Harbinger

“That’s all right,” Qui

After another minute of foul-mooded grumblings and the occasional ping of a kicked tool rebounding off a bulkhead, Vumelko slouched down the gangway, looking more than a little worse for wear. He initialed his inspection form, then handed the clipboard and a stylus to Qui

“I know where to sign.” Qui

On his way up to the park a few minutes later, Qui

Stepping out onto the broad paved walkway that separated the core shaft from the greensward of the terrestrial enclosure, he was taken aback at the absence of…well, fun. He had grown accustomed over the past few months to the sound of music from the band shell during the artificial evenings, to the hubbub of competitive sports on the lawns, to the splashing of water in the communal swimming pools.

Tonight, however, a leaden calm lay over the park. Although the synthetic environment lacked wind, Qui

The obvious sunk in: Something very bad is going on. He pressed on into the central zone of Stars Landing and boarded a turbolift. A young woman rode upstairs with him. He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.

The same pervasive mood of gloom greeted him around every corner and on every face. No music issued from Manón’s club; conversation in the recreation areas was subdued or nonexistent. People passing by in the hallways seemed to be turned inward.

When he arrived at his usual watering hole for a drink, he understood why. Adorning the huge mirror behind the bar counter was a hand-painted message on the glass—a simple outline of the Bombay’s ship emblem with a black band across its center. Above it was the Latin inscription In Memoriam. Below it, in capital letters, was stenciled U.S.S. BOMBAY.

“Sweet lord in heaven,” he muttered. The sentiment sprang from him without warning, like the shock that had provoked it. Though the ship’s crew had been strangers to him, he was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of kinship and bereavement for the fallen Starfleeters.

He sat down at the counter and nodded to the bartender.

“Tequila,” he said. “A double.”

The bartender eyed a long row of bottles on the shelf behind him, then looked at Qui

“Anythin’ cheap that ain’t green.”

Anticipation kindled on his taste buds as the aroma of agave liquor reached his nose. He imagined savoring the sweet and sour notes on the sides of his tongue and the warmth of the alcohol in the back of his throat. Memories of fine tequilas in years gone by were stoked by the promise of a new drink….

A beefy hand clamped down on Qui

Qui

Zett was gri

“We were begi

Fingering the man’s lapel, Qui

Morikmol grabbed the back of Qui

The Omari-Ekon’s gambling deck was just as Qui

“Mr. Qui

Qui

The muscular Orion boss took a pull from his hookah nozzle, savored the smoke a moment, then exhaled two thick plumes from his nostrils. He reminded Qui

“Complications don’t concern me,” Ganz said after puffing out his last mouthful of smoke. “My merchandise does.”

Though Qui

He fully expected the next thing he felt would be a pair of disintegrator beams tearing him apart molecule by molecule.

Instead, he watched Ganz formulate a reply. Though he spoke quietly, no one ever missed a word the Orion merchant-prince said. “The explanation you are about to provide had better be phenomenally good.”

“The device was too large to move by myself,” Qui

“You should have brought help.”

“So I separated the valuable part from the worthless part,” he continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Clever. Where is it?”

“I tripped and it fell…” He mustered all the contrition he was capable of emoting: “…and it broke.”

Ganz’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “You dropped it?”

Behind Qui

That seemed to pique Ganz’s interest. “Who?”

“Judging by the phasers they were using, I’d say they were Starfleet security.”

A nervous susurrus of whispers circled the room in both directions and lapped itself. Ganz passed the moment by taking another long drag off his hookah and blowing a lazy smoke ring in Qui

“Cutting the device’s power supply tripped an alarm.”

Tsk-tsking and waggling his index finger like a reproachful grandmother, Ganz said, “You should always scan before you cut.”

“I did scan,” Qui

“True,” Ganz said. “Did they identify you?”

“Considering I didn’t get arrested when I landed an hour ago, my guess would be no.”

Ganz put down his hookah nozzle and sprawled across his mountain of brightly colored cushions until he found a more leisurely pose. “Qui