Novelisations of the episodes - written by you!
- Thread starter Tiberius
- Start date
^"Afterimage", not "Prodigal". 
Again, its in "As Time Goes By"--already in this Forum.
Here's the link:
http://www.trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=142801
And...here's the scene by itself:
Julian Bashir stood there in the Replimat, at a discreet distance, watching her, waiting for the opportune moment. The girl was standing at the replicator, apparently deciding what to order.
“I’danian spice pudding,” she began in a smiling tone—but then cut herself off, “No—cancel that. I’ll have a…”
She raised her hand, drumming her fingers in mid-air, in apparent “eeny-meeny-miny-mo” fashion. Finally, the smile in her voice returned as she ordered, “Kilm steak, rare…”
But she cut herself off again. “No, Tobin was a vegetarian….”
Bashir felt a surge of compassion at this. Poor girl…I don’t blame her. How immensely difficult it must be for her…all those voices, those conflicting interests battling around in her mind….
I don’t know how Jadzia was able to handle it.
The girl sighed, all the certainty gone from her posture. Thinking hard, she hesitatingly said, “Give me…”
But Bashir had had enough. He wasn’t about to let her suffer like that. “Two Fanalian toddies,” he called out to the computer.
The girl—Ezri, wasn’t it?—turned to see who it was, blinking in confusion—and what looked like relief.
Bashir smiled at her, as he walked up to the replicator and concluded, “Hot.”
The computer chirped, and the order appeared in the console.
A smile appeared on Ezri’s face, and Bashir could have sworn her eyes were sparkling. “How’d you know?” she asked in a tone of warm gratitude.
Julian felt his smile grow. “Lucky guess!” he replied with a shrug.
He found himself taking a liking to her already. She was very beautiful, certainly…but it was more than that. Right away, he could deduce a pleasant, fun personality—different than Jadzia’s, of course; somewhat more demure, more “pure”, as it were. Still…she was immensely attractive, as far as he was concerned.
Bashir took the tray, and asked, “Care to join me?”
Ezri gave a slight nod, her voice gaining a slight tone of amusement. “Sure!”
Bashir led her to a table he’d already set up, a chair already pulled out for her. He set her toddy down first, and waited for her to sit down before he did.
As he sat, he found himself observing her, despite himself. She sat there grasping her mug with both hands, her posture tense—not with discomfort, so much as with anticipation, which showed in her eyes as she met his gaze, blinking as if to wake herself from a daze.
Such an eagerness about her…an enthusiasm, flowing through her—a drive so hard to keep inside. This was something he sympathized with completely—he somehow felt something of a kindred spirit in her.
Bashir mentally struggled to find the right words to say. What could one say to a person you had never met…who possessed all the memories of one of your dearest friends?
Is this how Captain Sisko felt, when he first saw Jadzia? Seeing a beautiful young woman, all too aware that she also remembered him as a pupil…a brash young man whom she—then a he—had had to reign in…
And now…here…
Bashir shrugged off the thought, and began, “So, um…here we are!”
Ezri chuckled softly at that, giving a light shrug of her own, her blue-grey eyes sparkling again.
Her eyes…Bashir found himself suddenly captivated, looking at them in wonder. There was a certain element of wisdom in them…a deep thoughtfulness, in stark contrast to youthful bloom which filled the girl’s features. It was so eerily familiar, somehow…. Of course, that should have been no surprise.
The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality, as she narrowed her eyes in what looked like amusement. “What was that?”
Bashir blinked. “What was what?”
Ezri shot him an expression implying that the answer should have been the most obvious thing in the universe. “That look…?”
Of course. He’d been so captivated by her eyes…that he’d let all subtlety vanish.
Ah, well. No sense excusing it. “This may be the last thing you want to hear,” he said, “But…you have Jadzia’s eyes.”
Only half of the truth, of course. There was a sweet, childlike element there that was decidedly pure Ezri. Still…it was probably the best response he could give without possibly disturbing her.
Apparently not. Ezri stiffened again, as she gritted her teeth, lowering her gaze as if mentally counting to ten.
Bashir immediately realized his mistake. He remembered, just a few minutes ago, she’d been struggling with all the memories of past hosts. A reminder of that was the last thing she’d wanted to hear….
“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, and sincerely. “I, um…I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She looked up at him, with a tired smile. “Don’t flirt with me, Julian—please?”
Bashir blinked, caught completely off guard at this. “I’m not—”
“I remember how you used to flirt with Jadzia.”
For goodness, sake, I was trying to be nice, and she has to bring up—?
Bashir shook his head quickly, driving the thought from his mind. “It—it was just an observation—”
“Good,” she cut him off again, nodding quickly, her eyes widening in what looked like nervous defensiveness, “Because I’m not like her. She knew how to handle it—actually,” she looked off, and a smile seemed to play on his face, “She quite enjoyed it.”
Bashir felt a smile of his own at this. “Really?”
Ezri tilted her head, with a smirk. “You didn’t know?”
Why, of course I did. “The lady doth protest too much,” and all that.
Bashir shrugged. “Well, I…always suspected it….”
Ezri nodded…and finally, she seemed to relax a bit. “You can be very charming….”
Julian lowered his gaze, staring into his mug, dejected at how this was going. Oh, I “can be”? Frankly, I’m not sure how to take that, Ezri. I’ve heard too much from Jadzia along those lines to take that as a good sign. Goodness, what is it about women I still can’t find myself able to understand?
But Ezri wasn’t through. “You want to know something?”
Bashir looked up, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable rejection, the “Julian, you’ve been a great friend, but you must understand we Trill should consider ourselves above such things”, the “Julian, I was a man once, so I understand all the emotions you’re going through”…the patronizing, without any mercy—all with her unaware of what she was doing.
But nothing prepared him for what she did say.
Ezri leaned forward with a smile, as if indicating he’d love what she was going to telling him…and said in a conspiratorial voice, “If Worf hadn’t come along, it would’ve been you.”
Julian Bashir stiffened, the blood running cold in his veins.
No—she didn’t mean it like that. She didn’t mean to say…
But whether she did or not…nonetheless, the words churned inside, tugging at his heart. And despite himself, a feeling of bitterness swelled up inside him—certainly not at Ezri, not even at Worf…but at a friend long lost, whom he’d often wished would be something more.
Confound it, Jadzia. Was that how you thought of me? Was I a “backup plan” for you—was that it? You knew how I felt—how many times did I tell you, only to have you shrug it off and tell me I’d never succeed with you? How many times…and now I hear this?
“If Worf hadn’t come along…”
Was it that you had felt something…? Your coming to my quarters on the Defiant, vulnerable, scared…asking if you could sleep there—your holding on to me, after I’d saved your life, joking with me about how foolhardy it was—was there more to all that…and I just didn’t see it? Did I just give up too soon?
But why didn’t you realize that? Why didn’t…
“If Worf hadn’t come along…”
Jadzia…why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you give me any sign…any indication that you really did feel something? Why the games—why the constant pushing away?
Why…?
But just as the questions were becoming more than he could bear…he felt two soft, almost frail hands take his own. It was Ezri.
He briefly looked up at her…and was stunned at the sadness in her eyes. It was as if she could read the conflict simmering inside him—as if…
Immediately, Bashir’s gaze fell once again in shame. It was his problem…he had no right to make her feel guilty in any way.
But he saw and felt her grip on his hand tighten…as if pleading for him, begging him to accept what amends she could make.
“You really miss her, don’t you?” she asked in a near whisper.
The innocence of the question—the simple offer of support for a friend…caused him to meet her gaze again. At her words, he somehow felt as if the bitterness inside him had suddenly washed away. Despite all that had happened…
No…it wasn’t your fault at all, Jadzia…was it? It was me. I’d told myself you would never feel the same way…and I’d accepted it—for the most part, anyway. I found myself able to…to get over you. I could live without you—I could live happily, finding other things to bring me peace, such as it was.
I…it was never really ‘love’, was it, Jadzia? I was infatuated with you…and it blinded me to reality. Had it all been real…I’d have waited. I’d have persevered. But…I didn’t. Because it wasn’t love. I’d thought it was…but it wasn’t.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
And now, Ezri Dax sat there across from him, waiting for his answer.
Julian Bashir sighed, and nodded. “Yes. I, uh…suppose I always will.”
And he felt a small, genuine smile of gratitude, as he added, “But, somehow, talking to you—it seems to help.”
She returned the smile…and it seemed as if tears were welling up in her eyes. Was she thanking him—for being willing to recover from the pain, for accepting the nonverbal apology she gave?
Whatever it was…Julian Bashir felt his spirit lifting, as he let her hold his hand, and smile. For now, at least, he was at peace.
Again, its in "As Time Goes By"--already in this Forum.
Here's the link:
http://www.trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=142801
And...here's the scene by itself:
* * *
Julian Bashir stood there in the Replimat, at a discreet distance, watching her, waiting for the opportune moment. The girl was standing at the replicator, apparently deciding what to order.
“I’danian spice pudding,” she began in a smiling tone—but then cut herself off, “No—cancel that. I’ll have a…”
She raised her hand, drumming her fingers in mid-air, in apparent “eeny-meeny-miny-mo” fashion. Finally, the smile in her voice returned as she ordered, “Kilm steak, rare…”
But she cut herself off again. “No, Tobin was a vegetarian….”
Bashir felt a surge of compassion at this. Poor girl…I don’t blame her. How immensely difficult it must be for her…all those voices, those conflicting interests battling around in her mind….
I don’t know how Jadzia was able to handle it.
The girl sighed, all the certainty gone from her posture. Thinking hard, she hesitatingly said, “Give me…”
But Bashir had had enough. He wasn’t about to let her suffer like that. “Two Fanalian toddies,” he called out to the computer.
The girl—Ezri, wasn’t it?—turned to see who it was, blinking in confusion—and what looked like relief.
Bashir smiled at her, as he walked up to the replicator and concluded, “Hot.”
The computer chirped, and the order appeared in the console.
A smile appeared on Ezri’s face, and Bashir could have sworn her eyes were sparkling. “How’d you know?” she asked in a tone of warm gratitude.
Julian felt his smile grow. “Lucky guess!” he replied with a shrug.
He found himself taking a liking to her already. She was very beautiful, certainly…but it was more than that. Right away, he could deduce a pleasant, fun personality—different than Jadzia’s, of course; somewhat more demure, more “pure”, as it were. Still…she was immensely attractive, as far as he was concerned.
Bashir took the tray, and asked, “Care to join me?”
Ezri gave a slight nod, her voice gaining a slight tone of amusement. “Sure!”
Bashir led her to a table he’d already set up, a chair already pulled out for her. He set her toddy down first, and waited for her to sit down before he did.
As he sat, he found himself observing her, despite himself. She sat there grasping her mug with both hands, her posture tense—not with discomfort, so much as with anticipation, which showed in her eyes as she met his gaze, blinking as if to wake herself from a daze.
Such an eagerness about her…an enthusiasm, flowing through her—a drive so hard to keep inside. This was something he sympathized with completely—he somehow felt something of a kindred spirit in her.
Bashir mentally struggled to find the right words to say. What could one say to a person you had never met…who possessed all the memories of one of your dearest friends?
Is this how Captain Sisko felt, when he first saw Jadzia? Seeing a beautiful young woman, all too aware that she also remembered him as a pupil…a brash young man whom she—then a he—had had to reign in…
And now…here…
Bashir shrugged off the thought, and began, “So, um…here we are!”
Ezri chuckled softly at that, giving a light shrug of her own, her blue-grey eyes sparkling again.
Her eyes…Bashir found himself suddenly captivated, looking at them in wonder. There was a certain element of wisdom in them…a deep thoughtfulness, in stark contrast to youthful bloom which filled the girl’s features. It was so eerily familiar, somehow…. Of course, that should have been no surprise.
The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality, as she narrowed her eyes in what looked like amusement. “What was that?”
Bashir blinked. “What was what?”
Ezri shot him an expression implying that the answer should have been the most obvious thing in the universe. “That look…?”
Of course. He’d been so captivated by her eyes…that he’d let all subtlety vanish.
Ah, well. No sense excusing it. “This may be the last thing you want to hear,” he said, “But…you have Jadzia’s eyes.”
Only half of the truth, of course. There was a sweet, childlike element there that was decidedly pure Ezri. Still…it was probably the best response he could give without possibly disturbing her.
Apparently not. Ezri stiffened again, as she gritted her teeth, lowering her gaze as if mentally counting to ten.
Bashir immediately realized his mistake. He remembered, just a few minutes ago, she’d been struggling with all the memories of past hosts. A reminder of that was the last thing she’d wanted to hear….
“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, and sincerely. “I, um…I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She looked up at him, with a tired smile. “Don’t flirt with me, Julian—please?”
Bashir blinked, caught completely off guard at this. “I’m not—”
“I remember how you used to flirt with Jadzia.”
For goodness, sake, I was trying to be nice, and she has to bring up—?
Bashir shook his head quickly, driving the thought from his mind. “It—it was just an observation—”
“Good,” she cut him off again, nodding quickly, her eyes widening in what looked like nervous defensiveness, “Because I’m not like her. She knew how to handle it—actually,” she looked off, and a smile seemed to play on his face, “She quite enjoyed it.”
Bashir felt a smile of his own at this. “Really?”
Ezri tilted her head, with a smirk. “You didn’t know?”
Why, of course I did. “The lady doth protest too much,” and all that.
Bashir shrugged. “Well, I…always suspected it….”
Ezri nodded…and finally, she seemed to relax a bit. “You can be very charming….”
Julian lowered his gaze, staring into his mug, dejected at how this was going. Oh, I “can be”? Frankly, I’m not sure how to take that, Ezri. I’ve heard too much from Jadzia along those lines to take that as a good sign. Goodness, what is it about women I still can’t find myself able to understand?
But Ezri wasn’t through. “You want to know something?”
Bashir looked up, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable rejection, the “Julian, you’ve been a great friend, but you must understand we Trill should consider ourselves above such things”, the “Julian, I was a man once, so I understand all the emotions you’re going through”…the patronizing, without any mercy—all with her unaware of what she was doing.
But nothing prepared him for what she did say.
Ezri leaned forward with a smile, as if indicating he’d love what she was going to telling him…and said in a conspiratorial voice, “If Worf hadn’t come along, it would’ve been you.”
Julian Bashir stiffened, the blood running cold in his veins.
No—she didn’t mean it like that. She didn’t mean to say…
But whether she did or not…nonetheless, the words churned inside, tugging at his heart. And despite himself, a feeling of bitterness swelled up inside him—certainly not at Ezri, not even at Worf…but at a friend long lost, whom he’d often wished would be something more.
Confound it, Jadzia. Was that how you thought of me? Was I a “backup plan” for you—was that it? You knew how I felt—how many times did I tell you, only to have you shrug it off and tell me I’d never succeed with you? How many times…and now I hear this?
“If Worf hadn’t come along…”
Was it that you had felt something…? Your coming to my quarters on the Defiant, vulnerable, scared…asking if you could sleep there—your holding on to me, after I’d saved your life, joking with me about how foolhardy it was—was there more to all that…and I just didn’t see it? Did I just give up too soon?
But why didn’t you realize that? Why didn’t…
“If Worf hadn’t come along…”
Jadzia…why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you give me any sign…any indication that you really did feel something? Why the games—why the constant pushing away?
Why…?
But just as the questions were becoming more than he could bear…he felt two soft, almost frail hands take his own. It was Ezri.
He briefly looked up at her…and was stunned at the sadness in her eyes. It was as if she could read the conflict simmering inside him—as if…
Immediately, Bashir’s gaze fell once again in shame. It was his problem…he had no right to make her feel guilty in any way.
But he saw and felt her grip on his hand tighten…as if pleading for him, begging him to accept what amends she could make.
“You really miss her, don’t you?” she asked in a near whisper.
The innocence of the question—the simple offer of support for a friend…caused him to meet her gaze again. At her words, he somehow felt as if the bitterness inside him had suddenly washed away. Despite all that had happened…
No…it wasn’t your fault at all, Jadzia…was it? It was me. I’d told myself you would never feel the same way…and I’d accepted it—for the most part, anyway. I found myself able to…to get over you. I could live without you—I could live happily, finding other things to bring me peace, such as it was.
I…it was never really ‘love’, was it, Jadzia? I was infatuated with you…and it blinded me to reality. Had it all been real…I’d have waited. I’d have persevered. But…I didn’t. Because it wasn’t love. I’d thought it was…but it wasn’t.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
And now, Ezri Dax sat there across from him, waiting for his answer.
Julian Bashir sighed, and nodded. “Yes. I, uh…suppose I always will.”
And he felt a small, genuine smile of gratitude, as he added, “But, somehow, talking to you—it seems to help.”
She returned the smile…and it seemed as if tears were welling up in her eyes. Was she thanking him—for being willing to recover from the pain, for accepting the nonverbal apology she gave?
Whatever it was…Julian Bashir felt his spirit lifting, as he let her hold his hand, and smile. For now, at least, he was at peace.
* * *
^Thanks!
Here's another scene, written for my April Challenge tale, "Annihilation Fantasies". The sequence is from "Extreme Measures". I particularly got a kick out of playing up for all it was worth the probably unintentional reference to Goldfinger...
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.”
Here's another scene, written for my April Challenge tale, "Annihilation Fantasies". The sequence is from "Extreme Measures". I particularly got a kick out of playing up for all it was worth the probably unintentional reference to Goldfinger...
* * *
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.”
* * *
The beginning of Best of Both Worlds novelization really impressed me, it certainly 'felt' like The Next Generation and added just enough extra meat to what was shown in the opening scene of the episode to make reading it worthwhile without going overboard with extra material.
I'd venture that the trick with such writing is to add additional material without creating massive subplots that weren't present in the episode itself.
I'd venture that the trick with such writing is to add additional material without creating massive subplots that weren't present in the episode itself.
Nicely put.
You should have a read of the novel of James Cameron's movie "The Abyss" by Orson Scott Card. That is incredibly written! Expands on what is in the movie without changing anything.
Sorry for the thread necromancy.
I think I've got a line on a set of seven Phase II scripts.
I am going to go ahead with my idea to do "novelizations" of these scripts, which I will post here in the forum as they happen.
The method to my madness will to do these as if they were being written in 1980 or so, right after the premiere of ST:TMP (although I will be using the In Thy Image version of that particular story). The only canon that will be adhered to is the Star Trek that existed at that time. So no Borg, or Q, or any of the stuff that came from the later Treks. I will be using TOS, TAS, and Trimble's Star Trek Concordance as my primary reference sources.
My plan is to start with In Thy Image, work my way thorugh the other scripts, and end with Kitumba as the grand finale.
Thoughts? Comments?
Stay tuned
I think I've got a line on a set of seven Phase II scripts.
I am going to go ahead with my idea to do "novelizations" of these scripts, which I will post here in the forum as they happen.
The method to my madness will to do these as if they were being written in 1980 or so, right after the premiere of ST:TMP (although I will be using the In Thy Image version of that particular story). The only canon that will be adhered to is the Star Trek that existed at that time. So no Borg, or Q, or any of the stuff that came from the later Treks. I will be using TOS, TAS, and Trimble's Star Trek Concordance as my primary reference sources.
My plan is to start with In Thy Image, work my way thorugh the other scripts, and end with Kitumba as the grand finale.
Thoughts? Comments?
Stay tuned
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