Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #2: Stowaways Read online

  Jake and Nog exchanged an uneasy glance, but neither of them said anything in front of the Bajoran. Jake was really worried now. They ate at a peddler’s stall, munching some sort of toasty bread spread with sweet, soft fruit, and then they headed back to the plaza near the landing field. When Jake tried to talk about his concern, Nog shrugged it off. “Nobody will hurt him,” Nog said with confidence. “He’s a Starfleet officer and a representative of the Federation. Everybody knows the Bajorans are eager to join the Federation.”

  “Not all of them,” Jake insisted. He had often heard his father talk to his Bajoran aide, the pretty but intense Major Kira, about the political troubles of Bajor. The Cardassians had been cruel masters, and they had stolen most of Bajor’s mineral wealth, but their presence on Bajor had had one good effect. It had unified all the Bajorans, if only in opposition to the Cardassians. Now that the hated Cardassians had abandoned the planet, old rivalries and hatreds had broken out again. The Bajoran Council, the nearest thing the planet had to a real planetary government, did desire membership in the Federation. Plenty of other Bajoran groups and individuals did not. Sometimes, Jake’s father had said often, it seemed there were as many different Bajoran parties and factions as there were Bajorans.

  All that morning Jake’s uneasiness grew. While Nog was busy trading and bargaining, Jake slipped away to the landing area. The Einstein was still in its berth, along with a few other small ships. A Bajoran worker told Jake that he had not seen Dr. Bashir at all, which was odd because the doctor had said that he would return for his luggage. He never had.

  Now badly worried, Jake went looking for Nog. He found the Ferengi hotly arguing with a Bajoran stallkeeper over the price of a few copper trinkets. As soon as Nog made his purchase, Jake dragged him away to a more or less quiet corner in the swirl of traffic. “I think Dr. Bashir’s in trouble,” Jake said.

  With a wicked grin Nog said, “The Space Falcon? Never!”

  “Come on,” Jake said. “I’m not joking now. He hasn’t been to the Hospitality Tower, and he hasn’t even taken his luggage off the shuttle. That’s not like him.”

  “He’s having a great time somewhere,” Nog insisted. “Now, I have my eye on some land-pearls in a shop down this street—”

  Jake grabbed his arm. “Nog! You can’t just go on as if nothing’s happened. For all we know, that man Dr. Bashir went off with yesterday is some kind of criminal. We don’t know anything about Tikar Antol—”

  A girl’s voice, sounding surprised and upset, cut in: “Tikar Antol? Did you say something about Tikar?”

  Jake turned in surprise. Behind him stood the dark-haired Bajoran girl that Nog had noticed yesterday, the one with the jangling copper bracelets. She was carrying a basket of glowsilk scarves, and she was staring at the two boys. “Why?” Jake asked. “Do you know him? Do you know where we can find him?”

  The girl took a step away from them. “Who are you? What have you to do with Tikar Antol?”

  Nog put a hand on Jake’s chest and pushed him aside. “Allow me,” he said grandly. “Permit me to introduce ourselves. I am Nog the Magnificent, and this is my friend Jake the Grand. We are official representatives of the United Federation of Planets, and we—”

  “Oh, stop it, Nog,” Jake snapped. He turned to the girl. “We aren’t really. I mean, we’re from Deep Space Nine, but we’re not official representatives of anything. I’m just plain Jake, and this is just Nog.”

  The girl was still looking at them suspiciously, but she said, “My name is Sesana. I’m Atira Sesana. My father is Atira Meklat, a glowsilk merchant here in the bazaar.” Bajoran family names, Jake remembered, came first, and personal names followed them.

  Jake tried to guess her age. She was probably a year or so younger than he was, about thirteen in Earth years, but it was hard to tell with Bajorans. She could have been a little younger. “Listen, Sesana,” Jake said, “we were talking about Tikar Antol because a friend of ours, also from Deep Space Nine, went off with him yesterday in a landtran, and we haven’t seen either of them since.”

  “The Scar,” Sesana said, her pale green eyes going wide with concern. “The Turnaway camp is somewhere in the Scar. That’s where Tikar must have taken your friend.”

  “What is the Scar?” Nog asked.

  “Walk with me. I have to take these scarves to a stall,” Sesana said. The two boys walked on either side of her. Jake offered to carry her basket, but she thanked him and said it wasn’t necessary. “It isn’t heavy, and people in the bazaar might think you were trying to steal from me if they saw you take it. Everyone knows my father and me,” she said.

  “What is the Scar?” Nog asked again.

  “It’s a terrible wasteland,” Sesana said. “Years ago the Cardassians carved a huge open pit into the ground there to mine for mineral ores.”

  “A strip mine,” Jake said. He had read of such things in ecological histories. Back on Earth such mines had once threatened to ruin large stretches of territory. Fortunately, Earth mining operations gradually came to be friendly to the environment, reseeding and replanting mined land. The Cardassians had never troubled themselves to do anything of the sort.

  “It is a dead place,” Sesana told them. “It goes on for a great distance, a desert of ravines and pools of poisonous water. Once it all was rich farmland, but now it is dead. It is the Scar.”

  They reached the merchant’s stall where Sesana had to make her delivery. The Bajoran woman inside took the basket, pulled scarves from it, and held them up. The bright colors shimmered in the morning light. Then the woman stepped into a small enclosure and shut the door.

  “What’s she doing?” Nog asked.

  “True glowsilk will give its own light in the dark,” Sesana explained. “She is making sure that the scarves will really glow.”

  Nog looked greedy and interested. “Rare, are these scarves?”

  “Oh, yes. They used to be very common, but the creatures that spin the silk were almost made extinct when the Cardassians ruined the islands where they lived. Now only a few farmers out on the islands raise them. None are left in the wild.”

  “Hmm,” Nog said. “I would like to discuss these scarves with you—”

  Just then the stallkeeper came out smiling. She signed a receipt that Sesana offered her, and then the girl led the boys away. Now that she was not carrying her basket, they moved more quickly through the crowd. “Why is Tikar Antol so dangerous?” Jake asked her.

  She gave him a frightened glance. “I did not say that.”

  “No,” Jake agreed, “but you look scared every time someone mentions his name. Who is he, and why is he so horrifying?”

  “Tikar Antol is a general,” she said. “When the Cardassians ruled, he was one of the great leaders of the Resistance. But he is a bitter man. You may know that the Bajoran people are very religious. There are different sects, of course, but all of them are devoted to exploring the ways of the spirit. And all of them revered the Kai Opaka and her teachings—all but Tikar Antol and his Turnaways.”

  “And who are they?” Nog asked. “And about the glowsilk—”

  “They say Tikar was the first Turnaway,” Sesana replied. “He fought the Cardassians for years. They killed his whole family because of that—his father and mother, all his sisters and brothers, and his wife and children. The Cardassians tortured them horribly and then killed them. And Tikar lost his faith. He said if religion could not help him, if spiritual powers could not even protect his innocent wife and children, then he would turn away from them. And he did. His followers are also unbelievers.”

  “But the war with the Cardassians is over,” objected Jake. “So why is Tikar still someone who scares you?”

  “He frightens everyone!” Sesana exclaimed. “He does not want Bajor to join the Federation. None of his band do. And they all hate the Council because the Council follows the way of the Kai and the teachings of the priests. In other cities on Bajor there have been incidents—bombings, kidnappings,
acts of terrorism. No one knows who is responsible, but all suspect the Turnaways. Around here Tikar is tolerated because he protected the people of the city during the Cardassian withdrawal, and because his army still exists. It is out there in the wilderness of the Scar, and no one knows how large it is. But everyone is afraid of the Turnaways and of their power, especially now.”

  “Now?” asked Jake.

  “Because of that,” Sesana said, nodding.

  They had paused at an intersection. A crowd had gathered there, and they were murmuring in low voices. Passing by in the street was a procession of Bajoran monks in bright scarlet robes, ringing handbells and chanting a prayer. In the center of the throng walked a tall, balding man of fifty. His robe was silvery gray, and he lifted a hand in blessing as he passed by. Jake thought he looked like a kindly grandfather—a grandfather who carried a world of worry on his shoulders.

  “Look out!” Nog suddenly shouted.

  A young Bajoran had pushed through the crowd. He leapt out into the street, shoving his way through the startled band of monks. Jake gasped as he saw the young man raise a long, wickedly curved knife high, ready to strike at the old man—

  And then the monks had closed in around him. They pushed him to the street as the crowd jostled this way and that, some trying to get out of the way, some trying to get a better view. One of the younger monks stood, his robe torn, his shoulder bloody. He held in his hand the curved knife. Others held the assassin down.

  In a soft voice the old man in the silvery robe said, “Let him go. I forgive him.”

  “You are not a Vedek yet!” shouted the assassin.

  “No,” agreed the old man, who had to be Carik Madal, the man whom the Keeper of the Keys had spoken about yesterday. “But I shall be.”

  “Despite the wishes of true Bajorans such as I!” the young man cried.

  “Not despite you,” said Carik. “Because of such as you. Let him go.”

  The young man, disarmed, pushed away through the crowd, going right past Jake, Sesana, and Nog. Jake shivered a little to think how close he had come to witnessing a murder. The procession re-formed and continued, with two monks helping the injured one along.

  “Do they hate the new Vedek so much?” Jake asked.

  “Some do,” Sesana murmured. “The Turnaways most of all, because Carik Medal favors our joining the Federation.”

  They crossed the street and made their way through the crowds of Bajorans, many of them loudly talking about the assassination attempt. Jake found that they did not travel as fast as news—or rumors, for lots of the stories he overheard had multiplied the one attacker into a band of men armed with phasers and disruptors.

  At last Sesana stopped in front of a domed building. “This is my father’s place of business,” she said. “Listen: Your friend is in great danger if he has gone with Tikar. He may be a prisoner of the Turnaways. They despise the Federation, and they will do anything to keep Bajor from joining it. You must go to the authorities at once. Tell them that—”

  “We can’t,” Jake said. “Uh, we’re kind of illegal ourselves.”

  She blinked at them. “You are from Deep Space Nine,” she said. “The local constables have no power over you.”

  “Jake,” Nog said in a warning voice. “Maybe we’d better just—”

  “We stowed away,” Jake said. “We’ll be in trouble—and I’m not sure that anything happened to the doctor, anyway. He went along with Tikar willingly, and he looked fine then. Maybe you could help us check this out.”

  “You don’t know what you are asking,” Sesana said. “The Turnaways wouldn’t hesitate to kill us all—”

  “Oh, well, we can go back to the shuttle and call for help,” Nog said. “Sorry to have bothered you. Bye now.”

  “Nog,” Jake said, stepping in front of his friend to keep him from strolling away. “We can’t call Deep Space Nine. What if Dr. Bashir is all right? Anything might have happened. He might even have come across some medical emergency that’s keeping him away. If nothing is wrong with him, we’ll look like fools. Anyway, remember that Dad isn’t on the station right now. Do you want Major Kira to punish us?”

  Nog swallowed hard. Major Kira, too, had been a Bajoran freedom fighter. She had very little use for pranks. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll see what we can do. But we will need some help.”

  “Sesana?” asked Jake. “I know we have no business asking you, but could you tell us the way?”

  She shook her head. “You’ll never get there,” she said. She gave her father’s business place a longing look. Then she took a deep breath. “Oh, very well. My mother and father fought against the Cardassians. I suppose their daughter can fight against the Turnaways. Come with me. I have a way to get us to the Scar.”

  “Thank you,” Jake said.

  She glared at him, anger flashing in her green eyes. “Just wait!” she snapped. “After we come back, then you can thank me. If we come back alive, that is.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Sesana led them through a maze of twisting, narrow streets between shabby buildings. Nog seemed torn between his attraction to Sesana and his wish to make money. He kept looking back the way they had come with longing. “Maybe you two should try to find the doctor while I stay back in the bazaar,” he said once. “If he should show up, I can spot him and—”

  “He won’t be back,” Sesana said firmly. “Not if he is in the Turnaways’ hands.”

  They came to a large unpaved square where wagons rumbled past, drawn by the green horned animals. A fine pall of yellow dust hung in the air. “What are those creatures?” Nog asked, stepping aside as two of the animals padded toward him, a heavy wagon trundling along behind.

  Sesana glanced at them. “Those are fabors,” she said. “Draft animals from the desert. They need little water. We won’t be taking them, though.”

  “We’re taking an animal?” Nog asked, looking alarmed. He was small, much shorter than Jake, and he did not like large creatures anywhere around him.

  “We’re taking my lopp,” she said. “The stable is over here.”

  Jake blinked as they stepped from the bright sunlight into the dim interior of a domed stable. Dry grass littered the floor and crunched underfoot, giving off a sweet scent. In the darkness, some large animals breathed noisily, and occasionally one would make a long, rattling, gargling noise. “He’s back here,” said Sesana, leading them to the darkest part of the building.

  Now that his eyes were getting accustomed to the dimness, Jake could see stalls on either side. Graceful necks craned out of some of them. They reminded Jake of Earth horses—if horses had leathery brown skin and a sawtoothed row of spines growing on their necks instead of manes. Deep-set, dark eyes gleamed at them as they passed. Sesana stopped finally at one of the stalls and swung the wood-and-rope gate open. “Come on, Whitefoot,” she crooned softly. With a snort the large animal came out.

  Nog gulped and stepped back, and Jake moved away a little, too. Whitefoot was muscular and imposing, its shoulder almost level with the top of Jake’s head. The big brown animal had large, flat white feet at the end of four strong, knobby-kneed legs. Whitefoot smoothly lowered its head, and Sesana slipped some kind of bridle over it.

  “We won’t saddle him,” she said. “I don’t have a three-person saddle, so we’ll make do with a simple riding pad. But we’ll put a water sling on him. Jake, you take these containers out to the fountain and fill them.”

  She handed Jake a net with four empty leather bottles attached to its corners. Jake slung it over his shoulder and went outside. At the center of the unpaved plaza was a tall stone fountain, with several sets of steps approaching it. He climbed one set and saw that others were filling similar water bottles. A Bajoran moved aside for him, and Jake imitated the way the Bajoran held the leather bottles under the trickling water. The flow was cold over his hands.

  The Bajoran smiled at him. “Short trip,” he said.

  “Uh—yeah,” Jake said.


  “Well, don’t get lost. Four water bottles won’t last long out there,” the Bajoran said with a nod toward an arched gate.

  “I’ll be careful,” Jake said.

  He lugged the four full bottles back to the stables. Sesana was waiting there impatiently, and Nog had retreated to a safe distance from the lopp. Sesana had tossed a plush riding pad over the creature’s back. Now she was stroking the earless head and murmuring softly to Whitefoot. When Jake handed over the net wit the water bottles, she climbed up on a fence next to the lopp and swung the net over the animal’s back. The lopp grunted and shook its head. “Come on,” Sesana said as she threw her leg over the animal’s back. “you can sit behind me, and then Nog.”

  “Me?” squeaked Nog. “Uh—look, I think I’d really rather stay here and—”

  “Come on, Nog,”Jake said firmly.

  The Ferengi swallowed hard. “I’m going to regret this,” he muttered, but he came slowly forward.

  Jake climbed the fence and clambered onto Whitefoot’s back. The animal shifted restlessly, and Jake had to grab hold of Sesana’s waist to keep from tumbling off.

  “No,” she said. “Hang on to the net. That’s safer. If you fall off, at least I will stay on.”

  Great, thought Jake. He was sitting on the net, which Sesana had attached to the riding pad. He seized the mesh and looked back at Nog, who was hesitating at the fence. Jake said, “Come on. It’s easy.” He held out his hand. “Here, grab hold and I’ll help you. No, give me your other hand.”

  At last Nog scrambled aboard, and Sesana clucked to Whitefoot. The animal lurched forward. “Whoa!” Nog shouted, swaying wildly from side to side. “I’ll fall!”

  “Hold on,” Sesana said impatiently. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Whitefoot lumbered out beneath the arched gate, and they were on a rough, graveled road. Ahead of them in the distance wagons swayed and clattered and raised clouds of yellow dust. Close to Sakelo City the landscape was green. Spiky grasslike plants and glossy deep green vines covered rolling hills. In the distance, though, the sun glared on bare yellow hillsides. They headed that way, swerving out onto a bare track away from the main road. “The Scar,” Sesana said, her voice grim. “Nothing lives there now. They say the Turnaways have a camp there, somewhere, with food domes and deep wells. At least they used to have a camp there, back when they were fighting the Cardassians.”