Many times, hatred sneaks up on us--and it isn't until after the fact that we recognize it for what it was. Once we acknowledge to ourselves what we've done, how do we accept it? How do we recover from it?
This tale focuses on a memorable event from the final season of Deep Space Nine. I feel that that scene (which, yes, I dramatize here) brilliantly depicts what hatred or contempt for an enemy can drive you to do--and how it can blind you to such things as...hypocrisy.
The story also involves my all-time favorite Star Trek couple. (And yes...the title is a direct play off their banter near the end of the finale.) After all, who better to help analyze the effects of such emotions...than a counselor?
Finally--be prepared for a couple references to another genre. Hey--if it's a Bashir tale, any chance I can get....
The main story is set about shortly after "What You Leave Behind". It's 4,152 words. I'll break it into two posts.
Unlike most of my tales, this one's pretty stand-alone.
Enjoy!
Ezri Dax leaned back in her seat in her office, and stretched. She was tired—not exhausted, just the opposite.
Slow day. But—the war’s over, now. I’ll just have to get used to it, I guess.
There’d only been a couple of patents for her, that day. Nog had been a little concerned about all the new duties he was taking on. Jake showed up, of course. It had barely been a week since life had quieted down on the station. The war was over, Odo was gone, Worf and Miles too—and…
And Benjamin was gone—possibly never to return. She’d made it a point to schedule regular sessions with Jake…something, anything to help him cope with the loss of his father.
Ezri empathized completely with his pain—she knew all too well what it was like to lose a father, knowing all too well that it wasn’t his fault. Still…the fact that Jake didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye…
She sighed, looking around her. Through the clear doors leading out to the Promenade, she could see the lights out there dim a bit. Evening shift was going to start soon. Her “day” was almost over.
She smiled, as her plans for the night organized in her mind. Quark’s Bar was a certainty—but first, of course, she’d stop by the Infirmary, to pick up Julian. They’d both head to the Replimat, first—and who knows? Perhaps after dinner, they’d do something in the holosuite. Personally, she wasn’t in the mood for Sparta, tonight. Perhaps…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the door chime.
She looked up—and smiled through the doors at Dr. Julian Bashir.
He nodded, returning the smile. Ezri chuckled, and beckoned him inside, rising to her feet.
Julian came in, and said, “Counselor.”
Ezri nodded in response, her smile growing. “Doctor.”
They shared a chuckle at this. It wasn’t that long ago when they actually began a relationship—and it still amazed both of them, how quickly everything had come together for them. Still…as far as Ezri was concerned, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Julian’s gaze fell, as if gathering his thoughts. “Ezri…you have time for another patient?”
Ezri shrugged. “I don’t see why not. What’s wrong?”
“Well it’s…” he sighed. “I’m not sure, I…look, this might take a while.”
Ezri frowned. “Something…bad?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but,” he met her gaze, “Ezri…can you keep this between us?”
Ezri pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Julian—everything’s confidential, unless someone’s in danger. You know that.”
“I know, but…look, Sisko knew about this, I’m not too worried about that. It’s just…”
“…Personal?”
Julian sighed, and nodded. “You could say that.”
Ezri nodded slowly. “All right…I won’t say a word to anyone, Julian.”
He gave a small, warm smile. “Thank you, Ezri.”
Ezri returned the smile. “Okay…let’s sit down.”
She went to her desk, to pick up her pad and pencil.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Pencil and paper?”
Ezri gave a nervous chuckle. “Call it a quirk of mine, I guess. It’s for when I have to write down a lot. It’s old fashioned, I know, but…”
“Oh, it’s all right. It’s only,” he smiled, “I’m not used to seeing something like that, except in the holosuite.”
Ezri shrugged. “I guess it’s easier for me, than to type away at a padd.”
Julian nodded. “I’d imagine so. Only…I wouldn’t want you to get a cramp in your hand.”
Ezri returned his smile. “I’ll be fine.”
They walked over to the nearby couch, where Julian sat without a word, leaning back with a sigh. Ezri sat beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Now,” she said gently, “tell me what’s wrong.”
Julian closed his eyes for a moment, and shook his head. “It’s funny. Come to think of it, I…I suppose I should’ve talked to someone about this sooner—say, after it happened. Of course, there was a war going on. I didn’t have much time to think about it, then.”
“Julian—I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”
Opening his eyes, he turned to her and chuckled. “Sorry, I just…I’m just a little concerned it’s taken me this long to think about it.
Ezri leaned towards him. “Julian…what’s bothering you?”
Julian shrugged. “Well—call it a confession, I guess.”
Ezri blinked. “A confession.”
Julian smiled wryly. “Bless me, Counselor, for I have sinned.”
Ezri raised an eyebrow. “That’s putting it mildly, 007.”
They shared a laugh again. Finally, Ezri tilted her head. “All right, Doctor…how long has it been since your last confession?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Too long. Ten ‘Hail Marys’ for you already, Mister.”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t even know how to say one. How does that all go?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Of course not.”
“Go on.”
Julian leaned back again, growing serious. “Well…I killed a man.”
Ezri frowned. “You killed…?”
“Or at least…I drove him to kill himself.”
Ezri paused for a moment…and a suspicion came to her. “When did this happen?”
“A week or so ago—shortly before the war ended.”
Ezri nodded. “You’re talking about that agent, aren’t you?”
“Agent?”
“The man from Section 31—what was his name…?”
Julian turned to her, and nodded. “Sloan.”
“Right. Is that who you’re talking about?”
“Yes…it is.”
Ezri nodded again. She remembered all too well going to the Infirmary, discovering the comatose forms of Julian, Miles—and a man dressed in black leather, whom Benjamin had identified as Sloan, of Section 31. She remembered how Sloan was near death…and how he apparently was struggling to take her two friends down with him.
But they’d come back with the cure to Odo’s disease—and Ezri had been driven to a smiling blush when she heard Julian’s first words upon waking up….
Forcing herself back to reality, she asked, “So you’re upset that he’s dead?”
“It’s…not just that, Ezri. It’s just—I’m the one who drove him to his death.” Julian looked off. “And there’s more than that. A lot more, come to think of it.”
“Go on.”
Julian hesitated for a moment, as if debating how to go on. Finally, he said, “I think I’d better start at the beginning.”
Ezri nodded. “That’s usually best,” she said, as she got ready to write.
“Well…look, I’m sure you know what he was doing in the Infirmary. The cure for Odo, and all that?”
Ezri nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“Well, you see, I—I lured Sloan here, with a false report to Starfleet Medical, telling them I found the cure. He came here, falling for the bait, thinking he had to clear my records of it. But of course, Miles and I sprung the trap, and he woke up restrained in the Infirmary.”
“Go on.”
Julian turned to her, his featured hardening. “Ezri…do you realize how long I’d waited for something like that? I’ve been so humiliated by that man. Over and over, he’d kept making an idiot out of me, and…”
Ezri nodded. “You wanted to turn the tables on him.”
“Exactly. And finally, I had him! If it’d been anyone else, I’d probably have done the same thing, but…but here, it was personal. Here, I had something to prove.”
“To him—or yourself?”
Julian smiled bitterly. “Both.”
Dr. Julian Bashir turned to see that Director Luther Sloan, of Section 31, was awake. His hand was raised to test the force field which secured him to the cot.
Bashir crossed his arms. He had been waiting for this confrontation for a long time. “Hello, again!”
Sloan clenched his fist for a moment longer, and finally rested it on his chest with a sigh. “Shooting an unarmed man…that’s a little ungallant, isn’t it?”
“Somehow, I didn’t expect you to come here of your own volition,” Bashir muttered.
“You’re probably right….” Sloan looked to them, and his tone brightened as he seemed to find a new target.
“Hello, Chief!” he said. “How’s the family? Everyone okay at home?”
Miles O’Brien turned to him, stiffening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sloan shrugged. “Nothing…I’d just hate to see anything happen to them.”
“Don’t listen to him, Chief,” Bashir jumped in before his friend could respond. “He’s just playing games with you.”
Sloan smiled, his gaze still focused on O’Brien. “That’s easy for him to say—he doesn’t have a wife and children to worry about. Trust me, Chief, if something were to happen to me—”
“What?” Bashir interrupted again, eyebrows raised in amused bewilderment, “They’d be killed? I’m disappointed in you, Sloan—you don’t usually wield such a blunt instrument.”
Sloan chuckled, shaking his head. It was a bluff, then.
Amazing, Bashir mused. After all this time…all those tricks, all those mind games—in the end, that is the best he could do? In the end…he’s just a cheap, ordinary thug, making empty threats, his bark worse than his bite.
“So,” the agent said, returning to his old, sarcastic self, “Am I supposed to guess what’s going on, or do I have to lay here in terror, waiting for you to tell me?”
Bashir felt the faintest hint of triumph. No more games. No more tricks. Now, down to business. “I told you what’s going on. I’m going to find a cure for Odo’s disease…and you’re going to help me.”
Sloan shrugged again. “What makes you think I know anything about it?”
“You came here,” Bashir explained, as he began to pace the room, “Because you…thought I’d discovered a cure—and you wanted it destroyed. But first…you’d have to find it in my lab. And in order to do that, you’d have to know exactly what it was you were looking for.”
Sloan scoffed. “You call that reasoning? If I wanted to eliminate your work, all I’d have to do is destroy your lab.”
Bashir felt his smile widen a bit. “Oh, no-no-no, Sloan—that would be too sloppy. You like…surgical precision.” He took a few steps forward, as he hardened his expression to pure determination. “You came here to destroy the cure—so somewhere, in that brain of yours, is the information that I want.”
Sloan’s brow rose at this. “You really expect me to tell you?”
Bashir felt a smirk. Somehow, Sloan’s wry question reminded him of a certain notorious fictional exchange.
“No,” he replied in turn—leaving out the obligatory “Mr. Bond”—“I expect you to resist, to the bitter end.”
A brief flicker of amusement flickered on Sloan’s face. He clearly knew the reference, too. Of course, Bashir wasn’t about to set up an industrial laser just yet….
Just then, O’Brien’s voice called out, “We’re ready….”
Bashir turned, and the chief handed over the devices he needed.
He held them up for Sloan to see. “Remember these?”
Sloan stiffened, as his gaze hardened.
Bashir went on. “Romulan mind probes. They’re not the most pleasant of devises, but…” as he gave a light chuckle at a most unpleasant memory, “They’re very efficient.”
Sloan narrowed his eyes, apparently unsure of what to make of this. “They’re also illegal in the Federation.”
Bashir rolled his eyes upward. “Oh, I hope you can appreciate the irony of that statement.”
Ironic, Sloan—do you remember last time? Do you remember how I was subjected to this, as part of your elaborate scheme with Koval? He tortured me with such a device…until my mental barriers broke down. Can you imagine, Sloan, how I felt when I learned the two of you were working together? You allowed me to be captured and tortured—doing nothing to stop him—and why? To sell the deception? Well…now, you’ll know what it’s like, how it feels….
He reached over, applying both probes to Sloan’s forehead.
The agent stiffened, and—was it possible?—a look of fear appeared in his eyes. “I’m telling you, I don’t know anythingabout the cure!”
Bashir gave a shrug of his own, his jaw set in an expression of cruelty. “Then I won’t find anything…will I?”
“If Sisko finds out about what you’re doing—”
“The captain already knows what we’re doing,” O’Brien spoke up. “We have his full support.”
In what looked like pure desperation upon seeing all his options vanish, Sloan’s eyes widened, and his lip seemed to quiver, as he said, “J-Julian—I’m sorry about Odo…but I can’t let you have the cure! I can’t take a chance it’ll fall into the hands of the Founders.”
Despite himself, Julian found a great feeling of pleasure swelling up inside him at this plea. After all those times…all those instances when this man had so easily duped him—at last, when the positions were reversed…to see this man, lying there helpless, all his superiority drained from him—to see him sniveling, begging to be spared, like a spineless coward…
Bashir felt his voice grow dark with a casual malice, as he muttered, “I’m afraid the choice is no longer yours, Sloan.”
He rolled his eyes, and walked off to O’Brien’s console.
Sloan spoke up—surprisingly calm. “I misread you…I thought you were just a misguided idealist. But you’re a dangerous man. People like you would destroy the Federation, if given a chance.”
Bashir didn’t turn to him. Spare the speech, Sloan. I don’t have to justify myself to you. It’ll be over soon enough. Perhaps this will convince you people to leave me alone.
Sloan’s tone of voice turned to one of resignation, as he concluded, “Fortunately, there are people like me…who’d die to protect it.”
This tale focuses on a memorable event from the final season of Deep Space Nine. I feel that that scene (which, yes, I dramatize here) brilliantly depicts what hatred or contempt for an enemy can drive you to do--and how it can blind you to such things as...hypocrisy.
The story also involves my all-time favorite Star Trek couple. (And yes...the title is a direct play off their banter near the end of the finale.) After all, who better to help analyze the effects of such emotions...than a counselor?
Finally--be prepared for a couple references to another genre. Hey--if it's a Bashir tale, any chance I can get....
The main story is set about shortly after "What You Leave Behind". It's 4,152 words. I'll break it into two posts.
Unlike most of my tales, this one's pretty stand-alone.
Enjoy!
Star Trek
Deep Space Nine
Deep Space Nine
"Annihilation Fantasies"
Ezri Dax leaned back in her seat in her office, and stretched. She was tired—not exhausted, just the opposite.
Slow day. But—the war’s over, now. I’ll just have to get used to it, I guess.
There’d only been a couple of patents for her, that day. Nog had been a little concerned about all the new duties he was taking on. Jake showed up, of course. It had barely been a week since life had quieted down on the station. The war was over, Odo was gone, Worf and Miles too—and…
And Benjamin was gone—possibly never to return. She’d made it a point to schedule regular sessions with Jake…something, anything to help him cope with the loss of his father.
Ezri empathized completely with his pain—she knew all too well what it was like to lose a father, knowing all too well that it wasn’t his fault. Still…the fact that Jake didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye…
She sighed, looking around her. Through the clear doors leading out to the Promenade, she could see the lights out there dim a bit. Evening shift was going to start soon. Her “day” was almost over.
She smiled, as her plans for the night organized in her mind. Quark’s Bar was a certainty—but first, of course, she’d stop by the Infirmary, to pick up Julian. They’d both head to the Replimat, first—and who knows? Perhaps after dinner, they’d do something in the holosuite. Personally, she wasn’t in the mood for Sparta, tonight. Perhaps…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the door chime.
She looked up—and smiled through the doors at Dr. Julian Bashir.
He nodded, returning the smile. Ezri chuckled, and beckoned him inside, rising to her feet.
Julian came in, and said, “Counselor.”
Ezri nodded in response, her smile growing. “Doctor.”
They shared a chuckle at this. It wasn’t that long ago when they actually began a relationship—and it still amazed both of them, how quickly everything had come together for them. Still…as far as Ezri was concerned, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Julian’s gaze fell, as if gathering his thoughts. “Ezri…you have time for another patient?”
Ezri shrugged. “I don’t see why not. What’s wrong?”
“Well it’s…” he sighed. “I’m not sure, I…look, this might take a while.”
Ezri frowned. “Something…bad?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but,” he met her gaze, “Ezri…can you keep this between us?”
Ezri pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Julian—everything’s confidential, unless someone’s in danger. You know that.”
“I know, but…look, Sisko knew about this, I’m not too worried about that. It’s just…”
“…Personal?”
Julian sighed, and nodded. “You could say that.”
Ezri nodded slowly. “All right…I won’t say a word to anyone, Julian.”
He gave a small, warm smile. “Thank you, Ezri.”
Ezri returned the smile. “Okay…let’s sit down.”
She went to her desk, to pick up her pad and pencil.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Pencil and paper?”
Ezri gave a nervous chuckle. “Call it a quirk of mine, I guess. It’s for when I have to write down a lot. It’s old fashioned, I know, but…”
“Oh, it’s all right. It’s only,” he smiled, “I’m not used to seeing something like that, except in the holosuite.”
Ezri shrugged. “I guess it’s easier for me, than to type away at a padd.”
Julian nodded. “I’d imagine so. Only…I wouldn’t want you to get a cramp in your hand.”
Ezri returned his smile. “I’ll be fine.”
They walked over to the nearby couch, where Julian sat without a word, leaning back with a sigh. Ezri sat beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Now,” she said gently, “tell me what’s wrong.”
Julian closed his eyes for a moment, and shook his head. “It’s funny. Come to think of it, I…I suppose I should’ve talked to someone about this sooner—say, after it happened. Of course, there was a war going on. I didn’t have much time to think about it, then.”
“Julian—I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”
Opening his eyes, he turned to her and chuckled. “Sorry, I just…I’m just a little concerned it’s taken me this long to think about it.
Ezri leaned towards him. “Julian…what’s bothering you?”
Julian shrugged. “Well—call it a confession, I guess.”
Ezri blinked. “A confession.”
Julian smiled wryly. “Bless me, Counselor, for I have sinned.”
Ezri raised an eyebrow. “That’s putting it mildly, 007.”
They shared a laugh again. Finally, Ezri tilted her head. “All right, Doctor…how long has it been since your last confession?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Too long. Ten ‘Hail Marys’ for you already, Mister.”
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t even know how to say one. How does that all go?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Of course not.”
“Go on.”
Julian leaned back again, growing serious. “Well…I killed a man.”
Ezri frowned. “You killed…?”
“Or at least…I drove him to kill himself.”
Ezri paused for a moment…and a suspicion came to her. “When did this happen?”
“A week or so ago—shortly before the war ended.”
Ezri nodded. “You’re talking about that agent, aren’t you?”
“Agent?”
“The man from Section 31—what was his name…?”
Julian turned to her, and nodded. “Sloan.”
“Right. Is that who you’re talking about?”
“Yes…it is.”
Ezri nodded again. She remembered all too well going to the Infirmary, discovering the comatose forms of Julian, Miles—and a man dressed in black leather, whom Benjamin had identified as Sloan, of Section 31. She remembered how Sloan was near death…and how he apparently was struggling to take her two friends down with him.
But they’d come back with the cure to Odo’s disease—and Ezri had been driven to a smiling blush when she heard Julian’s first words upon waking up….
Forcing herself back to reality, she asked, “So you’re upset that he’s dead?”
“It’s…not just that, Ezri. It’s just—I’m the one who drove him to his death.” Julian looked off. “And there’s more than that. A lot more, come to think of it.”
“Go on.”
Julian hesitated for a moment, as if debating how to go on. Finally, he said, “I think I’d better start at the beginning.”
Ezri nodded. “That’s usually best,” she said, as she got ready to write.
“Well…look, I’m sure you know what he was doing in the Infirmary. The cure for Odo, and all that?”
Ezri nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
“Well, you see, I—I lured Sloan here, with a false report to Starfleet Medical, telling them I found the cure. He came here, falling for the bait, thinking he had to clear my records of it. But of course, Miles and I sprung the trap, and he woke up restrained in the Infirmary.”
“Go on.”
Julian turned to her, his featured hardening. “Ezri…do you realize how long I’d waited for something like that? I’ve been so humiliated by that man. Over and over, he’d kept making an idiot out of me, and…”
Ezri nodded. “You wanted to turn the tables on him.”
“Exactly. And finally, I had him! If it’d been anyone else, I’d probably have done the same thing, but…but here, it was personal. Here, I had something to prove.”
“To him—or yourself?”
Julian smiled bitterly. “Both.”
* * *
Dr. Julian Bashir turned to see that Director Luther Sloan, of Section 31, was awake. His hand was raised to test the force field which secured him to the cot.
Bashir crossed his arms. He had been waiting for this confrontation for a long time. “Hello, again!”
Sloan clenched his fist for a moment longer, and finally rested it on his chest with a sigh. “Shooting an unarmed man…that’s a little ungallant, isn’t it?”
“Somehow, I didn’t expect you to come here of your own volition,” Bashir muttered.
“You’re probably right….” Sloan looked to them, and his tone brightened as he seemed to find a new target.
“Hello, Chief!” he said. “How’s the family? Everyone okay at home?”
Miles O’Brien turned to him, stiffening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sloan shrugged. “Nothing…I’d just hate to see anything happen to them.”
“Don’t listen to him, Chief,” Bashir jumped in before his friend could respond. “He’s just playing games with you.”
Sloan smiled, his gaze still focused on O’Brien. “That’s easy for him to say—he doesn’t have a wife and children to worry about. Trust me, Chief, if something were to happen to me—”
“What?” Bashir interrupted again, eyebrows raised in amused bewilderment, “They’d be killed? I’m disappointed in you, Sloan—you don’t usually wield such a blunt instrument.”
Sloan chuckled, shaking his head. It was a bluff, then.
Amazing, Bashir mused. After all this time…all those tricks, all those mind games—in the end, that is the best he could do? In the end…he’s just a cheap, ordinary thug, making empty threats, his bark worse than his bite.
“So,” the agent said, returning to his old, sarcastic self, “Am I supposed to guess what’s going on, or do I have to lay here in terror, waiting for you to tell me?”
Bashir felt the faintest hint of triumph. No more games. No more tricks. Now, down to business. “I told you what’s going on. I’m going to find a cure for Odo’s disease…and you’re going to help me.”
Sloan shrugged again. “What makes you think I know anything about it?”
“You came here,” Bashir explained, as he began to pace the room, “Because you…thought I’d discovered a cure—and you wanted it destroyed. But first…you’d have to find it in my lab. And in order to do that, you’d have to know exactly what it was you were looking for.”
Sloan scoffed. “You call that reasoning? If I wanted to eliminate your work, all I’d have to do is destroy your lab.”
Bashir felt his smile widen a bit. “Oh, no-no-no, Sloan—that would be too sloppy. You like…surgical precision.” He took a few steps forward, as he hardened his expression to pure determination. “You came here to destroy the cure—so somewhere, in that brain of yours, is the information that I want.”
Sloan’s brow rose at this. “You really expect me to tell you?”
Bashir felt a smirk. Somehow, Sloan’s wry question reminded him of a certain notorious fictional exchange.
“No,” he replied in turn—leaving out the obligatory “Mr. Bond”—“I expect you to resist, to the bitter end.”
A brief flicker of amusement flickered on Sloan’s face. He clearly knew the reference, too. Of course, Bashir wasn’t about to set up an industrial laser just yet….
Just then, O’Brien’s voice called out, “We’re ready….”
Bashir turned, and the chief handed over the devices he needed.
He held them up for Sloan to see. “Remember these?”
Sloan stiffened, as his gaze hardened.
Bashir went on. “Romulan mind probes. They’re not the most pleasant of devises, but…” as he gave a light chuckle at a most unpleasant memory, “They’re very efficient.”
Sloan narrowed his eyes, apparently unsure of what to make of this. “They’re also illegal in the Federation.”
Bashir rolled his eyes upward. “Oh, I hope you can appreciate the irony of that statement.”
Ironic, Sloan—do you remember last time? Do you remember how I was subjected to this, as part of your elaborate scheme with Koval? He tortured me with such a device…until my mental barriers broke down. Can you imagine, Sloan, how I felt when I learned the two of you were working together? You allowed me to be captured and tortured—doing nothing to stop him—and why? To sell the deception? Well…now, you’ll know what it’s like, how it feels….
He reached over, applying both probes to Sloan’s forehead.
The agent stiffened, and—was it possible?—a look of fear appeared in his eyes. “I’m telling you, I don’t know anythingabout the cure!”
Bashir gave a shrug of his own, his jaw set in an expression of cruelty. “Then I won’t find anything…will I?”
“If Sisko finds out about what you’re doing—”
“The captain already knows what we’re doing,” O’Brien spoke up. “We have his full support.”
In what looked like pure desperation upon seeing all his options vanish, Sloan’s eyes widened, and his lip seemed to quiver, as he said, “J-Julian—I’m sorry about Odo…but I can’t let you have the cure! I can’t take a chance it’ll fall into the hands of the Founders.”
Despite himself, Julian found a great feeling of pleasure swelling up inside him at this plea. After all those times…all those instances when this man had so easily duped him—at last, when the positions were reversed…to see this man, lying there helpless, all his superiority drained from him—to see him sniveling, begging to be spared, like a spineless coward…
Bashir felt his voice grow dark with a casual malice, as he muttered, “I’m afraid the choice is no longer yours, Sloan.”
He rolled his eyes, and walked off to O’Brien’s console.
Sloan spoke up—surprisingly calm. “I misread you…I thought you were just a misguided idealist. But you’re a dangerous man. People like you would destroy the Federation, if given a chance.”
Bashir didn’t turn to him. Spare the speech, Sloan. I don’t have to justify myself to you. It’ll be over soon enough. Perhaps this will convince you people to leave me alone.
Sloan’s tone of voice turned to one of resignation, as he concluded, “Fortunately, there are people like me…who’d die to protect it.”
* * *
Well, I suppose, again, the standards of conduct are a bit different. Still...I made sure to acknowledge the element of client confidentiality here.
). 
