Текст книги "Twilight "

Автор книги: David George

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

24

The door chime signaled, and Kira looked up from a padd to see Admiral Akaar outside her office. “Come in,” she said flatly. Although pleased that the meeting she had requested three days ago would at last take place, she did not feel particularly happy about having to deal again with the laconic and disobliging admiral. This time, though, she vowed that she would wrest some answers from him.

The doors parted, momentarily allowing the bustle of ops to enter along with Akaar, then shut behind him with a click, isolating her office once more. She put the padd down and opened a hand in the direction of the chairs in front of her desk. “Please, Admiral,” she said. “Have a seat.” She walked out from behind her desk and over to the replicator. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

As he sat, Kira noticed a padd in his left hand, its display dark. “No, thank you,” he said, and she thought she detected a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

Of course,Kira thought. This is my office, my territory, and I’m in control.Even something as simple as offering food demonstrated that, she knew. It had not escaped her notice that for her first meeting with Akaar, he had insisted that they use a conference room aboard Mjolnir.Since then, he had been to her office one other time, to bid farewell to Commander Vaughn. Her only other contact with him had been via companel, when she had attempted to learn more about his—and Councillor zh’Thane’s—continued presence on the station, which was when she had requested this meeting.

Kira had not intended to get anything for herself from the replicator, but now she decided otherwise, wanting to maintain every small measure of control over this meeting that she could. She turned away from the admiral and ordered a raktajino.The replicator brightened and hummed, a mug materializing on the shelf in a haze of illumination. The hearty scent of the steaming liquid immediately floated through the room. Kira wrapped an index finger through the handle of the mug and lifted it to her lips. She imagined Akaar seething behind her at her deliberate movements, but when she turned and walked back to her desk, his face remained impassive. He had put his padd on the edge of her desk, she saw.

“So—” Kira said as she set the mug down and sat in her chair, but the admiral interrupted almost before the word had even left her mouth.

“Colonel,” he said, “it has come to my attention that, in the past two years, the Federation has provided Bajor with a number of large and mid-scale industrial replicators. Would you please detail for me the uses to which they have been put?” As had happened during their first meeting, Kira found the admiral’s inquiry more like an order.

“Well,” she finally said, “I’m aware that two of the large replicators are in use at the Bajoran shipyards.” And as quickly as that, she realized, Akaar had seized control of the meeting. She peered down at the cool, reflective surface of her desk, at the inverted image of the admiral between her padd and the mug of raktajino,and she thought it fortunate that no weapon happened to be lying within arm’s reach at the moment, or she might not have been able to resist the temptation to use it.

“Two?” he asked. “Do you believe that is a sufficient number to support military readiness for Bajor?”

Kira felt as though a warning shot had been fired across her bow. These questions followed in the same vein as those Akaar had asked when he had first arrived at the station, implicitly impugning the Bajoran government, and perhaps even the Bajoran people. “Forgive me, Admiral,” she said, striving to retain some measure of diplomacy, “but isn’t this information available to you from other sources than me?” She resisted her inclination to further suggest that Akaar had already acquired the data he now purported to seek from her.

“Regardless, Colonel,” Akaar said, “does that mean that you cannot—or will not—answer my questions?”

A surge of energy coursed through Kira’s body along with the anger rising in her. She felt the need to get up and move about her office as a means of dispersing her frustration. Such an action, though, would likely cede even more control over the meeting to Akaar. Instead, she reached up and rested her arms atop her desk.

“I can answer your question, Admiral, and I will,” she told him. “But I’m the one who asked you here.” Three days ago,she added to herself, and then it occurred to her that his meeting had nothing at all to do with her request to see Akaar; it was taking place now only because hewanted to see her.

“Of course, if you are not comfortable discussing your people…” the admiral said, as though Kira had not spoken at all. He allowed his thought to remain unfinished.

“Not at all,” Kira responded, with what she took to be just a little too much detachment to be completely convincing. She worked the console on her desk, accessing the latest reports she had regarding Bajoran shipbuilding. “There is a third large-scale IR in use at the shipyards, as well as two mid-scale units,” she said.

The admiral nodded almost imperceptibly. “Do you think Bajor is committed to its own defense right now?”

“Of course it is,” Kira said, her voice rising. “The common defense is one of the central foundations of our government. But I don’t care how many replicators the Federation has provided, they’re still spread pretty thinly across Bajor. If you’re implying that there is some other—”

“I am implying nothing,” Akaar said calmly. “I only wish to know if you believe that Bajor is prepared to stand on its own.”

“I believe that’s what I said, Admiral,” she told him, and she could hear her anger slipping into her voice.

“And what are your reasons for believing that?” he asked.

Kira brought her hands down flat on the surface of her desk, spread wide, fighting the urge to push herself up out of her chair and stalk through the office. “You know what, Admiral?” she said. “I think maybe this is a conversation you’d be better off having with First Minister Shakaar or Minister of Defense Reydau.”

“I am having this conversation with you,” Akaar said, and for an instant, his eyes smoldered. Kira thought she saw anger there, but not just anger—something else that she somehow perceived had nothing at all to do with either her or Bajor. “Your people are widely regarded as spiritual, Colonel,” he went on, the look on his face gone so quickly that Kira wondered if she had imagined it. “Is it possible that your collective spirituality defines your society so much that it precludes developing a strong military infrastructure?”

“Admiral,” Kira said, taking her hands from atop the desk and dropping them onto the arms of her chair. “The number of replicators we choose to use in the shipyards can’t be used to characterize our dedication to defending Bajor. There are other needs: housing, roads, dams, power plants…” Kira did not appreciate having to defend her people. But she also believed in her people, and she took strength from that belief. “As a society, we must defend ourselves, but we’re also accountable for other responsibilities. And yes, our spirituality guides us along our collective path.”

“What about those not on the path?” Akaar asked.

Kira erupted, the oblique reference to the Attainder the final disrespect she was willing to take from this man. She slapped her hands onto the desktop and shot up out of her chair. “That’s it,” she said. “This meeting is over.”

Akaar looked at her, his eyes almost on a level with hers even though he remained seated. He wore his face like an empty mask. He did not move. “Colonel,” he said. “I am simply asking about your people, trying to learn about their ways of life, about who they are.”

“There’s been nothing simple about any of your questions, Admiral,” she said. “In the few times you’ve talked to me since your arrival, you’ve managed to question Bajor’s commitment to providing aid to Cardassia, our willingness to defend ourselves, our spirituality, the way I run this station, and now the Attainder.”

Akaar gradually stood up to his full and imposing height. Kira, at half a meter shorter, never took her gaze from his. She refused to be intimidated—not by his size, not by his rank, not by anything. “I was not making reference to your Attainder,” Akaar said, and Kira thought that maybe– maybe—his demeanor had melted a bit; had he perhaps perceived that he had crossed the line? “I am not here to pry into your personal life.”

“Why areyou here?” she demanded. Kira did not expect an answer, since none had been provided by the admiral during his time on the station, but this time, she actually received several.

“I am in the Bajoran system to meet with Councillor zh’Thane and Minister Shakaar,” Akaar said. “I am on Deep Space 9 to help preside over a summit. And I am in your office to inform you that, three days from now, a delegation from Bajor, and two from the United Federation of Planets, will be arriving on this station.”

“A summit?” Kira echoed. “Delegations.” Her mind spun back to her first meeting with Akaar, when she had guessed at the reason for his visit. “Does this have to do with Bajor being admitted to the Federation?” she asked. Again she did not expect the admiral to be forthcoming with information, and again he surprised her.

“It does,” he told her.

Although Kira had suspected that this event sat poised on the horizon, the confirmation still knocked the wind out of her. She thought she had been prepared for this, but was she? And were her people? She slowly sat back down, feeling a bit dazed. Across from her, Akaar took his seat again as well. Questions formed in rapid-fire fashion in Kira’s mind, each leading directly to the next. Before she could decide which to ask first, though, the admiral answered the most important of them all.

“Several months ago,” he said, “Minister Shakaar officially requested the renewal of Bajor’s petition for membership.” Kira knew that had been the purpose of Shakaar’s visit to the Federation not long ago. “Pending this summit,” Akaar continued, “the renewed petition will either be approved or denied.”

“What happens if it’s denied?” Kira wanted to know.

“Bajor will be ineligible to reapply for membership for a period of no less than five years,” Akaar said. He picked up the padd he had brought with him and activated it. The device, almost hidden by his massive hands, blinked to life with a quiet sequence of quick, electronic tones. “In addition to Councillor zh’Thane and me, First Minister Shakaar will be attending, as well as the Trill and Alonis ambassadors to the Federation.” He worked the controls on the padd, then handed it across the desk to Kira. “This is a list of the staff members accompanying the two ambassadors and the minister,” he said. Kira took the padd and scanned its contents, reading through the list of names, orange letters displayed on a black background. “The summit will begin the day after the delegations arrive.”

Kira looked up from the padd. As the practical considerations of hosting such an event on the station occurred to her, the shock of learning what lay ahead in the next few days began to fade. “Obviously you’ll want to step up security while the ambassadors are on the station,” she said.

“Yes,” Akaar agreed. “Given the nature of the negotiations, though, I would like it to be handled in as low-profile a manner as possible.”

“Of course,” Kira said, finding it odd to suddenly be working withthe admiral, rather than feeling as though they were operating at cross-purposes. “Diplomats want to be safe, but they also don’t like to be smothered.”

“That is my experience as well,” the admiral said. “I do have a concern about the security arrangements, though.” So did Kira; she always did. Deep Space 9 was a big place that saw a lot of visitors, sitting as it did at the most important junction in the quadrant. Still, they had managed to keep the station secure for more than eight years, through far more difficult circumstances than they would be facing now. “Colonel,” Akaar went on, “do you think your chief of security will be capable of performing the tasks that will be required of her?”

“Of course,” Kira said at once. Her own reservations about Ro had been allayed both by the fine job she had been doing and by a general improvement in her attitude since being assigned here. “If I didn’t think Lieutenant Ro capable of doingthe job, then she wouldn’t still havethe job.”

“Of course,” Akaar said. “But do you have any doubts at all about her willingness to follow orders? Because I am inclined to replace her for this duty with Lieutenant Spillane, the security chief aboard Gryphon.”

“Are you asking me if I trustLieutenant Ro?” Kira asked, bewildered. She knew that Ro had experienced some troubles when she had served in Starfleet, and that she had eventually walked away from it completely, but Kira nevertheless found it stunning that a Starfleet admiral would question the woman’s integrity. “I don’t doubt Ro,” she said. “She’s been a valuable addition to my staff.” Kira considered whether or not to say more, to say the thought that had come to mind, and then decided that she would. “I’m sure she would even make a fine Starfleet officer.”

Akaar rose from his chair, apparently ready to end the meeting. “If Bajor is admitted to the Federation, Colonel,” he said, “then which members of the Bajoran Militia are offered positions in Starfleet will be decided on an individual basis.” For once, the admiral’s antagonistic implication did not seem directed toward Kira. “But you run this station, and so the personnel decisions are yours to make.” He started for the doors. “Good day, Colonel.”

Something occurred to Kira, though, and she stopped him with a word. “Admiral?” He turned back to her as the doors opened. The sounds of consoles and voices drifted into the office from ops. “Are matters of Bajoran faith, and our relief efforts to Cardassia, and our military capabilities—are those things relevant to Bajor’s admission to the Federation?”

“Everything Bajor does, everything Bajor is,”he proclaimed, “is relevant.” They regarded each other across the room, and then Kira stood, choosing to end the meeting by once again assuming a small measure of control.

“Thank you, Admiral,” she said, clearly dismissing him. Akaar turned and exited. She watched him go, thinking about her dealings with him, which she now viewed in a somewhat different light than she had for the past six weeks. His many questions now seemed understandable—though not necessarily reasonable—given the circumstances. To Kira, it now appeared that the admiral had been attempting to take Bajor’s pulse through her, a prospect she did not especially like, considering the Attainder and the recent tension in her professional relationship with the first minister. Still, as Kira reviewed all of Akaar’s pointed questions, she did not feel threatened, either for herself or for her people. Bajorans could stand up to any scrutiny. In the end, she felt certain that their renewed petition to join the Federation would be approved.

Kira sat back down. And as she thought about Bajor joining the Federation, she wondered, if he were here, what Captain Sisko would think.

25

Bashir approached the cabin he shared with Ezri, anxious to see her before she returned to duty later today. He always looked forward to the two of them spending time together, of course, but he was motivated now more by his concern for her. After the incident aboard Sagan,Ezri had stayed overnight in the medical bay, and then at Vaughn’s orders, had remained off-duty for the next two days—owing not to her physical injuries, but to allow her some time to cope with the death of Ensign Roness. Bashir had privately concurred with that decision, but Ezri had asked to take a shift today, and the commander had agreed—prematurely, Bashir feared. Ezri had been understandably despondent since the incident, and he worried about her adding to her own burden by resuming her duties too soon.

The door to the cabin opened with a low breath of air. As Bashir stepped across the threshold, he felt the tension in his body: the rigidity of his arms, the stiffness of his back, his hands clutched into fists. He willed himself to relax, not wanting to anticipate—and thus contribute to—any negative emotions that Ezri might be experiencing. When he had left for the medical bay this morning, she had still been asleep, and so he did not yet know how she was feeling today.

Inside their small quarters, Bashir was immediately pleased to see Ezri in her uniform, working at the companel, as though she had begun to move past the terrible sorrows of the past few days. Perhaps it would not be too early for her to return to duty, after all, he thought. “Hi,” he said, any remaining anxiety quickly draining from his body. “Are you ready for lunch?” But when Ezri turned toward him, he saw her eyes rimmed in red. Tension flooded through him once more, though he strived not to show it.

“Hi,” Ezri said, attempting to inject a lightness into her tone and manner that she very obviously did not feel. “Actually, I’m not really very hungry.”

Neither Ezri’s appearance nor her admission surprised Bashir; this was what he had expected. The loss of Roness had been difficult for Ezri, he knew, not least of all because her orders had led directly to the ensign’s death. “That’s all right,” he said, trying to deflect attention from her lack of appetite. “I’m not all that hungry myself.” As he looked at Ezri, he noted her pale complexion, as well as a slight puffiness below her eyes, both indications of her recent sleeplessness. She had awoken abruptly several times during the past two nights, and although she had not spoken of nightmares, Bashir felt certain that she had been visited by them. “What’re you doing?” he asked, pointing to a series of numbers and several blocks of text on the companel. He hoped to ease Ezri’s grief, at least for the moment, simply by behaving as though nothing were amiss.

“I’m just looking at the readings of the pulse,” she said, glancing around at the display. Bashir did not quite know what to make of that. Ezri was no scientist, and although several of Dax’s previous hosts had been, he doubted that she would be able to add anything to the crew’s research. “I’m not having much luck,” she added, confirming his thoughts. To this point, Bashir knew, Ensignch’Thane and his staff had been unable to identify the precise nature of the pulse, although the direction from which it had traveled had been evident. Defiantnow journeyed back along that path, Commander Vaughn hoping that the crew could find a means of ending the threat to the Vahni. Bashir felt the vibrations of the engines through the decking as the ship flew at warp.

He moved farther into the room, walking over to the lower of the room’s two beds and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “How are you feeling?” he asked, tapping at his shoulder. When Saganhad been struck by the lunar fragments, Ezri had suffered a hairline fracture of her left radius, and an anterior dislocation of her right sternoclavicular joint. Bashir had repaired and treated both injuries, and by now, any discomfort should have faded completely. But Ezri answered his question in a different way than he had asked it.

“Actually,” she said, “I’m feeling pretty down.” She switched off the companel, but continued sitting before it.

Bashir nodded, his heart heavy. “That’s completely understandable after what you’ve been through,” he said. He wanted to go to her and take her in his arms, but by remaining seated, Ezri seemed to indicate that she wanted something else from him right now besides comforting. “Maybe it would be a good idea to take another few days before you go back on duty,” he suggested to her.

“No,” Ezri said at once. “I have to go back to the bridge.”

“I know you feel that way,” Bashir said, “but you’ve been affected so deeply by what happened that—”

“I’m supposed to be affected,” she interrupted. “We’re all affected. I’m sure even Commander Vaughn has been having difficult moments since—” She hesitated only an instant before saying the words. “—since Gerda died.”

“Yes, of course,” Bashir said, supposing that she must be right: their small crew of forty—thirty-nine now—had all been hurt by the loss of one of their own. Vaughn had held a memorial yesterday, and there had been few dry eyes. Oddly enough, Ezri had managed not to cry at the service, even though she had wept back in their cabin both before and afterward. “We’re all affected,” Bashir went on, “but it’s obviously different for you; you were there.”

“I’m the first officer,” Ezri declared. “I have to return to duty.”

“Ezri,” he said, and now he did stand up. “The crew can get along without you for a few more days.”

“Without me,yes,” she agreed. “But not without their first officer. The position is my responsibility. I can’t let my personal situation, my emotions, paralyze me. I have professional obligations. The ship needs a first officer, and not somebody substituting in the position, but the person chosen for that duty.”

“I understand,” Bashir said. He took the few steps over to her and put a hand tenderly on her shoulder. “You need to take your mind off of what happened, and maybe even to prove to yourself that you can do the job.”

“No, that’s not it,” Ezri said, her voice rising. She stood, and Bashir let his hand fall from her shoulder. She paced past him, then turned to face him from the corner of the room. “This isn’t about my needs. It’s about my responsibilities.” She paused, looking down at the floor, and when she spoke again, her voice had quieted. “I feel horrible about Gerda. I wish she hadn’t died, and I suppose that if I could, I’d give up my life for hers. But I know that I did the right thing. The actions Gerda and I took, the orders I gave, saved so many lives down on the planet…I feel survivor’s guilt, but I don’t feel guilty for the command decisions I made.”

Bashir heard the words of a counselor in what Ezri was saying, and he wondered if she was helping herself with the truth, or hiding behind it. He worried that she might be overcompensating for her part in the loss of Roness. In fact, ever since Tiris Jast had been killed, Ezri had taken on more and more responsibilities, and Bashir could not help thinking now that so many of her actions in the last few months had been reactions to tragedy—as though, by assuming a position of leadership, she would be able to avert such disasters in the future.

“Even if you don’t feel responsible for Roness’s death,” he told her, “you still have emotions. You said yourself that you feel down, that you feel horrible.”

“Yes, I do feel that way,” Ezri said. “But I told you how I was feeling because I need to talk about it, not so that you can protect me.”

“It’s my job to protect you,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“As my lover,” Ezri asked, “or as the ship’s chief medical officer?”

“Both, I suppose.” As Defiant’s CMO, he had the authority to relieve Ezri—or anybody else—of their position, even over the objections of the captain. He had not considered invoking his power to keep Ezri from returning to duty, but if that became necessary…

“You don’t have to worry about me professionally,” Ezri said. “I have resources available to me to deal with the responsibilities of my position, resources that nobody else aboard has.”

Bashir understood the reality of that: eight other lifetimes of experiences, collected within the Dax symbiont. But Ezri was not any of the other of Dax’s hosts, and he believed that she had not even fully integrated all of their memories. Because of Jadzia’s presence and experiences while aboard DS9, Bashir had studied a great deal about Trill physiology, and he realized how difficult joining must have been—must still be—for Ezri, who had never trained for it. During the last eighteen months, he had witnessed firsthand the problems that she had experienced as she learned to exist as a joined being.

So yes, Ezri had resources, but Bashir was not convinced that she would be able to avail herself of them in a way that would help her right now. Dax’s previous hosts had memories of coping with loss, but they also had memories of feelingloss, and those might be recalled to Ezri now, perhaps even deepening her sorrow. Joining, Bashir knew, required a delicate balance even under the best circumstances, and he was not convinced that Ezri had yet achieved the equilibrium she would need to live out a healthy, joined life.

He said none of this to her, though, wanting neither to add to her troubles, nor to deny her the support she sought from him right now. Instead, he said, “All right,” agreeing not to address his concerns about her resuming her position as the ship’s first officer. He opened his arms, and she went to him. As he held her, she told him how she felt, about the tremendous emptiness and sadness she carried inside her, and about her guilt at having survived when Roness had not. Bashir listened, trying to provide her the support she needed.

But he also knew that he could not surrender his other concerns about Ezri. He would continue to be there for her, to give her guidance when she asked for it, and to help and love her through it all. But when she returned to duty, he would also watch her.

Watch, and worry.