The Trail: A Star Trek Novel (New Frontier Reloaded Book 1)

by ROVER MARIE TOWLE

  “Good. Things are going good,” Ezri responds.

  “Good? Just good?”

  “Okay, fine. Things are going great.” Lenara edges closer to the source of their conversation, ducking behind a pillar once she sees the back of Ezri's head. “I think. . . I think she might be the one.”

  “The one what?”

  “The one.”

  “Still not following you.”

  “It's an Earth expression. It means. . . that's the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

  “And you only get one of those?”

  “That's what the humans think. I've never really bought into it. Especially now that I'm joined. But Lenara. . .”

  “She makes you believe.”

  “Yeah. I know we've only been back together for a few weeks, but I can't help feeling hopeful about it. If I'm able to will my symbiont like she has, Dax and Kahn have a real shot of being together forever. Maybe not always as lovers, but we could still be in each other's lives. . .”

  Lenara is about to head down to the bathroom to see how much of her eye make-up has been ruined by Ezri's revelation when her comm signals. She quietly answers, “Phantom.”

  A familiar, distorted voice answers, “The package will be delivered in fifteen minutes.”

  “I'll be in position.” She jams her comm into her pocket and starts down the stairs.

  So much for dinner. So much for the harsh light of day.

  –

  Julian manages to get out of Vic's after two whiskey sours downed in Kennedy's memory. Even with the alcohol leached from his system, he's still rather depressed about tonight's aborted night out with friends. He knows it's not reasonable to expect everyone to have put their lives on hold while he was hiding in his quarters or even to expect them to drop their evening plans on his account. . . but he can't think of anything he'd want to do more with the rest of his night than returning to his quarters to mope about his disloyal friends and stare passive-aggressively at the bulkhead.

  His evening plans are once again disrupted when he sees the red light on his computer console flash. A high priority transmission. God, he hopes this isn't another randomized inventory request from Starfleet. On second thought, that would give him something productive and thoughtless to do tonight.

  He activates his quarters' small viewscreen and is pleasantly surprised to see a recorded image of Dr. Karen Loews' face.

  “Dr. Bashir, I'm contacting you because you're the only person who will help me. Three patients under my care—Jack, Lauren, and Patrick—have gone missing. I have reason to believe they have been kidnapped by Cardassians. Please contact me as soon as you receive this message.”

  –

  “It's me,” Ezri calls as she lets herself into Lenara's quarters. “What was it you wanted to show me?” And then she sees. “Oh my—Is that what I think it is?”

  Lenara nods, laying a protective hand on the stasis tube.

  “How did you. . .? Why did you. . .? Is it even alive?”

  “Yes. The stasis should hold for another year.”

  “Why?”

  “It's not matured enough to be joined.”

  “I know that. Why do you have a juvenile symbiont hidden in your quarters?”

  “To be honest,” Lenara says, sitting on the bed. “I'm not entirely sure myself.”

  “Oh, well, that's a great reason to commit felony kidnapping. You could get extradited back to the homeworld for this, you know that?”

  “I know. And when I agreed to shelter the symbiont, that was a risk I was willing to take. But now I have you. . . and this revolution is shaping up to be far more disorganized than I was led to believe. No one seems to know what they want or what we should be doing besides smuggling out symbionts, and I—”

  “Wait, revolution?”

  “I don't know if I would call it a revolution exactly, but certain expatriates are organizing to overthrow the Symbiosis Commission.”

  “And you're one of them?”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “I see. Would you hold on a second?” Ezri aims herself at the bed before passing out.

  –

  “What do you mean by 'kidnapped?'” Julian asks, sitting in front of his subspace transmission camera. “Was there a ransom letter or any signs of a struggle in the facility? How did they even get into your facility to begin with?”

  “No,” Dr. Loews answers. “The only evidence they left behind was this.”

  Julian's viewscreen plays a a few seconds of recording of Jack saying curtly, “We have defected to Cardassia.”

  “Defected?”

  “Yes. According to interviews I've performed with the orderlies, it seems the three of them had been in covert contact with a Cardassian representative for about a week prior to their disappearance.”

  “If your orderlies knew they were having unsupervised contact with Cardassians, why didn't they tell you sooner?”

  “If a patient in a mental institution told you they were interviewing with the Cardassian Outworlder Liaison for a job position, would you believe them?”

  “I would if they were Jack or Patrick.”

  “Actually, it was Lauren. From what I gather, she was trying to impress the orderlies in her ongoing search for a male partner.”

  Julian scrubs his hand over his face. “Do you know who exactly was contacting them? I know someone in the Cardassian government who might be able to—”

  “That's actually why I'm calling. According to the orderlies, the Cardassian's name is Elim Garak.”

  Julian groans, looking upward as if Sisko or the Prophets would project an answer from above. (Not that he's looking remotely in the right direction to be receiving information from the wormhole.) “Of course.”

  “I was hoping you could use your connections to retrieve them.”

  “Me? Isn't there something the Federation could do about this?”

  “They've done what they can diplomatically. The Cardassian government won't even acknowledge that Jack and the others are there. Right now, it seems the only way of getting them back is finding them in person.”

  “In person? You want me to go to Cardassia?” Before Dr. Loews can answer, Julian's commbadge chirps. “Bashir.” He listens, not exactly pleased to be hearing that particular voice. “I'll be there in a minute.”

  –

  Julian's medical tricorder hums as it passes over Ezri's body. “No sign of neurological trauma.”

  “'m fine,” Ezri says, woozily sitting up.

  “If you were fine, you wouldn't have passed out.”

  “I was just a little overcome.”

  “By what?” Julian looks like he absolutely does not want to know. Given that she had landed on Lenara's bed, Ezri can't blame him.

  “I had a moment of perfect clarity.” She looks over at Lenara, awkwardly observing from the corner. “I know what my contribution to the Dax legacy is going to be; I'm going to overthrow the foundations of Trill society.”

  “And I. . .” He scowls, holstering his medical tricorder. “. . . am apparently going to infiltrate the Cardassian Union to rescue a trio of escaped mutants. Because that’s just the way my life is going at the moment.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. To you as well.”

  Chapter 4: Some Come to Stare, Some Come to Stay

  “Why are you going to Cardassia?” Kira says, apropos of nothing, as soon as Julian steps out of his quarters.

  He nearly jumps out of his skin. “How long have you been out here?”

  “Long enough. Here.” She takes one of Julian's bags, forcing the handle out of his hand. “Let me walk you to your shuttle.”

  “Alright.” Julian smiles. As much as Kira has changed since they first met, he still occasionally catches glimpses of the tough, stubborn Bajoran woman who had tried to clear the rubble from the station by hand. It's good to know that some things stay the same.

  “So, Cardassia?” She takes off at a le
isurely pace toward the docking bay.

  “Yes. Cardassia.” Julian follows at her side, taking one stride to every two of hers.

  “Why?”

  “I thought I made that clear in my official leave request. I'm going to Cardassia to find Jack and—”

  “I know why you're going. What I don't know is why you're going. You're a doctor, not FEDPOL.”

  “That's precisely why I’m going.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “Well, Cardassian-Federation relations being what they are, the Federation can't risk insulting the provisional government by accusing them of kidnapping Federation citizens. Perhaps even worse, neither the Federation or the Cardassian Union could risk showing a lack of confidence in the Cardassian government. Lest the Romulans or some other power take that as a sign to swoop in and colonize Cardassia.”

  Kira snorts. “I suppose the Cardassians would know better than anyone what attracts occupying forces.”

  “Exactly. So, to prevent any intragalactic scandal, the Federation has dropped the investigation.”

  “That I don't understand. Three of their own people have been kidnapped—”

  “But Jack and Patrick and Lauren aren't 'their own people.' Not to most Federation citizens. Not even to most Humans.”

  Kira shakes her head. “Just another reason why I'm glad Bajor hasn't joined the Federation.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don't want my people to be party to what the Federation does to its own citizens.”

  “Keep in mind that most of what has been done to Jack and the others was believed to be for their own good.”

  “And so was most of what the Cardassians did to us.”

  “You can't possibly be comparing—they're not remotely the same.”

  “They're not, but if my people have learned anything from the occupation, it's that when one group gets unchecked power over another, horrific things happen. That's why we got rid of the caste system.”

  "I won't disagree with you there. Anyway, er, with the Federation dropping the investigation and everyone rightly wanting to avoid any possible friction with the Cardassian government, I'm going in as an independent investigator. Undercover, as it were." Julian takes his identification badge out of his pocket, holding it up for Nerys.

  "Julian Bashir, physician," she reads. "Cardassian Relief Volunteer Corps."

  "I humbly pledge my medical services to the Cardassian Union."

  Kira snickers. "Frontier medicine by day, spy by night. Sounds like your dream job."

  Julian shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face. "Not exactly the ideal circumstances."

  "It's good to see you looking forward to something again. Even if it is rescuing your friends from the clutches of the Cardassian government."

  Julian bows his head. "It should be an interesting trip. Thank you. For the leave time."

  "You know I couldn't say no."

  "Not to these dimples."

  "Honestly, I appreciate that you asked me. If three of my friends were kidnapped by the Cardassians, I don't know if I would've waited to put in the paperwork."

  "You know me, I'm strictly by the books."

  Kira stops just short of the shuttle bay. "So, I'm guessing Starfleet has no idea why you're really going to Cardassia."

  Julian shakes his head. "As far as the brass is concerned, I'm taking personal time to do volunteer work that will coincidentally make Starfleet appear generous toward Cardassia."

  "I'll keep that in mind in my communiques."

  "Thanks." Julian looks back at the passengers filing into the shuttle. "I should get going."

  Kira hands off his suitcase before enveloping him in a hug. "Take care of yourself. Don't turn your back on them."

  Julian wonders whether she means the Cardassians, or Jack and Patrick and Lauren.

  –

  Everything Julian knows about life on Cardassia Prime comes from Federation textbooks (which could hardly be trusted to present an unbiased picture), Cardassian novels (also of doubtful accuracy), and Garak's stories (most, if not all, of which were lies). Before the Dominion occupation, Julian thought Cardassia Prime to be a rigid society where the citizens walked in lockstep, lest the ever present government cause them to disappear or worse. Now, when he thinks of Cardassia, he imagines a society in ruins, where the people slowly learn to trust one another as they rebuild themselves. What he finds when his shuttle lands in the capital city is a rigid society where the citizens walk in lockstep around relief workers and massive piles of rubble. It's as if the last seven years haven't happened. It's as if everyone just woke up this morning to find half their city fallen to pieces and no one dares bring attention to it, like flatulence in a turbolift.

  As far as coping mechanisms go, ignoring a problem until it goes away can be quite effective—for a time. Although, eventually, the issue comes to a point where it cannot be ignored and has to be dealt with. However, as Julian watches laborers clear the streets while posh pedestrians pretend not to see them, he realizes that some Cardassians have other people to deal with their issues for them.

  On planet for less than ten minutes, he can already tell whose needs are being prioritized in the clean up. From the hoverbus, Julian sees the streets become progressively more unnavigable as they move away from the well-kept homes of high-ranking officials and toward the crumbling tenement buildings of the proletariat. It seems clearing rubble in the city center all day hasn't left the residents with much time to sort out their own neighborhoods. There is, however, one city block in relatively good condition. In fact, the buildings there look almost new.

  The hoverbus descends onto the clean street and the volunteers pile out. Of course; their dormitories.

  “Is this all new?” Julian asks the group's guide.

  “Yes. The government built the compound specifically for foreign aid volunteers.”

  It seems odd to build an entirely new structure when so much of the city (and the planet) is in disrepair, but Julian knows better than to question the wisdom of the Cardassian government, even the provisional one. He does have to ask: “What was here before?”

  “Nothing.”

  Julian looks around the neighborhood crammed full with shabby houses with lawns smaller than Julian's bed on DS9, every square inch of usable space used (along with some unusable space). He has a hard time picturing an empty lot in the middle of all this. He tries not to think about who the Cardassian government made homeless so that he would have a place to sleep at night.

  Inside, the dormitories are a good deal more comfortable than the surrounding houses (although that is not such a boast in a neighborhood where having four walls and a roof is now considered a luxury), but the volunteer housing isn't exactly four star. When Julian heard they would be living in a dormitory, he imagined something like Starfleet Academy: private quarters, a few dining halls, modest grounds to lounge about on. What he finds is more like the Defiant: shared rooms the size of closets, a single dining hall in miniature, and not a unit of space dedicated to recreation. Cardassian utilitarianism at its finest.

  Julian can manage living in a small room; he spent time in solitary confinement at a Dominion war prison. Living with a roommate is what makes him nervous, especially once he hears who his roommate will be. The coordinators of the volunteer corps were kind enough to base rooming assignments on shared interests, so Julian finds himself sharing with a midwife; a Klingon midwife, to be exact. Julian isn't so prejudiced as to be dreading sharing a room with a Klingon, but a Klingon midwife? That sends shivers down his spine.

  It's widely acknowledged within the intragalactic medical community that the toughest, most fearsome medical practitioner is, hands down, the Klingon midwife. At conferences, Carrington Award-winning physicians live in fear of a professional debate with a Klingon midwife. Once, a Vulcan midwife-in-training found out her certification board would include a Klingon midwife, and she started weeping in the middle of ShiKahr. A Gorn obstetrician once tried to go a
gainst the labor plan created by a Klingon woman and her midwife, and that obstetrician has been in hiding ever since. It has been twelve years.

  If Julian has to guess, Klingon midwives started striking fear into the hearts of alpha quadrant clinicians once it became widely known that Klingons work throughout their entire pregnancy, including the delivery. Stories began to circulate about Klingon midwives swinging bat'leths in one hand and tying umbilical cords with the other. Julian remembers hearing in med school of a Klingon ethnobotanist going into labor during a field study, and the midwife who had to repel halfway down a mountain to deliver the baby. In recent years, there have been rumors about Klingons giving birth in the captain's chair during a decisive battle and winning.

  In the few minutes he has alone before his roommate arrives, Julian prepares himself mentally and physically, going over Klingon etiquette while practicing a few judo moves. As soon as he hears the door start to open, his arms fall to his side and he schools his face into a blank expression. (Julian has long given up on trying to intimidate Klingons with his face. . . or any other part of his body.) He's prepared for the worst, but not for the shock.

  “Alexander!” he exclaims.

  The boy—hardly a man—smiles, before remembering to bear his teeth, before giving that up for an awkward half-wave. “Hi.”

  “Hi. What. . . What are you doing here?”

  “Winning honor for the glory of the House of Martok.”

  “By doing what exactly? You do know the war is over.”

  “By being gracious in victory and assisting in the Cardassian restoration.”

  Bashir narrows his eyes. “Can you win honor like that?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Best of luck. . . You wouldn't happen to know anything about a Klingon midwife volunteering here, would you? The housing coordinator didn't give me her name, so I can't look up anything about her.”

  Alexander shakes his head. “As far as I know, I'm the only midwife here. And the only Klingon.”

  Julian puts two and two together. “Wait, you're my roommate? You're the Klingon midwife?” Alexander nods. “When did that happen? I thought you were a weapons officer on the Ya'Vang.”