CHAPTER ONE

 

 

“Me? Is there anything I can do for you? You're the one who's in trouble now.”

 

                               – Eleanor Roosevelt to Harry S. Truman, delivering the news of her husband's death

 

 

Kira Nerys scowled at her friend.

“You traveled into Dominion-held space, Julian. Those areas are off limits according to the terms of our peace treaty with the Founders. They could use what you did as an excuse to come pouring back through the Wormhole!

“What were you thinking?”

Bashir folded his arms—a superior stance he no doubt felt entirely justified assuming. The gesture wasn’t lost on Kira … and her expression hardened even before he answered.

“I had to return and help eradicate the plague inflicted on those poor people. The Founders aren’t doing anything about it, and they’re not going to, unless I miss my guess: To them, it’s an entirely legitimate chastisement.”

He finished with, “Nerys … I had to go.  I made a promise.”

With an effort, Kira measured a hint of conciliation and spooned it into her tone.

“Whether we like it or not, Julian, our promises don’t take priority over our orders.”

“Mine do. With all due respect, I answer to a higher authority, Kira: My Hippocratic Oath. I did the right thing. I’d do it again. Those poor people are my patients.”

She’d had enough.

“They were your patients,” Kira corrected him. “And you won’t do it again. You’re not to go anywhere near that system without my express permission; and I don’t plan on giving it—ever.

“As to what you’ve already done, I have to seriously consider a disciplinary hearing … and, whether that happens or not, I’m placing a permanent reprimand in your file.”

“What?!”

As the initial shock subsided, Bashir considered the repercussions of her statement and action. Knowing full well she didn’t idly threaten, he nevertheless asked, “Are you serious?”

Knowing that he knew she didn’t idly threaten, she nevertheless replied.

“I’m always serious.”

“But … that would move me to the bottom of the promotion list. It could be years before I see lieutenant commander!

“You can’t do that!”

Kira, as always, was blunt.

“You don’t deserve the rank.” She sighed, and shook her head. "I’m just not penetrating that genetically-enhanced skull of yours, am I, Julian? So long as you wear that uniform—for that matter, any uniform—you don’t get to decide that your personal morals take priority over the ethics of your service. Do something like this again, I guarantee you’ll be wearing prison coveralls. And it’ll be a Bajoran detention center, Julian—where you’re actually punished when you do something illegal.”

And there it was.

Bashir, for a moment, was stunned into silence—an all-too-brief silence, insofar as Kira was concerned. And when he hit back, the stroke did more damage than she would’ve thought possible.

“I was only doing what my dear friend Kira Nerys might have done. But I must admit, I don’t know about Colonel Kira.

“I don’t even know Colonel Kira!”

Said colonel indulged in a commander’s privilege of the final say.

“Until further notice, you’re restricted to quarters when not in the infirmary, Doctor.

“Dismissed.”

After he’d stormed out, Kira looked to the until-then-silent Dax.

 “How do you—why do you—put up with him? He must be even more like that in private.”

Ezri shrugged.

“What can I say? I’ve always loved children … and Julian’s always been like a bright child—the smartest one in the class, and he damned well knows it.”

Then, she smiled.

“Besides … are you really certain you have room to talk?”

Kira’s glare let them both know she hadn’t yet found any humor in the current situation.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“In a way, he’s what you used to be—the one running off and defying orders at the drop of a hat, ignoring such silly things as ‘paper’ treaties at will and whim. Oh, and let’s not forget offering strident, loud arguments based on feeling and principle more than restrictions like, oh, the realities of a given situation.”

“Things are different now.”

The Trill shook her head.

“No … they’re different for you. It’s not as if Julian’s behavior has taken an abrupt turn for the worse, after all. He‘s been getting into trouble like this for years; and for you to take the tack that, suddenly, you’re astonished and appalled by his actions is pretty silly, if you ask me.”

It had been a while since Kira had gotten into it with Dax, and she’d forgotten just what it was like to debate nine people at once. As a consequence, the headache that had budded while dealing with Julian now blossomed nicely. She rubbed tired eyes, and looked blearily at her friend.

“Well, I didn’t ask you, now did I?

“Do you have any idea how draining this job is? How much being answerable to absolutely everyone capable of raising their voice just about halves the value of what little sleep I actually get?”

That infuriatingly pert little smile returned.

“If only Commander Sisko could see you now.”

“Don’t you mean Ca–?”

“No, I mean Commander Sisko. Remember him, Nerys? That poor man wasn’t even sure he wanted to be here… and considering the welcome he received, could anyone have blamed him? You practically made insubordinate disdain into an art form, and went over his head so often it’s no wonder he finally shaved it. As I recall, the resentment you felt at Starfleet’s very presence here made you so blazingly jingoistic you fell for Winn’s talk hook, line and sinker.”

Kira flushed.

Maybe Dax missed Sisko as much as Kira did, and that was awakening the symbiont’s inner bitch. Nerys, however, was through taking it … and for the first time in a while, she indulged her inclination to dish it out.

 “Pity you’re not always this effective as a counselor—at least not without stumbling onto the insight. I mean, who would have thought that you, of all people, would blindly support your boyfriend, considering how often you seduced or manipulated Worf into giving you whatever you wanted?

“Oh, and … since you’ve decided to push the issue, let’s go all the way: How much did you know about what Julian had planned, Ezri? You’d better answer with ‘nothing at all,’ by the way, or we’re going to have a real problem.”

Dax didn’t back down.

“Who’s asking me? Colonel Kira or Nerys?”

“I’m both.”

“No. Right now, it seems you’re neither.” Before Kira could return fire, Dax’s voice softened, and she continued, “Nerys … Benjamin isn’t coming back anytime soon—maybe not within our lifetimes … and yes, I mean the symbiont’s, too. I know you’re in charge of the station. Julian will eventually realize it, too; I hear he may be secretly brighter than he acts. Given a few minutes of calm reflection, I bet he’ll also figure out that you must have protected him from Starfleet and the Bajoran government this time out, and that his seemingly ‘harsh’ punishment is the filtered, diluted version of what it could have been.”

Kira’s almost embarrassed silence confirmed that.

“I swear, sometimes I think you’ve more easily accepted losing Odo than Benjamin. You’re not keeping that chair warm, Nerys… you’re keeping it. Whether Starfleet remains or is kicked out by this new, ‘improved,’ more soft-spoken Circle of Kai Umar’s, you’re the man … or woman, in this case … and alternating at random between mother and martinet just isn’t going to get it done. Pick a style and stick with it.”

“It’s not that easy.” This time, Kira knowingly overrode Dax before she could answer. “And, frankly, right now I don’t care if Curzon or Emony or any of your other selves experienced something similar … because they all sit around in your mind, but none of them sit in this seat.”

Kira then whispered, “Ezri … I’m actually getting scared.

“I understood why it was happening eight years ago: We were desperate, angry and frightened—all with good reason. But now… we won, Dax. The Pah Wraiths are gone forever. We should be walking around grinning like idiots and praising the Prophets.

“Instead, we’re quarreling more than ever—with the Federation … with the Cardassians … even with each other. I don’t understand why.”

At that, Dax grimaced.

“I think I do.

“Your people had a cause for all those years: Fight the Cardassians; fight the Dominion; fight the Pah Wraiths. That’s all gone now. They’re looking around for another fight, and if they’re not careful they’re going to find one ... or worse, pick one.”

She picked up Sisko’s baseball, and hefted it.

“In most ways, your job is going to be harder than Benjamin’s ever was. He had a divine mandate, after all: If the Emissary said something, well, it immediately had legitimacy. People practically rushed to carve it in stone. You, on the other hand, will have to rely on character rather than charter.”

Point made, Dax returned the prized ornament to its stand, and headed for the door.

“You know what, though? I don’t have any doubt about your capabilities or your credentials. You earned them at what humans call ‘The School of Hard Knocks.’ You’re Colonel Kira Nerys—Commanding Officer, Deep Space Nine.

“And I think you can do this.”

With that, she was gone.

“Well,” Kira said to the now-empty room, “that makes one of us.”

 

Of course, because Kira desperately needed the distraction of work, the station experienced something it hadn’t in months—an actual lull. For over an hour, not a single person pestered her with a problem; no one had to have her signature, or even her opinion.

That provided her the opportunity to brood on what had been said.

Eventually, it drove her back to a recording she’d once hoped never to see or hear, but yet in the last few months had replayed time and again.

Perhaps it was a childish indulgence, but she didn’t give a damn.

“…and understand, Major—sorry, Colonel—that you have good people working under you, both Bajoran and Starfleet. You know as well as I do it’s sometimes best to step back and just let them do their jobs. I don’t know if this is really the last you’ll hear and see of me—the Prophets work in mysterious ways, after all…” He flashed that brilliant smile; Kira couldn’t help but return it again, just as she had every other time she’d watched. “…but assuming it is, let me offer some advice I hope you can actually use. First…”

Right now, his message itself, for all its worth, didn’t matter so much as that voice—comforting, almost hypnotic in its sonorous power….

Yet, this time, for the first time, it gave her little comfort. Part of it even mocked her.

 

“…considering some of the wild times I had with Curzon, it’s almost funny to remember what he told me when I earned my first command.

“‘Benjamin, a funny man once said, “You can’t be the clown when you’re running the circus.”’”

Funny how Ezri couldn’t remember that one an hour ago, Kira thought … and then almost laughed aloud at the sudden image of Bashir in face paint and floppy red shoes, riding a tiny tricycle around Sisko’s … her … office.

That’s exactly what we need: Another visit from … what were they called? Ring-something Brothers. I really liked them.

Though she dealt with both on a daily basis, Kira Nerys knew all too well that clowns and fools weren’t precisely the same thing.

Her all-too-seldom-seen smile faded as the desk comm panel chimed.

“Go ahead.”

“Colonel, I have…” The ops officer punctuated her statement with a theatrical pause, and then finished. “…First Minister Edon on a priority channel.”

Kira rolled her eyes. Though the exchange was audio only, she could envision Reva Midal’s awestruck expression. The girl had been assigned to Deep Space Nine for an entire week now, and her sense of wonder at hearing from the Bajoran Head of State had her practically giddy.

Oh, to be young again.

Yeah, right. I was never that young.

“Put him through, Lieutenant.”

“Uh… yes, Colonel.”

Now Reva sounded a tad affronted, as if she’d deemed that her commanding officer wasn’t treating the caller with sufficient reverence. After all, this was The First Minister.

Hard to get keyed up when you’ve done it all before, kid. I shared this man’s bed off and on for years. Trust me… he’s not that exciting.

Perhaps I’ll gush for her next time.

Then, again, I never gushed for him.

The viewer activated, and the Starfleet logo gave way to the glowering face of Shakaar. Evidently this wasn’t a social call.

“Kira… good to see a friendly face.”

“Shakaar, my face has rarely been described as ‘friendly.’ You must be getting desperate down there.”

He sighed; and at once she knew that “desperate” wasn’t far off the mark.

As a matter of fact, it looked to her as if the First Minister had seen better days, or perhaps years, since taking office.

“Well enough, Nerys, for a First Minister who apparently wants to abolish the Office of the Kai. I swear if they could contrive a reason to turn me out, they’d do it. Vedek Maral keeps whispering in Her Eminence’s ear that it’s time to call for a vote of no confidence in the current government—that the closeness of her election is immaterial, since she’s the Kai for life.”

Kira blanched. Things were even worse than she’d thought.

A few months ago, just after the war’s end, those directly in service to Umar had seized upon the vague declaration (far too vague, Shakaar no doubt now realized) The First Minister and the Council had legislated for the creation of a warp- and combat-capable fleet, along with a service branch to crew it. Without consulting Shakaar or anyone on his staff, Vedek Maral, in Kai Umar’s name, had ordered all Bajoran nationals serving in Starfleet home to crew the fledgling Bajoran Navy’s flagship, BSNV Emissary. Kira knew her old lover had been more than annoyed at the seeming usurpation of his prerogatives, and had protested to Umar almost immediately. The Kai, in response, had addressed the planet … and rather than suggesting a compromise, had declared the decision to impress those young officers “the Will of the Prophets.” Shakaar, though furious, hadn’t wanted to set church against state; and in a laudable gesture of restraint had made his displeasure known but done nothing to overtly challenge the decision.

That, both Kira and he now knew in hindsight, had been viewed as a sign of weakness … and his counterstroke had backfired—badly.

Shakaar had chosen that moment to publicly denounce the late Kai Winn, exposing her desertion of The Prophets in favor of their Pah Wraith foes. This had been rapidly, and brilliantly, deflected back on him by his opponents, who noted that he’d waited until the new Kai had acted in a manner that had displeased him before revealing the truth—a truth they had never denied, but had been waiting to reveal until The Prophets provided “a sign that these events should be made public.” Shakaar, instead, had “twisted the tragedy of Winn into a political weapon.” Thus, his entirely legitimate criticism of the manner and methods Kai Umar’s inner cadre had used to people Emissary fell on not deaf, but outraged unheeding, ears.

He’d precipitated precisely what he’d hoped to avoid.

And now, there he sat, looking tired and old—like a cup drained to its dregs.

If anyone ever tries to put me in political office, Kira thought, I’ll kill them.

With an effort, she refocused on his rant.

“–ny win is the same as a landslide, they say… but isn’t it funny how the tolerant are urged to show restraint with their policy-pushing when they take office after a close election—usually by the same kinds of people who are now emphasizing the spoils system and unilateral decision-making by the kai elected with the narrowest margin in Bajoran history?”

Abruptly, he got to the point of his call.

“Nerys, the Federation is extremely concerned about what’s happening here. They’re sending someone out to conduct ‘unofficial’ talks with a Bajoran representative.”

“That’s not surprising,” Kira replied. “I’m sure Starfleet didn’t take too kindly to having its personnel stolen at the whim of a few ‘religious fanatics.’” They both knew anyone who’d thought Bajor’s virtual impressment would stand entirely unchallenged was a fool—not a clown—of the first order.

“The Federation stood by us—Prophets know, for a long time they carried us—after the Cardassian withdrawal … and when this current group’s political ancestors in The Circle went on that dry-run eight years ago. The UFP has placed itself between this planet and the abyss more times than I care to count. It may not mean much in the long run, but I’ll not preside over Bajor’s collective stupidity, or its suicide, if I can help it.”

For a moment, they both silently wondered if he could.

Shakaar exhaled heavily.

“I may have just won my last political battle, Kira. It took a lot of hand-holding, back-slapping and livan-stroking to accomplish it, but … I choose the representative, and it won’t be one of Miral’s ortho-doxies. As your friend Mister Fontaine might put it, ‘they can’t take that away from me.’”

Kira frowned.

“Just be careful, Shakaar. This bunch is pretty good at running around laws they don’t like… or just plain ignoring them.”

He cocked an eye at her ... and, at once, she could see he was gearing up to take the same path Ezri had.

“Don’t say it … or I swear I will sever this connection.” Along with something else nearer and dearer, the next time you’re close enough.

Shakaar, however, wasn’t stupid—at least not today.

“They’ll raise vigorous protests against anyone I choose who’s not pushing their agenda … and I have to make my selection with an eye to countering that. I have someone in mind … but they’re likely to refuse anything except a direct order.”

Great, she thought. More insubordination and disobedience.

“Well, are they the one for the job?” 

“I believe so. Bajor’s interests and concerns will be represented well, and our government—such as it is—will get an unfiltered, un-spun view of where the Federation stands.”

Her temper had frayed to the breaking point.

“Shakaar, one person can’t be permitted to let this movement have its way in absolutely everything. If Bajor needs them, just order them to do it!”

It was only then that he smiled.

This time, Kira didn’t bother waiting for him to sever the connection before she started cursing his name. Still, orders were orders—especially just now.

With a self-control she’s acquired over long years of aggravation, Kira Nerys suppressed an urge to find Julian Bashir…

…and punch him in the face.

 

 

PROLOGUE   CHAPTER TWO