THEY BEAMED DOWN to the station via Defiant's transporter, then climbed down an access ladder through a dusty conduit, and the whole time Sisko felt as if he had to sneeze.
He didn't dare.
The deck gave under his boots as he lowered himself into the darkened storage vault, and he flinched as he realized he was stepping on a carpet of tribbles. Gently he lowered himself into a sea of fur and looked around, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
There was absolutely no grain left in the entire compartment. He couldn't speak for the other storage areas, but this one had been completely cleaned out by tribbles.
At least they were neat.
Without a word, he and Dax began scanning with their tricorders.
Sisko picked up a tribble, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Most of these tribbles," he observed, "are dead!"
The impact made him cold. Had the old Darvin done something? Were the tribbles supposed to be dead, or did Sisko have more timeline contamination on his hands?
They looked at each other. Had the tribbles suffocated? Crushed each other with their own weight? No, that didn't add up. Had they been electrocuted? Chewed into open circuits? Why would they be dead? Sisko glanced at his tricorder and found the answer: "The grain's been poisoned."
Dax checked her own tricorder. "I'm picking up a faint tricobalt signature," she said quietly. "I can't lock in on the signal, but the bomb's somewhere under here."
"Guard, is that door secure?"
Voices from outside, the deck below …
"Yes, sir. Nothing could get in."
"Good. Open it up."
Chirp.
Sisko looked up. "What's that?"
Lowering her voice urgently, Dax said, "Someone's trying to open one of the bay doors!"
The two backed up against a wall to avoid being seen once the hopper doors opened. This bay was built on angles, with doors at the bottoms of the sides, so anything inside would spill out automatically, like the old railroad hopper cars that carried grain. He and Dax edged away from those doors barely in time.
Should he try to hold the doors closed? If all these tribbles cascaded onto Jim Kirk and then one blew up, Jim Kirk's last moment was going to be a very undignified one.
The chirping noise came again, then again, and the doors slid laterally open beneath the mound of tribbles.
Like soup going down a drain, the tribbles siphoned downward, cascading out into the open corridor below.
Holding his breath and waiting for the big boom, Sisko dared a peek through the center of the drain and saw the top of James Kirk's head as tribbles by the hundreds poured upon him.
"Benjamin!" Dax motioned to the tribbles still waiting to fall. "It's right here—within a meter of where I'm standing!"
She started checking tribbles. Sisko scooted over to help, and to scoop tribbles away from the open hatch in hopes of keeping the critical deadly one from falling on Kirk.
Below, as the trainload of tribbles exhausted itself onto Captain Kirk, the captain's head and one shoulder emerged from a gloriously silly ten-foot-wide mound of furballs. Now just a few tribbles tumbled, one or two at a time.
What if the bomb had fallen? Sisko looked at Dax, but she was still testing tribbles remaining in the vault—the bomb must still be up here, or her readings would've changed.
He kept glancing down below, to keep aware of the situation, just as James Kirk turned his dismayed face upward.
He grabbed a small white tribble, scanned it and tossed it down. It hit Kirk on the top of the head and kept him from looking up.
Below, Commander Spock's voice filtered through the muted trilling of the few remaining live tribbles. "They appear to be gorged."
"Gorged?" Nils Barris was standing nearby, panic in his voice. "On my grain!"
Dax threw a large brown tribble out the door after testing it. Bounce—it enjoyed a perfect encounter with Jim Kirk.
"Kirk, I am going to hold you responsible! There must be thousands of them …"
"Hundreds of thousands," Kirk complained.
Spock evenly informed, "One million seven hundred seventy-one thousand five hundred sixty-one."
Sisko looked at Dax—a moment of congratulation as they hunted the trouble tribble.
Below, Spock explained, "That's assuming one tribble multiplying with an average litter of ten, producing a new generation every twelve hours for a period of three days."
Sisko dropped another tribble down the hole. It landed on Kirk's shoulder with a squeak, but the captain didn't look up this time.
"And that's assuming they got here three days ago," Kirk contributed, as Dax tossed another tribble down upon him.
"And allowing for the amount of grain consumed and the volume of the storage compartment."
"Kirk, you should've known!" Barris raged, as Dax pitched a big pink tribble out the hatch for a perfect four-pointer on Kirk's noggin. "You are responsible for turning the development project into a total disaster!"
"Mr. Barris—"
"And I am through being intimidated, Kirk! Now, you have insulted me, you've ignored me, you've—you've walked all over me!" Barris bubbled with fury as Sisko tested a little white tribble, found it bombless, and pitched it out. "You've abused your authority and you have rejected my requests! And this—this is the result!"
Kirk glanced at the white tribble and began. "Now, I—"
"I am going to hold you responsible for—"
"Mr. Barris, I'll hold you in irons if you don't shut up."
"Jim!" Dr. McCoy came into the corridor as Sisko peeked down. McCoy was smiling. "I think I've got it! All we have to do is quit feeding them! We quit feeding them, they stop breeding!"
Silence briefly filled the corridor, with the exception of a squawk from a medium-sized blue-gray tribble as Sisko pitched it overboard.
Mournfully Kirk uttered, "Now he tells me …"
"Captain," Spock began, "this tribble is dead. And so are these."
"A lot of 'em are dead," McCoy noted. "A lot of them are alive, but they won't be for long."
"The logical assumption is there's something in the grain."
"Yes," Kirk said with a touch of purpose. "Bones, I want the tribbles, the grain, everything analyzed. I want to know what killed these tribbles."
"I haven't figured out what keeps them alive yet!"
Sisko dared to look down, accidentally pushing a white tribble down onto the captain. It squawked as it bounced off his shoulder.
Kirk didn't look up. He was strafing McCoy with a glare.
"All right." The doctor sighed. "If I find out anything, I'll let you know."
Dax tricordered a big brown tribble and ditched it out the door.
Suddenly Sisko blinked at his tricorder and at the tribble in his own hand. Was he seeing right in the dimness? Yes!
"Found it!" He pulled out his communicator. "Sisko to Defiant."
"It's dead," Dax said, fingering the bomb tribble. "Go ahead, sir," Kira's voice came over the communicator.
"We found the bomb," Sisko whispered urgently. "Lock on to my tricorder's signal and beam it into space!"
"Acknowledged."
Instantly the tribble and the tricorder both buzzed with transporter energy. To hide the sound, Dax pitched more tribbles down onto Captain Kirk. The tribble and tricorder disappeared, and Sisko held his breath, half expecting to hear and feel the detonation—but it would happen as far out in space as Kira could send it.
"That isn't going to do you any good, Kirk!" Barris said, gleefully furious. "This project is ruined! And Starfleet is going to hear about it! And when they do, they will have a board of inquiry and they will roast you alive!"
"Yes, well—" Kirk was cut off as Sisko pitched a tribble out.
"And I am going to be there, Kirk! To enjoy every minute of it!"
"Kira to Sisko. It worked!"
Sisko almost collapsed with relief and tried to start thinking again. They didn't dare to beam out themselves. That would take too much energy and make too much noise. They'd have to wait. In order to keep attention from turning up to them, he rolled the last few tribbles out the door to bounce off Jim Kirk.
"Yes, until that board of inquiry, I'm still the captain," Kirk proclaimed forcedly. "And as captain, I want two things done. First, find Cyrano Jones. And second—"
Sisko tossed one more tribble.
Raising a beseeching hand, Kirk begged, "Close that door …"