Miracle Workers

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  At that, Kira actually smiled, though it didn’t extend to her entire face. This is a woman under a lot of pressure, Gold thought, being all too familiar with that look from his own years in the center seat.

  “Actually, Captain, the S.C.E. has already been a great help to us. And, honestly, if you could accompany the Rio Grande back to DS9, we could probably use some more of that service.”

  “That should be do-able, Colonel. I’ve heard a lot of good things about your station—in fact, one of my engineers used to serve there. It’ll be a privilege to visit—and to help out.”

  “The privilege will be all ours, Captain. And I wouldn’t worry about the mission, either. Nog’s a pro. I’m sure it’ll all go completely smoothly.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Fabian Stevens stared at the sleeping form of Domenica Corsi in the bed with him, wondering how, exactly, this had happened. He had gone into the mess hall when he had come off shift the night before, figuring to do a little reading over a synthale before going to bed. To his surprise, Lt. Commander Corsi had been there. It was the first time Stevens could ever remember seeing the da Vinci’s chief of security in the mess hall. She generally preferred to eat in her quarters. Even more surprising was her request for him to join her. He’d conversed with her while off duty about as often as he’d seen her in the mess hall, and yet here she was inviting him over.

  Intrigued by the novelty as much as anything, he had agreed.

  “Senior staff and S.C.E. team, report to the observation lounge immediately.”

  It was Lieutenant McAllan’s voice, and the beep that had preceded it had an immediate effect. In repose, Corsi’s features were unusually soft—like a porcelain doll sitting under lights in a glass case. The effect was magnified by her blond hair, normally tied severely back, cascading loosely about the pillow.

  As soon as the beep sounded, though, the hard edges returned, and the porcelain became duranium as she awakened.

  “Let’s go,” she said, getting up from the bed without hesitating. She went from dead asleep to wide awake in less than a second, an ability that Fabian Stevens envied, to say the least.

  The previous night, Corsi had moved toward the bed with a lithe elegance and softness that Stevens would not have previously credited her with. Now, though, soft was the last word he’d use to describe how she moved away from it.

  Efficient, though, that he’d use. Though he’d been awake for almost half an hour, it took Stevens several seconds to drag himself out of bed, grab the various parts of his uniform (he hadn’t really been paying attention to where he’d dropped them last night), and put them on. By the time Corsi was in uniform and had tied her hair neatly back, Stevens was still struggling with his pants.

  “Mr. Stevens,” she said formally, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak of this to anyone, and I hope you won’t think that it was the beginning of anything.”

  Stevens let out a bark of laughter. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just—”

  “I appreciate what you did,” she said, still talking like an officer, which Stevens supposed was inevitable, “and I am grateful, but I’m not in the habit—”

  Holding up a hand, Stevens said, “Say no more, Commander. This stays between us.”

  “Good. I’m going ahead to the meeting. I’ll see you there.”

  She turned on her heel and left. Stevens watched the door for several seconds before putting on his shirt.

  When he arrived at the observation lounge, most of the usual suspects were seated. Captain Gold was at the head, of course, with Duffy at his left. Duff was holding a mostly full cup of quinine water, so he’d already had his morning coffee. Soloman, Corsi, and Dr. Lense sat next to him—Corsi seemed to be pointedly not making eye contact with Stevens as he entered.

  Pattie Blue was in her special chair opposite the captain. Abramowitz was, Stevens noticed, sitting next to Gold on his right, which put her as far from Pattie as possible. Guess the drad music battles haven’t concluded yet, he thought with a smile. Of course, Abramowitz could only sit there because Gomez—the one missing S.C.E. member—was still off-ship.

  Faulwell was seated next to Abramowitz, which left two chairs free—one opposite Lense, one opposite Corsi. Deciding that discretion was the best he could do, Stevens sat opposite Lense. Corsi didn’t seem to notice.

  “Now that Stevens has deigned to join us,” Gold said dryly, “here’s the story. We’re not going to Deep Space 9 to help them with repairs, though we are going to their aid. We’ve been diverted to rendezvous with one of their runabouts and then proceed to an abandoned Cardassian station in the Trivas system known as Empok Nor.”

  Stevens muttered, “Quoth the Empok, ‘Never Nor.’ ”

  “Excuse me?” Gold said, one of his bushy eyebrows raised.

  Shifting in his seat, Stevens said, “Sorry, sir. That’s something one of the engineers at DS9 came up with after the first time we—Well, see, when I was assigned to DS9, our chief of operations, Miles O’Brien, went over there to get some spare parts. Unfortunately, half the team didn’t make it back—there was some kind of Cardassian booby trap left behind. We never really wanted to go back after that, and one of the engineers was a fan of old poetry, so she made that joke. It kinda stuck.”

  “Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Raven,’” Abramowitz said helpfully. “The line is really ‘Quoth the raven, “Nevermore”.’”

  Nodding, Gold said, “Well, these ravens are flying back. DS9 had to eject their fusion core, and their new chief of operations—a lieutenant named Nog—is meeting us in the Trivas system in order to obtain a replacement.”

  Stevens looked up in surprise at that. “Nog’s chief now?”

  “You know him?” Gold asked.

  “Yeah, he was a cadet when I was there. In fact, come to think of it, he was part of the team that went to Empok Nor.”

  With a small smile, Duffy said, “Obviously he was one of the ones who survived.”

  “Good guess,” Stevens said, also smiling. “He’s a lieutenant now?”

  “That’s what the mission profile says,” Duffy said, punching up a display. It showed the familiar features of the nervous young Ferengi Stevens remembered, but now wearing a junior-grade lieutenant’s uniform.

  First Corsi and I wind up in bed together, then I find out that Nog’s got a commission and is doing the chief’s job. This is a very weird day.

  “The plan,” Duffy continued, “is to detach the fusion core and bring it back to DS9.”

  “The whole core?” Stevens asked.

  “Yup. Apparently they had to eject it during that little brouhaha with the Jem’Hadar.”

  Stevens started scratching his chin. “Geez, the emergency power wouldn’t last five minutes—we’d have to link together a bunch of emergency generators, maybe six or seven to get them running.”

  “Way ahead of you, Stevens,” Gold said with that avuncular smile of his that meant he was being indulgent of the silly engineers and their endless ramblings. “They don’t need our help with that—there’s already a passel of S.C.E. folks on-station. What they do need help with is getting Empok Nor’s fusion core from Trivas to DS9.”

  Faulwell spoke up. “Are we sure there’s anything there to take? I mean, if the station’s just sitting there . . .”

  Duffy shrugged. “The lieutenant seemed to think there was.”

  “Uh, sir?” Corsi said as she stared down at a padd. “I’m looking over the records of the station right now. From the looks of it, it’s a security nightmare.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Corsi,” Duffy said with an incredulous look. “The station’s in the middle of nowhere. The Cardassians didn’t just abandon the station, they abandoned that whole star system—and it’s still unclaimed. It’s got to be the least strategically valuable piece of real estate in the sector.”

  “Maybe, but besides the mission Stevens mentioned, there’ve been a bunch of incidents on the station. It’s been
used as a ‘neutral territory’ meeting place on more than one occasion, and a group of Bajoran cultists used it as their base of operations last year. Last reports do have it being abandoned, though.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Duffy asked.

  Corsi finally looked up from her padd and fixed Duffy with a withering look. Stevens found he couldn’t help but contrast it with the expression on her face not fifteen minutes earlier when she was asleep. “The problem is that anybody can just waltz in. The station has no defenses worth mentioning, but plenty of equipment that might attract salvagers. I can easily see Ferengi, Yridian, Orion, or Cardassian pirates—not to mention someone like the Androssi—gutting the place. We need to be on alert for anything. Whatever or whoever you send over there, I want a security detail of at least five.”

  Duffy nodded. “Fine.” He looked around the table. “This is a straight-up nuts-and-bolts operation, so it’ll be me, Stevens, Blue, and Soloman. Fabe, you’ll be especially useful, since your time on DS9 means you actually know these systems.”

  “Well, mostly,” Stevens said. “I mean, I spent most of my time on the Defiant, and the station had been pretty thoroughly modified by the time I got there. Empok Nor’s still pure Cardassian. I’m not saying I can’t do anything, but I don’t want anyone getting raised expectations or anything.”

  Smiling, Duffy said, “Don’t worry about it, Fabe—we always have low expectations for you.”

  A chuckle passed around the table. “Gee, thanks,” Stevens said sardonically, and he considered throwing something at the second officer.

  “Anyhow,” Duffy said, turning back to Corsi, “counting this Nog guy, that’s five—one security guard for each of us.”

  “We may want to double the security detail.” Corsi’s lips were pursed.

  Duffy frowned. “We’ve already got a ten-person away team, Commander. I think making it fifteen is excessive.”

  “I don’t. Those cultists I mentioned? I just noticed who led them.” She held up her padd, the display of which now showed a familiar Cardassian face. “Dukat. You remember, the guy who brought the Dominion to this quadrant in the first place? And before that, the station crawled with Jem’Hadar, Vorta, Ferengi—not to mention that mission that Fabe mentioned with the Cardassian booby trap.”

  Stevens looked up sharply. She called me “Fabe.” While on duty. In a meeting, for crying out loud. What the hell—?

  If Corsi or anyone else noticed the slip, they didn’t show it.

  “A ten-person team is enough,” Duffy said.

  “Good,” Gold said, cutting off Corsi’s protest. “We’re set to rendezvous with the Rio Grande at 0830. Make sure the team’s ready, Commander.”

  Duffy got up. “Yes, sir.”

  A buzz started to sound in the room as people got up from their chairs. Corsi, Stevens noticed, shot a venomous look at Duffy before turning and leaving the observation lounge. Pattie also didn’t get up from her chair until after Abramowitz had left the room. Stevens went to the replicator and got himself a cup of coffee. By the time it materialized, only he and Bart Faulwell were left in the lounge.

  “So,” Bart said, “when did this thing between you and Corsi develop?”

  Stevens sputtered his coffee.

  Chuckling, Bart said, “Computer, napkin.” One materialized in the replicator, and Stevens snatched it and wiped the stains off his uniform jacket.

  “How the hell did you—?”

  “Deductive reasoning,” Bart said with a grin. “You two were the last ones in, you spent the entire meeting pointedly not looking at each other, and you didn’t come back to our cabin last night.”

  Trying to sound dismissive, Stevens said, “That’s it?”

  “Plus, she called you ‘Fabe’ during the meeting. That pretty much clinched it for me.”

  Stevens sighed. I suppose if anyone was going to catch that, it’d be the linguist. “Look, Bart, this can’t get out. We—”

  “Easy,” Bart said, holding up a hand. “The only reason I figured it out is because I know you didn’t come home last night. If you two want to have an affair and keep it secret—”

  “Hell, it isn’t even an affair. Just a one-nighter, really. And I still haven’t got the first clue as to what brought it on.”

  “What happened?”

  Stevens told Bart about seeing her uncharacteristic appearance in the mess hall and her equally uncharacteristic invitation to join him. “We talked for hours. She moved around a lot when she was a kid—her family lived on about twelve different planets. That got me going about planet-hopping around the Rigel colonies with my parents’ shuttle service. Then it was Starfleet stories.”

  He took a sip of coffee, managing to actually swallow it this time, and then continued. “Next thing I knew, she’s inviting me back to her cabin. Lense was on duty, so we had the place to ourselves.”

  “Now there’s a pairing,” Bart said. “What on Earth do you think our security chief and chief medical officer talk about in their downtime?”

  Chuckling, Stevens said, “Bart, until last night, I wouldn’t have believed that Domenica ever was off duty.”

  “Now you’re doing it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You called her ‘Domenica.’ I don’t think anyone on this ship has ever referred to her as anything other than ‘Corsi,’ ‘Commander,’ or ‘Core Breach’—at least in the four months I’ve been here.”

  Stevens thought back. “She asked me to. I was actually calling her ‘Commander’ for the first hour or so, then she said to call her ‘Domenica.’” He laughed. “Come to think of it, she also said if I called her ‘Dom,’ she’d kill me.”

  “Well, they teach you that stuff at the Academy.”

  Another sip of coffee. “She was amazingly—well, gentle. And warm. Bart, I did not spend the night with a woman who deserves to be nicknamed ‘Core Breach.’”

  “And you don’t know what prompted it?”

  Stevens shook his head. “No clue.”

  “Well, do yourself a favor. Try not to think about it until after the mission. Neither of you needs the distraction.”

  Grinning, Stevens said, “What, you’re ship’s counselor now?”

  “No, but you don’t need a linguist for this mission, so I thought I’d moonlight,” Bart said, returning the grin. “Seriously, before I met Anthony I had my share of one-nighters. They have this tendency to linger in the brain—more so, if you have to interact with the person.” He put an encouraging hand on Stevens’s shoulder. “Just be careful, okay?”

  Stevens took a sip of coffee, then nodded. “I will. Thanks, Bart.”

  “Hey, that’s what roommates are for.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  Nog hated being alone.

  The fact that he spent most of his formative years in Uncle Quark’s bar probably had a lot to do with that. Most of his life had been spent in either the bustle of Deep Space 9, the crowded confines of the U.S.S. Defiant, or at Starfleet Academy. Indeed, the only time he could ever truly be alone was during his convalescence after losing his left leg at AR-558—hardly a fond memory.

  So he popped a tube grub into his mouth, took a sip of root beer, and tried to will the da Vinci to hurry up and arrive here in the Trivas system already.

  Ideally, of course, he would’ve had a team of engineers with him in the Rio Grande. But if DS9 could have spared the engineers, he wouldn’t have needed the da Vinci’s help in the first place. The entire engineering staff and the other S.C.E. personnel that Starfleet had assigned and the Bajoran engineers were all too busy keeping DS9 from falling to pieces without a fusion core, and also preparing the station for the insertion of a new one.

  I just hope this plan works.

  Of course it’ll work. Shar and I ran the numbers a hundred times. Both Colonel Kira and Commander Vaughn approved it. It will work.

  So why don’t I feel confident?

  “Computer,” he finally said after swallowi
ng the last of his tube grubs, “play some music.”

  “Please specify.”

  Nog thought for a moment. Since I am alone, may as well take advantage. “Play the third movement from Blee Luu’s Endless Dream.”

  The drad music cascaded over Nog’s ears, and he immediately felt more relaxed. Nog could never understand why so many people reacted so badly to this lovely sound, but everyone from Jake Sisko and Uncle Quark to his roommates at the Academy had practically run screaming from the room every time he tried to play it. One of these days, I need to get my hands on a copy of her new recording.

  Naturally, the da Vinci showed up just as he was getting into it.

  With two quick stabs at the console, Nog opened a channel and cut off the music. “ Rio Grande to da Vinci, this is Lieutenant Nog. It’s good to see you.”

  The face of an older human with wispy white hair on his head and four pips on his collar appeared on the viewscreen. “This is Captain Gold of the da Vinci at your service, Lieutenant. We’re ready to head to Empok Nor whenever you are.”

  “Thank you, sir. Please set course 187 mark 9 and proceed at full impulse. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Good. Lieutenant Commander Duffy has a full away team ready to go.”

  “I’m transmitting beam-over coordinates now,” Nog said, and he suited action to words on his console. “That’ll put us right at the access to the core.”

  “Good,” the captain repeated. Then he smiled a friendly smile. “Let’s get moving.”

  Nog nodded and cut the connection. He took an instant liking to Captain Gold, and it gave him a good feeling about the mission in general. He had a plan, it would save the station, and the da Vinci crew would help him to implement it.

  In ten minutes, Empok Nor was close enough for visual range. He called it up on the main screen.

  His left leg started to itch. He didn’t bother to scratch his prosthetic—besides, he knew it was just a psychosomatic reaction to this place. After all, he’d been here twice before, and each time he’d almost been killed—once by a drug-crazed Garak, once by a squadron of Jem’Hadar during a prisoner exchange. Let’s hope that I keep the not-dying streak going.