Chapter 23

I wonder if this species has a name, Odo thought. He waved his wide pectoral fins up, then down, less to propel than as a guiding force, as he sailed through the surrounding void. He’d first encountered a flock—herd?—school?—of this spaceborne life-form in the Alpha Omicron system, on an earlier trip across the cosmos. The creatures, with their horny carapace of silicates, actinides, and carbonaceous chondrites, resembled the theoretical offspring of a gigantic Terran horseshoe crab and a craggy asteroid. Despite this one’s bulk, it could move at a rapid clip, just shy of warp speed, which made it the perfect choice for what he hoped would be a quick round-trip to Ferenginar.

Once he reached the planet’s atmosphere, Odo transformed himself into a pale blue Ferengi scavenger stork and soared, unnoticed, over the capital city. At last he arrived at the lavish nagal residence and slipped unseen through a window into Zek and Ishka’s spacious suite in the building’s east wing.

Landing gracefully, Odo craned his long avian neck and bobbed his head in quick jerky movements as he analyzed his surroundings. He was in a somewhat musty sitting room filled with expensive but rather worn furniture. Not particularly impressive, he reflected, until he happened to glance at the high ceiling to see a beautiful fresco depicting a bevy of unclothed Ferengi females clustered around a handsomely garbed Ferengi male.

Is that Zek? Odo thought, despite not really wanting to know. He was so absorbed looking at the ceiling that he almost missed a sudden movement in the periphery of his vision: the business end of a large broom, wielded by Zek’s servant Maihar’du, headed straight toward him!

The Changeling quickly transformed into his more familiar humanoid appearance just before the broom came down.

“Maihar’du—it’s Odo!” he said, holding up a hand to prevent the impending swat. “Didn’t Zek tell you I was coming?”

The Hupyrian straightened, blinking rapidly, then bowed his head and raised his hands, palms upward, in a supplicating gesture.

“You weren’t expecting a big bird, is that it?” Odo interpreted.

Maihar’du nodded, wincing as though the movement irritated his swaddled throat. He mimed pouring a cup of tea for Odo, but the Changeling shook his head. “That’s very kind, but unnecessary,” he said. “You know why I’m here. Please take me to the scroll.”

He followed Maihar’du up a flight of stairs, down a long corridor, through a large anteroom, and finally into a tiny bedroom. Judging by the spartan decor and a few Hupyrian family holos, it was clearly the prune-faced servant’s quarters.

This room is hardly big enough for him to do anything other than sleep, Odo thought. He fully expected Maihar’du to activate a secret panel in the wall, or to open a locked cupboard, or even to pull a hidden box from under his bed. Instead, the Hupyrian pulled open a drawer in a wooden cabinet. Odo stepped forward to look—and saw a neatly folded stack of . . . socks.

The “safe place” that Zek had spoken of was, apparently, Maihar’du’s socks drawer. Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be the first place anyone was likely to look, Odo thought.

Maihar’du reached in among dozens of pairs of footwear—socks of all stripes and colors, some clearly in better shape than others. He slowly moved pair after pair aside, until Odo noticed a glint of gold amidst the worsted. A second later Maihar’du unearthed a burnished metallic cylinder. He handed it to Odo, who examined the case very carefully, opened it, and slowly extracted what he’d been seeking. After a moment, he looked around the room but did not see what he needed. “Scanner?” he said. Maihar’du nodded and walked out of the room, Odo at his heels.

The pair walked back through the anteroom, back through the long corridor, back down the stairs, and then through another even longer corridor, at last reaching Zek’s messy office. From the looks of the room, the ex-Nagus hadn’t stopped by for some time. The Hupyrian retrieved something from the top of Zek’s desk and handed it to Odo, who looked at it skeptically, then shrugged and blew off what might have been weeks, months, or years of dust. He ran it over the scroll.

“I need to contact Deep Space 9,” he told Maihar’du. The silent man leaned forward and pressed a button on the side of the desk. The desk blotter slid back, and a communications screen rose, somewhat shakily, from the kneehole area. Odo noted that it was an ancient model, but he was able to activate it and, after a little manipulation, put through his call to Quark.