Quark wanted to voice his concerns—his legitimate concerns—to his investigator without offending her. She had made it clear that she liked neither to waste her time, nor to work for people not wholly committed to their own goals. Bearing that in mind, Quark queued his message back and resumed recording. “I’ve studied the report you sent from Stratos, and the evidence you provided is suggestive, and even in part compelling. I hope when you arrive at Geopolis, though, you are able to find something concrete. Keep me informed.”
As Quark reviewed his recording, he heard a sudden din out in the bar. When he had closed the door to his office, he had not closed the inner, soundproof panel. He quickly transmitted his message to Viray, then hied across his office. When he opened the door and stuck his head out, he saw down the corridor and out into the large, main room of the bar. Past the half wall that separated his establishment from the main Plaza walkway, a crowd rushed by, their combined speech an intricate amalgam of sound. Quark concentrated in order to extract individual voices from the acoustic mixture. He heard anger, distress, confusion.
“. . . to the temple. I want to hear what Vedek Novor has to say . . .”
“. . . the first minister shouldn’t allow any analysis . . .”
“. . . if you ask me, it’s just more Ohalavaru terrorism . . .”
“. . . the kai can’t possibly believe . . .”
The kai, Quark thought. He had just seen her on the comnet. He took a moment to watch those flooding past the bar and saw almost exclusively Bajorans. Quark quickly retreated back into his office and moved to the companel. With dexterity born of experience, he restored the audio to the Bajoran feed and replayed it from the beginning of Kai Pralon’s appearance.
Quark listened with interest as the spiritual leader spoke of an attack by Ohalavaru extremists on Endalla. Without equivocation, she denounced the actions, which had put a number of Starfleet officers at risk, although there had fortunately been no loss of life—unlike five-plus years prior, when members of the Ohalu sect had first set their sights on Bajor’s largest moon.
Pralon went on to explain that the two actions were apparently related, part of a plan by certain Ohalavaru to prove their beliefs. To that end, they had succeeded in uncovering a previously unknown installation hidden beneath the surface of Endalla. The kai noted that First Minister Asarem would later address the people of Bajor about the matter, but that the government would likely send scientists and engineers, along with a contingent from the Vedek Assembly, to study what the Ohalavaru had found.
The Vedek Assembly? Quark wondered. If they need to send scientists and engineers, why would they need to send members of the clergy?
Pralon answered that question by making a statement Quark thought far more inflammatory than when the entirety of the translated Ohalu texts had been posted to the Bajoran comnet. The kai quoted Ohalavaru claims that the installation they had uncovered provided proof that the Prophets were not gods. Pralon went on to say that she did not herself put any credence in those allegations, and that she was sure an examination would demonstrate their falseness conclusively—but Quark doubted that many Bajorans had continued listening after hearing what they considered blasphemy.
She’s smart, Quark thought. He understood why she had given voice to a heterodox point of view. By doing so, she had been able to immediately follow it with her own denial, and even if everybody watching hadn’t made it to that part, her address would be replayed again and again. Pralon also undercut the shock that the Ohalavaru clearly wanted to create on Bajor; yes, the sacrilegious contention still stunned Bajorans, but hearing it from their own spiritual leader softened it.
Quark wondered if Laren had postponed their dinner that evening because she’d known about the kai’s address. He thought it likely, considering that members of her own crew regularly patrolled Endalla, and they had obviously been on the moon at the time of the attack. It actually made Quark feel better to know the reason he hadn’t been able to see Laren, but he also worried what impact Pralon’s announcement would have on her. He knew that the captain didn’t categorize herself as a believer in the Prophets, but many in her crew did, including—
Including Cenn Desca. Laren’s first officer rarely visited the bar, but Quark knew that he had a reputation as a pious man. His behavior in the bar two nights previous suddenly came into sharp focus.
I should contact Laren, Quark thought. He really would have preferred to go see her, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. In fact, even if he simply tried to reach her, he undoubtedly wouldn’t be able to; she would have too much to deal with in the wake of the kai’s address.
Maybe I’ll go to her quarters later tonight, he thought, after things have calmed down. He had done that on a few occasions in the past, offering her support in times of crisis. She had also done the same for him.
Quark secured his companel. He also shut down his many displays, though his data-mining programs would continue to monitor the incoming comnet feeds. He then headed out into the bar, unsure what the next few days would bring.
* * *
Ro entered the conference room off the Hub and took a seat at the head of the table. Her command crew—but for the notable exception of Colonel Cenn—had already arrived. Along the side of the table to her left sat her chief of security, Lieutenant Commander Jefferson Blackmer; tactical officer, Dalin Zivan Slaine; communications officer, Lieutenant Ren Kalanent Viss; and the second officer, Lieutenant Commander Wheeler Stinson. To her right sat Chief Engineer Miles O’Brien; operations officer and assistant chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Nog; science officer, Lieutenant Commander John Candlewood; and chief medical officer, Doctor Pascal Boudreaux. They all looked to her expectantly, probably not just because she had called them to a meeting at the beginning of gamma shift, but also because they’d seen, or at least heard about, Kai Pralon’s statements to the Bajoran people.
“An hour ago, we received a priority-one transmission from a Federation research facility,” Ro said without preamble. She saw several surprised expressions around the table, likely because those present had expected her to address the Ohalavaru situation. “Some time ago,” she continued, “the crew of a Starfleet science vessel evidently detected an unusual energy burst inside a star system. They tracked the readings to an asteroid belt. They found a number of subspace anomalies in the vicinity, but they were unable to ascertain the cause of the burst. Their investigation did lead them to an asteroid on which they discovered an unusual substance, which they concluded might be a massive shape-shifter.”
Ro saw a number of expressions around the table. O’Brien and Nog exchanged concerned glances. Slaine narrowed her eyes in distrust. Even ten years past, ghosts of the Dominion War haunted the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Despite the subsequent isolationism of the Founders and their empire, and a decade of peace, suspicions of them still remained.
“The readings of the Starfleet crew led them to believe that the substance probably wasn’t a Changeling,” Ro went on. “But they couldn’t tell with certainty whether the substance was a shape-shifter, or if it was alive, hibernating, or dead. So they collected it from the surface of the asteroid and delivered it to the research facility.”
“What research facility?” Boudreaux asked.
“That information is classified,” Ro said. The captain saw several looks of disapproval, and she understood why. She had obviously called her command crew together in their off-hours because they would need to deal with a problematic situation. In order to do that most effectively, they would want as much information as they could get, and Starfleet Command restricting their access to potentially useful data could prevent that.
“Once the substance had been taken to the research facility,” Ro said, “the scientists there examined it. Over some significant period of time, all their efforts to conclusively categorize it either as a shape-shifter or as something else failed. At that point, they invited Odo to join them.”
The Changeling—and
Ro’s predecessor as chief of security aboard the original DS9—had visited the old station around the time that Bajor had joined the Federation. He had also been in the Alpha Quadrant for these last two years, essentially cut off from the Gamma Quadrant and the Dominion after the wormhole had collapsed. All of her command crew had met Odo and knew him to some extent, and O’Brien and Nog had served with him.
“Two days ago, Odo attempted to link with the substance,” Ro said. “It attacked him and several scientists, then fled the research facility. It evidently is a shape-shifter of some kind, and possibly—perhaps probably—intelligent. It utilized gravitational fields within a planetary system to propel itself out of that system, at which point it accelerated to warp speed. The facility’s long-range sensors have been tracking the shape-shifter, and it has maintained a direct course for Bajor.”
“For Bajor?” Candlewood asked. “Why would it be headed for Bajor?”
“We don’t know,” Ro said.
“Maybe it’s not headed for the planet,” offered Slaine. “Maybe it’s headed for the wormhole.”
“If it is a Founder, that would make sense,” O’Brien said. “Maybe it just wants to go home.”
“Or if the scientists are correct and it isn’t a Changeling,” Nog suggested, “maybe it knows about the Great Link and wants to join them.”
“Those are all possibilities,” Ro said. “And if this shape-shifter is only interested in traveling through the wormhole, that’s acceptable. My concern is that we don’t know its aims. It already attacked ten people at the research facility and left at least two of them dead. I don’t want to take a chance that it has designs on attacking either Bajor or this starbase.” Ro’s officers all nodded in agreement. “Wheeler,” she said, “I want you to take the Defiant out and intercept the shape-shifter. Kalanent, attempt to communicate with it and ascertain its intentions. If you believe that either Bajor or Deep Space Nine is a target for attack, warn it away.”
“What if we’re unable to determine its purpose?” asked Stinson.
“Until we know for sure what it wants,” Ro said, “I don’t intend to let it enter Bajoran space. Zivan, employ a tractor beam or other nonlethal force to keep it away. If necessary, and as a last resort, fire on it.”
“Understood,” said the tactical officer.
“John, I want you to go to provide whatever scientific analysis you can,” Ro told Candlewood. “I want you on board as well, Pascal. Jeff, Miles, you will stay on the starbase, just in case the shape-shifter somehow gets past the Defiant.”
The officers offered assents all around and started to rise, but Ro held up a hand to stop them. She motioned for everybody to take their seats again, and they all did. “There are two more issues,” she told them. “First, Odo is apparently in critical condition. His color has changed and he is nonresponsive. The doctors at the research facility aren’t even sure if he’s still alive, or if he is, if he’ll be able to recover from the attack. They’ve requested assistance with his care.”
“The medical doctor most familiar with Odo—or with any Changelings, for that matter—is Julian Bashir,” said O’Brien. The captain detected an edge in his voice, betraying his sympathies with the doctor. Ro knew he wasn’t alone in thinking that Starfleet Command’s decision to capture, imprison, and court-martial him was unjust. The captain knew that Bashir had violated orders—some of them hers—but the results of his disobedience spoke for themselves: the Andorian reproductive crisis had at last been resolved, Andor had rejoined the Federation, and the UFP had a new president whom all the people had rallied behind.
“The research facility has contacted Starfleet Command about procuring Doctor Bashir’s help,” Ro said, “but it’s unclear if that can happen. In the meantime, they’ve asked Doctor Girani for her help.” O’Brien and Nog had served with Girani Semna, but the captain offered a précis of her service record for the rest of her command crew. “She has agreed, so the Defiant’s first stop will be at Bajor to bring her aboard. After you deal with the shape-shifter, you will deliver Doctor Girani to the research facility. You’ll be given instructions at that time where to go and how to approach.”
“Yes, sir,” said Stinson.
Ro leaned back in her chair before broaching the final subject she needed to discuss. She knew it would be uncomfortable, not only because of what she had to tell her crew, but also because of the decision she’d made. “You all know that Colonel Cenn took a few days of leave after the incident on Endalla,” Ro said. “I visited him earlier to check on him, and I’m pleased to report that he is in much better spirits. Unfortunately, he has made the decision to resign from the Militia, and from his position aboard this starbase.” The captain saw surprise on most of the faces in the room, as well as sadness. Most of the officers present had served with Cenn Desca for years.
And was that a fleeting glimpse of anticipation on Wheeler’s face? Ro hoped not. Stinson had made no secret of his desire one day to attain the rank of captain and the command of his own ship. A bump up to first officer of Deep Space 9 would grant him an obvious next step on that path. Ro didn’t begrudge Stinson his ambition, but she would not appreciate his taking even a small amount of pleasure at Cenn’s departure.
“For the time being, Jeff, you will serve as acting first officer,” Ro said. The security chief’s eyebrows rose, the announcement plainly a surprise to him. She suspected that it also displeased Stinson, but she trusted that he recognized it made no sense to appoint him as acting exec when he would shortly be leaving the starbase aboard Defiant. “Once we’ve dealt with the shape-shifter and I’ve made my recommendations to Starfleet, I’ll determine a permanent chain of command.” Ro knew that she would also need to consult with the minister of state regarding a replacement for Cenn in his position as Bajoran liaison, but she had several candidates in mind.
“That’s it,” the captain said. “Dismissed.”
* * *
Lieutenant Commander Wheeler Stinson sat in the command chair on the bridge of Defiant, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He felt the pulse of the warp drive translating through the deck, listened to the hum of the ship around him, watched the starscape on the main viewscreen as the ship hurtled through the void. He worked hard to stay in the moment and not think beyond the current mission.
It had been more than two days since Defiant had departed Deep Space 9. After diverting to Bajor to bring Doctor Girani aboard, the crew had set course for the last reported coordinates of the alien life-form that had attacked scientists and escaped the Federation research facility. Since then, Girani had been in communication with the scientists at the outpost—via a relay located in the Oort cloud of a remote star system—in an attempt to help them nurse Odo back to health.
As the ship’s sensors scoured surrounding space for any sign of the fleeing shape-shifter, Stinson watched the stars on the viewer. He could readily imagine the early treks of humanity away from the blue world it called home. He knew all of the firsts—Yuri Gagarin, Neil Armstrong, Verna Mitrios, Zefram Cochrane—had known about them since he’d been a boy, listening to his mother recite stories from the history of Man’s extraterrestrial exploration. As a teen, he had devoured accounts from the first days of the United Earth Space Probe Agency all the way to modern-day Starfleet. He’d read all the classics, including Small Steps and Giant Leaps, First Captain, The Stars Within Reach, and To Boldly Go. He loved it all, but he reserved his most intense fascination for the captains—Archer and Hernandez, April and Pike and Kirk, the two Sulus, Robinson and Jang, and so many others.
Stinson fostered no illusions about the origin of his interest in starship commanders. His father had pursued a career in Starfleet, his primary goal to occupy the center seat. When he washed out of the command track, Harvey Stinson refused reclassification to engineering or to security, instead opting to drop out and sign on with a freighter line. On Betelgeuse and then Rings of Meldora, he worked his way up from deckhand to second mate. He never m
ade it to master, though; he died when a hatch either gave way or hadn’t been properly secured, and he was blown out into space. The inquest into the incident never reached an absolute conclusion about the hatch, so Harvey Stinson might have been the cause of his own death.
Just two years old when his father failed to come home from his run aboard Rings of Meldora between Andor and Derenja V, Stinson had few firsthand memories of the man. Most of what he recalled came from holophotos and vids his mother had showed him, as well as from the stories she’d shared with her only child. Marjorie Montero kept her late husband’s memory alive for her son, and she never tried to dissuade him from his passion to become a Starfleet captain. To the contrary, she not only supported his dreams, but nurtured them with her own desires to travel the stars. A research librarian, she read voraciously about the most majestic sights and places in the universe—from the perpetual comets in the skies of Remoré VII to the Forge on Vulcan, from the Jeweled Cliffs of Koltaari to the garnet seas on the Canopus Planet—and she hoped one day to visit as many of them as she could.
She’d never gotten the chance. A freak transporter accident claimed the life of Stinson’s mother during his final year at the Academy. Coming to see him in San Francisco from her home in Wichita, she never rematerialized.
That had always seemed to Stinson like a particularly impersonal way to die. The loss of his mother had torn him up, especially since she had been traveling specifically to visit him. In the days immediately following her loss, Stinson stopping attending classes and exercises, at first holing up in his quarters, and then walking the campus for hours, and later, spending long, drunken nights in San Francisco.
He had faced expulsion, although the commandant of Starfleet Academy, sympathetic about his situation, had offered the alternative of discipline and counseling. Stinson had no interest in either, let alone both, and so he resolved to just walk away, allowing his superiors to amend and close his record however they saw fit. His father had never made it through the Academy, so what difference would it make if he washed out, too?
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Ascendance Page 22