Since the incident with the Ascendants, DS9 and the entire Bajoran system had been on high alert. Mjolnir stayed a week on patrol, and Bellerophon two, until a new comm relay could be put in place in the Gamma Quadrant, and a new warp core could be installed on Defiant. The station typically stocked a spare core, but the DS9 engineering staff had recently used it on U.S.S. Erdös, after the Archimedes-class starship had suffered a warp-system failure in an encounter with a cosmic string. After that, Commander Vaughn spent his shifts aboard ship, ensuring the safety of the Bajoran system, and he took Bowers with him. That left Dax as the de facto first officer aboard the station, working in Ops at tactical during alpha shift.
For the last week, Kira had been away on leave, and Dax had taken on the mantle of command. She’d looked forward to it, recalling the times during Defiant’s mission to the Gamma Quadrant when she’d captained the ship. To that point, though, the command experience aboard the station hadn’t measured up to her expectations—not by a considerable measure.
And neither has my time at tactical, she thought. Dax hadn’t expected her new skills to change her career overnight, but after two months—including the last week in command—she had started thinking about what else she could do. Maybe I’m just not cut out for Starfleet. Maybe—
Across the sit table and up the stairs, in Dax’s line of sight, the lift ascended into Ops. It carried a single passenger: Quark. The Ferengi barkeep technically didn’t have clearance to enter Ops—the lift shouldn’t even have conveyed him there—but during her time on DS9, Dax had never known any rules or security measures to limit Quark.
“Lieutenant,” the Ferengi said, even before the open lift had fully reached the deck. “I have a complaint.” He held a cylindrical container upright between his two hands. He wore one of his tailored, varicolored jackets, the one that always put Dax in mind of a flyover view of farmland.
“Quark, when don’t you have a complaint?” She looked up to the communications console and exchanged a look with Lieutenant Candlewood, who rolled his eyes.
“I appreciate the delicate nature of your ears,” Quark said as he exited the lift and headed down the steps toward the lower, center level of Ops. “Imagine what I have to endure hearing with ears this big.”
“It’s always about size with you men, isn’t it?” Dax retorted.
Quark reached the lower deck, paced up to the sit table, and deposited his container atop it. “I guess you would know, Lieutenant, since you’ve been a man . . . what, three times?”
Dax shook her head. She should have known better than to trade rejoinders with the barkeep. Jadzia had been able to keep up with him, but he always seemed to have a riposte for Ezri. “So what’s your complaint?”
“May we talk privately?” Quark asked, gesturing toward the tallest set of stairs that led out of the center deck and up to Kira’s office.
Dax offered a heavy sigh, which did not reflect any annoyance with Quark—Ezri liked the barkeep, as had Jadzia before her—as much as it did her general sense of dissatisfaction. She immediately regretted her reaction. That’s not a sign of leadership, she berated herself. “Of course,” she said. “We can talk in the captain’s office.” She did not want any of the crew thinking that she had any delusions about replacing Kira Nerys.
Dax deactivated the padd she’d been reading and set it down on the sit table. Quark followed her up the steps and through the tall, patterned doors that led into the captain’s office. Inside, Dax looked to the seating area off to the right, but then she circled the wide desk and sat down behind it. That left Quark to stand facing her. She saw that he had carried the cylindrical container with him, and he set it down on the desk.
“So what can I do for you, Quark?”
“You can help me with this,” he said, uncapping the cylinder, reaching in, and pulling out an elegant cut-glass bottle filled with a pale-blue liquid.
“You want me to have a drink with you?”
“No,” Quark said, but then he seemed to think better of his response. “I mean, yes, of course, that would be lovely, but that’s not why I’m here. I need you to speak with Ensign Hava and get him to release my shipment.”
“And why is Ensign Hava unwilling to release your shipment?” Dax already assumed that she would have to speak with the security officer to learn whatever details Quark either omitted or altered.
“I don’t know,” the barkeep said. He set the bottle down on the desk with a thump. “Maybe he’s receiving a payoff from one of my competitors.”
“Of course,” Dax said. “It couldn’t be that Romulan ale is illegal.” She had recognized the notorious alcoholic beverage on sight.
Quark grunted. “The Federation has too many rules and regulations for its own good,” he said with patent disgust. “But it also needs to make up its mind. I had Starfleet officers in my bar toasting the end of the war with Romulan ale. You were one of them.”
“I remember,” Dax said, though she actually didn’t. There had been at least a couple of nights after the end of the Dominion War when she’d overindulged. “But that was then, this is now. You know that our relations with the Romulan Empire haven’t been exactly smooth lately.”
“Of course I know that,” Quark said. “It’s increased my Beta Quadrant shipping costs.”
“Okay, so then you know about the new embargo, and you can understand why Ensign Hava impounded your shipment of Romulan ale,” Dax said. “Forgetting for a moment that this is a security matter and you should be seeing Commander Ro about it, what do you expect me to do?” Dax felt the beginnings of a headache. She knew that the Ferengi had an on-again, off-again . . . what? Romance? Flirtation? Affair? Whatever the descriptor, he had some sort of personal relationship with Ro, which likely meant that he didn’t want to jeopardize that by going to her with his problem.
“I want you to order the ensign to release my shipment,” Quark said, “because this—” He swept up the heavy bottle and brandished it in the air. “—isn’t Romulan ale.”
“It’s not?” Ezri had enjoyed the sometimes-licit, sometimes-not beverage on two or three occasions, but several other of Dax’s previous hosts—particularly Curzon and Jadzia—had boasted an intimate knowledge of it. “Shall we do a taste test?”
Quark put the bottle back down, then laid both of his palms on the desktop and leaned toward Dax. “I didn’t say that it didn’t taste like Romulan ale.”
Dax rubbed a finger in a tight circle on her temple. “All right,” she said, “so your shipment looks like it and tastes like it, but it’s not Romulan ale.” She stood up. “What do you take me for, Quark? Stop wasting my time.” She made her way out from behind the desk and headed for the door.
“Lieutenant,” Quark said, “I’m telling you the truth.”
Dax stopped and faced Quark. “Why should I believe that?”
Quark shrugged. “Because of the One Hundredth Rule of Acquisition: ‘When it’s good for business, tell the truth.’ ” Dax scoffed, but the barkeep persisted. “I have ears, so I know that it’s illegal to import Romulan ale. But it’s not illegal to make it.”
“What?”
“I have a supplier out by the Typhon Expanse,” Quark said. “Most of the ingredients used to make Romulan ale are generic, like water and yeast. The key elements are the grains for brewing, and the berries for taste and the unique coloring. My supplier imports kheh and dorish from Terix Two, and alota fruit from ch’Havran. Grains and berries aren’t on the embargo list.”
“Clever,” Dax said, genuinely appreciating Quark’s well-deserved reputation as a sly operator. “Except that makes it sound like what you have there really is Romulan ale.”
“If it’s not produced within the Empire, then it’s technically not Romulan ale.”
“And I’m sure you share that technicality with your customers.”
“I abide by the Thirty-ninth Rule of Acquisition: ‘Don’t tell customers more than they need to know.’ Plus, just because the Rom
ulans wouldn’t want me calling it Romulan ale doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“Uh-huh,” Dax said, skeptical of the entire scheme. “Do you have proof of your claims?”
Quark whisked a Ferengi padd from the inside of his jacket. “I have all the details right here,” he said.
Dax resisted the urge to sigh again. “All right,” she said, plucking the device from Quark’s hand. “I’ll look into it.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Just a reminder that, after the war, when Romulan ale was still legal in the Federation, one of my customers who especially enjoyed it was Commander Vaughn,” Quark said. “So I’m sure he’d like having it available in the bar again.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dax said drily. She turned toward the doors, which parted before her, and started back down into Ops. As Quark followed after her and headed for the lift, Dax returned to the lower deck. She waited until the barkeep had disappeared from view before tossing his padd onto the situation table, where it clattered to a stop beside her own padd.
As Dax sat back down, Candlewood asked, “What was that all about?”
“It was just Quark in his eternal pursuit of profit,” Dax said, shaking her head. She knew that part of the job description for officers aboard a space station, and specifically command officers, included dealing with the civilians aboard. On Deep Space 9, that necessarily meant dealing with the merchants on the Promenade, but that did not strike Dax as a good use of her time or abilities. She didn’t really understood how Captain Kira and Commander Vaughn managed it.
Dax thought about reviewing the information on Quark’s padd, but she decided she would do it later. Instead, she picked up her own padd so that she could finish reviewing the external sensor logs, but her gaze moved over the data without reading it. She had been in a foul mood before, and Quark’s visit to Ops hadn’t improved it.
What’s wrong with me? she wondered. She hadn’t always been so cynical. For the second time, she considered whether or not she really belonged in Starfleet.
But it wasn’t always like this, Dax reminded herself. She had been enthusiastic when she’d been posted to Destiny, and her time on the ship had been satisfying. Similarly, her three-month stint as Defiant’s first officer had fulfilled her.
Maybe it’s not Starfleet, she realized. Maybe it’s the posting. Dax certainly got along with her crewmates, and some of them had become good friends. Despite sporadic flare-ups with Julian since they’d parted ways, they both managed to keep their on-duty interactions professional.
But the station . . . As Dax thought about it, she saw that she had come to view Deep Space 9 as an insular environment. That seemed impossible on the face of it, given the amount of interstellar traffic that passed through the place. Still, circumstances didn’t change all that much for her from day to day, week to week.
Is that it? Dax thought, feeling as though she might have uncovered the source of her discontent. Do I need a different setting? Not on a space station rooted in one location, but aboard a starship that’s exploring the galaxy?
The notion of leaving DS9 for good divided Dax’s emotions. She had grown close to a number of her crewmates—Elias Vaughn, Sam Bowers, Mikaela Leishman, Simon Tarses—and it would be hard to leave them. And yet the possibility of serving once more aboard a starship definitely appealed to her.
It’s not just the station, though, is it? Dax asked herself. It’s also about me—about my identity. Ezri Tigan had never intended to be joined, had never trained for it, had never even fantasized about it. Despite the supposed joys and benefits of merging with a symbiont, she had never considered pursuing such a path. Circumstance had left her without much of a choice.
Joining had been an intense experience—an experience that, early on, had come close to overwhelming her. She quickly came to understand the inexpressible harmony Ezri and the Dax symbiont shared, but she also had trouble coherently navigating through a flood of memories and emotions not her own—at least, not her own in a way that she recognized. Eventually, the voices in her head blended into one coherent perspective: Ezri Dax, and the echoes of all the previous hosts of the symbiont became a single entity.
But I am the sum of my parts, she thought. I am Ezri and I am Dax, but I am also Lela Yurani, Tobin Fendus, Emony Odaren, and all the rest of the hosts. Maybe, in truth, she was more than that, a collection of lives and experiences that exceeded their mere combination.
But I want to be more even than that, Dax admitted to herself. More—and different. She didn’t want to be a member of the Trill ruling council, as Lela had been. She didn’t want to be an engineer like Tobin, or a gymnast like Emony. She wanted to forge her own unique self, rather than define herself too closely to how any of Dax’s prior hosts had: as a Trill Symbiosis Commission member, as a pilot, as a musician, as a diplomat.
Or as a Starfleet officer on a space station.
Ezri Dax had done more than make peace with being joined; she had come to relish the knowledge and wisdom that came with having effectively lived for a quarter of a millennium. Still, she sometimes found her recollection muddled, and her sense of self tenuous. Sometimes, she found herself relating closely to Jadzia—uncomfortably so. The two had both served under the command of Curzon’s friend. The two had both been attracted to Julian, and though they had taken different courses, they had both declined a long-term relationship with him.
And we both made our home on Deep Space Nine. Ezri had tried to convince herself that was a small detail, a simple echo that did not wholly define either her or Jadzia, but she had never entirely convinced herself of that argument. How could she, when such significant aspects of her own existence—her career in Starfleet, her posting to DS9, her life on the station—mirrored those of Jadzia.
I have to do something, she thought.
Dax didn’t know what she would do. She only knew that she would have to make some major changes in her life.
* * *
Kira looked up as the bend in the gently flowing river carried her canoe along a steep stone wall. The rock face rose impressively high above her, and it actually angled out slightly over the water, but she judged that, with the numerous cracks she saw, it would not be too difficult to scale. She had no intention of doing any climbing during her trip, but she could never stop herself from examining her surroundings, either for a means of escape, or for an avenue of attack.
I was taught well, Kira thought. She’d spent most of her life struggling to free her people, and almost a decade since then as a soldier on Deep Space 9. But not just as a soldier, she corrected herself. She also functioned as an aide, as a liaison, as a diplomat, as a leader. Still, she could not deny that she considered herself a woman of action.
As the easy current of the upper Elestan River pulled Kira into the shade thrown by the escarpment, the air temperature dipped noticeably. She appreciated the break from the hot summer sun. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shadows, but when they did, she saw a thick wood marching up to the other side of the river. She had reached the edge of the Graldom Forest, where she intended to set up camp for the night. She would continue on in her canoe for perhaps another hour, which would leave her with enough time before sunset to find a suitable place to camp.
Kira had rarely taken extended leave during her service aboard Deep Space 9. Throughout her years in the Resistance, there had been no such thing as a holiday. Consequently, on the station, she most often sought rest and renewal in ways long familiar to her: by meditating at the small shrine she kept in her quarters, by immersing herself in the sacred texts, and by visiting the Bajoran temple on the Promenade.
After everything that had happened since she’d taken command of DS9, though, she’d found herself almost swept away by a growing sense of fatigue. From the N-vector viroid that infected the station two years earlier, through to the days of the Ascendant invasion, a series of threatening events demanded her continua
l attention and labors. Additionally, so many of those incidents impacted her directly, including her attainder by the Vedek Assembly; a mind-controlled Taran’atar attacking and almost killing her; the replacement of her damaged heart with an artificial organ; her encounters with the two versions of Iliana Ghemor; and her contacts with the Prophets, within and without the Celestial Temple.
In the days immediately after the Ascendant invasion, Kira had worked hard to ensure the safety of both DS9 and the entire Bajoran system. She coordinated with Captains Kalena Hoku and Nthanda Naidoo of Mjolnir and Bellerophon, respectively, to patrol on both sides of the wormhole while Defiant underwent repairs and the installation of a new warp core. Kira also dispatched her own crew in runabouts to replace the comm relay in the Gamma Quadrant. She held services on the station for the scientific teams lost on Endalla, and she attended a memorial on Bajor.
Kira had also reviewed Yolja’s sensors logs, as well as those of Defiant, in an attempt to determine precisely what had happened to result in the destruction of the Ascendant fleet. She assigned DS9’s primary science officer, Lieutenant John Candlewood, to oversee a detailed analysis of those readings. Neither he nor anybody else could reach a definitive conclusion about what had taken place in what people had begun calling the Even Odds disaster—although nobody seemed to want to talk about the fact that without the destruction of the peculiar vessel, the Bajoran people might have faced a loss of life that would have dwarfed what they had endured under Cardassian oppression.
Even Odds had been identified by, of all people, Jake Sisko. While visiting his grandfather on Earth, he saw images of the ship on the comnet, and he immediately transmitted a message to Benjamin on Bajor. More than a year and a half prior, Jake had been rescued in the Gamma Quadrant by the crew of Even Odds. Nobody could explain how Taran’atar had come to be aboard the ship, or whether or not its crew had perished with him. Lieutenant Candlewood believed that the boundaries between the normal space-time continuum and its underlying, foundational dimensions had somehow been broken down aboard Even Odds, resulting in subspace waves emanating from the newly opened aperture.
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Ascendance Page 14