by S. D. Perry
Shar looked around suddenly, turning to face the empty, broken room behind them—and in the same instant, Nog heard something. A very faint sound of movement, like the creak of settling equipment…
…but I’ve been hearing that all day, it’s the supplementary bulkhead sections shifting, that’s all.
“It’s just all the new materials getting settled,” Nog said, surprised that Shar had noticed. He’d never heard anything about Andorians having especially good hearing.
“It’s not that,” Shar said, still peering around the room, his expression puzzled. After a moment, he turned back to Nog, shaking his head. “It’s gone now, whatever it was. That’s the third time today.”
Nog frowned. “You heard something?”
Shar reached up to scratch at one of the two short, stout antennae that grew from his head like horns, pushing his thick white hair away from the base of the left one. “No, felt it. These are sensory, but not like ears. Andorians can detect some kinds of electrical fields, through changes in air density and temperature. But they’re not exactly reliable…strong emotions, surges of adrenaline or teptaline, even an overheated piece of equipment can register analogously.”
Hatred is a pretty strong emotion. Shar must have picked up his feelings about the Jem’Hadar. Interesting; Nog had met several Andorians at the Academy, but had never realized that their antennae weren’t auditory. But now, as he focused his gaze past the bizarre white locks that seemed to hang randomly from Shar’s head, he saw that his friend did indeed have ears.
Shar sighed. “Twice yesterday I felt something, too, and both times there didn’t seem to be anything close enough to stimulate them.”
“Maybe you’re just getting old,” Nog said, smiling so that Shar would know he was kidding. The Andorians he’d known had needed a little help when it came to humor.
Shar smiled back at him, but seemed distant as he picked up the diagnostic padd again. “Perhaps.”
After a few seconds, Shar glanced up at Nog and asked, conversationally, “I’ve read that in popular Ferengi culture, attaining material wealth is one of life’s predominant goals—is that correct?”
Nog was surprised into a chuckle. There were understatements, and then there were understatements. “Yes, I’d say that’s correct.”
“Would you mind if I ask, then, why you’ve chosen to join Starfleet?” Shar asked.
Nog shook his head. It was a personal question, but the way Shar asked made him want to answer honestly. “I don’t mind at all, but it’s kind of a long story. I can tell you that it isn’t easy to make a choice where, for the most part, you’re going against your culture. What they expect of you, you know? My uncle insists it’s just a phase—he says that many a young entrepreneur has to experience debt before he can understand the necessity of expansion planning, but I’m betting that he’s wrong.”
Shar nodded. “Because you feel like it’s important, what Starfleet and the Federation are doing.”
“Right, exactly.” Shar really seemed to understand.
“I’d like to hear the long story, if you want to tell it,” Shar said. “I was going to take a meal break in the next hour, at your Uncle Quark’s establishment. Would you like to join me?”
Nog barely hesitated. He was busy, but he also instinctively liked Shar, and was grateful for the point about responsibility. And Uncle had been giving him a hard time lately about granting free favors—but also lately, Nog had come to enjoy disappointing his uncle, a fact that had pleased Father to no end the last time they’d spoken.
“You’re on, Shar,” Nog said.
After managing to get a few hours of sleep, Kira felt ready to sort things out with Ro. She’d meant to get to it after the briefing, but there had been too much else to do, and she’d been too exhausted. Before she’d finally collapsed for the night, she’d put it near the top of her list for the morning’s agenda. A crisis was not a good time to have the social system break down; Kira needed to feel that she could depend on all of her people, and she needed Ro to understand that. After checking in with her department heads, she’d started for Ro’s office, hoping that they could have a reasonable conversation about attitudes and expectations.
If not reasonable, I’ll take conclusive; at least that way I’ll have something resolved before the Federation shows up. Although they weren’t behind on the current revised schedule, the first Allied ships should be arriving in three days, and neither the station nor the Defiant were anywhere near as functional as she’d hoped. Even with the new techs on hand, the intermittent and random crashes that seemed to be plaguing the station’s every system were making everything twice as difficult as it needed to be. And it didn’t help that she wasn’t feeling particularly functional herself, either. If she crashed, she might end up locked in a room somewhere, mumbling to herself.
Not funny, Nerys. She felt emotionally blasted, which was bad but not paralyzing, she still felt functional and sane enough…but she’d had the experience four times now, of suddenly feeling that there was someone behind her. And twice, she’d felt that she was being watched when there was no one around. Shar’s internal sweeps since the attack had turned up a few random energy pockets, but nothing out of the ordinary, considering the station’s structural damage…which meant Kas was probably right to insist that she take a vacation. When she was with the resistance, she’d heard of several people in other cells who’d succumbed to paranoid episodes, eventually hurting themselves or others to avoid being caught by “them.” And they probably thought they were sane, too.
In any case, one thing at a time. The big picture could be overwhelming, worrying about everything from trying to convince the Federation to stand down to her own mental quirks—and after all that had happened in the last few days…
…just keep moving, get things sorted out. Introspection can always wait. An attitude that generally worked well for her. She’d reached the security office, and was more than ready to establish a few ground rules.
Steeling herself against memories of Odo, and reminding herself again that Ro Laren deserved a chance to explain her position, she pasted on a friendly expression and walked in. Even knowing what she would see, Kira felt her tension level rise a notch; it was irrational, she knew, but the woman was sitting in Odo’s chair.
Ro looked up from whatever she was studying and Kira saw her gaze harden slightly, her defenses obviously triggered by Kira’s mere presence.
Make the effort. She had to get better at handling difficult people, now that she couldn’t just throw up her hands and start shouting. Well, she still could, but if the last seven years had taught her anything, it was that that approach only got you so far.
Kira glanced around the office as she spoke, realizing it was still exactly as Odo had left it. “I thought I’d stop by, see if you have a few minutes to talk.”
Ro nodded, waving her hand in a go-ahead gesture. “By all means.”
There were other chairs in the office, but Ro’s attitude made Kira feel like standing. She decided not to wait for a better opening.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Lieutenant. I’m not happy with how your posting here is working out, and I think a few changes are in order.”
Ro nodded again, a sour look on her face. “I see. You’re relieving me of duty. Any specific reason?”
Kira sighed inwardly, annoyed. She was trying to give her a chance. “Why do you make things so difficult, Ro? Is it me, or are you just absolutely determined to make everything impossible?”
“Of course it’s not you,” Ro snapped. “It’s me, I’m the one with the problem, because I don’t look to you every time I make a decision.”
Kira stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I understood when I took this job that how I conduct the day-to-day operations of this office would be left to my discretion,” Ro said, “but by the way you’ve been acting, you seem to think I’m a complete incompetent.”
In spite of Ro�
�s heated tone, Kira refused to be baited. She was being reasonable, dammit. “I know you have the skills, but you’ve got to understand—although there’s a lot of traffic coming through here, we live in a community, and it’s important that everyone at least tries to work together. Especially department heads and senior staff, because we have to support each other through what it takes to run DS9, and try to set a positive example while we’re doing it.”
“Does that include conversations about being transferred?” Ro asked, her face flushed.
Kira ignored her. “If you’ve made any effort to fit in, I haven’t seen it,” she said. “And you act like I’m some kind of monstrous authority figure who’s out to oppress you. What will it take for you to stop turning everything into some kind of a…a contest of will?”
Ro stood up, facing her directly across the desk. “Maybe if I was human, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
Kira frowned. “Human? I don’t see how that could—”
“Yes, you do. Without accepting the Prophets as divine, I’m not a real Bajoran, isn’t that right?”
Reason only went so far. Kira could take a lot, but what Ro had just implied was insulting. Yes, she’d disliked Ro’s pompous agnosticism, but had also gone entirely out of her way to be fair to Ro because of it.
“That’s right, Ro,” Kira said, her voice quickly raising to a near shout. “That’s it exactly, I can’t work with anyone who doesn’t believe the same things I believe, and it has nothing to do with your constant, obvious disrespect for me as commanding officer of this station, which is both unfair and childish!”
She took a deep breath, blew it out. “Look, this obviously isn’t working out. I think it would be best if you put in for a transfer, immediately.”
“I couldn’t do my job, so I put in for a transfer,” Ro said. “That’s ironic, when if you would stop second-guessing my every move, I could actually get something done.”
Kira felt her anger reach a boiling point. She wants to get booted on a disciplinary, fine—
—when it dawned on her. From all appearances, that was exactly what Ro wanted. For some reason, she had accepted a posting she didn’t actually want.
And why would she? She hasn’t lived on Bajor since she was a child, she seems to despise our faith, she’s either withdrawn or openly challenging most of the time—
“Why are you here, Ro?” Kira asked, her anger ebbing, remembering the Starfleet file that Jast had told her about. Ro Laren had a history of disciplinary problems, of being bright but resentful of authority, of not being a team player. But was that really the whole story? “Why did you take this job?”
Ro seemed shocked by the question, a flash of panic displacing the fury in her eyes for just a fraction of a second. For the first time Kira recognized what Ro had been doing, the bluff and bluster of insecurity and defense. She’d been a master of it herself at one time.
“Why, Ro? What do you want? What did you expect?”
Her eyes wide, Ro shook her head, and Kira could actually see her work to dredge up her anger again, could see her grabbing for something to say that would make Kira wrong, that would win the confrontation. All to avoid confronting whatever it was that was hurting her.
Kira cut her off before she got started. She had sympathy for Ro’s confusion, but she didn’t have all day to hold her hand through it. “Part of this job means that you will have to work with people, me included, and it means that you aren’t always going to have things the way you want them. I’ve been there, I know it’s not easy—but you have to decide what you want to do, and then do it.”
“Colonel, I don’t need your advice,” Ro said, eyes still wide and angry.
“Lieutenant, I think you do,” Kira said, and when Ro didn’t respond, Kira turned and walked out.
Ro sat down after Kira left, furious, then a little less so. The question kept replaying, and she wasn’t finding an acceptable answer.
Why, why did you take this job, why are you here?
Arrogant woman. Ro supposed that some part of her had been prepared for their fight since her first day on the station—but then, why did she feel so disappointed, so unhappy?
You know.
Did she? Kira was as condescending as ever, she knew that, acting as though she had personally earned Ro’s respect, that she deserved it. Ro’s lieutenant pin and gray special forces uniform were honorary, awarded to her—along with her assignment to DS9—by a government that, while grateful for her efforts during the war, hadn’t known what else to do with her.
And Kira knows that, and she still can’t stand it that I don’t seek out her wisdom—
—why, then? another part of her asked, the same part that had told her she knew why she was disappointed. Forget Kira, she doesn’t matter in this. Why are you here?
Because. I’ve got nowhere else to go.
And you resent it. Why are you disappointed?
Because…because she had been prepared to leave the station as a result of the inevitable argument, to declare herself unappreciated and undervalued, and to seek a life for herself somewhere far from Bajor and DS9. She was angry because her little refuge of self-righteousness had been taken away, at Kira for taking it, and at herself once she understood that it had been there all along.
She hadn’t belonged in Starfleet. No; that wasn’t quite true, was it? She had felt like she belonged there once, before Garon II changed everything. And after years of running with the Maquis and then her own group of anti-Dominion fighters, she’d wanted nothing more than to return home, to the world whose air she hadn’t breathed since she was a child. Word had gotten around Bajor about some of the things she and her team had accomplished during the war, and in recognition of that, the Militia had offered her a commission, hoping to make further use of her tactical experience.
But post-occupation Bajor was an alien world to Ro; she realized almost from the start it wasn’t going to work, that she no longer knew how to sit still, that she’d been living on the run and fighting for too long. Militia HQ had quickly come to the same conclusion, and informed her that her skills would better serve Bajor aboard Deep Space 9.
All I wanted was to come home…
And the agonizing truth was still that, unless she meant to run off and find another war, she had nowhere else to go.
I always said I wanted a life beyond the fight…and I finally got it, and I’ve been waiting for it to fall apart since day one. Wanting it to, because I no longer know how to do this.
Ro closed her eyes for a moment, recognizing her fear as useless, and understanding that Kira’s question had changed things. Maybe she’d stay on the station, maybe she wouldn’t, but she would no longer have the luxury of believing that it wasn’t her choice to make.
Damn her.
Ro opened her eyes and looked back down at the desk screen, where the complete contents of Istani Reyla’s isolinear rod were displayed—a few seemingly random numbers, with no clue as to their meaning—and abruptly realized she was more determined than ever to solve this minor mystery, to wrap up the murder of Kira’s friend. She felt that she wouldn’t be able to rest easy until she proved to the colonel that she was competent, until she proved to herself that she could do this job.
3, 4, 24, 1.5, 25. A code? The numbers could mean anything, but the fact that Istani had paid Quark to hide the rod—rather than storing it at the assay office—suggested to Ro that the prylar was afraid of someone finding those numbers, or finding out that she had access to them. Ro had already checked them against every combination the computer could come up with, from mathematical theorems to replicator item adaptations, but nothing she’d seen looked right.
She stared at the screen, thinking about the colonel, about sparring with Quark and Shar’s friendship and Istani Reyla, and realized that for a while, at least, DS9 was going to be home. She’d lived a life of loose ends; it was time to see where the threads of these new relationships would take her, time to stop being afraid of the ki
nd of life she’d never known.
Chapter Fifteen
“Doctor! May we join you?”
Bashir looked up and smiled, wondering why some people seemed to think that if you were reading, they weren’t interrupting anything. Standing over him were Nog and Shar, both obviously taking a meal break during what must have been another difficult day. The lunchtime seating in Quark’s was limited; there were a lot of people coming off shift and looking to get a little uninhibited, to talk.
Bashir set the padd aside, nodding, wistful for the second reading but happier to have company. Ezri wouldn’t be by for another twenty minutes, at least. “Of course. Have a seat.”
He had been fortunate enough to grab a table by the front wall, not in a main traffic area, and had been waiting for Ezri to get off her shift. When he’d called her a few hours ago, she’d agreed to talk, and he had heard relief in her voice; he’d felt some of that himself. He regretted their fight, he missed feeling that they were friends, even for a day.
“What are you reading, Doctor?” Shar asked, noticing the padd.
“Julian, please. We’re not on duty. It’s a letter from a friend of mine.”
The Andorian smiled, nodding as he sat down. Julian hadn’t spent much time with Shar, but liked him very much. A very unassuming young man—
Person, he mentally amended. Andorian biology was unique, another reason Bashir was glad Nog had asked if they could sit at his table; he’d wanted very much to ask a few questions. Except for Erib, whom he’d known at medical school, Bashir hadn’t been around many Andorians.
Nog was looking at the paused text, frowning. “You’re on page 256 of a letter? Who wrote it?”
“Garak,” Bashir said, smiling again at the nervous look that suddenly appeared on Nog’s face. The Cardassian tailor had intimidated a lot of people during his years on the station. Having already read the autobiographical letter once, Bashir thought that if they’d known even the half of it, they might have moved off the station themselves.
