Holding Cell A, Deep Space Nine, Bajor system
0900 hours, station time.
“Get up! All of you!” The security guard barked. In spite of his size, the man could scare a Klingon to silence.
Wielding a phaser rifle, the Saurian positioned himself in the middle of the room. There were five more holding cells, all filled with the troublemakers from the day before yesterday. He slowly sat up holding his abdomen. His cellmate, an Orion male, had been the one who gave him the final knockout and the chief of security had found it interesting to put them in the same holding cell. Thankfully Galrisan was a reasonable man when sober, and he hadn’t finished the job.
It took Perjon a few seconds to gather himself as the guard walked past every single holding cell. Finally giving up, he walked to his office for a padd.
Returning to the brig now wielding a padd instead of a phaser rifle, he asked, “Which one of you is Lieutenant Commander Perjon Dax?”
Perjon slowly stood up, still holding his right hand over his aching abdomen. Barely able to stand after the beating he received from the massive Orion, he approached the barely visible force field. “I am Perjon Dax!” he shouted to the guard.
The security guard slowly approached him. “Ah, I should have known. The wiseguy.” He laughed. “You’re being released into your friend’s custody. Step away from the force field.”
Perjon complied, a few seconds later, after a nod from the Saurian chief of security, a young human ensign dropped the force fields. It flashed brightly before fading from existence and Perjon stepped through. “I was under the impression that the fight last night would keep me in that cell for two more days. What changed?” he asked as they left the brig. Fad'gh didn't deem it worth while to reply. Outside, in the security chief's office, a man was sitting in the chief’s chair. A Vulcan dressed in civvies. Black pants, a yellow shirt and a purple vest. Obviously he had bought his attire on the station. It was, unique. For a lack of a better way of describing it. The man appeared to be someone Chief Fad’gh respected greatly , because he bowed his head slowly and put his right hand to his chest. The traditional Saurian salute. The Vulcan returned it and after a quick nod, Chief Fad’gh left.
The Vulcan looked up at Perjon. Almost like he was trying to probe his mind. And judging from the look, he was minutes away from being able to. “Perjon Dax. Formerly of the USS Ballona. Valedictorian of you class at Starfleet Academy, rank of Lieutenant Commander, advanced tactical training and covert ops, expert in Klingon martial arts and Suus Mahna.” He said, reading form the padd in his hand. “A holding cell. -- Not exactly the place I hoped to find a man like you. Nonetheless, here you are.”
“And you are?” Dax inquired.
“I’m Captain Valom. I’m here to give you a job.” He replied with a very un-Vulcan smile.
Dax shook his head. He didn’t seem to care very much. “If you know so much about me, you should also know that I resigned a year ago. I’m done with Starfleet.“ he said. “If there nothing else, I miss my holding cell.” He rose to leave.
“Just like that?” Valon asked, almost surprised. He had of course read Dax’s file, but not in a million years did he expect this type of treatment. “You don’t even want to know what the job is?”
“No. As i said, I'm done with Starfleet. What i need, they can provide.” Dax said. His arms crossed across his chest. Desperately trying to hide the pain in his abdomen his cellmate had cause two days earlier.
"Vengance?"
"Something like that, yes." Dax replied.
“I see.” Valon shook his head. “Perhaps you’re not the man I was looking for. – Oh, and in case, by some godsend miracle, you turn into the man I was looking for. The Armaita is in spacedock for another 12 hours.” He said, stood up and headed for the door. He halted in the doorway. “My father told me I should look at your file. And I did. Reading it, I was pleasantly surprised. I saw Curzon Dax, the diplomat who negotiated the Khitomer accords. Jadzia Dax, of the house of Martok and a Dominion war veteran. Ezri Dax, one of the officers who stopped the Borg invasion and someone who was a dear friend of mine. And then you. Do you know what I see when I look at you? I see is a drunken, sorry excuse of a Starfleet officer, who can’t do anything but feel sorry for himself. Your ship was destroyed, yes. your friends died. It was tragic. Four hundred people lost their lives. But that's no excuse to let you life and career go down the drain. That's a reason to make something of your life since you were lucky enough to survive. -- The great Dax. What a waste...“
Those were Captain Valon’s last words before he disappeared into the crowd outside the security office.
***
"Are you still here?" Fad'gh asked returning from his rounds on the promenade an hour later. Dax was still sitting in the office contemplating what Valon had said. Maybe he's right, he though. I am a waste. And if i am. What do i do about it?
"Hey! Are you deaf or something? You're free to go. Get out of my office if you don't want to return to the cell!" the chief barked. Dax slowly stood up and headed for the door.
"You know Chief, I liked you predecessor better. Hell, I liked the old Deep Space Nine better. Have a good day. If its possible for you, that is." he said and left leaving Fad'gh shout something untranslatable after him.
In my defense, I wrote that on my pda2k.
