Lesser Evil

by Robert Simpson

  Judith Sisko, the captain’s sister, seemed as warm and welcoming as every other member of her family O’Brien had ever met. She also seemed to look on the O’Briens’ arrival as a godsend, which immediately made him worry. Kasidy Yates had believed that hearing from one of the captain’s old crew, someone who had worked closely with him and been a friend to Jake, might somehow get through to Joseph where his immediate friends and family could not. It was an idea born of desperation, O’Brien knew. Something you did when all the better ideas had failed. If the family had indeed put all their hopes on him, this could turn into a disaster very quickly.

  O’Brien rapped on the door to Joseph’s room. When no response came, he slowly opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Mr. Sisko…?”

  Joseph, seated at his window as Judith had described, turned on O’Brien with a scowl. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Uh…I’m Miles O’Brien, sir. Your son was my commanding—”

  “I know who you are,” Joseph interrupted. “I also know you’re trespassing. I didn’t invite you here.”

  “No, sir, that’s true,” O’Brien said. “But Kasidy Yates—”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine, sir. She contacted me in San Francisco and asked me to pay a call on you. And your daughter—”

  Joseph turned back to the window. “Why can’t people just learn to mind their own damn business? A man has a right to mourn his son, and his grandson, in his own way. You tell my daughter I don’t need somebody from Starfleet coming into my home to talk to me about my grief.”

  “But sir, if I could just—”

  Joseph abruptly rose from his chair and walked toward O’Brien with a fist shaking at his side. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re not welcome here! Get out and leave me the hell alone!”

  O’Brien backed away, and the door slammed in his face.

  When he went back downstairs, Keiko and Judith were staring at him. No doubt they’d heard everything.

  “No luck?” Keiko asked.

  O’Brien shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so angry. Is he like this all the time?” he asked Judith.

  Judith shook her head. “Usually he just withdraws into himself. You saw the way he looks, Mr. O’Brien. He isn’t eating much. He never leaves his room and hardly budges from that chair. He’s wasting away. It’s like his bitterness is eating him from the inside out.” She shook her head and covered her eyes. “I’m sorry you were brought into this. But I was desperate, and Kasidy said—”

  “Shsh, Judith, it’s okay,” Keiko said gently, placing a hand on top of Judith’s. “We’re glad to have been asked to help.” She looked at her husband meaningfully. “Aren’t we, Miles?”

  “What? Oh, absolutely,” O’Brien said, wondering what he could possibly say to a man who’d lost so much. And would he be any different in Joseph’s shoes? Molly and Kirayoshi were everything to him. To believe you’d outlived your own children had to be the most crushing state of mind for any parent. Or grandparent, for that matter. How does anybody recover from something like that? How do you move past it?

  Move…? Wait a second!

  “Ms. Sisko…”

  “Judith, please.”

  “All right,” O’Brien said. “But you have to call me Miles. Do you have a replicator?”

  “In this house?” Judith shook her head. “Dad wouldn’t hear of it. To listen to him talk about it, you’d think they were the biggest threat to human creativity ever devised, especially to the art of cooking.”

  O’Brien smiled. “I’m not all that sure I disagree. But I need to get access to one.”

  “I know there’s a replimat a few blocks from here….”

  “Perfect.”

  Keiko looked at him suspiciously. “Miles Edward O’Brien, what scheme are you cooking up now?”

  “Funny you should put it that way,” O’Brien said with a grin. “I’m not giving up on him, Keiko. When I was upstairs, he got mad enough to get out of his chair and slam the door in my face. I think I know how we can get him to come downstairs.”

  “But what good will that do?” Judith asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” O’Brien said. “But it’s a start. Lead the way, Judith. It’s almost suppertime.”

  It was the smells coming from his kitchen that finally did it.

  As night fell, Joseph’s nose was accosted by a stench that had, in all the years he’d been a chef, never once darkened his restaurant. It was the smell of murdered food. Of flavors and potential boiled away to nothing. It invaded his room and assaulted his senses like a troop of marauding Klingons, filling the house with a reek.

  And it was coming from the kitchen. From his kitchen.

  With thoughts of exacting painful retribution billowing behind his narrowed eyes, Joseph rose from his chair and followed the offending stench to its source. At the door of his bedroom it grew stronger. At the top of the stairs it was even worse, accompanied by the sounds of conversation and laughter. As he decended the steps, the room fell silent, but the smells only got worse.

  Joseph Sisko surveyed his restaurant, the faces of his daughter and her guests staring back at him like children who’d been caught drawing with crayons on the living room wall. The father, Miles, stood in the kitchen, looking at him over the top of a huge steaming pot on the stove. The only sound in the restaurant was that of the wooden floorboards creaking as Joseph moved slowly toward O’Brien.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy,” Joseph said, “do you people think you’re doing?”

  O’Brien’s eyes darted to his wife and Judith, then back to Joseph. “Uh…well, I…”

  “Hi!” somebody called.

  Joseph looked down. There at his feet was a child, a boy no older than three. He was holding Jake’s old toy alligator and smiling up at Joseph. On the floor nearby, a little girl lying on her stomach and drawing pictures on a padd stopped and looked up.

  “Hi!” the boy called again, grinning at Joseph now. He was beautiful. So was the girl. Such beautiful children…

  “Mr. Sisko?”

  Joseph looked up.

  It was the mother, speaking quietly. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Keiko O’Brien. We met a couple of years ago when you visited Deep Space 9. These are my children. That’s Molly on the floor, and that one’s Kirayoshi…”

  “Well, of course I remember,” Joseph snapped. “What do you think I am, senile?” He lowered his eyes to the boy again.

  “Hi!” Kirayoshi beamed, and he giggled. Joseph smiled. Kirayoshi started flexing his knees up and down in a little happy dance. When Ben was a baby, he used to do the same thing….

  Joseph’s nose wrinkled suddenly. He sniffed the air and looked up again, recalling what had brought him downstairs in the first place. His eyes found O’Brien and impaled him where he stood. With slow, deliberate steps, Joseph walked into his kitchen, his gaze never leaving O’Brien.

  The pot was coming to a boil, the lid rattling as foul steam billowed out noisily. Without a word Joseph reached for a pot holder and pulled the lid off, the stench at its most powerful. Joseph steeled himself and looked inside.

  “Do you mind telling me,” he said after a moment, “what in the name of heaven this is?”

  “Err…it’s corned beef and cabbage,” O’Brien muttered.

  Joseph winced. In my kitchen…!“This,” he said quietly, “is what you feed your family?”

  “What?” O’Brien said. “What’s wrong with corned beef and cabbage?”

  Joseph sighed and turned off the stove. He grabbed the pot and handed it off to O’Brien, then went to the sink to wash his hands. Toweling off, he reached for an apron and tied it around his waist. “Judith, go to the cellar and get me some andouille right away. Then head down to the fish market and pick up some jumbo shrimp—about two dozen.”

  Judith flashed O’Brien a smile and got up at once. “Right away, Dad.”

  Taking a lar
ge sack of rice out of a cabinet, Joseph said, “Mrs. O’Brien, would you mind going into my garden and picking two large red bell peppers? They’re on the far left. We’re gonna make sure these children of yours get a proper meal.”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said. “And please, call me Keiko.”

  “Wait a minute,” O’Brien protested as Joseph began chopping onions. “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, indicating the pot he held in both hands.

  Joseph glanced at him briefly and then went back to chopping. “Did you bring a phaser?”

  12

  For the first time in years, Kira stood among Starfleet officers and felt as if she was in the camp of the enemy.

  Just after the Cardassian withdrawal from Bajor, a newly commissioned Major Kira Nerys had been standing in the prefect’s office on Terok Nor, watching as the first Federation starships docked with the station. She remembered that the sight had made her furious. Bajor’s independence was only days old, and even though the Occupation was still an open wound, Bajorans were celebrating and savoring their first taste of freedom in half a century. After decades of oppression, the Cardassians had been forced out and Bajor was standing on its own legs—ready and willing, Kira had believed, to face the future on its own terms.

  The moment had been fleeting. The arrival of the Federation had felt like substituting one overseer for another—one that, like the Cardassians, came with its huge starships and vastly superior firepower to remold Bajor in its image. She remembered when the first Starfleet officers had swarmed through the airlock in their black uniforms, looking around in shock and disappointment at the disarray of the station. She felt their barely disguised pity for the exhausted Militia officers gathered to meet them. She recalled their disapproval for the civilians picking through the refuse that the Cardassians had left behind. And all at once Kira had known she was surrounded by her enemies. How dare they come here in their immaculate starships, in their impeccably pressed uniforms with their superior attitude and presume to judge Bajor?

  It had taken Kira a long time to get past those feelings, to see beyond her automatic resentment of the Federation’s presence. Years of serving alongside Benjamin, Jadzia, Miles, Julian, and even Worf, had helped her to understand that these people were her partners, her friends and allies—not her adversaries. They hadn’t come with the misguided idea of helping Bajor become more like the Federation; they’d come to help Bajor help itself—and the distinction between those two ideas could not be minimized, no matter what the skeptics might say.

  But they were all gone now. Captain Sisko was with the Prophets. Worf had moved on. Miles with his family had transferred back to Earth. Jadzia was dead, and even though she lived on, after a fashion, in Ezri, she, Julian, and Nog had left almost three months ago for their mission into the Gamma Quadrant.

  Now, standing here in the main briefing room among the senior staff of the U.S.S. Gryphon, in the aftermath of Shakaar’s assassination at the hands of a Federation official, all Kira’s old feelings were back, full force. She couldn’t help it. Those she had put her faith and trust in had betrayed Bajor, had betrayed her.

  Easier to believe that than the alternative.

  And you know damn well what the alternative to blaming the Federation is, don’t you, Nerys? To blame yourself. Maybe the Federation murdered Shakaar, maybe not. But it was you who failed him. You failed Bajor. And if this really was a rogue action, then by letting it succeed, you allowed Bajor’s entry into the Federation to disintegrate. Everything you worked for in the last seven years—everything the Emissary worked for—is in ruins.

  And maybe that’s even for the best.

  “Commander Kira?”

  Kira looked up abruptly, realizing she had let her mind wander. Captain Mello, seated on the opposite side of the room at the head of the meeting table, had called the briefing immediately after Gryphon had gone to warp. Kira had declined to sit at the table with the Starfleet officers, choosing instead to stand where she could see everyone in the room. “I’d prefer to be addressed as Colonel, Captain,” Kira said.

  Mello looked at her gravely. “As you wish, Colonel. I was saying that our analysis of the energy trail is still inconclusive insofar as the exact type of cloaking device we’re dealing with is concerned. But perhaps if you examined the data yourself, you might see something we’re missing.”

  “Yes, I’d like to do that,” Kira said, her voice hollow in her own ears. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Mello let out a long breath through her nostrils as she regarded Kira. Her eyes moved to her senior officers. “We’ll adjourn for now, and reconvene at 1400. Dismissed. Colonel, will you stay a moment?”

  As the other officers filed out, Kira moved to the foot of the table, looking at Mello across the length of it. When only she and the captain were left in the room, Mello spoke again. “Colonel…what can we do?”

  Kira felt the corner of her mouth lift, mentally thanking Mello for not asking something as predictable and pointless as Are you all right? Gryphon had been assisting Deep Space 9 on and off for the last four months, and Kira had always found the ship’s captain to be forthright and direct. It was one of the things she had come to admire most about Mello.

  “You’re doing all you can, Captain,” Kira said finally. “The Bajoran people are grateful for the cooperation of Starfleet and the Federation in resolving this matter. And I personally am grateful for your involvement.”

  Mello sighed. She got up from her chair and walked around the table to stand in front of Kira. “Colonel…I know the crime that’s been committed can’t be minimized. What happened to Shakaar—and to Bajor—is heinous. The first minister’s murder is a blow to all of us. Tensions between both our governments are high, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Bajor may not want to join the Federation now. I don’t think any of us really knows what the future will bring. Those concerns, however, I’ll leave to the politicians and the diplomats. Right now I’m interested in only one thing: bringing the assassin to justice. We’re on this hunt together,” Mello emphasized, grabbing Kira’s shoulders. “We’re on the same side, Nerys. I hope you believe that.”

  “I do, Elaine,” Kira said. “But as you say, we’re on a course toward an uncertain future. No matter what happens, my people will never be the same again after this. I’ll never be the same. And, more to the point, I’ve come to realize that this voyage could turn out to be the last joint mission between Starfleet and the Militia…and I just don’t know whether to be saddened by that or relieved.”

  “I understand,” Mello said after a moment. “I don’t envy you your position, Nerys. You must feel adrift, and alone. But I want you to know that while you’re on my ship, you’re among friends. We’re here to help, Colonel,” she repeated, studying Kira’s face carefully. “How long has it been since you last slept?”

  Kira shrugged. “Probably too long.”

  “Nothing seems likely to change for the next few hours. Why don’t you get some rest. I’ll see to it you have complete access to our mission data so you can examine it at your convenience.” Mello tapped her combadge and summoned her first officer back to the briefing room. When he stepped through the doors, she continued, “Commander Montenegro will escort you to your quarters. Anything you need, let him know.”

  “Thank you again, Captain. I think I would like some time alone. But if anything new comes up—”

  “I’ll alert you immediately, rest assured. Now get out of here,” Mello said with a smile.

  The corner of Kira’s mouth lifted and she turned to go. Following Montenegro back out onto Gryphon’ s bridge, Kira saw several eyes turn in her direction as she crossed the deck toward the turbolift. She was unable even to guess at the thoughts behind the looks she received, and that troubled her.

  “Deck five,” Montenegro said aloud as they entered the lift. As their descent began, Kira noticed out of the corner of her eye that like the bridge crew, the first officer was stealin
g glances at her. “Is something wrong, Commander?”

  Montenegro started, embarrassed. “Uh, no, sir. I just wanted to say…I’m sorry about First Minister Shakaar. I liked him.”

  “Really?” Kira asked as the lift slowed to a stop. She suddenly recalled that Skakaar had fled the turmoil he’d orchestrated during the Cardassian negotiations by becoming Captain Mello’s guest aboard Gryphon for a few days as the ship patrolled the Bajoran system. “What did you like about him?”

  “His enthusiasm, mostly,” Montenegro said as they exited the lift and started side by side down a corridor. Crewmen nodded to the first officer as they passed. “He seemed curious about everything to do with the ship. And when he talked about Bajor joining the Federation, his face would just light up. He even mentioned he was working on a proposal to allow Starfleet to establish a shipyard within the Bajoran system.”

  “Really?” Kira said. A shipyard! When was he going to spring that one on Bajor? And what else was he planning? “I had no idea. What else did he say?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t get to speak with him much. He spent most of his time with Captain Mello.” Kira thought she detected a slight edge in Montenegro’s voice as he said his captain’s name, but it was gone almost immediately. “I was on duty when the captain showed him the bridge, and most of my impressions are from meeting him then. Ah, here we are.” Montenegro stopped in front of a pair of doors and manipulated the touchpad next to it. The doors parted, and he gestured for Kira to enter.

  The VIP cabin was enormous, bigger than anything analogous on Deep Space 9, whose accommodations were designed by and for Cardassians. Bright and luxurious by contrast, these quarters were lavishly furnished and softly lit. Vases of flowers filled the cool air with a sweet scent. Huge viewports sloped toward the Gryphon’ s bow along one wall, and through them Kira could see the stars streaking toward her at warp. Nothing at all like the cramped, windowless, utilitarian cabins she was accustomed to aboard Defiant.