CHAPTER THREE
"I get by with a
little help from my friends."
– John Lennon
As they fell on the small carry-bag, Sera MacLeod’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s it?”
Mantovanni nodded.
To her mind, he seemed to have packed too few things, even for
what was supposed to be a short trip. Then, again, atypical for her gender
though she seemed, Sera was still a woman—which meant she felt in her heart
that all forms of luggage should be equipped with a small but infinitely
expandable subspace pocket.
She’d have to get around to that someday.
“Let me guess,” said Erika Benteen, even
as she poured the tea for his quartet of visitors. “One change of uniform,
custom-tailored, standard-duty… no
civilian clothes.”
He grunted an acknowledgment.
M’Raav Hatshepsut added, “And, as always, nothing really interesting to declare.”
In answer, Mantovanni regarded her with an almost-smile, and that
arched brow for which he was known.
“I carry my fun with me,
Counselor.”
From the washroom, Vaerth Parihn piped
in with, “Yeah, you’re a real wild man.”
He sighed … and the trio seated around his coffee table suppressed
their grins and giggles as best they could.
Sera, as always, marveled at the man’s demeanor: Unquestioned
master and commander on the bridge… yet bemused and be-bothered by any of his
crew who wished to speak to, yell at, or simply hang out with him off duty. Most of the women on
his senior staff fell easily into the role of sibling—usually scolding older,
though in Parihn’s case spunky kid, sister.
But they also knew that, deep down, he
wouldn’t have it any other way.
Upon hearing about their captain’s assignment, the four had,
independently, headed here to his quarters for an impromptu staff meeting—one he’d
have never convened on his own, but that, in their minds, was absolutely
necessary.
It would have to be a brief one. There’d be no rest for the wicked
this time; after transporting
Mantovanni over to Deep Space Nine,
His all-too-brief good humor, Sera observed, had already faded.
While he wasn’t what she would describe as tense,
the prospect of what he faced here had clearly put him on his guard; and since
his mind was already on business, she supposed they should, for now, come
around to his way of thinking.
"They diverted Enterprise-E
from her assignment simply so Captain Picard could
deliver Starfleet's request? That seems a waste of … man-hours."
He shrugged.
"Far preferable to the more traditional methods used to
persuade a Sicilian.”
Erika chuckled.
“Two beefy guys with no necks?"
“And one brain between them,” he affirmed dryly. “Just smart
enough to pull a trigger.”
Parihn entered the main room, and slipped with her patented grace
onto the couch next to Sera.
“That,” she declared, “still
doesn’t explain why.”
"Captain Picard stood a much better
chance than anyone else of actually persuading me to volunteer,” Mantovanni
replied.
“For all the good it did,” countered Benteen.
Mantovanni inclined his head in concession.
"He knows me, though … and qualifies as one of the few
commanders who can treat with me on an equal or better footing, insofar as
notoriety and status is concerned. Despite Admiral Necheyev’s
… flinty … disposition, she has a certain affection for us both.”
“That’s because you’re both
so warm and personable,” Parihn observed. “Just
like her.”
He waved a hand in the air, as if trying to discourage a mosquito …
and the others laughed, even as she stuck her tongue out at him in riposte.
A moment later, he added, “Sending Picard
to persuade me was a gesture of respect—though the admiral also doubtless knew
she’d eventually have to make it an order.
“After all, if Jean-Luc Picard can’t do
it, it can’t be done."
“Why you, though?”
Parihn pressed. “Captain Picard is a much more noted
diplomat.”
Sera watched his face change, and knew Parihn had asked the wrong,
or the right, question.
“You tell me.”
Her superiors watched as the Orion pondered that for a moment,
distinctly uncomfortable with the fact that she was, in this case, the last to
know.
Sera suppressed a smile. Her friend was a very bright, oft-times
even brilliant young officer … but that decade’s worth of experience made a
difference.
Then, Parihn brightened.
“You’re known to be religious.”
His smile then was that of the pleased mentor.
“Well done.
“In a fleet full of secular humanists, disdainful agnostics, and eclectic
philosophers, I profess a faith that possesses quite a few superficial
similarities to that of Prophet worship. Starfleet, even more so than the
Federation itself, tends to view religion, and really, anything that hints of
the mystical, as divisive. Unfortunately, that common-sense approach too often
translates into squeamishness on the subject—as well as hostility to the very
idea, on occasion. And it’s a historical problem, I'm afraid."
"It goes back?" Hatshepsut asked.
"Way back. One
hundred years ago, James Kirk pleaded with Admiral Morrow to let him revisit
the so-called Genesis Planet; his request wasn’t an idle one, in that Spock’s katra, at the
time, was subletting a portion of Leonard McCoy’s mind."
Benteen grimaced.
"Ouch. And Kirk wasn’t one to take no for an answer—ever. I think I've heard this
before."
Sera shook her head.
“Unless you’re Vulcan, you probably haven’t heard all of it.” She glanced at Mantovanni
questioningly, and he gestured leave to proceed.
"What's less widely known,” Sera continued, “is Morrow's
dismissal of the premise behind the request as 'Vulcan mumbo-jumbo.' This
response after two centuries of contact between Earth and Vulcan, and one
century as steadfast allies."
Parihn, in her youth a cosmopolitan Orion noble, and in her later
life exposed to more permutations of the sacred and profane than her four
friends combined, offered her own take on that.
“Sounds to me like just another example of Infinite Stupidity in
Infinite Combinations.”
Benteen, however, took it more
in stride, saying, "Well, you all know the old cliché about the rules
against prayer at Starfleet Academy: Forbidden until midterms and finals—when
they're gonna happen anyway. ‘C’n’C’
is an initialism for ‘Crass and Callous,’ after all.”
Hatshepsut, amused, purred, “Are you referring to Morrow, Necheyev … or both?”
“Morrow,” Benteen answered. “He’s been
dead for years, after all. Necheyev, well … Necheyev, in my opinion, is undead. Hell, Will Riker calls her ‘the Suicide Blonde’—whether in
remembrance of those she’s inspired to
do it or in hopes she’ll do it herself,
I’m not sure.”
“Knowing Will … probably both. He’s not much for women immune to his charm.” Mantovanni’s
expression darkened slightly. “Let’s dispense with the character assassination,
though, ladies. Admiral Necheyev’s at the top of the
food chain… and whether certain of us think she got there by devouring
everything, or everyone, in her path isn’t germane to the topic.”
The rebuke was mild, at best, but all heeded it.
Despite herself, Erika Benteen harbored
serious resentment of Alynna Necheyev—who’d
lobbied hard for expulsion from Starfleet, and settled only grudgingly on
lengthy jail time, as penalty for Erika’s part in the abortive Leyton coup. The stance had been hard-line, granted … but,
in many ways, both just and in Starfleet’s best interests.
Knowing the truth of that
made Benteen dislike her even more.
“Besides,” their captain dryly added, eyes momentarily shifting to
sweep the room, “she could be listening.”
The small, timely jest restored everyone’s humor. Even Erika
favored them with a chastened little smile, and then threw herself back into
the discussion.
"I spoke with a few of my contacts at DS9,” she announced, then waited.
No one present, however, seemed surprised at the fact she
possessed them. Wisely, Benteen had, while in prison,
sent sincere letters of apology to the Starfleet members of Defiant's crew she’d fought while
commanding Lakota. She’d felt that
honor demanded it, and had expected nothing in response. Yet while one or two
had, indeed, returned her correspondence unopened, a few had chosen to reply
with forgiveness. This in turn had led to actual relationships with some of
them—one small and surprisingly gratifying step in resurrecting her career.
“They get the impression you'll be meeting with Colonel Kira."
Mantovanni considered Erika’s revelation behind a studiously
hooded gaze.
Official channels had been sorely lacking in this case: All
Starfleet had added since his initial meeting with Captain Picard
was that the Bajoran representative was “still being
determined”—certainly an advantage for them, in that he or she would be well
aware of their adversary long before the reverse was true.
Well, of the words one might use to describe Kira
Nerys, “determined” was not only accurate, but from
where he sat, downright charitable.
When he refocused on his companions, Parihn was regarding him with
that quirky, perceptive little smile of hers.
“Well,” she said, “I recognize that expression.”
Benteen and MacLeod echoed her
sentiments with their own observations.
“You know Colonel Kira,” Erika said.
“And don’t much like her,” added Sera.
Hatshepsut’s tail
twitched … and she was unable to entirely suppress an amused trill.
He searched their faces, and cautiously inquired, “What makes
you—any and all of you—say that?”
“Easy,” Parihn told him. “You only wear that particular variant of
the ‘Inscrutable Captain Face’ when you’re determined not to say anything
negative about someone.” She struggled in vain not to burst out laughing. “And
Cicero… you wear it a lot.”
The disadvantage of a crew that’d become family was, of course,
that family dared what mere subordinates never would—especially with a captain
who believed not only in open doors, but open minds and mouths, as well.
The subsequent glower impressed them not at all, perhaps because
his eyes were still smiling.
“Be that as it may, ladies—and I’ll neither confirm nor deny the
lieutenant’s assertions—I must admit to some surprise at Bajor’s
selection. Kira Nerys isn’t
much of a diplomat, either. I’d certainly want her at my back in a fight … but
she’s more likely to start a dispute
or incident than settle one.
“Perhaps that’s their intent,” Parihn said.
“I disagree.” Benteen’s demeanor grew a bit more emphatic as she
spoke. “Granted, I’m not Kira’s favorite person, but
she looked beyond that and helped us as much as she could during the incident a
few months ago. She didn’t openly defy
her government, but she didn’t hasten to enforce their asinine decrees, either.
To be frank, Cicero, I think you’re underestimating her. She’s a lot savvier an
officer than her demeanor suggests.”
“They say we often find most irritating in others those qualities
we ourselves possess,” observed Sera, in support of Benteen’s position. “Kira is direct, determined and devout—not to mention
devious and deadly, when necessary, if her record as a resistance fighter is at
all accurate.
“Remind you of anyone?”
Everyone else, in that moment, suddenly had to cough or clear
their throat.
“As a psychologist,” Mantovanni countered, “you make a great
researcher, Commander.”
Sera arched a brow, knowing he’d mirror the gesture. Still, she
smiled when he did.
He glanced at Hatshepsut.
“Aren’t you at least a little
annoyed at the trespass into your purview?”
The Felisian considered that briefly, then replied, “I’ll assume
that pun wasn’t intentional … and no—not when her observations are valid.”
He was more than a match for any of them … but against all four,
he hadn’t a chance.
"Captain,” Erika continued, “best word is … Kira did not want
this assignment."
That did not at all surprise
him.
"Well, she can join the club.
“Heard anything about the ambience over there? Are we still
actually welcome… or simply tolerated?”
Benteen frowned.
“That depends on who you ask. My sources say they seem more
interested in bringing their own people to heel than they do harassing the
Starfleet personnel.”
“As a general rule,” observed Mantovanni, “churches do tend to
hate apostates and schismatics more than they do
heathens … but that only lasts until the schisms are healed–”
Thinking it better left unsaid, he silently added, –and the apostates are burned.
“Some of their people are Starfleet personnel,” muttered
Parihn. She and Sito Jaxa
had been close, and the Orion had never gotten over resenting the hard-hearted,
heavy-handed manner in which her Bajoran friend had
been taken from them.
Sera, ever the peacemaker, laid a hand on the Orion’s arm before
she could begin an eloquent tirade that would solve absolutely nothing … and
the breath Parihn had drawn to fuel her polemic hissed from her nostrils like sulfurous
steam from a very angry little dragon.
“Still,” Benteen said, “there are
indications that those personnel are still caught between worlds … and carrying
the weight of both.
"One of the former Starfleet officers aboard Emissary—a Seska
Mahan, Assistant Science Officer—very nearly got the same treatment as Arkin Jora … and I’m sure exactly
no one will be surprised to know that it was Vedek Maral who threatened it.”
Mantovanni frowned, and M’Raav asked for the group.
"Why? What was it about?"
"Well, it seems he made repeated inquiries about just how long his term of service in the Bajoran Star Navy had to be. Seska
wondered, after he had done his duty for Bajor, whether and when he might
return to Starfleet.”
“That seems reasonable,” observed Parihn.
Mantovanni flashed a humorless smile.
“In response, Maral said that to even ask such a question was the same as
rejecting the authority of those who speak in The Prophets’ name.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” sighed
Sera.
“Our favorite Vedek wanted to make a further example of him, to show that
Ensign Arkin needn’t be a one-time occurrence. In
this case, though, the Kai overrode him, and he was forced to settle for
delivering a severe reprimand."
Considering that Maral had the ear of
the kai,
and had already wielded that frightful power of Interdict in her name,
something about the woman’s restraint didn’t
quite add up.
"Why,” Mantovanni asked, “would the Kai publicly override
him?"
Benteen pulled up the article
onscreen.
"It wasn't supposed
to be public. But it seems Maral has had to be reined
in before … and this time, a reporter caught wind of it."
MacLeod allowed more than a hint of sympathy and scorn to creep
into her voice.
"It follows logically that they punished the reporter
somehow."
Erika at least had good news on that front.
"Not likely. See, on Bajor, it’s hard to punish the … ahem … Sisko Kid."
Parihn and Sera groaned, while Mantovanni managed to retain
his composure in the face of her appalling play on words.
"Jake’s too good a person to abuse his status much, but … if
you can work a little positive magic once in a while, what’s the
harm?"
The Orion still had her doubts.
"I just don’t understand why the Federation is acting
like this is anything but growing pains—a troubled planet's transition
period."
Mantovanni had an explanation, albeit an odd one.
"Note that this is classified alpha-four, ladies. No further
conversation on the subject subsequent to our little impromptu briefing
here—even amongst yourselves.”
A quartet of nods later, he continued.
“About a year before the Enterprise-D
was lost at Veridian Three, then-Lieutenant Worf was traveling back to it in a shuttlecraft when he
encountered a temporal phenomenon."
Nothing remarkable about that in and of itself,
they all knew. Even Mantovanni’'s experiences aside,
it often seemed like normal space itself was becoming the anomaly.
"During the course of his journey, he passed through a number
of alternate realities. In many of those he best recalls, Bajor had become an
aggressive, expansionist power. In one of them, a Bajoran
vessel actually opened fire on the E-D
while on an intrusive foray into Federation space.
“The Galaxy-class may
never have been my idea of a capital ship, but I think you'll agree she’s not
exactly a pushover, either. In addition, many of these realities had as the D's
C-O a Will Riker who’d been forced to sacrifice his Picard during the first great Borg
incursion—a battle-scarred ship with a tough captain, no doubt having the rep
to match.”
Benteen understood, and gave
voice to it.
“Yet still this Bajoran starship
attacked without warning. They were either idiots, or supremely confident in
their ability to favorably conclude such an assault."
Parihn shook her head, skepticism painting a verdant flush on her
features.
"So instead of church and state, the big concern is a What If
… a Might-Have-Been?"
MacLeod also seemed less than impressed.
"Did Worf recall how the Bajorans’
history differed in those realities—something that could perhaps explain their
aggression?"
Mantovanni’s reply wasn’t exactly conclusive.
“He wasn’t able to research individual timelines, of course … but
he could remember an
For a long moment, silence reigned, as each mulled on that. Even now, with the Union in ruins
after the Dominion War, such a happenstance didn’t seem likely.
Finally, Sera said, "That’s a non sequitur, in my opinion. Perhaps in a reality where the Cardassians
had taken millions of Bajorans back to their own
worlds as slaves, the latter would then be in position to revolt … and, if
successful, employ their infrastructure. Here,
though...?”
Parihn brought them back on track.
"Sir, just what about Bajor in the here and now has so many feathers ruffled?"
Mantovanni brought it home.
“Ever since the Cardassian withdrawal, Bajor has been faced with
one crisis after another: basic reconstruction; the Founder threat; Klingon
aggression; and, finally, the Dominion War.
“For the first time since the wormhole was discovered, things are
peaceful and quiet. In other words, they’re going to choose a path, and soon.
Considering what’s come to pass in the last few months, well … let’s just say
this mission is of higher priority than the Federation Council will admit.”
Thanks to T’Laris’ thoughtful approach, they could see Bajor in
the distance through the wall-window; and, as they watched, the wormhole flared
to life.
“You know,” said Parihn, "when the gods live in your backyard,
and you survive what the Bajorans have,
you probably can’t help but believe that the galaxy is your neighborhood ... or
worse, your property."
Mantovanni thought of a God who sent prophets rather than being called one.
“Frankly, Parihn … I don’t think the current Landlord plans
to sell.”