Unity

by S. D. Perry

  Things weren’t going well. New cases of infection continued to spring up here and there, on Bajor and the station, and nothing they were doing seemed to have any effect. Dax and Cyl would be back soon, but the news wasn’t good unless the Federation was willing to evacuate Trill and give it to the parasites, and that wasn’t going to happen. Commander Vaughn was still out on a medical, progress on the planet was achingly slow. The loss of Liro and Bennings had been an especially hard one for Ro, who had personally handed out the assignments. Admin was still trying to keep the carriers’ identities under wraps, but Ro’s people knew what had happened, it was obvious, and morale was down. Akaar’s attitude about the two security guards, when it had come up—that they were casualties of war, like some abstract concept—made Ro angry and sad.

  Maybe Quark has the right idea, after all. He’d actually tried to bribe Taran’atar to be his personal bodyguard, to no avail. It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea, in a way; it made sense that the parasites would try to target people as high up on the command ladder as they could get, and though she doubted that Quark was even on their list, individual surveillance and protection might be in order for the station’s officers.

  Ro turned the corner to the wardroom offshoot—and froze, hearing Kira’s voice coming from around the next turn, the wardroom proper. She had to be standing in the doorway, and she sounded tense.

  “ . . . which I’ve already put in my report,” she said, a thread of cold in her tone. “I’d think you’d want to give credit where credit is due, Admiral.”

  Akaar. That explained the tone, anyway. Kira kept a game face when it came to the admiral, but Ro could see that she often had to struggle to maintain it. He wasn’t a bad man, even Ro knew that much, but there were some things about which he could be inflexible. For someone as unorthodox as Kira, that had to rankle.

  “If you want to suggest a commendation, that’s is your prerogative,” Akaar’s voice came back, equally cold. “But we have vastly more important matters at stake, Colonel, than whether or not your security chief decides to stay.”

  Ro’s blood seemed to stand still; they were talking about her. She knew she should walk away, that listening to private conversations was a good way to complicate one’s life—she learned as much eavesdropping on Taran’atar and Wex—but as before, she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to.

  “After all she’s done,” Kira snapped, “finding the assassin, tracking down the planet—”

  “Colonel, step inside. The corridor is not shielded.”

  Kira’s voice dropped, but she didn’t go back in. “I don’t think we have anything to discuss. You obviously have a personal stake in this matter, some grudge that you mean to hold on to regardless of her exemplary performance throughout this ordeal.”

  “Colonel, please. Now is not the time for this. I will make my report on Ro Laren as I see fit, as is my prerogative, but for now, we need to talk about another matter. If you will step inside . . .”

  A second later, the hiss of a closing door.

  Ro didn’t move, her heart thumping, bits of the conversation repeating in her mind. Commendation. After all she’s done. Exemplary performance. Akaar’s issues with her were common knowledge, and for the most part, so was Kira’s support—but to actually hear the colonel stand up for her, go up against Starfleet’s representative in Bajor’s transition to the Federation . . .

  Ro smiled, unable to help it, and felt a kind of ache at the same time, low in her gut. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it, to feel pride at a job she was bowing out of, a job she’d never wanted . . . but it didn’t matter. What the Colonel seemed to have forgotten was that working alongside Starfleet personnel again, even as an officer of the Bajoran Militia in Bajoran territory, was hard enough. Expecting her to do so after the changeover, or thinking that Starfleet would even want her back after all the bad blood on both sides, was misguided and unrealistic.

  And I’m nothing if not realistic.

  Ro shook her head, backing away from the wardroom. Akaar had one thing right—there were much more important things to worry about. She’d head back to the office, make some notes, talk to Kira a bit later—

  Halfway down the corridor, she turned—and jumped, startled. A middle-aged Bajoran woman was standing right behind her, a vaguely familiar face—she worked in the small tourism office on the Promenade, Ro thought, though she wasn’t certain.

  “Excuse me,” Ro said, stepping to one side.

  The woman stepped to the same side. Ro smiled, the woman smiled back—but something was wrong. The smile didn’t touch the woman’s eyes, which were dark and opened wide, and she was starting to say something, but her mouth was opening wide, too, too wide for speech. Inside, something stirred.

  Ro didn’t think. She dropped into a crouch, snatching at her phaser, stun won’t work, in the reports it said—

  No time to fix it. The woman was leaning over, and with the barest cough of sound, she vomited a squirming insectile creature from the dark hole of her mouth. It happened fast. Ro fired at her with one hand, instinctively batting the dropping parasite away with the other, her skin crawling at the wet, moving touch of it against her palm.

  The woman took a single step back and grinned, unharmed, barely affected as the creature scrabbled across the meter or so of corridor between them, moving impossibly fast. Ro threw herself backward, kicking at it, horribly aware that she had seconds, at most, not a free hand to call for security, a phaser that she might just as well throw—

  Ro screamed, as loud as she could, snapping her mouth closed a split second later as the parasite leapt, its hard, strong, chitinous legs ripping at her lips, prying at her teeth, trying to force her jaws apart.

  * * *

  The day’s meeting had not been an inspiring one, for anyone. Even had Shar not been able to sense the lack of enthusiastic energy, the grim faces of the attending officers had communicated the mood clearly enough.

  As soon as the meeting was over, he and Nog started back for the Defiant, walking in silence. Shar found his thoughts turning away from their work and back to Prynn Tenmei, where they’d found focus quite often since their lunch together. Not so much the young woman herself, but the questions she had raised for him. Thinking about Dizhei and Anichent, about Thriss, about his damaged relationship with his zhavey—these things were too much, too consuming, when he needed his primary attentions to center on his role in countering the parasite invasion. But the gently bittersweet dilemma of his future relationships, of love, bonding, sexual intimacy . . . these were things he’d never thought upon before, had never needed to consider, and he was discovering them to be diversions that didn’t wound him overmuch to entertain.

  They stopped to coordinate briefly with Ro Laren, then continued on their way. Nog began thinking aloud about the fabrication aspects of their current detection design, rattling off numbers and theory, but it was all material they’d already discussed. Shar continued to think on Prynn’s curiosity, and on her expressed interest in spending time with him. He didn’t realize that Nog had stopped walking, had asked him a direct question and was waiting for an answer.

  “I’m sorry, Nog,” Shar said. “What did you ask?”

  “I asked if you had something on your mind,” Nog said. When Shar hesitated, Nog shrugged, smiling widely. “Forget it. None of my business, right? Unless . . . I mean, if you ever wanted to talk about anything, that would be okay with me.”

  It wasn’t the first time that Nog had offered. In fact, most of his new friends on DS9 had invited him to share his emotions with them, if he so desired. In his own culture, feelings were not so casually discussed among acquaintances . . . but then, his adherence to Andorian custom no longer seemed to be of much importance, did it? If this was to be his home now, these the people that were his social contacts, perhaps he should try something new.

  “I was thinking of Prynn Tenmei,” Shar said, deciding to be as concise as possible. He didn’t want Nog to be burdened in any w
ay by his own frivolous thoughts. “She has suggested that she and I develop a closer friendship, and this has raised, for me, considerations of my future personal life.”

  Nog blinked, seemed dumbstruck for a moment, then grinned ever wider. “You and Prynn? That’s interesting.”

  Shar hurried to clarify. “I don’t mean to suggest—that is, I am not currently interested in pursuing a . . . familiarity with anyone.” Even saying it aloud made him wince internally, his inner voice shouting that he’d had his opportunity, that he’d destroyed it.

  “Right, I gotcha,” Nog said, still smiling, nodding. “But it’s something to think about, particularly now that . . .”

  He trailed off uncomfortably, but only for a second before pushing his grin ever wider. “But she’s something, isn’t she?”

  Shar wasn’t sure how to answer. Prynn was a human, a lesser-ranked coworker, a pilot. “In what capacity?” he asked.

  “In the female capacity,” Nog said, and blinked one eye. He seemed happy to be talking about something besides work. There was a glint of enthusiasm in his gaze that had been absent only seconds before. “They can be complicated, though. You should talk to Vic about it, if you want some pointers.”

  Vic Fontaine, the hologram. Shar hadn’t yet met the program, he’d scarcely had a free moment since his assignment to the station, but Nog referred to him often. “Vic has points to make, about females?”

  Nog nodded eagerly. “When this is all over, we can go together, it’ll be fun. I owe him a visit anyway, and—”

  The Ferengi broke off suddenly, his gaze going blank, his head cocking. He held the pose a beat, then frowned.

  “Did you hear a—”

  A short, sharp scream came from behind them, back toward the conference room. Nog and Shar both started running, Nog calling for security, Shar pulling ahead as his friend called off coordinates.

  Shar turned a corner, the corridor leading back to the smaller offshoot of the wardroom—and saw Ro Laren, on her knees, clawing at her face. A woman, Bajoran, was standing between them, and as Shar ran to help Ro, the woman whipped around to face him. Her mouth, there was something wrong with it, something moving behind her wide grin—

  —parasites—

  —and Shar did what came most naturally, what Starfleet had trained him not to do when faced with conflict. In an instant he was overcome with rage, with a seething hatred for the Bajoran invader, for the creatures that even now were creeping from her gaping mouth. Without hesitating, he leapt up and kicked, first with one leg and then the other as his body twisted in mid-air. Both blows landed solidly, the first against the host’s face, the second against her chest.

  The impact sent her flying backward. He caught a glimpse of her dull surprise before he landed on the floor, hard, and immediately rolled to his knees to help Ro. The parasite carrier was also getting up, but had landed several meters away, giving him a fraction of a second to get to the struggling security officer. Behind him, he heard Nog shouting into his com, clarifying the situation, but Shar’s own rage made the sounds incomprehensible. For him, there was only the immediate threat, only the desire to kill the attacking creature.

  Ro had two of the tiny animal’s legs in one hand, was trying to pull it from her upper lip with little success. It had dug into the right corner of her mouth with its overlarge pincers, its small, pointed tail squirming against the left corner, seeking a way inside. A small amount of blood was trickling down Ro’s chin, smearing down her throat. Without pausing to consider how best to remove it, Shar snatched at the creature, grasping the middle of its body firmly. He jammed the forefinger of his other hand in between the scissoring pincers and then yanked. Ro cried out but the parasite came away, its body flipping and writhing in Shar’s hand, its claws gouging into his skin. Still holding it tightly, he slammed it into the floor, hyperextending his arm, pressing the heel of his hand through its hard little body. He felt wetness, a satisfying warmth spreading from beneath his fingers. It still moved, but weakly now, slowly.

  The Bajoran host, the carrier, was back on her feet. Two, three more parasites had fallen from her unhinged jaw, were already darting across the corridor to where Shar and Ro sat, where Nog was standing. Shar hissed at the woman, at the insectile runners, overcome by the need to destroy them, his teeth gnashing with the need to bite and grind, to rip them apart—

  —and two of the small creatures froze, the woman, too, suddenly and completely, stopped as solidly as a holo on command. The third parasite, closer to Shar and Ro than the others, made it only a few centimeters further before the blast of a phaser obliterated it.

  Wide-eyed, Shar turned, his antennae sensing the contained stasis field before it registered mentally, saw the three security officers standing near Nog. One had his phaser outstretched, while the others held out two stasis projectors. A half second later, a pair of med techs beamed into the corridor and ran to Ro’s side. One of them asked Shar if he’d been injured, but he ignored her, breathing deeply, releasing the violence that he’d allowed into his consciousness, into his body.

  Ro stared for a moment at the frozen Bajoran woman, at the pair of creatures by her feet, then looked at him, smiling even as she winced, as a tech blotted at her torn lip with a steady hand.

  “I’m sorry—” Shar started, regaining himself as he motioned at her bleeding mouth, but Ro shook her head, her smile widening.

  “We have a queen,” she said, and though he’d let go of the violence, though he was fully himself again, there was enough of it in him still to allow Shar a smile in turn, a grin of blood-lust triumph at the understanding. They had a queen.

  14

  KEIKO STOOD ON KASIDY’S BACK PORCH, BEMUSEDLY WATCHING JAKE play with the children in the late-afternoon sun. She wasn’t sure of the game, but they were certainly enjoying it; Jake ran through the overgrown field with Yoshi on his shoulders, Molly at his side, her arms out as though in flight. They’d run quite a distance, the faint sound of their laughter only just carrying back to the house. Kasidy, Joseph, and Judith had all walked to the nearest village to buy vegetables an hour or so earlier, and should be back soon, before dark, Kasidy said . . . and Miles was inside, talking to Kira.

  And he’s telling her that he can’t. Whatever it is she called for, he’s telling her that he’s a teacher now, that he’s on leave, and that he didn’t come all the way out here to risk his life rigging together some miracle or other to save the day. He’s made promises.

  Was that uncharitable? Maybe. Probably. She sighed, folding her arms against her chest. She knew herself too well, at times, knew that she was just waiting for him to come outside with that hangdog look on his face so that she could be angry. After so many years of marriage, she could feel the unformed resentment tugging at her, could feel the desire to pick a fight.

  Maybe she was tired of watching him march off into danger, and she was, tired to her very core. When the DS9 position had first opened, she’d been all for it. She’d mistakenly assumed that compared with some of what they’d experienced on the Enterprise, a space station would have to be safer. There had been Molly to consider, after all, and even then she’d dreamed of having another child. When they’d actually gone to the station, when she’d seen what the living conditions were like, how limited her own career opportunities would be . . . even then, she’d stuck to her end of the bargain, for the sake of his job. But if she was going to be honest with herself—and the time was long past when she could afford not to be—she’d also been willing to stay out on the frontier’s edge because she, too, had a touch of the adventurer’s spirit, had wanted some of the same challenges out of life that Miles so enjoyed.

  But the war changed that, at least for me. And for him . . .

  She held herself tighter, watching the children play. She wanted him to be happy, of course, wanted to support him in his choices. He liked teaching, or at least certain aspects of it . . . but she could see that he was already starting to chafe a bit around the collar
, and that worried her. Maybe she had pushed too hard for him to take the Academy position, because she wanted some stability for her children, some prospects for herself. And it was a feather in his cap, no two ways about it; teaching AP Engineering at the Academy was a position of no small esteem.

  Except this isn’t about fear, or what’s best for him, or what’s best for our family, is it?

  She sighed. No, of course it wasn’t. A good marriage—and she and Miles had one, she knew it and was both proud of and grateful for it—demanded a willingness to examine one’s own motivations, with as much honesty as possible. It was hard work; blaming Miles would be a lot easier, but this was about her. The comm she’d received just before they’d left Earth, from the I.A.A.C . . . . she’d been offered an incredible opportunity, and had turned it down without even telling Miles about it. Because she wanted to be fair, because she wanted to keep her promises. That was why it seemed so important that he turn Kira down, if that was even the reason for her call. Because if she was going to make yet another sacrifice, she wanted a little of the same consideration.

  But maybe it’s time for him to support you, for a change, she thought, the thought a whisper, feeling guilty and defensive and secretly joyful, all at once. They’d agreed that the move to Earth was the best thing, for all of them, but the I.A.A.C.’s offer . . . it was once-in-a-lifetime. The rep she’d talked to had asked her to reconsider, to think it over, and though she’d insisted that her answer likely wouldn’t change, she couldn’t stop thinking about it, either.

  So if it’s a done deal, why haven’t you mentioned it, yet?

  Because . . . because she didn’t know why.

  Because you want it.

  Yes. Because she wanted it.

  “Hey,” Miles said, and Keiko turned, forcing a slight smile, one that quickly faded. Even with a grin pasted on, apology was written in the lines of his face as he stepped outside, squinting at the sudden brightness. She knew she’d only been ready to lay blame because of her own secret-keeping, but felt a burst of anger at him, anyway.