Chapter 17

The line winding from Quark’s bar into the Plaza looked a lot like the line prior to the embassy dedication. Many of the same people were there.

The mood, however, was very different.

“I can’t believe I’m under investigation,” growled Phlebitz, a highly successful spice manufacturer. “I didn’t want to come to this party in the first place.”

“It was horrible!” said Trapunto, a well-known fashion designer. “Watered-down drinks, crummy food, and a fake scroll! And did you see those servers’ outfits by Raldo?” Trapunto made a gagging sound. “The Chamber of Opportunity should give this place an ‘Avoid at All Costs’ rating!”

“It already has one,” said Trapunto’s partner, Boucle, who was standing next to him in line. “In fact, I don’t think he’s ever gotten a thumbs-up from them.”

“Hey, Quark—why don’t you send out one of the dabo girls with some drinks?” shouted a Ferengi near the end of the line. “It’s the least a considerate host might do.”

Quark thrust his head out of the bar’s doorway to respond, “That’s still not funny, Chintz!”

Cheap idiot, he thought as he stalked back over to the table where Odo was conducting his interviews. He arrived just in time to see Schlecht, a member of the Congress of Economic Advisors, get up from his chair and head for the Plaza. Schlecht gave Quark a dirty look as they passed each other.

“What about him?” Quark queried Odo.

“Solid alibi,” responded Odo.

“A likely story,” Quark snorted in disgust. “Have you talked to Brunt yet?”

“Not yet, but—”

“I know that Brunt did it,” Quark raved. “He wormed his way into this private party, and then he wormed his way into the scroll room when I wasn’t looking and—”

“The footage that I examined accounts for Brunt’s movements the entire evening,” Odo countered. “From the moment that you let him buy his way in until he entered the lounge along with Captain Ro. And you already were in there. So how, or when, do you think he swapped the real scroll for the holoprojector?”

“That’s your job to establish,” Quark snapped. “I just know he’s guilty—so find a way to prove it.”

“We’ll see,” the former constable said calmly as he glanced at his list of interviewees. “I’ve spent the last hour talking to the people I felt were most likely to have committed the theft. You’ll be pleased to know that my central criterion was, ‘Who truly wanted the privilege of destroying the ambassador?’ ” Odo smiled at Quark. “It was quite a long list. Unfortunately, while most of them would, indeed, like to see you destroyed, none of them seems to have had the initiative to plan the crime.” Looking toward the bar’s entrance, he noted, “Your favorite suspect is next in line.”

Odo waved him forward, and Brunt approached the table with a confident smile. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” he said, seating himself in front of Odo. He completely ignored Quark’s presence.

Quark opened his mouth to toss out an accusation—but a glance from Odo made him close it quickly.

“All right, Brunt,” Odo began, “please give me an account of your recent activities.”

“I arrived on the station at approximately 1830 hours, on Slug-o-Cola’s company shuttle,” he said. “You can ask Nilva to substantiate that. He traveled in his personal shuttle earlier in the day, but he arranged for me to take the company shuttle, in the seat normally reserved for Sluggo—who’s dead, you know,” Brunt said, giving Quark a pitying look. “Been dead for years, but they keep the seat available out of respect. And I”—his chest rose—“sat in it.”

Quark gritted his teeth but said nothing.

“When I disembarked at Deep Space 9,” he continued, “I walked directly to this bar. In fact, the first people I spoke to were Quark and”—Brunt looked around and spotted someone standing just behind Quark, trying to look inconspicuous—“Shmenge! That delightfully intelligent young man over there.”

Quark looked over his shoulder and glared at Shmenge, leaping to, what was for him, an obvious conclusion. “So that’s how you did it, eh, Brunt?” he snarled. “You had an accomplice!”

“Utter nonsense,” Brunt scoffed. “I’m sure that our fine interrogator here will explain that you had young Mister Shmenge fully engaged in preparation for your meaningless party. But as long as we’re making up stories, how’s this? Let’s say that you talked our current dim-witted Nagus into bringing the scroll, and then, after he activated the force field, you slipped into the room, de-activated it, made an image of the open scroll with your clever little pocket holoprojector, and walked out with the item.

“That probably was Quark’s plan all along,” Brunt said directly to Odo. “To steal the scroll and make it look like an outsider took it.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” Quark exploded.

“Oh, I don’t know, Quark,” Odo spoke up, clearly enjoying the colorful exchange between the two adversaries. “Brunt’s tale is easily as feasible as yours.”

“I—my—why—” Quark sputtered. Odo’s comment had so rattled him that he was unable to put together a coherent response.

“May I go?” Brunt asked Odo.

Odo nodded, and Brunt stood up. “Of course, you won’t be allowed to leave the station until my investigation has concluded,” the Changeling added.

“That’s all right,” Brunt said with a smile. “I just want to find a palatable meal, since I know I won’t find one in here. Those appetizers, by the way”—he stopped to look at the flabbergasted Quark—“were truly terrible.”

As he turned to walk away, Quark spun around, looking for someone, anyone, upon whom to heap his anger. And then he saw Shmenge, shaking hands with Brunt as he wished him a safe journey.

“You!” Quark said, pointing an accusing finger at his apprentice. “You’re fired!”

Shmenge’s face fell. “But—I didn’t—”

“Don’t grovel, lad,” Brunt said. “Not to him, anyway. How’d you like to have dinner with an Entrepreneur?”

Shmenge’s jaw dropped, then he nodded rapidly and followed Brunt out into the Plaza.

“Good riddance!” shouted Quark to both of them.

Odo gestured to the next man in line, but Quark nudged the Changeling and whispered, “No. No. Him.” Odo followed Quark’s gesture directly to someone down the line. Odo recognized him at once. It was Krax, son of former Grand Nagus Zek.

“Him? Why him?” Odo asked.

“Because he’s had it in for me for years.”

Odo released an exasperated sigh and waved to the surprised Krax.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Krax said after sitting down. “I have a great position working in the Nagal Palace with Rom. Why would I want to jeopardize that?”

“Well,” Odo said, preempting Quark’s expected interruption. “As I recall, you were quite disappointed years ago when Quark was appointed Nagus—albeit temporarily—rather than you. Disappointed enough to make an attempt on his life.”

Krax looked shocked. “Don’t forget that Quark’s brother was also involved in that attempt! I don’t see you accusing him of stealing the scroll himself.”

“Rom was a different person then,” Quark said. “He was jealous of my success. These days he has everything he could possibly want.”

“But so do I!” argued Krax. “I’m First Clerk, the power behind the throne—I don’t want to be the throne!”

“That doesn’t mean you haven’t been plotting to destroy me all along, planning it out step by step, year by year.”

“Playing the long con?” Odo asked, clearly amused.

“Of course,” Quark said.

“But what would that ultimately get him?” asked Odo, suddenly playing Krax’s advocate. “Revenge? Klingons desire revenge. Ferengi desire profit. If Krax stole the scroll, the end result would be that Rom was tossed out of office, and Krax would be out of a very cushy job.”

“But—” Quark attempted to interrupt.

“And besides,” Odo concluded, “Krax was in the bar for the entire party. He didn’t even get up to use the ’fresher.”

“I have excellent self-control,” said Krax proudly.

“You might have said that in the first place,” Quark said to Odo.

“Why spoil the fun?” Odo responded. He turned back to Krax. “You can go,” he said. “Don’t leave the station.”

As Krax stood, the grumbling from the Ferengi businessmen still waiting in line began to escalate.

“Can I go too?” inquired Phlebitz. “I’m starving!”

“This is the worst gala ever,” said Boucle. “I knew we should have left when that pair of lummoxes pushed past us in their haste to exit! One of them actually stepped on Trapunto’s foot!”

Trapunto nodded and scowled at Quark.

Abruptly, Odo got to his feet and walked over to the two Ferengi. “What did you just say?” he asked. “Someone left the bar before the party officially started?”

“Yes,” said Trapunto. “They appeared to be in a hurry—although I heard one of them complaining about leaving before the appetizers were served. Not that the appetizers were worth staying for, by the way.”

“They were horrible!” agreed Phlebitz. And seven other Ferengi within earshot voiced their agreement.

“They weren’t horrible,” Quark shouted. “You obviously have no taste for fine cuisine!”

The conversation threatened to turn into a full-scale brawl, but Odo hustled right past it and headed straight to the security office.

“I need to see the footage from the area outside the bar, right before Quark dropped the field at 1900 hours,” he told Blackmer.

The two men studied the feed and noticed that as the bulk of the guests were entering the bar, a pair of Dopterians stepped out, squeezed through the crowd, and disappeared into the Plaza.

A quick check of the guest list confirmed that no Dopterians had been invited. However, Blackmer’s transit records revealed that a pair of them had arrived at the station via the public shuttle from Bajor early that afternoon.

“Congratulations, Odo,” Blackmer said. “It looks as though you have two prime suspects.”

“Mm-hmm,” the shapeshifter responded thoughtfully. “They probably got the scroll right before the guests arrived and planned to leave the station on the return shuttle to Bajor after the party.”

“That shuttle never left,” concluded Blackmer. “So we were right. They’re good and trapped here. But where do you think they’re hiding?”

Odo looked out into the center of the Plaza. Suddenly, he smiled. “One of them was hungry.”