Star Trek: Deep Space 9 - Darkest Before Dawn

Star Trek: Deep Space 9

8.01 – Darkest Before Dawn
Brydon J. Sinclair


Chapter One


“Is that it?” Jason squealed, pressing up against the viewport.

Austin Harris crouched down next to the ten year old and looked out at Deep Space 9, his new assignment and the new home for his family. “That’s it, Jase. What do you think?”

“It’s really odd looking, not like any of the other stations we’ve been on.”

“It is, but I kinda like it,” he whispered to his youngest, who nodded in return.

“There aren’t any Cardassians still there, are there?” asked Summer, her bare arms folded across her chest.

He looked up at the teenager, whose long limbs and delicate features mirrored her mothers’, whilst her mousy hair came from him. “No Summer, the only permanent Cardassian resident returned to Cardassia Prime when the ceasefire was called. There are a few Ferengi, Chandir and other non-allied species there, but for the most part its Bajorans and Federation races. From what I’ve heard, with the war over the Militia has quadrupled the number of personnel they have on the station.”

Summer seemed placated by that as she looked at the station again, visibly shuddering. “It looks angry.”

“Cardassian architecture is designed to impose,” he admitted. “But the ‘Bike Wheel’ does have a haunting elegance to it.”

His fourteen year old daughter looked at him with a raised eyebrow—something she had mastered from an old Vulcan classmate—which made him smile. “It’s a nickname DS9 picked up a few years ago and hasn’t managed to shake off—even with how important she’s been during the war.”

“You best not say it in front of your new crewmates, dear,” Adele warned, resting her hands on Summer’s shoulders, “they may not appreciate the newbie poking fun.”

He chuckled and stood up again. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“All passengers disembarking at Deep Space Nine, please report to docking bay one. All DS9 passengers to docking bay one,” the intercom announced.

“That’s us. We’d best get moving,” he told them, the jovial lilt to his voice evaporating as he focused on reporting aboard. He picked up one of their holdalls and held out his hand, which Jason obediently took and held tightly too. Adele and Summer likewise carried a piece of luggage, whilst the rest of their possessions would be beamed over once they were docked.

Leading his family through the corridors of the Orion, he tried to remember who onboard would be coming with them to the station, who was the old ship’s actual crew and who would be heading into Cardassian space to carry out relief assignments. There were too many faces to register and he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet many of his new crew—less than a dozen of the thirty-eight who would be reporting aboard the station.

Reaching the docking bay, he did a quick head count to see that they were all there, a mixture of red, gold and blue undershirts, not to mention species—at least sixteen that could be easily determined. Harris was the only one among them to be bringing family with him, most of those that had spouses would either be on temporary assignment or they’d decided to remain away from the station—many still seeing it as being too dangerous. He had questioned asking Adele and the kids to come with him, but in the last two years he had only been able to spend nineteen days and eleven hours with them, so he didn’t want to spend any more time apart if he could help it. Fortunately Adele, being as much the hopeful optimist and gambler he was, had agreed that they shouldn’t be apart if it could be helped, so here they were. Seeing his kids’ reactions, he knew he’d made the right choice; Jason was brimming with excitement, almost ready to explode, whilst Summer hadn’t rolled her eyes—which, for her, was a ringing endorsement.

A few of the crew addressed him by his rank or with a polite nod when they noticed him; until he spotted one of the few new crew he had had much interaction with, Lieutenant Commander Hjon Taelor—the strapping Bolian tended to stand out in just about any crowd. When Taelor saw him, he flashed a bright smile and weaved through the gathering.

“Morning Commander.”

“Afternoon, Lieutenant Commander, going by the local time that is.”

“Great, I’ve lost half a day already,” Taelor said with a grin. “Mrs Harris, it’s nice to see you again.”

“And you too, Commander—and its Adele.”

“Only if you call me Hjon, Adele, and how are you two?” he asked turning to Summer and Jason.

“Fine,” was Summer’s reply. Though he hadn’t seen much of her, he knew his daughter well enough to notice the flush of her cheeks as she looked at the handsome Bolian.

“I can’t wait! I’ve read everything I can find on Deep Space Nine—did you know the Cardassian’s used Bajoran slave labour to process ore that they strip mined from Bajor?”

“Well it looks like I’ll have to stick with you, or else I might get lost,” he said, tussling Jason’s honey-blonde thick mop of hair.

Under his boots the Constellation-Class ship’s deck plates rattled, followed by a metallic clank and louder-than-typical hiss as the docking clamps connected and umbilical pressurised. The light above the exterior door turned green and the hatch opened. In an orderly and patient manner, the assembly began to disembark. Since he had his family with him, Harris had always intended to be the last off, so as to not cause too much jostling or shoving—trying to get an over-excited ten year old and apathetic teenager organised was more work that it looked.

Taelor stepped ahead of them, before he led his family through. The arrivals lounge had been emptied in an organised and efficient manner, all the crew being logged in with security, issued with their quarter assignments and induction PADD before being grouped together and escorted towards where they would be living for however long they were on DS9 for. As such, by the time he set foot on the station there were only two women left waiting, one in the uniform of the Bajoran Militia, command-red and a style that denoted that of a senior line officer, the other was a demure Trill, with a short haircut and blue undershirt, her hands clasped behind her back. He knew who they were before either of them spoke.

He stood a little stiffer, a posture that was immediately mimicked by Jason. “Commander Austin Harris, requesting permission to come aboard, sir.”

A slow smile spread across Kira Nerys’ face, more from the boy imitating his father than anything Harris had said. “Commander’s Harris, Taelor, welcome to Deep Space Nine. At ease.”

He let out a held in breath and relaxed his stance slightly, Taelor falling into a perfect parade rest next to him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jason looking from one adult to the next, whilst Adele and Summer kept to the side.

“I’d like to introduce Lieutenant Ezri Dax, station counsellor,” said Kira with a gesture to her companion, before looking at Harris’ family.

“My wife, Adele, and this is Summer and Jason.”

“I hope the journey here wasn’t too taxing.”

“Not at all, thank you, Colonel,” Adele replied, a smile in her voice.

Kira gave Adele a friendly smile then looked back at her new First and Second Officers. “You’ve timed your arrival nicely, gentlemen. Other than the Orion we aren’t due any other ships in for twenty-six hours, which will give you a day free to get settled, though unfortunately that’s all the downtime you’ll have right now. This time tomorrow we’ll be receiving eighteen freighters bound for various reconstruction projects, as well as three transports filled with refugees that we’ll need to process.”

“I’m ready to get to work now, Colonel,” stated Taelor.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Commander, you’ll need it for tomorrow evening—the Defiant will be providing escort to the freighters heading for the Dorvan System.”

“Yes sir, I’m looking forward to seeing what she can do.”

“You’ll be in for a treat. In the meantime, Ezri will show you to your quarters and help you get settled in.”

Taelor gave her a respectful nod then turned to the Trill. “Lead the way, Counsellor.”

Dax’s gaze locked onto his and she gave him a small smile, before heading down the corridor. He cast a quick look at Adele and saw the knowing glint in her eyes, he was going to have to explain his connection to the Trill, not something he was exactly looking forward too, but it could wait.

“I’ll show you the way to your quarters, Commander.”

“I’m sure we can find it, Colonel, I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“Believe me, Commander, after the chaos we’ve had here this last week, a stroll through the station is a welcome rest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Adele moved to take Jason’s hand, letting Harris and Kira walk ahead of the three civilians, so she could outline their current status in broad strokes. In the forty-seven days since she had officially assumed command of the station, their workload had tripled (and that was on a good day), as they were the closest starbase to what had been the frontlines, where most of the devastation had occurred. Almost every engineer or medic assigned to aid the outlying worlds, every hypospray and self-sealing stembolt destined to help those in need was coming through Deep Space Nine. There was no way to overemphasis just how important they were to what was needed across dozens of worlds—and that was just those on the Federation side of the border, in Cardassian space things were far worse.

He was so engrossed in what Kira was telling him, that he was having a hard time following just where they were in the station or how they got there. Well he had a day to get to know the main routes before being thrown in at the deep end. It wasn’t long before they arrived at a set of double doors, where she entered a security code into the door panel.

As the doors opened on his new home, he found himself pleasantly surprised by the space it offered. When his transfer orders had come through, he had made sure to ask for separate rooms for Summer and Jason as well as a small kitchen, all of which had been covered. He led his family in, Kira standing by the entrance, watching as they looked around. Jase darted into the two single rooms, to figure out which one was his, whilst Summer went over to the oval viewport which looked out onto empty space, Adele looked around the living/kitchen/dining area and nodded in approval.

“You’re lucky, there aren’t many quarters this size with kitchens,” Kira told them. “So are you the chef, Commander?”

“No, that’s Adele. She studied at the best culinary school in North America. Until the war started I hadn’t had replicated food since I was an ensign, it’ll be nice to get back to normal again.”

“I’ll say, get some more meat on those bones,” commented his wife as she moved to join them. “Colonel, did you receive my enquiry about the Promenade?”

“I did and you’re in luck, one unit will be vacant next week. It was a Bolian restaurant, so its set up for an eatery—if that’s what you planned on using it for.”

“It is—I like to have a little place on Starfleet bases, give people a taste of real food. Once we get settled in here I’d like to have a look at it.”

“You’ll need to contact security, they’ll give you access. So you’ve run a few restaurants then?”

“A couple,” Adele said coyly.

“She still does, and it’s more like five—not including the one in New York.”

“Well, I look forward to trying it out.”

“There’s no need to wait, you should come over tomorrow evening.”

Harris shot Adele a surprised look. He hadn’t expected her to be inviting anyone, let alone his new CO, over quite so soon—especially when they would be unpacking for days, getting the kids settled in and starting to build a whole new life for themselves once again.

“I wouldn’t want to impose; besides tomorrow might not be the best time for me—”

“So I’ll make it to go, you can eat at your desk—though you know that isn’t healthy for you.”

He laughed. Adele Harris was not someone to take ‘no’ for an answer, something he had learned on only their second date—he had never stood a chance after that, knowing that she would be the woman he would marry.

Kira chuckled. “I’ll make some time for a quick meal then, unless anything crops up before then.”

“Excellent.”

“Well I’ll let you get settled in and see you at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow, Commander. Mrs Harris.”

“Colonel,” he replied with a nod as she left them alone.

He put his arm around Adele’s shoulder and pulled her close. It had been so long since they had spent any time together that he had found himself missing the simple things; the feel of her body against his, her delicate sense, the quiet strength that resonated from her. There were several times over the last two years that it was the thought of her that had gotten him through, in particular the skirmish on Setlik III—a month-long battle he had tried hard to forget. The memory of the thick, cold, blood-soaked mud made him shiver.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded, plastered on a smile and looked down on her face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

* * * * *

Quark’s was heaving.

Julian Bashir couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many bodies packed across all three floors of the bar, but since the war had ended there was a lot of celebrating to do and not just due to the end of the fighting, people could get one with their lives once again—in the last three weeks there had been eighteen engagements and he’d been notified by over two dozen couples who were coming off their monthly injections, so they could start trying for children. This was definitely a time for people to reaffirm that they were not just alive but they were living.

He finally spotted for the table he wanted, on the first level overlooking the dabo tables. Seeing Ezri sitting there waving at him made him grin like the Cheshire Cat with a giddy feeling stirring throughout his body, it had been a long time since he had last felt this way about anyone. It was his own personal reminder that he too was living.

He slipped through the crowd as quickly as he could, climbing the spiral stairs with care, as there were revellers on every step. When he finally reached his companions, he bent down and kissed Ezri on the cheek as he sat down.

“So when will this cutesy honeymoon period going to be over?” asked Jill Myers.

“Does it bother you to see two people expressing their feelings?” he asked, taking Ezri’s cool hand and resting them on top of the table, next to the whiskey that had been waiting for him.

“Only when it’s overly, like you two are right now.”

The couple looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. “Well it’ll go on for twice as long now.”

Nog, who completed the quartet, laughed as Myers groaned and the couple chuckled, snuggling closer together. His arm around her slim shoulders just felt right. Myers scowled at the Ferengi.

“Don’t encourage them, Nog, they’ll think they can get away with it!”

“I worked here for so long, such public displaces no longer faze me. You need to lighten up a little, Jill.”

“Maybe I should just jump you here, see how they like it!”

Nog spat out the root beer he’d been drinking, coughing and spluttering as the others laughed. It was unsurprising, Jill Myers was stunning by anyone’s standards; long, raven-black hair, light blue eyes, smooth, pale skin over well-defined features, small but full lips. Though they were good friends since she’d reported aboard the station after Operation Return, Bashir had noticed that the Ferengi liked her a little more than she did him.

As he was wiping his chin clean with the sleeve of his uniform, something caught Nog’s attention out on the Promenade. He scowled then his face lit up with a toothy smile. He jumped to his feet and headed out without saying a word to the others. They watched him duck and weave through the throng of bodies with practiced ease until he got out onto the upper level of the Promenade and dash over to a uniformed human woman, with blonde hair tied up neatly at the base of her skull.

Bashir looked from Ezri to Myers but both of them shook their heads, not recognising her.

“She must be a new arrival he knew from the Academy,” suggested Myers.

When Nog caught up with her, she stopped and turned, giving them the chance to see her face, at which point Bashir registered the face as one he’d seen before. It took a few moments to sort through the thousands of faces he’d seen in the last couple of years, but quickly remembered who she was.

“She’s Dorian Collins, the sole survivor of Red Squad.”

“From the Valiant?” He nodded at Myers. “I wonder if she’s passing through or if she’s one of the new assignees.”

Outside, Nog pointed into the bar and she looked at their table. They smiled at the ensign, but she looked away and shook her head. Even from where they sat, Bashir could see a gauntness to her cheeks that there hadn’t been the last time he had seen her, and that her uniform looked a little too big on her, whilst the dark circles under her eyes aged her. He frowned as he carried out his visual assessment of her, not liking what he was seeing.

“What’s wrong?” Ezri asked softly.

“She’s a few kilos underweight and it doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping too well.”

“Given what she went through and being the only one of her squad to survive, it’ll be a lot for anyone her age to deal with—not without some support.”

Outside, Collins left Nog standing, looking after her. He watched her go then slipped back into the bar and returned to their table.

“That was Dorian Collins, from the Valiant,” he told them, looking back out at where she’d been, “I invited her to join us but she said she was busy.”

“Is she new to the station or just passing through?” asked Ezri.

“She arrived on the Orion today and said she’s on a temporary assignment, though didn’t say for how long. She seemed a little...distracted.”

“Well at least she’ll know someone here,” suggested Ezri, trying to bolster his spirits again. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up—maybe somewhere a little quieter.”

Bashir shared Nog’s obvious concern, luckily if she was a new arrival she’d need to report in for a physical, so he could get a chance to see how she was doing first hand—he’d just have to make sure his staff knew to call him in when she arrived.

“So have any of you met the new commanders?” Myers asked, after finishing her Samarian Sunset.

“I met them at the airlocks. Jadzia actually knew Commander Harris, back when they were at the Academy, though he was Austin Coen back then. I gave Commander Taelor a brief tour before showing him to his quarters. He seems quite friendly, if a little intense; though I’m sure he’ll relax after a few weeks here.”

“Won’t this mean an end to your acting up?” Bashir asked, putting a pin in his concern over Collins—seeing as how there wasn’t much he could do until she came in to see him.

Myers nodded. “It will, but I’m happy with that. That command lark isn’t easy, especially with the chaos we’ve had to deal with recently. We’ll have to have a bon voyage party for Major Agahn.” The Major had been their acting first officer, on loan from the Militia until permanent replacements were assigned, so with the arrival of Harris and Taelor he was being moved yet again—though this time to the new Bajoran flagship, the Li Nalas.

“I’ll speak with Uncle Quark, see if we can have the party here—everyone else is.”

Myers patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” They all chuckled as Bashir tried to flag down a waiter to get in their next round.

* * * * *

The rough stone floor of the cave cut at his already raw feet. Solan Tobar had settled in for an evening of meditation, so he had stripped down to his undergarments to help him better relax in the stifling heat of the caves. He had never thought that he would be running for his life!

Whoever had fired at him originally was obviously unaccustomed to using energy weapons, as they had missed him by a sizeable margin. He hadn’t stuck around for them to get lucky with their second shot, rolling out of the way, springing to his feet and running for the exit. There were no more shots, but the sound of several heavy footfalls behind him kept him moving as quickly as he could.

Whatever myths there were about the Fire Caves, he knew that he was cursed whenever he entered them—ever since the first time twenty years ago, when he had been forced to hide inside to keep from being murdered by a Cardassian patrol. On that first time, he’d gotten lost inside but managed to finally escape after over a week, suffering from dehydration, malnutrition and lack of sleep—thanks to the horrors he’d been forced to endure whenever his eyes drifted shut. Since then, the Fire Caves had been both a place of terror and curiosity for him—whilst most gave them a wide berth, he had tried to learn as much about them as he could, searching for answers.

He rounded a corner and saw the entrance, though slowed down and stayed to the shadows, watching to see if there was anyone waiting for him. After several long moments he decided it was clear and, hearing his attackers getting closer, sped up again. At just thirty, he was young for a member of the clergy and had made sure to keep himself in great shape—under ideal circumstances he wouldn’t have had a problem outrunning those that pursued, but with his wounded feet it was proving difficult.

Reaching the entrance, he readied himself for an ambush. But it never came. The narrow ledge was empty and the air around the cave was still, not even a bird called. He had only moments to make his next move. There were only two ways he could go: follow the solitary path or climb the jagged cliff face. He opted for the latter; it was a tough climb that few would ever even attempt so it was the more unpredictable route, which would allow him more chance to escape.

Breathing heavy as his feet ached, he faced the rock and reached for his first handhold, feeling the sharp, cold stone against his bare chest as he started to pull himself up. He kept looking up, searching for where he could grip and step, and keeping his destination in sight, trying not to think about his attackers or sheer drop below him.

He heard the group step out of the cave, speak in hushed voices so he couldn’t pick out anything they said or even what language they were using, before at least two headed down the path, whilst the others headed back into the cave. His gamble had paid off; they hadn’t even thought to check the mountain above their heads.

Solan climbed slowly and steadily, not wanting to give away where he was by causing any rocks to fall. Though he was skilled at climbing, this one was proving to be a little too much even for him. Blood from his feet and numerous cuts across his torso now painted the trail he had climbed up the mountain, the sun burned against his back, and his lungs were raw with the effort it took to keep going.

A good hour after he’d left the cave he reached the top of the mountain, his body taxed well beyond its limits. He lay in the dust, gasping, feeling sore all over, as his mind raced with questions: who was that in the caves? What were they doing there? Were they after him? Who could’ve told them where to find him? Where did he go now? Who could he trust?

* * * * *

 

Greetings. I was most gratified to see that you'd gone through with and finished your first installment of your version of the Deep Space Nine: Relaunch. It was well worth the wait.

Right, now onto the review.

First off I enjoyed how you showed as opposed to told us about the Harris' arrival. You really made the family just 'come alive' in showing the interactions between Austin, Adele, Jason and Summer and their first impressions on the station. I'll be first to say that I was definitely reminded of aspects of Emissary in that first scene, when the Siskos arrived at Deep Space Nine. Good job with that touch.

Adele opening her own restaurant here on the station (and being so forward as to invite Colonel Kira over for dinner on a relatively early meeting) shows her character off well as a warm and sociable sort of woman. With her own dining establishment on the Promenade I wonder how she'll take to the Promenade Merchant's Association headed by none other than our own Quark.

Very nice touch here of the realism of war and how it doesn't ever leave its veterans even long after the conflict's end.

Your original cast blends nicely and believably with the canon cast in this story, so very nicely done.

As stated previously I'm already looking forward to seeing what Adele and Quark's interactions are likely to be. I presume Garak's old tailor shop is the unit Adele's restaurant is operating in?

And great action scene with Solan at the end. I wonder what this guy is all about, who he is and all. It certainly provides an incentive to read the next installment (as if I required one).

Great job overall.

Dingo

 

Chapter Two


Kira was in the stations Operations Centre by 0700, her mind too active with what was coming that day to really get a restful night’s sleep. At least that was what she told herself, in reality it was because she missed Odo.

“Colonel? Is everything alright?” asked Lieutenant Bilecki from the ops table.

She smiled at the watch officer. “Yes Lieutenant, just wanted to get an early start to the day. Anything to report?”

“Negative, it’s been very quiet—which is just a little unsettling.”

Chuckling, Kira couldn’t help but agree. After two years of war and weeks of manic activity in and around the station, having things be so quiet for longer than a couple of hours was proving to be unusual. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder just what was going to go wrong next. “Well humans do have the saying, ‘be careful what you wish for’. Seems fitting for right now.”

“Very true, Colonel.”

Before Kira could even sit down at the table she heard the proximity alert, then looked over at the science station expectantly.

“Sir, I’ve got a small ship approaching, bearing one-seven-seven-mark-zero-twelve.”

“The Rio Grande isn’t due back until tomorrow,” Kira mused.

“It’s a Cardassian Kilon-Class shuttle,” added Second Lieutenant Yariz, with a surprised look as he glanced up from his sensor display.

The Kilon-Class was essentially a scaled down Hideki-Class, of a comparable size to one of their runabouts and used for the same type of missions, so was capable of travel between Cardassia and Bajor with ease—the question was; what were they doing here? Since the signing of the peace agreement there hadn’t been a single Cardassian ship anywhere near DS9.

“They’re hailing us,” Bilecki stated.

Kira stood at the head of the table and nodded at the watch officer. “On screen.”

The oval screen above the pit flared to life, showing the interior of the small ship, with a single Cardassian male present. He was dressed in full military uniform, black hair slicked back, and a composed expression on his face.

“This is Colonel Kira of Deep Space Nine. Identify yourself and your business.”

A smirk curled the corners of his lips. “I am Glinn Eron Dakal and I believe you are expecting me.”

Kira looked at Bilecki. The lieutenant checked the recent communications logs and shook her head. She turned her attention back to the Cardassian. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Glinn. We aren’t expecting you or any other Cardassian, now or in the near future.”

“I was afraid this might happen, since the end of the war our communications protocols haven’t been anywhere near as efficient as they once were.” He looked at his controls and tapped out a sequence. “I am transmitting my orders to you, along with the verification code. I will wait for you to assess their credibility.”

“Standby,” she told him and signalled for the audio to be cut, before moving around to one of the panels. She brought up the transmission details he had sent through, checked that it was an official document from the ‘Cardassian Defence Service’, before opening up the attached document. As she read her brow furrowed and she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

Be careful what you wish for, she reminded herself, wishing she’d taken greater advantage of the period of calm—as it wasn’t going to be peaceful again for a very long time.

“Lieutenant, have runabout pad D cleared to receive his shuttle,” she instructed before reopening the channel. “Glinn Dakal, you are clear for docking, pad D.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Dakal out.”

“I’d like to have someone from security meet me at the airlock, also see what quarters are available—the Glinn may be with us for a while.”

“Aye sir,” Bilecki replied then paused. “Who is he, Colonel?”

“He’s been assigned as our new liaison officer and relief co-ordinator.”

“I see. I wasn’t aware we were getting one.”

“Neither was I, Lieutenant,” Kira admitted before heading for the turbolift.

She knew that DS9 was as much a political installation as it was a military one, given that it was administrated by Starfleet and the Militia so that the Federation could assess Bajor’s suitability for becoming a member world, then during the war it had hosted representatives from the Klingon and Romulan Empires. This would be the first time the Cardassian Union would have an official onboard. It was the kind of decision she would’ve liked to have had some input on. Though not an unreasonable request on the part of the Union, she would’ve thought it a role better suited to a civilian rather than a military officer.

Rounding a corner she spotted a Bajoran security officer at the entrance. For a brief second she thought it was Odo, with his beige uniform and immaculate dark-blonde hair, until he turned towards her. Captain Navar Reo gave her a curt nod as she felt a pang of loss stab at her heart again. Her new security chief always seemed to be on duty, to the point that she had no idea when he slept—no matter what time of day it was, if there was any kind of situation he was always there.

“Bilecki said that we were receiving a new liaison officer. This is a mistake, Colonel. I can see him causing quite a few problems, just by his mere presence.”

“This is something that has been discussed at the highest levels of Starfleet and the CDS.”

“Though not with the Militia, that still technically owns the station. We could hold him here until our government reach a decision on the matter.”

Navar was one of many Bajorans whose only contact with the Cardassians since the end of the Occupation had been negative. Seven years ago, she would’ve agreed with him—in fact she would’ve locked the shuttle in a tractor beam and not let the ‘Spoon Head’ set foot on the station—but that was then and she had changed due to Marritza, Ghemor, Ziyal, Damar and even Garak. It saddened her that of all those who had helped change and reshape her impression on Cardassians, there was only one still alive.

“I suspect that they would side with Starfleet on this, Captain. Given the reversal of circumstances, we need to show that we can move beyond our past and be a driving force for progress in this region of the quadrant—especially if we want to be considered for Federation membership.”

“As if we all want that,” Navar muttered.

Before she could reply, the heavy airlock door rolled opened. Turning to face the new arrival, she clasped her hands in front of her and assumed what she hoped was a diplomatic smile—the kind that never quite reached the eyes. Dakal stepped through, with a bag slung over one of his broad shoulders and a briefcase in the opposite hand. She was surprised to see that his sidearm wasn’t on his narrow waist, as his purposeful gait carried him over the threshold and onto the stations deck.

“Glinn Dakal, welcome aboard.”

He smiled at her, an expression which could actually be described as pleasant. “Thank you, Colonel. It’s good to be here; I’ve heard a lot about this place but have never been before.”

“I hope you enjoy your time onboard. May I introduce Captain Navar, head of station security. I’ll have him assign an escort for you, so as to avoid any incidents—there will undoubtedly be some who have…misgivings about a Cardassian officer onboard. It might be an idea for you to keep a low profile for the time being.”

“Thank you for the offer, Colonel, but a bodyguard won’t be necessary. I didn’t come here to hide away in my quarters, I have a job to do and I will make sure that it is done, regardless of who might be upset by my presence.”

“If you’re sure about that, Glinn,” she enquired, an eyebrow raised.

“I’m quite sure, Colonel.”

“Very well. Quarters are being allocated, though given the short notice it may take some time.”

He gave her a deep nod. “In that case, I can get to work then. As I understand there is a convoy arriving later today, with a contingent heading for Cardassia Prime this evening.”

“That’s correct.”

“Good, I’ll need to inspect the medical supplies that are to be included in the shipment—one delivery we received a few weeks ago were unsuitable for Cardassian physiology. I’d hate for such an oversight to happen again—some, more suspicious minds, may think that it was being done on purpose.”

“I can assure you, Glinn, there is no sabotage of any relief supplies that leave from DS9.”

He flashed his smile again. “I didn’t think there would be, Colonel. Now, as I understand it all supplies destined for Cardassian space are in cargo bays ten though sixteen. I can get started there.”

Kira looked at Navar, whose face was almost impassive—except for the tightly clenched muscles in his jaw. He may have had problems with the Cardassians, but if he was to be chief of security on this station he needed to put them to one side and do the job that she expected of him.

“Captain, please show Glinn Dakal to the cargo bays.” She turned back to the newest arrival. “I’ll inform you once your quarters have become available.”

“I appreciate that. Lead the way, Captain.”

Navar didn’t say a word, just gestured down the corridor and stayed a step behind Dakal. Once they were out of sight, she let out a breath and pinched the bridge of her wrinkled nose feeling a headache already starting to form. The last thing she needed right now to deal with Cardassian smugness, Navar’s personal dislike of the species, and all the other problems having Dakal onboard would bring.

“Prophets give me strength,” she muttered to herself, before straightening up and heading back for Ops.

* * * * *

The door chime raised Kasidy Yates from her snooze on the couch. Her mind foggy, from a combination of sleep and pregnancy hormones, it took her a few moments to realise just what had woken her.

“Come in,” she called as she sat up.

As the doors opened, Jake stepped inside a rare smile on his youthful face. Ever since Ben had disappeared, seeing Jake with anything other than a scowl or look of loss was a relief. She worried about the young man, about if he could come to term with what had happened to his father, the bond they shared was stronger than any she had seen—even greater than the one she and Ben had had. He was her family, which meant that she was responsible for looking out for him and keeping him safe, just as she was for the life growing inside her.

“Hey Kas, I didn’t wake you did I?”

“I was just dozing, your sibling decided to spend most of last night kicking my bladder.”

“I can go, if you’d like?”

She gave him a warm smile and patted the couch. “No need, Jake, I’ll sleep the day away otherwise. Besides I have too much to be doing today anyway, I need to check in with Oltex, see how the refit on the Xhosa’s impulse drive is going, before my appointment with Julian.”

Jake sat down and turned to face her. “Well you’ll need to get a move on, Kas, you’re due at the infirmary in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes? Damn, I was asleep for longer than I thought.”

“I thought you said you were ‘dozing’?” he mocked with a grin.

She gave him a light tap on his arm, chuckling. “I wish medical science had advanced enough to allow human men to know the joys of pregnancy, then you can make comments.”

He chuckled—an even rarer expression for him. “Ok, ok! I surrender. I now know to never mock you when pregnant.”

“An important lesson to learn, Mr Sisko,” she told him with a playful scowl. “I guess Oltex can wait until this afternoon.”

“So would you like some company at the infirmary?”

“That would be lovely, thank you Jake.”

Jake stood up and offered a supportive hand to help her off the couch, which she gratefully took. Though still months away from her due date, she had still to get used to the extra weight and how it messed up her centre of gravity—she could only imagine how bad she would be waddling in her last few weeks. Once on her feet again, she hooked her arm with his and they headed out of her quarters—which had been his for years on the station.

Since Ben had vanished, she had kept wondering just where she would live; their quarters, getting her own place on the station, her cabin on the Xhosa, or even seeing to the building of Ben’s dream house on Bajor. She had visited the plot of land and been moved to tears by how idyllic it had been, but it hadn’t taken long for some of the locals to find her and start asking for advice and guidance—it was the one aspect of being the Emissary’s wife that she still couldn’t get used too, and it had been getting worse. After Ben had disappeared, there were many who seemed to think that she spoke for him, there wasn’t a day that went past when someone asked her for a blessing or enquired when the Emissary would return. But that paled in comparison to the number of Vedeks who contacted her, asking for her to support their nomination to become the next Kai or for her interpretation on prophecy.

Fortunately, for all the hassle she was facing, Jake seemed to have missed it all—for which she was grateful. She wasn’t sure how the young man would hold out if faced with it daily. She looked up at him and couldn’t help but pick out the features he had inherited from his father, most noticeably his kind eyes. He had really stepped up when it came to her pregnancy, giving her all the support she could have asked for.

They entered the Promenade and headed for the infirmary, doing a little window shopping on the way, chatting about the inconsequential things. Arriving at the medical facility they found the doors open and the examination room quiet. Doctor Bashir was busy, as usual, buzzing from one console to the other, deep in thought.

“Good morning, Doctor,” she interrupted.

He looked up, momentarily surprised, though quickly gave them a friendly smile. “Kasidy, Jake. Morning,” he said gesturing to the biobed, picking up a tricorder as he followed them through. “Now how are you both today?”

“A little tired,” she admitted, “it always seems to be when I want to sleep, Junior here wants to be awake.”

“Well I’d advise to get as much rest as you can, even the odd catnap here and there.”

“Oh she’s managing to do that,” quipped Jake, from a safe distance.

“Julian, please tell him it’s not safe to annoy a pregnant woman,” she said, lying back on the bed.

Bashir smiled and looked between the two of them. “He’s a braver man than I.”

The doctor opened his tricorder, removed the sensor wand, then slowly ran it over her, starting at her head and going right down to her feet. He tapped in the device, studied the readings for a moment then nodded. He stepped closer to her stomach again, and began scanning again. He always gave her a ‘once over’ for her general health, before checking more thoroughly on the baby.

As he scanned, Nurse Tagana came over with an instrument tray and set it down, giving Kasidy a warm smile before returning to her duties. He closed up his tricorder and picked up one of the devices on the tray, running it over her belly next.

“Is everything alright?” Jake asked.

“Everything is perfect. Baby and mother are both doing excellently. The one problem you have now is to decide if you’d like to know the sex?”

Kasidy shook her head. “No thank you, Julian. I’ll find out see enough.”

“Not a problem. My lips are sealed. Do you have any questions for me?”

Kasidy shook her head, having already pestered him with all the questions first time mothers no doubt asked.

“I have one.” They both looked at Jake. “What colour would be best for the baby’s room?”

* * * * *

 

Nicely written second chapter. I think the scene introducing Glinn Eron Dakal was a good touch for starters. The paperwork foul-up does seem to trigger a bit of an 'on guard' reaction from Kira and most certainly the new security chief Captain Navar Reo.


Kira's views regarding Reo, in many ways, to me of looking at herself in the mirror seven years ago. Very nice call back to Amin Maritza's impersonation of Gul Darheel, her near surrogate father Tekehny Ghemor, and even her various adventures/misadventures involving Elim Garak over the years. Very well done in that sense.


Speaking of Garak, I don't know why, but Eron Dakhal in my mind's eye seems to sound like Garak in a few different ways.


Great second chapter and I look forward to seeing more of this tale in the future.

 

Chapter Three


Hjon Taelor had spent most of the day onboard the U.S.S. Defiant, getting to know the ship better. With all the work that needed to be done along the border, the starship would be acting more autonomously than it had previously, which would be his main concern—even though he was technically DS9’s second officer, he would spend at least two-thirds of his time as officer-in-charge of the Defiant.

When his new orders had come through he had read up on everything he could on the class, as well as the ship itself. Coming from the tactical track he had appreciated the ship as a weapon of war and knew just how effective it was, having seen it on numerous battlefields during the war, but this was his first time actually onboard—so it would take a little time to get to know the ship and just what she could do.

With the ship being on detached duty she now had a semi-permanent crew that would spend most of their time onboard the Defiant, but also have a position waiting for them back on the station. That meant that the crew were his, which was far greater a responsibility than commanding a single shift—as he had on the Christopher. The forty men and women onboard were his responsibility, it was up to him to make sure they got back home safe and sound—a daunting thought, but one he was going to give his all to achieve.

“Quinn to Taelor,” his combadge chirped.

He tapped it. “Go ahead, Chief.”

“All final diagnostics are complete, we are good to go whenever you give the word,” Chief Petty Officer Tabitha Quinn informed him from the engine room.

He glanced at the chronometer. “You’re early! I hadn’t expected you to be done until fifteen hundred.”

“I always enjoy a good diagnostic, Commander,” she replied, he could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll remember that. Make sure that you inventory is up to date, we’re still on schedule to depart at sixteen hundred hours.”

“I’ll get right on it. Quinn out.”

Though he had read up on as much of the ship as he could, he hadn’t had the chance to do the same with her crew. So other than the names of a few key positions there wasn’t much he knew about them—although he did know that Chief Quinn had requested assignment to the Defiant. Luckily, his first mission was a milk run, so he would have plenty of time to get to know the people he was now responsible for.

He finished up signing off on the last status report and stood up from behind the desk. The ready room was a compact space, slightly smaller than his cabin, as such it didn’t lend itself to being filled with personal mementos—that and the fact that there would be times either Colonel Kira or Commander Harris would call the office theirs. It didn’t bother him though, he wasn’t really one for collecting trinkets from planets he’d visited or ships he’d served on. What was most important, in his mind, was the here and now, which is what he preferred to focus on—though sometimes he would occasionally consider the future and what it might hold (a fourth pip on his collar perhaps?).

He shook it from his mind and headed out the ready room, taking the short corridor to the bridge. The doors opened and he stepped over the ridge.

“Captain on the bridge,” called out Lieutenant Seung Kee Reese from tactical.

He glanced over at his new second-in-command. “Thank you, Lieutenant, but I know when I’m on the bridge. Beside I’m not a captain.”

Reese gave him a grin. “Old Earth naval tradition, sir.”

“Well since I am neither an Earther nor a seafarer, kindly desist; ‘Commander’ is more than sufficient.”

“Noted for future reference, Commander.”

Taelor moved down to tactical, leaning against the bulkhead beside Reese’s station. “How’re things looking on your end, Lieutenant?”

“Our torpedo magazines have been fully restocked with quantums, diagnostics on phasers, shields and targeting systems show them all to be a peak operating capacity. If this mission goes tactical, we’ll be more than ready for it, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I want you to peruse the most recent intelligence reports for the Dorvan System, see if there might be any surprises in store for us on out projected heading.”

“Aye sir.”

He turned to the conn, where an attractive young woman sat, ramrod straight. Her jet-black hair was in an immaculate braid, not a single strand was out of place, whilst the style exposed her pointed ears.

“I trust out course is already locked into the navcomp.”

Ensign Syrell looked up at him, a slight incline to her left eyebrow. “Of course, Commander. The convoy have also been issued our heading, as well as alternative routes should any unforeseen situations force us from the most direct course. We will be limited to warp factor five, as none of the freighters can travel faster once fully loaded. Out travel time to the Dorvan System will be one hundred and twenty-one point six hours.”

“Thank you, Ms Syrell, for that complete summing up.” She gave a slight incline of her head as he turned to ops and found it unoccupied. “Where is Collins?”

“She’s on the station, undergoing her medical,” Reese explained. “Doctor Bashir wouldn’t let her ship out with carrying it out personally.”

“I see,” was all he said on the matter. Though full medicals were required for all personnel when they arrived at a new posting, he was surprised Bashir had decided to take it on personally and not leave it to the Defiant’s own CMO, Lieutenant Greskrendtregk. He had only met Bashir briefly a few hours ago at the morning staff meeting, by no means long enough to say more than ‘hello’ and swap names, so he wasn’t sure just what kind of person the human was.

With no one free to carry out the checks at operations, he slipped into the vacant seat and began reviewing their computer, communications and sensor systems, making sure that none of them would cause any issues once they left the station. As he worked, in the back of his mind he hoped that there weren’t any issues with his officer—the last thing he wanted was to have to replace her before even having a chance to properly meet her.

* * * * *

“How are you feeling?” Doctor Bashir asked.

Dorian Collins sat on the biobed in the silent infirmary, hands knotted tightly together on her lap, as the physician began his examination of her. He had the same polite-friendly expression on his face and hint of sympathy in his eyes that she remember from the first time she’d met him.

“I’m fine, Doctor.”

He peered over the top of his tricorder, scrutinising her more intently with his eyes than he ever could with the scanner.

“Have you undertaken a new diet and exercise regime recently, Ensign?”

“I’ve been doing more running than I did previously, sir.”

“Hmm,” was all he said, though it spoke volumes. “It’s just you’re a little underweight, given your age, height and metabolism. You may need to increase the amount of protein you’re taking in.”

She gave him a hollow smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“How about your sleeping pattern, any problems there?”

“I find it hard to sleep for a few nights when I get into a strange bed, it’ll pass soon, sir.”

Bashir closed the tricorder and set it on the bed beside her, giving her his undivided attention. “You know whatever you tell me is kept in the strictest of confidences, no one else onboard will hear anything from me.”

Collins nodded. “I know, Doctor.” She made herself smile. “I’m fine, really.”

“Your medical file shows that you’ve refused counselling following the loss of the Valiant, are you sure that’s wise, given all you went through?”

It was a good thing he had closed his tricorder or he might’ve seen in detail the effect the mere mention of the Valiant had on her; her heart pounded, muscles tensed throughout her body, her breathing grew shallower, her stomach cramped tightly, and her mouth dried up. Almost every night since getting back to Earth, she had woken up feeling the same symptoms, as tears poured down her cheeks and she fought down the urge to vomit.

“Ensign?” Bashir asked, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

As she looked into his dark concerned eyes, she felt her own well up with tears. She had tried so hard to bury her feelings, to lock them away and show that she was the good Starfleet officer she had trained to become, but seeing the Defiant so close, knowing that she would be serving onboard it for days and weeks at a time, her chance meeting with Nog on the Promenade, seeing him so together and adjusted, even Bashir seeing to her personally (she’d managed to slip through the cracks of the Academy medical centre, able to put on a good act for the physicians she met, enough to convince them she didn’t need closer observation or care), all of it just brought back just what had happened and what she had lost.

“Dorian,” he said softly, in an almost fatherly way, “if you want to start to get better, to truly heal, after all you’ve been through then you need to be honest with me. Alright?”

She nodded solemnly.

“You’ve been having headaches, stomach pains, trembling or shaking.” She nodded again. “Feeling tired but suffer from insomnia.” Another nod. “When you do sleep its fitful and you have recurring bad dreams, and when you’re awake you feel on edge.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“You’re facing post-traumatic stress and an anxiety disorder. These won’t go away just by themselves. There is a course of treatment, though it won’t be a quick fix. I can prescribe you medication to help ease some of the physical symptoms and will refer you to Counsellor Dax, for a regular therapy appointment. I’ll also speak to Colonel Kira about getting you a different assignment—”

“No.” Her head snapped up from looking at her clenched hands. “I’ll accept your help, but please don’t have me transferred.”

He frowned. “Being onboard another Defiant-Class ship could be a huge trigger for you. This is a stress you don’t need right now and one that can be avoided.”

“I know I can do it, sir. If I was stuck here I don’t know what I would do with myself, it’s too…big. On the Defiant everything is more contained and structured, on the station I don’t know what I’d do with myself. Please, Doctor, I have my assignment and I need to carry it out.”

His frown deepened. “The Defiant departs in just over an hour, Ensign. I’m not altogether comfortable letting you ship out without beginning to address some of these matters.”

“We’ll be back in nine days, sir. I can meet with Counsellor Dax then, in the meantime I could meet with Doctor Greskrendtregk.”

Bashir thought about it for a moment then gave the smallest of nods. “I will make a note in your medical file for Gres to follow up, as well as orders that if he notices any decline in your mental or physical well-being he is to relieve you immediately. Understood?”

“Yes Doctor.” She gave him a weak smile, feeling somewhat relieved that someone had seen through her veil. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Ensign, that’s why I’m here.”

* * * * *

First Lieutenant Lin Kelsi sat at the spaceport and watched the crowd. It was one of her favourite ways to pass the time, people watching. Everyone was always at their most honest and true to themselves when they didn’t realise they were being watched, from the longing glances of unrequited lovers, to the exasperation of tired parents, to the bad habits some would never grow out of.

Being one of the few in a Militia uniform she both stood out and blended in. Passers-by took note of it, but at the departure lounge for Deep Space Nine she was a common enough sight to be of little interest. Her grey uniform, gave noting away about who she was or what she did—the colour being used for numerous service and logistic branches, she suspected there wouldn’t be many to guess that she was the lead science officer. But then again, there were times she could barely believe it.

The one thing about her that did attract a rare second glance was her lack of earring. She picked up on a couple of questioning looks from those adorned with the piece of jewellery, but of course no one cared enough to stop and ask why. If they knew the answer they would most likely give her a wide berth.

Unlike the vast majority of the population, she hadn’t grown up on Bajor or a refugee camp along the Cardassian border. Her parents had managed to escape the Occupation and settle in neutral space, where they had prospered and flourished away from the nightmare almost every other Bajoran lived in. For that, they were shunned by their people, with many looking at them with more contempt than they did collaborators. She and her siblings hadn’t known any other Bajorans growing up, so their first encounter with members of her parents’ homeworld had been upsetting and unpleasant—because she hadn’t endured what they had, because she had managed to get a full education (including masters in astrophysics, planetary geology, xenobiology, and anthropology). It was for this that she didn’t wear the earring, a symbol of what it meant to be Bajoran.

It was also why her decision to join the Militia had dumbfounded her family. She could’ve sailed through Starfleet Academy or a research post at the Daystrom Institute, maybe even gotten into the Vulcan Science Academy, but instead she had headed for Bajor. Though just why even baffled her at times; she wasn’t going to be a crusader for those who were like her, wasn’t going to explore her pagh, or out of some sense of rebellion against her upbringing. The best she could come up with was for the curiosity of it.

Lin chuckled to herself as she sat on the bench. Besides, going by the way the wind is blowing I might be in a Starfleet uniform soon enough, she mused to herself, watching a man in an expensive business suit unconsciously pick his nose.

She scanned around the faces again, watching the snapshot of a moment unfold in its mundane splendour, before something out the corner of her eye drew her attention. In a corner, trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible she spotted a handsome young man, perhaps only two or three years older than herself, with a scruffy beard and dark hair, his grey eyes watching the crowd more intensely than she was. He was dressed in plain, well-worn clothes and as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other she saw him wince, though couldn’t tell why—he looked to be in great shape, despite his dishevelled appearance. He was the kind of figure that most others didn’t even seem to register, the only reason he stood out to her was because she was watching those who didn’t know they were being watched.

He was in a corner, nowhere near any windows, so no one could sneak up behind him, so immediately she jumped to the thought that he was running or hiding—especially with the way he zeroed in on every sudden movement.

“Transport shuttle Pibar destined for Deep Space Nine is ready for departure. Would all passengers travelling please make their way to the departure gate as the shuttle is now ready for boarding. Thank you.”

Distracted by the calling of her ship, she glanced away for a moment but looked back in the corner only to see he was no longer there. As the people all around her got up to leave, she lost her chance to spot him again. So, as with all her other observation subjects, she would have to forget about the handsome stranger and what his story might have been, instead she had plenty to focus on the three hour flight to the station—having picked up several interesting papers at the scientific conference she had been attending.

Lin picked up her travel bag and took her place into the queue to board the shuttle.

The orderly line filtered into the ship smoothly, so soon she was onboard and looking for her seat. She had booked for the back row, as it was always the quietest, so she would have some peace and time to herself. As she neared her row, her seat was on the port side, she noticed the top of a head on the starboard side of the aisle; a dark and scruffy head.

She stopped long enough to pack her bag into the overhead locker, before sitting down with a couple of PADDs in hand, at which point she glanced over at the man again. He gave her a wary sideways glance, focusing on her uniform mostly though did venture a quick look at her face, before he focused forward again.

Once seated and with her belt securely fastened she looked at him and gave him a polite smile. “Hello.”

“Hi,” was his brief reply.

“Are you alright? You seem a little nervous. Afraid of flying?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Oh okay.” With monosyllable replies, she doubted that there wouldn’t be much more she would get from him. “Well it’ll be gone before you know it. Hope you enjoy the flight,” she told her travelling companion and was just about to activate her first PADD.

“Do you live on the station?”

“I’m the senior science officer. Lieutenant Lin Kelsi.” He didn’t offer anything more. “And what about you?”

“You can call me Sol.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Sol. If you have any questions about the station, don’t hesitate to ask.”

He looked as though he were going to ask something, but then seemed to think better of it, look at the other passengers again before turning to the window. She eyed him for a moment longer before shrugging to herself and settling in to read the most recent archaeological report from B’hala, though couldn’t help but be further intrigued by the man sitting just a couple of meters away.

* * * * *

 

Chapter Four


“Secure the airlock. Bring thrusters online—”

“Commander, there is someone in the airlock,” announced Collins.

Taelor was on his feet and standing by her chair in seconds, leaning forward he tapped the airlock visual sensor controls. The monitor changed to the camera view, showing a most unexpected individual standing there, hands clasped behind her back, looking up at the camera.

He tapped the comlink. “Counsellor, I wasn’t expecting a send off.”

“Colonel Kira thought that you might appreciate a dedicated officer to liaise with the aid stations.”

“The more the merrier, Counsellor.” He looked down at Collins. “Open the airlock.”

He saw an odd look on the ensigns’ face though couldn’t quite place it, but as quickly a she noticed it then it was gone again. All she said was, “Aye sir.”

Taelor switched from the camera back to the telemetry readout and returned to his seat.

“The counsellor is aboard. Airlock secured and all connectors released.”

“Thank you, Ensign. Conn, forward thrusters to one quarter, port and starboard at station keeping. Once we’re clear, take us to the rendezvous point.”

“Acknowledged Commander,” Syrell stated evenly.

On the viewscreen, the docking ring started to withdraw as the Defiant moved away, before the station swung off to port and the ship headed away from the stations immediate traffic zone. Before they reached the location at which they would wait for the freighters, the doors opened and Dax stepped onto the bridge.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. I hope that we won’t be keeping you from anything important on the station.”

“I’ve managed to arrange cover for a couple of patients, though given how crucial these supplies are needed then I’m happy to help. In the meantime, put me to work.”

He smiled at the petite Trill. “I’ve always wanted a yeoman.”

Dax laughed. “Surprisingly, it’s one of the few careers I haven’t had.”

“Joined Trills are always looking for new experiences, after all.”

“That is very true. Can I get you a raktajino then, Commander?”

He chuckled. Since meeting the Counsellor he had liked her, with her disarming manner, the sense of wisdom she projected, and the mischievous twinkle to her eye. Unfortunately, he had quickly learned through the grapevine that she and Doctor Bashir were a couple; a pity as she was just the kind of woman he liked—unless of course they were interested in another member.

“Maybe later. For now, you can take science.”

Dax slipped into the vacant science console—as he understood it a new addition to the bridge, as was the lab on deck two (both added to allow the ship to be more versatile). On standard operations which, for the most part, would consist of escort and patrol duties, then there was no need for science personnel. It would only be on special assignments that they would take on researchers and labtechs as needed.

It didn’t take long for the six freighters they were guarding to muster and assume a wedge-shaped formation. The Defiant would be at the rear, her greater speed and manoeuvrability would mean that she could easily intercept any potential threats from whatever direction.

Syrell turned away from the conn to face him. “Convoy is in position, all navigational arrays have been synchronised, and all ships report ready for warp speed, sir.”

“Thank you, Ensign. Collins, signal we are moving out.”

“Aye sir.”

Moments later the first freighter leapt to warp, quickly followed by the rest, with the Defiant following on behind them. His first mission was underway, all his hopes on it going smoothly. Though he didn’t doubt the people onboard being ready for a fight, he’d prefer them to be a little more experienced as a single crew before leading them into battle.

* * * * *

“Incoming comlink,” the computer announced.

Kasidy moved over to the desk and tapped in her access code, preparing herself for another unwanted communiqué from a vedek she had never heard of. When the screen came alive it showed the heavily shadowed face of a Bajoran woman a few years older than herself, a hood obscuring much of her head. The one thing that did stand out was her startling turquoise eyes; they seemed to bore across subspace and into her core.

“Captain Yates? The wife of the Emissary?” the woman asked in a raspy voice.

“I am Captain Yates,” she confirmed, keeping her tone polite.

The woman breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Prophets. Captain, I am Prylar Ven and need your help—”

“Prylar, I mean no disrespect but I will not be providing any support to prospective candidates for the next Kai.”

“You misunderstand, Captain. I do not seek your help as the wife of the Emissary, but as the Captain of a ship.”

“Oh? That I can help you with,” she said relaxing a little. “What is your cargo, where will you need it collected from and delivered too?”

“The cargo is myself and a small crate. I must get to Bajor as quickly as possible.”

“Where are you now?”

“Seneya.”

“Seneya?” she asked, startled. Of all the places she could’ve been, she wouldn’t have been more surprised unless Ven was on Cardassia Prime. Seneya was a small planet on the wrong side of the Cardassian border, in the region that was under the new jurisdiction of the Klingon Empire. “What are you doing there?”

“I can’t say over the comm, Captain. Please, how soon can you get here?”

“I could be there in seven days. I assume you can’t say what your cargo is.”

“No, but I assure you it is nothing harmful to you, your crew or your ship. But I am in desperate need to get to Bajor as soon as possible. Can you help me?”

Even if she wasn’t pregnant, the thought of crossing the border and having to deal with Klingon bureaucracy was something that she would’ve avoided if at all possible. She was about to let Ven down when the older woman’s intense eyes fixed on her. The prylar had all the signs of a desperate woman, one stuck on a Cardassian world that was hit hard during the war.

She found herself nodding. “I will get the Xhosa added to the cargo rotation for Cardassian border worlds—fortunately I have some good connections, so should be able to organise a run to Seneya. We could leave here as early as tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Captain Yates. I will contact you once you reach orbit. Ven out.”

What have you gotten yourself into, Kasidy? she asked herself. But she didn’t allow herself time to dwell on it, putting in a call to one of her contacts with the body set up to co-ordinate relief supplies from the various Federation organisations. As she waited for it to go through, she contacted the Xhosa and had her first mate recall the crew and get ready to receive cargo and depart as soon as they were loaded.

After her call went through, it didn’t take long for her to pull in a couple of the favours she was owed to get a special run to Seneya—which was actually overdue the delivery of replicator parts and foodstuffs. After a good ten minutes of negotiations, the Xhosa had been officially handed the cargo run, with all the proper clearances she would need to proceed unhindered. That just left one meeting for her to have, which would be the hardest of them all.

Kasidy headed for the nearest turbolift and ordered it to ops. As the carriage slowed, she took a steadying breath. It stopped and she stepped out, unsurprised at how busy it was. The one thing she did find alarming was the presence of a Cardassian at the ops table, standing with Kira, Major Agahn and a human Starfleet officer who she didn’t recognise.

“Captain Yates, can I help you?” Lieutenant Myers asked from the weapons console.

“I was hoping to speak with the Colonel, I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

Myers shrugged. “No worse than usual,” she admitted. “Colonel.”

Kira looked up at her and smiled, before coming around the table and up the steps to meet her. “Kasidy, how are you?”

“I’m very well thanks. Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” she told her, gesturing to the office. “Commander Harris, ops is yours.”

“Aye sir,” was the prompt reply.

In the commander’s office, they settled onto the couch. Kasidy couldn’t help but notice that the private workspace, which was now Kira’s, was devoid of any of her personal items. The only decoration it had was Ben’s old baseball sitting on the desk. After Kira had assumed command, all of Ben’s things had been moved down to their quarters. She’d even included the ball, but Kasidy had insisted she keep a hold of it, he would’ve wanted that.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine thank you. I thought it would be best if I came with this to you personally. In a few hours, you will receive confirmation that the Xhosa is going on a relief run, please don’t try to block it.”

Kira’s brow furrowed. “You’re worrying me, Kasidy. Just where are you going?”

“Seneya.”

“What?”

“They are in desperate need so I offered the Xhosa to make the run, seeing as how there aren’t any other ships free right now. It’s just a two week round trip, so I’ll be back here before you know I’m gone.”

“I’m not entirely comfortable letting you go into Cardassian space, not without an escort, but I know better than to try and talk you out of it. Once the orders come through, I won’t hold you up,” Kira told her, still looking uncomfortable. “You’ll be making Glinn Dakal happy.”

Kasidy looked back out at ops where she could just see the striking Cardassian, then back to Kira. “What’s that all about?”

“He’s our liaison to Cardassia, to help co-ordinate relief shipments. Arrived early this morning, although his orders hadn’t come through, so no one knew he was coming—just the way I like to start a busy day.”

“How long is he here for?”

“It didn’t give a date, only that he’d be present until the relief and reconstruction work was completed.”

“I’m surprised they found an officer willing to undertake an assignment like this. It’s not exactly going to make them a popular person.”

“I don’t think that’s really going to bother Dakal, to be honest.”

Kasidy chuckled softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With that she stood up, Kira followed her example. “Well I’d best get to my ship and get things ready on that end. Thank you again, Colonel.”

“Be careful out there.”

“I will,” she replied, resting a hand on her belly.

* * * * *

Peace really was good for business.

Quark couldn’t remember the last time his bar was so busy, or his profit margins were so high. But despite how good it was right now, he did find himself feeling a little reflective. He was loathed to admit it, but he truly missed that idiot brother of his. Rom was now on Ferenginar tearing down everything that had made their homeworld great, replacing it with something akin to a Federation planet. But that wasn’t even the worst part. Ever since Rom had taken over a Grand Nagus, the markets on Ferenginar had actually gone up! Whatever it was he was doing was making more profit than anytime over the last eight years.

“Dabo!” cried Fenna, a buxom Bajoran with white-blonde hair he’d just hired to replace Leeta, as she jumped excitedly, enticing the mostly male players who were at her wheel. She was definitely smarter than she looked, knowing how to persuade patrons to part with more latinum than they ever intended.

Broik came over to the bar with a new drinks order. As Quark took the PADD and started to price up the rounds, he caught a glimpse of Captain Navar on the Promenade, strolling by the entrance slowly, looking in. Though the Bajoran was every bit as solid as Quark, he was almost as big a pain in the neck as his predecessor had been. Over the last five weeks, there had been two attempts to run black market goods for Cardassian space through the station, but both times the chain had been broken within hours of being forged onboard. Thankfully, Quark hadn’t made any advances to them, or else he would’ve wound up in a holding cell.

Navar disappeared from view, but Quark knew he’d reappear, somewhere either in the bar or outside watching what was going on. Unlike Odo, who was so predictable that you could’ve set a chronometer by him, the captain liked to be random. Sometimes two hours could go by without seeing him, other times you were lucky to get twelve seconds of peace. At least Quark didn’t have to worry about him turning into a glass or chair or rodent.

He finished the last order of drinks and had the trays sitting ready for his waiters. There was a steady queue of people at the bar, all flashing their latinum or credit chips and talking over one another trying to be heard. Fortunately, M’Pella was on top of things, keeping them moving so as to optimise his income. He handed out the last tray to Frool before joining her dispensing drinks and snacks to those waiting.

“What can I get you?” he asked a new face, a young Bajoran male with untidy hair and beard. His clothing didn’t signal wealth, but so long as he could pay his tab then their financial state wasn’t really his problem.

“I’ll have a synthale, please.”

“One synthale coming up,” he told the customer, pulling a mug from under the bar and filling it from the pitcher. He set it down. “There you are, anything else?”

“Are you Quark?” the man asked.

“I see my reputation as host has preceded me.”

The man leaned in closer over the bar and dropped his voice. “I’ve heard you’re very good at acquiring things that can be difficult to get a hold of.”

Quark flashed him a smile and leaned on the bar, speaking through his freshly sharpened teeth. “Who told you that?”

“I’ve made enquiries. Is that you or not?”

“That depends on what it is you are looking for?”

The Bajoran looked around him. Though the crowd was fairly dense, with the noise they were making, they could barely hear themselves, let alone anyone else. “I need a security data rod, one that will help scramble my computer access.”

“You want to keep people from tracing you by your computer access. You need a good quality scrambler to ensure that you are afforded the privacy you want, but they are not cheap.”

“How much?” he eagerly asked.

“Ten strips.”

“Ten?!”

“You pay for the quality of data rod. Cheaper ones can be all too easily intercepted and decoded.”

“Five,” he countered.

Quark had to laugh, which drew a few looks, though they were short-lived. “Excuse me, but I have other customers to see too.”

“Seven.”

“Ten.”

“Eight.”

“Deal,” Quark snapped.

The Bajoran slipped his hand into the bag he had hanging across his chest and pulled out eight strips of latinum and placed it in Quark’s waiting hand. He slipped it into his jacket then stepped over to his drawer of isolinear rods, filled with holosuite programmes as well as his own personal security spikes and found the one he was looking for.

He handed it to the man, who clutched it tightly. Without saying another word he ducked into the crowd and disappeared from view. Yet another satisfied customer.

From his usual seat, Morn raised his hand and Quark picked up the bottle of Saurian brandy to replenish his empty glass. As he poured, he saw Navar come down one of the spiral staircases, watching a pair of Klingons at the end of the bar as they roared with laughter, before his eyes fixed on Quark.

He smiled at the security chief, jamming the cork back into the bottle and setting it to the side, before moving onto the next patron in need of refreshment.

* * * * *

Jake Sisko looked at his stepmother in disbelief. She had just told him that she would be going on a run—nothing new there as she was still over five months away from her due date—but into Cardassian space was just a moment of absolute madness. The fact she was being so vague about it as well also had him very concerned—after her indiscretion of aiding the Maquis, it wasn’t like her to keep things from the people she loved.

“Come on, Kas, you have to give me something here. You don’t typically volunteer for runs into Cardassian space, so what’s so different about this one?”

“They need this cargo, Jake, and the Xhosa is just sitting there cooling its heels. My crew needs to get paid and runs like this are always good earners.”

“But Seneya? Couldn’t you have gone to Dorvan or Prophet’s Landing? Hell, even Setlik would be safer!”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“That’s the thing about kids, we’re highly perceptive—you’d best get used to that.”

She held up her hands. “Alright. Do you really want the truth?” He nodded. “I was contacted by a woman on Seneya. She was looking for quick transport to Bajor.”

“Why would a Cardassian on Seneya want to get to Bajor?”

“She wasn’t Cardassian. It was a prylar called Ven.”

“A Bajoran? What is she doing in Cardassian space?”

Kasidy shook her head. “I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me. All I can say is that she was desperate to get home and I couldn’t say no to her.”

“You’ve not told anyone else this, have you?”

“No. You’re the only person who knows, I’ve not even told my crew anything.”

“I want to come with you,” he announced suddenly, before realising what he was really saying.

She was taken aback. “Jake,” she began,

“Kas, I don’t like this, but at least if I’m with you then I won’t be sitting here twiddling my thumbs and worrying about you. Please, Kasidy, I want to help out.”

“You’ll be bored; there isn’t much excitement on a freighter when it’s in empty space.”

“I can help out; I’ll swab the poop deck if I have too.”

“We don’t have a ‘poop deck’,” she told him with a smile.

“Then I can write an article for the FNS, a first-hand account of a relief mission into Cardassian space. My editor would love it!” He could just hear the enthusiastic clicks and chirps from F2 Brown at the regional office of the Federation News Service, the Nasat was never able to hide how he felt. “If nothing else, I’ll be a little extra company for the trip. I mean it is ‘only’ two weeks.”

“I knew that would come back and bite me in the butt.” She sighed again. “Alright, you can come. But you do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it—we may be a civilian ship, but I’m still the Captain.”

He gave her a salute. “Aye-aye.”

* * * * *

Though there were still plenty of boxes than need to be unpacked, Adele Harris was too curious about the vacant premises on the Promenade. She’d contacted the security office and gained access to the old restaurant, the walls of which were adorned with Bolian art, whilst old menus, plates, cutlery, glasses and other odds and ends were left on tables, counters and shelves. “Zey’s” had obviously been a labour of love, but had gone out of business when the owner had packed up just after the war had ended—returning to Bolarus IX to spend time with his wife and co-husband, both of whom had served in Starfleet during the conflict.

It was an ‘open air’ venue, with the seating area open on two sides to the Promenade (except for now as there were shutters down to keep the unit secure), whilst the kitchen and store room were in the back, both good sizes and very suitable for what she needed. She’d also asked around about stock and found the local greengrocer to be well appointed, whilst she could also reserve a space in the hydroponics bay, and there were multiple shuttles a day from Bajor so she could get fresh ingredients within just a few hours.

Adele had tried Bajoran food on numerous occasions and even made it in a few of her other restaurants, but here she wanted to put a new twist on some classics, as well as bring dishes from all over the quadrant to her diners. She didn’t believe in just serving one type of menu, she wanted it to be as diverse as possible—always one hundred percent handmade.

“Knock-knock,” came Austin’s voice from the shopfront.

She emerged from the kitchen with a smile on her face, which grew even wider when she saw him. He looked more tired than she had seen in a long time, but he also looked happy.

“So how was the first day?”

“Exhausting, draining, hectic, and constantly surprising. I loved it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Is it true what I heard, that there’s now a Cardassian officer onboard?”

He nodded, moving to the counter and leaning on it opposite her. “Yup. Eron Dakal. He arrived early this morning—completely out of the blue. Ops has been pretty tense with him there.”

“Are you ok?”

He nodded, though she saw a hint of angry pain behind his once soft blue eyes. “It’ll take a bit of getting used to, but as the ranking Starfleet officer I need to put on a brave face, despite my true feelings. He’s here and I suspect he won’t be leaving anytime soon. Just, please, don’t invite him to dinner anytime soon, honey.”

“Alright I won’t. I’ll let you do that when you’re ready to break bread with him.”

“That’s appreciated,” he said leaning closer and kissing her on the lips.

She had missed the feeling of his stubble when he kissed her at the end of a long day. It was all the little things that she had yearned for the most during their months apart. They had a lot of lost time and little things to make up for, which just meant grossing out their children as they kissed, held hands, snuggled up on the couch together, even some lovey-dovey talk (though that was just done to see Summer’s reaction, which made them chuckle in private).

“Come on. You need to shower and change before the Colonel arrives for dinner.”

“You’re still going ahead with that?”

“Of course,” she told him, picking up her bags of groceries and heading for the exit. He followed on behind and she tapped in the security code once they were both clear. Austin took one of the bags and they headed for the habitat ring and their quarters.

As they walked, she’d told him that about all the unpacking she had managed to get done, finding the Algol Keepsake he had given to her on their first wedding anniversary that she had thought lost during the move, as well as enquiring about education facilities on the station and learned that a new Andorian resident would be restarting the old school—though including Summer and Jason the school roll would only be five. The hope was that as more families returned to the station, then the number of students would increase. She had met their new neighbours, baking a batch of her brownies to help make a good first impression.

“How’re the kids getting on?”

“They’ve not murdered each other yet, so that’s always a good thing. They’ve helped me unpack, explored the Promenade, and were doing some studying on the computer before I headed in to check the unit—so there could well be carnage by the time we get back. So what’s the crew like?”

“They’re good. An eclectic mix, but so far they seem like a dependable bunch. It’s strange seeing so many people not in Starfleet uniforms though, but even the Militia crew are just as dedicated as the Fleeters—some even more so. Of course, one day doesn’t really give me much of a chance to get to know them. That’ll take time, though I don’t think I’ll be in a hurry to move.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They continued to talk about the inconsequential things until they reached the door to their quarters. Adele half expected to find the kids in uproar—though they loved each other, too much time together in close quarters was enough to test anyone’s limits. Surprisingly, they were both in the kitchen. Jason was washing vegetables in the sink, whilst Summer was getting plates and cutlery sorted for the table—no surprise there. Jase definitely had her talent when it came to the culinary arts, whereas Summer was her father’s daughter through and through (Adele wouldn’t be surprised to see her in uniform in three of four years’ time).

“What’s this?” Austin asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

“What?” challenged Summer, with all the bravado of her father.

“You’re being helpful!”

“Ha ha, funny dad,” she deadpanned. “We’re not helpless you know.”

“Best not say anything more, darling, you might jinx it forever more,” she told him.

“That is very true.”

“Good, now shower. Go,” she told him, giving him a swat on the buttocks (Summer let out a soft groan of disgust), before taking the bag of groceries he’d been carrying.

As he showered, she finished off the Ktarian soufflé she’d been making, with a goats cheese salad and azna dumplings. She’d also gotten a loaf of bread from the small bakery, normally she would’ve made her own, but she hadn’t had the time—though going by the smell of the bread she would have to consider using their products on her menu, something she had proposed to the owner who was quite open to the idea.

She had just finished when he stepped back into the living space, dressed in loose fitting trousers and an open collared shirt—they had a strict ‘no uniform’ policy when it came to having meals. As important as Austin’s duty was to him, that was separate from his family life and it was something they had always strived to balance.

The door chimed. Jason ran to the panel and tapped it. He beamed up at Kira, who stood in the corridor. She smiled down at the boy.

“Hello again, Jason,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Jase, come out the way and let our guest in,” Adele told him. He did as he was told and Kira entered.

“I hope I’m not late.”

“Not at all, your timing is perfect,” she assured their guest.

“You know, you can smell that halfway down the corridor. I’m surprised you don’t have everyone in this section knocking at your door.”

“We’ll most likely be having an open house next week,” commented Austin.

Kira handed a bottle to him. “It’s a spring wine from the Northern Kendra Province, some of the best bottles come from there—I’m hoping this is one of them.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Honey, how would spring wine go with dinner?”

“It’d go splendidly,” she told him, knowing that the delicately flavoured wine would make a superb accompaniment to the light and fluffy texture of the soufflé, which she set on the table.

As she got the side dishes, he fetched some glasses, as well as two bottles of Trixian bubble juice he produced from nowhere. When she looked at them he shrugged.

“You’re not the only one who goes shopping you know.”

When they returned to the table, they found the kids sitting down, whilst Kira was setting her uniform jacket on the back of the couch.

“I realised I may have been a little overdressed for dinner.”

“We have a fairly relaxed household,” she told their guest.

“Would you like some wine, Colonel?” Austin asked.

“Yes please.”

He handed her a glass then poured one for Adele and passed it to her, before fixing himself the last one and sitting down. Adele started to serve the soufflé as the salad and dumplings were passed around for the others to help themselves. She had been looking forward to the meal with Colonel Kira all day, wanting to get to know the other woman—since Kira would ultimately be the one responsible for the safety of her children should anything happen to the station, it would be Kira who lead them through it.

Kira put the first forkful into her mouth, paused and let out a soft moan. She looked across the table at her. “Mrs Harris, this is incredible, it just dissolved!”

“Thank you, it took me two weeks of making nothing but soufflés to get it right. And please, call me Adele.”

“That was time well spent. If this is any indication, Adele, I’d say your restaurant is going to definitely give Quark a run for his latinum.”

“I hope that’s a good thing, Colonel.”

“It is,” she assured her with a smile, “and it’s Nerys.” She quickly tucked in, savouring each evaporating mouthful.

* * * * *

 

Chapter Five


Jake had come along Kasidy’s quarters first thing, so that they could walk to the airlock together. Overnight the Xhosa had been loaded up with the supplies they were hauling to Seneya, they had a little under a couple of hours until they were due to launch, enough time to run final checks on the freighters systems and inventory—even with their reduced numbers. After she had told her crew about where they were heading (omitting the real reason behind their run), three of her Bajoran crew had opted to remain behind unable to put aside their personal feelings towards the Cardassians. That left eight, including herself, though fortunately the old freighter had been modernised enough to make use of greater automation systems—depending on the length of run, two trained crew would be the minimum that was needed.

She understood why they had decided to stay off of this run—some still bore the physical scars of what the Cardassians had done to them during the Occupation, the emotional ones would run far deeper. She had managed to assemble a good crew, most she had known for years and knew they were reliable and hard-working.

As they walked, they discussed various aspects of the run all except the real reason behind it. She could tell he disliked why she had taken the job, even she could quite explain her full reasoning behind it. They turned at an intersection with the cargo bay entrance at the end of the corridor. Standing calmly by the door was someone she hadn’t expected to see.

“Who is that?” Jake whispered to her.

“His names Dakal, he’s a liaison officer from what I’ve been told.”

Dakal spotted them, his straight posture stiffening up even more (something she wouldn’t have believed possible), and a neutral smile curled his lips. “Captain Yates,” he called from the doors, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She waited until they were closer to reply. “Glinn, how can I help you?”

“I’m ready to depart.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your ship, the Xhosa, is heading for Seneya, is it not?” Though posed as a question, his tone told her he already knew the answer.

“It is. We’re running replicator parts and food supplies to them.”

“Well then, my presence here is clear.”

“It’s really not,” interjected Jake.

“I’m sorry, you are?”

“My stepson, Jake.”

“Captain Sisko’s son, of course. The family resemblance is uncanny. My condolences to you both on your loss.”

“Thank you, Glinn,” she told him, fighting to hide a shiver—he already seemed to know more about them than she was comfortable with. “Though I have to agree with Jake, I don’t understand why you are here—ships go into Cardassian space all the time.”

“Part of my orders gives me the authority to accompany any ship heading into Cardassian space, to help expedite a speedy transfer of necessary supplies and relief aid wherever needed. Seeing as how this will be the first proper supply run anyone has done to Seneya, I thought it best if I come with you. As a border world, she was hit hard by your allied forces during the war and is now under the jurisdiction of the Klingons, so they are understandably wary of other species. My presence will allay their fears and help you carry out your work.”

“A noble effort, Glinn, however I wasn’t informed of this—and don’t tell me you communiqué was lost.”

His neutral smile softened, showing a hint of genuine mirth to it. “This addendum of my role was included in the orders sent to Colonel Kira, you can confirm it with her if you’d like.”

As Kasidy stepped past him he turned to give her space to the panel by the door. She opened the intercom. “Yates to Kira.”

“Kira here. What can I do for you, Kasidy?”

“Colonel, I hate to bother you, but Glinn Dakal is down here at docking bay seven saying that he will be travelling to Seneya with me.”

“I’m sorry for not notifying you, or any other ship in dock, yet. But going by the orders we received, he has been given full access to all cargo heading into Cardassian space, including during transport,” Kira told them, sounding truly apologetic, before an edge entered her voice and she continued, “however, we’ve yet to work out a procedure for him to request access to such ships.”

“My apologies, Colonel, but I believed such an exercise was unnecessary.”

“Glinn, your orders down allow you to invite yourself onto ships. It would be courteous to ask the captain first if they would allow you onboard.”

“I will remember that. Shall we be going?”

“Captain Yates, would you permit Glinn Dakal to accompany you?”

“I’ve already had three crew refuse to take part in this run, because it was to Cardassian space. I’m not sure how many more may ask to stay behind with an actual Cardassian onboard.”

“The Cardassian Intelligence Bureau believes that Seneya may have a few of their orbital weapons platforms. Even one would be more than a match for the Xhosa. I will be able to convince them to hold their fire.”

Kasidy looked from Dakal, who maintained his neutral smile, to Jake, who wore a nervous scowl. What the Glinn was saying made sense and on any other run she would’ve thought about it, but with Ven waiting for them she didn’t like to further complicate things by having him onboard.

“I’ll inform my crew. If they are alright with having you onboard at the last minute we’ll go, but if too many decide they’d rather stay on the station then so will the Xhosa. Understand?”

“Sounds like a fair compromise, seeing as how you sprung this on them, Glinn.”

Dakal nodded. “I shall remain here for your answer.”

Kasidy tapped in the security code and motioned for Jake to follow her as the heavy door rose. Inside, the bay was empty and the airlock doors were open, none of her crew were around. After the cargo bay door closed, Jake took hold of her shoulder.

“Kas, you can’t be considering taking him with us?”

“I can’t refuse without good reason, it’d look somewhat suspicious. All the points he made are valid and looking at it logically, having him onboard makes sense. If my people decide this is a go, then when I speak with Ven again, I’ll ask her to officially book passage for the return trip. That way it looks like we’re just ferrying an aid worker home.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

She patted his arm and looked up into his father’s eyes. “So do I, Jake. So do I.”

Once aboard the Xhosa, she had pulled together her remaining crew and told them of their surprise addition and his reasons for joining them. After announcing the very idea of a Cardassian being aboard, two of her crew—Ressa, a Bajoran engineer, and Nul’aj, her Mezanoid deckhand (whose people’s history mirrored that of Bajor’s)—wanted off, neither one hanging back to hear any more. The others, Bolians Oltex and Zeyn, apprentice engineer Wong, Sulla of Chandir, and Atanum (the last Bajoran standing) listened to what she had to say. After some mulling and discussion, the five of them agreed to allow him onboard.

“Alright, it’s settled,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, looking for any flicker of resentment or doubt. “Sulla, show Jake to his cabin and make sure we have one ready for the Glinn. Atanum, I’d like you at the helm. Once we’re clear of the station we’ll get into a rotation—after all we have seven days until we reach Seneya. I’ll go fetch the Glinn.”

Her crew got to work, carrying out the jobs she’d asked them too. She could only hope that their typical diligence would help them get through the next few days—which were going to be challenging by anyone’s standards. It would all depend on just what kind of person Dakal was. The best case scenario was that he was a progressive thinker, who had left the xenophobic tendencies of his people behind and was a political idealist. In reality, the best she could hope for was someone who would keep quiet and to himself for this journey.

The cargo bay door opened again and Dakal was standing there with the same neutral smile. She gave him one of her own and gestured for him to enter the bay.

“Welcome aboard, Glinn.”

* * * * *

The Defiant had an odd feel to it. Dax still wasn’t used to the ship yet, from a few rooms being switched to the colour of the carpet, but now it just felt very new—due to all the faces she didn’t know. Of course, given time, she would get to know them better; this mission would be her first chance to spend time with them outside of their initial psychological review and assessment.

Commander Taelor was definitely one for putting people at ease, almost as soon as she met him he was charming and flirting, though on the other hand he had a very rigorous style when in his chair on the bridge. He was one of many officers who had excelled quickly through the ranks, due to conflict, making the jump from somewhat inexperienced lieutenant to lieutenant commander in just three years, after facing off against the Klingons, Borg and Dominion in that time. It was a lot to take on, especially now the fighting was over. Seung Kee Reese (along with his husband Nurse Paxton Reese) had been on the station for a few years now and was now seeking advancement, so his taking the second-in-command billet was a sound career choice. Doctor Greskrendtregk was another officer who’d been onboard for several years, first as an intern before becoming a resident surgeon. He had faced some tough times during his first year, after the loss of the starship Voyager with his wife onboard, but he’d become instrumental in pulling together all of the families and keeping their spirits up. Chief Quinn was another DS9 veteran, though her precise manner and meticulous attention to detail wasn’t always the best fit on an installation where trying to make Cardassian, Bajoran and Federation technology work together was a messy business—which was why she had asked for duty on the Defiant, a far more ‘ordered’ environment for her. Ensign Syrell was as highly-praised officer, whose skills at the helm had seen her receive two commendations. Calm and composed she did her people justice when it came to emotional control and discipline, though she applied it a little to strictly when it came to interpersonal relations, making her seem standoffish and distant.

Rounding out the new senior staff was Dorian Collins, the door to whose quarters Dax now stood at. Taking a breath, she tapped the enunciator and waited. There was a pause, a longer one than she expected, before the door opened. Collins stood at the door, hands clasped in front of her, whilst her jacket lay on the bed and her shirt was open at the collar.

“Hello Ensign.”

“Sir,” she replied with a curt nod.

“Is it alright if I come in?”

There was a look of hesitation before she stepped to the side and allowed Dax to enter. The quarters were a standard layout, with a set of bunk beds on one bulkhead, narrow closets on either side, a work terminal opposite with more storage compartments. Without a full crew onboard Collins, as chief operations officer, was afforded a room to herself, though if it wasn’t for the discarded jacket Dax would never have known anyone used the room.

She sat down on the only chair. Collins stood uncomfortably for a few lingering seconds before perching herself on the end of the lower bunk.

“I guessing you know why I’m here,” Dax began, to which Collins nodded. “Doctor Bashir was very concerned about your emotional and mental wellbeing, and looking through your medical record I have to admit I am as well.”

“Did he think I would try to avoid you when we got back to the station?”

Dax smiled. She and Bashir had spoken only a few minutes after Collins had left the infirmary, when he said about his worry for the young ensign. She had been the one to suggest going along with the Defiant so as to begin Collins’ therapy, which Bashir supported, so she’d contacted Kira and asked for the temporary reassignment. Kira, of course, hadn’t ask for the real reasons behind it, knowing that Dax would never give away any details, and given her request the rubber stamp.

“I thought it would be best to make myself available to you, so here I am.”

“Just for me?” Collins sounded genuinely surprised at Dax’s actions.

“Of course. My official reason for being here is genuine as well, but until then I’m here for whenever you need to talk.”

“Thank you, sir.”

There was a lull, the small room filled quickly with tentative silence. Dax was observing Collins’ body language, her coiled muscles screaming tension. This was a young woman who looked ready to bolt at the slightest startle. She was amazed Collins had lasted as long as she had without suffering some kind of break, given her high levels of stress and weakened emotional integrity.

“So are you doing alright onboard?”

Collins nodded. “It’s so familiar yet so different at the same time. In the mess hall I overheard a couple of the crew commenting about the small size of the ship, saying they found it a little claustrophobic. I feel the opposite, all the small space makes me feel safe—even with...” she trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “It’s the station that’s too much for me. Everyone who’s been there for a few years knows their place, I just feel lost—like it’s going to swallow me up and I’ll never get away.”

“I felt the same way when I arrived,” she admitted, hoping a sense of shared understanding would help Collins open up some more. “DS9 had been such a major part and influence on Jadzia, my previous Host’s, life, that when I looked at it with my own eyes I couldn’t see where I fit in. It takes some time and the support of good people, but everyone whose here eventually feels like they’ve come home.”

“But you had friends here already, I don’t.”

“Other than Benjamin, no one else knew how to react to a new Dax at first. It’s not like you don’t know anyone here, there’s Nog and Jake. You don’t have to start from scratch, so, for example, if one of them were to ask you to join them in Quark’s for a drink and to meet some of their friends, it wouldn’t hurt to say ‘yes’ and see where things go from there.”

“I’m sorry about that, but it’s just—” she stopped herself short.

“It’s just what, Dorian?”

The ensign blinked back tears. “I just feel a pit in my stomach at just the thought of opening up to anyone again. Those in Red Squad were the closest friends I had and once on the Valiant we got even closer. After...what happened, it stays in the back of my mind when I speak with people. I keep thinking, ‘don’t get too close, they could be dead by tomorrow’. I don’t think I could handle losing anyone else like that.”

“I wish I could tell you that that will never happen, but I can’t. It’s part of the risk of wearing this uniform, it’s something everyone in Starfleet has to deal with, though rarely on the same scale as you have,” as she spoke to the ensign, a flash of Lieutenant Chu’lak sprung to the forefront of her mind. The Lieutenant had suffered just as Collins, losing his ship and hundreds of people he called friends, colleagues and shipmates, but whilst he had lashed out in anger she was retreating into herself—though less murderous it was just as harmful.

“That doesn’t mean that you shut yourself off from others,” she continued, leaning closer. “All of us share that fear to some degree, but we can’t let that fear control us. It teaches us that we should embrace those we are close to, for however long we know them for. Believe me, after eight lifetimes of lost chances and regrets, it’s something I still struggle with.”

Collins gave the vague hint of a smile. “We have one life, live it,” she said softly. Dax gave her a quizzical look, wondering where that had come from. “It was something my father always said to me. My mom didn’t want me joining Starfleet, but he supported my decision—seeing it was what I wanted most of all.”

“Good advice to take, Dorian. We could start now in fact, there’s a poker tournament starting up in the mess hall this evening.”

There was a look of uncertainty, but she drew her resolve and reached for her jacket before standing up. Dax rose to her feet and stepped out into the corridor, Collins following. This was going to be a tough journey for the young woman, but it was one they would make together.

* * * * *

The cargo bay was chilly, with a vague hint of partially-fermented beets to the air, but since Solan Tobar had arrived on the station it’d been where he’d chosen to bunk down. A childhood in the underground had taught him to sleep anywhere, though he hadn’t thought he’d need to draw upon that experience now. But he had decided to keep as low a profile as he could, coming to the station under the name Sol Ulsen (admittedly he’d slipped up with the makeshift family name, though managed to stop himself short of giving his name away completely), and booked a small set of quarters though hadn’t gone anywhere near them, just in case those who were after him were watching them.

His stop at the bar had allowed him to get the datarod, since then he hadn’t gone near the Promenade or other high-density areas—it was too easy to lose track of faces, and he needed to be alert. If only he knew just who was looking for him or why? He’d since used the rod to send a few brief messages to friends and old resistance contacts on Bajor, those who could help uncover just what was going on.

The more he thought of it the more he became convinced it had to do with the Fire Caves. He was very much a creature of habit, rarely deviating from his routine, so whoever was after him could’ve abducted him at any time. They had purposefully waited for him to go to the caves, a trip he had only told a select few about, to try and take him. But why? There were others who knew more about the caves; scholars, archaeologists and other vedeks who had spent years trying to uncover the secrets hidden in the labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. He was only drawn there because of the time he’d spent there as a child.

Could that be why? he asked himself. After he’d managed to get out of the caves and catch up with the cell again, he had told a few of what he’d seen, or thought he’d seen, until his mother had warned him off. She told him that only worshippers of the Pah-Wraiths emerged from the Fire Caves, so he had obediently kept his mouth shut. Until the Prylar heard the rumours of his time in the caves and sought him out. She had asked to know all about what he’d seen. Initially worried that she would accuse him of being a cult follower, he had kept his silence, until she told him of a time when she was around his age, before the Occupation, when she had ventured into the caves and been so terrified of what she’d seen she had never gone near them since. Hearing that he had told her all about his experience, being so completely lost, alone and terrified, the thirst and hunger, the lack of sleep and the nightmares that woke him whenever he did manage to drift off. She had listened patiently to what he had to say.

When he was finished, she had gripped and squeezed his left ear tightly—worse than anyone else he’d met. Once she let go, she’d given him a sad smile and told him: “You are bound to those caves, Tobar; they are as much a part of your pagh as your conviction or strength. You will have an important part to play in their future and that of Bajor. Stay true to the Prophets and find direction with them, but tell no one else of this.”

He hadn’t seen her again after that night. Indeed, during all his time in the religious life he had kept an eye out for her, but had never seen her. He couldn’t even remember her name in order to ask around.

“Maybe this is what she was talking about?” he mused, not noticing he’d spoken aloud.

Sighing heavily he pinched the bridge of his wrinkled nose, trying to ease the headache building at the front of his skull. He needed direction, something to help cut through the murky memories and adrenaline filled panic of the last few days. That was what had drawn him to Deep Space Nine. The station’s temple was housing the Orb of Contemplation, which could allow him to find the true meaning behind what was going on. As a member of the Vedek Assembly he could’ve easily walked in and been given privacy to have an encounter, but that would tip off his pursuers to where he was and what he sought to accomplish. On Bajor, he had tried to throw them off his scent by making an application to consult the Orb of Memory (which would’ve also been a big help to him) before leaving the planet.

All he needed to do was find a way to get into the temple and spend time alone with the Orb. Which was a task easier said than done.

* * * * *

 

Chapter Six


Over the last few days, Adele had managed to get all the boxes unpacked in their quarters and get her new home into something a little more liveable—though she was still considering a new coat of paint on the walls, something to help lighten them up—which freed her up to focus on her new business venture. As much as she loved to cook and give people whole new taste sensations, by bringing non-replicated food to their pallet, the sheer amount of work that went into setting up new restaurants could be soul destroying at times.

She was fortunate this time however, as the previous restaurant had been set up to cook with proper food for the most part. There was a small replicator in the kitchen, but she’d spoken with a helpful Ferengi engineer about getting it removed (she could use the space for either another oven or refrigerator) and had been told it wouldn’t be a problem, she would be added to the maintenance list and would have someone see to it by the end of tomorrow. She had managed to strike up a deal with the stations greengrocers to get in fresh produce from Bajor, whilst she worked on her contact list of traders and carriers who could be able to ship other things in from outside the sector. Even getting a large enough space in the hydroponics bays had been straight forward. It was all going a little too smoothly.

What had surprised her even more was that there had already been a couple of residents enquire about vacancies—from a Ryenite former dabo girl, to a Chadir chef and a Bolian waiter who used to work for the previous owner. She had taken their details and looked them over, liking what she saw she’d offered each of them work. With the added man-power, getting the restaurant laid out how she wanted had gone far faster. At the rate things were going she could be open as early as the start of next week.

Adele stood in the middle of the seating area, hands on hips, surveying what had been accomplished that day. There were a few little things the maintenance crew would need to see too, but her latest venture was almost fully formed. On her way home she’d have to stop by station’s stores and pick up the copies of the preliminary menu, other than that she was pretty much done for the day.

“Interesting space you have here,” a voice commented from the entrance.

She turned to see a Ferengi in a finely tailored suit standing there, looking around and nodding appreciatively. Though she hadn’t met him, she could take a good guess at just who her visitor was.

“Thank you. I assume you’re Quark, the bar owner?”

He smiled at her. “You assume correctly, and you must be Adele Harris, wife of the new first officer.”

“I am. I guess news travels fast.”

“Rule of Acquisition number seven, always keep your ears open. Besides, it’s hard to keep the opening of a new eatery quiet on the Promenade.”

“So are you here to survey the competition?”

Quark chuckled. “Merely here to welcome you to DS9, on behalf of the Promenade Merchant’s Association.”

“Oh, well in that case, thank you.”

“Besides, Quark’s has been a feature on the Promenade for longer than any other business, and will outlast all of them as well. Commander Harris will be reassigned and you’ll shut up shop, leaving my bar to reap the rewards.”

“I can assure you that won’t be for a while, my husband sought out this posting, so we may be here for some time. Besides, my leaving hasn’t hampered any of my other restaurants.”

“‘Other restaurants’?” his curiosity peaked.

“Yes, they have a tendency to keep on going even after I leave. My last one was in New York City, back on Earth, before that there are five different stations still with Home Cookin’ open.” His brow ridge rose with surprise and interest. “Not bad for a hew-mon female,” she quipped with a grin.

“It looks like I may have misjudged you; there aren’t many hew-mon entrepreneurs onboard. So what makes your eatery so special?”

“Everything on the menu is made on premises, by hand, using non-replicated ingredients. It’s proved very popular with Starfleet personnel, most of whom have had the chance of fresh food.”

“Aside from myself there are a few others that have non-replicated food.”

Adele had taken a good walk around the Promenade and looked to see what was on offer and he was right, Quark’s, the Klingon deli, the Celestial Café and a few of the kiosks all had non-replicated food on the menu, though it only made up a small part of what they offered. She’d faced the same thing on Epsilon Station five years ago, where her bistro had been half the size of what she had to work with on DS9, but had managed to make a name for herself. She could only hope that lightning would strike twice—hopefully without Austin ordering everyone through the door, as he’d threatened to do on Epsilon.

“Well we’ll just see how it goes, won’t we.”

“We will indeed.”

“I’d best be getting on, things to do, children to see to.”

“Of course. Be sure to come along the bar, I can give you an application to join the association.”

“Thank you, Quark, I’d appreciate that.”

With one final grin he turned and headed out the door. She moved to the entrance and watched him go, noting that he glanced back at her storefront. A most unusual first encounter for someone as notorious as Quark, she wasn’t quite sure if he saw her as serious competition. As it was though, Austin had wanted this posting and from his first few days on the job he wasn’t regretting that decision, so she suspected they would be onboard for the foreseeable future. She wasn’t about to pack it in without giving it a damn good go first, competing against the likes of Quark might make her latest establishment more interesting that it usually was.

* * * * *

There it was again. Someone, somewhere onboard was tapping into stations computer using a security shunt, which scrambled just where they were and what they were looking at. Lin Kelsi had been tracking it for the last few days, but had only been able to pin it down to the docking ring, which left a lot of ground to cover without something more to go on. Whoever it was had invested in a good system, as all her efforts to track them had ended in failure. Though the shunt in itself wasn’t technically illegal, using one this often was highly suspicious.

She looked across ops to the pit beneath the viewscreen, where she could just see the top of Nog’s bulbous head. “Chief,” she called over to him, causing him to stand up to his full height (which just barely allowed him to look up at her). “He’s on again.”

Nog gave a nod. “Initiating tracer,” he announced and bucked back down.

The following day she’d raised her concern about the shunt at the staff briefing, so Colonel Kira had set her and Nog the task of tracking the culprit down—to ascertain who it was and just what they were doing. Nog had devised a computer virus that would zero in on the scrambled access entry and upload a programme that would allow them to trace whoever was holding the datarod.

Nog climbed up onto the main level then hurried over to join her at the science station. She was trying to follow the course of the programme whilst also carry out her own sweep for just where the access was being made from. When he got to her console, he helped with following the tracer.

She wasn’t sure just how successful their attempt would be, given they’d missed him twice before, but Nog assured her with every failure the tracer was adapting and would lock in quicker each time it happened. The Ferengi was definitely sure of his programming skills, she would believe it when she saw—

The computer chirped. “Got it!” he snapped with a grin. “Docking ring, level five, section M. I can’t pinpoint it exactly.”

Lin looked at the engineer with a new sense of respect. She’d been far too quick to judge him. Grabbing her Militia-issue tricorder she headed for the turbolift. “Inform security, I’ll head out there and start the on-site search.”

She ordered the turbolift out to the docking ring, using her priority access code to prevent it from being stopped. After so long on the trail, she wanted to be the one to find who’d managed to evade her. Security would meet her out there soon, there were always a few patrols in the docking ring, but she wanted to get a head start. As the turbolift hummed along she set her tricorder to lock onto the tracer signal.

Nog wasn’t entirely sure if the person responsible would be able to pick up his programme or not, though given how sophisticated the shunt was, he suspected they’d probably be tipped off. That meant as soon as they were spiked, they may discard the isolinear rod. But even the physical device would have a trace of DNA on it that they could run through the database. If they weren’t alerted to the tracer, they would keep it on them and could be tracked down to within a three meter radius.

The turbolift came to a stop and as soon as the doors opened she was out into the corridor and scanning. It took only a few seconds for her scanner to lock in on the tracer, which was forty meters away. Grinning triumphantly to herself, she quickly headed in that direction. She noted that it was coming from a cargo bay, not a typical place that the main computer would be accessed (the cargo management system was in one of the auxiliary cores). Whoever it was really hadn’t wanted to be found.

But why come all the way out here to access the computer? The shunt would’ve allowed them to get in from any terminal on the station. It could’ve been one of the cargo loaders? Or a civilian shipping agent?

As she turned down towards the cargo bay entrance, a flash of movement caught her eye. She stopped and looked back but saw nothing more than a leg as the person headed down another passage. That could be them!

It took her a second to decide. She turned and followed the person, if nothing else to eliminate them from the list of suspects. Lin reached the corridor and looked around but saw nothing. A door opened further down. She rushed down, looking for where it came from. To her left a door started to close, her head snapped in the direction.

As the turbolift doors closed she saw two Bajoran men, one in an engineering uniform and the other in civilian clothing. The ruggedly handsome face with thick stubble and unkempt hair familiar to her, but she couldn’t immediately remember where from. It was just after the doors closed that it came back to her; the shuttle from Bajor, the mysterious man in the back row. But there was also a technician; it could’ve been either of them, or neither.

Her tricorder hadn’t detected the datarod in the turbolift carriage, which meant it was still in the cargo bay. Before she could go accusing anyone, she needed more evidence, other than they happened to be in section M of the docking ring. She would’ve gotten a visual scan of them anyway, so if one of them was behind it, then they could still be traced.

Running, she headed back for the cargo bay.

It was one of the smaller ones on the station, typically the kind hired out by freight services for short periods whilst they had cargo coming in or going out. Though unless previously arranged they weren’t security sealed, which meant anyone could really gain access. As soon as she stepped inside she headed for the computer access, which was a monitor on the bulkhead, underneath which the panel had been removed. She had just started to run a scan when the doors opened again and a pair of deputies entered.

“This is where the shunt was used, check the rest of the bay, see if they left anything else behind.”

“Yes Lieutenant,” the security guards replied and started looking around the small hold.

It didn’t take Lin long to find the datarod. A quick scan showed that it hadn’t been booby-trapped, so she removed it from its slot and began a more intensive scan. She tapped her combadge. “Lin to Nog.”

“Nog here, go ahead.”

“I’ve found the access point and the isolinear rod, no sign of the doer though. I’m scanning for any DNA trace. I’ll upload when it’s complete, can you run it through our database?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

“Sir,” called Deputy Seelee, “I’ve got something.”

Her tricorder beeped, indicating the scan was complete. She sent the results through to Nog as she headed for the deputy, who was standing next to a stack of crates in the far corner. The other deputy, Pinar, was on the other side of the bay. Lin reached the corner and looked behind the screen of boxes.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find, but it wasn’t what was there. A blanket, makeshift pillow, and a few food wrappers; someone had been living in the bay—though not for very long it looked like.

The entrance opened again. She looked back in its direction to see Captain Navar stride towards them. He didn’t look happy, but then again in the few short weeks she’d known the man she’d never seen anything other than a scowl on his face.

“Report.”

“I recovered the rod and ran a scan, Nog is checking to see if there are any traces of DNA and will run it through the computer. We’ve also found a squat.”

Navar looked in at the bedding and rubbish. His scowl deepened. “It looks like our stowaway isn’t the brightest, if he’s using where he sleeps to hack into our computer as well.”

“They’re bright enough to get a decent piece of kit to evade us for the last few days, sir.”

“Luck runs out eventually.”

“Nog to Lin.”

“What have you found?” she asked, hopeful.

“There was a DNA trace. It’s Bajoran and male. It’ll take the computer some time to check against the full registry—”

“Nog, check it against all Militia engineering personnel first.”

“Lieutenant?” enquired Navar, his tone flinty.

“I ran it against all Militia personnel on DS9, no matches.”

“Find a record for a man who came to the station four days ago, on the same shuttle I was on. Name of Sol.”

“Checking.”

She looked at Navar, who’d crossed his arms across his powerful chest, his eyes demanding answers.

“I saw a Militia engineer and the man, Sol, in a turbolift before I got to the bay. Without any proof of who was responsible I couldn’t exactly stop them for happening to be here.”

“There was a Sol Ulsen booked onto that shuttle, but I’ve no further records of him. He’s a fake entry.”

She tapped a control on her tricorder. “I got a visual scan of him before the doors closed.”

“Upload it to the system,” Navar instructed. “Lieutenant Nog, post an alert to all security personnel—have them be on the lookout for him, and try to determine his real identity. I also want to know where that turbolift went after it left here.”

“Already on it, Captain. Turbolift eighteen made two stops. Docking ring, L2-K7, then the central core, L10-J17. I suspect Sol would be the latter, the former was where Corporal Dayas was working on an ODN processor.”

“Understood, Navar out,” he said curtly, closing the channel and opening a new one. “Lieutenant’s Jones and Brilgar, get your teams to level ten section J-seventeen of the central core.” He looked at the two deputies in the cargo bay. “Seelee, Pinar, head for level two section K-seven. Find Corporal Dayas and see what he can tell you about Mr Sol.” They were quickly on their way out as he turned to her. “Lieutenant, can you tell what he was looking at now you have the datarod?”

She nodded. “I should be able to piece together at least a few fragments.”

“Good. Report any findings to me as soon as you have them.”

“Aye sir,” she replied, but he was already on his way out.

He may not have been the most sociable of people she’d met, but seeing him in action he was definitely in his element. After he left the bay she headed back to the terminal, inserted the isolinear rod from where she’d removed it and set to work trying to find some kind of answers. Though found her thoughts dwelling on the handsome stranger they were now hunting, hoping that he wasn’t quite the ‘bad boy’ he was coming off as.

* * * * *

Captain Navar Reo headed straight into the central core. He didn’t like stowaways on his station; they were trouble, often because they were hiding from even greater trouble, which meant that they nothing but a nuisance that it was up to him to deal with. Criminal stowaways he liked even less. Though an amateurish hacker wasn’t the worst they could be facing.

“Kira to Navar.”

“Yes Colonel?”

“What’s the situation, Captain?”

“We are tracking an individual who arrived on the station under the name Sol Ulsen. We believe he is in the central core, but I have alerted all security to him. Lieutenant Lin is checking the terminal he used to access the main database, to see just what it was he was doing here.”

“Does he pose a threat to the station?”

“I don’t believe so. His attempts to get into the computer were crude at best; he used the computer in the cargo bay he was squatting in. If it wasn’t for a sophisticated piece of tech, which he could’ve gotten for a few underhanded dealers either on Bajor or here on the station, we would’ve apprehended him days ago.”

“I’ll alert all station personnel to be on the lookout. I’ve also got Nog using the internal sensors and his DNA sample to help track him down.”

“That may be difficult, given how populated the central core is that close to the Promenade.”

“Agreed, but it should help eliminate some areas.”

“Be sure to scan all other sections of the station, the central core could be a bluff.”

“We already are, Captain.”

“Pinar to Navar.”

“Report.”

“Corporal Dayas said that Sol didn’t speak and remained on the turbolift after he exited.”

“Understood. Begin a sweep in towards the central core. Navar out.”

“We’ll alert all ships to be on the lookout for Sol and that he may try to sneak onto their ship. Keep me apprised. Kira out.”

Navar had to admit it was a refreshing change to work with a commanding officer who was so on the ball. The colonel in charge of the Militia outpost on Prophet’s Landing left a lot to be desired, he’d been more interesting in having an easy life than in the running of the base—which had seen many things slide. When the opening became available here on Deep Space Nine, he’d seized the opportunity to get out.

Of course, adjusting to a whole new place, staff, and way of doing things would take time to get used too. The strangest thing, to him at least, was the Starfleet contingent. Those that had been on the station for a few years were nothing like he’d expected, though their influence was most evident in the likes of Kira and the other Bajorans who’d served alongside them for so long. They all seemed to draw a sense of strength and purpose from the Fleeters.

Teysa would’ve loved to be amongst them. The stray thought gripped at his heart for the instance it was in the forefront pf his mind, before he could shut it down. Now was not the time to dredge up ghosts.

The turbolift doors parted. He stepped out into the corridor, leaving those thoughts behind. Immediately he came upon a Starfleet security officer holding a PADD and checking the faces of all those who walked by. They had yet to go to a full lockdown, so for the meantime cursory checks would have to suffice.

“Ensign, anything yet?” he asked, approaching the young Andorian.

She shook her head. “No sign of him, sir. Lieutenant Jones has set up a search grid, whilst Lieutenant Brilgar’s team is doing an inward sweep of this level.”

“Who is monitoring from Security?”

“I believe its Lieutenant Neeley, Captain.”

“Carry on, Ensign.”

He was pleased to hear that it was Neeley in the Security Office. She could put a four-eyed Efrosian hawk to shame with how sharp observation skills were, though he expected nothing less than excellence from his second-in-command. He stepped over to a monitor and brought up the deck schematic, looking it over for any inspiration as to where ‘Sol’ might go. Unfortunately the central core offered too many hiding places. L10-J17 was only a small section of it, but even here there were dozens of rooms, corridors, and storage compartments for him to evade his team, not to mention the maintenance crawlspaces—from here he could make his way down to the reactor core or up to the Promenade. He didn’t like either of those options.

If he was trying to evade capture, then there was no way he’d remain in this section or on this level. There were other turbolifts he could use, but they could be tracked and there was greater chance of being spotted (he would definitely know that security were onto him now). The access conduits offered him a way to get around the station undetected, thanks to two meters of duranium composite.

Navar headed to the nearest access point and opened the hatch. There were no signs of anyone, but there had to be at least three other ways into the conduits in section J-seventeen alone. But what way would he have gone? Down would mean he’d be able to sabotage the station’s key systems, up might see him manage to escape through the crowds. Given his behaviour in the cargo bay, Navar suspected that Sol wasn’t the most tactically-minded of people, which would mean this attempt to escape probably wasn’t pre-planned, so he’d be improvising. That gave them the advantage—depending on how well Sol knew the station.

Up or down?

He climbed into the crawlspace and headed up. So far his behaviour had been elusive not destructive, which led him to believe that he’d be wanting to escape security and find somewhere to hide again. Unless of course his plan had been to lay low until he could plant a bomb on the reactor.

He was halfway to the Promenade when his combadge chirped. “Lin to Navar.”

“Go ahead.”

“Sol looked to be accessing plans of the station, specifically the central core—” he stopped, waiting to be told he’d made the wrong call “—focusing on the upper levels. It looks like he was interested in the Promenade.”

He started climbed again, faster this time. “Any area in particular?”

“I can’t tell yet.”

“Understood. Navar out.” He opened a new channel. “All Promenade security teams, suspect is believed to be heading in your direction. Stay alert and do not fire unless fired upon first.”

Less than three minutes later he emerged out of the access hatch beside the Replimat. As soon as he was out of the shaft he started looking at the faces, trying to pinpoint the man they were after. Slowly, keeping the inner bulkhead, he moved through the commercial section of the station, seeking out all the male Bajorans and checking their faces. As he hunted, he was aware of the increase of security officers, all of them scanning the crowd like he was.

Where was he?

“All teams, I’ve spotted him,” announced Lieutenant Neeley over a secure comlink. “He’s making a beeline for the temple.”

“Surround the temple, but don’t move in yet,” he instructed, quickening his pace.

In a few moments he could see the entrance of the Bajoran temple, an ages monk stood, almost bent double with his advanced years, thanking a pair of worshippers for their pilgrimage. Just five meters from the circular entryway he saw Sol, tall and well-built, messy, dark hair reaching the collar of his tunic, several days’ worth of beard masking his chin and jaw, eyes alert but tired.

Navar steadily approached, hand resting on the handle of his phaser. He didn’t expect to use it, but it was always better to show would be criminals that you were ready for them to try something stupid.

Sol reached the steps that would take him into the temple. There was no way to know if he was armed, how many people were inside, or if this might turn into a hostage situation. Navar wanted this done quickly and smoothly. Sol’s boot set on the first step—

An amber beam cut through the air, followed a split-second later by a piercing scream. It scorched the bulkhead just centimetres from Sol’s chest.

Panicked cries and shouts quickly filled the Promenade as people scattered, shoving and pushing, some diving for cover or dropping to the deck. His phaser was in his hand and he squatted down, turning quickly, trying to find the shooter, all before the second shot lanced out. This one caught the dumbfounded monk in the shoulder, burning through skin, muscle and bone in less time than it took Navar to blink. The monk howled as he crumpled to the deck, blood soaking his robes.

He still couldn’t see the shooter, but in all the commotion and sea of people he could hardly make out anything. He shot a glance back to where Sol had been, but he was gone.

Slapping his combadge he called out, “Security alert, we have a shooter on the Promenade!”

Whoever this Sol was, someone wanted him badly, which meant so too did Navar. But before he could focus on picking up his trail again, he had to neutralise the immediate threat.

From behind him a vibrant green pulse burnt the air and punched into the opposite bulkhead, forcing him to spin around and raise his weapon, finger on the trigger.

* * * * *

“Multiple shots fired on the Promenade,” announced Myers.

“Who’s shooting?” Kira asked.

“I can’t tell,” the tactical officer admitted.

“Kira to Security. Report.”

“Neeley here, sir. We have three, possibly more, unknown hostiles on the Promenade. Captain Navar is in the open and we have dozens of innocent bystanders, one of whom has been hit.”

“Sol?”

“We’ve lost him in the commotion.”

Harris looked at the display on the ops table, security alerts flashed up on every screen. Over the comm he could hear that multiple teams were converging on the Promenade. All he could think was that he hoped Adele and the kids weren’t anywhere near it. He quickly pushed the concern for his family to one side, he had to worry about everyone else as well.

“Myers, have some of the teams on route set up checkpoints around the Promenade, stop anyone else from heading there and keep everyone trying to get out calm and in some kind of order.”

“Aye sir.”

“Mr Nog, can we use the internal sensors to help with what’s going on down there?”

“I’m afraid not, Commander, there are just too many people there to get any accurate scans of where those shots are coming from.”

He looked back to the head of the table, expecting to see Kira, but she wasn’t there. She was by the weapons locker, removing a type-two phaser and checking the settings. “Commander, you have Ops. Put out an alert, advise all residents to remain in their quarters,” she told him as she stepped into the turbolift. “Promenade.”

She descended from view and he found himself in charge, facing a major security breach on his first week in the job. He squared his shoulders and set to it, hitting the station wide intercom.

“All personnel this is Commander Harris. We have a serious situation on the Promenade; all residents are to return to their quarters until it is resolved. Access to the Promenade is restricted to all but security and response teams.” He hoped his voice conveyed the steadiness it needed, what he wasn’t feeling knowing that his family could well be down there.

He shook it off again. “Nog, lock down all ships in dock. Myers, are any other ships in the area?”

Myers looked at her sensors and shook her head. “All scans are negative. The only ships are those in dock.”

Harris mulled it over for a moment. Whoever was opening fire down on the Promenade wouldn’t have started something without some means of escape, which would either mean a ship in dock (which would immediately be locked down) or one within transporter range. If there were none on sensors, that left one option.

“Shields up,” he ordered.

“Aye sir. Raising shields,” replied Myers.

“Begin scans for a cloaked ship.”

Myers gave him a nod and quickly set about scanning with every means at her disposal, even the Dominion’s anti-proton beams, though a full sweep would take time—which they might not have much of, depending on who it was they were dealing with and what they were after.

* * * * *

Solan ran. He pushed his tired body as hard as it would go. Days spent sleeping on the cold floor of the cargo bay, his nerves and stress levels pushed farther than they had been in years, getting by on emergency rations which made him feel as ill as they had done in the resistance, all were taking their toll on him.

But now, whoever was after him had made their move and they weren’t pulling any punches. Their phasers were set to kill. After the first shot he had bolted, keeping his head down and forcing his way through the crowd, but he’d heard the monk get shot and looked back long enough to see the vicious wound, which only pushed him faster onwards. All his efforts to divert them elsewhere hadn’t worked, his pursuers had known he was heading for the temple and were waiting for him.

An innocent had now been hurt, taking a blast that had been meant for him. He could only pray that the monk would be alright, but he couldn’t waste time on feeling guilty. This incident only spurred him on to try and find out answers to just what was going on. He had thought they had wanted to abduct him before, but now they seemed perfectly alright with killing him. What threat did he pose to ‘them’?

He didn’t know just where he was going, just away from the Promenade and his would be assassins. He approached a security guard standing at an intersection directing the fleeing masses where they needed to go. Keeping his head down, he went with them. Without known just who were looking for him, he couldn’t trust anyone, not even the station’s security force—they could’ve alerted someone to his being there.

Avoiding the turbolifts, he didn’t want to be trapped in the small carriages, he staying in the corridors as the scared civilians heading away from the core of the station. As they got further from the Promenade, they slowed their pace and their numbers thinned out as they reached their quarters. He soon lost the protection of being one among many, in a section of the station he hadn’t been to before. Looking behind him, there was no one there, no sign of anyone following or approaching from any other direction.

Leaning against the bulkhead, Solan took the moment of peace to catch his breath. He needed to make a plan, decide what to do next. He wouldn’t be able to get back to the temple and suspected that there wouldn’t be any ships leaving anytime soon, his cargo bay hideout had been exposed and if his attackers knew he was on the Promenade they would have found his unused quarters.

His lungs taking in regular breaths again, he knew he had to keep going. As he pushed off from the cool metal wall he heard something from up ahead. He paused and listened. Sobbing? He harder he listened the more he was sure it was soft muffled crying. His conscience was torn. He wanted to help, but stopping to do so could see that person get hurt.

Before he even realised he was doing so, he was heading towards the noise. He had to take a couple of corners before he found a small child, slumped against the bulkhead, face buried in her hands. She couldn’t have been older than four or five, dressed simply in pink, with long mousy hair.

He approached softly. “Hello,” he said, crouching down to her level, a smile on his face. She didn’t respond.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” he told her, reaching to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

It passed right through her and the girl continued to cry. “What?”

Too late he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He moved to stand and turn, but was only halfway round when the phaser whined.

* * * * *

A disruptor pulse roared by Kira as soon as the doors opened, forcing her to duck back. She edged forward and glanced onto the Promenade, quickly ascertaining the situation: the civilians had been evacuated, though there were five lying on the deck that she could count, all bleeding and still moving, except for the wounded Bolian; there were three others still there, though they were all holding weapons and under cover; security, a mixture of Militia and Starfleet, were spread out, phasers pointed towards the hostiles, waiting for a shot to present itself; she added three injured deputies to the casualty list; Navar was behind the station directory, which had several scorched holes in it; over by the Infirmary she could see Bashir crouching, phaser in hand, he was more focused on the injured. Things looked to be at a stalemate.

They needed a speedy resolution and they needed it now. Checking the power setting on her phaser, heavy stun, she looked for the one who’d fired at the turbolift. Movement on the second level gave them away. It was a female Bajoran, a few years older than Kira herself with black hair, holding a Klingon disruptor.

Gotcha, she thought to herself. Taking a breath, Kira stepped back into full view.

The woman wasted no time, rising from her vantage point, aiming her weapon and about to pull the trigger, just as a phaser beam struck her in the chest. Kira quickly moved to the opposite side of the lift. She didn’t see who took the shot, but was thankful for whoever it was; she’d known that neither Odo nor Navar would’ve had anyone present that wasn’t suited for a tactical situation such as this.

With the woman unconscious, the other two let loose a frenzy of phaser blasts, with several fired off in her direction. The security team responded where they could, but this time no one could get a shot, those that could were pinned down by weapons fire that burnt and melted the metal bulkheads.

She leaned out and took a couple of shots at a dark-skinned Bajoran hiding just behind a kiosk, but he was too well hidden for her to hit her target. It did make him duck back down though, safeguarding one of the security officers.

The Promenade fell eerily silent.

The seconds stretched out. As she waited for her opportunity, she was left with nothing but questions. Nothing about this attack on made sense, they had injured several people, but to what end? They weren’t making any kind of statement, other than creating panic and fear. Was their being here coincidental, or were they connected to Sol Ulsen? If so, were they allies or enemies?

She was about to contact Navar, to get his take on the situation and try to devise some way to bring it to a quick end, when there were a number of soft chirps, like those from a combadge. It must’ve been what they were waiting for. The two remaining terrorists opened fire again with everything they had, searing beams of energy lanced out in every direction, a pained scream of a deputy near Quark’s echoed across the deck.

The two terrorists were suddenly moving, heading for the exit, their weapons never stopping until they were both through the airlock and off the Promenade. Kira quickly stepped out of the lift, phaser at the ready. Navar was likewise out from his cover, surveying the situation.

“Captain, secure the Promenade and deploy your teams. Kira to Ops.”

“Ops here,” Harris replied.

“I want security fields up at all sections leading from Promenade airlock two.”

“Understood, activating forcefields. Standby,” he added a few seconds later. She gave him a moment, as she watched the security force in motion, checking out every nook and cranny of the deck, ensuring it was safe, though even before they got started Bashir had led a team of medics out to see to the wounded. “Colonel, the forcefields aren’t responding. It looks like someone has hacked the system.”

“Keep trying, we’re pursuing,” she told him following Navar as his team and headed for the airlock.

The team moved out in a swift and decisive formation, their pace brisk but cautious, checking every corridor and alcove for an ambush. From up ahead there came the sounds of vicious phaser fire again, the sound made worse by the close confines of the corridors. The team instinctively ducking for cover, waiting for a moment, realising they weren’t in any immediate danger, before emerging and continuing.

Reaching an intersection they found a deputy on the deck clutching his stomach, gargling as he tried to draw breathe. Navar took in the grim sight, then glanced at a Starfleet ensign and motioned for him to remain behind. The officer nodded and crouched beside their wounded comrade, calling for a medic. The team left them behind, picking up the pace again.

The Captain called ahead to anyone else on their current path, telling them not to engage, but rather relay their position to him. These men had no problem with shooting to kill; a single security guard stumbling across them wouldn’t stand much of a chance, they may get off a shot or two, but they’d be phasered down before they could call for reinforcements. The full team pursuing them was their best bet of stopping them.

She moved closer to Navar and kept her voice low. “I don’t understand why they’re heading this way, there’re no docking bays nearby, the landing pads are empty and they’ve passed the nearest transporter room.”

“Their entire M.O. makes no sense, there doesn’t seem to be an agenda out achievable goal.”

“Jimenez to Navar. I’ve spotted them in the crossover bridge, level three section P-two. They appear to have stopped.”

“Have they made you, Lieutenant?”

“Negative. It looks like they’re waiting for something.”

“Stay on site and report in any changes,” he instructed to the long officer, then to his team. “Split up and come at them from every possible direction, cut off all means of escape.”

There were a flurry of acknowledgements before the team started to disperse down other corridors, each smaller group taking a different path that would eventually lead them to where the hostiles were, boxing them in and giving the station crew the chance to apprehend them. She was left with Navar and Sergeant Kallis, the three of them breaking into a steady run.

They were almost at P-two when Navar’s combadge chirped again. “Sir, they’ve been joined by three others, one looks to be unconscious—it’s Sol!”

“We’re almost in position. All teams close in, keep weapons on stun, they may have a hostage.”

“Ops to Kira.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“Sir, a Bajoran scout ship has just decloaked inside our shield perimeter.”

“What?” she asked, startled at the information. Bajor had never gone down the route of developing cloaking technology, in fact, such devices were illegal in Bajoran space. Though that answered the question of how they’d planned to get off the station. Before Harris could confirm the deck vibrated under her feet. “What was that?”

“They just hit us with a concentrated graviton pulse. No damage reported. Nog lock on tractors,” he ordered the engineer.

“Tractor beam won’t engage,” Nog announced over the channel. “The graviton output is interfering with our tractor emitters.”

Kira had known they wouldn’t work, it was an old (but very effective) trick they’d used against the Cardassians. These people were obviously former members of some cells with a lot of space combat experience, though that was hardly surprising since after the Occupation some of the more brutal cells of the resistance had turned into mercenaries, selling their guerrilla fighting experience to the highest bidder.

Phaser fire erupted from section P-two. They reached the corner, opposite them was Lieutenant JG Jimenez, and she stepped to the front, glancing around and seeing the four terrorists, each one facing down a different hallway, the limp body of Sol was in the middle of them. The man facing them, the same dark-skinned one from the Promenade, opened fire as soon as he saw her. She ducked back, dropped down and swung out again, phaser raised and fired.

This time her shot found its mark, hitting him in the shoulder. The impact spun him a quarter turn before he slumped to the deck next to their hostage. One of the others drew another phaser and pointed it towards them, firing indiscriminately, forcing her back behind cover.

One of the terrorists slapped a communicator. “Transport us now!”

A transporter hummed. She looked back out in time to see the three standing hostiles and Sol vanish, the one she’d hit remained behind on the deck. They may have gotten off the station, but she wasn’t going to let them get away.

“Captain, secure him and find out just who we’re dealing with. I also want a full sweep run of the station, there may be more of them onboard. And have a couple of guards at landing pad D, now. Kira to Ops.”

“Harris here.”

“Have Nog and Myers report to the Rio Grande immediately, we’re going after them.”

“I’ll beam them over.”

Navar indicated to Jimenez and Kallis to stay with her before he headed down to take the remaining hostile into custody. She led them back to the transporter room and they were beamed to the airlock for pad D. They were through and onto the runabout seconds later, finding Nog and Myers already there and running through pre-flight. The Ferengi relinquished his place at the conn and moved to the engineering station, whilst the two guards took the empty stations. She knew that the two lieutenants would’ve had the ship ready, so engaged the launch sequence and brought the impulse drive online.

“We have priority departure clearance,” Myers told her.

Kira gave a nod as she lifted the runabout off the pad. “Lock onto their position and bring the weapons online.”

“They are at zero-three-five-mark-one-one-eight,” stated Nog.

“Shields up, phasers charged, torpedoes loaded.”

Kira activated the sublight engines, slowly moving away from the station until they were clear of the docking ring, before powering up to full impulse. No one terrorised her station and got away with it.

* * * * *

 

Chapter Seven


Jill Myers kept her eyes glued to the sensor display as the Rio Grande pursued the small scout ship. She had to admire the pilot; they were pushing the ship, which wasn’t much larger than the Danube-Class runabout, to its limits and well beyond, but the Colonel had them fixed in her sights so there would be no escape.

“Projecting their course, it looks like they’re heading for Bajor Five,” noted Nog. “It’s an H-Class planet, there’s nothing there.”

“Not now there isn’t, but twenty years ago it did have a couple of small depots for the Resistance. They were destroyed by a Cardassian orbital bombardment—nothing was believed to have survived,” Kira told them.

Myers ran a quick scan of the planet, which had a thin oxygen/argon atmosphere, high surface temperatures and winds in excess of two hundred and eight KPH. From their current range she could see nothing more than what was meant to be there.

“Sensors aren’t showing any kind of settlement or outpost. Maybe they’re leading us on a wild goose chase.”

“Possibly,” admitted Kira. “Nog, signal Militia Command, have them alert all ships in the system to the scout, tell them it is to be captured not destroyed.”

“Aye sir.”

The sensor display chirped. “They’re slowing.”

Kira glanced at her then at the readouts. They weren’t anywhere near Bajor V, or any only planetary body for that matter. But the ship had dropped down to half impulse, which would allow the Rio Grande to reach them in minutes.

“Maybe their engines have overheated?” Lieutenant Jimenez suggested.

“Or they’ve decided to surrender?” added Sergeant Kallis.

She quickly looked at the readout on the scout. “Their engines are hot, but no sign of damage or overheating. Nothing on the comm either.” Another alert sounded. “They are charging weapons.”

“It looks like they’re tired of having a tail,” Kira commented.

“Weapons range in three-point-four minutes.”

“A ship that size typically has one phaser emitter, but before they’re willing to engage a Starfleet runabout I suspect they’ll have updated their weaponry. Keep to phasers; try to take out their shields and engines. Jimenez, Kallis, stand ready to board that ship. We need to neutralise the crew and locate Sol—hopefully he’ll have answers I want.”

“Yes Colonel,” the two security officers replied and headed to the rear of the cockpit to ready the transporter and stock up on supplies for seizing the ship.

It’d been a while since Myers had last been in a fight in something as small as a runabout, over the last two years she’d always been on the station or the Defiant whenever they’d faced battle. Her eyes flicked to the tactical display, which still showed their shields at one hundred percent, phaser banks fully charged and torpedo launchers active, with a volley of micro-torpedoes ready to launch. She switched the launchers from active to standby mode, before bringing the targeting sensors to bear on the scout.

“Nog, ready a tractor beam. If they’re resorting to old tricks, they’ve probably upgraded their graviton emitter, which may make it a futile gesture—but they could’ve slipped up in that regard.”

“Tractor beam ready.”

The little ship was as ready as they could make it. All that was left to do was wait for the chronometer to count down the seconds until intercept. Myers found herself going over multiple attack manoeuvres, looking over the design of the scout and trying to get a fix on where she’d need to hit. On a ship that size the problem she faced was that everything was tightly clustered together, since they didn’t have the space to put much distance between key pieces of technology. One wrong hit and she could hit an antimatter pod or rupture a coolant tank, which would either destroy the ship or kill everyone onboard.

No pressure.

“Thirty seconds to weapons range,” Nog stated.

“Stand ready, attack pattern theta-two.”

“Theta-two confirmed.”

Her fingers poised above the targeting array, ready to adjust it in seconds, and the fire controls, she waited.

“Ten seconds. Five.”

Nog didn’t have to reach zero. The scout ship opened fire as soon as they could, their single nose-mounted phaser joined by a pair of phased-polaron banks on the ends of the winds. Kira veered them off to port.

“Return fire.”

Myers made the minute adjustments and fired. Five shots struck the scout, each one finding its mark perfectly. As the Colonel brought them around for another pass, she retargeted but held off from active weapons lock, giving her time to adjust should they engage evasives.

The scout banked down the z-axis, accelerating. Kira stayed with them. Their engines presented a perfect target. Myers locked on and fired again, landing three more hits before the scout pulled out of the dive and retaliated with a rear-facing phaser emitter. Kira broke off and swung them about, giving them space to move and come in on a better attack vector.

“Our shields are holding at eighty-three percent. Theirs are down to sixty-five.”

“Detonate a couple of torpedoes in their path, that’ll shake them up a little.”

“Arming torpedoes,” Myers confirmed. “Ready.”

“Fire.”

The two glowing pulses arced out from under the cockpit, speeding ahead of the scout before exploding on either side, buffeting the slightly larger ship with their matter/antimatter payload. The scout emerged from the explosions, charging towards them, firing with all she had. Kira rocked the Rio Grande from port to starboard, using the ships nimbleness to keep them from taking too many hits.

“Colonel, we need to get under them for a good hit on their shield generators,” she said, taking shots at the scouts’ weapon ports.

As the two small ships barrelled towards one another, Kira ducked them under the scout at the last minute, giving Myers the shots she needed. Four phaser strikes, each one hitting within a three centimetre radius of one another.

Nog looked at the sensor readouts. “Their shields are at thirty percent. Structural integrity is stable.”

The runabout pulled back into a loop, coming in at the scout’s dorsal hull. The targeting sensors highlighted their weapons and engines; she input a full barrage and opened fire. The scout tried to break away from their vector, but Kira kept the runabout on top of them. Nine phaser beams smacked into their shields, causing them to flare as they repulsed the energy. The tenth beam was a direct hit to their engines, causing the scout to veer off out of control.

“Nice shooting!” exclaimed Nog. “Their warp and impulse engines have been hit. Damage isn’t severe but they’re down to thrusters for now. Shields are down to nine percent.”

Myers smiled to herself, locking onto their powerful wing-mounted weapons and fired again. The compromised shields didn’t stand a chance and soon her phased polaron cannons and aft phaser bank were out of commission.

“Shields and most of her weapons are out,” confirmed Nog.

“Lock tractor beam,” Kira ordered.

Nog activated the runabouts graviton emitter and snared the scout, stopping her momentum and keeping her last weapons port away from them. “Got them,” he announced and Myers could hear the smile in his tone.

“Myers, with me,” Kira said rising and heading to the transporter. “Nog beam one team into their cockpit and the other into the hold.”

“Aye sir,” he replied taking over at the conn.

Myers took the phaser Kallis offered as Kira and Jimenez stood on the transporter first. “Energise.” They disappeared in a shower of lights.

Immediately, the other two took their place, backs together, phasers up, fingers on the trigger. “Ready,” she told the Ferengi.

The transporter cycle lasted only seven seconds. Once it was over they were in a small cargo bay in the rear of the scout. She was facing the front, where the doors were open and a single man stood. From the forward section she could hear phasers and shouts. The hostile was too distracted by the fighting elsewhere to hear the second boarding team arrive.

She aimed and fired, dropping him in a heartbeat. They quickly surveyed the room and found no more hostiles, just the prone form of a Bajoran man to the starboard side. She tapped Kallis’ shoulder and pointed him towards the hostage. The deputy gave a nod and moved to check on him. After looking for a pulse, Kallis looked up at her and nodded. Knowing Sol was secure, Myers stepped into the short corridor to the front of the scout.

She had only taken two steps forward when a hulking Bajoran man stepped into the passage from the opposite side. He looked surprised to see her. She pointed her phaser and fired before he could even react to her sudden presence.

Once he was on the deck everything went quiet. She kept her phaser aimed at the open hatch as adrenaline pumping through her system, forcing herself to breath calmly.

“Clear,” called Kira.

“Clear,” she replied, holstering her weapons and letting her shoulders relax. “Colonel, we have Sol. He’s alive but unconscious.”

Kira emerged from the front of the ship. “Get him back to the runabout. Jimenez, Kallis, remain onboard and get these people locked up, we’ll tow the ship back to DS9.” She tapped her combadge. “Kira to Nog. We’re secure here. Prepare to take this ship under tow back to the station, alert security and Doctor Bashir.”

“Understood.”

Myers headed back to the hold and took over from Kallis. As he went to take care of the crew, she looked down at Sol’s handsome face, double-checked his pulse and found it to be steady. He must’ve been either drugged or stunned, either way Doctor Bashir would be able to revive him once they got back to the station.

She tapped her combadge. “Myers to Nog. Two to transport.”

As the transporter beam enveloped her again, she couldn’t help but wonder just why everyone was so interested in the unconscious man.

* * * * *

“Permanent Documentation File, Dakal, E.V.

“Though the old order has fallen away, given the changing face of the galaxy during this time and significance of my role on Deep Space Nine, I have decided to commence this, my official record of my assignment.

“This is my fifth day assigned as liaison to DS9 and my forth onboard the Xhosa, fortunately an adequate communications array allows me to fulfil my duties even from here. I am surprised that a ship of his age is still flying, not just that but is operating smoothly—I doubt that there are any Cardassian freighters that could make the same claim. Perhaps the Detapa Council could requisition a number of these ships to help bolster our merchant fleet.

“Captain Yates is perhaps the only member of the crew to make much of an attempt to converse with me, not that I was expecting to be welcomed with open arms—the mere mention of Cardassia saw half the crew stay behind on the station, and I suspect those that stayed did so for their pay rather than any humanitarian reasons. But it is our own fault. Some of my colleagues on Cardassia would have us blame the Dominion for all our woes; they would ever accept that the fault is of our own making. Long before we got in bed with the devil we were on a path of damnation.

“It is a shame that so few of the Dissident Movement survived the Jem’Hadar cull, this would be their time to make a true difference. Cardassia has been thrown back to the dark ages, now we have to create a new foundation and completely rebuild.

“Ha! If I had even been this frank in a documentation file six months ago I’d have only hours left to live, though the same would’ve been true three years ago. The only difference would be a Jem’Hadar weapon used to execute me instead of a Cardassian one.

“This may not be the kind of entry the Defence Service will be after, but it is the one I can now finally make—they should know now the kind of person they assigned to Deep Space Nine.”

He sat back and looked at the transcript of his new PDF, a small sense of accomplishment making his lips curl upwards. The entity that was once the Central Command wouldn’t be happy with what would be submitted, but that was the old mindset—if Cardassia truly wanted to recover from this nightmare, they had to leave that behind. In the final weeks of the war the people had shown that they had had enough of the oppression, with civil unrest and a military uprising (both of which directly opposed the power and control of The State) helping to tip the balance of power.

One of his greatest regrets was that he hadn’t done his part to help liberate Cardassia, but he had been assigned to a station where the Cardassian population was outnumbered eight-to-one. He could’ve tried to form his own cell, but there was no way to know just who he could trust and who would sell him out to their Dominion overlords. His position as logistics manager put him in a prime position to help cripple an entire fleet of Dominion warships, but if he even tried it then hundreds or even thousands of Cardassian lives would’ve been lost as well. He just couldn’t do it, not directly anyway. He had managed to slip out small amounts of data, information Damar and the resistance could use—he never knew if they did or not.

He shivered, the chill of the freighter bringing him back to the here and now. Though he had adjusted the temperature controls in his quarters, the compact room never seemed to hold the heat, so he was always feeling too cold for comfort. He needed to get out and stretch his legs anyway, so a trip to the mess hall would allow him to get something warm to drink.

The corridors of the Xhosa were quiet except for the sound of his own footsteps and the hum of the warp drive. With only six crew, himself and Mr Sisko onboard, there was a lot of free space. The walk from his cabin to the mess was a short one, hardly enough to work out the cramp he was feeling in his legs—that would have to wait until this evening, when he could run several laps around the cargo bay.

Stepping into the mess hall he found Yates and Sisko sitting at the long table in the middle of the room. They both looked across at him as he entered, a reaction he had found always happened, no matter who was in the mess.

“Captain Yates, Mr Sisko,” he said by way of greeting.

“Afternoon Glinn,” she replied. Sisko just gave him a quiet nod.

He stepped over to the replicator. “Raktajino, hot, double strong.”

His beverage materialised and he turned back to the table. Yates wore a look of surprise. “I thought Cardassians didn’t like coffee, preferring teas or retzi.”

Dakal sipped the pungent, bitter coffee, feeling it warm his bones and perk him up. “Tea is soothing, right now I need to be alert—there is a lot of paperwork involved with being a liaison. As for retzi, I never much cared for it.” Truth be told the thought of hot fish juice always turned his stomach.

“That’s good to know.”

“Well better understanding of each other is why I’m here. I trust everything is going smoothly onboard?”

Yates nodded. “All systems are running smoothly so our ETA remains the same, a little over two days’ time and we’ll be at Seneya. Then you can put your liaising skills to good use.”

“I hope I won’t disappoint.”

“Is there anything else I should know before we reach the planet?”

“I would recommend dropping out of warp a few million kilometres away and approach at impulse, if my intelligence reports are accurate, arriving right in orbit will make them panic.”

“I’ll make sure Atanum knows that, we’ll also keep our deflectors on standby—just in case.”

He inclined his head. “A wise precaution.”

There was a pause that stretched out with no one saying anything. He knew his presence was going to make some uncomfortable, until their either got to know, or became accustomed to, him. In the meantime, he would have to get used to the awkward silences and know when not to overstay his welcome.

“Paperwork awaits,” he told them, “If you’ll excuse me.” He gave a slight bow and headed back into the corridor and headed for his quarters again.

He was halfway towards his room when the door beside him slid open. He glanced towards it and found himself face-to-face with Atanum. Aside from spotting the man once, on his second day aboard, he hadn’t had any interaction with the Bajoran.

Dakal stepped to the opposite side of the narrow corridor, allowing Atanum space to step out of his quarters. The Bajoran held his gaze as he left his quarters, his face surprisingly impassive, before edging towards the mess hall. Dakal turned to head back to his quarters, but stopped after taking a step.

“May I ask,” he began, turning back to the other man, “why did you decide to remain onboard?”

Atanum, who still hadn’t turned his back on Dakal, stared at him levelly. “Since the end of the Occupation I have never seen another Cardassian. I guess I was curious to see what it would be like to meet one, now that you have had the briefest of tastes of what your people did to Bajor.”

He gave the smallest of smirks. “Cosmic retribution for all that we have done.” The Bajorans eyebrows shot upwards on his forehead in amazement. “For whatever it may be worth to you—very little I suspect—but I am sorry.” He turned back and headed for his cabin.

He was almost at his door when Atanum said, “You’re wrong.” The door opened and Dakal paused again. “It does mean something.”

Eron Dakal looked at the Bajoran for a long moment, then gave him a slight nod. Atanum returned it, then turned away and headed for the mess.

* * * * *

Navar looked up at the opening doors as Colonel Kira and Commander Harris stepped through, both of them shared the same angry scowl he’d worn since the first shot had rang out. The station had been thrown into total chaos, with five civilians and four deputies injured by weapons fire (three of which were in a critical condition) and another eight during the panicked crush to escape the Promenade. All over one man—who was distinctly absent from the holding cells.

“Anything from them yet?” demanded Kira.

“Nothing yet, Colonel, they haven’t even given us their names,” he told her, looking back at the monitors that showed the occupied cells and the seven Bajorans they held. “We have managed to get a match for them through central archives. They are all from different provinces and groups from the Resistance, have all lived in different places throughout the system since the end of the Occupation. There is only one commonality between them; they are all members of the Pah-Wraith Cult.”

Kira’s expression darkened. She didn’t say another word, but headed for the prison block. Harris hung back for a moment.

“Pah-Wraith Cult?”

“The Pah-Wraiths are said to be fallen Prophets, cast out of the Celestial Temple and forced to reside in the Fire Caves. The Cult believes that they are the true Prophets of Bajor. They’ve been a relatively small and disorganised association of fanatics, but their numbers have increased over the last eighteen months.”

Harris nodded his understanding, before following after Kira. Navar stepped through after him. Kira was already standing in the middle of the room, hands firmly on her hips. The four guards he’d assigned to watch over them, did so with their hands on their phasers.

“You all worship the Pah-Wraith,” she stated, looking around at them.

Navar noticed a couple were surprised they’d been found out so quickly. He took note of them, wondering if either of them might be the weakest link that could be broken for answers. None of them spoke however, another couple looked bored, whilst the rest were focused intently on Kira.

“Now, just why would you go to such extremes to capture one man? Is he one of the cult?”

One of them scoffed. Kira zeroed in on him.

“It is only blind, narrow-minded fools that call the True Path a ‘cult’,” he near spat out the last word.

Kira stepped over to his cell. The man stood head and shoulders above her with a solid thirty kilos (at least) on her, but the size of the man didn’t faze her. She stared him down.

“Well I’m not the one firing on innocent civilians onboard a space station. Is he just that important to you?”

“Innocent? Ha! They have turned the backs on the True Prophets, when They arise They will sweep the unclean from Bajor. The faithful shall rebuild our world and help the True Prophets reclaim Their rightful place in the Temple.”

Kira stepped as close to the forcefield as she could get. “Their last attempt ended with the death of their disciple.”

The man, Idar Kellos, growled. “Their Emissary has yet to reveal himself.”

“So it wasn’t the most hated man of Bajor? An evil man who only found the Pah-Wraiths after he went insane?”

He puffed out his chest and looked about ready to lash out at the Colonel. Navar had to admire her calmness and confidence. He wasn’t a devout follower of the Prophets, but Idar’s spouting of their dogma was starting to annoy even him—seeing him brought down a peg or two was definitely something he deserved.

“Dukat wasn’t on the True Path!” he snapped. “He used Them so further his own ambitions.”

“Not to mention Kai Winn, she was never looking out for herself either. The Pah-Wraiths keep attracting the wrong sort to their cause.”

The two others in the cell stepped forward, trying to make themselves as large and imposing as they could, but Kira never flinched. He suspected even if the forcefield hadn’t been there she would’ve still held her ground.

“You are playing a dangerous game, Colonel, mocking the True Prophets!” warned Idar.

A sly smile spread across her face. “Well if I ever visit the Fire Caves I’ll be careful.” With that, she turned her back on them facing Navar and Harris again. “Captain, I want them off my station as soon as possible.”

“A secure transport is already on route, they will be here in a couple of hours.”

“Good.”

Without looking back at the imprisoned men and women, she left the cell block, he and Harris following. Back in the Security Office he perched on the end of his console, folding his arms across his chest, as the others stood.

“Shouldn’t we try interrogating them further?” asked Harris.

Kira shook her head. “All we’ll get is more of their fanatic ramblings.”

“There may be a couple that are weaker than the others, Jerro and Padet didn’t look as confident as the rest. With some work, they could give us something,” he recommended.

“I suspect they’ll be more afraid of their associates than you, Captain,” she said, then shrugged. “It might be worth something though. See if you can get anything from them, but there will be no deals or bargains made.”

“Colonel, they put four of my best people in the Infirmary, I have no intention of letting any of them off lightly,” he assured her.

“Bashir to Kira.”

“Go ahead.”

“He’s awake, though highly agitated.”

“Understood, I’m on my way.”

She and Harris made a move to leave, but Navar stopped them, “Colonel, after all this you don’t plan on letting him stay here, do you?”

“That depends, Captain.”

“On what?”

“On why the Pah-Wraith cult wants him so badly.”

* * * * *

Kira and Harris walked down the Promenade. It was quiet, even the crews tasked with patching up the damage and cleaning up worked in near silence. No one had expected such violence to occur in the middle of the station, the population were still elated over the end of the war and what that meant for them. This incident was a painful reminder that the next threat was always closer than they expected.

By the time the Rio Grande had returned to the station with the scout in tow, they had the name of the man all this had been over: Solan Tobar. Surprisingly, he was a vedek, though his order was a small one so he wasn’t well known to many outside of his own congregation, certainly not someone who would be running for Kai. Of course learning this about him only raised further questions, top of her list was, how had he gotten caught up with the cult?

Harris remained quiet as they neared the Infirmary. She had to feel sorry for him, his first week in post and he’d already faced a crisis (very smoothly as well) and now had to deal with the intricacies of the Bajoran faith. If he could handle all this, then he was definitely meant to be on DS9. She was suddenly struck with a realisation, stopped and turned to him.

“Is your family alright, Commander?”

A flicker of worry passed over his face as he nodded. “Adele had just finished up in her restaurant and was already leaving the Promenade when the shooting started. Summer and Jason were safe in our quarters.”

“If you need to take some time—”

“I went to check on them just before you returned to the station, Colonel. They’re fine, a little shaken up over the whole event, but they’re doing alright. Thank you for the offer.”

She offered him a friendly smile. “Don’t mention it. I know what family means to you Starfleet types.” He gave a soft chuckle, before they stepped into the Infirmary.

From the alcove where the examination biobed was, she could hear Bashir, his voice calm but strong, “It’s alright, no one here is going to hurt you.”

She stepped into view and found Bashir standing on one side of the bed and Solan on the other, his eyes darting around, looking for an exit. They went even wider when he saw Kira and Harris.

“Vedek Solan,” she said, keeping her tone level, “I am Colonel Kira Nerys, commanding officer of the station you’ve helped throw into turmoil.”

A look of shame followed instantly by one of panic flashed through his eyes. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Well first I’d like some answers. Without that then I may just have to include you on the prisoner transport that’ll be here soon.”

He calmed down long enough to think over what she said, then fixed her with an intense look. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“If you’re worried about me being involved with the cult, I can assure you I’m not. I’m just looking for answers as to what happened here and why were they after you?”

He thought about it again, the visible tension in his body easing slightly. Kira stayed quiet and gave him time, given what he’d gone through he would need time to adjust, feel comfortable and decide if he could even think about trusting anyone again. When Solan looked back at them, he fixed her with a look then glanced at Bashir and Harris.

“Before I say anything, I want your assurance that I will be given time with the Orb of Contemplation.”

“The Orb? Why?”

He sighed heavily, suddenly looking very tired. “Because I don’t have all the answers, yet. I was heading to the temple to get to the Orb when they attacked. I need to consult it to help make sense of all of this.”

Kira looked at Bashir. Prylar Mond, the monk who’d served at the temple of over seven years, had been injured by the cult.

Bashir must’ve read her mind. “The prylar took a bad hit to the shoulder and lost a lot of blood. He’s lost the use of his left arm; he’ll need to be fitted for a bio-synthetics. He’s stable but unconscious, and likely to remain that way for several days.”

“As a member of the Vedek Assembly, I can access the Orb; I just need your guarantee that I will get time to do so—without interruption.”

“We can arrange that.”

He paused again. It took a little longer this time, but eventually he came to a decision. “As I said, I don’t have all the answers and some of what I am going to say is just speculation, but it’s all I’ve got to go on for the moment.

“Twenty years ago, when I was just ten, I was on the run from a Cardassian patrol. I was chased into the mountains on a path that led me to the Fire Caves. I was more terrified of what the Spoon-Heads would do to me if they caught me, more than the tales of what was inside the Caves, so I hid. I ran through the labyrinth, in the dark, no idea where I was going or where I ended up. I don’t know if the Cardassians followed me but if they did I was so deep inside they would never have found me.

“I lasted eight days inside, with barely any water, little food and even less sleep, but I managed to make it out and get back to my cell—malnourished, dehydrated and delirious. Whilst in the Caves, I was plagued with nightmares and hallucinations; sights, sounds and sensations that terrified me down to my core. Some asked to hear my story, but after I told them they became terrified of me, thinking I was touched by the Pah-Wraiths, so I stopped talking about it.

“That was until a visiting nun sought me out and asked to hear what I’d experienced. I told her everything, after she felt my pagh she said that I was bound to the caves and that I would have a part to play in their future and that of Bajor. For a long time after that I was terrified by that, thinking that I was destined to become one of the cult—I guess that’s what put me on the path to become a vedek, so that I wouldn’t fall from their grace.”

Kira suppressed a shiver, thinking of Vedek Fala, the man who had helped to build her faith and belief in the Prophets, who had revealed to her last year that he had been a part of the cult since she was a child. He had seen to her abduction from the station to Empok Nor, where Dukat had tried to convert her to his twisted cause. Fala had died in her arms and she had stayed by his side as his body had disintegrated into nothing but dust, thanks to a drug from the Obsidian Order. A life dedicated to the Prophets didn’t always protect people from falling away from Their teachings.

“I don’t understand why this cult would be after you for being in the caves two decades ago,” Harris interrupted. She glanced at him, smiling to herself, his abruptness was cutting to the point.

Solan cast him an annoyed look, then focused on Kira again. “It’s because of what I think I saw there. Something that radiated evil, that tormented by dreams. Something that shouldn’t exist. Something that isn’t mentioned in a single historical text of prophecy.” He trailed off, looking exhausted and afraid.

“Vedek?” she probed gently.

“A...a crimson Orb...an Orb of the Pah-Wraith.”

* * * * *

 

Chapter Eight


“Commander, we are approaching the Dorvan System,” Syrell announced.

“Drop us out of warp, Ensign. Take us to two-thirds impulse.”

“Aye sir,” she confirmed and entered the commands into the helm, which eased the Defiant gracefully from warp to sub-light speeds.

Though she was just two years out of the Academy, Syrell had served on three ships before she received her current assignment. The war had taken its toll of the ranks of Starfleet, with hundreds of ships being lost and thousands of officers and crew. Her first ship, the Excelsior-Class Carpathia had been among the former, just four months and seven hours since she’d first reported aboard. Her next assignment had been to the far smaller U.S.S. Lirpa, a Sabre-Class vessel with an all-Vulcan crew of forty-three—the smaller complement allowing her a daily shift at the conn, during which she was able to display the extent of her training and abilities. She was onboard for eight months, twelve days and thirteen hours, before Captain Andresen of the Bellerephon, impressed by her officer evaluation on the Lirpa, had her reassigned after an attack killed several of his crew. She saw out the remainder of the war onboard the Intrepid-Class ship; though once it was over she was transferred once again, this time to Deep Space Nine and the Defiant.

Each billet had given her something new to face, the experiences helping hone her skills even more, and though she was still new to the Defiant she intended to use her time onboard to the best of her ability. One thing she had quickly learnt was that of all four starships, her latest was by far the most responsive, as well as the most challenging—the impulse engines produced far too much power for a ship of its size, so handling them took more finesse than she’d anticipated, and the warp drive wasn’t much better—going above warp nine-point-two caused serious problems with the structural integrity field and inertial dampeners—but she was onboard to learn as much as she was to serve.

She trimmed their heading by point-zero-eight degrees, which would take them directly to Dorvan V, making a mental note to recalibrate the navigational array and scanned ahead to ensure there was nothing on their projected heading. Just as she noticed a contact alerts sounded at operations and tactical.

“Commander,” began Lieutenant Reese, “we’ve got a ship in high orbit.”

She heard Lieutenant Commander Taelor rise to his feet. “Can you identify them, Lieutenant?”

“It’s a Ju’day-Class ship, sir.”

Syrell’s eyebrow rose. The older style ship had been heavily modified and used by the Maquis when they had been active in and along the former Demilitarised Zone. Of course the ship was once used as a freighter, though its most recent usage would leave a longer-lasting impression.

“Collins, hail them.”

There was a brief pause as Ensign Collins attempted ship-to-ship communications. “No response, sir.”

“Dax, signal the convoy to reduce to one-fifth impulse. Syrell, move us ahead, put us between them and the planet.”

“Aye sir,” she replied, altering their course to take them up and over the cargo ships, placing the Defiant at the front to defend them if needed. The navigational display showed the six ships slowing down.

“Convoy has confirmed orders and slowing, Commander.”

“ETA, nine-point-seven minutes at present speed,” Syrell announced.

“Collins, open a channel to that ship.”

“Channel open.”

“This is Commander Taelor of the Defiant. Identify yourself and your business in this system.”

After a few seconds, Collins stated, “No response.”

“Lieutenant, run a full sca—”

Her display suddenly changed as the ship began to move. “Vessel has broken orbit.”

“Shields up. Repeat our transmission, Ensign.”

Before either officer could confirm the Ju’day-Class ship disappeared from short-range sensors. She switched to long-range and located them again. “They have gone to warp, Commander. Bearing two-seven-seven-mark-three-zero-one.”

Taelor came and stood behind her. “Can you project their course?”

She quickly scanned ahead of the Ju’day-Class ship. When she saw what was out there, her eyebrow rose again. “If they do not deviate from their current heading or speed, they will reach the Badlands in thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes and fifty-two seconds.”

“Collins, continue full active scans of the system. I want to know the instant any other ships show up.”

“Aye Commander.”

“Dax, tell the convoy they can proceed to standard orbit and open up a channel to the planet.”

“The colony is responding,” she announced before the viewscreen came to life with the image of a woman flanked by two men sitting on one side of desk.

“This is Lieutenant Commander Hjon Taelor of the starship Defiant, we are escorting a convoy of supply ships with relief supplies for yourselves and the refugee settlements.”

The woman jutted her chin forward, her bearing one of authority. “I am Winema, speaker for the tribal leader. Thank you Commander, our own resources are at dangerously low levels. We are happy to help those less fortunate, but we never expected that so many would flock here. There is not enough food of medicines to go around.”

“We’ll be in orbit shortly. A few of our freighters will handle the refugees directly, whilst the others will see to the colony. Lieutenant Dax will be co-ordinating everything from this end, so if you have any queries of worries, she’ll be happy to help.”

“Commander, do you have a physician onboard?”

“We do. Is there a medical problem we were unaware of?”

“My grandfather is very ill and our healer is young and inexperienced, he is at a loss.”

“As soon as we are in orbit a team will beam down to assist in any way they can,” he reassured her, his tone far softer than Syrell had heard it before. The Lieutenant Commander was definitely a man full of surprises.

“Thank you again, Commander. We will await your arrival.”

“Syrell, take us into high orbit above the colony. Ezri, you’ll be with Gres and I, we’ll beam down and speak with Winema and check on things there—maybe even find out just what that ship was doing here.”

“Commander,” Reese interrupted, “I don’t like the idea of you leading this mission. You’re the officer-in-charge, your place is on the bridge.”

“That is true and had their orbit been clear when we arrived I’d happily let you lead the team, Lieutenant, but I want answers. I have a knack for knowing it people are lying to my face, so I want to see what she has to say about it.”

“You’ll need a security detail then.”

“Lieutenant, your teams will be needed to safeguard and distribute supplies. Ensign Syrell,” he announced after the briefest of pauses.

She turned to face him where he stood beside Counsellor Dax. “Sir?”

“You know how to use a phaser, right?”

“Yes Commander. I have a proficiency rating of eighty-nine percent with hand phasers and eighty-two percent with rifles.”

He gave her a wide grin. “Excellent, you’ll be my ‘bodyguard’.” He looked back at Reese. “Problem solved.”

She cast a look at the Lieutenant, who folded his arms across his chest, looking unconvinced. She couldn’t say she disagreed, given Taelor’s almost frivolous attitude towards his own personal safety. She felt a questioning eyebrow climb up her forehead as she turned back to her station.

* * * * *

Harris looked around the table that dominated the ward room. Aside from himself also seated were Captain Navar, First Lieutenant, Doctor Bashir and Lieutenant JG Nog. Seeing the young Ferengi in a Starfleet operations uniform still startled him, especially when he saw more traditional members of his species on a daily basis, but in his dealings with the engineer so far he’d found Nog to be a very dedicated and ingenious individual. But compared to the rest, he was probably the most ‘normal’ officer, given that the station’s CMO was a genetically engineered superman and the other two were both Bajoran nationals, not constrained by the rules and regulations of Starfleet. DS9 was definitely his most interesting assignment, that much was certain.

The doors opened and Kira stepped in, quickly taking her place at the head of the table. “Vedek Solan,” she began, looking at each of them, “thoughts?”

“I don’t buy it,” started Navar. “This could all be an elaborate plan for the cult to get someone on the station under our good graces.”

“He was shot at almost point-blank range with a phaser on heavy stun, a few centimetres closer and the blast would’ve killed him,” Bashir noted. “I’ve also found wounds on his feet and torso that show he was climbing in the last week, he didn’t get all the particulates out so I managed to take a few for testing. The rock dust does come from the Fire Caves, and going by how deep it was imbedded in the souls of his feet he would’ve been running at full speed.”

“That doesn’t negate my point, Doctor. It could’ve been elaborately staged to give his story the air of truth to it.”

“Why?” Harris asked turning to the security chief. “Why would they want to leave someone here we’d be automatically suspicious of? To go to that level of detail to set up his story, they would’ve known we would just accept what he said and let him have free roam of the station.”

“He is a vedek, that much is true, the evidence Doctor Bashir found matches up with his account, the brutal attack on the Promenade and his capture drove us to actively retrieve him, he is lying down in the Infirmary instead of a cell, and we’re meeting to see if we believe him in order to give him access to the Orb. It sounds to me like their plan is already working.”

“That’s if that is their plan. Did the prisoners reveal anything more?”

Navar shook his head, his earring jangled. “They all remained quiet, even the ones I thought might break. The security force on Bajor might have more luck though.”

“How long until the transport arrives?” Kira asked.

“It’ll be here in thirty minutes. All provisions are in place for prisoner transfer, I’ve also increased random security sweeps throughout the station.”

“Good. I’ll feel better once they’re off the station, and Captain,” she fixed Navar with a look, “I have no intention of letting Solan loose onboard, not without as escort at all times.”

He held her look for a moment then nodded. “I already have two deputies at the entrance to the Infirmary.”

“Yes, thanks for that,” quipped Bashir under his breath.

“Let’s say for the time being that Solan is exactly as he appears to be, a man with information that the cult wants,” she laid out, getting them back on track. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve never heard of any extra Orbs—especially not a red one.”

“There was the Orb of the Emissary,” Bashir noted, sitting forward. “The only place that it is mentioned was on the necklace that belonged to Captain Sisko’s birth mother. Couldn’t this red Orb be the same?”

“I’ve linked our computer to the Vedek Assembly’s database,” Lin spoke up, “as well as the Central Archives and every major archaeological institute on Bajor, and have them set up to run a full search for anything regarding an ‘Orb of the Pah-Wraith’. Unfortunately there are ten millennia worth of scientific research and religious doctrine for the computer to go through; it will take time to find any clues.”

“Lieutenant, whilst you’re connected to the Vedek Assembly computer, maybe you could see what you can find on Solan.”

“I already have, Colonel,” he told her. After the datalink had been established, he had gone after answers of his own, needing to get up to speed on aspects of Bajoran culture he hadn’t expected to have to deal with so soon. “I cross checked with law enforcement as well, to get as full a background check as I could.

“The man in the Infirmary is Solan Tobar, named for his paternal grandfather, Yerid Tobar,” he began before confirming all he’d told them about his childhood, time in the Andara Resistance Cell, before turning to the religious life when the Occupation was over. “He became the youngest Vedek in the Assembly—still is according to their records. His order is small and seen as ‘progressive’, they have no extremist views and no connections or sympathies to the cult. I contacted his First Prylar, who told me the Vedek had a ‘habit’ of being out of touch for a day or two every couple of months. When I pressed him, he admitted it was to research the Fire Caves, though said that there were only a handful who knew of his work.”

“What ‘work’ is that?” Kira asked, clasping her hands on top of the table.

“He didn’t know any specifics, just that he would often help the Vedek locate obscure texts and scrolls from across the planet—as well as make enquiries about some of those that the Cardassians removed during the Occupation.”

Navar caught on to what he’d said. “Has he managed to get his hands on any of the artefacts? As soon as he did then he could be arrested for dealing with stolen goods.”

Harris had to admire the Captain’s determination to pin some crime against Solan, unfortunately he had to disappoint the man. “Nothing as far as the Prylar could tell me, just that he’d been making a very extensive list of all that had been taken from Bajor.”

“That would be an impressive feat in itself,” commented Kira, “I don’t think anyone on Bajor has any clue exactly how many things the Cardassians took.” She shook her head, clearing the thought and turned to Nog. “What about their ship? Can it shed any further light on this situation?”

“Other than the damage we inflicted, which I’ve got a repair working on right now, it looks like the tried to purge their computer logs before you boarded them, Colonel. They got the sensor, communication and data access entries wiped clean, but they forgot about two of the lower priority logs however, which tell us a lot. The life support logs show that for the last eight days, up until thirty hours ago, there were seven people onboard before dropping down just to one—”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Navar.

“The amount of air used, recycling and pumped back into the habitable spaces. If Solan was in cahoots with them, he wasn’t onboard their ship until they beamed him out of the crossover bridge.”

“What’s the other log?” Harris asked, impressed once again by Nog’s thinking.

“Fuel consumption,” he said with a toothy smile. “They refuelled on Bajor, a small spaceport in the Rakantha Province I believe, then carried out several long atmospheric trips, before travelling to two of Bajor’s moons and ultimately heading here. It looks like they were conducting a thorough search—hardly the actions of people who know where Solan was going.”

“Nice work, Mr Nog,” Harris commended. He hid a smile as the Ferengi’s chest puffed out a little more and his grin widened.

“Thank you, Commander.”

“What about the cloak?” Kira asked.

“It’s low-grade, definitely not Romulan or Klingon; I’d suspect Vetrenite, though it’s had a few tweaks so definitely better than their typical devices. It’s in the workshop and I’ve got Stevens and Tekoa picking it apart as we speak. I’ll get a full report to you once they’re done.”

She nodded. “As quick as they can, please.” She looked at Bashir again. “What about the casualties?”

“Most who were in critical condition have stabilised and should make a full recovery, though they’re under constant observation until they regain consciousness. Timis Dyza however is still in a very bad way. The shot punctured his left lung and destroyed two of his heart ventricles, unfortunately the bio-synthetics we have on hand aren’t ideally suited for Bolian anatomy. Until I can get the appropriate supplies from Starbase 375 he’ll remain in a critical condition, which could deteriorate at any minute. I have a surgeon on standby in case he has to go back into the O.R.”

With a solemn look Kira sat forward, quiet for a long moment, lips pursed. “My feeling is that Solan is who he says he is. That he has nothing to do with the cult, and that they are after him for what he saw twenty years ago. That being said, because they are after him I’m not going to give him free reign of the station. As for getting to the Orb of Contemplation, as a Vedek he can have access though, again, not without supervision.”

“I will see to it personally, Colonel.”

“Thank you, Captain. Regardless of what he might see in his experience, I think a trip to Bajor to run a few more intensive scans of the Fire Caves wouldn’t be out of order. Lin, Nog, I want the two of you to see to that.”

“Aye sir,” they replied in unison.

“We’ll proceed with caution, maintain a higher level of security and work every source we’ve got.”

“It’s a shame our new liaison isn’t onboard,” Harris found himself saying aloud.

“Commander?”

He looked around the table at the multiple frowns and serious expressions. “What I meant is that, he may be able to put us in touch with someone who has studied the Bajoran artefacts on Cardassia. One of them may have some reference to this new Orb.”

Kira’s frown deepened for a moment as she thought, before her face softened. “Contact the Xhosa, see if he does know of anyone who could be able to help, then follow up.” She looked around the other senior officers. “Like I said, every source. Anything else?” Everyone remained quiet. “Dismissed.”

* * * * *

The transporter beam released them in the centre of town. Taelor took a moment to look around, but there were no signs of life. His fight or flight instinct kicked in and he rested his hand on the phaser on his hip. He glanced at Dax, Greskrendtegk and Syrell as they too looked around the quiet courtyard, ready to draw.

A door opened behind him. He spun towards, resisting the urge to pull his weapon from its holster. It was a good thing he didn’t, Winema stepped out to meet them.

“Commander,” she said by way of greeting, looking at the four-man away team, then scanning around. “Where are the supplies?”

She was someone who got straight to the point, he could respect that. “We’ll need final co-ordinates for transport. Once they’re relayed back to the convoy your supplies will be beamed down without haste. I’ve assigned some of my crew to assist—”

She cut him off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s no bother.”

“Commander, we can manage. The villagers are at the warehouses, ready to get to work, so we have more than enough manpower.”

This was more than just an abrupt manner. “I’m afraid its Starfleet protocol to provide escort to all supplies.”

Winema gave a humourless laugh. “And you can’t go against Starfleet protocol!”

“Is there a problem we should be aware of?” he asked, letting a hard edge slip into his voice.

She gritted her teeth for a few seconds, fighting down the urge to snap, but couldn’t hold back for very long. “It’s because of Starfleet protocols that half of the colonists are either dead or maimed. After you abandoned us to the Cardassians!” she growled, her tone so filled with anger it was like a physical slap. “Many were only too happy to join the Maquis, to reclaim our home for ourselves—since no one else was going to help.”

Dax stepped forward. “The treaty wasn’t ideal, but it ended decades of hostility and war.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

He saw the same look on Dax’s face he knew was on his. Her rage was tangible and, he had to admit, perfectly justified. The treaty had lead to the formation of the Demilitarised Zone, the birth of the Maquis, who only took advantage of Cardassia’s weakened position after the loss of the Obsidian Order and the Klingon invasion, which had seen them welcome the Dominion with open arms. What had started out as a means to prevent any further wars from beginning had led to the worst conflict in five decades—which worlds like Dorvan V had paid the highest cost for.

“Winema, we can stand here and debate the finer points of Federation diplomatic policy, or we can get started on helping your people. Our teams will help get the supplies stored faster, which means we’ll be out of your hair sooner.”

She glowered at him, body like a tightly coiled spring, nostrils flaring. “Fine.” She pulled a PADD from her pocket and shoved it at him. “The warehouse co-ordinates.”

He turned and handed the PADD to Dax. “Transmit this to Collins, get them started ASPA.”

Greskrendtregk moved to the forefront. “I believe your grandfather is ill,” he said with a soft voice, which belied his appearance: faint scales that took on an iridescent sheen under the afternoon sun, a row of four sharpened horns running up his forehead, and a mouthful of pointed incisors.

She nodded. “You are the physician?”

“Yes. After I have a close look at your grandfather, I could check in with anyone else who is injured.”

Taelor hadn’t planned on extending medical aid to anyone else in the colony, seeing as that Gres was their only doctor and the only other medical personnel they had aboard were non-commissioned corpsmen—good at field medicine and triage, though lacking the skills of a decent doctor. The convoy had carried some doctors and nurses, destined for the refugee settlements on the northern hemisphere, but some could always be rerouted to help the colony if their needs demanded it.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to find the Doctor’s agenda. Like any good medical officer, Gres was interested only in doing what he’d been trained for, to treat the sick and wounded, the debates of politics were a far lesser concern for the Ktarian.

“This way,” she said, turning towards the building she’d come from, but stopped. Winema looked back at the rest of them. “Just him.”

He caught Greskrendtregk’s eye and fixed him with a look he hoped conveyed ‘be on your guard’. With a crew still so new to him it was hard to know if he understood, before following the human woman into the building, the door closing behind them.

Taelor let out a sigh and turned back to Dax and Syrell. “Well that went smoothly.”

“I was expecting something far worse,” Dax admitted. “Given all Dorvan has gone through over the last six years, not being flooded with refugees from across the sector, I half expected us to be held up at phaser-point when we materialised.”

Almost simultaneously, both women clasped their hands behind their back which made him smirk—which was a refreshing break from the tension and annoyance that’d been building within him. He didn’t want to think that the colonists had started up their own Maquis, though now, going by Winema’s strong opinions, he didn’t think that was likely. If that was the case, just who was on that ship when they arrived and what were they doing here?

As the minutes dragged, he slowly strolled around the plaza, looking at the short, stone-built buildings, admiring the workmanship that went into them. Syrell had her tricorder out and was scanning, whilst Dax was working on her PADD and occasionally speaking over the comlink.

“Counsellor, if you need to get back to the Defiant head on up. I’ll try not to spark any kind of public relations nightmare here.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “You have a convoy to organise. It’s easier to do that from orbit than here.”

“Very well, sir. Dax to Defiant. One to beam up.”

The transporter beam enshrouded her and whisked her back up to the warship in orbit. The courtyard grew quiet, except for the hum of a tricorder’s sensor sweep, the gentle whistle of the wind and a few birds high in the sky. The humans on Dorvan used technology in their lives, but their colony wasn’t an industrial one. They had settled here to hold onto their culture and get back to their roots. As such, the village was a quiet and tranquil place—he could understand why they had never wanted to leave. He closed his eyes and listened to the peace.

Syrell closed her tricorder, which made him look over at her. “Problem Ensign?”

“I have carried out a thorough scan as far as tricorder range allows. There are no indications of transporter signatures anywhere in the village. Whatever the Ju’day-Class vessel was doing here, they didn’t beam anything to or from here.”

“Industrious thinking, Ensign. Anything else of note?”

“Negative, Commander. The colony is exactly what it appears to be. Perhaps the colonists didn’t even realise the ship was in orbit, their sensor satellite was destroyed during the war.”

“That is a possibility.”

“What is?” Winema demanded from behind him.

He turned towards her, disheartened to see her demeanour hadn’t changed since her grandfather was being seen to. This was going to be another confrontation, he knew it, but it was the reason he had beamed down and he wasn’t going to back down.

“When we arrived in the system there was a Ju’day-Class ship in orbit. They ignored our hails and left before we could ascertain just who they were. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

“What are we being accused of?” she challenged.

“Nothing. Their behaviour was suspicious and, given their previous use by the Maquis, we were concerned for your safety.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” she shot back, before biting her tongue and taking a breath. He wondered if her grandfather had given her some counsel in her dealing with them when she’d taken Gres to see him.

“I apologise, Commander. After so long being cut off from Starfleet, I have to remind myself that at least you are here now to help us.”

“I hope this will the first of many journey’s here, Winema, and I hope that we can start to build bridges with your people again.”

Her posture relaxed ever so slightly and the flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. “In answer to your question; no, we had nothing to do with that ship, I didn’t even know it was in orbit. They were most likely transporting more refugees or whatever supplies they could scrape together from other worlds.”

“So it’s not a Maquis ship?”

“I’ve never heard of any of their ships surviving the Jem’Hadar eradication. Certainly none have sought refuge here.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to ask around the settlements.”

“You should be careful, Commander. The refugees may once have been innocent and peaceful people, but having their homes, worlds and families taken from them has left them angry and desperate. You may have an even colder welcome waiting for you there.”

“We’ll stay alert. I’ll leave Doctor Greskrendtregk here to help your people out in any way he can. If you need anything more, just ask Dax.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

He tapped his combadge. “Taelor to Defiant. Two to transport.”

* * * * *

With just half her crew onboard, Kasidy Yates had split them up so that they all had a work shift and then plenty of time to sleep and unwind. As such it meant that whoever was on the bridge was left to their own devices, and now it was her turn. She was surprised at just how quiet things had been onboard, given the presence of Dakal. But the Cardassian seemed to have gone out his way to be courteous and considerate to everyone, even Atanum didn’t seem to mind him.

From the starboard station the companel lit up, chirping. She groaned as she was forced to get up, after just getting comfortable at the helm. Unfortunately, despite the amount of automation the Xhosa had received, her consoles could only handle so much—there was no way to manage everything from a single station, not without a loss in response times or processing power. A few months ago, before she was pregnant, it was never an issue, but with the life growing inside her she always found it hard to find a position to sit in that didn’t cause some twinge or cramp.

She tapped the controls, activating the monitor and opening the channel. The face of Commander Harris surprised her.

“Commander? Is everything alright?”

“Things have been a little chaotic since you left, Captain,” he admitted before giving her a quick recount of all that had happened in the last couple of days.

Kasidy found herself eternally grateful that Jake had insisted on coming with her, he could’ve been on the Promenade when the shooting started, and she would never have forgiven herself if she’d let something happen to the young man—even by not being there. With Ben gone, she saw it as her responsibility to keep the twenty-one year old safe, just as much as the child she carried.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Actually, I need to speak with Glinn Dakal, if I may?”

“Of course, I’ll patch you through.”

“Thank you. Stay safe out there, Captain.”

She paused the comlink and routed it through to Dakal’s quarters. With everything going on, she wasn’t sure just what he’d need to speak to the Cardassian about, no doubt it would be important enough that wasting time answering questions could mean others being injured. Kasidy had never understood why the Bajorans took their devotion to the Wormhole aliens so serious, indeed their idolisation of Benjamin had worried her at times—especially after he’d let slip he’d been stabbed when on Earth, by a member of the very same cult no less!

Just as she was about to return to the helm the companel flashed to life again. “Good thing I was still here,” she mused to herself with a smile.

She answered the incoming channel, bringing it up on a screen. It took a moment for the image to clear, but when it did she was relieved to see Prylar Ven once again—the old woman looked to have aged years in the last five days.

“Captain, when will you reach Seneya?” she asked immediately.

“Our ETA is a little over two days, which will put us right on schedule. However, there’s been a bit of a snag. DS9 has been assigned a new Cardassian liaison, who insisted on joining us on this run.”

The woman’s expression clouded, though that could’ve been a result of the poor channel. “I see.”

“We still have more than enough room for you and I’d be happy to take you home, but when we arrive it’d be best if you officially booked passage onboard for the return trip—as an aid worker for example. So no suspicions are raised about why you’re onboard.”

“I can manage that. Does anyone know about our arrangement?”

“None of my crew, nor the Glinn, know. I’ve only told my step-son, who is also aboard, but he’ll keep that to himself.”

“I will trust you in his discretion. Thank you, Captain.”

Kasidy paused, wondering if she should tell the Bajoran about what was happening back on the station, then decided against it. By the time they returned to DS9 she hoped the problems they were facing would be resolved, and if they weren’t she doubted that a single elderly prylar would be a target for the cult—at least she hoped so.

“Our designated drop off point is the city of Tevatt spaceport, so if you can be there when we arrive then I can see to beaming you onboard. We won’t be at Seneya for very long, it shouldn’t take more than five hours to offload then we’ll be heading home.”

“I am just outside Tevatt. I’ll book passage and be waiting for you to arrive.”

“I will see you then, Prylar. Xhosa out.”

After the channel closed she stood looking at the blank screen for a while. The sense that she was sneaking around cut close to home, just as it had done when she had agreed to help smuggle supplies to the Maquis. Just as she had then, she tried to justify her actions by telling herself that she was answering a call for help. Though there was nothing illegal about transporting someone from Seneya to DS9, the secrecy of the act just made her uncomfortable.

* * * * *

The holding cells were empty—except for an inebriated Morn, who was sleeping off a particularly big night in Quark’s—and the prison transport had been secured. They had already turned around and were heading back to Bajor. Navar could breathe a small sigh of relief, though not for very long, as he still had to contend with his biggest security issue (after Quark that was).

Slipping a phaser into his holster, he marched out the Security Office and down the Promenade. The main street, as well as the balconies, was still quiet. The public were apprehensive about returning to their normal lives, which he could understand—the last time they had let their defences down then extremists had opened fired on them. All because of one man! He gritted his teeth tightly together and felt the muscles flex in his jaw.

He thought the Colonel was wrong regarding Solan. Were he still on Prophet’s Landing, he would’ve argued his point with Colonel Hortoro (their shouting matches had become legendary in a short space of time), but he had been an over-inflated bureaucrat, someone who was all talk and nothing more. Kira, on the other hand, had been in the trenches during the Occupation and knew how to lead by example. Even in the short weeks he’d served under her command, he had come to respect her as she was someone who earned it not the kind of person who demanded it because of their rank. It was because of that fact that he had backed down and would follow his latest order. He just hoped he wasn’t proven right.

At the Infirmary entrance he nodded to Ensign T’Nee and Private Shahal before he entered, knowing that they would join the other teams sweeping both the Promenade and the temple as soon as he taken over escort duty. He had only briefly met her predecessor, ‘Constable’ Odo, once but he had liked the shape-shifters direct manner, which had been put to excellent use training his security teams.

Inside, he found Solan sitting on the biobed with Bashir running a final scan. Navar stood to the side, hands clasped behind his back, keeping his eye on the man he’d be providing security for. He was dressed in newer clothes, loose-fitting and casual, not the kind of thing he ever expected to see a vedek in, whilst he’d also cleaned himself up and shaved, though his mop of thick, dark hair was still unkempt.

Bashir closed his tricorder and looked at him. “Everything checks out, he’s got a clean bill of health, which means he’s all yours, Captain. Just be sure to keep him that way.”

Navar nodded. “I don’t make a habit of allowing guests to be injured on my watch, Doctor.”

“Of course not.” The physician looked back at Solan. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you, Doctor, you’ve been most kind.”

With that, he hopped off the bed and came over to face Navar. “I believe you’re my bodyguard for the foreseeable future.”

“I am.”

The Vedek looked him over and smiled. “Shall we be going?”

“Where do you wish to go?”

“The temple, I need to see what the Prophets have to say about all of this. To see if They have any answers for me.”

Navar tapped his combadge. “We are heading for the temple, all teams be on alert.” He gestured towards the exit and Solan headed for it, Navar following a couple of paces behind. They walked along the Promenade in silence, his eyes flicking from person to person, peered into every alcove and dark corner. He always hated waiting for an ambush to happen, even worse when none did, his body was so pumped with adrenaline and muscles ready to react on reflex, instincts honed by years of fighting the Cardassians came to the forefront.

Solan watched the sixth pair of deputies march passed. “Are all the precautions really necessary?”

“You tell me.”

Solan stopped just outside the temple and turned back towards him. “You think there are still some members of the cult here, don’t you?”

“That is a distinct possibility. If they put any forethought into this, they would have had contingency plans in place. My teams are sweeping the area for concealed weapons and explosives, every person who has come onboard from Bajor in the last week is being checked for any connections to the cult, and scans are being run for other cloaked ships. We are not taking any chances.”

“Yet you still think I’m involved with them,” it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

“You may have been able to convince everyone else with your story, or your status as a vedek, or your pretty face, but it is my responsibility not to believe what others do, to be suspicious and seek out explanations other than what is presented.”

There was a beat of silence as Solan thought, before he looked back up. “So you think I have a ‘pretty face’?”

Navar found himself taken aback. Of all the things Solan could’ve had issue with or questioned from his last statement, that was the last thing he had expected. Not knowing quite what else to say he gestured to temple entrance.

“It’d be best to get inside.”

Solan turned back to the opening and took the first step and paused again. His head shot towards where the first shots had come from, as did Navar’s, but the only person standing there was Lieutenant Neeley. Looking visibly relieved, the vedek carried on into the temple, Navar following close behind.

It had been cleared of all other worshippers, thoroughly checked for any booby-traps and deemed safe. Solan ignored the anterooms to the side of the entrance and headed for the temple itself. Navar stayed with him as they walked down the aisle and reached the altar, where the Bajoran emblem dominated the wall. Solan stepped to a panel at the side and rested his hand against it. The emblem, which was merely a hologram, vanished to reveal the vault behind it. Secure behind a forcefield, stored safely in its ark, was the Orb of Contemplation.

From the panel, Solan entered a twelve digit security code (one even Navar didn’t possess) and the field vanished just as the quickly as the hologram had. Even though he wasn’t the most devote of believers, he still bowed his head towards the ark. A few years ago he had considered exploring his pagh, but after Teysa was…after Teysa, he’d lost too much of himself.

Solan moved to stand before the ark, holding his arms at his side, raised slightly, and spreading his hands, he too bowed his head, praying silently. Navar remained quiet, watching his charge. After several minutes, Solan’s head rose again and he looked at the ark for a long moment, took a deep breath and stepped closer to it. Navar was about to take a step closer by the Vedek held up a hand.

“You’ll need to take a few steps to the side, Captain, or else you may find yourself speaking with the Prophets as well.”

Grudgingly, he stepped over to the side and back away from the altar.

“Thank you.”

He reached forward and set his hands on the ark’s doors and took a steadying breathe. Before Solan opened them, he shot a look at Navar.

“Your face is too,” he said with a smile, before opening the doors and being bathed in light.

Stunned silent, Navar Reo stood, watched and waited.

* * * * *