Star Trek - DS9 Relaunch 04 - Gateways - 4 of 7 - Demons Of Air And Darkness

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  "We'll begin scans and beam-outs immediately," Macet continued.

  "Good," Kira said. "We're going to investigate the gateway, see if we can stop the radiation at the source. Captain Emick of the Intrepid will be in charge of the rescue operation while I'm gone."

  "Understood, Colonel. Trager out."

  Silverio signed off as well.

  "Colonel, I have Commander Vaughn on subspace," Taran'atar said.

  "Good timing," she muttered. "Go ahead, Com­mander," she added in a louder tone.

  "Colonel, we're on our way back to Europa Nova. Admiral Ross has given us the go-ahead to attempt the disruption as soon as all five hundred thousand Europani have been evacuated through the Costa Ro-cosa gateway."

  "Good. It'll be at least another three hours before they're all through. That should give Taran'atar and I enough time to check the other side of the orbital gateway."

  "Lieutenant Nog says it will take two and a half hours to modify the Defiant. We can aid in the evacua­tion in the interim."

  "Do that. I'll keep in touch. Oh, and we're getting some unexpected help here."

  "Colonel?"

  "Captain Emick can fill you in. Kira out." Turning to Taran'atar, she said, "Shield status?"

  "Modulator is performing as expected."

  "Good. Put them on maximum. Setting course for the gateway. Let's see what's on the other side."

  11

  DEEP SPACE 9

  "lieutenant, we're getting a message from Vedek Eran."

  Ezri Dax stood at the table in ops, looking over the distribution of refugees to the open quarters on the station. Luckily, they had plenty of room to spare, though it meant utilizing some of the quarters that had belonged to station staff and crew who had died in the Jem'Hadar attack a month earlier. Since the quarters weren't needed, the processing of the posses­sions had been given a comparatively low priority, and had only seriously been tackled in the last week or so. Yesterday, however, Dax had assigned a detail to take care of it, thus providing them with maximum availability.

  She had just discovered an anomaly, but set it aside to take the call from Eran Dal. "Yes, Vedek?"

  Eran was an older man with a pleasant, round face and a completely shaved head who managed to look exactly like Benjamin and nothing like her old friend at the same time. Maybe if Benjamin added fifty pounds, Ezri thought, and had to conceal a smile.

  "Lieutenant, we've been having some troubles with the Federation industrial replicators we've been using to fabricate the temporary shelters for the Europani. Is there any way you can provide us with someone to repair them?"

  Most of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers crew that had aided in the refurbishing of the station after the Jem'Hadar attack had departed, and the station's own engineering staff was busy with their own duties. Ezri was about to check the duty roster to find a loophole, when she remembered something.

  "Hang on a moment, Vedek." She called up a sta­tion manifest. Sure enough, there was an industrial replicator on board, tagged for delivery to Cardassia Prime by the U.S.S. Hood next week. If it's just going to sit in a cargo bay for a week, we may as well put it to good use. She checked another display, and saw that the Ng was an hour away from finishing off­loading refugees onto the station before heading back to Europa Nova.

  "Vedek, I can't spare personnel, but I can give you a temporary replacement. Wait for a signal from Cap­tain Hawkins on the Ng in about two hours, and he should be able to bring you a new replicator."

  "Excellent. Thank you, Lieutenant."

  "Not at all," Ezri said. "It's the Vedek Assembly we

  should be thanking for making so much of its land available to the relief efforts."

  "It is our pleasure to help those in need, Lieu­tenant. It was not long ago that we were relying on others for help when our world was devastated. We should never forget that. Eran out."

  Bran's face winked out from the screen.

  "Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Cathy Ling asked from the operations station.

  Frowning, Ezri said, "I'm fine, why?"

  "It's just—well, when you were talking to the vedek, your voice seemed to get—deeper. And scratchier."

  Smiling her most reassuring counselor smile, Ezri said, "I'm perfectly fine, Ensign. Probably a little rough from all the talking I've been doing." She picked up a padd. "Before the vedek called, I noticed something—the atmosphere was never changed in the suite of rooms the Plexicans were in. We'd better do that before the Ng's refugees try to set up there and find they can't breathe the methane."

  Ling nodded quickly. "I'll get a team right on it, sir."

  Ezri went back to looking over the status reports. Most of the refugees had settled in as well as could be expected. Many were scared, concerned about what they'd had to leave behind. Some expressed concern about their children—all of whom had been relocated to the Tozhat Resettlement Camp on Bajor. Ezri made a mental note to try to set up a schedule that would allow people to communicate with the camp.

  Several had made specific complaints that had been forwarded to Ezri. "Computer, time?"

  "The time is 1409 hours."

  She still had almost an hour before her subspace

  meeting with First Minister Shakaar. As far as she could tell, all the fires had been put out. Ling reported that the off-loading of refugees was proceeding apace. Vaughn had left on the Defiant with Nog and Shar's gateway disruption scheme ready to go. Dr. Tarses's last report from the infirmary was that all the cases of theta-radiation poisoning were minor and easily treated—as were the assorted other bumps and bruises that people had suffered during evacuation. She was actually free for the next fifty minutes.

  "Ensign, I'll be in the Habitat Ring until my meeting with First Minister Shakaar," Ezri said as she moved to­ward the turbolift and grabbed a padd with the list of complaints. May as well give these people's complaints the personal touch. With all they've been through, they deserve the station commander's direct attention.

  Station commander. Ezri surprised herself with how much she liked the sound of that. Most, though not all, hosts of the Dax symbiont gravitated toward positions of authority. In some cases—notably Ezri and Jadzia— mat desire didn't seem to come until after joining with the symbiont Ezri wondered if this inclination was congenital to Dax, or just the combined weight of all those memories of being an authority figure.

  Just as she reached the top step of ops's upper level, Ling said, "Lieutenant, there's a personal commu­nique' here from a Dr. Renhol on Trill."

  Damn, Ezri thought. With everything that had been going on, she hadn't made her check-in call with Renhol.

  Renhol was a member of the Trill Symbiosis Com­mission. Ezri had not been a candidate to be joined, and had united with the Dax symbiont in order to save

  its life. The commission had asked that Ezri check in on a regular basis with Renhol—ideally once a week, but at least once a month, duties permitting. Of course, many on the commission would have pre­ferred to keep Ezri on Trill and have her adjust to a joined life under close supervision, but Ezri was a free citizen and could do as she pleased. And right now, I'm pleased to be here on the station, thank you very much. She sighed. Still, it's been over six weeks.

  "I'll take it in the colonel's office," Ezri said, changing direction.

  Ezri went in, took a very deep breath through her nose, let it out through her mouth, and then sat down in Kira's chair. "Put it through," she said, tapping her combadge.

  Renhol's angular face appeared on the small viewscreen on the desk. As always, her brown hair was tied severely back. "Lieutenant Dax. It's good to see you."

  Holding up her hands, Ezri said, "I know why you're calling, Doctor, and I'm very sorry, but things have been a little crazy on the station."

  "So I've heard. For that matter, so I see—I seem to recall that your uniform was a different color when last we spoke."

  Involuntarily, Ezri's hand went up to the collar of her uniform, which was now com
mand red instead of the sciences blue she'd worn ever since graduating from the Academy. "I've switched over to the command track."

  "Really? That's rather a major step, don't you think?"

  "Yes, it is. But I think this is the right thing for me to do. About a month ago, I wound up in command of

  the Defiant during a combat situation. I realized then that I needed to stop assing around in a fog and put these centuries of experiences to better use."

  "Don't you think that's a decision you should have consulted us on?"

  Ezri rolled her eyes. "Young lady, I don't need the commission's permission to hold my hand and walk me through every major life decision. I'm a grown woman, and I'm completely capable of making my own choices. Or do I have to consult the commission when I brush my teeth every day?"

  Renhol's Ups pursed. "Of course not. But are you aware of the fact that each of those three sentences came from a different host?"

  Frowning, Ezri said, "What?"

  "You modulated from Leia to Ezri to Jadzia, For that matter, Torias was fond of the phrase 'assing around,' if I recall correctly. That isn't the way the joining is supposed to work, Ezri, and you know that."

  Taking another deep breath to compose herself, Ezri said, "Look, Doctor, I appreciate your concern, but right now I have to deal with a huge influx of refugees from Europa Nova." Quickly, she outlined the situation.

  "So you're in charge of the station?"

  "At the moment, yes, and I really don't have time to bring you completely up to speed on my life. I promise that I'll contact you again within the next two days, assuming the crisis is resolved."

  "/ apologize, Lieutenant, I didn't realize my timing was so bad," Renhol said, though Ezri didn't think she was sincere. "Get back in touch with me again at your convenience—but soon, please. We do need to discuss this."

  "Of course, Doctor. Dax out." She cut the connection.

  Stupid, meddling commission. Why can't they just let me live my life?

  As she exited the office and headed to the turbolift, she caught sight of Ling. She then remembered what she had said about Ezri's voice getting deeper and scratchier. That was when I was talking to Vedek Eran—and giving him the speech about how we should thank him. Which, she realized suddenly, / did in Curzon's classic "diplomatic mode."

  She shook her head as she entered the turbolift I'm just tired—

  —like 1 was last month when I tapped into Jadzia's memories during sex with Julian? Renhol was right about one thing: it wasn't supposed to work that way. Ezri had been content to chalk it all up to a transitional phase she was going through—from a year of stum­bling her way through a labyrinth of past lives, to re­ally taking control for the first time. More and more, ever since that terrible day on the Defiant, she found herself drawing from the wellspring of her previous hosts to take on greater and greater challenges. And the more she took on, the more she seemed to crave.

  What's wrong with that? she wondered, not without some resentment. Isn't that the point of being joined? To harmonize those life experiences and use them to live up to their combined potential? To be greater than the sum of my past hosts?

  As the turbolift arrived in the habitat ring, she looked over the list, her mind returning to the issues at hand. She decided to simply take the complaints by order of quarters.

  On her way, she passed by Ensign Gordimer, who

  had remained behind when the Defiant left, leading a group of refugees toward Section Nine. She smiled at the line of people who shuffled in a more-or-less or­derly manner toward the empty quarters there.

  She walked up to Gordimer. "Ensign," she said qui­etly, "make sure that the last two quarters in this sec­tion have been readjusted for humans."

  In a whisper, Gordimer reported, "I've already been in touch with Ensign Ling, sir. This group won't need those two quarters, but they should be ready by the time the Xhosa arrives with the next batch."

  Ezri nodded. "The Ng's refugees are going to Sec­tion Twelve, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Carry on, Ensign."

  "Excuse me?"

  Ezri turned to see a very short older man. His face was wrinkled, his neck jowly, his snow-white hair thin and wispy, and his skin liver-spotted. Despite mis, he did not seem at all decrepit—he walked with as much vitality as Vaughn, even though Ezri figured he had to have thirty years on Elias.

  "Can I help you, Mr.—T

  "Maranzano." The deep, rich voice belied the frag­ile form it came out of. "I just wanted to know—are you in charge?"

  Smiling, Ezri said, "Well, I'm presently in com­mand of the station."

  "I just wanted to thank you all for your help. I know how difficult this must be for all of you, keep­ing track of all of us and herding us around..."

  Ezri couldn't help but laugh. "Difficult for us? Mr. Maranzano—"

  A woman standing in the queue said, "Oh, don't listen to him, young lady. He just thinks you're pretty and wants to make nice."

  Mr. Maranzano turned and gave the woman a dirty look. "I'm not allowed to be nice to a pretty young woman?"

  Should I tell him I'm over three hundred years old? Ezri thought mischievously. No, that wouldn't be fair. "Well, thanks all the same, Mr. Maranzano, but I think you're the ones who should be thanked. Now please, if you'll go with Ensign Gordimer here, he'll take you to your temporary quarters."

  She saw them off, then continued to the nearest quarters containing someone who had relayed a prob­lem to ops.

  The first two were minor complaints about the size of the quarters—mostly from people who lived in houses on Europa Nova. Ezri made appropriately con­ciliatory noises that boiled down to tough luck, and moved on.

  A heavyset woman answered the third door. "Is everything all right, Ms. DellaMonica?"

  "The replicators don't work. I've been trying to make an espresso for the last hour."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me take a look." She went in­side the quarters, which were also occupied by four other people, all male. All five of them had similar fa­cial features, and Ezri assumed they were related. "Computer," Ezri said to the replicator, "one espresso, unsweetened."

  A demitasse cup appeared in the replicator, filled with steaming black liquid. Ezri picked it up. "Looks okay to me."

  'Taste it."

  Ezri tasted it. It seemed to taste right. But then, Ezri had never been much of an espresso drinker—she put it in the same category as raktajino, which she detested—though Jadzia loved it, having been a regu­lar customer at the Cafe Roma on Earth and its mag­nificent brew when she was at the Academy. But then, Jadzia also liked raktajino.

  "It seems fine," she said tentatively.

  "It's horrendous!" Ms. DellaMonica cried.

  "Ms. DellaMonica, I realize it may not be up to your standards, but replicators are sometimes—"

  Holding up a hand, Ms. DellaMonica said, "Lieu­tenant, I know what you're going to say. 'This espresso is good enough.' Well not for me." She took a deep breath. "Look around you, Lieutenant. What don't you see?"

  Looking around the quarters, Ezri saw what one usually saw in such places—but saw very little by way of personal effects, which was presumably Ms. DellaMonica's point. "I know that things are difficult, Ms. DellaMonica, but—"

  "Do you know what a pieta is, Lieutenant?"

  "No."

  "It's a religious icon of a woman holding her dead son by the artist Michelangelo. We have a replica of it that's been in my family since Earth's eighteenth cen­tury. My nonna gave it to me on her deathbed. That pieta means more to us than anything—but we left it behind, because we only had to take the essentials with us. I may never see that statue again, Lieutenant. That's the way the universe works, and I accept that But, all things considered, I don't think it's too much

  to ask that at least I can get a decent espresso. This is not decent espresso."

  Casting her mind over the duty roster for the engi­neering staff, Ezri tapped her combadge. "Dax to McA
llister."

  "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

  "Could you report to the Habitat Ring, Level Four, Section Forty-Eight and have a look at the replicator, please? The people in the quarters will explain the problem."

  "On my way."

  The faces of all five DellaMonicas brightened with smiles. "Thank you," Ms. DellaMonica said, clasping her hands together and shaking them over her heart.

  "Anything else?"

  "Nothing a good espresso won't cure. Without my caffeine, I get cranky."

  'Trust me," one of the other DellaMonicas added. "You wouldn't like her when she's cranky."

  Ezri smiled. "I get that impression. Don't hesitate to call me if there are any other problems. And Ms. DellaMonica?"

  "Yes?"

  "We're doing everything we can to get you back to­gether with your pieta and your espresso maker."

  "I appreciate that, Lieutenant."

  After bidding mem a cheery good-bye, she went to the next door.

  Without preamble, the occupant, Mr. Perez, said: "It's too hot in here."

  "I'll have the temperature reduced. The last occu­pants were Ovirians—you know how they like it hot."

  "What's an Ovirian?"

  "They're from the planet—"

  "Aliens? You put aliens in my room?"

  "They're simply the ones who had the quarters last."

  "I don't want to share my space with aliens."

  Ezri took a deep breath. "You won't be. The Oviri­ans were in here over a month ago."

  "If there are any aliens in here, I want to move."

  "There are no aliens, Mr. Perez. It's just you and your brother and sister in here."

  "It better be."

  The next door: "I've got a terrible rash!"

  "Have you been to the infirmary?"

  "There's an infirmary here?"

  Sighing, Ezri asked, "What type of rash is it?"

  "A bad one."

  Remembering something Julian had mentioned ear­lier, Ezri said, "It's probably just an allergic reaction to the arithrazine you were given on the Defiant, Mr. Amenguale. You should report to the infirmary right away."