Etana looked up with a smile. Ro was impressed by how easily it seemed to fall into place. The sergeant shrugged. “Hate sleeping alone.”
Ro smiled back. “Don’t worry; when she gets back, you’ll be annoyed you don’t have the bed to yourself anymore.”
Etana laughed. “You’re probably right. Night, Lieutenant.”
“G’night, Kol.”
As she left the security office, Ro saw to her surprise that zh’Thane was still just outside, chatting pleasantly with Hiziki Gard, the Federation’s security liaison and aide to the Trill amabassador. Ro nodded to Gard as she passed them, and gleaned from the few bits she overheard that zh’Thane’s earlier angst had passed.
Was that whole thing an act? Ro wondered, stopping in front of the turbolift. As she reconsidered what she would say to Kira, Ro found herself wondering how much of zh’Thane’s performance had been staged and how much had been genuine.
“Lieutenant.”
Ro looked over her shoulder and saw the councillor standing alone again near the security office, Gard having apparently moved on.
“Thank you,” zh’Thane mouthed soundlessly. Her eyes brimmed with pain for the briefest of moments before the composed politician’s facade descended like a mask. Then she turned away, disappearing into the humanoid tide of the Promenade.
5
“Commander, I can’t access the Defiant,” Nog hissed.
What the hell is Nog doing in my room? Vaughn thought, eyelids fluttering as he bounced back and forth between half-sleep and wakefulness. He couldn’t recall his dream save that his hair was the brown of his youth and there were swaying palm trees in the background. He thought Ruriko was there, but as always, he was unable to reach her.
“Commander, are you there?”
Blindly, Vaughn felt his way to the end table, groping for his combadge. When he clutched it in his hand, he pressed it and said,
“The door won’t open, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, there’s a contingent of Yrythny soldiers here—with weapons. And they pointed them at me when I tried to board the ship.”
Fully awake, Vaughn swore and sat up, reaching for his uniform. “I’ll be right there, Nog. Vaughn out.”
What a difference a few hours make! After the night’s last debriefing, Vaughn had felt comfortable with how things stood—at least with Nog. The Defiant’ s problems seemed cut and dried: if it’s broken, fix it. Repairs would be complex—taking far longer than any of them desired—but the Yrythny had pledged to be generous with cooperation and resources. Maybe that was his mistake: assuming that the worst was past them. He’d served in Starfleet long enough to know that whenever a situation looked bleak, it was bound to be a veritable black hole before it improved. Nog and his team had even addressed his most pressing concern, the development of a theoretical model for a defense system against the Cheka weapon. That alone should have tipped me off that this whole thing would be shot to hell before breakfast.
Vaughn recalled that, after midnight, Julian had wandered up to the repair bay. Bashir, he knew, didn’t need as much sleep as most humans, so Vaughn didn’t look askance at the doctor’s middle-of-the-night proposal to inventory sickbay. Anyone willing to work was welcome. In a flash of inspiration, Julian had suggested using the humanoid immune system as a model for a defensive weapon. The ideas tumbled out from there.
If the Cheka nanobots represented invading viruses and bacteria, then femtobots—even smaller and designed by the Defiant staff—could be used be like the CD8 T and B cells deployed by humanoid bone marrow to gnaw through the viruses. Nog’s plan called for maintaining a cloud of femtobots in stasis just beneath the ship’s shield envelope. If Defiant tripped another web weapon, the femtobots would activate and attack as soon as the nanobots pierced the shields. Brilliant.
In theory.
The trick, of course, was that although it was well known that molecular cybernetics didn’t stop at the nanite level, creating femtobots able to withstand the stress of the shield matrix and hard enough to pierce the nanobots was uncharted territory. The Defiant simply didn’t possess the structural materials Nog and his engineers would need to make the plan work. Their computer simulations, run using variations of readily available materials, had all failed. Either the femtobots disintegrated in proximity to the shields, or the ship sustained critical damage due to delayed or partial deployment. The femtobots required something more resilient than Defiant’ s replicators or her engineers could fabricate.
Even though a significant challenge awaited Nog, Vaughn hadn’t been too worried. Nog’s resourcefulness and innovative abilities never ceased to amaze him. Vaughn had instead assumed his biggest problem would be his hosts’hastily conceived notion that Dax should facilitate some mediation process between warring Yrythny factions.
Prime Directive and first contact issues aside—and his concerns regarding those protocols weren’t exactly minor—Vaughn had reservations about letting Dax get mixed up in the Yrythny’s internal politics. Despite her zeal and seriousness about her transfer to command—and the fact that her past-life experiences gave her unique advantages as his XO—nothing in the lieutenant’s Starfleet background or his own interactions with her shouted that she ought to have her responsibilities broadened to include diplomacy. Granted, her counselor training lent her legitimate, professional expertise in the area of xenopsychology, but Vaughn still remembered Curzon Dax’s questionable judgment during the Betreka affair, and the choices that had nearly gotten them both killed. Ezri wasn’t Curzon, of course—not exactly—and while she was a quick study, Vaughn wasn’t about to turn over the fate of a world poised on the brink of civil war to her, no matter what gods appeared to have ordained it.
Sprinting up the stairs that led to Defiant’ s docking bay, Vaughn saw the problem immediately. Just as Nog had reported, a squadron of armed, uniformed Yrythny soldiers blocked the ship’s airlock. Nog was huddled with several engineers some distance away. The chief engineer’s face relaxed visibly when he saw his CO; Vaughn hoped the situation hadn’t worsened since he left his quarters.
“Report, Lieutenant.”
Nog launched into his story at once. “I arrived at 0600 to resume command of the repair team, accompanied, as you can see by Ensign Senkowski, Ensign Leishman, and Ensign Gordimer.”
At mention of their names, auburn-haired Senkowski, smiley Leishman and stocky Gordimer in succession, straightened up and nodded a polite acknowledgment to their commander.
Nog continued, “We discovered the troops you see here blocking the airlock; they denied us access to the Defiant. Lieutenant McCallum, Ensign Merimark, Ensign Permenter, and Crewman M’Nok are still aboard. I’ve already contacted them and they haven’t been threatened, or had their work interfered with. They didn’t even know they were trapped inside until I told them.”
“What do these guards have to say?”
“Nothing, sir, except that they’re acting under orders to secure the ship.”
There must be a point to this. Even implied threats aren’t arbitrary.“Have you contacted the Yrythny authorities?” If Vaughn were to guess, he’d assume that one of their friendly dinner companions was responsible for their armed visitors.
“Sir, we’ve tried to raise our concerns with the Yrythny government, but our inquiries have been rerouted, ignored or gone unacknowledged,” Nog said.
I just bet they have, Vaughn thought. They want us to stew in our worry a little longer. Makes us more pliable, more readily agreeable to their demands when they finally get around to making them.
“And for that, I apologize, Lieutenant Nog,” Assembly Chair Rashoh’s rumbling voice came from behind them. “I had hoped to contact you myself, Commander, before your engineers arrived for duty this morning, but obviously my good intentions came to naught.”
So you’ve decided we’ve waited long enough, or you’ve grown impatient. Which one is it?“As you say Assembly Chair,” Vaughn said placidly, turning to face Rashoh and his
party. None of their identities surprised him, just the failure to bring their token Lower Assembly member, Keren, along as a spectator. Accompanying the Assembly Chair were Vice Chair Jeshoh and another Yrythny official Vaughn didn’t recall meeting. He considered them cautiously, wondering what ill tidings they brought. “Imagine my concern at discovering my crew had been denied access to our ship.” Let the games begin…
“Your ship, certainly,” the Assembly Chair said with a toothy smile, his never-blinking eyes glinting like obsidian. “As your lieutenant has no doubt reported to you, we haven’t violated your sovereignty and boarded your vessel. Rather, we have some concerns that we wanted to discuss.”
“Concerns?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow. What trumped-up excuses have you spent the night dreaming up? He offered Rashoh a warm smile of his own.
“The radiation contamination inside is immense. We require assurance that our own people won’t be impacted,” the Assembly Chair said soberly.
Vaughn smiled tightly at Rashoh. “Mister Nog?”
Taking his cue, Nog opened his tricorder and panned it in the direction of the airlock. After a moment he turned back to Vaughn and held up the results of his scan.
To Rashoh, Vaughn said, “I encourage you to verify these findings with your own instruments, but according to this, you and your people have nothing to fear.”
A pointy-faced Yrythny wearing billowing muted green pants and a gaudy macramé headpiece stepped forward with outturned feet, bowed, and said in a hesitant voice, “I am Science Minister M’Yeoh. Let me come to the point, Commander.”
“By all means,” Vaughn said pleasantly.
Threading his lengthy, bony fingers together and flexing his fingers rhythmically—as one might tap one’s toes—Minister M’Yeoh waddled closer to Vaughn. “As I see it, you have three options,” he said. “Clearly, your ship can’t fly or sustain life for long. Should”—he gulped—“you decide that it’s irreparable you might wish to trade your ship for one of ours. Or you might decide that our world suits you as a place to rest temporarily. Perhaps contact your own people in the Alpha Quadrant and wait for them to come and bring you home.”
“Or they can repair the Defiant using our resources—personnel, raw materials and so forth,” Jeshoh interjected. “As we promised our guests yesterday.”
At least Jeshoh’s not pretending to go along with this charade.“Vice Chair Jeshoh offers the only option I’m willing to take,” Vaughn said, waiting for the word he felt certain would follow.
“But that’s our problem, Commander.”
There it is, Vaughn thought ruefully. The “but.” Would that someday sentient nature surprised him even a little, but it often seemed as if all species—all thinking beings—functioned on similar paradigms, even this far from home.
Assembly Chair Rashoh clucked, jiggling the pockets of skin hanging off his jaw. “We want to be generous with you, but the reports from your chief technologist indicate that your ship will require extensive—and expensive—resources. Much of what you need we obtain from foreign trade, and as we’ve already explained, our conflict with the Cheka has limited our supply runs. How can we possibly give you what you need without risking shortages to our own vessels?” Assembly Chair Rashoh’s sad expression lingered on Vaughn for a long moment, allowing his words to hang in the air.
“I understand completely,” Vaughn said. “Would you consider a trade?”
Smiling, the Assembly Chair took Vaughn by the elbows. “I believe we would be open to such a proposal.”
“Hmmm. I have some suggestions, but perhaps you have something in mind?”
M’Yeoh said, “We’ve reviewed this model for a defensive weapon that your Lieutenant Nog designed and found it has merit. But like you, we lack a raw material suitable for construction of the femtobots.”
Hearing mention of his work on the defense system, Nog sidled up close to M’Yeoh. Vaughn had momentary concerns about how the Yrythny government had been privy to Nog’s technological innovations, but then he recalled that a group of engineers from the Avaril had asked if they could help out. In spite of their rough first contact, the Yrythny engineers had bonded with Nog and his staff.
“Among the trade avenues still open to us, we have a membership in a matter Consortium several sectors away that deals in unique and rare materials,” the Assembly Chair explained.
“Matter Consortium?” Vaughn asked.
“A nexus of free trade situated near a natural particle fountain in this sector. The Consortium harvests the outflows of the particle fountain. The matter emerging from the fountain has undergone intense gravitational pressure and temperature fluctuations. Its molecular and subatomic structure is fundamentally altered by these forces. We believe it will meet your requirements.”
Nog was rapt with attention. Technology that facilitated particle fountain mining, while found in the Federation, such as the one at Tyrus VIIA, was still primarily experimental. Vaughn could see the cogs in his mind spinning furiously as he processed Rashoh’s words. When Nog leaned forward, as if he were preparing to question the Assembly Chair, Vaughn touched his shoulder, wanting him to hold back until he had the complete picture.
“You’re saying we can obtain the structural materials we need from this Consortium?”
Rashoh smiled but shook his head. “Unfortunately, trading is closed to nonmembers. However, as members ourselves, we would be willing to act on your behalf. You could travel on Avaril, with your ship, allowing your crew time to work on your repairs during the journey. Our long range probes have recently verified a route to the Consortium that is still free of web weapons.”
“A generous offer,” Vaughn said, relieved that the game was nearing an end. “But what could we possibly offer you in return?”
“Allow your first officer, Lieutenant Dax, to stay behind and mediate talks between the Houseborn and the Wanderers.”
And your first instinct was right, Elias. The situation with Ezri is the real problem here. He exhaled deeply, considered the group standing before him and saw in their faces a resolute determination to do whatever it took to bring their will to pass.
“Agreed,” Vaughn said. “Threats weren’t necessary, Assembly Chair, Minister M’Yeoh, Vice Chair Jeshoh. Reasonable people negotiate and I am nothing if not reasonable. Your soldiers will now leave and my engineers will go to work.” He smiled coldly at his blackmailers.
The Yrythny delegation didn’t bother to hide their relief at Vaughn’s answer. Why hadn’t they just asked? In his more than eighty years in Starfleet, whether it was dropping into a war zone or playing cat-and-mouse games with the Tal Shiar, Vaughn had learned that desperation drives otherwise sane people to do crazy things. The time for asking whether Dax should do this is probably past—the question now is whether Dax can do this. For all our sakes, I hope her plucky determination—and the cumulative wisdom of all her lives—will be enough.
Shar waited impatiently as the troop transport in which he rode crept slowly through the narrow needle, toward the massive docking platform. Through the windows, he could see Luthia’s winking lights diminishing as he inched closer to the Avaril. Would that he could have joined the others an hour ago when the crew checked out of the guest quarters! But he—along with Candlewood, Juarez, and McCallum—was remaining behind to assist Lieutenant Dax. Loading the shuttlecraft Sagan with the away team’s supplies and piloting the ship to a bay closer to their guest quarters had left him little time for a pressing personal errand. He still hoped he had enough time to pull Commander Vaughn aside to make a private request. Shar rarely made such requests; he hoped Vaughn understood that.
If Commander Vaughn followed the pattern established thus far, Defiant would send its official weekly report to Deep Space 9 while at the Consortium. “Letters” from the crew to their friends and families were transmitted on an “as time and equipment permitted” basis. At present, both were in short supply, but he didn’t wish to let another week pass. When the next report w
as transmitted to Colonel Kira, Shar hoped to include a message to his bondmates: not only because they expected one, but because he deeply regretted the last one he had sent.
His first letter home had been stilted. Still smarting from the sting of his zhavey’ s ploy, he’d been at a loss as to what to say. She had staged her ambush—bringing his bondmates to the station all the way from Andor to persuade him not to join the Defiant’ s mission—because she loved him and believed his choices would lead him to unhappiness. But that didn’t lessen his frustration with her tactics. There was a fine line between “force” and “guilt” to Shar’s way of thinking. Especially since she had succeeded in making him feel guilty. He missed the days when their relationship was less adversarial.
All these feelings had filled Shar when he’d recorded his first message to his zhavey. He finally settled on a matter-of-fact recitation of his experiences coupled with brief well wishes and words of affection. Had he sent what he had recorded on the first pass, Shar expected that Charivretha might have come chasing through the wormhole after him. Saying the words, however, had been enough to make him feel better, so he erased the inflammatory accusations in favor of his proper letter. He might send his first draft later on, when the Defiant was too far away to catch…
Zhavey:
I am sorry to have disappointed you. Please believe me when I say that I would not have chosen as I did if I didn’t believe that I was doing what was best for all concerned. Has not your whole life been about the greater good of Andor? Is it too hard to understand that I’ve become what I am by learning from your example?
Even more difficult was the letter to his bondmates. All his words were just words. Empty. Hollow. Failing utterly to convey the heartache he felt, or to acknowledge the heartache he knew he’d caused them. Why were pain and love coupled so tightly together?
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