SISKO BEGAN COUNTING the minutes after Bashir left the Nibix. Bashir wasn't late yet, but Sisko wasn't convinced that Bashir could rig up the proper equipment in the time allotted. And with Ribe's response, Sisko wasn't sure how much time he could give Bashir without opening fire.
On someone.
"We're still being hailed from eleven different ships," Coleman said.
"Any word from Dr. Bashir?"
"No, sir."
"How about the Cardassians?"
"They haven't contacted us either, sir."
The Cardassians worried him the most. He guessed that they were on hand to stir up as much trouble between the Federation and the Jibetians as possible, but that was only a guess. And until they spoke, he would know no more.
Finally, after nineteen excruciating minutes, Coleman said, "Dr. Bashir is hailing us."
Sisko felt the tension in his shoulders lessen. "I want voice only, Ensign."
"Aye, sir. Now."
"Doctor," Sisko said.
"Sir, we're ready here for the injured man."
"Quick work, Doctor. Stand by."
Sisko cut the communication and tapped his comm badge. "Vukcevich, are you ready?"
"Completely, sir," said the man in charge of transporting the Supreme Ruler from one cold-sleep chamber to another. He didn't even sound nervous.
Sisko was. Such a thing had never been tried before. Theoretically, O'Brien had told him, it should work as long as the Supreme Ruler's state remained constant.
Any problem with the transporter, however, a single slip, and the Supreme Ruler would not survive.
"Any changes, Ensign Kathé?" Sisko asked, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.
"No, sir," she said. "A lot of the ships are talking among themselves on closed channels, but no one is moving."
Sisko took a deep breath. "If things are going to break loose, they are going to do so very soon. Everyone stand by."
He turned to Ensign Coleman. "Hail the station."
Coleman did. A moment later Kira's face filled the screen. "Go ahead, Defiant."
"We are ready to transport our injured crew member to your infirmary."
"Understood," Kira said and cut the connection. She obviously knew the need for haste. Sisko wondered if Bashir had had time to fill her in on the plan.
Probably not.
"The station's shields are down," Ensign Harsch said.
"Mr. Vukcevich?"
"Yes, sir," responded Vukcevich from the transporter room.
"Energize," Sisko said. He then monitored both the Nibix and the station from his own screen. Nothing appeared to be happening, not that he would be able to see if anything did.
Only if something went wrong.
The minutes seemed to stretch. The bridge crew had frozen in position. All of them knew the importance of this transfer. If it failed, it would affect everyone's future.
Finally Vukcevich's voice came over the comm unit. "The transport was a success."
"The station's shields just went back up," Ensign Harsch said.
"Good luck, Doctor," Sisko said quietly.
It took them exactly eighteen minutes to rig up a duplicate cold-sleep chamber. They used one of Bashir's diagnostic tables and his frozen injury unit along with parts ordered through the replicator.
Jury-rigged at best.
But it would have to do.
Bashir hoped his luck would hold out. It had so far. His colleagues from the starships were perfect compliments to him. Dr. Wasner had worked with existing cold-sleep cultures on a recent mission. Dr. Silverstein had specialized in ice damage on the cellular level at the Academy. The three of them had enough experience between them to resurrect the Iceman of Sigma Delta Six.
They would need it.
Silverstein had nearly walked when Bashir explained their mission. "You can't really expect us to revive the Supreme Ruler after eight hundred years of cold sleep?" she asked. "If we fail, it will mean our careers."
Wasner had looked at her sharply.
"So I have been told," Bashir said. "So let's not fail."
She had said nothing until the Supreme Ruler beamed into their jury-rigged cold-sleep chamber. "Oh, my heavens," she said. "He's little more than a boy."
"That'll help," Wasner said. "And his condition's stable."
Step one down, Bashir thought. Only a dozen more impossibilities to go.
Ribe returned to the small room off the bridge. He couldn't stand the celebration. Fear made his skin clammy and his palms sweat. He would disappoint his people either way. If the sabotage were discovered, it would destroy the belief in the government his family had so carefully cultivated.
And if the Nibix were destroyed, it would destroy his people's hope.
Hope, though, could be rebuilt.
He bent over his own private communicator and sent a scrambled hail.
On his tiny screen, the Grand Nagus of the Ferengi appeared. He was a hideously ugly man with age-spotted wrinkled flesh, a bulbous nose, and the largest ears Ribe had ever seen.
"What? Unless you can offer me latinum or a place on the Nibix, you are wasting my time," the nagus said.
"Then I'm not wasting your time," Ribe said. He shuddered at the raspy sound of the nagus's voice. "I would like to make a proposition to you."
"I'm all ears," the nagus said.
That he was. Ribe swallowed the comment back. "I am Hibar Ribe of the Jibetian High Council. We are prepared to offer you half the wealth of the Nibix if you can prevent the ship from docking at Deep Space Nine."
"Couldn't negotiate with Sisko on your own, could you?" the nagus asked. "Doesn't surprise me. He's one of the toughest negotiators in the galaxy."
Ribe didn't care about Sisko. "Are you interested?"
"For ninety percent of the take," the nagus said.
"Ninety percent?" Ribe choked. "Based on what?"
"Based on the fact that we've nearly developed a way to break through the Defiant's shields and confiscate all the wealth for ourselves. You'd get the remaining ten percent for making things easier for us."
"Nearly developed?" Ribe repeated. "Then you haven't developed anything. And you might not before the ship docks."
"We will," the nagus said, but he didn't sound too confident.
"Really?" Ribe said. "It doesn't matter to me if you board the ship or not."
"It doesn't?" the nagus asked.
"No," Ribe said. "Because if you refuse to help us, I'll destroy the Nibix myself."
"Destroy?" the nagus said. "You can't destroy it. That's the wealthiest ship in the galaxy."
"Money means nothing to me," Ribe said.
"Clearly," the nagus said. His ears had moved forward in apparent shock. "We'll do it for ninety percent."
"Fifty," Ribe said.
"I need to hire a few other ships," the nagus said, "and I have to make a profit. Eighty-five percent."
"I offer you sixty percent," Ribe said.
"Eighty," the nagus responded.
"Seventy," Ribe said.
"Seventy-five," the nagus said. "Done," Ribe said.
"Done? Just like that?" the nagus asked. "No wonder you were no match for Sisko. He'd have held firm at fifty percent."
"I can go back to that if you want," Ribe said.
"No, no, there's no need for that." The nagus grinned. "Seventy-five percent will do just fine."
"We have a deal then?" Ribe asked.
"A deal," the nagus said. "We'll make sure the ship never makes the station. For seventy-five percent of the take."
"Excellent," Ribe said and signed off. He had the better part of the deal, although the nagus didn't know that.
Seventy-five percent of nothing was, of course, still nothing.
Nothing at all.