Lesser Evil

by Robert Simpson

  Nog nodded. “Have you talked to your father—I mean, Commander Vaughn?”

  “Is that why you came down here?” Prynn asked. “To see if my relationship to Vaughn made me privy to what was going on topside?”

  Nog shrugged innocently. “Not at all!” At Prynn’s dubious look he admitted, “Well, not entirely.”

  “Nog…”

  “It was Senkowski’s idea!” No protested. “He thought someone should ask you, since even Dax and Bowers have been tight-lipped about the whole thing.”

  “Let me guess, you drew the short straw?”

  “Uh…did you like the milk shakes?” Nog asked hopefully.

  Prynn sighed. “One thing you should know about my father, Nog, as present circumstance should aptly prove,” she said, gesturing at the shuttlebay around them, “is that no one has ever accused him of nepotism. And with good reason. Whatever’s going on, he hasn’t told me. I’ve hardly talked to him the last few days. And I’m usually the last person to find out anything around here.”

  “I’m sorry, Prynn,” Nog said. “You’d think the only son of the Grand Nagus would know better than to try to take advantage of your relationship to the commander. I know how irritating that can be. Uncle Quark’s waiters have been falling over themselves to engage me in conversation ever since my father took over the Ferengi Alliance.”

  “Hey, it’s all right,” Prynn assured him. “No hard feelings, honest. I suppose it’s only natural that people assume I’m somehow more inside the loop than anyone else where my father’s concerned. I wish it were true, but…” She shrugged. “The milk shakes were great, by the way.”

  “I’m glad,” Nog said. “It’s funny…I never really thought about it much, but you, me, Shar, Jake…we’re all the children of some pretty important people who have intersected at DS9.”

  “I dunno about that,” Prynn said. “My father’s not a world leader, or a Federation councillor, or a religious-icon-slash-Starfleet-captain. Vaughn isn’t quite that prominent.”

  “You know, that reminds me of something else I’ve been meaning to ask…”

  Prynn sighed. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, it’s just that…he’s been in Starfleet for eighty years, right? Why is he still just a commander?”

  Prynn laughed. “You’re wondering if he somehow managed to piss off the wrong people at some point in his career?”

  “Well…yeah, I guess,” Nog admitted.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” Prynn said wryly. “But that’s not the reason.”

  “Then why—?”

  “Nog, how big do you think the Tal Shiar’s file is on, say, Jean-Luc Picard?”

  “Pretty big, I’d think.”

  “And how big a file do you think they have on Elias Vaughn?”

  Nog shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Then I’ll tell you—they probably don’t have one on him. At least, I’d bet they didn’t before he was reassigned to DS9. By advancing no higher than commander, and taking no long-term assignments for the last eighty years, he’s managed to go relatively unnoticed. Anonymity was a powerful tool on the kinds of missions he used to go on. It’s how he survived.”

  “But he’s given it up,” Nog said. Becoming first officer of Deep Space 9 and commander officer of the Defiant had to be like stepping into a spotlight for somebody like Vaughn.

  Prynn shrugged. “Times change. People change. I don’t completely understand the circumstances that led him to take his current assignment—all that Orb business is lost on me, frankly—but I do know how bitter he’d become about his life during the last ten years. Whatever happened to convince him to make the changes he’s made, it’s renewed him. I think he felt trading his anonymity for a new lease on life was worth it.”

  Nog seemed to consider what Prynn told him. Then he said, “Candlewood has a theory about what the course change is all about.”

  “Oh?”

  “He thinks it’s Cardassians.”

  Prynn frowned. “What leads him to suspect that?”

  “You know he periodically checks the logs of computer use on board?”

  Prynn nodded. That was no secret. Standard operating procedure for a ship’s computer techs.

  “Well, he noticed that there’d been a download of a classified file on the planet Uridi’si three days ago. That’s nearest to Cardassian space. And Commander Vaughn is the only person on board with clearance high enough to download the entire file.”

  Prynn was silent a moment, slurping the last of her second milk shake. “That doesn’t really prove anything.”

  “I suppose not,” Nog said. “Still—”

  “Vaughn to Nog.”

  Nog reached for his combadge and tapped it. “Go ahead.”

  “Report to my ready room immediately, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir. I’m on my way.” Nog tapped off and turned to Prynn. “Looks like something’s up.”

  Prynn smiled. “Told you, Nog: I’m the last person to find out anything around here.”

  The look on Nog’s face when he walked into the captain’s ready room was priceless, Sam thought. The kid was so eager to be in the loop he actually looked like he was fighting to keep a smile off his face. That’s all about to change.

  Vaughn sat behind his desk. Sam and Dax stood off to one side in the cramped cabin, leaving the single guest chair for the chief engineer. “Thanks for coming, Nog. Have a seat,” Vaughn told him.

  Nog sat down and waited while the commander consulted something on his desktop display before he finally looked at the young officer. “I want to be clear about something from the onset, Lieutenant,” Vaughn began. “Nothing discussed during this meeting leaves this room.”

  Nog nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  “Dax. Tell him.”

  Nog turned to Defiant’s X.O. as she launched into an explanation of Sam’s discovery of the Starfleet transponder signal. “We’ve traced it to a class-M planet that the Defiant is presently orbiting. Attempts to scan the surface in order to pinpoint the source of the transmission have instead turned up something else: the wreckage of a Jem’Hadar attack ship.”

  Dax let the revelation sink in, pausing to give Nog a chance to ask questions. Sam had a pretty good idea what he must be thinking: The Dominion was parsecs distant, and Defiant’s course had been plotted deliberately to keep it as far from the Founders’borders as possible. So what was a Jem’Hadar ship doing out here? They were the same thoughts that still ran through Sam’s mind.

  “Any indication what destroyed it?” Nog asked.

  “No,” Dax said. “No sign of survivors, either, although the evidence is far from conclusive. Heavy atmospheric disturbances are making sensor readings unreliable beyond a certain point. The only way we’re going to learn more is to go down there,”

  “I’ll be leading the away team,” Vaughn said to Nog. “You and Lieutenant Bowers will be going with me to assess the wreckage and determine what caused the crash. And to pinpoint the transponder signal. We beam down in thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nog said and, believing the meeting adjourned, stood up to leave.

  “Nog,” Vaughn said, stopping him. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that the discovery of a Starfleet transponder signal at the site of a destroyed Dominion ship in the Gamma Quadrant is a sensitive matter requiring the utmost discretion. Nevertheless, I’m repeating my initial instruction: this isn’t to be discussed with anyone outside this room.”

  “I understand, sir,” Nog said. No trace of a smile, Sam noted. He knows we’re in deep. And just like the rest of us, the number one question on his mind is “How much deeper will it get?”

  4

  “What do you mean, he killed First Minister Shakaar?”

  “I mean exactly that, Madam President,” Charivretha zh’Thane said, and with exacting detail, described to Trill leader Elekzia Maz, whose shocked faced stared back at her from the wardroom viewscreen, the murder zh’Thane herself
had witnessed by Hiziki Gard.

  “This is impossible,” Maz insisted.

  “I saw it with own eyes, Madam President.”

  “Where is Ambassador Gandres? I want to speak with him.”

  “He’s being questioned by Deep Space 9’s chief of security,” zh’Thane said. “He may be a while.”

  “The Bajorans can’t possibly believe this despicable act was sanctioned by the Trill government.”

  “They don’t know what to believe, Madam President,” zh’Thane told her honestly. “And under the circumstances, questioning the other members of the Trill delegation is a logical first step. For what it’s worth, Gandres is conducting himself admirably. As a gesture of sincerity, he has chosen not to invoke diplomatic immunity. But it might also help if Trill were to issue a statement condemning the murder, and to make a pledge of cooperation such as Bajor may require.”

  “Yes, of course,” Maz agreed. “We’ll cooperate fully.”

  “It would also be a show of good faith to send Deep Space 9 whatever data you have on this Hiziki Gard.”

  Maz nodded. “I’ll convene my cabinet to discuss the situation immediately. You have my word, Councillor, an official statement will be released within the day. I personally will contact the new first minister to make a formal declaration of regret and apology, and to offer any assistance Bajor may need in this time of crisis.”

  “Thank you, Madam President.”

  Maz shook her head. “In five lifetimes I’ve never faced anything like this.”

  “It is a difficult time for all of us,” zh’Thane acknowledged.

  “Does the Federation Council—?”

  “They are aware of the situation,” zh’Thane said gravely. “I am acting on their behalf to try to keep the political situation from deteriorating further.”

  “I don’t envy you the task ahead,” Maz said. “Good luck to you, Councillor.”

  “To all of us, Madam President.”

  Maz closed the link, and as the wardroom screen reverted to the Great Seal of the Federation, zh’Thane slowly moved to the meeting table and fell heavily into the nearest chair. She covered her eyes with one hand and fought back tears, wishing more than ever that Shar was with her now.

  In the observation room Akaar stood leaning into the viewscreen and frowned as he watched Ro Laren question Ambassador Gandres inside the security office’s interrogation chamber. Ro sat opposite Gandres at a bare metal table in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by dismal gray walls and deliberately oppressive illumination. Throughout the first hour the ambassador had continued to insist he had no foreknowledge of Gard’s intentions toward Shakaar, claiming that his aide had been assigned to him from the Trill Diplomatic Corps before they left for Deep Space 9. Part of Gard’s assignment had been to work with station personnel to ensure the security of the Federation dignitaries. Beyond that, Gandres apparently knew Gard only as an easygoing but consummate professional—in a way that seemed to come so easily to the joined, Gandres had added with a hint of bitterness.

  Ro persisted with questions about the assassin: behavior he’d exhibited, conversations he and Gandres had had, habits the ambassador had observed, other people Gard had contact with while he was aboard the station.

  Gandres had been able to offer little insight…save that he’d seen Gard and Ro socializing at the Ferengi bar on the Promenade recently.

  Akaar’s frown deepened.

  The admiral turned as the door into the small, dark observation room opened, admitting General Lenaris, who had spent the last hour meeting with Minister Asarem, and in contact with the leaders of the Militia on Bajor.

  “How bad is it?” Akaar asked.

  “Bad,” Lenaris confirmed. “We’ve managed to implement an information blackout until the first minister can address the Bajoran people, but once this gets out, global shock will set in, the accusations will start, and the isolationists will have a field day.”

  “How is the first minister?”

  “As she should be, Admiral,” Lenaris said. “Concerned for her people, and determined to take whatever steps are necessary to ensure their safety from outside threats.”

  “None of us wanted this, General,” Akaar said.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Lenaris replied. “But it’s happened. And if some Bajorans had doubts before about unity with the Federation, then more will very soon.”

  “And where do you stand on the question?”

  Lenaris met his gaze. “I’m a soldier, Admiral. I stand with the people I took an oath to protect. Always.”

  “But do you not see? This is what the assassin wanted: to divide us. We must work together to right this situation, General, or Bajor and the Federation will both lose.”

  “That may be,” Lenaris conceded. “But only the first minister can make that decision, and I suspect she will very soon. We’re to meet her in the wardroom in twenty-five minutes, together with Councillor zh’Thane, Colonel Kira, and Lieutenant Ro.”

  As if on cue, the door opened again and Ro walked in. A glance at the viewscreen showed Gandres was no longer in the interrogation room.

  “He claims to know nothing substantive about Gard or the assassination,” Ro said immediately, “other than what we all saw in the meeting hall. I believe him. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that this is the rogue action he seems to think it is.”

  “What do you mean?” Lenaris asked.

  “Gard might have acted alone, for reasons of his own,” Ro conceded. “But a couple of things the ambassador said make me think there’s more to it. First and foremost, Gandres didn’t select him to be on his staff. According to the ambassador, Gard was assigned to him from the Trill Diplomatic Corps out of the blue, specifically for the Bajor assignment.”

  “That proves nothing, Lieutenant,” Akaar said.

  “Not by itself, no,” Ro admitted. “But, Admiral…Gard was a joined Trill. That was something I hadn’t really considered until Gandres reminded me. During my own association with Gard, he implied he’d had many past lives.”

  “I do not see—”

  “Admiral, have you ever heard of a joined Trill committing any violent crime? Much less a cold, calculated murder? I confess I’m not entirely familiar with how it works, but my understanding is that the screening process they employ is designed to match hosts and symbionts in such a way that joined Trills are invariably stable personalities. I know from Lieutenant Dax that anomalies do occur from time to time, but unless Gard is one of those rare mismatched Trills, then the murder of First Minister Shakaar couldn’t have been simply the rogue action of a madman. It had to have a purpose.” Akaar seemed to ponder that for a moment, and then Ro added, “This is still all guesswork, though. To be certain, I need access to Gard’s official and personal files from Trill.”

  “Councillor zh’Thane is seeing to that,” Akaar said, then switched tacks. “Have the station’s sensors revealed anything about the transporter beam Gard used to escape?”

  Ro shook her head. “My people are still working on it, but Gard somehow managed to scramble the sensors just before he beamed out.”

  Akaar muttered a Capellan curse. “I’ve apprised Captain Mello of the situation. The Gryphon is conducting its own sensor sweep of the Bajoran system even as we speak.” The admiral looked at Lenaris. “We should locate Colonel Kira and join Councillor zh’Thane to await the first minister.”

  Lenaris nodded and the two men started out. Ro said, “Wait, where are you going?”

  The general looked at her grimly. “To face the music, Lieutenant. And you’re invited, too.”

  * * *

  First Minister Asarem entered the wardroom under guard. To Kira’s eye, she looked considerably better than she had when she’d been evacuated from the meeting hall. Everyone rose to their feet as she entered, their eyes following her as she immediately took her place at the head of the meeting table. Kira and the other attendees sat down only when Asarem did, and maintained a respectful sile
nce until the first minister spoke.

  Asarem surveyed the table, meeting the eyes of each person with an impenetrable and unflinching calm. Good, Kira thought as the minister’s eyes fell on her. Make sure no one has any doubt who’s in charge here. Every Bajoran will look to you for strength now. And everyone else will judge Bajor by the kind of leader you are.

  “In forty minutes,” Asarem began, “I am boarding the Li Nalas and departing Deep Space 9 for Bajor to address an emergency session of the Chamber of Ministers. I will thereafter address the Bajoran people.”

  “What will you say, First Minister?” Kira asked.

  Asarem looked directly at Councillor zh’Thane and Admiral Akaar when she answered. “I’ll tell them the truth. That after the assassination of First Minister Shakaar by a member of the Federation diplomatic delegation, Bajor cannot, in good conscience, accept the Federation’s invitation to become a member at this time. I will order a full investigation into the murder of Shakaar, and I will ask the chamber to pass a resolution to reevaluate the need for Starfleet’s continued presence on Deep Space 9.”

  Silence descended on the wardroom. Even Kira was stunned. “First Minister, please,” zh’Thane began, “don’t do this.”

  “What would you have me do instead, Ambassador?” Asarem asked pragmatically. “Is it really the position of the Federation Council that Bajor can still move forward with the Federation now? That the Bajoran people will accept the heinous assassination of its lawfully elected leader as a trivial inconvenience? Is that your position, Councillor?”

  “My position,” zh’Thane answered, “is that the Federation is not Bajor’s enemy, First Minister. We are its friends. It is a friendship both parties have cultivated for over seven years. A friendship that during that time has endured one crisis after another, one threat after another, and always emerged stronger. It is a friendship that has never, and must never, falter in the darkest times, when friendships are most sorely tested. And as a friend, I pledge to you that the Federation will not falter in its commitment to Bajor now. We share the grief of the Bajoran people. We are saddened and outraged by the assassination of First Minister Shakaar. But we must not allow this act of evil to poison our resolve to join together. Shakaar was murdered in the act of committing to that union. Will you now render his last great labor—and the labors of Captain Sisko—meaningless?”