A Starfleet captain would have had Taran’atar on the Defiant, a voice in the back of her head said. Probably alongside a speech about how we’ll never learn to trust each other until someone takes the first step.
Kira slapped the voice down. I’m not a Starfleet captain.
But that single thought brought with it another— one that had been recurring ever since Starfleet had first come to the station more than seven years ago. The thought had become more prominent since Shakaar had informed her how close Bajor was again to joining the Federation. When that happened, the Militia would be absorbed into Starfleet, and all Bajoran officers and enlisted personnel who chose to stay would have to trade their uniforms for another, one that stood not just for one world, but a plurality. It was, she knew, what DS9 had been about from the beginning. In part it was also what Bajor’s role in the relief efforts to Cardassia was about, and this mission to help the Europani—Bajor was learning to think outside the confines of one planet and one people. And if that were true, then the next logical step for Kira would be to put on a Starfleet uniform again, as she’d done to help the Cardassian resistance. She recalled vividly that at the time, it had been a strange fit.
But was it the right fit?
Her musings were interrupted by Taran’atar. “I have another question, Colonel. You and President Silverio indicated that you intend to restore Europa Nova.” “Of course.”
“There’s no known way to dispose of theta radiation on this scale. The most efficient course would be to relocate the inhabitants to another planet.”
“This is their home.”
“I don’t understand.” Taran’atar seemed genuinely confused. “It is simply a planet. To try to restore it is a waste of resources.”
Kira shook her head. “There’s nothing ‘simple’ about it, Taran’atar. Saving a home is never a waste.”
“Please explain.”
She had expected the request to be phrased disdainfully, but Taran’atar seemed genuinely curious. I guess that comes with age, she thought with mild amusement. Taran’atar was twenty-two years old, which made him an “Honored Elder” by Jem’Hadar standards. Bred solely for military combat, few Jem’Hadar lived past the age of ten, and fewer still survived even that long.
Kira started several sentences in her head before finally committing to one. “I’ve spent my life fighting for Bajor. It isn’t just a planet I happened to be born on. It’s home.”
“You keep using that word. My home has always been where the Founders tell me to be. A Jem’Hadar’s home is his unit.”
Seizing on that statement, Kira said, “A people can be defined by where they come from. Who the Bajorans are is shaped in part by our world. It’s part of what ties us to the Prophets. The Cardassians didn’t belong there, so I fought them. All my life, I’ve fought for Bajor because that is my unit.”
She thought Taran’atar would grasp the analogy, but he seemed to focus on something else. “You believe caring for your home brings you closer to your gods?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” she said neutrally.
“Yet your gods cast you out.”
On reflex, Kira’s hand went to her right ear, which had gone unadorned since she’d been Attainted. “Not my gods,” she said, quietly but firmly. “Only a few men and women who claim to represent them.”
She thought Taran’atar would challenge her statement. Instead, as the clouds outside the viewport cleared, he reported, “Entering lower atmosphere. Setting course for the southern continent.”
As the Euphrates scanned for life-forms and began beaming people up, nothing more was said about homes and gods. Kira was both annoyed and grateful. Annoyed, because it was in her nature to argue and defend her position, and she was damned if she’d let some Jem’Hadar make light of her devotion to her homeworld. Grateful, because her being exiled from the Bajoran religious community was still an open wound, and the conversation was taking a direction that would surely pour salt on it.
Part of the problem was her own inability to convey her feelings about faith properly. She remembered something Istani Reyla had said to her when she was a child: “One does not explain faith. One simply has it or does not.”
And Kira did have faith—in Bajor, and in the Prophets. She always had. It had kept her going during those cold winter nights in the caves, hiding from the Cardassian patrols, with not enough clothes to keep her warm, unable to build a fire for fear of being detected. It would keep her going now, too. After all, the Prophets didn’t “cast me out,” Vedek Yevir did. If I learned nothing else from Kai Winn’s thankfully brief reign, it’s that even the clergy isn’t perfect.
Part of it might also have been that Taran’atar was struggling with his own crisis of faith ever since he returned from Sindorin. Questioning Kira about her own spiritual dilemma was the only way he had to at least attempt to resolve it. He simply wasn’t equipped to cope with the doubts that had taken root in his mind. She understood his turmoil; to some degree, she even shared it. But she would never lose faith, never give up.
She wouldn’t give up Europa Nova, either. These people, in their own way, fought for their home, same as she always had, whether against the Cardassians or the Dominion, and she would make sure they wouldn’t lose it, either.
“Ready to transport the first wave, Commander.”
Vaughn nodded to Chief Jeannette Chao as she manipulated the controls in transporter bay one. The Defiant’ s primary bay was fairly small—there was barely room for Vaughn, Chao, and Ensign Gordimer. The other transporter bay on deck two, as well as the cargo transporter on deck three, were performing similar functions. They would keep going until they had approximately a hundred and fifty refugees, then head back to Deep Space 9 to drop them off.
Getting so many people onto a ship with a normal complement of forty was going to be something of a challenge, particularly when most of them would be the upper echelons of the Europani political structure. The burden on life-support would be consider able. Still, Vaughn thought, “needs must as the devil drives.” Vaughn had also made sure that Ensign Gordimer had issued hand phasers to the security staff, just in case.
Chao manipulated the controls, and seven humans materialized on the platform, along with one tall, familiar Andorian: Charivretha zh’Thane. Her featherlike white hair had been styled in a manner that made her head look like a negative-image zletha flower, complete with antennae substituting for the stamen, a blossom with blue petals and a white stem.
At the sight of Vaughn, she broke into a smile. “Elias? Is that really you?”
Vaughn nodded. “Councillor zh’Thane.”
“Please, Elias, I’m in no mood for formality,” she said in her mildly accented voice as she stepped down from the platform.
Before responding, Vaughn turned to the Europani, most of whom were well dressed and carried themselves with the arrogance Vaughn had come to associate with politicians. Of course, they’re the first to beam out. To her credit, President Silverio was not among them.
“Greetings and welcome aboard the Federation Starship Defiant. I am Commander Elias Vaughn, in charge of this vessel. If you will all please follow Ensign Gordimer, he’ll escort you to the mess hall. As soon as we’re at capacity, you’ll be taken to Deep Space 9.”
“The mess hall?” one of the men said—a short, rotund man with receding brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “I had assumed we would be getting quarters.”
“You will on the station, sir,” Vaughn said. “ However, the Defiant is not equipped with such facilities.”
“I’ve seen Federation starships—you can’t expect me to believe that you don’t have proper quarters!”
“The Defiant is primarily a warship, sir,” Vaughn said calmly.
“I’m sure the mess hall will be fine,” a tall woman with long, straight, jet-black hair said as she moved toward the door. Others followed suit.
The balding man, however, stayed put. “ Commander, do y
ou have any idea who I am?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“I am the minister of agriculture, one of the most important people on this planet—”
The long-haired woman rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Sergio.”
Disregarding this request, the minister put his hands on his hips. “I refuse to be transported on this vessel! I demand to be taken to one of the other starships! One with proper facilities!”
Keeping his gaze fixed on Sergio, Vaughn said, “Chief Chao, prepare to transport the minister back to the surface. Minister, I’m sure you can arrange ground transport to Spilimbergo, which is not very far from L’Aquila. At that point, you can no doubt get on the list for transport to the Gryphon. Ensign Gordimer, please see the rest of these good people to the mess hall.”
“Yes, sir. If you will all follow me, please,” Gordimer said as he led the assorted politicians out of the room.
The minister, meanwhile, had gone pale. “On the list?”
“Someone as important as you can surely arrange for something, sir.”
The minister sputtered for a moment, then quickly ran after the departing crowd.
Vretha zh’Thane had remained behind. “Very nicely handled, Elias, as always. But then, you never had any patience with politicians, did you?”
“Chief Chao, please prepare to beam the next wave up. Energize as soon as Ensign Gordimer returns.”
“Yes, sir.”
Indicating the door, Vaughn said, “Councillor?”
Chuckling, Vretha said, “Of course, Commander.” She inserted her arm into the crook of Vaughn’s, and walked out the door with him.
“You haven’t changed much since the last time I saw you,” Vaughn said as they proceeded down the narrow corridor. Allowing himself a small smile, he added, “Except for the hair, of course.”
“I needed a change, and I thought a floral hairdo would be fitting for negotiations with a world that prides itself on work in the biological sciences. Where are you taking me?”
“The bridge.”
“Really?” Vretha said with a wry smile.
“You’re a Federation dignitary. It seems only appropriate.”
Again, Vretha chuckled. “The ironic thing is, I was going to make a side trip to DS9 in any case. I wanted to see my chei.”
“You’d be very proud. Ensign ch’Thane is a fine officer.”
The smile fell, and Vretha’s arm tightened in Vaughn’s. “Yes, I’m sure he is. However, there are other—” She hesitated.
Vaughn remembered ch’Thane’s comment in ops about not having been home in a while. For the first time, he spoke in a gentler tone. “Vretha, if there’s a problem, you can tell me.”
They arrived at the bridge. “We’ll talk later, Elias,” Vretha said with finality—yet also with certainty. Vaughn recognized the tone of a parent whose child was a source of consternation.
Ensign Tenmei vacated the command chair as Vaughn entered. Without even looking at Vaughn, she said, “Sir, we’ve detected something of interest on the surface.” As she took her position at the conn, she activated the viewscreen to show a sensor log. “This is near one of the small towns on the east coast of the northern continent—a place called Costa Rocosa.”
The viewscreen displayed a familiar image: the energy signature of a gateway.
Costa Rocosa was on the Rio Grande’ s agenda. “Defiant to Rio Grande.”
“Bowers here.”
“Lieutenant, have you reached Costa Rocosa yet?”
“Not until the next trip, sir.”
“Very well.” Turning to the crewperson at ops, he said, “Contact the local authorities on Costa Rocosa. Tell them I’ll be beaming down to the coordinates of that gateway.” Turning back to the conn, he said, “Good work, Ensign. You’re in command until I return. Alert Colonel Kira and the other Starfleet vessels to what you’ve found.”
“Yes, sir,” the young woman said.
To Vretha, he said as he approached the rear exit, “Councillor, I think it would be best if you waited in the mess hall with the others.”
“Of course, Commander.” Vaughn was relieved that she didn’t protest, but simply followed him off the bridge.
“Colonel, I have good news and bad news.”
Vaughn stood on a large, craggy rock, waves from a reddish-blue ocean crashing only a few meters to his right. Wind blew through his silver hair, sometimes hard enough to cause him to stumble on the uneven ground. That wind also forced him to raise his voice in order for Kira to hear him through his combadge.
Costa Rocosa was aptly named. Spanish for “rocky coast,” this fishing town consisted of several well-built stone houses near the coastline, which was composed entirely of rock. No beachfront property here, Vaughn observed. The locals had constructed an extensive marina around one of the larger stony outcroppings.
Vaughn’s present location was a much smaller outcropping about fifty meters south of that dock. The town had a population of less than a thousand, and it seemed like all of them had gathered near this outcropping since Vaughn had beamed down. One, a tall, skinny, black-haired and -bearded man named Nieto, had identified himself as the mayor and had offered to render any assistance necessary to the commander. Vaughn had thanked him politely and then ignored him and the others while he examined the strange phenomenon on the rocks.
Sitting on the next rock over was, for lack of a better phrase, a hole in space. Through this hole, Vaughn saw not the rocks and breaking waves of Costa Ro cosa that he knew to be on the other side of it, but instead an arid expanse of blue sand being blown by winds even harsher than those buffetting Vaughn. A heavy cover of dark red clouds in an even darker sky obscured the sun. At the moment, there was no sign of any life, but Vaughn’s tricorder had indicated a thinbutbearable oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere.
After the tricorder completed its analysis, Vaughn had contacted Kira on the Euphrates.
Vaughn continued. “The good news is that this is indeed a working gateway, and it’s programmed for a single location.” The other gateways that had been discovered tended to be on random settings, jumping from one location to another. Had that been the case, it would have been potentially dangerous for evacuation purposes.
“What’s the bad news?”
“As far as I can tell, the location in question is Torona IV—the homeworld of the Jarada.”“And they are . . . ?”
“A fussy, somewhat xenophobic people that insist on very specific protocols. During first contact, the Starfleet captain mispronounced a word in their language, and they went into a twenty-year snit. Relations reopened about twelve years ago, but it’s been a struggle to maintain those relations—and they’ve steadfastly refused to let any aliens set foot on their homeworld. The last people to try were the crew of a transport that needed to make an emergency landing about five years ago. The Jarada fired on the ship and all four crew members died in the resulting explosion. Things have been a trifle sour since then.”Kira spoke sharply. “Commander, we have to use
that gateway. I just got a report from the Gryphon that the transporters will be useless in eight hours, which is sooner than we thought. We have to get two million people off-planet with twenty ships that, filled to capacity, will take less than five hundred thousand at a time.”Vaughn refrained from pointing out that he knew that already. “I don’t believe we can risk sending people through the gateway without contacting the Jaradan authorities first.”
A pause. “Agreed. But make it fast, Commander. Do whatever you have to do to convince them to take the refugees.”
“Aye, sir. Vaughn to Intrepid.”
“Emick here.”
“Walter, I need a favor. Your library computer should have records of all the contacts with the Jarada, yes?” The Defiant, built for combat, had a very limited library computer, generally only used for temporary storage of mission-specific data. That would change soon enough when the Defiant returned to the Gamma Quadrant, but for now, the only permanently s
tored material tended to relate to military and intelligence matters, not diplomatic ones.
“Of course.”
“Could you download it to my tricorder, please?” Quickly, Vaughn explained the situation.
“I don’t envy you your task, Elias. The Jarada won’t be easy to negotiate with.”
“There’s no such thing as an easy negotiation, Walter. If there was, you wouldn’t need to negotiate in the first place.”
“You’ve gotten cynical in your old age, Elias,” Emick said with a chuckle. “You should have the data now.”
“Thank you. Vaughn out.”
As Vaughn looked over the material, Nieto approached him again, being helped up the uneven surface with the aid of a young blonde. “Commander, if I may intrude—this thing is a portal to another world, yes?”
“It would certainly appear so, Mayor Nieto,” Vaughn said without looking at the taller man. He continued to study the data, running through the pronunciation of the ritual greeting in his head.
“I assume this world is habitable?”
“It reads as Class M, yes.”
Smiling under his thick beard, Nieto said, “Then, if I may ask—why the delay in allowing my people to go through it? There would appear to be plenty of space.”
“It’s an inhabited planet, Mr. Mayor. We need to make contact with the local government and obtain their permission first.”
Nieto scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I see. And how long will this take?”
“I can’t say at the moment,” Vaughn said honestly, frowning at his tricorder. “Sir, if you’d be so kind as to return to your people. I need to finish my preparations for making contact.”
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