by David Mack
Everyone stood silent for a moment, and then Bashir noticed that Dax and Sarina seemed to be studying each other. Finally, Sarina said, “I trust you’ve been fully briefed by SI on our mission profile.”
“Yes,” Dax said. “We’ve coordinated with Special Ops to develop an insertion strategy that should help you avoid too many awkward questions once you’re inside Breen space.” Glancing at her officers, she added, “Sam and Lonnoc handled the particulars, so I’ll let them walk you through it.”
Bowers held up one hand to interrupt. “First things first, Captain. We should get Doctor Bashir and Miss Douglas—”
“Forgive me, Commander,” Sarina cut in. “I know I’m not uniformed, but SI has commissioned me as an acting lieutenant for the duration of this assignment. Since I know from your service record that you can be a stickler for protocol, I thought you might want to know.”
To Bashir’s surprise, Bowers seemed put at ease rather than irked by Sarina’s correction. “Ah,” Bowers said. “Very good. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
“As I was saying,” Bowers continued, “we should get Doctor Bashir and Lieutenant Douglas to their quarters, conduct an inventory to make certain all their gear has been transferred from the Defiant, and reconvene in conference room one at 1700 hours.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Kedair said. “With your permission, sir, I’ll see to their equipment.” Upon receiving a nod from Bowers, Kedair left.
The first officer said to Dax, “I can escort them to quarters if you—”
“That’s okay,” Dax said. “Report to the bridge and relieve Mister Helkara. I’d like a chance to catch up with Julian and Sarina.”
“I understand,” Bowers said. “I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.” To Bashir he added, “Good to see you again, Julian—it’s been too long.”
“Definitely,” Bashir said. “Let’s tip a few pints after the briefing.”
“You’re on.” On his way out the door, Bowers smiled at Sarina. “Pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant.”
“Likewise, sir,” Sarina said. “See you at 1700.”
Dax took Bashir and Sarina each by an arm and ushered them toward the door. “C’mon,” she said, “let’s get you two settled in, shall we?”
The trio’s stroll through the Aventine’s sleek corridors was casual and brief, and Dax filled the time with small talk. She asked Julian about their old acquaintances and asked Sarina in general terms about her transition from scientific researcher to covert intelligence operative. It was all very polite and professional, which only fed Bashir’s suspicion that Dax’s veneer of politesse concealed a swift current of lingering bitterness from their failed romantic relationship several years earlier—a topic he had not yet broached with Sarina.
They arrived at a door, and Dax unlocked it. “Here’s your stateroom,” she said to Sarina. “Your bags will be along shortly. If you need anything, you’re cleared to use the internal comms.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Sarina said, echoing Dax’s formality. As she stepped past Dax and entered her quarters, she added, “See you at the briefing.”
The door closed, and Dax took Bashir’s arm. Tugging him back into motion, she led him to the next door on the opposite side of the passageway. “For you, our finest accommodations.”
“As always, you spoil me.”
Dax unlocked and opened the door. Bashir walked inside and looked around at the spacious suite. From the doorway, Dax said, “I trust you can find your way to conference room one by yourself?”
“If I get lost, I’m sure Sarina can show me the way.”
“No doubt.” She took a step back and mustered a feeble smile. “I should get back to the bridge. Let Sam know if you need anything.”
Bashir nodded. “Will do.” Dax walked away, and the door slid closed.
I suppose that could have been a lot more awkward, he thought. He turned slowly, acquainting himself with the layout and furnishings of the room and committing it all to memory in case he should be forced to navigate it in the dark. The door signal buzzed, and he turned toward the entrance. “Come.”
The portal slid open. Sarina walked in, took a quick look around, and then asked, “So, why didn’t you tell me you’d been involved with Dax?”
“How did you … ?”
“Are you kidding? You both got tense when you saw each other. And the way she put herself between us while we walked from the transporter room? A classic divide-and-conquer move. Did you two have a bad breakup?”
He rolled his eyes and let slip a rueful chuckle. “To say the least.”
“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime.” She moved past him and admired the warp-stretched starlight outside the sloped windows of his suite’s main room. “Nice view.” Throwing him a look of mock innocence over her shoulder, she added, “My quarters don’t have any windows.”
Bashir smiled at her transparent angling for an invitation. “Would you rather stay here with me? I have more than enough room.”
She batted her eyelashes and said in a playful voice, “A real gentleman would offer to trade quarters.”
“Perhaps,” Bashir said, “but rank has its privileges.”
“I see.” She strolled toward the door. “I guess that includes sleeping alone.”
“It doesn’t have to …”
She smirked over her shoulder at him as she left. “It does now.”
“Outfitting you two with modified Breen armor was the easy part,” said Lieutenant Kedair. “The hard part was concocting cover identities for you.”
Heads bobbed in silent acknowledgment around the conference room’s long, oval table. Dax sat at the head, flanked by Bowers and Kedair. Bashir and Sarina sat together with their backs to the wide transparent-steel window. Opposite them sat the Aventine’s chief engineer, Lieutenant Mikaela Leishman, another of Bashir’s old colleagues from Deep Space 9 and the Defiant.
Sam Bowers leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Working with Starfleet Special Ops, we’ve developed an insertion strategy around the Guernik, a Breen vessel captured a few years ago in the Ravanar system. We’re going to use it as a stand-in for another Breen vessel, the Sitkoskir, which was destroyed in the Draconis Sector last month by the Klingons.”
Kedair added, “Because both the Guernik and the Sitkoskir were privateers, we suspect their crew manifests might not have been as closely monitored as those aboard official Breen military vessels.” She nodded at Sarina. “With help from your three peculiar friends, we think we’ve figured out how to spoof Breen identity cards, and we’ve encoded your armor disguises with chips that will identify you as members of the Sitkoskir’s crew.”
Bashir cocked an eyebrow as he asked, “What if the Breen government figures out that our cover identities are forgeries?”
“In that case,” Bowers said, “you’ll both probably be killed as spies. But not until a Breen military vessel picks you up, which is our second challenge.”
“This is where the Guernik comes in,” Kedair said. With a look, she cued engineer Leishman to join in the briefing.
Activating a viewscreen on the bulkhead behind her, Leishman said, “When we reach the edge of Breen space, you’ll be placed aboard the Guernik, which is waiting for us inside a sensor blind, along with an unmanned Orion corsair.” Images of the two alien starships appeared on the viewscreen. Leishman continued as a computer-animated dogfight between the ships played out in slow motion. “Both have been fitted with extensive remote-control systems and programmed to play out a series of combat maneuvers. Though their weapons are at full power, none of the shots they fire will actually hit. Instead, we’ll be triggering a number of controlled demolitions to simulate battle damage.”
Bashir asked, “Why are their weapons at full power?”
Kedair replied, “To make sure the Breen cruiser patrolling that sector detects the battle. We want it to register as authentically as possible on their senso
rs.”
“You two,” Leishman said, resuming her presentation, “will ride out the mock battle inside one of the Guernik’s escape pods. Yours will be the first pod ejected. Once you’ve reached minimum safe distance, we’ll self-destruct the Guernik and the corsair, making it look as if they’ve destroyed each other. The remaining pods from the Breen ship will be decoys caught in the blast radius, explaining why there are no other survivors from the ship.”
Sarina asked, “What if some of those pods survive the blast? Or if the Breen patrol ship recovers the Guernik’s sensor logs?”
Bowers said, “The other pods are rigged to self-destruct, and we’ve programmed the Guernik’s logs with the mock battle. If the patrol ship recovers anything from the wreckage, it should corroborate their own sensor readings.”
Kedair added, “We’ve outfitted your pod with a transponder recovered from the Sitkoskir, so you’ll appear to be survivors of that ship. It ought to make your cover story a bit more plausible if you don’t come from a ship that’s already been missing for three years.”
“So,” Bashir said, “Lieutenant Douglas and I will wait inside the pod for a Breen patrol to pick us up. How long should we expect to be adrift before the patrol ship rescues the pod?”
“Approximately six to eight hours,” Bowers said.
“And once we’re aboard, how do we know they’ll take us to Salavat?”
Anxious looks passed between Kedair and Bowers. Kedair frowned and said, “That part’s a gamble. Salavat is the closest Breen colony to the coordinates we’ve picked for your mock battle, and it’s also the home port of the patrol ship we’re trying to lure. Unless the patrol ship has orders to proceed somewhere else, its most likely destination after picking you up should be Salavat.”
Bashir shot a concerned look at Sarina, who maintained a perfect poker face. “For now, let’s operate on the assumption that the patrol ship brings us to Salavat,” he said. “What’s our exit strategy?”
“You’ll be given recall beacons,” Bowers said.
Leishman explained, “High-power, superlow-frequency subspace burst transmitters. Like the ones used on cloaked Klingon starships. We’ll be able to read it from distances of up to thirty light-years.”
“The Aventine will be standing by on the Breen-Federation border,” Dax said. “As soon as we get your recall signal, we’ll hop in at slipstream velocity, beam you out, and make a run for it.”
“We’d rather not spark a shooting war,” Bowers added, “so try to keep a low profile and get someplace remote before you trigger the beacon.”
Bashir replied, “We’ll do our best. Captain, how soon after we call for extraction can we expect your arrival?”
Dax shrugged. “If everything goes according to plan? Five minutes.”
“And if everything doesn’t go according to plan?”
“Then possibly a bit longer.”
“What if we lose the beacons?” asked Sarina. “Can we see the specs on the signal in case we need to find an alternative transmission method?”
“Sure,” Leishman said. “It’s all in your briefing packet.”
“Final details,” Kedair said. She picked up a padd from the table and tapped in commands, changing the display on the viewscreen behind Leishman to show cutaway schematics of Breen armor. “We’ve taken the Breen life-support gear out of your disguises and replaced them with human-tailored systems. The suits will protect you from vacuum, submersion, heat, and cold, and they should offer you some limited defense against projectile and directed-energy weapons.”
Bashir said, “So it’s a closed system?”
“Only when it needs to be,” Leishman said. “Most of the time you’ll breathe normally while it replenishes its air supply. But if the suit’s sensors detect toxins within twenty meters, or if you get submersed or lose air pressure, it’ll switch over automatically unless you override it.”
The image on the screen enlarged the helmet design. “Inside your helmets are holographic heads-up displays,” Kedair said. “These will provide you with our best available real-time translations of written Breen languages, superimposed over your field of vision. We’ve also scrounged up a fair amount of Typhon Pact currency, as well as some older Breen currency, in case you need it.” Zooming back out to a full shot of the armor, Kedair added, “Airtight pockets will contain tools, compact medkits, and compressed rations. Myoelectric fibers will amplify your strength. Make sure you review your briefing packets before you deploy.”
Bowers asked the room, “Any further questions?” No one spoke, and he nodded. “We rendezvous with the Guernik in twelve hours. Doctor, Lieutenant, good luck. Meeting adjourned. Crew dismissed.”
As everyone left the conference room, Dax caught Bashir by his sleeve. He turned and faced her. She said, “Dinner. My quarters, 1900.”
“See you there,” Bashir said.
Dax let go of his sleeve, and Bashir followed the other officers out of the room. In the corridor, he caught up to Sarina, who he was certain had heard Dax’s invitation but was saying nothing about it. Rather than pretend it hadn’t happened, he asked under his breath, “What do you think? Am I having dinner with a friend or with my ex?”
“Both,” Sarina said, “and also a captain, so mind your manners and make sure you wear a clean uniform.”
The door to Captain Dax’s quarters sighed open at Bashir’s approach, and he entered to find Dax attired in civilian clothes and standing over a table set with a formal dinner service. Soft music, which reminded Bashir of Betazoidinfluenced jazz, filtered down from overhead. All that was missing was the meal.
Looking up at Bashir, Dax said with a smile, “Right on time, as always.”
“I do like to be punctual,” he said, meandering toward her and the table. “I hope you’ll forgive me for arriving empty-handed. Your replicators wouldn’t let me whip up a bottle of wine or a bouquet of flowers.”
Dax rolled her eyes. “That would be Sam’s doing,” she said. “I never knew he was such a stick-in-the-mud until I made him my XO.”
“I guess that’s just the way it is with people. Who they are depends a lot on where they are and whom they’re with.”
“True,” said Dax, who seemed a bit more contemplative than usual. She gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll get our food.”
Bashir pulled out a chair from the small dining table, which he noticed felt out of place in the main room of Dax’s quarters, as if it had been a last-minute addition. He sat down. “I feel honored. It’s not every day one is served by a captain.”
She chastised him with a look over her shoulder while she stood at the replicator. “When I’m out of uniform, I’m just Ezri.” Holding two plates of coq au vin with sides of sautéed asparagus, she joined Bashir at the table. “In fact,” she continued, “I apologize for not telling you to wear civvies.” She smiled. “Now I feel underdressed.”
“Nonsense,” Bashir said. “You look wonderful, as always.”
“Kind of you to say.” She walked back to the replicator. “What do you think would go best with this?”
“Something robust,” Bashir said. “A Pinotage, or perhaps a Malbec.”
“Pinotage it is,” Dax said, keying her request into a manual interface beside the replicator. Moments later, an open bottle appeared with two glasses. She brought them back to the table and offered the bottle to Bashir. “Care to do the honors?”
“Certainly.” He filled her glass and then his own as Dax settled into her chair and sampled her dinner. He put down the bottle. “It’s been a long time since we were alone together like this.”
Dax swallowed and replied, “True.” She sipped her wine. “I’m sorry if this seems weird or kind of out of the blue, but it just seemed like you and I had so much unfinished business, and what with … you know …” Her voice trailed off.
“Me leaving on a possible suicide mission?”
She let out a short nervous laugh. “I guess, yeah.” She collected herself
. “I just thought it might be the right time for me to say some things I should’ve said a long time ago, before I left Deep Space 9.”
“Things such as … ?”
“Such as, ‘I’m sorry, Julian.’ For starters.” Looking down at her plate, she continued. “I know I didn’t make things easy for you. I guess part of it was that I didn’t understand how profound a change I was going through until I was deep in the middle of it. And by then it was too late for me to undo what I’d done.”
“I know,” Bashir said, “and I understand. It can’t be easy to adjust to such a massive change in self-image, to take eight past lives and make them your own. To become more than the sum of your parts.”
Recoiling slightly, Dax paraphrased Bashir’s turn of phrase. “The sum of my parts? Where did that come from?”
He tried to downplay the statement with a one-shoulder shrug. “Just something Sarina said a long time ago, after she first met you.”
Dax’s mood darkened, and she became quiet. “Of course. I see.”
“See what?”
“You still have a crush on Sarina, don’t you?”
The question left Bashir feeling defensive. “I remain attracted to her and interested in her. My feelings for her go far beyond mere infatuation.”
“So you’re in love with her—and acting as her partner on a high-risk undercover intelligence mission? Don’t you see a few potential complications with this scenario, Julian?”
He reined in a snort of laughter. “You’re one to talk! Or have you forgotten how you attached yourself to my mission to Sindorin? And don’t try to tell me that was different, because we both know that’s a lie.”
Dax threw her napkin on the table. “You want to know what’s the same about the Sindorin mission and this one, Julian? You are. You’ve always loved playing spy, and I think this is more of the same.”
“Oh, really?” Dropping his own napkin beside his plate, Bashir stood up. “You think I’m here to play a game? To satisfy some adolescent appetite for adventure?”
