Текст книги "Twilight "

Автор книги: David George

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

“I see,” Kira said, having to stifle a laugh. She tried to imagine a little girl or boy unmasking the imposing Jem’Hadar, and could not. “Well, there have been complaints from the child-care center and from Quark. Now, I’m not inclined to agree with just about anything Quark has to say, but Lieutenant Ro told me she witnessed a number of customers fleeing the bar when you appeared.”

“That is correct.”

“I think a lot of people still aren’t used to a Jem’Hadar soldier being on the station,” Kira said, “especially since we were attacked by some not that long ago. On top of that, though, I think maybe when you unshroud in front of them, it makes them feel as though you’re spying on them.”

“I am,” Taran’atar pointed out.

“Yes, but I mean they think that you’re going to hurt them,” Kira explained, “that you shrouded in order to sneak up on them and attack them.”

“I would not do that now,” Taran’atar said. Kira chose not to think about the implications of the word nowin his statement.

“I believe you,” Kira said. “But until the people of the station get used to you, I think maybe it’d be a good idea not to shroud when you’re observing them.”

“But it’s clear my presence can be disruptive,” Taran’atar said.

“At first, sure,” Kira agreed. “But that’s the point. You need to give these people the chance to grow accustomed to you, so your presence won’tbe disruptive.”

Taran’atar seemed to think about Kira’s words for a moment, and then he said, “Very well.”

“Thank you,” Kira said. “I’ll let you get back to your—” She glanced again at the mathematics filling the center of the room. “—training,” she finished. She headed for the door, the mathematical symbols dancing confusingly through her mind. Maybe before she went to her quarters, she thought, she would stop in the bar and get a drink.

31

Ezri watched the pulse leave the planet. The energy radiated outward from a point on the surface in a golden wave, an ephemeral trail fading behind it. As the planet rotated, the pulse swept across surrounding space in all directions. Eventually, it reached the world of the Vahni.

Ezri felt her heart pounding in her temples, louder in her head than the throbbing of the warp core behind her. After experiencing the effects of the pulse firsthand, she found it difficult to view the simulation and not revisit all that had happened—both on the Vahni world and on the shuttle. But I have to push those thoughts away,she told herself. It was one thing to indulge her feelings offduty, but right now she had work to do.

“So here’s what we’ve come up with,” Nog said. He stood next to Ezri at the primary console. His demeanor, typically rushed and animated when he discussed a potential solution for a problem, now seemed flat. Ezri had come down to engineering after Nog had informed her that he and his staff might have developed a defense against the pulse, but now she understood that, whatever they had developed, it did not satisfy the chief engineer. She reached up and rubbed the side of her forehead, tired after a long day; she had not been sleeping all that well recently.

Nog tapped at the controls on the console, and the display above it reset. At the center of the screen, near the blue circle that represented the planet below—and which should have been gray, Ezri thought—two green segments appeared, wedged together in a shallow Vpointing toward the planet. Nog pressed another touchpad, and the simulation reran. Again, the energy wave spread from a point on the surface of the planet, but this time the segments deflected a portion of it in other directions. Beyond the segments, a region devoid of the destructive energy extended all the way to the other blue circle, the one representing the world of the Vahni.

Ezri took her hand from the side of her head and pointed to the segments. “All right,” she said. “What is that?”

“It’s a pair of amplified, finely focused deflector fields,” Nog said. The concept did not seem to excite him.

“Amplified by what?” Ezri asked. “And focused by what?”

Nog worked the console again, and two schematics of Defiant,one lateral and one overhead, replaced the simulation on the screen. “We think we can tie warp power into the deflector grid,” Nog explained, still lacking the enthusiasm he usually demonstrated when discussing engineering matters. He indicated several points along what Ezri recognized as the warp-power backbone, presumably at points of intersection with the deflector grid, although her knowledge of the ship’s systems did not extend that far. “Then, if we defeat the surge protection, we can use the navigational deflector to project the strengthened fields.”

“Nog,” Ezri said, looking away from the display and over at the engineer, “you don’t sound particularly happy about this plan.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. The light from the display shined on his face, lending it a pale tint. “If we can even make these modifications work, then in the best case, the navigational deflector will be completely destroyed, and the warp drive might overload.”

“And if the warp drive overloads…” Ezri said, leaving the sentence dangling for Nog to finish.

“Then we’ll either be adrift,” he said, “or a fireball.”

Ezri looked again at the skeletal cutaways of the ship, trying to put Nog’s words into perspective. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “What you just told me is the best-case scenario?”

“Yes,” Nog said. He operated the controls once more, bringing the simulation back up on the display. “The modified deflector fields,” he said, resting the tip of his index finger on the green segments, “have to be generated from somewhere. Obviously, the safest place for Defiantto do that would be behind the fields.” He slid his finger off the segments, over to the area the pulse failed to penetrate.

“And if the fields don’t work, if they don’t redirect that portion of the pulse, then the pulse will strike Defiant,”she said, not needing to add that the ship could not survive such an event.

“Right,” Nog said.

“So what are the chances of this working?” she wanted to know.

He shrugged. “Three percent,” he said. “Maybe five. The problem is the enormous amount of energy in the pulse. And the fact that we don’t understand how it’s being generated.”

Ezri bit anxiously at her lower lip. Movement caught her attention, and she peered to her right to see another engineer, Tariq Rahim, working at a console. Looking back at Nog, she asked, “How long would you need to set this up?”

“Ten hours,” he said.

“So if we decided to try this,” Ezri said, thinking aloud, “you’d have to begin the modifications about two days from now.” And if Commander Vaughn had not returned to the ship by that time, then Ezri would have to measure a three-percent chance of saving four billion Vahni against a ninety-seven-percent chance of losing the Defiantcrew. “All right,” she said. “See if you can get us something with better odds.”

“Aye, sir,” Nog said, and she could hear weariness in his voice. He had been working to find a means of stopping the pulse almost since the moment it had destroyed the Vahni moon.

“And make sure you get to bed before too long,” Ezri told him. “You’re not going to solve anything if you’re falling asleep on the job.”

“Aye, sir,” Nog said again, offering her a weak, but seemingly genuine, smile. “I just want to try one more thing with this simulation,” he said, pointing to the display. Ezri looked in that direction just in time to see the entire console go dark.

“What—” she started, looking back up, but she stopped when she saw two other stations wink out across the room. Nog stabbed at the controls, but nothing happened. Ezri saw Rahim making the same attempts at the other dead consoles.

Nog dropped to his knees and pulled an access panel free. Ezri squatted down beside him. Nog set the panel aside, leaning it against the bulkhead, then peered in and examined a complex clutch of optic fibers, isolinear chips, and other equipment. Ezri wanted to ask questions, but she knew that Nog would tell her what had happened once he had figured it out himself. He reached inside and checked several connections. When he withdrew his hand, he said, “We’ve lost an engineering circuit.”

“Shouldn’t the backup take over?” Ezri asked.

“It should,” Nog said. He looked over at Rahim, who was still trying the controls on one of the other dead consoles. “Tariq,” Nog said, “I need a spanner.”

“Yes, sir,” Rahim said. The crewman reached over to an open case on an adjoining console, pulled out a tool, then brought it over to Nog. “Here you go,” he said, handing the spanner to Nog.

“Thanks,” Nog said. He switched the tool on, then inserted it carefully into the access port. In almost no time at all, the console sparked back to life. Ezri peered across the room and saw the other consoles still dark. “The main circuit shut down,” Nog said, “but for some reason, the power didn’t shunt to the secondary.”

“Why not?” Ezri asked. “And why did the main circuit shut down?”

“I don’t know,” Nog said. He grabbed the access plate and set it back in place, the magnetic locks sealing with a clank. “All I did,” he said as he stood up, “was to manually switch over to the backup circuit.” He handed the spanner back to Rahim, and said, “See if you can do the same for the other consoles.”

“Yes, sir,” Rahim said. He took the tool and started back across the room.

“It’s probably just a bad monitor or a bad switch,” Nog said. “I’ll get somebody to track the main circuit and see what happened.”

“All right. Let me know what they find,” Ezri said. She headed for the door, which slid open before her. Before she left engineering, though, she turned back toward Nog. “Just make sure it’s not you crawling around the Jefferies tubes all night,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

“I will,” Nog said, and this time his smile was wider.

Ezri stepped out into the corridor and made her way to the nearest turbolift. As the car rose on its short journey from deck two to deck one, she rubbed at her eyes, exhaustion setting in. Still, tired as she felt, she hoped to find Julian awake. She needed to sleep, but she needed—and wanted—his company first.

She turned out of the lift into the main starboard corridor, walking toward the bow of the ship and the cabin she shared with Julian. The dim, night lighting here, a vivid contrast to the bright lights of engineering, reinforced her fatigue. As she passed the short corridor on her left that led to the bridge, she briefly considered and then quickly rejected the idea of stopping in to get a status from Lieutenant Bowers; the ship’s second officer knew his job.

Then, as though her thought had summoned him, the voice of Bowers came over the comm system. “Bowers to Dax.”

She tapped her combadge. “Go ahead.” She stopped walking, waiting to hear what the lieutenant wanted before continuing to her cabin.

“I thought you should know that we just detected a hull breach,”he said.

“How bad is it?” she asked, feeling immediately and fully awake, as though a glass of cold water had been thrown in her face. She turned back toward the hall leading to the bridge.

“It’s just a few square centimeters,”Bowers said, “and the force fields are having no problem containing it.”He seemed serious, but not hurried or upset, which she took as a positive sign.

“Do you know what caused it?” Ezri asked.

“Not for sure,”Bowers said, “but it’s on the bottom of the ship, aft, so we think it might have started whenDefiant was struck by the discharge from the atmosphere. There is an energy reading at that spot on the hull.”

That made sense, Ezri thought. “Have you scanned the exterior of the ship for any other energy readings?” she asked.

“A cursory scan showed nothing,”Bowers said. “We’re now conducting a more rigorous search. I’ve also sent a team down to repair the breach.”

“Good,” Ezri said. “Check with engineering too. They just had a main circuit shut down. The backup’s online now, but see if that problem’s related to the breach.”

“I’ll do that,”Bowers said.

Ezri took a beat, thinking about the writhing cloud cover below them, suffused with energy, and the possibility that it had somehow reached out and punched a hole through the hull of Defiant.“And take the ship to a higher orbit,” she told Bowers. “Let’s not stay any closer to the planet than we need to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything else, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“No, sir.”

“All right. Thanks for the update,” she said. “Dax out.” She pressed her combadge, deactivating it. She again contemplated going to the bridge, but the ship was in good hands. More than that, part of being an effective command officer meant knowing her own limitations, and though she no longer felt tired, she knew she nevertheless needed to rest. She only hoped that she would not dream again of her time on the shuttle.

32

Ro Laren ambled up to the security office doors. Surrounded by the quiet shadows of the early morning, she stopped and peered into the dark, empty office. After a few moments, she stepped back and eyed the access panel, but despite the sizable number of security measures remaining to be implemented between now and tomorrow—when the Bajoran and Federation delegations would arrive on the station—she realized that she had not come down to the Promenade for that purpose. With the morning shift change and the start of her day still more than an hour away, work was the furthest thing from her mind.

Except that’s not true,she thought. Almost all she had been able to think about during the last day and a half had been her position as Deep Space 9’s chief of security.

Ro turned away from the office and began strolling along the Promenade. She considered bringing the lights up—after all, she knew the security codes that would allow her to do so—but she decided against it. She found right now that she liked the dim illumination and the silence; they allowed her to feel a sense of tranquillity.

Except that’s not true either,she scolded herself. The thoughts that had troubled her for much of last night—and for yesterday and the night before that—had not brought her anything even resembling peace. When Kira had informed her the night before last of the upcoming summit, and of the realistic possibility that Bajor might soon join the Federation, Ro had essentially tried not to think about it. She had instead attempted to concentrate on her duties, even during her off-hours, busily preparing the station, her staff, and herself for the enhanced security requirements. Still, her own personal concerns had continued to intrude into her thoughts.

Ro yawned as she passed the Replimat and the florist to her left, and the assay office and an empty storefront—formerly Garak’s tailor shop, she had been told—to her right. She had gotten little sleep last night, probably no more than a couple of hours, and it had been her restlessness that had sent her out of her quarters so early this morning. Even as she had tried to push it away, the prospect of Bajor entering the Federation had unsettled her. If it happened, she knew, then the Bajoran Militia would no doubt be rolled up into Starfleet. She had absolutely no idea whether or not she would be offered a position—although if Akaar’s presence on the station indicated anything, then she supposed she would be fortunate not to end up reinstated and then tossed in the brig. Even if she was invited to rejoin Starfleet, though, she did not know if signing up for another tour would be such a good idea—either for her or for Starfleet. If nothing else, her stints aboard Wellingtonand Enterprisehad demonstrated her difficulties fitting in to a command hierarchy and following orders.

Which is why you’re in the Bajoran Militia now, right?Ro thought, chuckling aloud. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the inanity of it all. She had moved around a great deal during her adult life—even within Starfleet—and yet she had never managed to find a place where she felt that she belonged.

Except maybe here,she allowed. Unexpectedly, she had grown to like this place. And she did not want to have to leave it.

As Ro walked by the hair salon, she reminded herself that she needed to make an appointment soon; her straight black hair had grown uncomfortably long, reaching past the tops of her shoulders. The ordinary nature of the thought provided an odd counterpoint to her anxieties about Bajor joining the Federation, and about the uncertainty of her near future. If she had been asked several months ago, back when the Bajoran Militia had assigned her to DS9, if she thought that she would ever feel comfortable on the station—a facility with a significant Starfleet presence—let alone want to stay here, she probably would have laughed. At that time, her expectations had been that, before long, she would end up either resigning from the Militia or being expelled from it.

And yet, despite her negative outlook back then, the situation had begun to work out here. After a tentative beginning, Ro had settled into her job, and what had started as a rocky relationship with the station’s commander had mellowed into something far less problematic. She had also made friends here, spending time with Nog and Shar—two young and distinctly unusual Starfleet officers—as well as with Hatram Nabir, a seamstress who had opened up a shop on the Promenade not long after Ro had arrived here. For that matter, she had even developed some sort of a positive rapport with Taran’atar. She still shied away from socializing in large groups, but she found that the geography of the station, as well as its immense size, allowed her the opportunity to be as social or as private as she wished—far more so than did living aboard a starship. She even seemed to feel a sense of home here, although her lack of familiarity with the sentiment made such a characterization suspect.

In reality, Ro thought, she had lived an almost hermitic existence, at least in terms of relationships. She had not isolated herself from people, but she had completely contained her positive emotions for a very long time. As a result, people had come and gone from her adult life with dizzying rapidity—a pattern that echoed the events of her childhood, she knew, although she never liked to explore such thoughts or memories for too long. She had tried a few times to come to terms with what she had experienced in her youth, even once seeking out a counselor when she had been in Starfleet, but she had found herself not yet ready to deal with such matters.

I’m probably still not ready,she thought, though without bitterness.

Ro passed Hatram’s shop, and up ahead, the security office slipped back into view along the circumference of the Promenade. She supposed she would begin her workday now after all. As much thinking as she had done during the past day and a half, she really did not like to analyze things too closely or for too long. All she needed to know right now was that, given a choice—something she believed unlikely—she would opt not to leave this place or these people just yet. It seemed somehow cruel to her that she would finally find a place where she felt like she fit in, and then be forced from that place; it also seemed perfectly in keeping with her tumultuous life.

During Ro’s trip around the Promenade, the level of light had risen, on its way toward full illumination for the simulated daytime hours on the station. As she neared her office, she tried to blank her mind, and when that failed, she started running down the list of security measures she and her staff would need to address today. Before she reached her office, though, she stopped. To her left sat the entrance to Quark’s.

Feeling a pang of disappointment that the bar was closed—even though all of the establishments on the Promenade were closed at this time of day—she realized that she had come down here so early for the opportunity to see and talk with Quark. Of course, she could not reasonably have expected him to be here at this time of the morning; the bar would not open for a few hours, and he would likely not even be there at that time. Recently, she had noticed that he had assigned Treir to manage the morning and afternoon shifts, and Quark, as far as she knew, was not an early riser. Still, even given all that, she had felt the desire to talk with him—not specifically about what she might face in the coming days, since neither the upcoming summit nor the reason for it were public knowledge yet, but just to share his company. She had certainly enjoyed their many conversations over the past few months. He had hinted at wanting a romance with her, but she suspected that those hints amounted to little more than Quark’s roguishness. And yet he had been kind, even sweet, to her. Yes, he had some strange values—Ro had never really understood the desire to acquire material objects—but he had so far been a good friend to her. And he certainly knew how to listen.

With those ears,she joked to herself, how could he not be a good listener?She laughed aloud, the sound a lonely one on the empty Promenade. She would have to remember to mention her observation to Quark; she thought he would enjoy the humor.

Ro walked up to the doors of the bar and peeked inside, raising her hand to shield her eyes from the lighting overhead. The bar was empty. She shrugged, then stepped back and continued on down the Promenade to her office. Inside, she sat down at her desk and accessed her itinerary for the day. For the most part, her schedule consisted of various tasks related to the increased security for the summit. She also had another meeting with the colonel later this morning so that they could discuss all of the preparations. The day would be full, and by the time Ro finished working, she knew, Quark would be busy running the bar. She could visit him there, of course, but even though business had been slow lately, the bar was hardly conducive to having private conversations; Quark’s were not the only ears on the station.

Maybe I’ll try to see him after he shuts down the bar tonight,she thought. Or maybe not.