by S. D. Perry
In a way, being smart probably made it harder; Kasidy imagined that they were both trying to reason out their differences, to logically define their roles in each other’s lives. To decide how to feel.
And nothing’s more frustrating than having feelings you didn’t decide to have.
Kasidy stopped walking, struck by the intensity of the memory. Ben had said that, not long after they’d become a regular thing. He’d been teasing her about something, she couldn’t remember what, exactly, although she recalled that they’d been in bed together, talking. He had a way of doing that, of gently pointing out to her the most basic truths in life—things that she’d learned, that they’d both learned but sometimes misplaced. It was the miracle of their time together, that capacity for understanding the truth that they’d been able to share….
The sense of loss flooded through her, so like a physical pain that she had to close her eyes. Oh, baby, I know you had to go, but I miss you so much, I want you here, with me—
Kasidy felt tears threatening, and hurriedly walked on, firmly telling herself that she would not cry, would not, not in public. She even managed a smile and a nod for a Bajoran couple passing by. She’d had no real choice in the matter about giving Ben up to the Prophets, but her feelings about it, at least, she could keep as her own.
My feelings. As if anyone else would want them.
It had become a full-time job for her just to keep track, so many things were changing. The connection she already felt with the baby wouldn’t allow her to be truly unhappy; she was already in love with the small life, and that love kept her from descending into real sorrow—but in all, it was a very strange time for her. Most days she felt strong, positive about a future that would allow for her and Ben to be with each other, with Jake and with their child. But there were also moments that she felt a kind of emptiness inside, a fear for what could be—that too much time would pass and he would return a stranger to her, their paths so far apart that they wouldn’t even be able to see each other. He was with the Prophets, after all, experiencing things she couldn’t begin to imagine. And as the Emissary, what if he came back and then was called away again? What further sacrifices might they have to make? When those thoughts welled up, she felt like everything she was doing was madness—leaving her job, moving away from everything she’d known to wait for a man who might not return for months, even years….
…and that’s okay. That’s okay because my life will be as full as I want it to be, because I had a life before I met Benjamin Sisko and I have a life now. Two lives, she amended happily, and felt the slow, heavy warmth in her lower belly, where their child slept and grew….
Her hormones were certainly in an uproar. She felt vulnerable to herself, to the wanderings of her own mind in a way she never had been before. It was almost funny; from amusement to tears and back again, in the time it took her to walk from the turbolift to her quarters. She thought she might be able to relax once she actually moved off the station and got settled on Bajor. She could hope, anyway.
As she walked into her quarters, she realized suddenly that she was tired. Tired and in a state of mild chaos. She was a strong, independent woman, on the verge of beginning a new life for herself—but at the moment, she thought she might like to go back to bed.
Maybe with a cup of tea, and some of those ginger cookies…
That sounded good. Kasidy yawned, and decided that there wasn’t anything on her slate that couldn’t be put off for another couple of hours. If she could nap, get away from her own turbulent moods for a little while, so much the better.
“Oh, kid,” she said, smiling, patting her lower belly as she headed for the replicator. “You’re really something else.”
Chapter Three
The colonel had not been happy with the status reports, although Shar had the impression she just wasn’t happy, not this morning. He’d hardly finished listing the various systems and subsystems that were still off-line before she’d disappeared into her office, and she hadn’t come out again. Not that he could blame her, given how things were progressing.
Short-range shield emitters, down. Tractor beam emitters, down. Six of the RCS thruster modules were being re-paneled, almost half of the ODN system still needed re-wiring, and the entire computer network was running on one processing core without backup. In short, the station was barely functional.
Shar sat cross-legged on the floor of the engineering station next to a partially disassembled console checking plasma power levels and half-wishing he hadn’t offered to work a double shift. He didn’t need as much sleep as most—about half as much as a human or Bajoran—but it had been a long week and he was tired. The constant low-level drone of conversation, of tools clattering and the occasional soft curse, was making him sleepy, and he could honestly say he’d run enough system diagnostics to last him a lifetime. Everything had to be checked and triple-checked.
This climate isn’t helping much, either. The station’s common areas were set to 22 degrees Celsius, 18 percent humidity; cold and dry by Andorian standards, making him long for the comfort of his quarters. Even after Starfleet Academy and a year on the U.S.S. Tamberlaine—with a primarily human crew—he still couldn’t get used to the environmental conditions.
Shar tapped a key on the padd next to him and saw that he still had two hours to go. He briefly considered finishing with the console and leaving early—Kira and Jast had both urged him to take on half-shifts, if he insisted on working extra hours—but a look around made him decide against it. Everywhere, stacks of partially wired sensor panels leaked from gaping console chasms, the men and women in front of them certainly as tired as he. They were already three days past the original deadline for finishing, and he estimated it would be another four before everything was back up and running. And that wasn’t including the Defiant; Lieutenant Nog’s last report had suggested at least another week.
If the S.C.E. would just send a few more people… Typically, DS9 boasted thirty-five resident engineers from the corps, plus an affiliate group of almost as many techs from the Bajoran Militia. But in spite of Starfleet’s assurances about more help coming soon, the station had been running with less than half that number since the war’s end. Anyone with any engineering experience was being put to work.
Including Ensign Thirishar ch’Thane, science officer; if that isn’t desperate, nothing is. He wasn’t an egotistical person, or at least he hoped not, though he was aware of his worth in his field—top of his class, already published several times over, and assigned to DS9 just four weeks earlier; only his second assignment, too. When he’d first graduated from the Academy, he’d been fought over by some of the best Starfleet scientists working. But he wouldn’t pretend to be any mechanical genius; when it came to the physical application of his abilities, he thought “clumsy” was probably most apt.
“Taking a break from your troubles, Ensign?”
Shar started, realizing he’d been staring blankly. He looked up into the teasing gaze of Commander Jast and smiled, pleased to see her, to hear her distinctively accented voice. Although she was considered cold by some, he liked Tiris Jast; there was something about her, something inspiring. She projected strength and confidence, as would any good commander, but there was also an unapologetic frankness in her manner that was rare in higher-ranking Starfleet officers. She openly discussed her feelings as well as her ideas, and not for any effect; she appeared to simply believe in expressing herself, whether or not it was diplomatic to do so. An interesting person and a superb officer, Shar considered himself fortunate to be working with her.
Besides which, she knows what it’s like to suffer these conditions. Jast was Bolian, but came from a similar environment. In the short time that he’d been aboard, they’d commiserated more than once over the chill aridity of the station.
“Commander. No, sir. I’m just a little tired, nearing the end of my shift.”
Jast shook her head. “Your second, I imagine. What have I said to you about
working doubles?”
Shar nodded, trying to recall the exact phrasing. “That I’ll end up freeze-dried if I don’t get back to my quarters occasionally. Sir.”
“That’s correct.” Jast glanced around, then leaned closer to Shar, speaking low. “I know things are in disarray…but I think you could probably slip away, if you hurry. No one is looking.”
Shar grinned, fully aware that she was granting him permission to end his shift early, and relieved that he was starting to recognize it when she was being humorous. Jast was like that; she could be as officially Starfleet as they came when necessary, but didn’t flaunt her rank once she became acquainted with those under her command. Or at least in his observation.
“If it’s all right, sir, I think I’ll stay. The colonel wanted to get as much of ops finished today as possible.”
Jast nodded toward the science station, where several people were working. “Remind me why you’re not handling the sensor arrays, Shar.”
Shar held up his hands, flexing his long—but somehow incapable—fingers. “The work is a bit too delicate for me. I’m sort of acting as a…technical consultant.”
“Sir,” Jast added, her eyes twinkling. “You’ll get better with practice, Ensign. Perhaps you should take up a musical instrument, or some sort of cloth-weaving. Work on improving your dexterity.”
“Yes, sir.” Now he wasn’t sure if she was being serious or not. Humor was still difficult for him. Andorians smiled often, but primarily looked upon it as a diplomatic tool; they were a serious-minded people, and he was no exception. From his time in Starfleet, however, he’d come to appreciate humor in other species, whereas most Andorians viewed too much laughter as frivolity. Or witlessness.
The commander certainly seemed amused. “Carry on, Ensign. And no more extra shifts for a few days, all right?”
“Yes, Commander. Thank you, sir.”
Jast headed for Kira’s office and Shar picked up the diagnostic padd again, glad that she’d taken the time to speak with him. Although still quite new to the station, he already liked everyone he’d met—Jast, Colonel Kira, Ro Laren, Ezri and Prynn and Turo Ane…Even Quark, whose hard-hearted reputation preceded him, had been very friendly, going out of his way to offer discounts on Andorian delicacies in his bar. Shar was pleased with his assignment to DS9, and hoped very much that he wouldn’t be forced to leave.
The thought was a shadow, a darkness. He pushed it away and went back to work, losing himself in the simplicity of the display screen’s tolinite matrix, tired but happy to be where he was.
Kira was on an audio channel with the Aldebaran’s first officer, a pleasantly efficient woman named Tisseverlin Janna. After giving the lieutenant commander an update on station repairs and a rundown on expected arrivals and departures, Kira dutifully listened as Janna briefly went over the day’s scheduled off-duty boarding parties. She also had several questions about the station’s environmental control capabilities, particularly in the holosuites. The Aldebaran’s two Denebian crewmembers were up for leave, and were hoping to be able to get out of their suits for a while; it seemed the Aldebaran’s holo facilities couldn’t manage the intense conditions they required for more than an hour at a time.
“I’m sure Quark has a program,” Kira offered, her voice sounding far away, as if someone else was speaking. “We had a freighter crew come through just a couple of months ago, and they had a Denebian on board. He spent a lot of time at Quark’s.”
Janna said something about how grateful the two ensigns would be, and started telling an anecdote about one of their suits leaking heated slime in the captain’s ready room, but with their business concluded, Kira’s thoughts were already elsewhere. She liked Janna, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She needed to work, to move, to not dwell on Reyla. A friendly chat would bring her too close to letting her guard down, and having to force polite laughter was probably beyond her current capabilities. Although she’d gotten a lot better at it since taking command, diplomacy had never been her strong suit.
When Jast showed up for their daily progress meeting, Kira, relieved, apologized for having to cut Janna’s story short and quickly signed off. Jast waited patiently, padd in hand, looking as composed and calm as always.
“Good morning, Colonel,” Jast said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I spent the last few hours dealing with the Defiant’s computer refit. Have you had a chance to look over Nog’s proposal for expanding the tactical capacity? You know, I was concerned when I first met him, he’s so young, but his ideas are quite innovative.”
Kira nodded. “He inherited something of his father’s technological genius.”
“Ah, the Grand Nagus. Rom, isn’t it?”
Kira nodded again. What do I say about the murder? How do I start?
Jast accidentally saved her, her bright countenance fading to solemn. “I haven’t had a chance to read any reports on what happened this morning, but Ezri mentioned it. Terrible. Anything Starfleet should know, or was it a civilian matter?”
Kira cleared her throat. “Ro is looking into it. At this point, there doesn’t seem to be any motive beyond robbery.”
“Good. It’s a sorrowful affair, but with the state of things, we don’t need another Federation complication. I’ve already worn out my welcome with Starfleet on our behalf; they keep telling me that we’ll just have to wait for more techs, that with the Aldebaran keeping watch we don’t need to hurry with the weapons arrays…”
Kira felt she was putting up a good front, but Jast must have seen something. She frowned, the raised ridge that ran down the center of her face wrinkling. “Colonel…what is it? What’s wrong?”
With the huge responsibilities that they shared, the commander had become a friend in a relatively short period. Jast had been hard to get used to at the beginning, their relationship initially somewhat adversarial, but Tiris had finally relaxed. She’d made an effort to see how things worked at a deep space station, and started accommodating. Kira had come to respect the woman’s honesty and sincerity, and thought Jast was coming to feel the same.
On the other hand, she and Jast were still at the foundation level of a friendship, and…it just didn’t feel right, not yet. Besides, Kira had come to pride herself on the high degree of professionalism she had reached with all of her new officers; it made things easier, having a clean separation between the private and professional areas of her life. Bad enough that she’d already slipped in front of Ro Laren, of all people, who had been obstinately unfriendly since the day she’d arrived….
“I don’t know if Ro can handle the investigation,” Kira said abruptly, answering Jast’s question with a partial truth. “She’s never done anything like this before, and what if it wasn’t a robbery? I thought security would work out for her, but I may have been wrong. She hasn’t even been able to identify the killer yet.”
Expressionless, Jast watched her for a moment—and then spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “She is new…but maybe you should see how things progress before you consider replacing her.”
Kira was surprised. “You’re in Starfleet.”
“Yes, and I know her history,” Jast conceded. “Her Starfleet file actually makes rather interesting reading, especially once you realize what’s missing from it. But there are multiple truths to a story, and for all of Ro’s…missteps, she’s also not afraid to cause a disturbance in order to reach her objective. That’s why she was sent here, wasn’t it? It would seem to me that you’d want someone in security to be headstrong, even aggressive sometimes. And she does have the tactical background.”
She had a point, though Kira found herself reluctant to recognize it. It wasn’t just Ro’s past, although Kira was anything but reassured by her record—her Starfleet career had been a disaster, marked by bad calls and questionable choices. Many of the Starfleet people in the crew considered her a traitor and a criminal twice over, and being forced to work alongside her because the Bajoran government had insist
ed on her assignment to DS9 was doing nothing good for the tension level on the station. There was also her abrasive manner, and her obvious disinterest, even scorn, for her own heritage, her own cultural beliefs.
Our cultural beliefs. Ro didn’t hide her rejection of the Prophets, in everything from conversation all the way down to deliberately wearing her earring on the wrong side, as if she was daring anyone to object…maybe Kira was letting her personal feelings about Ro influence her ability to evaluate her performance.
Kira sighed, deciding that it could wait for further analysis. Picking herself apart after the morning she’d had was more than she could stand.
“I want to be fair,” Kira said. “And it’s not as if we have anyone to replace her with.” They didn’t, either. Nog had acted as head of security for a couple weeks after Odo’s departure, but it had been a temporary measure…much to Quark’s eternal disappointment. Nog was much better suited to engineering, anyway.
“It’s your territory, of course,” Jast said. “As for our ongoing upgrade frustrations, why don’t we go to an early lunch and work through a new schedule? Nog insists that things will progress faster if we regulate the EPS conduit outflow for the next few days.”
Jast smiled suddenly. “Maybe we can have Quark make us up a couple of Black Holes. Just to enhance our creativity, of course.”
In spite of how very wrung-out she felt, Kira found herself smiling back—and thinking that perhaps it wasn’t too soon, after all, to think of Jast as a good friend. The Prophets knew she needed as many as she could get.
With the U.S.S. Aldebaran working its sixth day of sentinel detail for the space station, the bridge wasn’t overly crowded or overly busy. The helm and science officers weren’t present, and communications was represented by a second-year cadet, one of several trainees currently earning hours on the Aldebaran. Captain Robison was in his ready room, probably catching up on paperwork, and although Tiss Janna occupied the captain’s chair, she looked as distant-eyed as everyone else on duty—excepting the cadet, of course, who stared intently at his console, watching for any incoming calls. Trainees; it was sometimes hard not to pat their heads, they were so adorably vigilant.
