...more on Mr. Crant.
Brief Note: Interestingly enough, Crant was originally just a nameless "henchman", who happened to be the one assigned to watch Julian. But when I had the doctor confront him...I found I just couldn't resist characterizing him as a "worthy opponent" villain who in some sense admires and respects Bashir. When I'd finished the previous scene (and the next chapter), I then went back and polished everthing with "the henchman/operative/etc.", giving him the name, and few brief moments of characterization.
Okay. Enough of that. Now
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
"From Risa With Love"
Mr. Crant walked over to Dr. Bashir’s unconscious form, taking the phaser. He shook his head, chuckling once again. My, my, Doctor…that overconfidence in yourself. It’s such a common failing. Take care that it doesn’t prove to be your undoing, one day.
He went over to the desk, activating the computer console.
Hmm…no messages. No calls, except for one just now, to the front desk. I suppose that means all their exchanges were in person, all their meetings prearranged. Brilliant of them, really—to prevent anyone from listening in.
Ah, well. Perhaps it would be best to let the doctor wake up…and then interrogate him.
Yes…unfortunately, he’s too much of a genius to succumb to the more intellectual methods. What I wouldn’t give for a couple of Romulan mind probes. As it stands, I may have to use more…brutal means.
Not a pleasant thought. Crant was never one for brutality. He preferred more subtle means.
As he leaned back, weighing his options…Crant’s gaze focused on a tricorder, lying on the desk.
He picked it up, and opened it.
It had a schematic of one of the floors of the Resort—the seventh floor, to be exact. A blinking dot was in room 742.
A smile came to his face. So…it
was Bashir who’d gotten off two levels down, last night. And now, he has a homing device, either on the girl…or the machine.
Either way—I’m on the right track. Crolin will be most…satisfied.
He rose to his feet. For a moment, he considered vaporizing Bashir—to prevent any further interference.
But then, he remembered the thrill he’d felt upon being discovered by a most…worthy opponent.
No…I’d as soon destroy a priceless Orb of Bajor than kill a challenge like this, so helplessly—regardless of what Crolin would rather have me do. No—better to defeat him in a game…an
elaborate game, as it should be
And so, he went over to the doctor’s bed, pulling off the bed-sheet. He tied up Bashir’s wrists behind him, then his ankles. Then, he took a pillowcase, and tied it around the doctor’s mouth.
With a grin, he registered the location of the signal once more in his mind…and set the tricorder down, beside Bashir’s unconscious face. And then he left, his new destination firmly lodged in his mind.
* * *
Cynthia Holland threw the last linen strip across the room. Curse that Bashir, anyway—why did he have to be so suspicious—so stuck-up, so self-righteous—
Come on, Cynthia. You were keeping too much from him—he got suspicious. You have no one to blame but your—
Spare me. Still, I should’ve known better—his record—he’s always been arrogant, and nosy, and…and always getting in over his head. But—but THIS?
course he’d be angry. You kept the truth from him, didn’t you?
Truth? Even if I did, that’s no excuse for him to…to
trick me like that—to
take me like he did, to
seduce me, and—
A knock on the door.
Oh, he’s back, is he?
?” she thundered.
“Maintenance, ma’am. We need to inspect the room.”
She sighed. “One minute….”
She reached for the robe—which was still on the floor, where she’d thrown it. Cynthia couldn’t help but shake her head in bitter amusement. Poetic justice, isn’t it—you went to all that trouble to seduce him into your trust…and it ends up the other way around
She put it on, securing the linen belt tight around her waist. Finally, she opened the door. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate—”
She froze as the barrel of a disruptor pointed straight at her face.
The man smiled at her. “Didn’t he warn you we’d be coming?”
* * *