Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust

by David R. George III

  After exchanging greetings, the group quieted. O’Brien gazed around the theater, which he hadn’t been inside since it had been completed. It had been decorated in a modern style, in blue and silver tones. A set of enormous curtains hung closed across the stage; Starfleet blue, they were adorned in the center with a silver silhouette of Deep Space 9.

  “I wish Keiko were here for this,” O’Brien said. The lights had not yet gone down, but he spoke quietly, not wanting to be impolite to those around him. “I know the Boslics hosted that summit on their homeworld a couple of years ago, but this has got to be the most interstellar heads of state ever at an event held in Federation space.”

  Sarina leaned forward and looked past Julian at O’Brien. “What about the Federation Council?” she asked. “It convenes representatives from more than a hundred and fifty worlds.”

  “But not heads of state,” O’Brien pointed out.

  “What about at the founding of the Federation?” Julian asked. “Eighteen worlds, represented by—”

  “I’m not talking about worlds,” O’Brien said. “I’m talking about empires and unions and hegemonies.”

  “Don’t forget alliances,” Nog said, doubtless speaking of his Ferengi origins.

  “And alliances,” O’Brien said.

  “Well, it is an impressive assemblage of power,” Julian conceded. “Nog, have you gotten to see your father yet?”

  “For a little while last night,” Nog said. “I visited him and Leeta and my little sister aboard their ship.”

  “Half sister,” Julian corrected.

  “What?” Nog asked.

  “Bena’s your half sister,” Julian said.

  “How could I possibly have half a sister?” Nog asked, clearly incredulous.

  “Rom is your father,” Julian explained, “and he’s also Bena’s father—”

  “Right,” Nog interrupted. “So Bena’s my sister.”

  “But you two have different mothers,” Julian forged ahead, “so you’re half siblings.”

  “How can anybody have half a sibling?” Nog insisted, but O’Brien thought from the spark in his eye that he must be giving the doctor a hard time for his own amusement. “Hew-mons,” Nog said, rolling his eyes. When Julian turned to look at Sarina, the Ferengi gave O’Brien a wink.

  Over the next few minutes, the theater filled almost to capacity. With so many Starfleet personnel clad in their white dress uniforms, O’Brien thought that Nog had it right: it looked as though it had snowed inside the auditorium. At thirteen hundred hours precisely—Nog held up a padd and showed O’Brien the time—the doors at the back of the house closed. The murmur of hushed conversation faded, and a few seconds later, so did the overhead lighting, leaving only the stage illuminated. The regal strains of the “Anthem of the United Federation of Planets” began, and the audience rose almost as one.

  During the instrumental song, the curtains parted and withdrew into the wings, revealing a backdrop that featured a view of the new Deep Space 9 taken from space, from “above” the starbase. The Hub, at the intersection of the two vertical rings, drew O’Brien’s attention first, which then led him to examine the transparent bulkhead surrounding the Observation Gallery just below it. The wide horizontal x-ring curved around the main sphere, helping to highlight the residential level and the Plaza at the equator. The clear, semicircular bulkhead set above the Plaza dominated the scene, though, revealing the great, green expanse of the station’s park.

  A metal podium stood at the front center of the stage, the Starfleet emblem emblazoned in blue on it. As the anthem neared its conclusion, a lone figure strode onto the stage from the right. She stopped behind the podium.

  When the music ended, the audience returned to their seats. Captain Ro looked out into the theater and said, “Honored guests, Starfleet personnel, and residents, thank you all for coming this afternoon.” An audio pickup captured her words and delivered them not only to the people present, O’Brien knew, but also to the members of the crew still on duty throughout the station. “Welcome,” Ro went on, “to the new Deep Space Nine.”

  Once more, everybody in the auditorium stood. O’Brien began to clap, but not alone. The audience delivered a thunderous ovation.

  • • •

  Nan Bacco stood in the wings of the theater, just offstage, as her fellow political leaders prepared to march out to address the crew of the grand new Starfleet facility that she had come to help dedicate. Her chief of staff, Ashanté Phiri, had urged the president to watch the proceedings on a viewscreen, from a room behind the scenes, until her time came to speak. The head of Bacco’s protection detail, Magdalena Ferson, offered the same counsel.

  The president had refused. She recalled that nineteenth-century statesman Otto von Bismarck once famously declared that politics is the art of the possible, a maxim that highlighted the difficulties of achieving anything significant within that arena. And yet on the new Deep Space 9, former and current enemies had come together in the spirit of goodwill: Cardassians in an alliance with Bajor. Klingons similarly aligned with humans. The Ferengi joining forces with anybody.

  The leaders of the Gorn Hegemony and the Romulan Star Empire had come too—allied with each other, but not with any of the other powers present. Not yet, anyway, Bacco thought, ever hopeful. Despite all that had happened between the Federation and the Typhon Pact over the prior few years, the president had actually had meaningful, even substantive, conversations with both Sozzerozs and Gell Kamemor. For friendships to form, though, they had to begin somewhere—something had to make friendship possible, and the participation of the Gorn and the Romulans in the dedication ceremony marked another step on that diplomatic journey.

  No, I wasn’t about to sequester myself away from all this, Bacco thought. She wanted to watch the speeches live, wanted to hear the words as they were spoken and not after they’d been transmitted to her secondhand. She wanted to feel the reaction of the audience.

  After Ro Laren’s introduction—the captain exited through the wings and surreptitiously took a seat in the front row of the auditorium—the grand nagus of the Ferengi Alliance took the stage, the podium automatically adjusting to his smaller height. He related the story of the years he’d spent on the first Deep Space 9. Bacco didn’t know until Rom revealed it, but he had lived on the station under Cardassian rule as long as he had during the Federation’s tenure there. He raised his son, Nog, on Terok Nor and DS9, from the time the boy had been ten until he became the first Ferengi ever to join Starfleet. In what the president considered an amazing happenstance, Lieutenant Commander Nog had been instrumental in helping plan and build the new starbase, and he presently served as its assistant chief engineer.

  Although he spoke in a looping, halting cadence, it seemed to Bacco that the grand nagus tied the new station to the old in a meaningful way. “There is, uh, real value in overcoming obstacles and moving forward, uh, especially in challenging times,” Rom said. “The people of Bajor and, uh, the Federation suffered a terrible blow when the original Deep Space Nine was destroyed and all those lives were lost. But they have, uh, persevered to build this new station, reaching beyond the, uh, adversity of the past to the, uh, hope of the future. I think that’s an example of considerable worth.”

  And who better to talk about value and worth than a Ferengi, Bacco thought—especially with all of the reforms the grand nagus had introduced into his society in the nearly ten years he’d been in office. Rom lacked poise and a smooth delivery, but his words connected with the Federation president. Defeats great and small happened all the time, the nagus seemed to say, but the measure of an individual, of a civilization, came not in the defeat itself, but in how they responded to it. The nagus left the stage to a warm reaction from the audience.

  Filling in for Castellan Rakena Garan, Lustrate Enevek Vorat followed Rom at the podium. Bacco believed that of all the participants in the event, Vorat faced the most difficult task—even more so than Praetor Kamemor, despite that a R
omulan starship had been involved in the final attack on the original DS9. Though not the head of the Cardassian government, but its second highest official, the lustrate still represented a society that had oppressed the Bajorans for half a century, whose construction and operation of Terok Nor had long stood as an emblem of occupation and slavery. For him or any Cardassian to refer to that space station in any way in front of Bajorans seemed problematic at best, and potentially a political minefield.

  The president didn’t know if Vorat delivered the same address that Castellan Garan had intended to give, but without seeming as though he intended to do so, he elegantly avoided the trap of invoking Terok Nor, even inadvertently, as a symbol of the Occupation. He spoke instead of the power of forgiveness, pointing out that the leaders of two Typhon Pact nations had been welcomed to the new starbase even after the crews of Typhon Pact starships—rogue though they had been—had destroyed the first Deep Space 9. The lustrate did not need to explicitly point out that a Cardassian had been invited to express those sentiments on a Federation space station in the Bajoran system, yet another act of absolution. Emphasizing the delicate nature of his comments, Vorat spoke for only a short time—notable, Bacco thought, considering how much Cardassians loved to orate, seemingly on any subject, at any time.

  It disappointed the president that Castellan Garan had been unable to stay on Deep Space 9 for the ceremony or to visit Bajor. Although Cardassia had entered the Khitomer Accords almost three years earlier, and Bajor had been a member planet of the Federation for nine, the relationship between the two worlds remained fragile. Bacco believed that a sitting castellan visiting Ashalla as a guest of a sitting first minister could go a long way in fortifying that connection.

  Garan had sent the president a transmission aboard Aventine, informing her of the change in plans. The castellan did not say so outright, but Bacco read the subtext in her words and realized that Garan faced political trouble at home. The advent of Cardassia First, yet another pro-Cardassian, anti-the-rest-of-the-galaxy faction, imperiled not only the castellan’s upcoming bid for reelection, but also the Union’s membership in the Khitomer Accords. Fortunately, the president had already dispatched Captain Picard and Enterprise to Cardassia to assist in treaty negotiations relating to Starfleet personnel left stationed there after the Dominion War. Picard would read the situation and react accordingly, while Bacco, once she had finished with the DS9 dedication, would board Aventine and travel to Cardassia herself.

  Praetor Kamemor spoke after Lustrate Vorat, focusing on the generous spirit embodied by the Federation’s gesture in inviting the Romulan Star Empire to take part in the ceremony. Klingon Chancellor Martok predictably championed the view of the original Deep Space 9 as a citadel from which magnificent battles had been launched and glorious victories won. Gorn Imperator Sozzerozs hissed his way through a speech that proclaimed admiration for the fierce determination that Bajor and the Federation had shown in not permitting others to dictate their paths, instead making their own choices and letting nothing stand in their way.

  On his way from the stage, amid a round of generous applause, Sozzerozs stopped beside the president. He peered at her with his silver, faceted eyes, then back at the podium where he had just spoken. When he looked at her again, he said, in the sibilance of his native tongue, “Double.” Bacco laughed aloud, grateful that the audience’s clapping would hide her reaction. She certainly had not expected the Gorn leader to make a reference to baseball, a sport that few humans even knew about, and that puzzled most of the ones who did.

  “Not at all, Imperator,” Bacco said. “I think you hit a home run.” Sozzerozs laughed in return, though it sounded to the president more like a rasping snake warning away another animal.

  The final orator before Bacco, First Minister Asarem Wadeen walked out to the loudest applause of the afternoon—understandable, since a fair percentage of the Deep Space 9 crew hailed from Bajor. When the clapping ultimately subsided, Asarem gazed out over the assemblage and spoke in a bright, high voice that exposed her gifts as a political leader. “To all of our invited guests, to the crew and residents of this wondrous starbase, to the men and women who envisioned, championed, designed, and constructed this new Deep Space Nine, thank you.

  “As I weighted just what I wanted to say to all of you here today,” the first minister continued, “so many thoughts rose in my mind. I tried to focus, I made notes, but when I searched for coherence, I could find only one truth about how this day and how this event have impacted me. I am overwhelmed.”

  Bacco wondered if Asarem meant that, or if she had simply sought out some rhetorical flair.

  “I am overwhelmed by the memory of the first space station that floated in space in this location, and that prior to that had hung in orbit over Bajor,” Asarem went on. “That facility was built not to be a starbase—and most certainly not to be an open starbase—but as a place to process ore. Ore that had been quarried from the ground by an oppressed people . . . an enslaved people. Ore covered not only with the remnants of the soil from which it came, but with the blood that had seeped from the hands of those who’d mined it.”

  The president noted that Asarem had studiously avoided using the name Terok Nor or mentioning the Cardassians.

  “I am overwhelmed that the people forced to dredge up and process that ore—my people—fought and clawed and eventually threw off their shackles, an act of strength and bravery that stands against any other in the galaxy.

  “I am overwhelmed that even as the people of Bajor rose tall in their newfound freedom, they demonstrated still greater strength by being willing to ask for aid.

  “I am overwhelmed that the United Federation of Planets provided us that aid, that they partnered with us, and in so doing, helped turn a dark symbol of our long oppression into a beacon of enlightenment and hope.”

  Again, Asarem did not name either Terok Nor or the Cardassians.

  “I am overwhelmed that the destruction of that reinvented symbol, and the taking of so many precious lives, did not deter the people of Bajor or the Federation from moving forward . . . did not prevent us from exercising our compassion and forgiveness . . . did not stop us from demonstrating our fortitude by avowing that in defeat, we would find victory, not in the destruction of others, but in the reclamation of ourselves.

  “I am overwhelmed that President Bacco—” The president listened with such rapt attention that when she heard her name, it startled her. “—and Chancellor Martok and Grand Nagus Rom have come here to exhibit their support for Bajor. I am overwhelmed that Castellan Garan came here to do the same, and, although circumstances pulled her away from this event, that Lustrate Vorat arrived in her stead to represent Cardassia.

  “I am overwhelmed that in addition to the presence of allies, we are here with people we have historically regarded as enemies. But as the castellan and the lustrate have shown, a foe one day can become a friend the next. I am overwhelmed to see Praetor Kamemor and Imperator Sozzerozs here, and I relish the reality that where we once met on the field of battle, we now meet in peace, and I cling to the hope that we can sustain that beyond today and far into the future.

  “And in addition to all of that, I am overwhelmed by this spectacular starbase—by the physical nature of it, with its great park and this beautiful theater, with its soon to be busy Plaza and its splendid residences, with its capacious spaces for people and cargo. But I am also overwhelmed by the intangibles of this new Deep Space Nine—by its ambition and intention, to replace what came before with something better, to open its doors wide to weary travelers, and to create a new symbol of our joyous present and our hopeful future.

  “I am overwhelmed . . . and I am grateful to all the people who have contributed to make me feel that way.” Asarem took a step back from the podium. “Thank you.”

  As the first minister strode toward the wings, the applause did not begin slowly and build; it started at full volume and crashed down on the stage like an avalanche of sound. T
hough she could not see the audience from her vantage, Bacco could tell that every person in the auditorium had risen to their feet as they brought their hands together in appreciation of Asarem Wadeen and the remarks she had made.

  “Ashanté?” Bacco said, but already her chief of staff had moved to stand in front of her. Phiri looked at her from close range, then took two steps back and inspected her appearance once more. The president couldn’t prevent herself from peering down at the outfit she wore—a simple, sophisticated, pale-blue dress—and then gazing over at her chief of staff for approval. Not that Phiri could tell me at this point that I should have worn something else.

  “You look good, ma’am,” pronounced Phiri. “Very presidential.”

  Bacco laughed. The appraisal had become a private joke. No matter the circumstances or how Bacco looked, felt, or sounded, her chief of staff would, if she felt it necessary, lighten the mood by asserting that the president was indeed “very presidential.”

  “Thank you, Ashanté.” Boy, Bacco thought, Esperanza taught her well. The memory of her late friend caused a moment of sadness, but the president pushed it away. Esperanza also taught me well.

  When the first minister reached the wings, Bacco told her, “Next time, we compare speeches ahead of time.” Asarem looked at her with a perplexed expression, and the president explained her meaning by way of a question: “How am I supposed to make an impression after that?”

  The first minister smiled—a home-field–advantage sort of a smile, Bacco thought. “Good luck,” Asarem said. The president knew that, although exceedingly important to Starfleet and the Federation, Deep Space 9 in many ways meant even more to the people of Bajor. It would not bother her at all to be upstaged by the first minister.

  “Thank you,” Bacco said. She stepped to the edge of the wings. She waited just a moment, until the ovation for Asarem had begun to fade, then walked out onto the stage and strode toward the podium.