Yeah, I'm jumping the gun a bit here. Galen4 and I are still working on our collaborative effort, Treacherous Waters, but I was moved to pen something short that follows that as-yet unfinished story. I don't think I'm giving away too much...
Salt the Wounds
The sound of thunder awakened him. He opened his eyes slowly and reached for the alarm toggle on his headboard, only to find he was not in his own bed and the alarm was not sounding.
He managed to sit up groggily and felt a dull, throbbing pain in his skull. The headache was the parting gift of the springwine in which he’d overindulged the night before. The man searched his foggy memory as he attempted to pinpoint his place in the universe. ‘Not DS9, not 375… definitely not my ship.’ His synapses finally burned through the fog of hangover, ‘Ah, of course, the Hotel Zha Bareshta.’ It took him a full minute of rubbing his aching temples to realize it was not an alarm he was hearing, but the sirens from a score of emergency vehicles.
He stood, winced with the effort, and moved to the large window. He threw open the blinds; the harsh glare of the mid-morning sun caused him to squint. As his vision acclimated to the light, the gentle curves and spherical protrusions of Bajoran architecture greeted his eyes. The glittering panorama of the capital city was laid out before him courtesy of his twenty-third story suite in the newly constructed commerce tower.
Three columns of roiling black smoke reached towards the heavens, one of them only a dozen city blocks from his hotel. The other two pillars were off towards the horizon northeast of the city. The broad avenues below were choked with rushing first responder vehicles and crowds of gawking onlookers.
“Computer,” Captain Donald Sandhurst ordered, “Activate Bajoran News-Net, audio, Fed-Standard.”
The computer chimed obligingly and the voice of a broadcaster, taut with emotion, issued from the room’s projector. “…ears to have been centered on targets near the capital. The Tramorah Monastery, and the temples at Yanlous and Tivarh have been destroyed by what appears to have been powerful simultaneous explosions. Early casualty estimates put the number of dead and injured somewhere between five-hundred and one-thousand. Provincial administrators are refusing to comment on these attacks as yet, but unnamed sources within the capital’s constabulary are already saying these attacks have all the indications of actions by the rogue Bajora-Tava militia movement…”
Sandhurst grunted sourly, then muttered, “You’re welcome” under his breath. He and his crew had inadvertently prompted the migration of the ultra-militant Bajora-Tava cult from the distant Briar Patch back to Bajor, where they sought to overthrow the entire religious infrastructure of the Bajoran people. The Army of Light, as they called themselves, had spent two generations in hiding, training to free Bajor from the clutches of the Cardassians. Their contact with the starship Gibraltar had revealed to the Bajora-Tava that their homeworld had already been freed in defiance of their prophecies.
He turned his back on the chaotic scene and walked unsteadily into the bathroom. As he stepped into the steaming shower, the reporter’s words became only droning background noise.
He let the hot water course over him and knead his aching muscles. The stress of the past few weeks had not yet begun to ebb, and a few days holiday on Bajor had done little to lessen the angst or the recriminations that plagued him. The board of inquiry had cleared him of any wrongdoing in the Velk fiasco, and had in fact commended him for taking proactive action that might well have prevented an unnecessary resumption of hostilities with the Dominion. Sandhurst wished he could take some satisfaction from that, but their praise rang hollow when weighed against the losses Gibraltar had endured during the mission.
His first officer had died at Sandhurst’s own hand, and the ship’s beloved master chief had been killed by the deranged Changeling whose machinations had also resulted in the destruction of five starships and the deaths of over twenty-five hundred Starfleet personnel. His diplomatic officer and lover, Pell Ojana, had elected to remain behind with a Starfleet crisis team to assist with rebuilding Velkohn.
Pell held herself personally responsible for the spasm of violence that had consumed much of the planet, more so because she’d been unable to dissuade Sandhurst from taking action against one of the Velk factions. The action she‘d opposed had been the very same mission that had led to the discovery and capture of the rogue Changeling. She saw her failure as having added to the misery of the Velk and contributing to the deaths and injuries among the crew that resulted.
He and Pell were barely on speaking terms, and the seventy-thousand light years that lay between them seemed insignificant in comparison to the yawning emotional chasm that now separated them.
The fact that given his paltry seven days of leave Bajor had been the only logical destination didn’t help matters any. Pell was Bajoran, and everything on this world reminded him of her.
He moved out of the shower and toweled off. Outside, the towers of billowing carnage climbed skyward, stark testament to the dark will of the Bajora-Tava.
Just as he completed dressing, the door chimed. Sandhurst palmed a tiny Type-I phaser from his carryall and toggled the privacy panel at the desk. Standing in the corridor was a tall Bajoran male, clad in a rumpled, ill-fitting coat despite the rising heat of the early autumn morning. His dirty blonde hair was equally unkempt and appeared a greasy, tangled mess that threatened to fall into his eyes.
"Yes?" Sandhurst challenged, a bit more brusquely than he'd intended.
The man didn't seem to care, "Betrik Nalim," he answered by way of introduction. "Special investigator and constabulary liaison to the Vedek Assembly." He fumbled with a small case in his coat pocket and tried to flick it open one-handed. Unable to do so, he looked irritated and finally yanked open the identification wallet with two hands and held it up to the viewer eye for inspection. "I have an appointment with Starfleet Captain Donald Sandhurst at thirty minutes past first prayer."
Sandhurst opened the door from the desk as he concealed the phaser in his off hand. Betrik stepped into the foyer nonchalantly. He paused and nodded deferentially to Sandhurst. "You'd be the captain, then?"
"Guilty as charged," the words were tinged with irony so soon after the board of inquiry.
Betrik walked into the room, apparently oblivious to the luxurious suite. He removed his coat, exposing a brown threadbare tunic covered by a worn khaki vest. A double shoulder rig boasted a Klingon disruptor dangling under one arm and a compact Bajoran phaser under the other. He draped his coat over a couch and settled into it.
“Make yourself at home,” Sandhurst murmured as he slid the phaser into a pocket of his trousers and walked to the replicator station. “Can I get you something, Inspector?”
“Sahvingian bitters,” the other man replied laconically. “And no synthahol, please. It’s been one of those mornings.”
“So I’ve seen,” Sandhurst replied as he returned with a glass of bitters for Betrik and a steaming mug of Rigellian spice coffee for himself. Taking a seat in a high-backed chair next to couch, Sandhurst blew across his beverage to cool it as he inspected his visitor. “You’d be the unfortunate soul they’ve tasked with hunting down the Bajora-Tava, then?”
“One of hundreds,” Betrik said before taking a sip from his glass.
“Shouldn’t you be out there,” Sandhurst gestured towards the columns of smoke, “looking for clues?”
“The local constabulary and the military will have droves of forensic specialists combing through the rubble for weeks, Captain. All I’d do down there right now is get in the way.”
Sandhurst took a tentative sip at his coffee. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you, Inspector. My interaction with the Bajora-Tava was brief. Unfortunately, the two officers who had the most contact with them are... unavailable.”
Betrik nodded and stifled a yawn as he cast a dour glance out the windows, “Yes, Starfleet Command was only too eager to tell me that Commander Ramirez is dead and Commander Pell is on assignment on the other side of the wormhole.”
The Bajoran’s blunt assessment caused Sandhurst to pause for a moment to reign in his emotional response. “Sorry we’ve inconvenienced you, Inspector.”
“I’m sure,” the Bajoran answered dryly. “It’s going to take me weeks to depose Pell via subspace, especially seeing as the government won’t allow her back on Bajoran soil.”
Sandhurst’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, “She’s not a puppet of the Bajora-Tava. Starfleet’s finest counselors and telepaths gave her a clean bill of health.”
“Exiling Pell Ojana is one of the few intelligent decisions our government has made in recent months, Captain” Betrik countered. “She was exposed to an orb of the Prophets, one we know little about. The mere fact that she remembers nothing of the experience suggests that her mind was tampered with.” Betrik leaned forward, all earnestness and without a trace of guile, “The only question is to what degree?”
“So Starfleet’s assurances mean nothing to you? You’d exile a patriot like Ojana from her home for no other reason than your own baseless fears?” Sandhurst’s hands had balled into fists unconsciously, and he glared at the inspector.
Betrick met Sandhurst’s accusatory stare evenly, “If the Bajora-Tava are some kind of pagh-wraith cult, there’s no telling what kind of power they might wield. How do you explain the fact that in the months since you made contact with them, their Army of Light has managed to cross fifty lightyears of heavily monitored and patrolled Federation space to arrive at Bajor undetected?”
Sandhurst had no answer for that. He stared into his coffee mug with mute anger.
“These people mean to undo the spiritual underpinnings of our society, Captain. It’s been less than a decade since the end of the Occupation, and Bajor is still fragile. No one knew this better than the Emissary, which is why he fought so hard to keep our world out of the Dominion War.” Betrik opened his hands in a gesture of supplication. “A religious schism right now could send Bajor into political and economic chaos. We could fall into civil war. Think about how that would affect our chances of securing Federation membership.”
The captain nodded reluctantly. “I see your point, Inspector.”
Betrik downed his remaining drink in a single quaff. “Now then, shall we get down to business?”
Sandhurst sat back and cradled his mug in his hands. “Sure.”
The investigator produced a recording device from his vest pocket and set it atop the low table in front of him. He activated the unit, “Investigation interview, eighth day of Thirdmonth, fourty-minutes past first prayer. Subject is Donald Sandhurst, captain of the Federation starship Gibraltar.” All business now, Betrik directed an anticipatory look at Sandhurst. “Tell me everything you can remember about the Bajora-Tava, Captain...”
***
The interview went faster than Sandhurst had expected. Much of the information Betrik needed had already been provided by Starfleet in the form of the exhaustive debriefings of Gibraltar's crew following what had become sardonically and inaccurately nicknamed Picard's War.
The Bajoran's questions were more esoteric, seemingly aimed at trying to capture the flavor of the Starfleeters' exchanges with the Bajora-Tava. Sandhurst was asked about his impressions of the outcast group, his gut feelings about their words and actions, and his opinions of individual members of the warrior cult.
Betrik called the session to a close as he switched off the recorder and pocketed the device. "I appreciate your time and insights, Captain" Betrik offered as he stood and pulled on his coat.
Sandhurst remained seated and took a long sip of his coffee as he observed the other man. "Interesting that the government reassigned you to this case. And an official title now, too... inspector. Rather formal for a glorified hit man."
Betrik froze, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and resignation. So Sandhurst had recognized him. Betrik thought that might have been the case, but he had given no outward indication that he knew the Bajoran's background. Betrik reached for the empty glass, "I was never an assassin."
"That's not what the Cardassians say."
Betrik emitted a grunt of disdain as he moved to place the glass in the replicator slot. "I would imagine so. I did the bidding of my government. I killed when it was called for, but I took no pleasure from the act. Where possible, I brought my quarry to justice."
"Betrik Nalim," Sandhurst said, as if offering an introduction to an audience, "the great Cardassian war criminal hunter. The man who killed Gul Parvid on Tevelon and who captured Dr. Crell Moset out from under the noses of the Dominion."
"An interesting man, Moset" Betrik noted. "Undeniably brilliant and so cloaked in his own ego that I believe he genuinely couldn't see the immorality of the crimes he inflicted on his test subjects."
"That didn't stop your government from putting him on trial," Sandhurst observed.
"He was a butcher, Captain. The fact that he'll spend the rest of his days in prison, languishing in ignominy is a far worse fate than a quick death at the end of a phaser beam."
Sandhurst smiled and raised his cup in a toast, "I didn't say I disapproved, Inspector."
Betrik moved for the door. "A good day to you, Captain. I hope you enjoy your time on Bajor, but I'd caution you to avoid any tourist destinations with religious significance for the immediate future."
The captain bobbed his head, "Sage advice, under the circumstances." Setting his cup down, Sandhurst stood and faced Betrik. "What will you do when you find the Bajora-Tava?"
Betrik appeared thoughtful and took a long moment before answering. "Those people are as much victims as were those of us who suffered under the Occupation. They are pawns in a game being played between gods, and cannot be blamed for the lies they've been fed for generations." The man's eyes took on a dark cast, "I will save those that I can and kill those that I must. In the end, the safety and security of Bajor takes precedence."
"And if a pagh-wraith is involved? What then, Inspector? How do you fight a god?"
A sneer took shape on Betrik's face, but the dark grin seemed at odds with the maudlin expression offered by his eyes. "There are ways, Captain."
With that, Betrik turned and walked out, leaving Sandhurst staring after him, both confused and intrigued. "Nice to meet you, too" he said quietly to the closed door.
Salt the Wounds
The sound of thunder awakened him. He opened his eyes slowly and reached for the alarm toggle on his headboard, only to find he was not in his own bed and the alarm was not sounding.
He managed to sit up groggily and felt a dull, throbbing pain in his skull. The headache was the parting gift of the springwine in which he’d overindulged the night before. The man searched his foggy memory as he attempted to pinpoint his place in the universe. ‘Not DS9, not 375… definitely not my ship.’ His synapses finally burned through the fog of hangover, ‘Ah, of course, the Hotel Zha Bareshta.’ It took him a full minute of rubbing his aching temples to realize it was not an alarm he was hearing, but the sirens from a score of emergency vehicles.
He stood, winced with the effort, and moved to the large window. He threw open the blinds; the harsh glare of the mid-morning sun caused him to squint. As his vision acclimated to the light, the gentle curves and spherical protrusions of Bajoran architecture greeted his eyes. The glittering panorama of the capital city was laid out before him courtesy of his twenty-third story suite in the newly constructed commerce tower.
Three columns of roiling black smoke reached towards the heavens, one of them only a dozen city blocks from his hotel. The other two pillars were off towards the horizon northeast of the city. The broad avenues below were choked with rushing first responder vehicles and crowds of gawking onlookers.
“Computer,” Captain Donald Sandhurst ordered, “Activate Bajoran News-Net, audio, Fed-Standard.”
The computer chimed obligingly and the voice of a broadcaster, taut with emotion, issued from the room’s projector. “…ears to have been centered on targets near the capital. The Tramorah Monastery, and the temples at Yanlous and Tivarh have been destroyed by what appears to have been powerful simultaneous explosions. Early casualty estimates put the number of dead and injured somewhere between five-hundred and one-thousand. Provincial administrators are refusing to comment on these attacks as yet, but unnamed sources within the capital’s constabulary are already saying these attacks have all the indications of actions by the rogue Bajora-Tava militia movement…”
Sandhurst grunted sourly, then muttered, “You’re welcome” under his breath. He and his crew had inadvertently prompted the migration of the ultra-militant Bajora-Tava cult from the distant Briar Patch back to Bajor, where they sought to overthrow the entire religious infrastructure of the Bajoran people. The Army of Light, as they called themselves, had spent two generations in hiding, training to free Bajor from the clutches of the Cardassians. Their contact with the starship Gibraltar had revealed to the Bajora-Tava that their homeworld had already been freed in defiance of their prophecies.
He turned his back on the chaotic scene and walked unsteadily into the bathroom. As he stepped into the steaming shower, the reporter’s words became only droning background noise.
He let the hot water course over him and knead his aching muscles. The stress of the past few weeks had not yet begun to ebb, and a few days holiday on Bajor had done little to lessen the angst or the recriminations that plagued him. The board of inquiry had cleared him of any wrongdoing in the Velk fiasco, and had in fact commended him for taking proactive action that might well have prevented an unnecessary resumption of hostilities with the Dominion. Sandhurst wished he could take some satisfaction from that, but their praise rang hollow when weighed against the losses Gibraltar had endured during the mission.
His first officer had died at Sandhurst’s own hand, and the ship’s beloved master chief had been killed by the deranged Changeling whose machinations had also resulted in the destruction of five starships and the deaths of over twenty-five hundred Starfleet personnel. His diplomatic officer and lover, Pell Ojana, had elected to remain behind with a Starfleet crisis team to assist with rebuilding Velkohn.
Pell held herself personally responsible for the spasm of violence that had consumed much of the planet, more so because she’d been unable to dissuade Sandhurst from taking action against one of the Velk factions. The action she‘d opposed had been the very same mission that had led to the discovery and capture of the rogue Changeling. She saw her failure as having added to the misery of the Velk and contributing to the deaths and injuries among the crew that resulted.
He and Pell were barely on speaking terms, and the seventy-thousand light years that lay between them seemed insignificant in comparison to the yawning emotional chasm that now separated them.
The fact that given his paltry seven days of leave Bajor had been the only logical destination didn’t help matters any. Pell was Bajoran, and everything on this world reminded him of her.
He moved out of the shower and toweled off. Outside, the towers of billowing carnage climbed skyward, stark testament to the dark will of the Bajora-Tava.
Just as he completed dressing, the door chimed. Sandhurst palmed a tiny Type-I phaser from his carryall and toggled the privacy panel at the desk. Standing in the corridor was a tall Bajoran male, clad in a rumpled, ill-fitting coat despite the rising heat of the early autumn morning. His dirty blonde hair was equally unkempt and appeared a greasy, tangled mess that threatened to fall into his eyes.
"Yes?" Sandhurst challenged, a bit more brusquely than he'd intended.
The man didn't seem to care, "Betrik Nalim," he answered by way of introduction. "Special investigator and constabulary liaison to the Vedek Assembly." He fumbled with a small case in his coat pocket and tried to flick it open one-handed. Unable to do so, he looked irritated and finally yanked open the identification wallet with two hands and held it up to the viewer eye for inspection. "I have an appointment with Starfleet Captain Donald Sandhurst at thirty minutes past first prayer."
Sandhurst opened the door from the desk as he concealed the phaser in his off hand. Betrik stepped into the foyer nonchalantly. He paused and nodded deferentially to Sandhurst. "You'd be the captain, then?"
"Guilty as charged," the words were tinged with irony so soon after the board of inquiry.
Betrik walked into the room, apparently oblivious to the luxurious suite. He removed his coat, exposing a brown threadbare tunic covered by a worn khaki vest. A double shoulder rig boasted a Klingon disruptor dangling under one arm and a compact Bajoran phaser under the other. He draped his coat over a couch and settled into it.
“Make yourself at home,” Sandhurst murmured as he slid the phaser into a pocket of his trousers and walked to the replicator station. “Can I get you something, Inspector?”
“Sahvingian bitters,” the other man replied laconically. “And no synthahol, please. It’s been one of those mornings.”
“So I’ve seen,” Sandhurst replied as he returned with a glass of bitters for Betrik and a steaming mug of Rigellian spice coffee for himself. Taking a seat in a high-backed chair next to couch, Sandhurst blew across his beverage to cool it as he inspected his visitor. “You’d be the unfortunate soul they’ve tasked with hunting down the Bajora-Tava, then?”
“One of hundreds,” Betrik said before taking a sip from his glass.
“Shouldn’t you be out there,” Sandhurst gestured towards the columns of smoke, “looking for clues?”
“The local constabulary and the military will have droves of forensic specialists combing through the rubble for weeks, Captain. All I’d do down there right now is get in the way.”
Sandhurst took a tentative sip at his coffee. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to you, Inspector. My interaction with the Bajora-Tava was brief. Unfortunately, the two officers who had the most contact with them are... unavailable.”
Betrik nodded and stifled a yawn as he cast a dour glance out the windows, “Yes, Starfleet Command was only too eager to tell me that Commander Ramirez is dead and Commander Pell is on assignment on the other side of the wormhole.”
The Bajoran’s blunt assessment caused Sandhurst to pause for a moment to reign in his emotional response. “Sorry we’ve inconvenienced you, Inspector.”
“I’m sure,” the Bajoran answered dryly. “It’s going to take me weeks to depose Pell via subspace, especially seeing as the government won’t allow her back on Bajoran soil.”
Sandhurst’s eyes narrowed in annoyance, “She’s not a puppet of the Bajora-Tava. Starfleet’s finest counselors and telepaths gave her a clean bill of health.”
“Exiling Pell Ojana is one of the few intelligent decisions our government has made in recent months, Captain” Betrik countered. “She was exposed to an orb of the Prophets, one we know little about. The mere fact that she remembers nothing of the experience suggests that her mind was tampered with.” Betrik leaned forward, all earnestness and without a trace of guile, “The only question is to what degree?”
“So Starfleet’s assurances mean nothing to you? You’d exile a patriot like Ojana from her home for no other reason than your own baseless fears?” Sandhurst’s hands had balled into fists unconsciously, and he glared at the inspector.
Betrick met Sandhurst’s accusatory stare evenly, “If the Bajora-Tava are some kind of pagh-wraith cult, there’s no telling what kind of power they might wield. How do you explain the fact that in the months since you made contact with them, their Army of Light has managed to cross fifty lightyears of heavily monitored and patrolled Federation space to arrive at Bajor undetected?”
Sandhurst had no answer for that. He stared into his coffee mug with mute anger.
“These people mean to undo the spiritual underpinnings of our society, Captain. It’s been less than a decade since the end of the Occupation, and Bajor is still fragile. No one knew this better than the Emissary, which is why he fought so hard to keep our world out of the Dominion War.” Betrik opened his hands in a gesture of supplication. “A religious schism right now could send Bajor into political and economic chaos. We could fall into civil war. Think about how that would affect our chances of securing Federation membership.”
The captain nodded reluctantly. “I see your point, Inspector.”
Betrik downed his remaining drink in a single quaff. “Now then, shall we get down to business?”
Sandhurst sat back and cradled his mug in his hands. “Sure.”
The investigator produced a recording device from his vest pocket and set it atop the low table in front of him. He activated the unit, “Investigation interview, eighth day of Thirdmonth, fourty-minutes past first prayer. Subject is Donald Sandhurst, captain of the Federation starship Gibraltar.” All business now, Betrik directed an anticipatory look at Sandhurst. “Tell me everything you can remember about the Bajora-Tava, Captain...”
***
The interview went faster than Sandhurst had expected. Much of the information Betrik needed had already been provided by Starfleet in the form of the exhaustive debriefings of Gibraltar's crew following what had become sardonically and inaccurately nicknamed Picard's War.
The Bajoran's questions were more esoteric, seemingly aimed at trying to capture the flavor of the Starfleeters' exchanges with the Bajora-Tava. Sandhurst was asked about his impressions of the outcast group, his gut feelings about their words and actions, and his opinions of individual members of the warrior cult.
Betrik called the session to a close as he switched off the recorder and pocketed the device. "I appreciate your time and insights, Captain" Betrik offered as he stood and pulled on his coat.
Sandhurst remained seated and took a long sip of his coffee as he observed the other man. "Interesting that the government reassigned you to this case. And an official title now, too... inspector. Rather formal for a glorified hit man."
Betrik froze, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and resignation. So Sandhurst had recognized him. Betrik thought that might have been the case, but he had given no outward indication that he knew the Bajoran's background. Betrik reached for the empty glass, "I was never an assassin."
"That's not what the Cardassians say."
Betrik emitted a grunt of disdain as he moved to place the glass in the replicator slot. "I would imagine so. I did the bidding of my government. I killed when it was called for, but I took no pleasure from the act. Where possible, I brought my quarry to justice."
"Betrik Nalim," Sandhurst said, as if offering an introduction to an audience, "the great Cardassian war criminal hunter. The man who killed Gul Parvid on Tevelon and who captured Dr. Crell Moset out from under the noses of the Dominion."
"An interesting man, Moset" Betrik noted. "Undeniably brilliant and so cloaked in his own ego that I believe he genuinely couldn't see the immorality of the crimes he inflicted on his test subjects."
"That didn't stop your government from putting him on trial," Sandhurst observed.
"He was a butcher, Captain. The fact that he'll spend the rest of his days in prison, languishing in ignominy is a far worse fate than a quick death at the end of a phaser beam."
Sandhurst smiled and raised his cup in a toast, "I didn't say I disapproved, Inspector."
Betrik moved for the door. "A good day to you, Captain. I hope you enjoy your time on Bajor, but I'd caution you to avoid any tourist destinations with religious significance for the immediate future."
The captain bobbed his head, "Sage advice, under the circumstances." Setting his cup down, Sandhurst stood and faced Betrik. "What will you do when you find the Bajora-Tava?"
Betrik appeared thoughtful and took a long moment before answering. "Those people are as much victims as were those of us who suffered under the Occupation. They are pawns in a game being played between gods, and cannot be blamed for the lies they've been fed for generations." The man's eyes took on a dark cast, "I will save those that I can and kill those that I must. In the end, the safety and security of Bajor takes precedence."
"And if a pagh-wraith is involved? What then, Inspector? How do you fight a god?"
A sneer took shape on Betrik's face, but the dark grin seemed at odds with the maudlin expression offered by his eyes. "There are ways, Captain."
With that, Betrik turned and walked out, leaving Sandhurst staring after him, both confused and intrigued. "Nice to meet you, too" he said quietly to the closed door.
