by S. D. Perry
Speaking of.
The colonel was waking up, shifting beneath the coverlet, the reads over her bed showing a rise in consciousness. Beverly went to her side, wondering if Colonel Kira would remember that she’d saved the station. From the location of her concussion, Beverly thought it remarkable that the woman had managed to authorize the core ejection; speech, language comprehension, and gross motor skills would have all been affected.
Kira opened her eyes, frowning, and sat up.
“Easy, Colonel,” Crusher said, smiling at her, speaking calmly. “I’m Beverly Crusher, the CMO from the Enterprise; I believe we met once, several years ago.”
Kira nodded, still frowning. “I remember. How’s the station? Was anyone hurt?”
Obviously, she was cognizant. “Colonel, everything is fine. You were badly injured by the Jem’Hadar, a concussion and several fractures, but you’ve been treated, and—”
“Picard to Doctor Crusher.”
Still smiling at the young colonel, Beverly tapped her combadge. “Yes, Captain.”
“Is Colonel Kira awake? The task force will be arriving in just a few minutes, and Commander Vaughn has called for a briefing as soon as the colonel is able to attend.”
Kira was nodding. Crusher would have recommended a full night’s sleep, but she was well enough—and Crusher suspected that the colonel wasn’t the type to rest when there was station business to be handled. Kira had that in common with Jean-Luc—the belief that unless you were dying, there was no good excuse to delegate your own responsibilities. “Yes, Captain, she just woke up,” Crusher said.
“Good. Please inform her that we’re meeting in the station’s wardroom. Admiral Ross and representatives from the Klingon and Romulan Empires will be meeting us.”
Kira leaned and spoke in the direction of Crusher’s combadge. “Captain, this is Kira. I’ll need a few minutes to confer with my staff before I can be there.”
“Of course,” Picard said, and Crusher could hear the smile in his voice. “I look forward to it, Colonel. Picard out.”
“Am I good to go?” Kira asked, leaning back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Dax and Bashir both watched from across the room, holding hands and smiling.
“Absolutely. If you feel nausea or any vertigo, I want you back here, though, right away.”
“Thank you, Doctor. And thank you for helping out here.”
Crusher nodded, thinking of how different Kira looked awake. Asleep, her face had been as peaceful and lovely as a child’s. As soon as she’d opened her eyes, her prettiness had become beauty; a level of intensity had been added, a kind of casual confidence and determination that matured her, defining her as a leader.
Kira stood and stretched, then walked over to Dax and Bashir, stopping to talk for a moment. Crusher could see the easy friendship between the three of them, the bond of working and living together in a closed community, and thought of her own friends, and how much she cherished them; Will and Deanna, Jean-Luc, Data and Geordi, her own staff of doctors and nurses and med techs….
She yawned again, smiling at herself. She tended to get sentimental when she was tired. After checking one last time on John Tiklak and seeing that he was already in the capable, caring hands of Dr. Tarses, she put a friendly hand on Simon’s shoulder. He looked into her warmly smiling face and smiled back, their shared relief needing nothing more. Then Crusher packed her med kit and went home.
Kira stopped at her quarters for a change of clothes, talking to Shar as she undressed, to Nog as she donned a fresh uniform, and to Bowers as she quickly brushed her rumpled hair. Shar relayed Ro’s report, which included the news that the Tcha’voth had retrieved the escape pods that had launched; that the partial evacuation and subsequent return to the station had gone smoothly; and that everyone was accounted for. Except for a Bajoran citizen who’d been working in the lower core, a man named Alle Tol. That Kitana’klan had killed only four people during his escape was a small miracle, but Kira doubted that would prove a comfort to Tol’s family. She would pray for them.
The upshot of all of the reports was that the station was safe. There had been no new structural damage from the lower core detonation, and although DS9 could operate temporarily with all the emergency generators running at full…there was still grim reality to face. Unless they could replace the reactor core in the short term, the station would no longer be viable.
One thing at a time.
Kira asked Shar to organize a senior staff meeting for 0900, deciding that they could all use a little extra time in the morning, to recover from the near catastrophe and get some much-needed rest. With Kitana’klan’s story having proved to be a lie, she knew they were in for a few tense days or even weeks; the task force would press on with their investigation. If anything, they’d be even more insistent after hearing what Kitana’klan had attempted…
…except I really thought he was there at the end, with Vaughn. I remember him carrying me. An hallucination, it had to be; she felt fine now, just a little tired, but she’d been in a bad way after the head injury. Julian and Ezri had told her that Kitana’klan was dead, that they’d heard it from Commander Vaughn, who had also spread the word that she had been entirely responsible for saving the station. As soon as she’d signed off from Shar, Kira was ready to head for her meeting. But as she turned, she caught sight for the first time of the spectacle outside her window.
The Allied task force, a combined armada of Federation, Klingon, and Romulan ships, was far more than she’d expected. She’d prayed she would never again see such a thing in her lifetime…because a force like that had only one use, and she knew from personal experience what it was capable of.
Kira hurried out to Vaughn’s meeting.
On her way, several people stopped her to ask how she was feeling, or to lend a thought about the generous nature of the Prophets. She’d been unconscious for only a couple of hours, but word had spread—and as much as she welcomed the feelings of community and faith, almost all of the Bajorans she talked to had questions about the book of prophecy. Questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
And now that the immediate crisis of Kitana’klan is over…
There was still Yevir, and the book, and the station’s strange parallel to the Avatar prophecy…what if it was meant to come true, in some other way? And while Yevir’s patronizing anger hadn’t had much of an effect, Kira still had to come to terms with Kasidy’s reaction, which had been far worse than she’d expected; she’d foolishly hoped that Kas would be pleased by the upload, happy to see Bajor growing and changing.
There’s the Orb of Memory, though. Surely it’s a sign, that exposing Bajor to Ohalu’s book was the right thing to do.
Maybe it was, Kira thought, stepping into the turbolift. But doing the right thing didn’t mean there were only positive consequences…and right or not, Kasidy’s friendship was important to Kira; she should have talked to her before making any decision.
The turbolift reached the upper core and Kira quickly walked to the wardroom, hoping that Vaughn hadn’t held the meeting up for her arrival; stopping to talk to people had slowed her down considerably. She wasn’t sure, but thought that Vaughn had probably called the briefing to share his opinions on the task force; she hoped so, anyway. He clearly knew a lot about the Jem’Hadar, and if Picard was any indication, Vaughn was someone whose opinions counted among Starfleet brass.
As she rounded into the conference room’s corridor, she saw that she was late. Four security guards stood outside the room, a Klingon, a Romulan, and two Starfleet. None of them looked happy to be sharing space with one another.
Nodding to the guards, Kira stepped inside the conference room—and froze, astonished by the scene.
Seated around the long meeting table were two Klingon captains, a Romulan commander, Admiral Ross, Captain Picard, and Commander Vaughn. All of them were looking at a uniformed Jem’Hadar soldier who stood near the head of the table, unrestrained, and no one had th
eir weapons out.
“It’s good to see you on your feet, Colonel,” Vaughn began, rising from his chair, “but you may want to sit down. I’d like you to meet Taran’atar.”
Although they’d asked him several questions, which he’d answered honestly, Taran’atar did not give a full account; Kira Nerys was the one with whom he’d been instructed to meet, and so he waited. When she finally arrived, Taran’atar felt an odd satisfaction that she had survived, of a duty fulfilled. She appeared to be well, and surprised to see him—although no more so than the others in the room had been. The Klingons had drawn weapons before the silver-haired human, Commander Vaughn, had explained his presence to them. Taran’atar thought it fortunate that the commander had intervened. Killing them would have run contrary to his task.
After Admiral Ross quickly made introductions, Vaughn again explained that it had been Taran’atar who had dispatched Kitana’klan, and helped both Kira and Vaughn in their last desperate moments with the lower core. Taran’atar stood and waited for him to finish, noting that Kira watched him almost the entire time.
Vaughn brought his narrative to a close, telling the colonel about Taran’atar’s shrouded trip to the wardroom—in order to pass through the station without creating a panic—and Vaughn’s decision to call the Allied leaders together, to hear what Taran’atar had to say. Taran’atar found himself wondering about the commander. It was curious; if his information on Alpha Quadrant command structures was accurate, Vaughn was the lowest-ranking officer in the room. Yet the other military leaders, especially the Starfleet officers, gave deference to him. Vaughn clearly did not command them, but they seemed to regard him as an equal, as if his rank were nothing more than a shroud.
“…which brings us to the story of how he came to be here in the first place,” Vaughn said. “Which I haven’t heard, either. Taran’atar, will you speak to us now?”
“Yes,” Taran’atar said, although he’d already decided that preparing for combat was much easier than addressing these aliens.
Victory is life. Conquer this unease, it is your enemy.
“The account Kitana’klan gave of how he came to be among you was partly true,” he began, addressing Kira directly. “There was an envoy sent to your station as an envoy of peace, who was attacked by rogue Jem’Hadar who sought to thwart his mission. I am that envoy, chosen by the Founder Odo to live among you so that the Jem’Hadar might come to understand peaceful coexistence.
“After your war with the Dominion, Odo instructed the Vorta to begin a search among the Jem’Hadar for deviants. He believed, based upon knowledge he obtained while living here, that some Jem’Hadar existed who were capable of surviving without the white. The Vorta’s search took many weeks, but when it was done, they found only four.” Taran’atar lowered his collar, showing them the scar tissue where his tube had once been. “I was one.”
“Odo then met with each of us. He asked us questions. He listened. In the end, he chose me to be his messenger.”
“Why you?” Vaughn asked.
Taran’atar never took his eyes off Kira. “I am not certain. I think he believed that as the oldest among the four, I was somehow better suited for the task he wished to accomplish. Among my kind, I am an Honored Elder of twenty-two years as you measure them.”
Taran’atar saw Kira exchange a look with Vaughn. They said nothing, and when she turned to face him again, he continued.
“I left Dominion space soon after, and had almost reached the Anomaly when my ship was attacked by others of my kind. There are some Jem’Hadar who were displeased when the war ended, and who still believe they need to redeem themselves for their failure to conquer the Alpha Quadrant.”
“How many?” Captain Klag interrupted, glowering at him.
“Few,” Taran’atar answered. “Among us, disobedience is dealt with quickly and decisively, when detected. The Jem’Hadar follow the will of the Founders, as is the way. And they have not sanctioned any hostilities since your treaty was signed.”
The Klingons didn’t seem convinced, but the others visibly relaxed.
“Some of these defiant Jem’Hadar learned of my mission before they could be dealt with,” Taran’atar continued. “Four strike ships attacked ours, inflicting serious damage, although we destroyed one of theirs. I was contacted by Kitana’klan when our engines failed, who wanted me to know why we had been attacked; he told me that there could never be a peace with the Alpha Quadrant until it belonged to the Dominion, and that by destroying Deep Space 9, a new war would be sparked. A war that the Dominion would win.
“Although our ship was disabled, we succeeded in repairing it enough to pursue the remaining strikers into your space. My crew fought well, but we could not defeat them all. And when I understood that we were about to be destroyed, I transported here.”
Taran’atar pulled himself straighter, remembering the courage of his crew. “I would have chosen to stay with my men, who died to bring me here, but death was not my mission.”
At this, both Klingon captains nodded, as if they understood. Taran’atar thought perhaps they did.
“What I found out shortly after my arrival was that Kitana’klan had also come here, with a revised plan to destroy you from within. But he knew of my presence, as well, and we remained shrouded, stalking each other as we both sought to draw attention from the station’s inhabitants. But Kitana’klan was young and inexperienced. He allowed himself to be detected by the Andorian. Nevertheless, he was able to gain more time to achieve his goal by claiming the peace mission was his.”
“Why didn’t you reveal yourself when Kitana’klan was discovered?” Captain Picard asked.
“Because Kitana’klan did not transport to the station alone,” Taran’atar responded. “Three of his crew were with him, and in the last five days, each has attempted to reach the station’s fusion core. I believed my best chance to stop them was to remain shrouded, and watch for them; that is how I learned of their plans, and of Kitana’klan’s deception. All three of their bodies can be found in a storage area not far from where the lower section of the station once was. I can show you. I killed the last only a short time before Kitana’klan escaped. But I underestimated his abilities, arriving at the cargo bay too late…”
Taran’atar wasn’t certain if he should ask about the Starfleet lieutenant he’d tried to help; if he had died, these people might believe he’d inadvertently caused it.
“There was a human in the bay who was bleeding to death,” he said, determined to fulfill Odo’s expectations of him. “A Starfleet doctor. I tried to stop the bleeding before I went in pursuit of Kitana’klan. Did he live?”
Colonel Kira spoke, for the first time since arriving. “He did.”
Taran’atar nodded.
“This is a charming tale,” Commander Sartai said, addressing the others, her eyes narrowed with mistrust. “But this creature has yet to offer any evidence that he is what he says he is. For all we know, the real envoy—even if we are to believe there ever was one—could be one of the three he claims to have killed. Where is the proof of his veracity?”
“Here,” answered Taran’atar, retrieving from his belt the data chip. “It is from Odo. I was instructed to give it to you, so that you might share the message with others in the Alpha Quadrant.”
He held it out to Kira, who made no move to take it. He could see in her eyes that she was unsure of him still. He had failed to convince her. Then he remembered the last words Odo had said to him.
“Hide nothing from them, show them you can be trusted, and only good can come from this.”
Taran’atar continued to hold out the chip to her. “I tell you truthfully, Colonel Kira, I still do not understand what I am meant to achieve here, among the same aliens who defeated the Dominion. I was told understanding would come in time, and perhaps that will be so. But for now, all that matters is that a Founder has given me a mission. It is not necessary that I understand, only that I obey. Obedience brings victory. Victory is
life. You may be certain that I will do as Odo has instructed me, or die in the attempt.”
There was another pause, the people in the room looking at one another uncertainly. Taran’atar knew that all but a few of them had come to discuss retaliation of some kind for the attack on the station; he wondered what he would do if they went forward with those plans.
Everyone was looking at Kira Nerys now, who still hadn’t taken the chip from Taran’atar’s outstretched hand.
Kira reached out. She accepted the chip, looking at it with a strange expression.
“Let’s see it,” Admiral Ross said, and Kira handed it to him. Taran’atar found her difficult to read, but sensed a certain reluctance as she parted with the chip. She had been close with the Founder, he knew, in an emotional and physical relationship; perhaps she was angry with him for leaving her.
The admiral plugged the chip into the table’s reader and they all turned to look at the viewscreen on the far wall.
Chapter Fifteen
The screen was blank—and then there was Odo, and he seemed to be gazing directly at her, the soft rumble of his voice stirring her deeply, making her throat ache with longing. Everyone else in the room ceased to matter, there was only Odo, and the way he was looking at her.
“This message is for Colonel Kira Nerys of Deep Space 9,” he said briskly, but his blue eyes were gentle, the smooth curves of his face as beautiful as she remembered. Behind him, an empty room on a Dominion ship.
Oh, how I’ve missed you….
“Nerys, I hope that you’re well,” he said, and she smiled a little. He must have known that she wouldn’t be the only person to see his message, and was putting on what she used to call his repressed face. Direct, in control, absolutely on top of things—and beneath it, his kindness and innocence shining through like a bright light he couldn’t completely veil. Perhaps she was the only one who saw it, but that only made it more personal for her…that she could still read him so easily, that the connection hadn’t been severed.
