the station and the Federation, he could find a planet to hide on. He
could shift identities, become another person. They would never find him.
 Then his instruments showed another runabout lifting off from the
station's launch platforms.

 "He's heading for the wormhole," Dax reported from the pilot seat.
 "Same place I would go," muttered Kira, her expression thunderous. No one
- no one - got away with murder on her station. Dammit, she was there as
the Bajoran government's liaison to the Federation, and she would not let
her home look bad by letting a killer slip away through its fingers.
 "We'll get him," said Odo, answering Kira's thoughts.

 The wormhole roared into existence around the Mekong. Although he knew
that it was there, Riley had never actually been through it, his duties
keeping him on the station. A first time for everything, he thought.
 Spectral energy flared around the little ship, seemingly threatening to
tear it apart and scatter its molecules across space and time for daring to
probe the secrets of the hyperspatial expressway to the other side of the
galaxy.
 The vista exploded into a glaring white light, and then he was through, on
the other side.
 Riley kicked the Mekong into warp drive and took off.

 The Rio Grade emerged from the wormhole barely thirty seconds after the
Mekong.
 "Where is he?" asked Kira.
 "Sensors are indicating a warp trail bearing two seven mark nine,"
reported Dax. "Less than a minute old. It must be the Mekong."
 "Follow him," snapped Kira. "Maximum warp."

 Riley was alerted by the sensors and pushed the Mekong even faster.

 "Can we clip him with the phasers?" said Kira.
 "Not at warp speed," replied Dax. "Someone will have to go over there and
get him."
 "I'll go," volunteered Odo.
 "We don't know what effect an in-warp transport will have on your unique
molecular system," said Dax.
 "All right then, I'll go," said Kira. She grabbed a phaser and stepped
over to the runabout's transporter pad. "Just make sure our warp velocities
are matched exactly. I don't want to be smeared all over this sector."
 "Amen to that," muttered Dax as she carefully adjusted their speed. She
looked back at Kira. "We're coordinated. Get ready."
 "Energize," said Major Kira Nerys.

 Riley's ears pricked up at the distinctive sound of a Federation
transporter. He spun around to see a Bajoran woman - the station's first
officer - materializing on the Mekong's flight deck. She was pointing a
phaser at him.
 Kira fired.
 Nothing happened.
 With horror, she realized that in the rush, they had all forgotten about
the automatic weapons deactivation program. Her phaser was useless.
 Roaring in anger, Riley grabbed his phaser - and Kira kicked it out of his
hand, following up with a solid right cross to the jaw.
 Stunned, Riley fell backwards against the control panel, altering the
settings.
 The Mekong went into a wild spin.

 "Evasive maneuvers!" cried Dax as she wrenched the Rio Grande to one side
to avoid being hit by the out-of-control Mekong.
 "What's going on over there?" asked Odo anxiously. "Can you send me over?"
 "Not with the Mekong acting like that," said Dax. "You wouldn't have a
chance."

 Riley recovered quickly and attacked Kira, punching her in the stomach and
causing her to stagger back. She had taken all sorts of unarmed combat
classes, first in the Bajoran underground and then on the station, but
hand-to-hand combat was rather difficult in the close quarters of a
runabout.
 They each stepped back, waiting for the other to move. Kira took a split
second to glance at Riley's eyes. They were blank, his mind overloaded by
the panic of the chase and the stress of what was obviously the last
battle.
 That was when Riley made his move. He rushed forward, kicking her shin and
grabbing her arms, leaving her unable to hit or kick him. They grunted as
Kira tried to break out of his hold. Riley actually smiled a little.
 She tossed her head back, then violently forward, crashing her forehead
into the bridge of his nose. The interior of Riley's skull exploded in
agony, and he reeled back, momentarily oblivious to everything except the
pain.
 Kira hit him in the gut and put everything into a roundhouse kick to the
jaw. Her boot smashed into his lower face, knocking two of his teeth across
the cabin. For a moment, she thought that he was going to come at her
again, then his eyes rolled up into his head. Almost in slow motion, Riley
fell to his knees and collapsed face down, unconscious.
 Gasping for breath, Kira lunged for the console and brought the ship under
control. She then touched the communications panel as she felt over her
body for broken bones (of which there were none) and bruises (of which
there were plenty). "Mekong to Rio Grande."
 "This is the Rio Grande," said Dax. "Are you all right, Nerys?"
 "I'm fine, Jadzia," replied Kira. "A little banged up, but I'm fine. Riley
isn't going anywhere."
 "Good," Dax breathed in relief. "Let's go home."
 The two ships turned around and headed for the wormhole and the station.

 Station Log, Stardate 46784.1:
 Crewman Riley will be turned over to the Bajoran Provisional Government
for trial in the murder of Deborah Jarvis. The Achilles will for the moment
be impounded as evidence. We've also found out a few things about Riley's
past.

 "His real name is Jason Elwood," said Dax. "Several years ago on Earth, he
had the misfortune to be one of Jarvis' lovers for a while. By the time it
was over, she was gone and so was most of his money."
 "What happened then?" asked Sisko.
 "When his wife found out that not only had her husband been unfaithful to
her but that they were ruined, she took their daughter and vanished." Dax
shifted her position in Sisko's office. "Elwood searched for them, but with
no success. He assembled a set of birth documents for someone who was born
at roughly the same time he was but who died in infancy. He became Peter
Riley and enlisted in Starfleet to get away from Earth, away from the
memory."
 "And then his bad memory showed up here," said Kira, her injuries expertly
healed by Dr. Bashir. At least he didn't make some sort of pass at me this
time, she thought thankfully.
 "Exactly," said Dax. "It looks like his decision to kill her was a snap
one, but he had probably been thinking about it for some time. Revenge
fantasies and all that."
 "How did he know about reprogramming the holosuite?" asked O'Brien. "That
and the program he ran so that he could get off the station without anyone
being able to stop him."
 "He was a hot-shot programmer back on Earth," answered Dax. "He knew
computers inside and out."
 "In any case," said Sisko as he rose, "my congratulations to you all on a
job well done. The Bajoran government will be sending a ship to pick up
Riley. Dismissed."
 His staff all left, leaving Sisko to contemplate one last task.

 "You know what happened to Jarvis?" he asked his son later that afternoon.
 "Yeah," said Jake sadly. "I heard Major Kira caught the killer."
 "Well," said Sisko, "a lot of people caught him."
 "But not all of them beamed over while in warp and beat him up."
 Sisko blinked. "Where did you hear that?"
 "From Nog."
 "I should have known."
 "Besides," said Jake, "she's old news. There's this girl who arrived on a
Corellian freighter. She says she's going to be here for several weeks, and
she's really pretty..."
 Sisko smiled and listened to his son.

 O'Brien came home and lunged at the food dispenser, ordering a tall, cool
glass of grapefruit juice. Keiko thought he was nuts; she hated the
tartness, but he loved it.
 "Miles?" his wife's voice came from the bedroom.
 "In here, love."
 She emerged into the living room with a smile on her face and a gleam in
her eye. "Honey, I have something to tell you."
 "What's that?" O'Brien asked as he sank into his favorite easy chair, took
off his boots, and closed his eyes.
 "I'm pregnant."
 He opened his eyes again. "You're what?"
 "I'm pregnant."
 His mind hadn't yet caught up to the rest of him. "How?"
 She laughed, a delightful tinkling laugh. "What do you think we've been
doing for the past few days?"
 Her husband leapt up out of his chair, spilling the juice and totally
ignoring it. "Are you certain?"
 She nodded, "I went to see Dr. Bashir this afternoon."
 O'Brien smiled. "So that's why you handed your afternoon classes over to
Barbara Langer." Unable to contain himself any longer, he laughed out loud,
grabbed his wife around the waist and whirled her around.

 Quark leaned on the bar, despondent. Not only had he lost a lot of latinum
thanks to the Jarvis murder (why couldn't Riley have killed her after she
paid me, he thought) but all of his holosuite programming had been examined
line by line of code just in case Riley had left a few time bombs behind.
Nothing of Riley's had been found, but one or two of Quark's private
programs had been noticed and erased, especially the delicious one
featuring a much softer and more naked Kira Nerys.
 When Kira had heard about that, it had taken a threat from Odo to keep her
from storming down to the bar and separating a very important part of
Quark's anatomy from the rest of his body. At least, Quark's last
girlfriend had thought it very important.
 The Kira program could however be reconstructed, thought Quark with a
spark of hope. He did have the basic specs on a disk carefully hidden in
his office.
 The monitoring system had been dismantled, and that was also a heavy cross
to bear. Odo had been right, of course; the system had indeed been used to
blackmail some of the more noxious people who used the holosuites for
supposedly private meetings.
 Still, Odo had kept his promise not to interfere with the Denebian jewel
deal, and that would net him a small fortune in latinum.
 So at the end of it all, life was still good.
 "Quark!" shouted Captain Krinoth. "Where the flarg is that prune juice?!
Or do I have to come over there and convince you?"
 Quark winced. Even thought Odo would toss the Klingon in jail for assault,
it wasn't really worth the prospect of being dismembered.
 Back to business as usual.
 "Coming, sir," said the Ferengi at his most obsequious, grabbing several
glasses of high-octane prune juice from the dispenser and scuttling over.

 THE END