STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change

by Marco Palmieri, Editor

  Her combadge chirped. “Sisko to Dax.”

  Suddenly, Jadzia felt extraordinarily tired. “Go ahead.”

  “I need to see you in my office in ten minutes, Commander. Bring the doctor with you.”

  Jadzia exchanged a look with Bashir. “That doesn’t sound good,” she observed. “Is anything wrong?”

  “It all depends on how you look at it, Old Man,” Benjamin said. “The Romulans have arrived.”

  Jadzia stepped over the threshold of her quarters, greeted by an atonal aria from Kahless and Lukara blasting over the comm system. Another voice to add to the cacophony in her head. She massaged her sinuses with her thumb and forefinger, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. Worf must have already come off his shift, she thought, sniffing for the salty richness that would foretell gagh for dinner. Maybe they could go to Quark’s instead; he’d supposedly added a whole list of rare Rigellian favorites to his replicator files. In her present frame of mind, one of Sirella’s steaming, spicy, blood-based puddings might put her off food for a week.

  As if he sensed her thinking about him, Worf emerged from their bedroom, a mek’leth cradled in one arm. Uncertain whether his first words would be endearments, a to-do list, complaints, or questions about her day (which, at present, she wanted to forget), she raised a hand to hush him. “I need a minute,” she muttered, dropping onto the couch.

  “Of course,” he said, and ordered the computer to mute the music. On their dining table, he placed the mek’leth alongside a rag and a bottle of polish and took a seat where he had a clear view of her.

  Throwing her feet out in front of her, she rested her neck on the curve of the cushions and slouched down. Her neck and shoulders ached—all those hours hunched over her station, followed by the unpleasantness in the cargo bay. And the meeting with Benjamin had put the already stressful day over the top. A massage would be great. Maybe I should call Kira and we could make a spa appointment ... What began as a sigh became a yawn; she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind of all the distracting flotsam. Her thoughts drifted to Dr. th’Rasdeth, as she suspected would happen frequently in coming weeks during moments when the hectic pace of her life lessened. I’ll just have to stay really busy.

  She felt Worf’s eyes noting each time she inhaled and exhaled, making it difficult for her to fully relax. Yes, he was diligently polishing the mek’leth—she heard cloth shimmying over the blade—but he was watching her, waiting. She needed to project the “don’t push me” energy a little more forcefully or he’d wait all night exhibiting the patience of a lIngta’ hunter sitting stock-still in the brush.

  In the nearly three years since they’d first met, he’d developed an uncanny knack for drawing information out of her, particularly information she wasn’t in the mood to share. When it comes to interrogation, he’s more Cardassian than Klingon. Of course, under the right circumstances, interrogation by Worf definitely had possibilities ... She smiled drowsily, drifting into a daydream.

  He cleared his throat. “I understand you had a meeting with Captain Sisko this afternoon.”

  So much for the patience of a Cardassian. She groaned in exasperation and left the couch, crossed over behind Worf, draped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face in his hair. “Take me away from all this, lover,” she said softly. “We’ve never had a real honeymoon. After all we’ve done for the Federation—and what I’ve done over several lifetimes—I think we’re owed.”

  “While that might be true, we cannot escape our duty. Though, clearly, you wish to avoid talking about yours.” He caressed her hand, placed a velvet kiss in her palm.

  “This is more fun,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his ear.

  “Jadzia,” Worf said, his tone stern.

  She sighed. “Fine. You want a report? You’ll get a report.” She pulled out a chair and scooted it close beside him. “Benjamin called Julian and me into a briefing. Apparently, the spirit of cooperation has fallen over Starfleet. Someone at headquarters came up with a brilliant idea,” she said, allowing the sarcasm dripping off the word brilliant to hang in the air for a long moment (lest Worf take a too literal interpretation of what she said). The more she considered her conversation with Sisko and Bashir, the more skeptical she became; the urge to contact Benjamin and protest her assignment became more powerful with each passing hour. Might as well find out what Worf thinks ... “Julian and I have been assigned to spend half our duty shifts working on Project Blue Sky, a scientifically oriented war research project—a think tank. While I like swapping stories about exploding test tubes and witty algorithms as much as the next lab gerk, it’s who we’re swapping with that makes me nervous. You want to guess?”

  “A warbird of Romulans?” he deadpanned.

  “You knew.” She shook her head with a grim chuckle.

  “Of course. My job requires that I be aware of such information,” he said, sliding his arm around her back, tracing her vertebrae with his thumb. “I did not know why they were coming to the station, only that they were coming. Because this is one of the first co-ventures to come out of the Federation’s strategic alliance with the Romulans, Admiral Ross is more—anxious—than he would typically be.”

  “What are they thinking, trying to hatch covert war ops with them?!” she said, throwing up her hands. “I’m as thrilled as the next Starfleet officer that the Romulans are on our side against the Dominion, but in any universe, this is a marriage of convenience. When the war’s over, who’s to stop them from turning against us with intelligence they gained from this alliance? Consummating this marriage could be our undoing.” Leaning forward in her chair, Jadzia rested her forehead against his and inhaled deeply, savoring the musky tang of her mate, and closed her eyes. Worf continued to stroke her spine.

  I could stay like this forever.

  Running away would be nice—any escape would do. She could withdraw into the warm circle of his arms where she didn’t need to think anymore, to be lost in sensation, drifting to a place where all this death and insanity would dissolve. The whole Alpha Quadrant could go to hell, and she’d be so blissfully content that it wouldn’t matter. She placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

  Cupping her chin in his hand, he tipped her face up to meet his. “No one wishes more than I that there was an alternative to allying with the Romulans,” he told her softly. “But the luxury of such a choice is not ours.”

  Jadzia stared deeply into Worf’s eyes. So much of who he was had been shaped by the Romulan onslaught that had killed his parents when he was child, an attack he himself had barely survived. She hadn’t stopped to consider how this alliance was affecting him—and how he was forcing himself to put aside old hatreds for the greater good.

  “The war has not gone well for the Federation or the Klingon Empire,” Worf went on. “To have any hope of victory against the Dominion, we need this alliance.”

  “I know—I know! “Jadzia sighed—partly out of exasperation. They’d had this discussion many times: How Starfleet, with its often conflicted identity as both an agency of peaceful scientific exploration and a defensive fighting force, wasn’t truly prepared, culturally, psychologically, or militarily, for a war on the scale it was currently faced with. Many argued that its transformation into a force able and willing to battle the Jem’Hadar on their own terms was challenging the Federation’s most fundamental ideals, in ways those ideals wouldn’t survive. Some believed that even if the Federation won the war, it would be unable to return to being the civilization it once was.

  Pragmatically, Worf placed his hopes on General Martok, believing that the Klingons might be able to hold back the Dominion threat long enough for Starfleet to find their footing.

  “It’s just—and believe me, I feel foolish saying this to you, of all people—” Jadzia began, and stopped. She reconsidered what she was about to say, then shrugged wearily. “I guess I’m just channeling my past-host experiences with Romulans.” She placed a feather kiss on his neck, followed by an
other. His earlobe looks nice ...

  Shifting in his chair, Worf drew her into his lap so she straddled him, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her tight against his body.

  She grinned playfully. The sooner they could abandon this depressing war talk, the better.

  He attempted to look serious but couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes. “You are referring to Tobin’s encounter with them during their war with Earth—”

  “—no small thing—”

  “—and their agents breaking into Audrid’s lab.”

  “Also, not a small thing,” she said as she unfastened his uniform, pushing the jacket away from his chest. His hands fumbled for the fasteners of her uniform. “And we are left with—?”

  “Me following orders, even though I don’t want to.” She shrugged off her jacket.

  Baring his teeth, he growled, low and throaty. “Which is the honorable thing to do.”

  “And I’m all about honor,” she said, pulling him roughly against her. Her teeth found purchase in his lower lip and she flicked at the salty burst of blood with her tongue. He freed her hair from the clasp, fanning her hair over her back with his fingers. Throwing back her head, she bared her throat, her body thrumming in anticipation. He lowered his face and she could feel puffs of hot breath on her neck for what felt like endless moments.

  Twining her legs around his waist, she hissed, “Now, jIH’Doq ...”

  Grabbing her by the hair, Worf pulled her back, forcing her to meet his eye. “We are not done.”

  “Oh, yes, we are.”

  “Jadzia—your friend, the counselor—”

  Ignoring the ache in her chest, she placed a finger on his lips. “Shhhh ... later.”

  “But—”

  “Shhhhhh. ...”

  * * *

  With a start, she awoke, the last vestiges of her dream ghosts fading away as she saw the pale blue illumination from the computer interface near the wall, felt the weight of Worf’s arm around her waist. A thin sliver of light from the living room cut through the gloomy half-light of their bedroom. Her heart slammed loudly in her throat, her pulse shushing in her ears; she willed her limbs to stop trembling. For a long moment she lay there, trying to persuade her senses that she’d returned to reality.

  When she realized sleep wouldn’t be forthcoming, Jadzia disentangled herself from Worf’s embrace, knowing from the timbre of his snoring that he was deeply asleep. Shivering, she retrieved a sheet from the floor and wrapped it around herself, hoping that covering up her bare skin might alleviate the chills. She crept into the living room on tiptoe and whispered a command to the computer to raise room temperature. She checked the companel’s chrono. 0200. Five more hours and she’d be on the forefront of a new era of interquadrant cooperation, feigning goodwill toward a room of Romulans who were undoubtedly Tal Shiar operatives searching for the easiest way to bypass every security protocol they could figure out.

  She went to the replicator. “Tranya, on the rocks.”

  Scooting into a corner of the couch, she stretched out, feeling the first hints of bruises emerging on her ribs and thighs. The pain was strangely comforting tonight, serving as an ever-present reminder of living flesh, another witness of her capacity to feel. She cradled the chilled glass in her palm, listened to the ice clink against the sides with each burning swallow. Placing the empty glass down on the table, she saw the padd containing the Zephyrs casualty list where she’d thrown it when she came home.

  She replicated another drink.

  Gazing up at the ceiling, she watched the shifting shadows, forming pictures in her mind with the light and shade until the time arrived for her to get ready for her duty shift.

  * * *

  A double raktajino (with her customary shot of cream) in hand and workbag over her shoulder, Jadzia stepped out of her quarters and discovered Julian waiting, she presumed, to walk with her to the conference room. She opened her mouth, the beginnings of “What the hell are you doing here?” on the tip of her tongue, but “Good morning” managed to slip out instead.

  “Thought we could talk before our meetings began,” he said, by way of explanation. “Unless you have to swing by ops first or—”

  “No. No—I’m headed for Blue Sky.” She offered him a smile that she hoped would reassure him. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her focus on the day ahead. Dax’s predisposition toward mistrusting the Romulans could easily interfere with her work on this project; she’d have to make an earnest effort to overcome those prejudices—or at least figure out a better way to hide them.

  “Excellent,” Julian said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve had a few ideas about how to approach our research and I’d like your input.”

  “Whatever you’ve come up with is brilliant, I’m sure. It always is,” Jadzia said with as much politeness as she could muster. Julian sounded too damn chipper for this early hour. He’d be more sympathetic if he feigned being as sleep and stimulant deprived as most humanoids tended to be after their sleep cycles. His unrestrained exuberance at the chance to work on Blue Sky further annoyed her. From the start, he’d embraced Sisko’s order with enthusiasm, like a child being granted his chance to sit at the adult table. Julian recognized a bona fide opportunity when he saw one; Romulan methodology was largely unexplored territory for a Federation-trained scientist. At another time and place, she might share Julian’s excitement. But this wasn’t another time and place. So she listened patiently as he talked nearly nonstop for a few moments, answering him by nodding her head or saying “Uh-huh.”

  Midway through a dissertation on training regimens that might help the Allies better counter the Jem’Hadar in soldier-to-soldier combat scenarios, Julian stopped in Ms tracks. Furrowing his brow, he studied Jadzia’s face intently. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look like you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

  Jadzia repressed the urge to growl at him. Maybe Worf was wearing off on her. “How long have you known me, Julian? I’ve always been a night owl. Besides, you should know how it is with newlyweds—we took things easier last night or I might have been rousing you around 0300 to take care of my”—she cleared her throat—“injuries.”

  “Ah,” he said, becoming suddenly tight-lipped. “I just thought you might still be upset about ...” his voice trailed off.

  “I’m fine,” she said, knowing fully what Julian intended to say. She didn’t want to talk about it this morning any more than she’d wanted to last night. “You and Worf—you’re both assuming I’ve never done this before. That loss is something new. I have seven lives’ worth of experience, Julian. Seven. I’ve survived the losses of lovers, friends, children, siblings—hell, I know what it’s like to die. This latest loss of mine ... it’s just another pointless death among thousands of pointless deaths.” As soon as the last word passed over her lips, Jadzia immediately regretted her sharp tone. Julian had been her longtime friend. He was reaching out to her in kindness and didn’t deserve her pique of temper. She sighed, composed herself, and said softly, “Isn’t that why we’re working on this project? To prevent more of those pointless deaths?”

  “Yes. Of course it is,” he said simply.

  They strode down the hall toward the turbolift in relative silence, nodding to some Bajoran Militia personnel Jadzia recognized from gamma shift. Once the turbolift doors had closed, they stood side by side, Jadzia sipping her raktajino, Julian’s gaze fixed ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Julian take a deep breath, open his mouth as if he were about to speak, then quickly close it.

  “Say it,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Just say it. You have something else to say.”

  “Yesterday. In Sisko’s office. You think Blue Sky is a bad idea.”

  “I have reservations. But if the number of ideas you’ve come up with since yesterday is any indication, Blue Sky should be very successful.”

  “From the standpoint of advancing pure research, you’re right—I am pleased,” Ju
lian conceded. “But I, too, have—” he paused “—concerns. Maybe not the same as yours.”

  She looked at him, inviting him to share his thoughts.

  “Doesn’t it bother you at all that we’re being asked to use our scientific expertise to devise more effective ways of killing—even if we’re planning on killing Jem’Hadar?”

  Jadzia raised her eyebrows. “Is this about ‘first do no harm’?”

  “That,” he said with a nod, “and devising methods to destroy civilizations isn’t why I joined Starfleet in the first place. Our whole mission is to pursue exploration. This project, on the face anyway, runs counter to that mission.”

  She met his eyes, saw the earnestness in them and chose to swallow the argument into which she was about to launch, offering him, instead, a gentle smile. Not long ago, she would have agreed with him wholeheartedly. Today ... Today sleep deprivation, frustration, and sadness underscored each crick in her neck and the gritty irritation behind her eyes. Hundreds of years of memories—and yesterday’s potently personal visit to a cargo bay—reminded her that rarely could circumstances be as ideal as Julian wanted them to be. “You’re right,” she said finally. “But right now Starfleet needs me to be a soldier. So I’m going to be a soldier and get it over with.”

  At least the food is good, Jadzia thought, taking a bite of spicy hasperat. The wardroom had already been crowded with scientists when they arrived, many of them craning their necks to get a glance of the assignment list posted on the screen at the front of the room. A small buffet of breakfast and brunch snacks, glided in on a cart and pushed against the back wall, had been less busy. The brass must be very serious about impressing our guests, she thought, noting a platter of luscious—and rare—Romulan anemones. Not exactly enthusiastic to begin her Blue Sky assignment, she’d taken her time putting together a breakfast plate before assuming a place in line, waiting for her turn at the assignment list.