CHAPTER FIVE
“There ain’t no
good guy … there ain’t no bad guy …
There’s only you and me, and we just disagree.”
– Dave Mason
In the brief
span of days after the Cardassian withdrawal, but before the Federation had
arrived to pick up and sift through the pieces of Bajor that had yet remained,
a freshly-commissioned young officer, only days removed from slogging through
muck in the Marnad Swamplands with her resistance
cell, had taken over Gul Dukat’s
office overlooking Ops on Terok Nor. She’d
occupied it for all of 37 hours (and managed to anger just about everyone with
whom she’d interacted) before the designated Starfleet administrator, one
Commander Benjamin Lafayette Sisko, had arrived to
take over.
She had occupied it, briefly, yes … but had
realized only later that it had never, even for a
instant, been hers.
Kira had always felt … outsized by Sisko. Before either had learned he was the long hoped-for
and awaited Emissary of the Prophets, he had begun to assume command—despite
the fact that she had not, in her heart of hearts, really surrendered it: Such had been the man’s power and
presence. Kira had, of course, upon learning his
truest identity, immediately revered Sisko for his role
in her faith … and, almost against her will, had also grown over the ensuing
months and years to love him as a friend.
But she had
never felt herself his equal.
In her eyes,
even Dukat himself, monster though he’d been, had
seemed a better fit for the chair than she herself was, or would ever be. Sisko had been the benevolent king, Dukat
the tyrannical usurper … while Kira chronically felt
like an angry adolescent clambering into a chair that would always be much too
big for her.
Despite Dax’s exhortations and assurances, then and now, this was
Benjamin Sisko’s office—then, now … and forever.
The door
chime sounded, snapping her back to the here
and now. Outside stood Nog and his charge—one of her
favorite people, and one who … wasn’t.
Inwardly, Kira cursed. Despite herself, she’d allowed the appointment
to sneak up on her, perhaps because she’d been
dreading it since Shakaar had manipulated her into
accepting the commission.
Still, she’d
prepared doggedly, thoroughly, and was ready for him.
It, she
corrected. You’re ready for it. Your personal dislike of this man has nothing to do with your duty. Focus past it, on the
task at hand. If you can work side-by-side with Cardassians, then you can
certainly hold a civil tongue in your head while talking to this arrogant bas–
Stop that!
Nog, confused at the delay, finally
sounded the chime again.
She took a
deep breath … and exhaled around the word, “Enter.”
It hadn’t
been long enough for Luciano Mantovanni to have changed much at all ... and he
hadn’t: Darkly, severely handsome; his face still all
planes and angles; his personality, she wagered, still all points and edges.
The man, in her opinion, had all the charm of a thundercloud.
She forced a
smile which didn’t fool her guest for an instant. He offered the merest one in
reply—irritating because he was grinning not at her, but at her discomfort, and
they both knew it.
Nog, looking progressively more
uncomfortable by the second, finally essayed, “Colonel Kira
Nerys, commanding Deep
Space Nine … Captain Luciano Mantovanni, commanding the Federation starship
Kira came to the rescue with, “You can go,
Lieutenant.”
To his credit,
the Ferengi wasn’t so squirmy that he forgot the
military proprieties. He snapped to attention, said, “Colonel … Captain,” and only then
fled.
For an
instant, Mantovanni’s smile broadened; she read it as disdain.
“He’s a fine young officer,” she asserted—almost
insisted.
The
vestigial good humor fled, replaced by the customary guarded, hooded gaze. Mantovanni arched a brow.
“I’ll take
your word for it, Colonel.”
Damned right you will.
By unspoken
agreement, they skipped the niceties—mostly because neither was particularly
nice. She motioned him to a chair; and before he could even settle himself,
opened fire.
"So, Captain … you're the man Starfleet
picked to deal with ‘those Bajoran
zealots.’"
He didn’t
snap at the bait.
Instead,
Mantovanni wordlessly slid Kira one of the PADDs he’d carried into the meeting. From what she could
determine with a cursory glance, it contained some sort of fiscal calculation.
Her brow
furrowed.
"What’s
this, an aid offer?"
He folded
his arms.
"No.
"It’s
an invoice, itemizing the cost of training a Starfleet officer: Personnel …
materiel … housing … intangibles."
She almost
cringed: Whether expressed in Federation credits or gold-pressed latinum—the PADD had, of course, calculated both—it made
for quite a tidy sum.
Tone
doubtful, she observed, "That seems like a lot of money to train a group of cadets—even Starfleet cadets.”
If anything,
Mantovanni seemed amused at her comment.
A moment
later, she understood why.
"My apologies. Clearly
you’ve not had a great deal of experience with economics. You’ve misunderstood
the figure, Colonel.
"That’s
for one cadet."
Mantovanni
again touched at the PADD, and it recalculated.
“This is for all of them—well, all those
your government recalled from Starfleet
service, anyway.”
Now it made a twisted sense.
Kira read the revised figure … and
blanched. She did a quick calculation of her own, and figured that Bajor would
have to beggar its still-somewhat-depleted planetary treasury to meet this new
demand.
She turned a
glare on Mantovanni, and practically snarled, “You … the Federation …
can’t just arbitrarily decide to
impose a fee on us.”
“There’s
nothing arbitrary about it, Colonel.
“The
Federation hardly expects Bajor to give us a real-time report on its every last
activity,” he added. “But, typically, allies are afforded notice of decisions
like the formation of a new self-defense force—not to mention the sudden
impression of our officers."
Kira took the opening.
“Your officers, granted
… but, more importantly, our citizens. And no one, ultimately, was forced to do anything they didn't decide on for themselves."
Again he
brought that arched brow into play; she was starting to find the gesture extremely irritating.
“Your
definition of force leaves something to be desired, from where I sit.” He
leaned forward for emphasis. "Colonel, you
yourself threatened to send a squad of armed security aboard
Kira bristled, but held her
temper—especially since she herself hadn’t agreed with that course of action.
The
situation had been explosive: Some months ago, Bajor had completed construction
of its first warp-capable starship, the Emissary,
and in order to crew her with superlative officers and NCOs, the government had
instituted a mandatory recall of all its nationals serving in Starfleet.
Not every Bajoran had jumped for joy at the prospect. Some had
expressed reluctance, while others, like USS Argus’ helmsman Arkin Jora,
had openly balked, and fought the impressment with
every resource at their disposal.
They’d
fought … and lost. The Kai herself had declared the need to be a religious
duty, which had brought almost everyone, even
Arkin Jora,
though, had played the only card she had left, and renounced her Bajoran citizenship, thinking that would free her from the
requirement.
It did ...
but not without fateful, and terrifying, consequence.
"Arkin Jora’s is a sad case,
Captain,” Kira conceded. “But she herself chose to do what she did … and she paid
the price—a steep one, granted … but actions have consequences on Bajor, just as they do in Starfleet. She refused a
lawful order."
Mantovanni
chuckled harshly.
“No, Colonel. She cleverly circumvented a lawful order. Jora outmaneuvered Vedek Maral and his press gang, so he crushed her under the heel
of his ecclesiastical authority.
“He’s not
exactly a gracious loser, is he?”
In the
climactic confrontation, Maral, a ringleader of the
ultra-conservative faction in Bajor’s government, had
promised to perform the Ritual of Separation if Arkin
Jora renounced her citizenship—in essence
disintegrating her soul, and declaring her a non-being.
Utterly
isolated, the courageous Jora had defied him, holding
to her stance.
And Maral had executed his threat.
Kira herself had been appalled, and now,
couldn’t bring herself to defend what Maral had done
any further than she had.
Still, it
was only one shot in a larger war.
"Bajor
has a pressing need to establish its own professional self-defense force, so we can have some choices for a change.
We’re tired of relying on the generosity and forbearance of others. Surely the
Federation can understand that."
"I’d
say that one ship is a symbol … or a symptom."
Kira’s expression, and tone,
hardened.
"We’re building more ships."
Mantovanni
seized on that.
“‘Building’? From what
I’ve seen of the Bajoran orbital facilities, your
rate of production would leave the incipient Bajoran
Star Navy a little short when it came
to operational vessels.
“Don’t you
mean, ‘We’re having more ships built’?”
She chose,
much to her own disgust, a politician’s response.
"We’re
… exploring numerous options,
Captain. As to the rest … we'll have more officers ready as the ships are, of
course."
"Oh?
And who'll produce those? There’s no
This time,
she didn’t bother with an evasion.
“It’s coming,” Kira
murmured. "Captain Mantovanni, this service needs good officers to seed it, and we had to have every one
that was available. Perhaps if there had been more Bajorans in Starfleet, the
government could have taken the chance on some of them saying no."
"You’re
not selling that too convincingly, Colonel, and I'm not buying it. Had there
been more personnel available, I think a second ship would have been
constructed simultaneously, with the other officers ordered into, say, The BSNV
… Bareil."
Raw fury
erupted on Kira's face.
"Vedek Bareil was a close personal friend of mine. I’m warning you, don’t bring him into this."
For reasons
she couldn’t divine, Mantovanni nodded, and relented.
“My
apologies, Colonel, but I trust you see the course of my logic.”
She did,
entirely too well. Kira was beginning to realize that
patriotism and jingoism were two entirely different degrees of enthusiasm, and
that somewhere along the line over the last eight years she had gained the
status of patriot, and lost most of her illusions.
Her silence
permitted him to address another point.
“Let me ask
you, Colonel … just how long is this
term of service?”
Now she
abandoned all pretense of circumspection.
“I’ll level
with you, Captain. I don’t think any of these officers will ever return to
Starfleet service. Bajor’s need is far too great.”
Mantovanni
nodded. Clearly he’d more than suspected that.
"So we
should stop utilizing the word ‘impressment’–"
"I wish
you would."
"–and
start using the more accurate term—slavery."
Kira rocked back.
"What?"
He
deployed the eyebrow once more.
"An indefinite period of involuntary service, Colonel. Do you have a better definition?"
She tried to
convey her sympathy and sincerity.
"Captain
… it’s not like that. These officers
will be the elite. Many of them will
be captains and admirals well before
any of their classmates from Starfleet … and they’ll make the traditions. Don’t you see? The Starfleet influence
will pervade the upper echelons of our military, and create change from
within."
He
considered that for a moment, and Kira relaxed
minutely. She’d been on the defensive for almost the entire discussion; it was
nice to have made a valid point at long last.
The feeling
was transitory.
"And
how far off are those days of enlightenment, Colonel? Months?
Years? I’d say probably more like decades, considering
that the highest ranking Bajoran officer in Starfleet
history held the rank of lieutenant … and, as I recall, she betrayed the
Federation and defected to the Maquis at her first
opportunity.”
Kira bristled. She'd had some of these very
thoughts herself, and had attempted to present them—with limited success—to Bajoran authorities.
“And that
brings up another point,” he said. ”What about those Bajoran former Maquis serving
aboard Voyager?”
Voyager.
She’d heard
about the ship, stranded thousands of light years away in the Delta Quadrant. A significant portion of its crew were Maquis;
and a goodly number of those were Bajoran.
Kira almost dismissed the idea of
addressing it as absurd. They were, after all, still inconceivably far away.
She couldn’t, though. Voyager was a
Starfleet ship, after all; and if there was one thing Kira
had learned over the last eight years, it was that Starfleet officers found a
way … and she knew that, if they survived, these would find a way home much sooner than anyone thought.
Mantovanni
wasn’t through.
"Those
Bajorans are no doubt loyal to Bajor … but I wager their ideas about what Bajor should be won’t jive with Vedek Maral and his
neo-conservative cabal. In addition, they’re fiercely independent and distrustful
of centralized authority—with an established tendency to foment armed
opposition to that authority. It’s
not your ideal officer pool."
“No, it’s
not,” she admitted. “But the order stands. If Captain … Janeway…?” He nodded.
“If she can win and command their
loyalty, it’ll be far easier for the Kai to do so.”
Kira wished she were as sure as she
sounded.
Mantovanni
seemed to share the sentiment.
“Perhaps so.”
Suddenly,
her lack of sleep hit Kira like a phaser barrage. She
yawned hugely … and as she opened her eyes, caught the last of a smile
Mantovanni had briefly worn during her lapse. She colored in embarrassment,
brutally snuffing the burst of anger she felt at displaying weakness before
this man she so intensely disliked.
Stiffly, she
said, “My apologies. I think we should recess until tomorrow, Captain.”
He didn’t
give her the eyebrow this time. She thanked the Prophets for that, because
she’d have seriously considered slapping him.
"I have
no objection to that, Colonel,” he said, with surprising, and no doubt
synthetic, amiability. “But I do have one last question for today."
She sighed,
no longer caring at that point how it sounded.
"By all
means."
Kira felt his intensity jump a notch even
before he spoke, and found herself wondering if this was the first question
he’d decided to ask for himself, as
opposed to doing so for the Federation.
"You’re
the most combat-ready Bajoran on or above this
planet, Colonel. You've fought in the Resistance, engaged Klingons
hand-to-hand, infiltrated wartime Cardassia, and
commanded the Defiant. No offense
intended, but any number of officers or bureaucrats could administer this
station. Why aren't you, no pun
intended, commanding the Emissary?"
“I–”
Her desk’s
comm panel sounded, and she punched the control.
“What is it?”
“Colonel … Vedek Yahael
has come aboard the station. He’s here to see you and Ca– uh, is here to see
you.”
With
difficulty, Kira suppressed the growl building in her
throat.
“I’m not interested in dealing with that man right now. Tell the Vedek
I’m in a meeting, Lieutenant, and that he’ll have to contact me later.”
The
subsequent pause stretched uncomfortably.
“Uh… Colonel … Vedek Yahael
is standing next to me.”
This sigh
was more like explosive decompression.
This is not
happening.
Even the
inflexible Mantovanni suddenly looked sympathetic.
Feeling a
sense of inevitable, impending disaster, Kira slumped
back into that all-too-large chair.
“Well, then,
by all means–
“–send him in.”