Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Rush Limborg, Jul 2, 2011.
The plot thickens! Julian has officially entered I'm-Going-To-Win mode. I love it!
^ Damn, right. He's become one sneaky SOB, that's for bloody certain.
Well, he did have two good teachers: Garak and Sloan.
Hmm, Sloan was more like a passing acquaintance, wasnt he? Bashir sorta whacked him, albeit indirectly. Teacher would be a bit pushing it.
^Well, I mean it in the sense that, as Julian himself notes to Sarina, he's since learned to put himself in the mind of such an agent.
And I'd say "Extreme Measures" was an instance of Julian's embracing his dark side, to take Sloan down. Perhaps the student surpasses the teacher, in that case--to put it mildly?
(Of course, I will say Sarina's reaction to his invoking Sloan's name is a clue to a little something....)
Of course, it's a dummy bomb! There are twelve episodes left in the season.
Wait, what am I saying? This story does have a bit 24-like feel with the major being resolved and then a few loose that are yet to be tied. I look forward to see how this revelation finally plays out.
^Glad to hear it!
It's funny--as a fellow fan of that show, I always try to invoke the 24 "feel" whenever I'm using Section 31.
Sloan's backstory in "Passing Of Value" was actually inspired partly by the tragic finale of Season 1--Terri is brought to the CTU for her safety...but that's where the mole is, and Jack returns to discover his wife's lifeless body....
Here--I'd say Bashir's showing a bit of a "Jack Bauer" element.
Hadn't thought of it like that. But speaking of which, the latest chapter in my current on-going story has a powerful weapon being stopped, but the rest of the story will involve tracking down the true masterminds of the Grand Conspiracy (similar to Days 2, 5, 7, and 8 of 24).
This level of sneakiness from the good doctor shows that he would have been a good operative for Section 31, if they'd managed to get their hands on him!
Good writing, Rush. It still has that Fleming feel.
Thank you, Badger--very much!
I'm actually trying to make that a central theme of my tales focusing on Julian. For all his bravado about how Section 31 is unjustified in what it does--the immense irony is, like Michael Corleone before him, he's constantly feeling led to do those very things he condemns, in order to take on those he sees as the enemy.
Though he acknowledged it somewhat to Ezri in my "Annihilation Fantasies"...in effect, he can't seem to stop--because, as far as he's concerned, it's what has to be done. And as a result...his words of condemnation ring more and more hollow, as the years go on.
Thank you all for reading! Come tomorrow night...we'll get going once again.
We also saw that in Sisko trying force Eddington's surrender. If he could led down that dark path, anyone could, even the person who would presume to lecture him the same way he presumed to lecture Admiral Ross. The common thread there is dealings with one particular enemy. Even Jack Bauer, who already makes up the rules as he goes, takes things a step further in his dealings with Charles Logan.
And now...the re-intro to Mr. Crant ("played" by Cristoph Watz).
Note: from this point until the epilogue are chapters I've written this summer, as opposed to last fall/spring.
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
"From Risa With Love"
Mr. Crant watched him enter the suite, from a safe enough distance so that the doctor wouldn’t take notice of him. Now, it was safe to approach the door, and scan.
Finally, he took a few steps back, and reached into his work-bag—he was now disguised as a maintenance worker for the Resort—pulling out his transmitter, pressing the control.
The voice of Mr. Crolin answered. “Well?”
“Very good. You know what to do.”
The line closed. Mr. Crant put the transmitter away, approached the doctor’s suite, and knocked on the door.
* * *
Bashir turned to the door with a frown. Now that’s odd…. Who could that be?
He checked the tricorder. Holland was still in her room.
He pulled his phaser, holding it discreetly by his side, under his wrist. He walked to the door, opening it.
The man in the hall looked oddly familiar, somehow. He had a gaunt face, with a straight nose, a prominent chin, and deeply perceptive-looking eyes. His hair was short-cut, yet slightly tousled. He was dressed in the attire of a maintenance worker…but somehow, it didn’t seem to fit Bashir’s feeling.
“Excuse me,” he said, in a slightly nervous, green tone of voice, “You are Dr.—uh, Julian Bashir, yes?”
Bashir nodded slowly, unable to shake the sense of déjà vu…. “Of course…. Don’t the records give my room number?”
The man chuckled, and shrugged. “Well, you can’t be too careful, sir—records can be filled with errors, if you understand what I mean.”
“I…suppose so. Now, may I ask what you want? I don’t recall putting in an order for—”
“Oh, there’ve been some problems with the supply systems—particularly the water. We’re checking up on all the rooms on the supply line in question.”
Bashir’s frown deepened, as he cautiously stepped aside, to let the man pass. “I haven’t had any problems.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Still—we don’t want to take any chances.”
Bashir waved the man in the direction of the restroom, making sure not to turn his back on him.
Where have I seen that man before…?
He walked over to the desk, activating his console. He opened a channel to the front desk of the Resort.
“Resort of the Vulcan Stone. How may I help you?”
Bashir kept his voice quiet enough to not call the attention of the “worker”. “Uh, yes—this is Julian Bashir. I’m in suite 973. Was there a work order for these rooms—inspection, or something?”
“Let me check….”
Bashir turned in the direction of the restroom again. He could pick up the sound of the man taking something from the bag.
The voice on the other end came back on. “No, sir. Would you like to file an order now?”
Bashir narrowed his eyes. “Never mind…forget I called.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the line closed, Bashir rose to his feet, phaser in hand.
“So!” he asked, in a cheery tone, “What’s your name?”
“Sir?” asked the “worker”.
Bashir walked over to the entrance to the restroom. The man was kneeling by the sink, his back to Bashir.
Julian shrugged. “Oh, I was just wondering…”
The “worker” shrugged, not looking up. “My name’s Crant, sir.”
Bashir took a step forward. “Well…have you been working here long?”
“Not long, sir—a few weeks.”
“Sir, if you…don’t mind, I’d—like to finish with my work.”
Bashir raised his phaser. “And what would that be…hmm?”
Bashir narrowed his eyes. “Get up.”
Crant turned to him—not confused, not angry, just blank. “Sir…?”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me, Mr. Crant. You’re not working for the Resort. In fact, I’d wager you’re with Crolin—and you’re here for the device. Am I right?”
Crant stared at him, for a moment. Finally…he let out a chuckle. Not bothering to get up, he relaxed, his head leaning against the sink. “Excellent, Dr. Bashir,” he said, his tone changing, conveying the confidence in his posture. “I really must congratulate you, you know. Most of my quarry would have been duped—well, long enough for this position to be reversed, at least….”
He tilted his head. “But I’m curious: how did you know?”
Bashir felt a smile. “Oh, not much—just…I could’ve sworn I saw you from somewhere.”
“And did you?”
His smile grew. “As a matter of fact…I’d say you’ve been keeping close tabs on my rooms. You were here last night, weren’t you—watching my quarters, under the guise of waiting outside another room?”
Crant returned the smile. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“I didn’t. Frankly, that little fact didn’t even register until just now—after I checked with the front desk.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately for you…I happen to have a very detailed memory.”
Crant nodded slowly, and chuckled again. “Well, Dr. Bashir…I must admit, you’re a most intellectual treat. I enjoy a challenge.”
Bashir returned the chuckle. “I try. Now—I take it you’re looking to see if it’s here?”
“Oh, I’ve just discovered it’s not, Doctor. Just before you confronted me, I ran a tricorder scan of the rooms.”
Bashir nodded. “So, you’re going to try and locate my associate, next?”
Crant spread out his hands. “I suppose that would be the ideal next step.”
“Well, unfortunately, I have no intention of giving up her location. And from where I stand…you’re not in much of a position to make demands.”
Crant’s smile grew. “No…I suppose not.”
And then, Bashir heard the sound of a disruptor—and felt its force in the stomach. He mentally kicked himself for letting his guard down—for allowing himself to gloat over his quarry, and not wonder why Crant had been refusing to get up.
As he went down, the stun setting taking its effect, he heard Crant chuckle, as the man rose and brushed himself off.
“Then again,” he heard Crant say, as his vision faded into darkness, “Perhaps I’m in such a position, after all….”
* * *
Ok so he hasnt gotten to the "shoot first, ask questions later" part. But he's getting there.
Nice, keep it up, Rushbo.
Thank you, ares93!
Now...more on Mr. Crant.
Brief Note: Interestingly enough, Crant was originally just a nameless "henchman", who happened to be the one assigned to watch Julian. But when I had the doctor confront him...I found I just couldn't resist characterizing him as a "worthy opponent" villain who in some sense admires and respects Bashir. When I'd finished the previous scene (and the next chapter), I then went back and polished everthing with "the henchman/operative/etc.", giving him the name, and few brief moments of characterization.
Okay. Enough of that. Now...
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
"From Risa With Love"
Mr. Crant walked over to Dr. Bashir’s unconscious form, taking the phaser. He shook his head, chuckling once again. My, my, Doctor…that overconfidence in yourself. It’s such a common failing. Take care that it doesn’t prove to be your undoing, one day.
He went over to the desk, activating the computer console.
Hmm…no messages. No calls, except for one just now, to the front desk. I suppose that means all their exchanges were in person, all their meetings prearranged. Brilliant of them, really—to prevent anyone from listening in.
Ah, well. Perhaps it would be best to let the doctor wake up…and then interrogate him.
Yes…unfortunately, he’s too much of a genius to succumb to the more intellectual methods. What I wouldn’t give for a couple of Romulan mind probes. As it stands, I may have to use more…brutal means.
Not a pleasant thought. Crant was never one for brutality. He preferred more subtle means.
As he leaned back, weighing his options…Crant’s gaze focused on a tricorder, lying on the desk.
Interesting… He picked it up, and opened it.
It had a schematic of one of the floors of the Resort—the seventh floor, to be exact. A blinking dot was in room 742.
A smile came to his face. So…it was Bashir who’d gotten off two levels down, last night. And now, he has a homing device, either on the girl…or the machine.
Either way—I’m on the right track. Crolin will be most…satisfied.
He rose to his feet. For a moment, he considered vaporizing Bashir—to prevent any further interference.
But then, he remembered the thrill he’d felt upon being discovered by a most…worthy opponent.
No…I’d as soon destroy a priceless Orb of Bajor than kill a challenge like this, so helplessly—regardless of what Crolin would rather have me do. No—better to defeat him in a game…an elaborate game, as it should be….
And so, he went over to the doctor’s bed, pulling off the bed-sheet. He tied up Bashir’s wrists behind him, then his ankles. Then, he took a pillowcase, and tied it around the doctor’s mouth.
With a grin, he registered the location of the signal once more in his mind…and set the tricorder down, beside Bashir’s unconscious face. And then he left, his new destination firmly lodged in his mind.
* * *
Cynthia Holland threw the last linen strip across the room. Curse that Bashir, anyway—why did he have to be so suspicious—so stuck-up, so self-righteous—
Come on, Cynthia. You were keeping too much from him—he got suspicious. You have no one to blame but your—
Spare me. Still, I should’ve known better—his record—he’s always been arrogant, and nosy, and…and always getting in over his head. But—but THIS?
Of course he’d be angry. You kept the truth from him, didn’t you?
Truth? Even if I did, that’s no excuse for him to…to trick me like that—to take me like he did, to seduce me, and—
A knock on the door.
Oh, he’s back, is he?
“What?” she thundered.
“Maintenance, ma’am. We need to inspect the room.”
She sighed. “One minute….”
She reached for the robe—which was still on the floor, where she’d thrown it. Cynthia couldn’t help but shake her head in bitter amusement. Poetic justice, isn’t it—you went to all that trouble to seduce him into your trust…and it ends up the other way around….
She put it on, securing the linen belt tight around her waist. Finally, she opened the door. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate—”
She froze as the barrel of a disruptor pointed straight at her face.
The man smiled at her. “Didn’t he warn you we’d be coming?”
* * *
"Curse that Bashir, anyway—why did he have to be so suspicious—so stuck-up, so self-righteous—" says the S31 agent.Geez, somebody got a twisted way of thinking. I thought self righteous, suspicions and stuck up was mandatory for S31 agents.
Nice chapter. Still going strong, mate. Sorry about the irregular reviews, but I'm on the road (or track) 99% of the time. And posting on my cell is a bloody pain. (Dont update to the newest firmware if you have an iPhone. Its buggy as hell. I miss my San Francisco... )
As for Cynthia...well, part of my purpose in creating her character was to provide a "new" face for 31--someone to contrast the hard-core, amoral-and-dark-and-dang-proud-of-it agents we're used to.
She was actually first created for another story of mine--a full-fledged Section 31 tale, which I'll publish soon. I won't spoil anything big--but suffice it to say that, in that one, she's just recently joined the Bureau, and her innocence and idealism comes to clash with the harsh reality of the cloak-and-dagger netherworld of 31.
As I was writing that, I eventually thought, "Given how different she is from all the 'others'...what would it be like for her to encounter Bashir...and possibly have them fall into a romance of a sort?" Her being who she is--a nice, sweet, vulnerable (remember their scene in the restaurant?) and dare I say it, sexy young lady who is not stuck up or arrogant (frankly, a good, one might say honest girl)--would thus force him to--
Wait...I'm not at that point in the story, yet. Stay tuned.
Oh trust me, I will. Just subscribed with email notifications.
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
"From Risa With Love"
Julian Bashir woke up with a headache—and the realization that he was bound and gagged.
The next thing he noticed was the tricorder lying right in front of him—open. The signal was still on…but she wasn’t in her rooms, anymore.
He edged himself closer, to get a better look. He recognized the coordinates.
She’s at the Palais—or what’s left of it.
And he knew why. And a feeling of guilt swelled up inside him.
They captured her—and they used my homing device to find her, and the machine.
What was it she said? “Your interfering is only going to make it worse, Doctor—for both of us. This…show of yours…makes it clear to me that you’ll stop at nothing to regain control of a situation. I can’t and won’t allow that to…‘inconvenience’ me…more than it already has.”
And now—I gave them the lead they needed. And as if to add insult to injury, they left for me exactly what I need to follow them. They’re taunting me to try and rescue her, and the device.
Which meant that, for whatever reason—probably revenge—Crolin and his underlings wanted both of them alive.
Well, let them have her, for all I care. I’ve been through enough trouble already, haven’t I? It’s not as if she’s an innocent victim, after all—
His heart tugged at this. Oh, really, Julian? You’re really going to leave her in their hands, and let them do I’nora-knows-what to her? Haven’t you punished her enough, already?
Goodness—why did his conscience persist in speaking in Ezri’s voice, anyway?
Maybe you should listen, Doctor, his mind replied—once again, in Sloan’s gruff, dry tones. Besides…you said it yourself: you don’t want the device to fall back into Syndicate hands…do you? It’s your duty to the Federation—and the innocent lives under your protection.
The frustration and angst at this internal conflict channeled itself into strength…and he focused it on his wrists, with all his might—
The knot snapped. Bashir yanked off the gag—a pillowcase, how quaint—and went to work on the knot binding his ankles. By the time he freed himself, he knew full well what his decision was going to be.
* * *
I like how Bashir's mind seems to turn everything - even important self-deliberation - into a form of fantasy. Or maybe that's too harsh a word. But he likes to craft everything, spin it into a narrative, into something more meaningful. He "plays" his conscience as Ezri and the harsh, manipulative yet practical understanding as Sloan...I guess without realizing what he's doing. And I loved the "how quaint" note on the pillowcase...even when being completely serious he's still playing with his narrative. It's a really interesting mix of genuine dilemna/tension and a strange, almost calculating ease with his situation. Very Bashir. I really think you have a good take on how a genetically augmented, somewhat childish but formidable intellect might work. t really does seem like Bashir - I can so easily picture the character when you write him.
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