by Emily
sharp, and she could smell the fading scents of sweat and fear and watery katterpod bean gruel, the smell of the Bajoran camps where she'd spent her short childhood. It was dark, the only light coming from emergency backup, casting everything in deep red shadow, and the only sound—besides the pounding of her heart—was the hopeless, laboring beat of slow asphyxiation, a chorus of strained and pitiful hisses.
She stepped into the storage bay, afraid, struggling to stay calm, to try to make sense of what was happening.
The clothes, the Cardassian's weapons, the very status of the Bajorans—Occupation. And from the bulki-ness of the guard's uniforms, probably from before she was bom.
Kira stepped further inside, feeling old defenses rise to the surface, grateful for them. Though bloodless, it was as terrible a death scene as any she'd witnessed. Except for the struggle to breathe, nobody moved. Most of the Bajorans had huddled into couples and small groups to die, clinging to one another for whatever pitiful comfort they could find. There were several children, their small, unmoving bodies cradled in the thin arms of their elders. Kira saw a dead woman clutching a pale infant to her breast and looked away, fighting to maintain control. The Cardassian soldiers were in no better shape; they still gripped their weapons but were obviously helpless to use them, their gray, reptilian faces more ashen than they should have been, then-mouths opening and closing uselessly. The image of fish out of water came to her, and wouldn't go away.
Kira turned in a circle, dizzy from the helpless terror she saw reflected in so many eyes, so many more glazing as they greeted death—and saw something so un-
likely that the disaster's full impact finally gripped her, sank its dark teeth into her and held on tightly.
Two young men, slumped together against the wall to her right, their stiffening arms around each other in a last desperate need for solace, for the consolation of another soul with whom to meet the lonely shadows of death. One was Bajoran. The other, a Cardassian.
What's happening, why is this happening? Her composure was slipping, the things she saw all wrong—foreign to her mind and spirit, a nightmare from without her consciousness. She was lost in some place she had never known, witnessing the final, wrenching moments of people she'd never met Stop, this has to stop, wake up, Nerys, wake up.
A new light filtered through her haze of near-panic. It filled the room, coming from somewhere above and toward the back of the cavernous space. It was the pale blue light she'd always thought of as miraculous and beautiful, the light of the Prophets. Now it threw strange shadows over the dying faces of the doomed men, women, and children, combining with the emergency lights to paint everything a harsh purple.
She felt herself drawn toward the source of the tight, breathing the air of her youth. For some reason, she couldn't pinpoint the light's origin. It was bright enough, and well defined—but mere was a sort of haze at the back of the bay, obscuring the exact location. It was tike looking at a sun from under deep water, the light source shifting and unsteady, far away. Kira walked on—and then she was in the haze, tike a mist of darkness, and the tight was as bright as a star's, only a few meters in front of her.
Nerys.
Some of us more than others. As if. they didn't have enough to do, DS9 had also been designated the official coordinator for the multi-societal relief efforts to Cardassia, which meant extra work for everyone on staff. With supply and aid ships from over a dozen worlds arriving and departing daily—supplemented by an ever-changing number of freelance "ships for hire"—there seemed to be a near-constant stream of problems great and small. Add to that a strange new emotional climate on the station, like nothing the colonel had ever experienced. Although Kira had faith in the good intentions of her people, with the overwhelming majority of the station's nearly 7500 inhabitants being Bajoran, she wasn't so certain that DS9 was the best choice for the restoration effort, regardless of their position and capacity.
First Minister Shakaar had disagreed, arguing that Bajor's willingness to take point in die relief efforts would be an important step toward rapprochement with the Cardassians... as well as in Bajor's renewed petition to join the Federation. "Besides, Nerys," Shakaar had said, "you were there. You saw what it was like. How can we not help them?"
The question, so gently asked, had left Kira unable to argue as she recalled the carnage and destruction the Dominion had wrought. There was a time, she knew, when she might have looked on Cardassia's fate as a kind of poetic justice. But thinking back on the blackened, smoking ruins, the corpses that lay everywhere, the shocked and vacant faces of the survivors... It was no longer possible to view them as the enemy mat had raped Bajor for half a century.
But while convincing Kira of the role that Bajor, and
DS9 especially, was to play in the healing of Cardassia had been relatively easy... me Bajoran populace was another matter. A Bajoran installation providing aid to the Cardassian homeworld? Irony was seldom so obvious, and the atmosphere of reluctant, often grudging charity from some of the Bajorans aboard the station was less than ideal.
At least Starfleet had given her This last. The commander had already proven herself able to work miracles when it came to administrative matters, among other things; after a somewhat rocky start, Kira's new first officer had turned out to be a definite asset
It wasn't until Kira checked herself in the mirror on the way out the door that she thought about the dream again, and was surprised by the sudden loneliness she felt, the loneliness she saw in her tired reflection. Was it just a dream? And if it wasn't, what meaning was she supposed to take from it?
It would have been nice to talk to Benjamin again, under any circumstances....
"Get moving, Colonel," she said softly, straightening her shoulders, her gaze hardening. She was the commanding officer of Starbase Deep Space 9, arguably the single most important outpost in the Alpha Quadrant, and there was a matter on board requiring her immediate attention. How she felt about it—or anything, lately—was of secondary consideration.
Will of the Prophets, she told herself, and taking a deep bream, she stepped out of her quarters and started for Mid-Core.
The colonel marched hi looking alert and fully rested, like always, making Ro Laren wonder—and not
for the first time—if the woman ever slept Ro herself had been dragged out of bed on four hours of sleep, and was feeling it; her days of catching a few moments here and there and calling it even were long gone.
"Report, Lieutenant"
Brisk and efficient, undoubtedly Kira's finest qualities; Ro could respect her, at least Too bad it didn't seem to be mutual.
"At mis point it appears to be a botched robbery attempt" Ro said. "Two dead, the victim and me perpetrator, both Bajoran civilians. Dr. Bashir is conducting the autopsies—"
"Where did it happen?" Kira interrupted. "The at-tack?"
"Promenade, in front of Quark's. I've got people talking to the witnesses now..."
The colonel's eyes had narrowed slightly, and Ro hurried on, remembering their last terse encounter. "There was a strong security presence in and around Quark's, as you, ah, suggested, but it didn't seem to matter. He stabbed the woman in front of a crowd, took her bag, and ran. Two of my deputies chased him to the second level, where he attempted to jump one of the railings. He fell badly, he died."
Kira nodded. "Who was her
"We don't have an ID yet He came to the station yesterday, but apparently he was using a false name. He wasn't much of a thief, whoever he was; there was nothing in her bag but a few personal items. The woman was a monk, a Prylar Istani Reyla; she'd only been here two days, which makes me wonder if he somehow came after her specifically—"
Ro broke off, surprised at the change in Kira's de-
meanor. The color had drained from her face, and her eyes were wide and shocked. "Reyla? Istani Reyla?" Kira whispered.
Ro nodded, uncomfortably aware mat Kira knew the victim. "Yes. Colonel... are you all right?"
Ki
ra didn't answer. She turned and walked away, headed for the door that led into the autopsy room. Ro hesitated, then followed her, wondering if she should say something else. Something comforting. She and Kira didn't get along, but they weren't exactly enemies, either. Soar had been pushing the idea that they were too much alike—both strong, stubborn Bajoran women with histories of following their own rules....
... and if I was also judgmental and blindly pious, we 'd definitely have something in common.
Ro sighed inwardly as she stepped into the autopsy room, reminding herself that she'd rarely been accused of open-mindedness. Besides, she'd only been on the station for six weeks, and although she didn't feel the need to prove herself to the many doubters on board— and doubted herself that it was possible—she was aware that even a grudging acceptance would take time.
Dr. Bashir was speaking softly, standing over Istani's body as Kira stared down numbly at die woman's still face. Ragged circles of blood radiated from several wounds in the old woman's chest staining her monk's robes a dark, shining crimson.
"... several times, and with an erose blade. The atri-oventricular node was destroyed, effectively severing neuromuscular communication between the chambers of the heart Even if I'd been standing by with a surgical team, it's unlikely that she could have been saved."
Ro saw the pain in Kira's wet gaze and immediately
regretted her unkind thoughts. It was the first time she'd seen the colonel display any emotion beyond impatient irritation, at least in front of her, and it had the instant effect of making her want to leave, to allow Kira some privacy with her pain. If Ro had just lost a Mend, she'd hope for the same consideration.
Kira reached out and gently touched Istani's face with the back of her hand. Bashir's demeanor changed abruptly, from subdued respect to open concern.
"Nerys, did you know her?'
Kira's hand trembled against Istani's slack cheek. "At the camps, when I was a child. At Singha. She was a good friend to my parents, and after my mother left... she was a good friend. She watched out for us."
The doctor's voice became even softer. "I'm so sorry. If it's any help to you, I don't believe she suffered."
The three of mem stood for a moment, Bashir's words lingering in the cool, sterile air, Ro feeling out of place as a witness to Kira's grief. She was about to excuse herself when the colonel began to speak again, almost to herself.
'I've been meaning to contact her, it's been... five years? The last time we spoke, she was on her way to Beta Kupsic, for an archeological dig."
Ro couldn't stop herself. "Do you know when she got back?"
Kira looked up and seemed to collect herself, straightening away from the body. "Just before the Pel-dor Festival, I think, for the Meditation for Peace; the Vedek Assembly called everyone home. That was five months ago."
Ro nodded, biting her tongue. She knew when the Peldor Festival was. "Did you know she was coming here? To the station?"
Kira shook her head. There was another awkward silence, for Ro, at least, and then the colonel turned to her, seeming entirely in control once more. "I expect a full investigation, Lieutenant, and I want to know what you find as soon as you find it I'll expect your initial report before the end of the day."
"Yes, sir," Ro said. Her first real case; a flutter of anxiety touched her and was gone. She was ready.
"If there's anything I can do..." Bashir started.
The colonel managed a faint smile. Thank you, Julian. I'll be fine."
She nodded briskly at Ro and walked out of the room without a backward glance, as composed as when she'd entered.
She had to admire the woman's self-control. Ro had lived through resettlement camps, and knew something about the kinds of bonds that could be forged under dire conditions. When she was with the Maquis, too... the friends she had made and lost...
"Was mere something else you needed, Lieutenant?"
Not impolite by any means, but the doctor's voice had lost its former warmth. She supposed she should be grateful it wasn't open hostility; her history with Starfleet wasn't going to win her any friends among its personnel.
"No, thank you, Doctor. I'm sure your report will answer any questions I might have."
Bashir smiled civilly and picked up a padd, turning away. Her cue. Ro started to leave, but couldn't help a final look at Istani Reyla. Such gentle character in the lines around her eyes and mourn; to have survived the camps and the war, to have lived a life devoted to humble faith, only to die in a robbery...
What would a prylar have worth stealing? Worth being murdered for?
That was the question, wasn't it? Istani's bag was locked up in the security office, and Ro decided that she needed to take a closer look at its contents. She wasn't going to give anyone a reason to doubt her appointment to DS9; they didn't have to like her, any of them, but she would do her job, and do it well.
"Doctor," she said, as way of good-bye, and left him to his work.
Kira was on the lift to ops when it hit her. She acted without thinking, slamming her fist into the wall once, twice, the skin breaking across two of her knuckles. No pain, or at least nothing close to the boiling darkness inside of her, the acid of sorrow and loneliness grasping at her heart She was sick with it. Reyla, dead. Murdered.
She let out a low moan and sagged against the wall, cradling her wounded hand. For a second, it threatened to overwhelm her, all of it—Reyla; the dream, like some dark omen; the fading memory of Odo's arms around her when she felt alone, so alone...
... deal with it. You don't have time for this, and you will deal with it, and everything will be as it should be, have faith, have faith...
Kira took a few deep breaths, talking herself through it, letting go... and by the time she reached ops she was through the very worst of it, and prepared to bear the weight of another day.
Although he was only three minutes late, Kasidy was already waiting when Bashir got to the infirmary, sitting on the edge of one of the diagnostic tables and chatting with Dr. Tarses.
"... and I'll want to do some planting in the spring," Kasidy was saying, her back to Bashir as he approached. "Kava, I think. If I'm not too fat to bend over by then."
Bashir noted the readout over the bed with a practiced eye as he joined mem, pleased with the slight weight gain since her last checkup. Perfectly within normal human parameters. "In five months you'll be big as a runabout, I imagine" he said. "Bending over shouldn't be a problem, though standing back up might take work."
His listeners laughed, and Julian felt his spirits lift. Getting up early to conduct autopsies was not his idea of a pleasant morning, and for Kira's friend to have been murdered...
Poor Nerys. Bad enough to lose someone important, but practically, the timing couldn't be worse. Kira wasn't always good at delegating responsibility, too often overburdening herself, and the current upgrades to the station were no exception. With the Federation and Bajor both re-organizing their resources and personnel—along with practically everyone else in the Alpha Quadrant—DS9 had been operating understaffed anyway; technical support personnel were in short supply, and even with Jast to take over arrangements with Starfleet, Kira wasn't smiling as much as she used to. The look on her face when she'd touched her friend...
... Ezri should speak to her, professionally. Assuming she can find the time in the next year or two.
The slightly sour thought surprised him, although only until he remembered the reason. Ezri had already been gone when he'd gotten the call that woke him, off to help Nog with some engineering conundrum. Again. Funny, how quickly he'd gotten used to having her beside him when he woke. And how much he missed her when she wasn't there.
Tarses handed over the shift report and said his good-byes, leaving them in relative privacy. Both nurses on duty, Bajorans, stayed a respectful distance away—although he would have to speak to them about the beaming glances they couldn't seem to help shooting in Kasidy's direction. He knew that the Emissary's wife didn't
care much for the attention, resigned to it or no.
Julian pulled up a chair and sat, calling up Kasidy's charts on a widescreen padd. It had been two weeks since he'd seen her last, for a topical rash she'd picked up on her last run to the Orias system. It had turned out
to be an extremely mild allergic reaction to a shipment of Rakalian p'losie that had gone bad, thanks to a malfunctioning refrigeration unit
"So. Tell me how you're feeling these days." He glanced at her hands. "No more bumps, I see. I assume you're staying away from Rakalian fruit?'
Kasidy nodded, smiling. "Absolutely. In fact, I'm staying away from the cargo holds altogether. Other than that, let's see... I feel pretty good, I guess. Still no more morning sickness. I'm a little tired, even though it seems like I'm sleeping at least ten hours a night. Oh, and I've recently developed a craving for anything made with ginger root, of all things."
Julian ran the bed's diagnostic against a hand-held tricorder's as she spoke, careful to keep the screen away from her line of sight; Kasidy insisted on keeping to a family tradition regarding ignorance of gender prior to birth. The child's sex was listed in the upper left comer, along with the series of numbers that suggested textbook normal development for the fourth month. Both she and the child were doing remarkably well.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Kasidy continued. "Ben loved ginger. He said..." Her smile faded slightly, her hands moving to her belly. "He said there was no such thing as a good stir-fry without ginger."
Julian nodded, setting aside his tricorder and focusing his full attention on Kasidy. "I remember. He made it for me once, with Bajoran shrimp. It was wonderful."
Kasidy smiled crookedly, still holding her lower belly. "I've been thinking I should take up cooking. I never wanted to, before, but I set up the kitchen just like he wanted. It seems a shame to let it go to waste."
Sisko's dream house, in the Kendra province on