by S. D. Perry
Ezri called up her memories, Dax’s memories, searching for an appropriate response to her fears, some relief, something she could do…and couldn’t find one. Dealing with life and death on an emotional level was one of the very few things that all hosts had handled in their own way, because the feelings were so complex, so intimate, so specifically tied to each relationship. There was no simple concept to grasp, nothing from their past that could help her.
So, I’ll deal with this as Ezri, she thought, and as she thought it, she realized what she wanted. It wasn’t a choice from fear, although she was afraid…it was that she just knew now, it had hit her and she couldn’t deny the strength of it. Ezri could spend the rest of her life contemplating possibilities that others had created, or she could create her own, by choosing to follow her heart.
The joining of Ezri Tigan and Dax loved Julian Bashir, very much. If he survived, and he would, he will, she was going to make a place for him in her life, period; she could find her space to grow, but she couldn’t find another Julian. If he died, she would lose her closest friend, and a lover who made her feel good about herself, who loved Ezri Dax.
That can’t happen, it can’t.
Shaking, Ezri held her blood-smeared hands together against her abdomen, watching as two nurses and a doctor fought for his life. After a moment, someone else gently asked her to wait outside, and Ezri managed to make her legs carry her away, telling herself that he would be fine, that everything would be fine now.
Chapter Eleven
With Geordi and Data leading the maintenance teams and the captain in the station’s wardroom, talking to Starfleet, Will Riker really had nothing to do on the bridge but stand around as CO of a communications noncom and an engineering tech. He was impatient to take his own leave, looking forward to winding down, still not recovered from the news about the Aldebaran. He stared at the blank main screen, waiting for the captain to return.
The Enterprise was officially inactive, the warp cores undergoing a definitive diagnostic, the subspace arrays still offline. The captain hadn’t liked it any more than Will did, the nearly complete power down with the wormhole so nearby, but the I.K.S. Tcha’voth, Vor’cha-class, was still standing guard, and repairs had to be made.
Particularly if we’re going to join up with this task force to the Gamma Quadrant. Riker hadn’t liked that much, either; an armed investigation into the Gamma Quadrant seemed like a monumentally foolish idea. No one knew how the Dominion was taking their defeat, and it seemed to him that moving aggressively into the Gamma Quadrant to confront them after three silent months wasn’t going to make things less tense.
And there’s the Jem’Hadar’s story. Picard had told him about it upon his return to the Enterprise, and had gone to talk to Admiral Ross about the news. Deanna had just left to see who to talk to about offering assistance in an assessment. They were all keeping their fingers crossed that the Jem’Hadar was telling the truth.
The captain seemed to be in full agreement about the task force, after he heard Will’s report on the update from Starfleet. Although he hadn’t given a final opinion, wanting to hear the Federation’s decision directly from Ross, Picard had clearly stated that he was leaning toward Kira’s view of things, much the same as Will’s. A few rogue ships on a suicide run had gotten lucky, turning a postwar skirmish into an interstellar incident. Such things needed to be handled carefully.
He was still thinking about it when Mr. Truke spoke up, his voice high with urgency, the fur on the back of his neck ruffling.
“Sir, I’m receiving multiple reports from crew on the station, that DS9 has just gone to red alert,” he said, and Riker was up and moving, going to stand behind communications, watching the flatscreen for details. The crew members on the station would already be on their way back to the ship to sign in, standard procedure for an emergency while on leave.
Behind them, the door to the bridge opened and the captain walked in, finishing a call on his combadge. Although he wasn’t speaking loudly, his voice resonated, his commanding tone at full force.
“…than those we discussed, and inform her that we’ll be standing by for anything else she needs,” Picard said, striding toward his chair. “Thank you, Commander, Picard out.”
The captain didn’t sit down, turning to Riker instead. “That was Commander Vaughn. The Jem’Hadar soldier killed two guards and has escaped. The station is at red alert. Contact Data and Geordi, Number One, tell them we need our impulse engines back up immediately. I want us prepared if the need to provide evacuation transport arises. I’m going to ask Dr. Crusher to lend a hand at the station’s infirmary, as it seems that the chief medical officer has been wounded. I want armed security teams standing by, to be called in if Lieutenant Ro requires them, she’s chief of security. Make sure everyone understands that they’re to accept direction from the station officers, rank notwithstanding; we want to assist, not get in the way.”
—Ro? Common name, someone else—the thought barely rose from Will’s subconscious before settling back.
Picard left him in command, going to his ready room. Riker hit his badge for Data, letting his organizational skills come into play as he reflexively broke down the orders, deciding how best to fulfill them through a series of mental directions—get updated DS9 schematics to the transporter rooms, process sign-ins and-outs back into the duty roster, yellow alert status to override shift changes and standbys but not to battle stations, get an exact time for the impulse drive to be fully functional…
His deeper thoughts were of Deanna. She wouldn’t have gone to see the Jem’Hadar before working things through with the station’s counselor, he was sure of it, and she hadn’t been gone for that long. Not long enough to be anywhere near a Jem’Hadar on a killing spree, one who might recognize a Betazoid as a threat—
Riker let it go, throwing himself into the work. Relaying orders successfully was a skill, and he could best contribute to the resolution of a crisis by managing the system, by making things happen appropriately. And the faster he worked, the sooner he’d be able to call Deanna, and make sure she was all right.
Deanna Troi had only just reached the Promenade when the station went to red alert. Although she was usually fine with her defenses, the mass emotional response to the alarm signal and flashing panels was incredibly loud, solid and fast—there were something like 7500 people on board—and she felt herself tensing, the smash of anxiety digging at her with prickly fingers, looking for a way in.
She stepped to the Promenade’s outer wall between a meeting hall and the station’s infirmary, leaning against it, taking several deep breaths. She was fine, she just needed a moment to reestablish her filters. A recorded loop explained to the hurrying streams of people that it was an internal security alert, to act accordingly.
For all of the Enterprise crew that meant an immediate return to the ship, but Deanna closed her eyes and centered herself instead, running through a minute or two of shield visualization, picturing herself wearing armor made of light. She wasn’t minimizing the importance of what was happening; she had to keep herself well, or she wouldn’t be able to function. If the Enterprise had urgent need of her, they would call.
A few more deep breaths, and Deanna opened her eyes, ready to go. There was a turbolift almost directly across from where she stood, to the right of a Spican jeweler’s. She started toward the lift just as the doors opened, and Beverly stepped out. She was carrying her med kit and was unhappy, her energy brightening only a little when she saw Deanna approaching.
“Beverly, what’s happening?”
Dismayed but not distressed, Beverly acted perfectly calm. “A Jem’Hadar soldier is loose on the station. He’s killed two people and injured the CMO, he’s in surgery now. Dr. Bashir, you remember him?”
Arrogant, childish, entirely charming and off-the-scale bright. He’d worked with Geordi to help Data “diagnose” his first dreams…seven years ago? It was the last time she’d seen him, anyway. Deanna nodded.
“The captain thought I might be able to help,” Beverly said, a flush of concern coming from her, its nature…the doctor was afraid that more casualties were coming, Deanna thought.
“Why don’t I come with you,” Deanna half-asked, following an instinct, sure she could be useful in some capacity. Beverly was glad for the offer, which was enough of a reason.
As they walked across to the infirmary, people hurrying by on either side, Deanna called in to the bridge. Will picked it up, and sounded relieved to know where she was. He didn’t object to her continued absence from the ship, although he quietly told her to be careful after relaying the order of deference to station staff. She returned the sentiment and followed Beverly into the infirmary.
There were three medical attendants and a doctor from the Bajoran Militia in the infirmary’s front room, loading hypos and bandages into med kits. A lone patient was being seen to by a fourth nurse; it appeared minor, the patient sitting on the edge of an exam table. A young woman with a liberal amount of blood on her uniform stood stonily near a set of doors to the right, which presumably led to surgery. She had smears of blood on her face. Deanna couldn’t make her rank, but she was dressed in Starfleet sciences…
…and she’s obviously a friend of Dr. Bashir’s.
As Beverly approached the group packing med kits, Deanna let her emotional barriers soften toward the bloody young woman. She was traumatized and afraid, but also seemed to be incredibly focused, much too focused for her emotional state, or her age, for that matter. There was something strangely familiar about her, too, though Deanna felt sure that she’d never seen her before. The young woman stared straight ahead, her profile to Deanna, her arms crossed, expressionless.
Deanna took a step closer and saw that she was Trill, which explained the woman’s precision of spirit; the distinctive markings were partly obscured by the bloody smudges on her face…and Deanna realized with a start that it had to be Dax.
Deanna and Worf had parted ways amicably enough, and although they hadn’t faithfully kept in touch, she’d always wished him well. She’d met Jadzia Dax once, the woman who would eventually become his wife, and had liked her very much; she’d been pleased by the news of their wedding, the expected pang of jealousy lasting only a short time. The marriage itself had ended tragically, when Jadzia had been killed. Deanna had seen Worf only a month after that, during the mission to Betazed, and she had wanted to reach out to him, to offer him that friendship they still shared; but as with so many other things, the crisis of the moment had made it impossible. She’d found out later from Keiko O’Brien that Worf had recently returned from a battle he’d fought in Jadzia’s name.
And Keiko also mentioned that there was a new Dax aboard…and that she was a counselor.
Deanna didn’t want to invade Dax’s privacy; she sensed that the young woman was…
…in hope, in desperation, bargaining and affirming. In love… Her lover was in surgery. This incarnation of Dax was with Julian Bashir, it seemed, and she was working hard to believe that he was going to survive; Dax wasn’t looking for company, she was trying to concentrate.
Deanna had just decided that she might be most useful back aboard the Enterprise after all, when a familiar female voice boomed over the Promenade comm system, ordering the immediate evacuation of Deep Space 9.
Chapter Twelve
After an overlong meal break, Shar had returned to ops feeling a new heaviness in each step, imagining that people were already looking at him differently. He knew that it was unlikely in so short a time, but couldn’t help it. It had happened at the Academy, and again on the Tamberlaine, as soon as it got around who his “mother” was.
You ignore the real issue, he scolded himself, entering ops without looking at anyone, going straight to the science station. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know his relationship to Charivretha, but what he wanted wasn’t all that important, not to his family. There were times he felt it never had been.
He wished he had more time now, that he could afford to continue avoiding thoughts of his future, but knew that he was being irrational. Zhavey’s call, the first since he’d come to the station, had forced him to face the immediacy of his situation. He didn’t like it, but couldn’t pretend any longer that it did not exist.
I can, however, avoid thinking about it while I’m on shift. It was inappropriate for him to bring personal troubles with him to his work; it was what the Academy taught, and Shar thought it was sound instruction. He was in ops to keep working with the internal and external sensor arrays, to fine-tune and test all of the readjustments that had been made in the past few days. People depended on him to do his job well; he would not founder because of his own problems.
As soon as he finished looking over the array results from the past few hours, Shar logged a requisition for a new console to be installed in his quarters. He didn’t list a reason, and hoped he wouldn’t be questioned about it. As Nog had pointed out over their drinks, Shar didn’t talk about a lot of things…but he didn’t lie, either.
Ops was quiet, most of the manual repair work finished, the stations occupied but the colonel’s office empty. He considered visiting the Enterprise after his shift ended. It was, after all, the ship that Data, Soong’s son, served on, and Shar had always wanted to meet the android. But the idea failed to excite him; his violent outburst after the call from Zhavey had been draining, but the shame that had followed had been much worse, stealing even the carefully restrained satisfaction he took in his work. For the first time since he’d come to the station, he hadn’t wanted to go to his shift. He knew it would pass, but knew also that until he could tell his family what they wanted to hear, the situation would only get worse….
Shar felt his chest constrict with unhappiness, and he did what he could to forget all of it, his family, home, what was expected of him. If he could not enjoy his work, there was no point to all of his struggling.
He was almost an hour into checking the external sampling arrangement, so focused that nothing else existed, when Kira called tactical, issuing an internal security alert—the Jem’Hadar soldier had escaped.
Ops was suddenly in motion, everyone contacting their department teams and securing orders, struggling with backup communications as each worked to account for his or her people and equipment.
Within seconds, Shar went into a state of calm efficacy as his body adjusted to the circumstances, his thoughts refocusing to the tasks at hand. Tracking the Jem’Hadar could best be done from his console. Ignoring the internal visual arrays, he worked with the station’s sensors to focus on energy fields and spatial displacement, starting from the cargo bay where the soldier had been held and extending outward. Unfortunately, without knowing which way the Jem’Hadar had gone, he couldn’t exclude most of the station, nor could he rely decisively on what he was getting; there was nothing keeping the soldier from doubling back to an area that had been scanned, it was the same problem they’d had running the internal sweeps after Kitana’klan had been discovered, and with the station’s energy shortages, blanketing large areas was practically impossible.
“Kira to sciences.”
“Ch’Thane here,” Shar answered.
“Shar—we’re going to attempt to pick up Kitana’klan’s trail by manually testing for graviton residue. I want you to focus on us, and stand by to search for Kitana’klan’s shroud signature as soon as we establish direction.”
“Yes, sir,” Shar said, finding the team at the cargo bay before she’d finished speaking. There were eight life signs, one human and seven Bajorans, and they set out almost immediately, heading for the cargo transfer aisle that ran to the outer habitat ring.
Kitana’klan had been held in one of several storage areas at the base of pylon one, and when the team passed the pylon’s main turbo shaft, Shar removed it from the search zone. It made no sense for the Jem’Hadar to go up pylon one, as there were no ships docked there…although that was assuming he actually meant to escape.
<
br /> “Shar, are you still with us?” The colonel again.
“Yes, sir.”
“Take upper pylon one off the possibility list, and start—wait, just a minute…”
Shar waited, the reason for Kira’s hesitation glowing on his schematic in soft red. The team had reached a maintenance tunnel in the crossover bridge, moving toward the hub of the station. When Colonel Kira spoke again, he could hear the gathering apprehension in her voice.
“Stay with us. Keep narrowing the perimeter.”
Watching the path they were following, Shar understood her trepidation. He heard Ensign Ahzed, at the engineering station, tell Kira that Lieutenant Nog was standing by at one of the cargo transporters, only waiting for the word to send the team to Kitana’klan’s location.
Which is becoming clearer with each step they take. Shar made no assumptions, but the trail was unwavering in its course, and he was fairly sure even before the colonel told him where to concentrate his efforts.
The Jem’Hadar was almost certainly in the lower core, where the fusion reactors were, where the multiple plasma conduits were still being repaired; the station had been on the less secure secondary system since the attack, the engineering teams creating a single central conduit surrounded by a forcefield. It wouldn’t take too much effort to completely obliterate the station by explosive overload, assuming one was so inclined; an increase in plasma density in the deuterium slush flow could create a cataclysmic overload in a matter of minutes.
It only took a minute and a half for Shar to find the Jem’Hadar, but he’d already had more than enough time to tamper with the reactors; it had been nearly six minutes since the red alert panels on Shar’s console had started to flash, and he didn’t know how long Kitana’klan had been free before his absence was noted.
