CHAPTER SEVEN
"The
self is not something ready-made, but something in continuous formation through
choice of action."
– John
Dewey
Of the obstacles Sito
Jaxa had imagined might come between her and the man
she now faced, this one hadn’t even
ranked.
Said fellow, rarely one to avoid the
issue at hand, addressed their problem—directly.
“Guard … lower
the force field.”
Sito didn’t know,
or even recognize, the young Bajoran lieutenant
manning Deep Space Nine’s brig, and
suspected that was intentional. He
was Militia, not Star Navy, which doubtless left him less sympathetic to either
of his … guests.
Nevertheless, the lad looked more than
a bit uncomfortable as he replied, “I … I can’t do that. I’m sorry, Captain.”
To his credit, he even managed to sound apologetic. Whether or not he actually felt it was another matter.
She wasn’t sure either way.
Looking a little surprised (and none
too pleased) at the refusal, Luciano Mantovanni arched a brow, then turned to regard her unlucky keeper.
“Shall I contact the infirmary,
Lieutenant—?”
“Riva, sir,” he supplied. “Riva Naldor.” He then echoed, “‘The
infirmary’?” glancing first at Sito to make certain
she hadn’t suddenly, conveniently begun to look sick, and then warily back to
Mantovanni.
“Yes,” the captain said. “The on-duty
physician should be able to diagnose whatever…” He paused, as if grasping for
the proper terminology. “…affliction
you’ve contracted.”
Sito winced,
recognizing all too well the sarcastic edge Mantovanni's voice had just
acquired. It had been sharpened over long years—while not quite indiscriminately, on most anyone within range he’d deemed
deserving.
Riva's brow furrowed. The resultant
expression didn't exactly help his next statement seem any more insightful.
“‘Affliction,’
sir? I don’t understand.”
There’s a big surprise, thought Sito. They’re obviously not choosing Militia
cadets for savvy of late.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Mantovanni
continued. “I’m assuming it’s some highly selective form of paralysis, since it
prevents you from pushing a button…”
Now the gaze became a glare.
“…but permits
you to say ‘no’ in response to my instructions.”
The younger man flushed, but still made
no move to comply.
Sensing vulnerability, though,
Mantovanni refocused his effort.
“Be reasonable, Lieutenant,” he coaxed.
“She’ll be accompanied, at all times, by her advocate—who happens to be a
command-level officer. In addition, you have my word she’ll return within the
hour.
“So how about
it?”
Perhaps Riva wasn’t quite so dull as he’d seemed. Wearing a grimace that said “I’m
screwed either way,” he began what was clearly meant as a final answer.
“Sir, respectfully … I can’t. Colonel Kira
instructed us not to release the prisoner to any Starfleet personnel, espec–”
He cut himself off—too late.
Now Mantovanni’s usually cool smile
became wintry.
“Let me guess … ‘especially Captain
Mantovanni.’”
Those pinpoints of color returned to his
cheeks. Stiffly, Riva nodded.
“Lieutenant…”
Sito held her
breath.
“…you’ve acquitted yourself well. No
young officer just trying to do his job should find himself caught between two
such terrible people as myself and your commander. You’re to be commended.”
Riva relaxed visibly.
So did she.
Mantovanni reoriented on Sito, an undercurrent of irritation apparent in his
posture—at least to her.
Oh, dear.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mister Sito,” he said. Only then did a trace of that annoyance
reach his tone, rendering it into a thing of cold iron.
“It seems I
have yet another impromptu
meeting with Colonel Kira.”
***
Kira Nerys gave serious thought to throwing the PADD she held
through—well, at—the trans-aluminum
window of her office. Instead, she settled for a disgusted snort, and tossed
the offending little device on her desk.
“Prophets
preserve us,” she muttered, “from men like
Marek Tathon.”
She desperately wanted to make that
single name into a short list by adding “and
Luciano Mantovanni,” but the man hadn’t quite done enough to deserve
that—yet.
Give him time, Nerys. It’s only 0130; the day is young.
With an explosive sigh, Kira retrieved the PADD and went through it once more,
hitting the lowlights from Marek’s account of what
had occurred during the recent firefight along the Cardassian border. Then, she
translated them from the particular “dialect” of Bajoran
Marek had employed—the one, that is, in which he
stood forth as a paragon of rectitude, and everything he’d done had been right.
A few passages in particular caught her
eye.
“…after my
tactical officer, Sito Jaxa,
twice refused to discharge her duty as ordered, I
had her removed from the bridge and placed in confinement…”
Kira grimaced.
I could have
predicted something like this eventually.
She knew, and liked, Sito Jaxa, who in her opinion was
both a fine young officer, and a woman of remarkable spirit and
self-possession—more than willing to defy orders if they seemed ethically
unjustifiable to her. It wasn’t hard to guess what she’d done … or, rather, hadn’t done.
The problem, Sito, is that very few others on Bajor are going to see
your refusal to open fire as an act of patriotism.
“…rather than
coming to our support, Subcommander T’Laris at first attempted to dissuade us from executing our
duty, and then actually sided with the Cardassians by refusing to provide
tactical support once the exchange of fire began. If not for Emissary’s superior capabilities, we would certainly
have perished…”
Kira decoded that
just as easily.
The Cardassians
withdrew in the face of
Again, she discarded the PADD, this
time a little more forcefully: It ended up on the floor by the door. The rest
was more of the same, and Kira had already had about
all she could handle of Marek Tathon’s
particular vision of reality.
His wasn’t the only take on the recent happenings,
of course: Cardassia’s ruling body, the resurrected Detapa Council, had lodged an official protest with the
highest echelons of both Bajoran and Federation
governments, citing the “extreme bellicosity” of Marek’s
reaction to what had, until Emissary
opened fire, been “an incident of negligible importance.”
In the time-honored galactic tradition
of shit rolling downhill, Shakaar had, of course, immediately contacted Kira, with orders to “sort
everything out as quickly as possible.”
“General Valar wants to place our forces on full alert, and approach
Starfleet about what he called ‘a coordinated tactical response.’” Shakaar had shaken his head. “I’m keeping them on a tight leash down here, Kira,
but I’ve got to know precisely what occurred, and fast. Whichever side is at
fault, though, is almost immaterial at this point; we don’t want this to escalate.”
Kira had thought, “We”? You, I and maybe a few others don’t
want it to “escalate,” Shakaar, but I’m beginning to
think that it’s a much smaller “we” that either of us had believed.
She’d managed to hold her tongue,
though, and instead, had simply replied with a succinct, professional,
“Understood, First Minister.”
He’d given her a distracted nod, and
broken contact.
The respite had lasted all of five seconds.
Even as BSNV Emissary had hailed DS9, Luciano Mantovanni had stepped off
the lift into Ops, and thence to her side.
Marek’s reaction to
his presence hadn’t exactly bolstered relations.
“Colonel Kira,” he’d gritted. “This
is a matter of Bajoran security, and I’d appreciate
it if you’d secure your end of this conversation.”
Too little sleep and too much trouble
had left her a shade off her game: She’d read his fury as directed solely at
the Cardassians, not realizing that it was a little more inclusive.
“We’re secure here, Colonel Marek,” she’d assured him. “Go ahead.”
Mantovanni had been a step ahead of
her.
“He’s referring to my presence, Colonel Kira.”
Inwardly, she’d chided herself for
missing what, in retrospect, seemed obvious.
She’d considered her options: Ask
Mantovanni to leave … or not ask him
to leave. Either held what might prove to be far-reaching consequences, and for
a moment, Kira had hesitated—a moment too long, as it
turned out.
Marek had stepped
eagerly into the breach.
“After the behavior
of Federation officers, and former Federation officers, during this last incident, my precautions are
entirely justified.”
Mantovanni had arched a brow.
“I assume you’re none-too-subtly
referring to Sito Jaxa,
Colonel Marek.”
Something unusual, but yet
indeterminate, had crept into Mantovanni’s tone. This time Kira
had caught it, and Marek hadn’t; or, perhaps, he
simply hadn’t cared.
“I don’t know
what’s wrong with your people, Mantovanni, but they’re obviously incapable of
pulling the trigger. Sub-commander T’Laris denied us support when we cited the
Dominion Treaty … and Sito Jaxa
refused a lawful order to open fire—twice.”
Marek’s visage had
twisted.
“Well, I may
not be able to do anything about your Romulan, but I can and will make certain that Sito pays dearly for her defiance.
She’s going to spend a few decades in a Bajoran
prison, Captain, learning that disobedience has its price.”
Kira had known she
should interrupt them, divert them, distract them … but instead, had watched
events occur like an unpreventable accident.
The man standing beside her had taken
up the gauntlet—readily.
“Let me address that point-by-point.
Perhaps what’s ‘wrong with my officers,’ Colonel Marek,
is that they’ve been taught not only how to fight, but when it’s appropriate.
That particular lesson seems to have escaped you. As for Sito
Jaxa—”
“Sito Jaxa is not your concern.”
He’d continued, at first, as if Marek hadn’t said a word.
“—since you’ve referred to her as ‘my
officer,’ I’ll take you up on that. From this moment, I’m taking a personal
interest in her case; if I hear from her—and
make no mistake, I shall hear from
her—that you’ve abused her in any fashion or denied her the minutest of her rights under Bajoran military law, I’ll have either your hide, or your
head. It makes no difference to me.”
By that time, Mantovanni’s tone had
made Marek’s expression seem positively pleasant.
“Oh, and … don’t ever interrupt me again, little man. Not only am I a superior
officer from an allied power, I’m one who’s just about run out of tolerance
with Bajoran attitude of late. Consider yourself
fortunate I don’t have Colonel Kira relieve you of
your command for gross incompetence. You started a firefight between vastly
unequal forces simply to indulge your un-sated hatred of Cardassians. I’m
liable to start a fistfight over far less … but at least the right person will
be getting beaten if I do.
“If you’ll excuse me, Colonel Kira.”
After Mantovanni had left, Marek had tried to continue in the same vein, but Kira had had more
than enough from both of them.
“Just send me your account of what transpired, Colonel, and I’ll pass it on to
our superiors.” Another thought occurred, and she’d added, “Oh, and … put Sito Jaxa in a shuttle and
transfer her to Deep Space Nine.”
“What?!”
“It’s simple enough, Colonel Marek. I want Sito Jaxa here, where cooler heads—namely mine—will prevail.”
He had then made a huge tactical error.
“Still letting
the Federation lead you around, eh, Kira?”
And at that, the last vestiges of her
patience had run out.
She’d begun, as she so often had of
late, with her synthetic smile.
“Colonel Marek
… First Minister Shakaar ordered me to look into this
matter; I have broad discretionary latitude in how I proceed.” She’d leaned
forward. “But even if I didn’t, you’d still
put her in a shuttle and send her here…” The smile had become a sneer, and the
sugar steel. “…because I told you to.
This is the Denorios Sector, and when last I checked,
Deep Space Nine was the command base
here. That makes me your direct superior. I may not shove it down your throat
all the time because it’s not required, but … I have no problem with doing just that when you make it necessary.
“Just so we’re clear … Sito Jaxa will step off a shuttle onto a docking port here at DS9 within 90 minutes, or I will relieve you. I’m sure you’re
familiar with the charge: Disobeying a direct order.”
Taking a page from Mantovanni’s book,
she’d added, “Oh, and … don’t call me Kira. I’m
‘Colonel’ to you … or, better yet, ma’am.
“Are we clear on all points?”
Marek had then made
the smartest decision of the day. He’d cut the channel …
…but not before he’d said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Now, as her office chime rang, she
thought, Well, look who’s back.
One down and
one to go.
“Come in.”
As always, he got right to it. That at least she could respect.
“Care to offer an explanation as to why
you specifically ordered that I
wasn’t to speak alone with Sito Jaxa?”
She took a moment to consider her
response. Before she could offer it, though, he added a peremptory, “I’m waiting.”
For someone famed for his
self-restraint, Mantovanni had been the locus of acrimony since he’d arrived.
His recent record remained intact; for
the second time in an hour, Kira’s fragmentary calm disintegrated.
“Make no mistake, Captain Mantovanni,” she told him. “This is a Bajoran station ... and more, this is my station. You don’t issue orders or threats here … and any requests
you issue from this point on had better be couched in polite language and
pleasant tones, or your fact-finding tour is going to be full of facts like, ‘I learned just how fast can I be thrown off this station!’”
“So if you’re ‘waiting,’ as you put it,
that’s because I want you to be
waiting.”
He, too, had been ready to go … and off
he went.
“Let’s clear the air, Colonel. You
don’t like me. Fine… you can fill out a membership card and attend all the
meetings. To be absolutely candid, I’m half past give a shit with what you and your fellow Bajorans like, but your
antipathy is not only tingeing your mindset, it’s clouding the issues—all the issues.
“From what I’m able to discern, your
charming little attitude stems from what happened at Varris
IX. Am I correct?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she seethed
some more.
The Battle of Varris
IX had been a particularly vicious one: An outnumbered Federation task force,
charged with retaining the system at all costs and with Defiant at its head, had been assailed by a Cardassian battle group
that outnumbered it almost three-to-one. The engagement had been bloody and,
almost certainly, a losing proposition for the defenders—until a relief force
led by Liberty had appeared on the
scene and somewhat evened the odds. Inspired by the sudden intervention,
Captain Sisko had contacted both his own ships and
the incoming vessels, quickly outlining a plan he’d been certain would give
them victory.
Captain Mantovanni, though, after a
very brief, very intense discussion, had at the last disagreed. Sisko had pointed out that he was in command of the
original force, and that considering the circumstances—they were simultaneously
arguing strategy and engaging the enemy, after all—that the newcomers should
defer. Mantovanni, on the other hand, had cited countervailing regulations,
which stated that command defaulted to the captain of the most tactically
formidable vessel; and in addition, noted the field promotion to commodore
granted him earlier in the war by Klingon Thought Admiral Kuras.
In the end, he’d vetoed Sisko’s plan, and implemented
his own.
An hour later, the Dominion forces, at
last defeated, had withdrawn … but Kira had known, known in the marrow of her bones that
the battle would have cost fewer lives and been a more clear-cut triumph for
the Allies if the arrogant Mantovanni had simply listened to the Emissary.
Sisko, strangely
enough to her, had not been angry in the least; but she, on his behalf, had been … and she’d retained that
indignation to this day.
To make things worse, the
son-of-a-bitch now seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“I had every right to handle the
situation as I did, Colonel.”
“The right, perhaps,” she countered hotly, “but no business doing so. The Emissary had been there, fighting the whole
time. He understood the situation better
than you did.”
For what seemed the thousandth time, he
arched that maddening brow.
“Really?
Who told you that? Tactical analyses of the after-action reports indicate that
Captain Sisko’s plan, while daring and innovative,
would not have won the day.”
“Damn
the tactical analyses, and the
after-action reports. He’s the Emissary; he was right.”
“Ah.”
Mantovanni seemed to have totaled and dismissed her contention with that single
syllable.
“I wasn’t aware that being the Emissary
of the Prophets made one absolutely infallible, Colonel. I mean, if it did, I
can’t imagine Michael Eddington would have made Sisko look like an incompetent buffoon for months on end,
now would he?”
Kira, livid, leapt
to her feet and started around the desk, snarling, “You conceited, pretentious bas–”
Mantovanni stood and, amazingly enough,
gave ground for an instant, backing towards the door.
“Don’t
do it, Colonel. I’m not some supremely arrogant and dismissive Cardassian
trooper. I actually respect your abilities in a fight, which means both that I’ll defend myself properly—” His tone
modulated from cool to frigid.
“—and that you’ll wake up in the Infirmary.”
Kira Nerys wasn’t afraid, but she wasn’t stupid, either. She
stopped her advance, but not her assault.
“You will address the Emissary with the
respect he’s due in my presence, in my office, in my jurisdiction, Captain—”
She again employed that saccharine smile, this time to much greater effect, and
then delivered a glare that could have punched through cast rodinium.
“—or I’ll have Bajoran security throw you in the brig for slander.”
At that, Mantovanni inclined his head
in mock concession; his reply came accompanied by an infuriating little lilt.
“See?
Isn’t a threat you can actually carry out
better than one that will get you knocked
into next week?”
Before she could begin another exchange
of fire, he wrenched them back on topic.
“I respect your beliefs, Colonel, and
those of your people … but they aren’t my
beliefs, and they weren’t germane to this
situation. I overrode Captain Sisko because in my judgment, the tactics I devised gave
us a better chance to win. It wasn’t personal, and it definitely wasn’t an insult to his status as the
Emissary. If he’d said, ‘Captain Mantovanni, I’ve had a vision,’ my decision
would certainly have been different.”
Kira’s jaw dropped
slightly. That had rocked her.
Mantovanni continued, “But he didn’t. He’d constructed a good plan. On that occasion, I happened
to have a better one. If the
positions had been reversed, we would
have gone with his option.
“I may or may not be ‘conceited,’ as
you say, but I don’t assume by default that my decisions are sanctioned by the
Almighty.”
She fired back immediately.
“Really? You certainly act like you think they are!”
Again, that lupine smile returned.
“So what?” he countered. “I’m a
starship commander. It’s endemic.”
Just then, he tilted his head, as if
examining her from an entirely new perspective.
“I just realized, Colonel … you’ve
never really had to adhere to the
chain of command for very long, have you?”
Kira barked out a
laugh, and replied with a caustic, “With all due respect, Commodore …
that’s one of the stupidest comments
I’ve ever heard. I’ve been a member of the Bajoran
militia for eight years, and before that I’d fought the Cardassians since I was
a little girl.”
“Precisely
my point,” Mantovanni stressed. “Let’s take an objective look at your military
record. You were, from early adolescence, the member of a resistance cell; you
didn’t exactly take orders so much as formulate a consensus with your
terrorist—excuse me, ‘freedom fighter’—buddies. True or false?”
She frowned.
“True,
but–”
He raised a finger, calling for
silence.
“Then, after the Cardassians had left–”
Kira angrily
interjected, “After we drove them away.”
He was in no mood to indulge her pride in particular, or that of Bajor as a
whole.
“Get real, Colonel,” he snapped. “They left not because your people had cowed them, but because they’d stripped
your planet of everything they could easily access. To be vulgar, they raped
Bajor, and left her prostrate in a back alley of interstellar space.
“But I digress.
“You then briefly assumed command of Terok Nor, where you managed to piss off, oh,
just about everybody—sounds a bit
like my career, actually—before being
relieved by then-Commander Sisko. Almost immediately
he was revealed to be the Emissary of the Prophets, a religious figure
analogous to the Messiah in some Terran religions.
“Now him you followed—for fairly obvious reasons, I’m sure you’ll
concede.”
Kira wanted to
protest … but she had no idea what to say.
“Let me conclude with a question,
Colonel … and I don’t want an answer right now, because I think it’d only begin
another debate round, and neither of us wants that at the moment.” When she
made as if to respond he again gestured for silence. “You can consider that an
order … since, whether you like it or not, I do outrank you.”
Whatever she’d wanted to say struggled
to burst forth, but with difficulty, she forced it down.
Mantovanni nodded at the not-inconsiderable
accomplishment, and then continued.
“You’ve truly followed no one but the Emissary during your lifetime. You’ve had
affairs with The First Minister, the holiest vedek of
your age, and perhaps the most important Changeling who’s ever lived. Now, me,
I’m just a lowly starship commander—albeit one who outranked Sisko, and outraged
you.
“Yet, from what Mister Nog has told me, no one but you was angry about it.”
He finished with a devastating
flourish.
“Think maybe our standards of who can tell us what to do are just a tad high?
“As they say on Earth, Colonel … get over yourself.”
She stopped him as he
reached the door.
“Tell me, Captain … would you
have even known I'd issued an order preventing you from absconding with Sito if you'd had the common courtesy to approach me first?
Would you now be in peril of arrest for issuing threats to a Bajoran Naval officer if you’d allowed me to handle his insubordination,
rather than forcing me to remain silent out of respect for … your rank? Would Vedek
Yahael have told me he planned to mention you by name in the speech he’s giving the
Assembly next week if you hadn't made it your business to lock horns with him?
“‘Get over’ myself, Captain?
"You first."
Mantovanni's subsequent
smile brought her up short.
"Touché, Colonel. I suppose we both have a few things to reconsider.
"Tomorrow, then?"
Off-balance, she nodded.
"Tomorrow."
Nog came in shortly after Mantovanni’s
departure, bearing herbal tea.
She cocked
an eye at him, and said, “I asked for raktajino,
Lieutenant.”
"Begging
the colonel’s pardon… no raktajino,
ma’am. It’s 0210 hours. You need to sleep, and raktajino will have you up until your next shift.”
He tried to
tempt her with a half-wheedling, “It has
the dark honey you like.”
At last, Kira smiled, and took the cup.
When she
didn’t dismiss him, Nog took it as permission to
speak—if not freely, than at least a little.
“So how did
it go, ma’am?"
She took a
sip, then shook her head at the more telling part of the exchange that still
echoed there.
Kira then thought, in dismay, Zero-two-ten hours. Prophets, it’s already tomorrow.
"All
things considered, Nog?
“Just about how I expected."