Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [44]
Steej knelt beside the dead man. The blackened hole in his tunic made it clear how he was murdered.
“Cut down at close range,” the Enolian noted. “A robbery? Or perhaps something more personal…a dispute between friends. Or between business associates.”
Steej considered all three possibilities—and rejected them. There was more to this than met the eye.
In all the time he had worked security on Oblivion, he had never seen a Cardassian involved in a crime. Now, all of a sudden, it had happened twice in a matter of just a few hours—in locations that, interestingly enough, weren’t very far apart from one another.
And then there was the matter of the bomb, in a city that hadn’t seen that kind of incident in years. He couldn’t believe it had been a coincidence.
As the ancient Rythrians were fond of pointing out, there were no coincidences in life. Clearly, there was something going on—something bigger and more complicated than Steej was initially inclined to believe.
“Place him in stasis,” Steej said of the corpse. “I may want to take a closer look at him later.”
“As you wish,” said Yiropta.
The security director got to his feet and looked out the mouth of the alley. The faces of the crowd looked back at him—among them, perhaps, the face of the Cardassian’s killer.
Or the bomber.
Or both.
He was less and less convinced that Hill was responsible for what had happened in the plaza—at least on his own. Not if this murder and the bombing were at all related.
Briefly, Steej toyed with the idea of prohibiting all Cardassians from leaving Oblivion. After all, he was already monitoring departures in his search for Hill. But the city’s administrators didn’t like him to impose travel restrictions, as they were bad for business.
Besides, he didn’t know that the murderer was a Cardassian. It might have been the Zartani hotel manager. Or anyone else in the city, for that matter.
“Yiropta,” he said, “one other thing.”
“Commander?” said the Enolian.
“Send word to the other quarters that we’ll need to borrow some of their officers. I want to find our friend Hill and I want to find him now.”
Even if he wasn’t guilty, he might be able to shed some light on those who were. In Steej’s mind, that alone was reason to continue the search.
Yiropta nodded. “Of course, Commander.”
“And the Cardassian who choked that hotel manager—I want to find him as well.”
“Right away,” said Yiropta.
Steej spared the Cardassian’s carcass one last glance. Then he made his way through the crowd and headed back to his office, more determined than ever to get at the truth.
Chapter Eleven
“SO WHAT’S YOUR IDEA?” Guinan asked her companion.
Picard, who was sitting next to her in an obscure corner of the bazaar, had a serious fire in his eyes. But then, he seemed to believe that he had come up with the lead they needed.
“Demmix had a medication,” he said. “He always carried it with him. Something for stress.”
“You said he was the nervous type,” Guinan recalled.
Picard nodded. “To say the least. And in a Zartani, stress is a much more serious condition than in, for instance, a human. It can even be fatal.”
Guinan hadn’t been aware of that. But then, she hadn’t had occasion to speak with many Zartani.
“This medication,” said Picard, “had to be made fresh all the time. After a couple of days, it would have lost its potency. I left orders to have some waiting for Demmix on my ship, but—”
“But thanks to that bomb,” she noted, “he’s not on your ship. And if he’s feeling as stressed as we think he is—”
“He’ll need to obtain some medication,” said Picard, picking up the thread. “The question is—”
“Where would he find it?” Guinan smiled to herself. “I know just the place. It’s not far from here, either.”
“Then let’s go,” said her companion.
He got to his feet and extended his hand to her. As she took it, she imagined that she could feel a current of energy running through him—a current of optimism that she hadn’t felt in the longest time.
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