July 2012 Challenge--Star Trek: Deep Space Nine "My Business"

[Rush Limborg]

This story was inspired by my considerable love of the "pulp," or "hard-boiled" genre--including, but not limited to film noir.

Further, the hard-boiled detective--particularly Chandler's incomparable Phillip Marlowe--is a character archetype that fits our favorite Constable quite well...which is probably why the DS9 writers saw fit to often "work in" such comparisons on the show.

There are references to his reading up on Dashiell Hammett and Mickey Spillaine (including a nice scene in "The Ascent", in which Quark is pleasantly suprised upon reading aloud what is probably a passage from a Mike Hammer novel, which Odo has been reading with a smirk....). And of course, there are episodes such as the fully noir-esque "Necessary Evil", and the "pulp-ish" "A Simple Investigation".


Thus...when I learned of the theme for this month, I found myself unable to resist a little tale exploring Odo's "hard-boiled" style...and the delight our favorite changeling takes in engaging in it.

My apologies for the delay--but as many of you probably know, my recent tale "Our Sacred Honor" has taken up quite a bit of my time, this past month. *sigh*


Anyway--this story is set in Season 7 (and yes--Ezri Dax does play a role...), at the same time as "The Emperor's New Cloak". While Quark and Rom are having their little misadventure in the Mirror Universe...Odo is more or less dealing with their absence. More or less.

Also note that "Field Of Fire" hasn't happened yet. I worked in a little foreshadowing of Ezri's tackling of that mystery, here.

The tale's written in first-person--again, shades of Chandler.

Look for quite a few "inside jokes"--at least one from the Trek universe, but mostly from the Hammet-Chandler-Spillane tradition.

Finally...I end the tale with a little quote from the great Chandler himself, describing the great archetype he helped craft and define, as only Chandler can write it. I think the passage fits Odo quite nicely. When you all come to it...I hope you will see the parallels, as well.

Word count is approx. 8,390. Please hold your comments until the ending statement.

Okay. NOW...let's join Odo in his office...cue the music, as the atmoshpere of pulp/noir fills the day....

Star Trek
Deep Space Nine​

"My Business"​

There are times when I amaze even myself.​

Perhaps it’s the excitement of the War…the sorts of fears that it brings, that might make a criminal slip up and reveal himself, or herself. Frankly, I’d prefer to think that it’s my end. All these years as chief of station security—naturally, my experience would lead to an improvement on my part, a honing of my skills, that sort of thing.​

Anyhow, I was reclining in my office. In my hand, I held a record of what I and my staff were able to garner, regarding Quark’s latest antics—a backroom deal here, a little shortchange there, and once or twice a little intermingling on his part with a female dealer in items of questionable legality. “Intermingling” involved her massaging Quark’s ears.​

Not something I quite enjoy witnessing, in my endeavors as a chair, or a rat—Quark’s groaning in ecstasy can easily infuriate one’s demeanor. Still, I’d like to think of it being worth it. Particularly, to behold the reaction on Quark’s face, when he’d return from wherever he was, when I would reveal the fact that I had often witnessed him in a most…private moment—that would make it all worth the discomfort to the hearing. The thought put a smile on my face.​

However…unfortunately, from what I could see, right then, Quark didn’t seem to be leaving a pattern indicating particularly criminal activity. The War seems to be toning him down.​

At any rate, there is often more than enough to keep me occupied in the meantime…war, and the chaos that goes with it, being so often a harbinger of crime. And crime, of course, is my business.​

Apparently, Jake Sisko seems to think it’s also his business—budding reporter that he styles himself to be, with his long-established predilection for “nosiness”. And so, he rushed in, padd in hand.​

“Constable Odo!” he beamed.​

I grunted in amused acknowledgement, and set my records aside, sitting up in my seat. “Mr. Sisko.”​

He grinned like the boy he still was, and consulted his padd. “Do you…have any comment to make on the recent disappearance of Quark and his brother Rom?”​

I scoffed, and grinned. “You mean, their robbery of a cloaking device, and subsequent beam-out?”​

“Yes, Constable.”​

“I, for one, am glad of the reprieve.”​

He blinked in surprise. “But—are you not concerned of the implications of cloaking technology falling into the wrong hands, during time of War—?”​

“Jake, Quark is his idea of a criminal mastermind, but I happen to know from experience that he would not sell such things to the Dominion. There would be no…profit in it.”​

“Right.” Jake jotted it down on his padd.​

“And further—even if he were, I would hardly think Rom would have any part of it. Not considering his wife and son.”​

“Of course. So! Constable—do you have any opinion as to the whereabouts—?”​

“Frankly, Jake, as intriguing as their disappearance is, I have more important things to concern myself over. As of now, it is General Martok’s affair.”​

Jake nodded, and put the padd away. “Um…off the record, Constable…do you have any idea…?”​

I smiled. “As a rule, Jake…I don’t speak ‘off the record’.”​

He frowned. “Why not?”​

My smile grew. “Reporters…tend to forget it.”​

“What—oh, come on, Odo! I—Nog’s worried about his father, and Leeta—”​

I chuckled, and leaned forward. “I'm sure they are all right, Jake.”​

He nodded, actually looking quite reassured.​

I took up another padd of mine, and ran over the list of reports made by my many deputies. It was extensive—with good reason. Over the past few years, particularly with the growing threat my people have kept insisting on posing to the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, Starfleet has been sparing little expense to give me carte blanche, as the humans say, in regards to my demands for station security. Thank Justice for that, too.​

Jake paused for a while, and finally took a seat on his side of my desk. “Odo?”​

I looked to him. “Hmm?”​

“I…I was wondering…”​

I sighed, and set this other padd aside. “Speak up, Jake. You've made me curious.”​

“Well—look, I’m always up for a good story, and…well, look—the more sensational, the better.”​

I snorted. “You want to tag along for a story…concerning one of my investigations.”​

He nodded, excited despite himself. “It—it’d mean a lot. You see—” He held up his padd, “They want to know, Odo. They want to know what it’s like—the hard-boiled security chief of Deep Space Nine, fighting crime on one of the most strategic areas in the War, and—”​

I felt a surge of amusement. “And, on top of that, said ‘hard-boiled’ security chief is a changeling…correct?”​

“Well…they’d want to know how you use that ability to take down the guilty, and…all that….”​

“Huh! Well…when I have a case to intrigue your—” I smiled, “readers…I will let you know.”​

He practically leapt from his seat. “You—you will?!”​

“Frankly, Jake, I don’t think you’re aware of how useful you would have to be, in order for me to…bring you along.”​

He snapped his fingers, and pointed at nothing in particular. “Constable—I’m a reporter. An investigative reporter. If I’d prove unable to help you out, I’d eat this padd!”​

I snorted. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting spectacle. All right, along you go.”​

Jake rushed off, obviously elated at the idea of my bringing him along on a case—and considering things, I probably shouldn’t blame the young man. I smiled, and returned to my reading.​

* * *​

I suppose one would think that an advantage to living on a station would be consistency in the weather. Of course, that is hardly the case. Every once in a while, an ion storm or something else will arrive—cause havoc around the station, and so on. In this case, it was harmless. Still…the beating against the shields reminded one of the sounds of a thunderstorm—the rumbling, random and with a cynical sound. Not angry…the soft intensity of resigned bitterness.

I walked down the Promenade, listening to all that rumbling, amid the dim lighting of the night shifts, to the turbolift which would bring me near to my quarters. “‘Hard-boiled’ indeed,” I muttered, with an ironic smirk. It certainly fit.

As I entered the lift, Counselor Ezri Dax followed me in, and leaned back against the wall with a sigh, obviously relieved after a day of her work. She acknowledged me with a smile; I nodded back. The counselor is quite a brilliant woman—in her own way; far different in that sense than her predecessor. Less technical, more theoretical. I’ve often wondered how well she’d fare, investigating crime—expertise in psychology being, frankly, a must in this business. Personally, I think she’d do quite well.

She blinked at the latest rumble, briefly glancing upward. “A dark and stormy night,” she muttered.

I grunted in agreement. “So it seems.”

She smiled again, and turned to me. “You know…call me crazy, but—every time I listen to thunder, or something that sounds like it…maybe with rain hitting the windows…”

“Hmm.”

Her voice turned nostalgic, “…I just—I can’t help but feel…transported. The atmosphere, it—well, it reminds me of all those stories…dark, mysterious…stylish, in a way….”

“Ah,” I nodded. “I know something of that, Counselor. ‘Noir,’ the humans call it?”

Ezri beamed. “I thought you’d know it.”

“I do. Naturally, I specialize in authors with detective protagonists—Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Mickey Spillane….”

Ezri nodded, her smile growing. “I love Chandler!” Looking off, she added, “Hammett’s all right, but—Chandler’s the better writer.”

“I suppose. And…Spillane?” Despite the violence, and slight air of vulgarity, I’ve always noted a strong tone of “Romanticism,” as humans call it, in the Mike Hammer novels. I’d imagine it would appeal to Ezri Dax.

She sighed. “You know…somehow, I guess—I guess I just never forgave him for what happened in I, The Jury.”

I nodded, understanding all too well. “Because of your profession?”

She nodded, turning back to me. “A drug ring? As a counselor, I’m insulted.”

“Hmm. But…Spillane is a master.”

“Oh, he’s excellent! I was just…” Ezri shrugged, “A bit put off by that.”

“I see. And…the Dixon Hill stories?”

Ezri chuckled at this. I frowned, more than a little confused as to what she would find so amusing about Hill.

When she gathered herself, she asked me, “Isn’t it weird how much he ‘looks’ like…Captain Picard? Of the Enterprise.”

I tilted my head at this, considering it. “Oh? I never noticed.”

“Well,” she went on, “Anyway—Chandler’s my favorite. I could fall in love with Phillip Marlowe. The others…not really.”

“Ah….”

The lift doors opened. It was my level, so I stepped out, exchanging farewells with the counselor. Then I walked on.

When I arrived at my door, pressed the control, and entered, the first thing I laid my inspector’s eyes on was the fact that I was not alone in my quarters. There was a woman.

She was dressed in a near see-through, silk-like light blue material, which made a flowing dress that became form-fitting due to the metallic belt clasped gently around her waist, with a flat orange gem on the front buckle. I could detect a citrus perfume. From what I could make out, she was youthful…with long blond hair, a soft creamy face, and a figure I would wager most human males would find maddeningly attractive. Having briefly been a human once, I sympathized.

She stood in front of the window, the storm raging (harmlessly) outside, and slowly turned to me, asking, “Constable Odo Ital?”

I stepped inside. “Computer—lights.”

As the doors closed behind me, the light level rose, and I could see my physical assessments of her had been correct—with the addition that she was Bajoran.

I replied, “It’s simply ‘Constable Odo’—I haven’t been referred to as ‘Ital’ for some time. And frankly, ma’am, I would highly appreciate your explaining how you happened to enter my quarters.”

As I said this, I surveyed my surroundings. From what I could detect—and considering my instincts both as a changeling and as a constable, there were few such things I could not detect—I was alone in the room, with this woman.

She shrugged. “Perhaps you didn’t lock the doors.”

I snorted. “Nonsense—I am hardly that careless.”

“Well, then…perhaps I’m excellent at lock-picking….” She walked to me, her movements graceful and swaying. “At any rate, Constable…I had to go somewhere, where I would be safe.”

“Ah…. And no place on this station is safer than in my quarters.”

“I’m sorry for that, Constable, but…when I explain my situation, you’ll understand why I could take few chances.”

“Hmm. Your life is in danger, then?”

She nodded.

So far, I could detect nothing indicating dishonesty or malice on her part—she was either the victim she claimed to be, or an excellent actress. Probably both.

I pointed to a chair—or the closest in my room to one, a large, smooth, upright obsidian stone with a relatively flat top, tall enough to count as a “stool”. She sat down. I remained standing, looking down at her, watching her smooth out her dress as she looked up at me with those innocent eyes.

She said, “Constable—you have to help me. I’ve…I’ve heard that you are known for your devotion to justice—how you won’t stop, until you see it served.”

I nodded. “I suppose that’s my reputation.”

“But…” her eyes turned pleading. “Is it true?”

“Huh!” I crossed my arms, and smirked. “As a rule, madam, I make a point to live up to it.”

She smiled in what looked like relief. “Good. Constable…first, please understand, things must be secret.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Miss…”

“Kyla. Kyla Pirem.”

“Of course. But I can assure you, Miss Kyla—I will not include in our confidence anyone whom I do not completely trust to keep it.”

“Thank you, Constable…that’s all I can ask.”

“Hmm. Now, continue.”

She looked off for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts, and continued, “I have on my possession something that First Minister Shakaar must gain possession of.”

“On your possession…” I repeated dryly, making it a point to look her up and down.

She seemed to blush a bit. “I—I’d rather not say exactly where. But I can assure you, I have it on me. It’s small enough to conceal…”

“I see. Carry on.”

“If you must know, Constable, it’s a data chip—containing sensitive information on the Cult of the Pah-Wraiths. You will understand why I won’t go into details, but…suffice it to say, it led me to journey here alone—without contacting anyone, prior to right here, right now.”

“I see. And…you’re concerned that the Cult is already aware that you possess it, despite your precautions.”

“More than concerned, Constable—I’m certain of it.”

“Oh?”

“I traveled to this station aboard a transport vessel—a large one, to avoid being noticed.”

“Wise precaution. And yet it was noticed, I take it?”

“It must have been. The journey took three days, and two nights. On the second night—last night—I returned to my quarters, and found it ransacked.”

“And…that’s why you didn’t register for quarters on the station, I assume?”

She nodded. “And why I left everything on the transport. I traveled light anyway, Constable. There was nothing I brought with me, that couldn’t be replaced.”

“Naturally,” I said. So far, her story rang true. I nodded, “All right, Miss Kyla, I’ll take your case—personal protection, and ensured delivery of your information to the first minister.”

She rose to her feet. “Thank you, Constable. I…I knew if anyone—”

“Save it. I’ll need to bring two people in to assist me, at present.” I did not add that it would have been three, had Kira Nerys not been off station, at the time.

She quickly nodded. “Of—of course, Constable. I…” she was quite close to me, now, her eyelids becoming heavy, “I trust you to make the best judgments, on my account.”

I snorted, amused at her “femme fatale” antics. “I’m delighted.”

I pressed my combadge. “Odo to Counselor Dax and Jake Sisko: would the two of you meet me in my quarters?”

Jake quickly replied, “I’ll be right there, Constable!”

Typical writer—awake late.

Unsurprisingly, considering our recent conversation in the turbolift, Dax was also readily available. “I’ll be there, Odo. Dax out.”

Kyla frowned, tilting her head. “Why those two?”

“Frankly, Miss Kyla, the Counselor is to ensure that everything’s honest, on your end.”

Her lips pouted slightly. “You don’t trust me, Constable?”

“Well, I hardly can, seeing as I barely know you.”

“And…the other one?”

“Mr. Sisko?” I gave her an innocent smile. “I promised him a story.”

* * *​

 

[Rush Limborg]

Jake Sisko, Justice bless his reporter’s mind, took in Kyla’s story in detail—and better, he had the good sense to promise her to encrypt the padd on which he wrote it all down. Still, I’d have preferred less visible eagerness.

Counselor Dax had sat down, and clearly focused more on Kyla herself, often engaging in what I supposed passes among solids as “girl talk”—a way of getting the woman’s guard down, I suppose. I’d chosen wisely. Ezri Dax being both a psychologist and a woman was clearly an advantage for me, here—Kyla seemed to feel able to trust her, laughing and smiling with her while exchanging words, as female solids that develop a positive acquaintance are…so often prone to do. Dax’s eyes were pointed and alert, of course.

Anyhow, when Jake was done, he rose to his feet, beaming with the excitement of a “good story”. “Okay, Constable—what’s next?”

“Hang on, Jake,” I sighed. “It’s better not to rush things.”

Kyla frowned at me. “But…but I thought I made it cl—”

“Frankly, Miss Kyla, the last thing we want or need…is to give the Cult any indication of your whereabouts, let alone the fact that you’ve made my acquaintance. After all—” I smiled, at a memory, “Never underestimate the element of surprise.”

Kyla stiffened, and turned to Counselor Dax.

Ezri nodded, with a reassuring smile. “He’s right. As far as they’re concerned, you disappeared.”

Jake held up a hand, “But—hold on. I…if you’re who you say you are, Miss Kyla…”

Kyla smiled up at him, with those eyes.

Jake cleared his throat. “Well—I’ll bet they’d expect you to come to the Constable.”

“Jake,” I said, “Another thing not to underestimate—affecting how they assume.”

Ezri nodded. “If we give no evidence of this, it could lead them on a red herring.”

Jake frowned.

“Well—let me put it this way,” Ezri leaned forward, “They’ll start to think she wouldn’t come to Odo, because that’s the obvious person for her to go to—” she smiled, “And so on. We’ll be using creative thinking against them.”

Jake nodded—and looked off, as though he was trying to piece it together in his mind.

I turned back to Kyla. “Now, Miss Kyla, I suggest you remain here, until the danger is over, for you. The less opportunity for one of the Cult to see you—the better.”

She nodded, smiling in gratitude. “Yes, I will. Thank you, Constable.

I grunted. “Don’t thank me. I’ll regret it, when all this is over.”

I resolved not to say, I’ll regret it, when Colonel Kira returns—no need to give her…“ideas”….

I rose to my feet, and walked out of my quarters, Jake and Dax following.

When the doors closed, I turned to them. “Counselor…?”

Ezri titled her head. “Are you…asking me as a psychologist, or as a woman?”

I snorted. “Both.”

“She’s all right. Either that, or she’s one of the best liars I’ve ever seen. Even with that—” she blushed slightly, “I’ll admit…women naturally have more ‘tells’ than men do.”

“Ah,” I nodded. “The pantomimes.”

“Right. Well, if there were something to see, I’d have seen it. And I didn’t.”

“Very good….”

“Still…” Ezri sighed.

I tilted my head, this time. “Yes?”

“Well—” she chuckled, “She’s…very aware of her ability to…”

“Influence?”

Ezri nodded, giving a pointed smile at Jake—who, naturally, gave a flinch of his own and turned away.

I nodded, my mind reviewing everything relevant. “All right—neither of you are to mention any of this to anyone. Understood?”

They both nodded…hesitantly, looking at one another. I knew what they were probably concerned over, so I added, “I will discuss it with Sisko, in the morning.”

They seemed relieved by my words. I gave a nod of dismissal, and turned back to my door, hearing the two of them go their separate ways.

I reentered my quarters, bracing myself. Kyla Pirem stood in the center of the room, staring at me in silence…the material of her dress once again seeming see-through amid the lack of light.

The door closed behind me. I said, “Miss Kyla, perhaps it would be best if I were to return to my office. I can rest there, as needed.”

She frowned, in apparent disappointment. “Leaving me here?”

I gave a silent chuckle, and walked over to the drawers by the refresher, opening one. I pulled out a combadge.

“I’ll set this for your name and life signs…and keep a tricorder to monitor its movements. You won’t leave my sight.”

She stared pointedly at me…and smiled. “Well…can’t be all fun, can it?”

I shrugged off her flirtations, which were frankly becoming quite pathetic, by now. “If you need anything, it’s connected to my office.”

“Oh,” she said, her smile growing. “Do you do this sort of thing often, Constable?”

I snorted. “Classified,” I said.

* * *​

Back in my office, in what most solids would probably consider a miserable hour of the night, I leaned back in my seat and looked at the screen on the tricorder. She was still in my quarters—as I’d instructed.

This was probably going to be simple enough—I’d made sure to check the lock in my room, taking into account her methods of breaking in. She’d been most ingenious. I personally suspected she was a member of Bajor’s major intelligence agency—assuming, of course, she was telling the truth. But I trust our counselor’s instincts.

I looked up at the sound of the chime to the entrance to my office—quite unexpected, at that hour. But then again, perhaps not.

“Come in,” I said, straightening in my seat, prepared to face whatever insomniac would think to disturb me.

A slender-looking Bajoran man stood in the doorway, with a round face and wide bulging eyes. They darted left-to-right as he stepped in. He had a coat, and a hat pressed down so as to conceal most of his face in shadow.

“I…I did not expect to see one still keeping office, this late,” he said, in a thin-voiced whisper. “I am fortunate that it was you—you are the…chief of security on this station, are you not?”

“That’s what it says on the door,” I said.

He smiled, and gave a nod of surrender. “Too true, Mister…Odo, is it?”

“Correct…?”

“Too true,” he said again, taking a seat.

“And your name?” I asked.

“Oh—my name?” he gave a nervous chuckle. “Yes…my name is Kah’ro Shul.”

“All right. Well, Mr. Kah’ro, what can I do for you?”

“Yes, well—first, Mr. Odo…you must understand my reasons for preferring a late hour—and therefore, my…considerable elation and, may I say, relief to find you still in your office as such?”

I snorted. “Your lucky day, I suppose.”

“Well, perhaps—or more appropriately, my lucky night.”

“Perhaps. Go on.”

Kah’ro leaned forward. “Forgive my intrusiveness—I assure you, I would not press you as I will, without cause. But it seems, Mr. Odo, that I am looking for a certain person who has arrived here on the same transport vessel I have—and has simply…” he shrugged, “—vanished, sir…as if into thin air.”

I nodded. “I see. And…you consider it urgent that you find them.”

“Ah. Most urgent, sir—essential, I hold, in fact.”

“Go on.”

“It is a woman, Mr. Odo—” he chuckled, “Forgive me if I appear intrusive, but, perhaps you have encountered her? There may, indeed, be a chance that she came to you, or the station commander, with a request for asylum, or something similar…?”

I shrugged. “She may have. Describe her for me.”

His face seemed to light up, despite the shadows of his hat. “Then—then a woman did make such a request.”

“She may have,” I said. “You did not specify the time frame, number one. Number two…perhaps the commander granted it, tonight, and I will hear about it in the morning.”

“Ah, yes. Yes of course. At any rate, she is young, and golden-haired—quite lovely, Mr. Odo, but…” he chuckled, “I do not suppose someone such as you would take note of such a thing.”

“Huh! I don’t suppose you know her name?”

“Her name?” He blinked, and looked off for a moment, “Ah, yes—her name is Kyla Pirem…yes, I think that is it.”

“I see. Now—why is it so urgent you find her, Mr. Kah’ro?”

He nodded, smiling. “I am grateful you asked. It seems, Mr. Odo, that Miss Kyla is in possession of an item which—shall I be blunt?—does not belong to her.”

“Indeed,” I said. “And what would that be?”

“Oh…” his smile faded, “You must understand, Mr. Odo, my need for secrecy in that regard.”

“And I’m sure you must understand, Mr. Kah’ro, that I don’t really care for cases when I don’t know all essential information beforehand.”

“But—but surely it is only necessary for you to know that I simply intend to return what was stolen to its rightful owner?”

I snorted at the man’s insolent presumption. “No, Mr. Kah’ro, it isn’t.”

He frowned, staring at me in silence for a moment. I held his gaze, letting a small smile form on my face.

“I don’t suppose,” Kah’ro said, “You already know what it is I seek?”

I personally suspected the data chip Kyla referred to—but I made it a point not to mention it, here. “You seem to ‘suppose’ a great deal without my help, Mr. Kah’ro.”

“Yes—so I do, sir…so I do.”

“Well, at any rate—you seem to want me to find answers on my own, without your help. If that is the case, I frankly don’t see a reason to help you.”

“Yes…” he looked off, and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I deserve that reaction, do I not?”

I grunted in agreement—and with that, I rose to my feet. My tricorder had never left my hand in the conversation, and I turned my back to him so as to hide my closing it, and resting it on a shelf. I was able to do it without a sound.

I turned back to him, beginning, “Frankly, Mr. Kah’ro—”

I froze, as Kah’ro stood across the desk, with a Bajoran phaser in hand. “You will please excuse me, Mr. Odo, as I intend to search your office.”

Frankly, a surge of bitter amusement filled me, and I found myself chuckling at the situation as I raised my hands.

Kah’ro smiled, as he walked around the desk, to me. “I can assure you, Constable—that is what they call you, is it not?—that this is no laughing matter.”

“I suppose not,” I sighed. “I merely found your audacity—and stupidity—a little amusing.”

“Stupidity?” His smile grew. “No…I assure you, Constable, I am not stupid.”

By the time he’d said this, he was barely a few steps in front of me. I smirked, and said, “Really?”

And with that, a gelatinous “tentacle” shot up from my shoe, and knocked the phaser up out of his hand. The tentacle reabsorbed as I grabbed him with both arms. I let my smile grow, as I turned his back to me, and led him into the brig.

“That is what you meant,” he muttered.

I chortled. “Yes, Mr. Kah’ro, that is what I meant.”

* * *​

One of the tricks of the trade I’ve long since learned is to try and bring all the pieces of the puzzle together, if you can—in this case, meaning my escorting Kyla Pirem to the security office, to confront Kah’ro Shul. Tipping an earlier hand, perhaps—but necessary. For good measure, I also made sure to summon Counselor Dax and Jake Sisko to join us—for obvious reasons.

When we walked into the brig, I stepped aside and turned to Kyla. “Do you recognize this man?”

All she needed was a single look at his face, before her eyes narrowed, nodding with her mouth open in a silent “Ah…” She swayed over to the cell, and put her hands on her hips. “So you’re here, Shul.”

Kah’ro chuckled bitterly. “What else could I do, eh? You giving me such a—such a most impolite treatment.”

“Impolite,” she repeated, smiling. She turned to me, Jake, and Dax, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Jake crossed his arms, looking at Kah’ro. “So are you with the Cult?”

“Jake…” I muttered, a little too late.

Kah’ro’s head shot to him in bewilderment…and then chuckled. “No, I—” he turned to Kyla. “Is that what you told them?”

She crossed an arm under her chest, the other spread in an innocent shrug. “I told them nothing about you, Shul.”

“Ah, well, most fortunate, but…” he frowned, turning back to the three of us. “Mr. Odo, if you don’t mind my asking—who are these two?”

“Witnesses,” I replied.

“I see. So, then…it is now I who must be at a disadvantage.”

“Well…” I responded, dryly, “As a rule, when one tries to hold me up and search my office—I tend to want to hold him at a disadvantage.”

Kyla shook her head at him. “You threatened the constable?”

He smiled. “Eh—not in words.”

She crossed her arms again. “Actions speak louder, Shul.”

“All right,” I broke in, stepping forward, “Now, I would advise you to be completely honest with me, Mr. Kah’ro. You may not be a member of the Cult of the Pah-wraiths…”

“I am not, sir—I can assure you,” he said.

I nodded. “Be that as it may—did you ransack her quarters on the transport vessel in question?”

He shrugged. “Only…a little, sir. Perhaps she exaggerated any ‘damage’ out of fear—?”

“Damage?” Kyla broke in, barely suppressing a laugh. “Pardon me, Shul, but breaking in, in itself—”

“I said that’s enough,” I shot at the woman. I was becoming quite tired, anyhow—and infighting decidedly contributed to it.

Kyla took a step back, still staring at Kah’ro in contempt.

“Now…” I continued, turning back to my prisoner, “You will kindly explain your reasons.”

He frowned. “It is as I said, Constable—she possesses something which is not hers to possess!”

“And who, exactly, would be the rightful owner, if you please…?”

He spread out his hands. “Why—the first minister of Bajor.”

I frowned at this, turning to Counselor Dax. She also frowned, staring at the man intently. Then her gaze turned to Kyla. I followed it—and saw contempt on the woman’s face, and bitter amusement.

Kah’ro shrugged. “Well—perhaps I should explain—”

“You’ve explained enough, Kah’ro,” Kyla interrupted.

“No, Miss Kyla, I—”

“You’ve been paid by the Cult, to bring it back. Why don’t you admit it, right here, right now?”

“But…” his gaze turned to me, “You must believe me, Constable—there is nothing to admit.”

I smirked. “Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Kah’ro. One of you is lying, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Odo?” Ezri asked softly.

I walked over to her and Jake. “You discovered something, Counselor?”

Ezri sighed, and spoke in a tone the two strangers could not pick up. “As far as I can tell, they’re both telling the truth.”

“Really.”

She nodded.

“Wait—it could work!” Jake offered, matching our volume.

Dax and I turned to him. “Oh?” I asked.

He leaned to us, obviously excited at his apparent burst of insight. “Maybe—Kah’ro wants to sell the information to the minister.”

“Maybe they both do,” Ezri muttered.

I nodded. “Competitors…information-brokers.”

Jake held up a forefinger. “Or maybe…Pirem’s a spy. An operative, for the Provisional Government—”

Ezri smiled knowingly at him. “‘Pirem’…?”

Jake struggled not to blush.

“Don’t worry, Jake,” I muttered, “That possibility has been open for her, since the beginning.”

He nodded, with a half-smile, but said nothing.

“At any rate,” I continued—raising my voice to be heard across the room, as I turned to the two individuals, “What is clear is that the only person who I can convict of theft, Mr. Kah’ro—or at least attempted theft…is yourself.”

He stiffened. “But—as I told you—”

“And Miss Kyla informs me that she is bringing the item to the first minister. Or are you accusing her of lying?”

“She—she stole it from me!”

“You mean I should have trusted you, Shul?” Kyla scoffed, hands on her hips again, “I’m insulted.”

Kah’ro laughed. “You—you are insulted! Constable Odo—I will have you know, this…this woman hired me for an assignment—which she then broke off, and—”

“You did what I hired you for,” Kyla said evenly.

“And…and you still have yet to pay me!”

She laughed. “Shul…did you really think I had the money with me? I told you—Constable,” she turned to me, apologetically, “I told him I would transfer the money to his account, as soon as the item was in the minister’s possession—”

“You said,” Kah’ro’s eyes bulged, and his voice rose, “that you would pay me as soon as the assignment was completed!”

“I did,” she smiled at him. “My assignment.”

“You—!” he shuddered, and his voice turned shrill, “You had no intention to pay me, you…you double-crossing, you seducing—you…you no-good, worthless little—!”

“Enough!” I shouted—and all was silent.

I turned to Kyla. “I take it that you hired this man to apprehend from the Cult the data chip?”

She nodded. “I did, Constable.”

“And…” I turned to Kah’ro, “She did not pay you?”

“No,” he said in a vehement tone, glaring at her.

“I will,” Kyla said, “Or at least I would have, if you hadn’t tried to rob me of—”

“You tricked me!” Kah’ro whined, “You led me to believe that I would go with you, all the way—!”

Kyla smiled, giving those sweet, feminine eyes to him, “You led yourself to believe that, Shul.”

“Nonetheless,” I added, “You seem to have conveniently forgotten to inform him of the details of your payment methods.”

Kah’ro looked to me, suddenly smiling eagerly. “Then—then you are on my side, Constable—?”

“Save it,” I sighed. “I am on no one’s side, except Justice. And justice demands you receive what you deserve, Mr. Kah’ro—positive and negative.”

His smile faded. “What…what do you mean?”

“You will be charged with two accounts of attempted burglary—and one of violation of personal property. However…” I smiled, “If this is any consolation—which I somehow doubt—I will see to it, that you will receive your payment. Perhaps it will help your hiring your defense council.”

He fell onto the bench, and nodded, staring off at nothing in particular.

I tapped my combadge. “Security to the brig.”

A deputy working the night shift acknowledged…and once again, I smiled internally in gratitude for Starfleet seeing the light, on such things.

* * *​

 

[Rush Limborg]

After the deputy arrived, the four of us—myself, Jake, Dax, and Kyla—returned to my quarters.

We found it ransacked. My furniture was overturned, with the sole exceptions of those pieces too massive and extensive. The drawers at the refresher were all pulled out, contents spilled across the floor. Frankly, I was not amused.

Either I was being bombarded with experts at lock-picking, or my security system was not as secure as I’d been led to believe—decidedly unlikely, as I had been the one to oversee the installation, in the first place. Either way, I would have to upgrade.

I turned to Kyla. “I don’t suppose you have any other victims of ‘misunderstandings’ I should be aware of?”

Her eyes wide, the woman shook her head. “No, Constable—Kah’ro had been enough.”

“I see…” I looked over the mess, “Well, in that case, it would seem we’ll have to be aware of the Cult, after all.”

Ezri frowned. “How did they know she was here, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Apparently, they’ve been watching her—perhaps when I’d brought her to the security office, wherein they made the connection. At any rate…”

I walked over to my com screen on the wall, and entered the commands.

Kyla walked up beside me. “What are you doing?”

“My personal security system includes, among other things, a visual recording—for precisely if something such as a break-in occurs.”

“Did I hear correctly?”

I paused, and turned to her.

She frowned in what looked like concern. “Am I to understand, Constable, that you record everything that happens in your quarters…?”

I tilted my head, “Is there a problem, Miss Kyla?”

She blushed. “Well, no, but—if…I mean, were I to have changed…”

Jake’s head snapped to her, his eyes wide. Ezri looked off, chuckling silently.

I smirked. “Did you?”

“N-no…as you could see, I didn’t bring anything other than what I’m wearing now, but that’s not the—”

“Then offhand, Miss Kyla, I'd contend you have nothing to be concerned about—provided, of course, you have nothing to hide…?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, Constable.”

Turning back to the screen, I rewound the established recording to the right point—the moment I had escorted her out, to encounter Kah’ro.

Kyla apparently wasn’t through. “I…I don’t suppose you could tell me where the recorders are, in this room?”

I chuckled at this, giving no other response.

Finally, I reached the correct point—and played the recording, at increased speed, until reaching the point of break-in, roughly a quarter-hour after our leaving for the office. There, I played it at normal speed.

It was unsurprising, for the Cult: aside from the clearly obligatory red armbands, the two characters had masks covering their entire heads—skin colored, probably of a material they could see through. Otherwise, they wore normal Bajoran men’s attire.

I studied the two characters, taking note of even the slightest detail—the way they carried themselves, their respective height and body mass, that sort of thing. Finally, I shut off the screen.

Jake leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Think we should have security do a sweep?”

Ezri shook her head. “We don’t know where to look, and a mass search would alert them.”

Jake nodded, and turned to me. “Constable—could we do a DNA or print sweep?”

I sighed. “Unfortunately, Jake, even if criminals were that foolish, nowadays…one can tell from the recording that these individuals were not.”

Still, I pulled out my tricorder, and ran a full scan of the room, checking for such things. Finally, I put it away, unsurprised. “Nothing, except for traces from the four of us.”

Kyla stepped to me. “Constable…perhaps I should leave for Bajor immediately. If I leave the station…”

Ezri frowned. “Pirem, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a storm raging outside. And even if that weren’t an issue—what good would your leaving do, anyway? We still have to deal with them, until they find out you’re gone.”

Kyla turned to her. “They’ve followed me to Odo’s rooms, Counselor. They’ll follow me off the station. Anyway, I didn’t want to cause all this trouble—”

“Wait,” Jake stepped forward. “I thought the idea was to make sure Minister Shakaar gets the chip.”

She shrugged. “Yes?”

“But…well, we can’t do that until you’re safe, and—”

“Hold on a moment, Jake,” I said, slowly raising a finger. “Perhaps…this is the solution we’re looking for, after all.”

All turned to me…unsure of what it was I had in mind.

* * *​

The plan involved our securing a runabout. I would imagine Captain Sisko wouldn’t take kindly to our doing so without authorization—so I made sure to wake him up in the middle of the night with the request. Needless to say, he was bewildered. Fortunately, he has the common sense to trust my judgment, as a rule—and tonight was not an exception, despite the fact that I made it clear to him that I would need to hold my full explanation until morning.

We went to the Rio Grande. I am not, as a rule, a particularly superstitious man; however, many of my fellow officers on this station have repeatedly informed me of the fact that the Rio Grande has a reputation for being the one runabout that has survived the full six and a half years of DS9’s initial Starfleet commission. Far be it from me to tempt fate, unnecessarily.

Anyhow, we arrived, the five of us—including our good Mister Kah’ro, who was understandably none too pleased to take part in “being bait,” as he put it. He’d requested his phaser back—I carried it. We opened the hatch of the ship, and stepped in, one by one—Kah’ro in front of me, naturally.

We all took our seats in the cockpit. I noticed Ezri bracing herself—doubtless, preparing for any bouts of space-sickness she might experience. She was able to contain herself.

We lifted off, and I took the runabout just inside the station shields, parking there to prevent any surges from the storm—and entered the rest of the necessary commands. What happened next was as I expected.

Two Bajoran men—doubtless having beamed in, from wherever dark corner of the station they’d been hiding in—entered the cockpit, phasers drawn. They had hats pulled low, but no masks. Still, it was obvious to me that they were, of course, the criminals who’d ransacked my quarters.

“Everyone on their feet, with their hands up,” the taller one said.

We all stood up—and Kah’ro, snickering, reached for his phaser on my belt.

“Keep away!” the tall Cultist barked at him.

Kah’ro raised his hands, and turned sheepishly to them. “Oh—forgive me, sirs. I…I was being held prisoner by this man. See—that is my phaser. And—understand, I think we can agree, if you please…we both have the same enemies, in this situation.”

“Oh?” said the shorter, rounder Cultist. “Are you one of us, then?”

“Oh—oh, no, sirs,” Kah’ro chuckled. “Not as of now, but…I’m sure that can be remedied, provided you spare me…and allow me to assist in—” his eyes blazed as he glared at Kyla, “—disposing of this woman for you!”

Kyla shook her head, and chuckled. “Shul, you snake,” she smiled.

He nodded, beaming. “Yes—but then, perhaps if you had not led me on your way, as you did…I may have been more—what is the word?—more accommodating.”

I snorted at this. “Well, Mr. Kah’ro, I’m sure the magistrate will find that quite ironic.”

“Oh?” Kah’ro chuckled again, as he snatched the gun and backed up so that he stood beside the two Cultists, who seemed quite willing to accept him on their side. “And what would the magistrate’s opinion matter to me, Constable?”

I smiled at him—at all three criminals whom I’d caught red-handed, in this affair. “I’m sure you’ll find out the answer, soon enough.”

As I said this…a “tentacle” came out from my back, and pressed the right control on the console behind me. A transporter beam enveloped the cockpit—

—and we re-materialized in the brig of the security office, surrounded by a small force of my deputies. The Cultists opened fire—or tried to.

I chuckled, as one of the deputies took the disabled weapons from both Cultists—and from Kah’ro. “I suppose you could say,” I continued, “That we took advantage of exactly how clever you thought you were.”

The Cultists said nothing, as they were escorted to their cells. Kah’ro, however, rushed up to me. “Constable,” he said, smiling nervously, “You—you must understand, sir, that I had no intention of truly helping them. I—after all, I…they had only—”

I took his shoulders, whirled him around, and pushed him to his cell. “When you’re arrested, Kah’ro, you’ll take it,” I said, “And like it.”

He fell whimpering on the floor of his cell, as the force-field activated behind him. The Cultists, again, said and did nothing.

Kyla laughed, and turned to Dax and Jake. “Does he do this sort of thing all the time?”

Ezri shrugged, smiling. “Darned if I knew.”

“I hope so,” Jake offered.

I snorted at this, as I walked over to Kyla. “I don’t suppose you’ll have any further trouble, madam?”

Her smile grew. “I might. I imagine I’ll be traveling to meet with the first minister in the morning.”

I nodded. “I imagine I can spare a few deputies to arrange for your safety.”

“Thank you, Constable. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime,” I said, “It will be just as before Mr. Kah’ro complicated things—you in my quarters, I in my office.”

She sighed. “With the recorders on, I take it.”

Jake frowned. “Didn’t you say you didn’t have a change of—?”

Ezri put a hand on his arm, and shook her head at him with a warning look. Jake flinched, nodded, and remained quiet.

I crossed my arms, looking at the Bajoran woman with the cold, unfeeling gaze of Justice. “If the rest of the night is uneventful, on your end, I will delete the recordings as I normally do, and not consult them.”

“Well, yes…” She stepped up to me, smiling, her eyelids heavy once again, “But…surely—”

“Unfortunately, Miss Kyla,” I replied, unmoved, “I make no compromises.”

* * *​

The following few days were quite uneventful. Quark and his brother Rom had returned by the next evening—telling bizarre and frankly comical accounts of the Mirror Universe. As before, I had no comment.

As for Miss Kyla…well, again, I suppose everything proceeded as planned—my deputies did their duty, and delivered her to Minister Shakaar along with the data chip. It was the gemstone in the front “buckle” of the metal belt.

All was as it should be…at least, as far as I was concerned. With Jake Sisko, however…

“I can’t publish it?” he replied, aghast.

I shook my head, sitting at my desk as I read from the report. “Apparently,” I said, “The first minister wants everything to be kept secret until he’s successfully…‘cracked down’, is the term—on the members indicted on the chip.”

“But…” Jake stood there in my office, swallowing hard, “But—how long will that take?”

I shrugged. “He estimates a few months.”

“A few months?” he repeated, almost pleading.

Ezri sat beside him, looking up at him sympathetically, and let out a sigh. “He’s right, Jake. It’s better that—”

“But…but the story—the FNS…”

“Well,” I gave him a reassuring smile, “In the meantime, I’m sure Quark and Rom will be quite willing to tell you exactly what they were doing, all this time…?”

He sighed, and nodded. “Right, right…” he muttered.

Just then, someone else entered the office. It was Kyla Pirem—and amusingly enough, she was dressed almost exactly as she had been, that night. She held something behind her, with both hands.

“I...hope I’m not interrupting?” she asked.

I tilted my head. “Not at all.”

Ezri rose to her feet, stepping aside, as did Jake. Kyla stepped forward. “I wanted to thank you, Constable.”

“No need,” I replied, “It was my business.”

“Still…” she smiled, “I would imagine that few others in your profession would handle it with such…”

I snorted. “I would imagine few others have as inherent a devotion to justice, as I do.”

Her smile grew, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps not…Constable.”

I returned the smile, leaned to her a bit, and replied, “I am already occupied.”

She blinked…and recovered from the moment’s shock—and from what looked like, to be honest, disappointment. “Well…at any rate,” she said, “I would still like to show my gratitude—concretely.”

She handed me what she’d been holding behind her—and I could barely blame the amusement filling the faces of Jake Sisko and Ezri Dax. It was a dark grey Earth fedora, in the style of the detective fiction I am quite fond of. Evidently, she had researched me.

I took it, and nodded. “Thank you, Miss Kyla.”

She nodded, her smile returning in full force. “Thank you, Mister Odo.” And she turned, and walked out, graceful and swaying in her steps.

I frowned, looking down at the hat. “Frankly, I don’t think I could find much use for this….”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe on the holodeck!”

Ezri nodded, smiling innocently, her eyes wide. “I’m—sure Kira would love seeing you in—”

I looked up at them, and said, “I would appreciate if neither of you were to be particularly specific about the origins of this piece.”

They looked at one another, then to me, and quickly shook their heads. “Not a soul,” Jake said.

“Nope,” Ezri replied—almost simultaneous with Jake’s response.

“Good,” I said. “Now, if the two of you will kindly excuse me…”

They gave a quick nod, and left, going their separate ways.


I leaned back in my seat, holding the fedora in both my hands. I chuckled, and shook my head.

“'Hard-boiled' indeed,” I muttered…and set it on my head, adjusting it in the grand tradition of the fictional detectives I admired. It fit.

Still leaning back in my seat, I brought up my feet, resting them on the desk, ankles crossed…and went back to the reports of the day.

All things considered…it was just another day at the office.

* * *​

“…But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.

“The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor—by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things.

“He is a relatively poor man, or he would not be a detective at all. He is a common man or he could not go among common people. He has a sense of character, or he would not know his job. He will take no man's money dishonestly and no man's insolence without due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him. He talks as the man of his age talks—that is, with rude wit, a lively sense of the grotesque, a disgust for sham, and a contempt for pettiness.

“The story is the man's adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. He has a range of awareness that startles you, but it belongs to him by right, because it belongs to the world he lives in. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in.”

—Raymond Chandler, from “The Simple Art of Murder”​

* * *​

And the adventure continues…​

 

[jespah]

I really liked that Shul was a lot like Peter Lorre. Frankly, I was expecting a Maltese Falcon type of situation, where the chip would be a fake, but I imagine the word limit prevented such a twist - same with the possibility of making Kyla not who she seemed to be.

Well done, as always.

 

[Rush Limborg]

I really liked that Shul was a lot like Peter Lorre.

Mm-hmm! And of course--one of the Easter Eggs is his name: "Kah'ro Shul" = "Shul Kah'ro" = "Joel Cairo"!

Frankly, I was expecting a Maltese Falcon type of situation, where the chip would be a fake, but I imagine the word limit prevented such a twist - same with the possibility of making Kyla not who she seemed to be.

Well...I would imagine that anyone who'd seen Falcon would've expected such twists....

And of course...seeing as in this case, it's Ezri who pronounces the "femme fatale" as okay...you didn't really think I'd have insulted her intuition or her skills, did you?

Well done, as always.

Thank you.

 

[jespah]

Oh! Of course - no disrespect to Ezri!

 

[Rush Limborg]

Well--of course, she does allow for Kyla being an excellent actress....