
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 hide, 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 in the hallway or 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. 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, 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...

 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 stole 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 him 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 him
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.

 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 one 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 mat-ter 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 Car-dassian 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 busi-ness.
 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
sta-tion 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 in-firmary, 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 of-fered 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 se-cretly 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, strug-gling 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 his quarters 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 2300 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 ac-tive 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 for the
next week. 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 whatso-ever. That was why Jones was surprised when
Bashir barreled into the infirmary as if he were be-ing 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 increas-ing excitement until it looked like his head
was about to fly off his shoulders. Yes, he mur-mured, 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 parti-cles 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.

 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,
NCC-1701-C, 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 them-selves 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 wan-der.
 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 Sec-tion.
 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! said Jones. He looked like he was
pan-icking.
 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 neces-sary. 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 plat-form. 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 Cardas-sian 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 plat-forms.

 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 ex-pressway 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 run-about'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 oblivi-ous 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 any-where.
 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 46779.1:
 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 mis-fortune 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 of-fice. 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 Pe-ter 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 in-side 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 grape-fruit 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 sparkling 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 pro-grams 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
