Kira scolded herself. For years, she had watched Doctor Bashir work hard to save the lives of countless individuals, including those he considered enemies of the Federation. Indeed, for all her life, she had observed high-minded medical professionals employ their skills, no matter the identities of their patients. She should have known better.
“Now, whether or not Glessin wanted to invite a Jem’Hadar to be a member of our crew, that was a different matter,” Dez added. “We generally try to stay clear of the Dominion, and especially the Jem’Hadar. Their martial capabilities are known throughout the Gamma Quadrant.”
“And throughout the Alpha Quadrant,” Kira noted.
“Of course,” Dez said. “So you can understand why most of the crew felt nervous about having a Jem’Hadar aboard. We were far from any place where we could safely off-load him, and I didn’t want to sacrifice our auxiliary vessel or any of our emergency escape pods. Plus he would need some degree of medical observation and care while he convalesced. Some of the crew suggested keeping him sedated until we made planetfall, but Glessin counseled that doing so for an extended period would hinder his physical recovery.”
“So you allowed him to regain consciousness,” Kira said.
“We did,” Dez confirmed. “At first, fear overshadowed curiosity for most of the crew, and they stayed away. But as the days passed and Taran’atar underwent rehabilitation for his injuries, we all met him, and even began to develop a rapport of sorts with him.” Kira stole a glance at Taran’atar, who continued to stand unmoving beside the table, his expression stoic, giving no indication at all that he even listened to the captain’s words. “We’d lost Brad during the Ascendant’s attack, and so the notion of bringing true muscle aboard the ship arose and began to take hold. Taran’atar concurred with our assessment that he could be of vital assistance to our crew, and so he agreed to join us.”
Kira again looked up at the Jem’Hadar. It troubled her that he had chosen to join the crew of Even Odds after he had declined to stay aboard DS9; she couldn’t help but take his decision personally. She attempted to console herself that it had been a matter of timing and circumstance, and that before he’d left the station, Taran’atar hadn’t yet been prepared to alter the nature of his life. Once he had opted not to return to the Dominion and to pursue his own path instead, she supposed that becoming a member of the Even Odds crew seemed as likely as anything else a method of restoring purpose to his existence.
“It also helped us to see that Taran’atar is different from other Jem’Hadar,” Dez said. “He demonstrated that when he came to our rescue with no more impetus than his receipt of our distress call. We didn’t understand just how different he was until after Glessin had fully examined him.” Kira understood the reference to Taran’atar’s abnormal lack of dependence on ketracel-white.
Dez stood up. “I need to get to the bridge and check on our status,” he said. “We’re making a delivery to Vrynax Two, and we often run into problems getting there.” When Kira rose from her seat, he added, “It’s really been a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”
“And you, Captain,” Kira replied. “I don’t think I’ve said so, but I’m grateful to you and your crew for recovering me.”
“We’re happy to have done it,” Dez told her. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like Taran’atar to take you on a tour of our ship. Perhaps he can also tell you about the time he’s spent aboard the Even Odds.”
“I would like to see the rest of the ship,” Kira said, “and I’m certainly willing to listen to whatever you and Taran’atar and the others have to say.” Although she didn’t yet know precisely how she would or even should proceed, Kira doubted that she would remain aboard Even Odds for much longer. Before she departed, though, she wanted to learn as much as she could about the ship.
“I will leave you to it, then,” Dez said. “Shall we reconvene here for dinner? I’d like to hear your impressions.” Kira agreed, and Dezavrim left the mess hall, headed for the bridge.
Once he’d gone, Kira looked to Taran’atar. “We can begin on D deck,” he said, “and work our way upward.” She followed him through the door and out into the corridor. They walked in silence to the nearest turbolift.
Once they had boarded the cab, Kira said, “You appear to have made quite an impression on Captain Dezavrim.”
“The crew of the Even Odds were accustomed to avoiding the Jem’Hadar, for fear of having to face them in battle,” Taran’atar said. When the door closed, he stated their destination as Aft Engineering Control, and the lift began to descend. “They did not expect a Jem’Hadar soldier to come to their aid.”
“It sounded like there was more to it than that,” Kira observed. “Dez said that they only realized how different you were once Glessin examined you. They must have determined that you don’t require doses of ketracel-white to survive.”
“They did,” Taran’atar said. The turbolift completed its downward journey and began moving horizontally. “They also discovered that many of the cells in my body have regenerated.”
“What does that mean?”
“Glessin believes it means that, even though I am a Jem’Hadar elder, I am not on the verge of dying,” Taran’atar explained. His tone remained level despite the apparent momentousness of the information he revealed.
The Founders, Kira knew, had engineered the Jem’Hadar to live limited lifespans, typically little more than two decades in length. By all accounts, Taran’atar should have been nearing the end of his life. “How much longer does Glessin think you’ll live?”
“He can’t know with certainty,” Taran’atar said as the turbolift glided to a halt, “but he estimates that I can survive for at least another decade, and perhaps even two.” He delivered the information with no inflection, with no hint that he considered the change to his personal circumstances a positive one. Kira suspected that, as with his time aboard Deep Space 9, he did not know how to process the situation.
She nevertheless told him, “That’s wonderful.” If Taran’atar could not see the value in his continued existence, perhaps Kira could lead him in that direction.
The Jem’Hadar did not respond. Instead, he exited the turbolift, turned left, and marched down the corridor. Kira followed.
They approached a door marked with symbols that she interpreted as meaning engineering and warp drive. As Taran’atar keyed in a sequence on a panel in the bulkhead beside the door, Kira realized that she would have to reevaluate the purposes for which the Prophets had sent her back into the past. She had considered that saving the life of Taran’atar might be among Their reasons, but she had discounted that possibility given the likelihood that, had he not died in the Even Odds disaster, he would shortly thereafter have faced his own intrinsic mortality anyway. With the revelation of his extended lifespan, though, Kira would have to factor that in to whatever course of action she chose to take.
10
Fresh from the sonic shower, Ro stepped out of the refresher and into her bedroom. She had pulled on her undergarments and maroon uniform shirt when the comm system sounded its multitoned activation signal. The voice of the operation center’s delta-shift duty officer followed.
“Hub to Captain Ro,” said Ensign Vigo Melijnek.
“Ro here. Go ahead, Vigo.”
“Captain, you have an incoming transmission from Bajor,” Melijnek said. “It’s First Minister Asarem.”
The news surprised Ro. After her meeting the previous day with Commander Desjardins, the captain had followed his advice and contacted the Bajoran minister of justice, Elren Dast. Ro detailed for Elren the arrival on the starbase of the man calling himself Altek Dans, and explaining the ensuing predicament. Because she and her crew had been as yet unable to confirm Altek’s identity, or to verify the information he’d given them, the captain sought to transfer custody of the stranger from Federation jurisdiction to that of the authorities on Bajor, thereby creat
ing a legal—if morally hazy—justification for his continued detention. The justice minister promised to take the matter under advisement, and to render a timely decision.
Ro had therefore expected to hear from Elren or one of his deputies that day—the last on which the captain could lawfully hold Altek without charging him with a crime—but she did not doubt that the first minister was contacting her about the situation. “Stand by,” she told Melijnek. Ro grabbed her black uniform pants from where she’d laid them on the bed and quickly pulled them on. She didn’t bother to put on her gray-shouldered tunic.
Ro walked out into the living area of her quarters and crossed to the inner bulkhead, where she took a seat behind her desk. “Go ahead, Ensign,” she said, knowing that the ship’s comm system would relay her words to the Hub. “Put Minister Asarem through.” She activated the companel on her desktop with a touch, and the asymmetrical chevron of the Starfleet emblem appeared on the screen.
“Aye, sir.”
The Starfleet insignia winked off a moment later, replaced by the image of the Bajoran first minister. Long, straight black hair framed her fetching, sienna-colored features. Though a decade older than Ro, Asarem looked to be of no particular age, having a timeless quality about her. She had a fit, almost athletic build, and she carried herself with a stately grace.
Ro saw that the first minister sat at the desk in her office, which was housed in a government building in Ashalla, Bajor’s capital city. She wore an elegant royal-blue blouse made of a shimmery material. Since moving into a political life at the end of the Occupation, Asarem had long served her people. She had initially taken the position of second minister under her predecessor, Shakaar Edon, and had then succeeded him after he had been taken control of by an invading parasitic life-form and eventually killed. She had finished out the final months of his six-year term as the political leader of Bajor, and she’d been reelected twice since then, notably earning more than three-quarters of the vote in her most recent election.
“Good morning, Captain Ro,” Asarem said. Ro could see the bright rays of the just-risen B’hava’el slanting across the wall behind the first minister. Deep Space 9’s simulated twenty-six-hour day corresponded directly to that of Ashalla.
“Good morning, First Minister.”
“I know it’s early,” Asarem said, acknowledging but not apologizing for the dawn contact. “I judged it best to speak with you as soon as possible.”
“I presume that you want to discuss Altek Dans.”
“I do,” Asarem said. “Minister Elren informed me of your request for Bajor to extradite Mister Altek from Federation custody. He considered the issue and reached a decision on his own, but given the nature of recent events, he felt compelled to consult with me before making a final ruling.”
“May I ask what conclusion the justice minister reached?” Ro suspected that Elren intended to deny the extradition, and that the first minister needed to understand the reasons that she should overrule him. Even if Elren sided with the captain, though, Asarem likely wanted to hear from Ro directly about the unusual request.
“Minister Elren told me that, under normal circumstances, he would have declined extradition without even seeking my opinion.”
“And what is your opinion, First Minister?” asked Ro, her tone respectful but firm. She fully anticipated Asarem agreeing with her, even if the Bajoran leader needed some measure of convincing. Since Ro had taken over command of the original Deep Space 9 six and a half years prior, she had enjoyed a solid rapport with Asarem on those infrequent occasions when circumstances had obliged them to work together. After the destruction of the station, the first minister acted quickly and decisively to establish an interim working environment on Bajor for the surviving DS9 crew, and she played an instrumental part in expediting construction of the new starbase. During that time, Asarem and Ro coordinated and collaborated far more often than they had previously, which only strengthened their relationship.
“I agree with Minister Elren,” Asarem said.
It took a moment for Ro to realize that she hadn’t heard what she’d expected. The first minister’s words left her nonplussed. Though she had in some ways softened during her years in power, Asarem still possessed a reputation as a hard-nosed leader, quick to act when it came to ensuring the safety of her people. It made no sense to Ro that the first minister would not do everything she could to detain Altek until they could be sure of his intentions in the Bajoran system.
“But why?” Ro finally asked.
Asarem’s jaw clenched, a reaction Ro thought demonstrated that, while the people around the first minister could debate issues, they rarely challenged her directly. “I agree with rejecting your request to extradite Mister Altek,” Asarem said, her voice hardening, “because there is no legal justification for transferring him to Bajoran custody.” Ro also noted the toughening of the first minister’s choice of words, shifting from declining the extradition request to rejecting it.
“With all due respect, First Minister,” Ro said carefully, “the justification is what happened eight days ago on Deep Space Nine.” She didn’t know for how long President Bacco’s assassination would inform thought processes and decision making throughout the UFP and beyond, but she understood that the timeframe would ultimately be measured in years, not in days. “The Federation—and by extension Bajor—was attacked in the most villainous way possible. Until we know with certainty who committed the assassination, and who was behind it, I think we have all the rationale we require to continue holding Altek.”
“Captain Ro, I genuinely appreciate your concerns, and I share them myself,” Asarem said. “The difficulty is that yours is not a legal argument.”
“Maybe not, but it is an attempt to safeguard the thousands of people under my command, the ten thousand civilians on this starbase, and the billions on Bajor.” It actually surprised Ro that the first minister did not subscribe to such an obvious and reasonable point of view.
“I understand the potential threat of which you speak,” Asarem said, “but we are charged with protecting more than simply the lives of those whom we lead: we must protect their values.”
Ro slowly shook her head as she tried to fathom the first minister’s reluctance to keep Altek in custody for three additional days. The captain liked Asarem Wadeen, both as a person and as a leader. Ro generally found her straightforward in their dealings, but it would be folly to ignore either the political necessities incumbent upon the first minister’s position, or the corresponding skills that she brought to bear. The captain wondered if her refusal to extradite Altek Dans had anything to do with the DS9 crew arresting Asarem’s own chief of staff, Enkar Sirsy, as the president’s assassin. Although additional evidence later vindicated Enkar, Ro knew that the first minister was still dealing with the political fallout of having a member of her administration even suspected of such an odious crime. Asarem might simply want to avoid the complications sure to arise from transferring Altek from Federation to Bajoran confinement.
“First Minister, it does little good to preserve somebody’s values if you can’t keep that person alive and healthy,” Ro argued. “Altek might or might not pose a threat to Deep Space Nine or to Bajor if we release him, but he definitely won’t if we keep holding him.”
“I disagree,” Asarem said. “If we illegally detain Altek, the threat we face is to our way of life. We cannot selectively enforce our laws. To do so diminishes us as a civilization, and lowers us to the moral and ethical ranks of those who oppose us.”
Ro looked away from her companel screen. She understood Asarem’s point, but the captain had never allowed rules and regulations—or even laws—to prevent her from doing what she believed needed to be done. She had certainly witnessed and fought against wrongful detention—the Cardassians had essentially imprisoned the entire world of Bajor for decades—but she also remembered, in vivid detail, the sight of Presiden
t Bacco staggering backward, not once but twice, before crumbling to the floor, the victim of three shots from a sniper’s projectile weapon.
And Nanietta Bacco wasn’t the only victim, Ro thought angrily. The assassination impacted all the people of the Federation. She didn’t know if Altek Dans intended to add to the misery and instability the president’s murder had wrought, but she did not wish to take that chance.
“First Minister, your refusal to approve Altek’s transfer into Bajoran custody means that I will have no choice but to release him later today,” Ro said. “What happens if tomorrow—or even next month or next year—he sets off an explosive on this starbase, or brings down a government building on Bajor, or assassinates the next Federation president?”
“Of course, we must all do what we can to prevent that.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Ro said, her voice rising as she leaned in toward her companel.
“But you’re doing it in the wrong way,” Asarem snapped back, color rising in her cheeks. She paused, appearing to rein in her emotions. When she spoke again, she did so with intensity, but not anger. “It would obviously be awful if we release Altek Dans and he commits some terrible act. I will likely pay a steep political price if that happens. But it is not my responsibility to protect my job; it is to lead the people of Bajor, to act in their best interests.”
Ro took a breath and settled back in her chair. “That’s what I’m asking you to do,” she said.
“It is not leadership to act based on fear,” Asarem said. “We have laws, but more important than that, we have bedrock moral principles underlying our laws. It is not acceptable for us to bring the weight and resources of the Federation or Bajoran governments down upon an individual based solely on suspicions. We cannot restrict the freedom of a man simply because we do not know who he is or where he came from, or even because of what he thinks or says. Actions are punishable by the state, and nothing more. To the best of my knowledge, Altek Dans has not committed any crimes, has he?”
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