Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 91
Be rational, Nerys. Don’t lose your temper, Kira admonished herself. “Lang is asking for medical supplies, not quantum torpedoes. She’s not even requesting raw materials that could more easily be diverted to develop weaponry.” From her own experience, she knew that crude weapons spewing shrapnel or obliterating infrastructure were just as effective as the sophisticated weaponry Asarem seemed to believe the Cardassians were interested in building. “What’s unreasonable about wanting plasma replicators and surgical equipment? How does taking a hard line, making it difficult to save Cardassian lives, benefit Bajor?”
“Your attitude surprises me, Colonel,” Asarem said pointedly. “You of all people should appreciate the need to do whatever is necessary to ensure that Cardassia is never again in a position to harm Bajor, or anyone else.” The minister turned back to packing her briefcase. “Perhaps the reports of your patriotism are exaggerated.”
I don’t have to take this! I’m not the enemy. Kira resisted the urge to snipe at Asarem. “Last time I checked, I was wearing the uniform of the Bajoran Militia, Minister. I do have some experience relevant to this situation.” Kira tried smoothing her sharp tone, but knew her impatience seeped through.
Asarem paused, cast a glance at Kira’s bare ear. “Last time I checked, faithful Bajorans follow the counsel of the Vedek Assembly.”
Kira’s eyes narrowed. Biting back a dozen thorny responses, she pushed forward on the critical issues. “Have you even been to Cardassia since the war?”
“No,” Asarem said. “I haven’t.”
“Then how can you compare what you know of Bajor with what Cardassia is going through? What right do you have to dismiss Ambassador Lang the way you did just now?”
“The rights given me by the people of Bajor who elected me to serve them.”
“And the people of Bajor elected you to be their avenging angel? To single-handedly make the Cardassians pay for fifty years of wrongdoing?”
Asarem slammed her case on the table. “I decided to hear you out because as the commander of Deep Space 9 you’re owed a measure of input. But I’m done.” Walking briskly, she left the conference room; Kira maintained her pursuit. She locked onto Asarem and refused to let her escape until she’d said her piece; her conscience wouldn’t allow her to walk away.
Addressing Asarem’s back, Kira persisted with her argument. “We may have been thrown out of our homes, seen horrible starvation and disease, but our shrines are still standing and after thinking the Celestial Temple was lost to us forever, the Prophets brought us the Emissary and we became stronger. The prophecies tell us that we will be stronger yet. For all the horrors inflicted on us by the Cardassians, half our population wasn’t executed and millions of our children haven’t died since with flesh melting off their bodies due to radiation sickness. We didn’t emerge from the Occupation drowning in our own dead.” Kira jumped directly into Minister Asarem’s path, blocking her from moving any farther. “Where is your compassion, Minister?”
Cold fury burning, Asarem’s voice shook. “With the generations of dead and brutalized Bajorans who committed no crime save being born Bajoran. The Cardassians allied with the Dominion. They brought destruction on themselves. Now get out of my way before I call First Minister Shakaar and inform him that we need to reconsider your position as commander of this station.”
For a long moment, Kira stood rooted to the spot, staring defiantly at Asarem, daring her to make good on her threats before finally stepping aside and allowing her to pass. She watched Asarem disappear down the corridor. I hope the air is pure enough for you there on the moral high ground, Minister.
How dare Asarem talk to her like she had some vastly enlightened understanding of collaboration and innocent Bajorans dying that Kira didn’t have! She knew. She had lived it; the Occupation had set the stage—had framed her decisions—for her entire life. But at some point, Kira had to stop defining her life by her losses and if that meant accepting friendship with Cardassia, then she damn well would! Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, mouthing a prayer for peace, hoping consolation would come from faith. As much as duty pressed on her mind, Kira knew she had to sort out all the confusing threads unraveling in her mind.
Did I just leap to the defense of the Cardassians? Prophets help me, what am I doing?
First order of business upon retiring to her quarters was changing into civilian clothes, but the usually comfortable, well-worn fabric irritated her skin; the sleeves and neck felt tight and confining, like she’d accidentally put on another’s clothes. She gave up on eating when her replicated hasperat tasted like spicy sawdust. Her mind dulled whenever she attempted any routine task; she found herself in a stupor, wondering what it was she had started but now couldn’t recall. The staticlike quiet pressed on her.
Opening the cupboard that housed the few small remains of her religious life—a few candles, incense, an icon—she removed her earring from a shelf and draped it over her palm, feeling the cold metal links, the weight of the silver. She encapsulated the earring in her fist, gripping it until she felt its edges digging into her skin. One by one, as if in a trance, she lit the candles.
With hands outstretched and eyes closed, Kira prayed.
She interspersed recitations of every prayer she’d memorized since childhood with blunt, almost impatient pleas for the clarity that had thus far eluded her. Time drizzled away—maybe hours—and Kira remained standing. She would stand until she dropped or until her prayers were answered.
At last, her hands fell to her sides and she knew what was required. She considered her earring with longing one last time before she reverently replaced it on the shelf, blowing out the candles and locking the cabinet door.
Gul Macet scrolled through one of several intelligence files he’d brought with him from Cardassia. While he hadn’t always approved of Central Command’s tactics, he wasn’t above sifting their refuse if it aided Cardassia’s cause. A good strategist never discounted information on the basis of how it was collected or who had done the collecting.
Before him on the table, Kira Nerys’s official Singha Internment Camp record lay open, accompanied by the annual ID holos taken until she left the camp to join the resistance. He thumbed through the screens, finding nothing new—nor did he expect to. I thought we had her this afternoon, he thought, recalling the conflict playing across her face. He knew she’d been in the capital city the night of the attacks. Something haunted in her eyes told Macet he shared that in common with the young Bajoran.
The door chimed. Expecting that Natima had returned to take him up on his offer of a late meal, he ordered the computer to admit his guest. We’ll have to make a plan for tomorrow—Asarem will make us fight for the privilege to return to the table. “Natima, did you have any luck contacting Sirsy?” he asked without looking up from Kira’s file.
Silence.
Usually, Natima’s gown swished as she walked; he hadn’t yet heard footsteps. Perhaps young Vlar has brought me dinner. He twisted away from his studies to see what awaited him.
“Gul Macet,” Kira Nerys began, “I wondered if you might be interested in taking a walk?”
15
“She did it!” Bowers exclaimed. “The worm is transmitting. It’ll only take me a minute to search their system and see if I can find the codes to claim that matter load.”
“Timer set,” Julian said. “We have three minutes before the Cheka system security starts their sweep of the computer. Ensign Tenmei’s lock shows green.” With a transporter lock on Prynn, Bashir tracked her location from the sciences station. She hadn’t moved for ten minutes, but her vitals remained normal, other than indicating agitation.
“Status of Chief Chao?” Vaughn asked.
Bashir rechecked his display and reported, “Also in position.”
Now comes the fun part, Vaughn thought. Waiting. He paced the Defiant’s bridge slowly, keeping his head clear, focusing on the next step in their plan. “We can’t get overconfident, Sam. Breaking into the Cheka system isn’t enough. If we can’t locate the codes, we’ll be right back where we started without the materials Nog needs for the defense system.” And there was the little matter of making sure Prynn had enough time to escape the suite before security linked the computer penetration with her presence. She had been insistent about avoiding a beam-out while she was with Fazzle, wanting to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. Once she attached the “worm” to the terminal, she’d initiate her exit strategy.
Hunched over tactical, Sam attacked the incoming data with the determination of a grint hound on the tail of a razorback. He tapped through screen after screen, filtering data, running language decryption algorithms and using the Defiant’s computing power to run a separate search, narrowing the amount of information he had to plow through.
“Two minutes,” Julian announced. “So when’s part ‘b’ of our plan supposed to play out?”
Vaughn checked the time. “Shortly. Where are we at, Sam?”
“The computer is searching the Cheka’s trade records”—he paused, grinning—“hey, this is interesting. You think an up-to-date map of where the Cheka weapons are deployed in this sector would be helpful?”
“The codes wouldn’t be as critical, then,” Julian said. “Simplify our lives considerably.”
“Only data for this sector, I’m afraid,” Sam said. “We’d still need the femtobot defense, but it would buy us time to test and deploy it.”
“Download it,” Vaughn ordered. “And any other strategic or military information that might help us navigate our way out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam continued hunting through the data.
Vaughn rested a hand on the back of Sam’s chair and watched. He struggled to believe that such a politically powerful species could manage with such crudely constructed databases. But that’s what happens, I suppose, when you’re too lazy to innovate or organize for yourself.
“Gordimer to Commander Vaughn. We have a situation.”
“Go ahead, Ensign.”
“Yrythny security caught Lieutenant Nog making an unauthorized attempt to leave the Avaril. He had classified Starfleet technology downloaded into his tricorder. Specs for Defiant’s cloaking device.”
Stunned, everyone on the bridge turned to look at Vaughn. “Stay focused, people,” he said sternly. “Ensign Gordimer, keep Lieutenant Nog in protective custody until I get there, and secure the tricorder. Vaughn out.”
“One minute,” Bashir announced.
“Okay, sweetheart, talk to me,” Sam coaxed his console. “Wait…here we are. I’m gonna grab it all and we’ll sort through it later.”
“Just do it,” Vaughn urged. “Doctor, go ahead and signal Prynn that we’re clear.” Before she left, Bashir had fitted her auditory canal with a tiny receiver that allowed her to hear signals, but not send them. Concerned about activating any sensors in the Cheka suite’s security net, Vaughn insisted on radio silence until the computer break-in succeeded or failed.
“Done, sir,” Julian said. “No indication that she’s left Fazzle’s work area. Thirty seconds.”
“Almost got it—” Sam said.
Based on the percentage of information that Sam had captured, Vaughn could see that the data transfer would take more time than was safely left. Prynn needed to leave. Soon. Worry sent his heart racing. “Status of Ensign Tenmei, Doctor?”
“Still no movement, sir. Fifteen seconds.”
“Prepare for emergency beam-out,” Vaughn ordered.
“I’d advise against that, sir. She’s in the heart of the Cheka suite. A sudden beam-out would—wait. She’s moving.”
Vaughn sighed, watching the blinking dot on Bashir’s screen progress down the hall.
“Ten seconds.”
Come on, Prynn, get out of there. Keep moving…
“Five.” With only a few meters to go, the blinking dot paused.
“Time’s up,” Bashir announced.
Sam turned toward Vaughn. “I’ll have the end of this file shortly, but an internal computer sweep is underway. Depending on their sweep sequence, it might be two seconds or twenty minutes before they find us.”
“I want her out of there, Julian,” Vaughn demanded.
“I’ll grab her as soon as she makes it out of the main entrance.”
“Cheka sensors nabbed us, sir,” Sam said. “But the data transfer is complete. I’m shutting down the link…now. Link severed.”
The blinking dot on Bashir’s screen moved quickly, streaking down the hallway and out the front door.
“Initiating transport,” Bashir said. Then he added with a smile, “She should be downstairs, Commander.”
Vaughn exhaled with relief. Thankfully, L.J. isn’t around with his fifty reasons why having your daughter under your command is a bad idea.
“I’ve isolated the codes, sir,” Bowers announced. “Transmitting to Chief Chao…”
Moments later, the bridge doors opened, admitting Prynn. She marched onto the bridge, wearing her regulation tank top, but with her uniform jacket tied around her waist. Bashir’s eyes widened when he saw the scaly purple blotches covering most of her exposed skin.
“Someone better produce some damn rash spray in the next twenty seconds or I’m resigning my commission!” she announced, jamming her fists into her waist.
Bashir and Vaughn exchanged glances before bursting into relieved laughter.
“What?” Prynn demanded.
“Nothing, Ensign,” Vaughn said. And, throwing protocol out the airlock, he walked over to her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Good work. The doctor will take care of you while I take care of Lieutenant Nog. Sam, advise me when Chao is back aboard.”
Shar exited Ezri’s office, only to discover Keren waiting in the outside corridor. Hundreds of Yrythny coming from the day shift or going to the night shift streamed past, making it easy for Shar to pretend he didn’t see her. Without any acknowledgment, he headed in the direction of the guest quarters, knowing she’d be chasing after him anyway.
“Thirishar!”
“If I talk to you, I have to report it to Lieutenant Dax, so don’t say anything you don’t want repeated,” he said as he walked rapidly away.
“They’ve sent armed squads into the Old Quarter, Thirishar,” she said, her voice tinged in fear.
“What?” He paused, waiting for her to catch up.
“The Assembly. Looking for those responsible for the attacks. They’ve gone into the Old Quarter with weapons,” she said breathlessly.
Keren was panicked, and Shar sympathized, but hadn’t her own kind landed themselves in this mess? “Can you blame them for wanting to prevent further attacks?”
“I don’t know that the underground is responsible for them,” she confessed, averting her eyes.
“What do you mean?” Shar demanded.
Grabbing Shar by the sleeve, she pulled him into a dark, deserted side corridor. She peered down the hallway in each direction, before leaning in close, speaking directly in Shar’s ear. “A schism has formed in the underground leadership. Some believe that the only way we’re ever going to help our people is by force. Waging a war of fear might pressure the government into conceding. The rest of us, me included, believe that we should take up arms only if negotiations don’t work.”
“Keren, what do you want from me?” he hissed. “It isn’t as if I have troops that can defend the Old Quarter. Even if I rounded up all my colleagues, it wouldn’t be appropriate for us to play a role in an internal standoff.”
“I’m not asking you to, but your research has become more urgent. You have to press forward as quickly as possible.”
“And I plan to go to work as soon as I can.”
“That’s the problem. The data files, they’re hidden in my apartment. If I go back there, I won’t be able to leave again—perhaps indefinitely.”
“Keren, you’re not listening!” Shar pleaded. “I’ve been ordered not to spend unauthorized time with you. If the lieutenant finds out that I’ve disobeyed her orders, I’ll spend the rest of this mission in the brig. You need to send them by messenger.”
“You have to believe me. The casualties in the village will be minuscule compared to what will happen if the Old Quarter is provoked into riots.”
More deaths. More delays. More shadowy choices. Damn it, I’ve been given a direct order and if Ezri checked up on me and found me missing…. Maybe he could talk to Lieutenant Dax and see if she had any ideas. But there was always the chance she’d refuse to involve Starfleet. Should that happen, Shar wouldn’t have a choice of whether to retrieve his data. He needed a little more time. “I can’t come immediately.”
“In a little while, then. I’ll come to your quarters with clothing like I did the first time.” She clutched each of his arms in her hands.
“Give me half an hour. I’ll meet you in the courtyard. But this has to be the end of it.” He had serious reservations about going through with this, but in the end, his personal commitment to the pursuit of scientific truth won out. That…and his wish not to have Keren come to harm.
Without a word, Keren turned on her heel and left, Shar watching as she walked away. This whole situation is about to ignite, he thought. Both sides are so busy taking revenge that the truth is slipping between the cracks. This has to end. Marching back to his quarters, he wondered whether he’d have time for his project before civil war erupted. I’m going to make this work, he vowed. And maybe there was a better way to help Keren…
Upon entering his quarters, Shar went immediately to the computer terminal, calling up the Luthia root menu. The military here doesn’t do anything without making a big show of it…there has to be an announcement or a policy statement about the troops going into the Old Quarter. There. Shar tapped in the commands, captured the page and saved it to his personal files. Then, he browsed until he found a public mail outlet on Luthia’s main system and forwarded it to the terminal in Dax’s quarters:
LUTHIA: Pending a conclusion to the criminal investigation into the attacks on the Coral Sea Bay aquaculture village, the Old Quarter will be under martial law. All residents will be required to submit to police searches, on demand and without resistance, or risk arrest. Force will be used as necessary. Any information leading to the arrest or capture of those responsible for the attacks will be rewarded.
