Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 94
“Of all the people on the station, you have the unique position as one who has earned the respect of Bajorans, Cardassians, the Federation, even the Romulans and the Klingons,” Macet explained patiently. “You’ve worn the uniforms of both the Bajoran Militia and Starfleet. And you’ve succeeded Captain Sisko as commander of one of the most critical outposts in the Alpha Quadrant. Now a Starfleet officer serves as your second in command. To my knowledge, it’s unprecedented.”
Kira studied Macet, looking for proof that he might be lulling her into letting her guard down. “All these things are true, but you’re neglecting to mention that each one of these items predated my Attainder.” Kira had her own version of the truth to offer. “I retain command of this station because Shakaar can’t risk looking provincial while he’s trying to win the favor of Councillor zh’Thane and Admiral Akaar. Dismiss me and he has to explain to the Federation why a perfectly qualified officer is dismissed on religious grounds unrelated to command duties. Those who I count as my friends in Starfleet are either in the Gamma Quadrant, on Earth, or with the Prophets. And I’m fairly certain that Minister Asarem would like nothing more than to shove me out the nearest airlock.”
Macet tossed his head back and laughed heartily. “You sound not unlike the precocious, brilliant student whose cleverness has left him working off demerits after school, never mind that you’re graduating first in your class.”
“You’re overstating my influence in the circles of power,” Kira said.
“And you are obviously not the best judge of your capabilities. I’m sure most would see you as a true daughter of the Prophets,” Macet pronounced solemnly.
“You have a helluva lot of nerve talking about what makes a true daughter of the Prophets,” she said sharply, refusing to be bought off by Macet’s lofty rhetoric. “If anyone thinks that the resemblances between you and Dukat end at appearance, make sure they’re informed otherwise. Flattery won’t negate the reality of my situation.”
Macet met her gaze. “It isn’t flattery, it’s truth. And it’s why Ambassador Lang, and I, speaking on her behalf, are asking you to use your influence to help us broker peace.”
“I thought we’d established my lack of influence.” Kira rubbed her forehead, wondering how awful her headache would be by the time she and Macet stopped arguing in circles.
“You are the only one who truly understands all sides in this, as your remarks to Minister Asarem proved today.”
“You overheard?”
“You weren’t exactly keeping your voices down, Colonel.”
Damn. If Macet heard, who else might have eavesdropped on her conversation with Asarem? For a moment, Kira worried about the vandal who had targeted the Cardassian delegation, hoping her outburst eluded that pair of ears. Her words might be interpreted as being too supportive of the Cardassians, and she didn’t want to further stoke the anger that had defaced the flag. She knew then that she needed to do what she could to hasten this process along. “What exactly is it that you expect me to do?” she said at last.
“Appeal to First Minister Shakaar. Ask him to intercede.”
Kira shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Macet suddenly stood up. “You’ve seen for yourself what’s happening. Minister Asarem isn’t interested in negotiating peace. She wants revenge.”
“But how do I know that what happened today is typical of the talks?” Kira argued, remembering what passed between all the involved parties.
“Review the transcripts. Interview me, Lang, any member of our delegation. And I’m sure if you asked, you could talk to the Bajoran delegation as well. Weigh the evidence,” Macet urged. “If you review the proceedings and find that all parties acted reasonably or that our party acted in bad faith, then I’d invite you to act on your conscience or walk away. But if you find that the facts support my contentions, will you go to First Minister Shakaar and plead our case?”
Kira rolled Macet’s request around in her mind, looking for any possible loopholes or places that might ultimately damage the precarious situation between Bajor and Cardassia further; she found none. “I’ll see what I think after I review the information.”
“Isn’t it accurate to say that true followers of the Prophets believe that all things may be done through their instrumentality?” he asked.
“If it’s right for Bajor.”
“And if brokering peace between our peoples is right for Bajor, do you not have faith that the Prophets will light your path?”
Kira met his direct gaze, seeing integrity in his eyes that Dukat had never feigned successfully. “If you know me as well as you claim to, you know the answer to that question.”
“I’m counting on it,” Macet said quietly.
That the security post inside the exhibit had been vacated without her being informed struck Kira as odd. She understood that the exhibit was to be guarded around the clock. The deserted Promenade pulsed with taut stillness, a tension that squeezed out all the sound. Without thought to Macet, she walked as if in a dream toward the front door, when the silence ruptured—an angry cacophony of screams and crashes, of breaking bodies and shattering glass.
A tangle of humanoid bodies was spilling out of Quark’s, many clutching random objects from the bar as makeshift weapons. She saw a group of Cardassians wielding table legs like clubs at charging Bajorans brandishing bottles and chairs. An abandoned cart loaded with incense, crystals, and candles toppled over, spilling wares onto the floor; a pair of combatants skidded to a halt, falling flat on their backs before their fists could make contact. Bar stools sailed through the air. Scents of spilled liquors and hoppy Terran ale permeated the air.
Kira touched her combadge. “Kira to Ro.”
“I know, Colonel. Quark contacted me. I’m on my way.” Ro sounded breathless; she must be running from her quarters. “I’m closing the Promenade to everyone except security and medical personnel, and yourself, until we get the situation under control. All my off-duty people have been summoned and I’ve alerted the infirmary—but even so, this sounds pretty bad.”
“Actually, it’s worse. I suggest you hurry, Lieutenant. Kira out.” With her phaser drawn, Kira charged onto the west platform. She estimated the number of brawlers higher than sixty. She turned to Macet to ask for his assistance in putting down the tumult, but realized, too late, he’d already raced into the crowd and was prying his men off whoever their opponents might be. She quickly lost track of him in the sea of constantly heaving bodies. Hoping that any security officers present might help defuse the fray, she saw, to her anger, the unmistakable colors of the Militia swirling in the mix of Cardassian gray. Our own people are part of this…!
Kira scanned the room with her eyes, seeking a position from which to disrupt the melee in the quickest, surest way possible. She saw arms, bloody uniforms, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, and was wondering where the hell the medics were when she spotted Dr. Tarses. Simon had begun treating an injured Cardassian when he was suddenly accosted by an enraged Bajoran. The man started beating Simon until Sergeant Shul appeared from somewhere, yanked him off the doctor, and put him in restraints. For his part, Tarses went back to caring for his patient, ignoring the bruises that were already darkening his face.
Crouched down, out of sight between the gym and the jeweler’s, she waited for the strategic moment, phaser pointed at the ceiling, finger on the trigger….
Shielding himself with a tray, Quark bellowed demands for order, utterly ignored by anyone who heard him. Kira watched as he pushed anyone still inside the bar—anyone who even looked dangerous—out onto the Promenade. When he appeared satisfied that only his staff remained (and Morn, peering out at the chaos from behind the dubious safety of the bar), Quark activated a force field to prevent the brawlers from returning to further damage his establishment.
Macet was having mixed success in stopping his men; he’d break up one quarrel only to be drawn into another. Suddenly Kira saw an enraged Klingon, wielding a d’k tahg, charging Macet after the gul had forced the Cardassian that the Klingon had been fighting to retire.
Kira pivoted out, spraying a round of warning shots at the walls behind the Klingon. Startled, the Klingon turned to face his new assailant, only to be tackled by Macet. Keeping a knee wedged between the Klingon’s shoulder blades, Macet waved appreciatively to Kira.
Several brawlers had paused and ducked when the metallic sound of phaser fire rang out; some dove to the floor, but one particularly determined pair continued trying to kill each other until Kira stunned them both. They dropped, grunting. Kira kicked them out of her way.
“This is Colonel Kira!” she shouted. “Any and all Bajoran nationals are to stand down immediately or face criminal charges!” Several Bajorans paused, midpunch, to look toward Kira’s voice, but many ignored her demands.
Another round of phaser fire whizzed from the balcony above and everyone looked to see Ro standing over them all, phaser held out in front of her, and flanked by a dozen armed security officers. “The next person to flinch gets more than a warning shot!” Ro shouted.
As if daring Ro to make good on her threat, a man Kira recognized as an off-duty Militia engineer charged a Cardassian who had just allowed a badly beaten Bajoran to fall to the deck, unconscious. Another well-targeted shot from Kira’s phaser brought the engineer down instantly. A wave of compliance flowed through the crowd as fists fell, neck holds were released and all matter of objects being used to pummel clattered to the ground.
Ro nodded appreciatively at her commanding officer, then began deploying her people into the crowd below, keeping her weapon trained. “Everyone remains where they are,” she cautioned. “No one moves until you’re given permission to move.” The security chief found the man Kira had wounded and, hauling him up by his good arm, led him off to sit in front of the shrine as medics swarmed from the infirmary.
Macet appeared at Kira’s side. “Colonel. I apologize for the behavior of my crew.”
Kira shook her head. “We don’t know who started this.”
“It doesn’t matter who started this,” Macet said sharply. “My men were wrong to have been fighting. They will be appropriately punished, I assure you, and will submit to any interrogations Lieutenant Ro might require.”
“Interrogation is a very strong word,” Kira said, picking her way through collapsed, bruised and beaten revelers toward the west platform.
Macet walked alongside Kira, paralyzing with a cold glare whoever among his men dared look at him. “If interrogation is required to ensure my people’s compliance you have my blessing to do whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you. I’m sure Lieutenant Ro will appreciate your cooperation.” As she walked, Kira began making mental calculations about how much damage had been done, what the cost would be, who would pay, and whether they would even be able to reopen the Promenade before morning. Irritated by the pointlessness of such wanton destruction, she gritted her teeth. When will we ever learn?
Out of the corner of her eye, Kira saw Dr. Girani and four nurses rushing out of a turbolift to join their colleagues already tending the wounded. Several of the medics appeared to have been roused from their beds: Lieutenant Chagall, usually a stickler for regulation, wore shorts and his Academy T-shirt; and Ensign Mancuso had thrown on a flowered bathrobe. Kira allowed herself to relax a bit: at least the wounded could be attended to properly.
“Considering the numbers involved, I hope that you don’t have any objections to my securing Cardassian prisoners in the brig on my ship,” Macet said. “Lieutenant Ro can post her own squad of security guards, of course, but I suspect your facilities will be overtaxed if she has to detain my men as well.”
Kira paused to look over at Macet. He’s trying as hard as the rest of us. “I’ll inform Lieutenant Ro. Let’s get to work.”
After Ro delegated the investigatory assignments, she went to interview Quark. Kira made herself useful helping out both the security and medical teams. Amazing how a threatening glare from the CO helped induce a belligerent Militia member to cooperate, or how an extra pair of hands, regardless of rank, were appreciated. Case in point: a massive, but unconscious Cardassian had collapsed on top of his groaning crewmate. With Kira taking the shoulders and a security officer taking the legs, they heaved him off, leaving the formerly pinned crewmate available for Macet to take into custody.
How could this have happened? Kira wondered, nauseated by the smells of sweat and blood. A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see Counselor Matthias and Thriss standing behind her.
Matthias, like Ro and some of the others, looked like she’d tumbled out of bed. Unlike Lieutenant Ro, who had been striding around barefoot, Phillipa had managed to slide her feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. Gratefully, Thriss wore sensible, nondescript civilian clothes.
“Ummm, Colonel,” Matthias started in a gravelly voice before interrupting herself with a yawn. “I only have Starfleet’s field medicine certification, but when I heard the emergency call go out over the com, I knew you’d need extra hands. I’m here to help.”
“Thank you, Commander. And Thriss has joined you because…?”
Commander Matthias rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Thriss trained as a medic through level three. Preparing for med school, in fact.” Phillipa yawned again. “She worked with the civilian population on Betazed after the emancipation. Situations like these are all in a day’s work for her.”
“I spent two months working in hospitals in the capital city,” Thriss said, thrusting out her medkit for Kira to inspect. She appeared to have the right tools, but Kira had reservations.
At Kira’s skeptical look, Matthias added, “I’m confident that Thriss can handle anything Dr. Girani would assign her. Allowing her to help out could be mutually beneficial.”
“Report to Dr. Girani, then,” Kira instructed them both. “And thank you.”
Matthias lingered behind for a moment, waiting for Thriss to be out of earshot. “Colonel, I’ll stay close by. If I sense that she needs to leave, I’ll escort her back to her quarters.”
“Thriss does seem more—alert—maybe cheerful?” Kira observed.
“She expects to hear from Ensign ch’Thane when the next batch of communiqués comes from the Defiant. She loves him—misses him. Hearing from him reassures her,” Matthias explained. She yawned again and trailed off after Thriss.
Kira appreciated Matthias’s efforts: the only way they’d survive the current craziness was to be vigilant in looking out for each other. No matter the planet of origin, parentage, past misdeeds or present challenges—we have to assume that our successes or failures come by every individual’s choice. She considered the work being done before her, the cooperation of diverse organizations and species in helping these stupid fools who probably deserved their misery.
A Cardassian sporting a bruise on his forehead the size of a jumja fruit moaned somewhere to her left. She dropped to a knee, clicked the tricorder off her utility belt and scanned his skull, looking for evidence of a concussion. Jerking away from her, the soldier stared up at her, fear and distrust in his eyes, his body rigid.
“You’re going to be fine,” Kira said, reassuringly. “I’ll find you something that will take care of the pain.”
Ro made her way around the debris until she reached the keypad access port to Quark’s bar. An alphanumeric combination overrode Quark’s lock and the door obediently opened. Nonchalantly, she strolled into the bar, nodding a hello to Morn, who sat nursing a mug.
What a mess.
Shattered goblets and snifters, malodorous cheeses and seafood sauces smeared into the upholstery, wadded-up napkins, overturned tongo wheels, and more than a dozen broken wine bottles drizzling fermented fruit juice onto the floor. Navigating this in bare feet was akin to picking her way through a minefield. There had to be something…an idea occurred to her.
“Hey, Treir! You around here somewhere?” Ro called, craning her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of what other surprises might yet await her.
Quark popped up from behind the bar. “Not even a ‘Hello, Quark, I was worried about you’? We had a regular Core breach in here tonight and you’re not the slightest bit concerned.” He clicked his tongue. “You and Treir don’t have something going on that I don’t know about, do you?” he said, a shade too casually.
“Shut up, Quark. I need shoes.”
“Now that you mention it, your wardrobe is on the skimpy side tonight. I’m sure I’ve got something in the storeroom. Back in a flash.” Disappearing into the rear, he materialized a moment later, a pair of spangly, sparkly-blue high heels dangling from his ring and pinky fingers.
Ro resisted her impulse to force him to contort his feet into those podiatric nightmares. “Be serious,” she snorted.
“You have such pedestrian taste, Laren.” He pulled a pair of flat sandals from behind his back and plopped them onto the counter. “Better?”
Taking a seat on a bar stool, Ro hoisted one foot onto her knee and into a shoe and then repeated the process with the other foot. “You wanna tell me what happened here tonight?” she said, sweeping aside ground-up matza-stick crumbs with her elbow. She needed a space to work.
“Ask five different people who started it, you’ll get five different answers,” Quark said solemnly. He took a bar towel and brushed refuse into a dustpan, whose contents promptly went into the replicator. “All I know for certain is that it was Bajorans and Cardassians failing to work and play well with each other. Like it takes a quantum physicist to understand that the bad blood between your people and the Cardassians is destined to lead to disaster.”
Ro placed a padd on the cleared spot on the bar and began to take notes. “Other than your astute, upbeat analysis of Bajoran/Cardassian relations, any specific things you might remember—you know, clues that might help us toss some hotheads in the brig—assign some accountability?”
