Almost as soon as they’d walked in, Julian had recognized a colleague from Daystrom talking with a sour-faced Romulan (Could Romulans ever be classified as anything but “sour-faced,” Jadzia wondered) and had excused himself from her company. She was not pleased to be abandoned—an atypical reaction to be certain. Most of the time, she loved social events, even work-related ones, and made friends quickly. Plunging into the group dynamics, figuring out whom she needed to charm in order to get what she wanted was a challenge she usually relished. Today, she figured it would be easier to persuade Quark to donate his day’s profits to the kai’s charity fund than sort through the conflicting agendas and motives she sensed in this group.
A friendly veneer barely camouflaged the bristling tension. Jadzia overheard a sharp exchange of words between the head of the Romulan delegation, who had made a cutting political remark, and Admiral Ross. A Romulan engineer began seething when Commander Vanderweg accidentally spilled some of her drink on his sleeve. Trying to figure out who she might talk to before the keynote, Jadzia scanned for familiar faces. Fargo is here from the Centauri Institute; Captain Anj area from the Corps of Engineers ... she pivoted to take in the rest of the crowd. A Bolian she didn’t know. A couple of Klingons who might be known to Worf or Martok. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned, finding a slight Romulan female standing behind her. A stir of recognition niggled at her. I know this woman. Well, well ...
“Commander Dax. It appears that once again we will be colleagues.” A curt nod.
“Colleagues?” Jadzia grinned. “I have to confess I’m a little surprised to hear you refer to us as colleagues, Subcommander T’Rul. Are you planning on making friends this time? Because last time you were at Deep Space 9, I had the distinct impression that you were working with Starfleet only because your superiors ordered you to—and becoming socially involved was definitely not part of your assignment.”
A hint of a tight-lipped smile appeared on T’Rul’s face—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Our governments have put aside their differences to work together. So we must as well. Wartime doesn’t allow us the luxury of allowing our personal objections to supercede the greater goal. In this case, the goal is defeating the Dominion.”
That’s almost exactly what Worf said. Coincidence, or surveillance on my quarters? Making a mental note to sweep her cabin for spying devices, Jadzia raised her glass. “To defeating the Dominion.”
T’Rul nodded her head politely.
“I understand why you’ve been assigned to this project,” Jadzia said. “We’re still very appreciative of the work you did to help make the Romulan cloaking device compatible with the Defiant. Your expertise in weapons systems would make you a natural for this project. No clue what assignment I’ve drawn.”
“You haven’t had a chance to check the list?”
Jadzia shook her head.
“I’ve been assigned to the munitions task force,” she said. “As have you.”
Jadzia snorted. “I wonder whose idea that was. I’m the station’s science officer—I study pulsars and quantum singularities. Astrophysics is more my expertise.”
“Your work on the self-replicating mines was ... impressive. I know the Vorta were amazed by your ingenuity—particularly Weyoun.”
Clenching her teeth behind her smile, Jadzia was reminded that until only a short time ago, the Romulans maintained friendly diplomatic ties with the Dominion. What’s to keep them from renewing those bonds of friendship and sharing all our tactics with the Dominion? she thought, adding yet another reason to the list of why this Romulan-Federation scientific exchange was a bad idea. “You know our old friend Weyoun, do you? How was he the last time you saw him?”
“Alive, unfortunately.”
Startled by her response, Jadzia laughed, nearly snorting her juice up her nose. She dabbed the juice off her face with a napkin grabbed from the buffet cart. Noting the amused expression on T’Rul’s face, Jadzia believed she might be seeing the first evidence of a sense of humor she had ever observed in a Romulan. The two women studied each other for a long moment.
“Colleagues, huh?”
T’Rul nodded.
“I’ve never been much of a team player in these kinds of things, so don’t take it personally if I’m not the best partner,” she said, making light. “I tend to prefer finding my own way.”
T’Rul smiled. “As do I, Commander Dax. As do I. We might be better partners than you think.”
Jadzia marched down the darkened hallway, hoping she could remember which of the lookalike lab doors was the right one. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone around to ask: Security staff had relocated to perimeter areas and her fellow scientists had left for the day. She had followed her group when they left the wardroom, not exactly paying attention to which of the dozen laboratories Blue Sky had been assigned to inhabit. Teaches me to go along with the crowd, Jadzia thought, discovering as she scoured the halls that DS9’s research facilities were more expansive than she remembered. How long has it been since I was down here, engaged in genuine scientific inquiry? Too long, obviously. Ever since the war started ... She clamped down the thought before it could go any further.
Turning the last corner, she thought the hallway looked familiar, so she chose what she hoped was the right door and waited for the retinal scanner to confirm her ID.
Except for leaving her padd behind in the lab, the first day had gone as well as could be expected.
T’Rul had been correct: Jadzia had been assigned to study both Allied and Dominion munitions in an effort to better understand the strengths and weaknesses on each side. The hope was that the scientists might be able to devise more effective tactics to counter Jem’Hadar weaponry as well as designing more innovative offensive weapons.
All the team members had been given access to a comprehensive database that contained the specs for all Allied weapons as well as any available data on Dominion weaponry. Several Federation torpedoes and phaser bank designs were singled out for group discussion with individual scientists pointing out what they considered to be the flaws or shortcomings in those designs. Each time another classified Starfleet document appeared on the viewscreen, Jadzia cringed inwardly. Dax, for many lifetimes, had struggled to prevent secrets from falling into the hands of the very kinds of people sitting beside her. Allowing the session to proceed, without verbalizing her protests, was counterintuitive; replaying her conversation with Worf in her mind helped her keep her mouth shut. Still, Garak’s wisdom made more sense than Worf’s: He was fond of saying “Enemies make dangerous friends,” an adage that Jadzia found fit the situation perfectly.
The session had ended with virtually no new ground being covered. The bulk of the day had been spent on information gathering and determining what subjects warranted further study. Even though the subject matter had been relatively neutral, politically and scientifically speaking, Jadzia was tightly wound when she left for the evening. The tension had alleviated somewhat by spending an hour in the holosuite, with Worf, reenacting a chapter from The Final Reflection, one of his favorite novels. He’d even encouraged her to spend some time playing tongo. And who was she to miss an opportunity to play tongo with Worf’s blessing.
Dr. Girani had contacted Jadzia on her way back to the habitat ring, asking if she knew where the Zephyrs fatality database had ended up. It was then that Jadzia realized that she’d left her padd in the laboratory—and that she’d forgotten to pass off the Zephyrs, database to Julian when she saw him earlier. Knowing that Girani planned to work in the morgue overnight, she’d decided to retrieve the padd and drop it off at the doctor’s office on her way to her quarters.
The lab door hissed open; Jadzia stepped over the threshold. Blue-violet light strips running around the room’s perimeter offered adequate illumination for her to quickly make her way to the corner spot where she’d been sitting. Weaving in and out of several workstations, she bent over to check under desks or chairs as she walked.
Nothing.
She paused, scrutinizing various computer terminals, worktables and cabinets, wondering if someone had moved her padd, perhaps locking it up for the night.
And that’s when she noticed a sliver of shadow play.
Her eyes flicked over the back wall, seeking the source of the shadows. The door to the adjoining lab had been left open. A protruding workstation blocked most of the light spilling into the munitions study team’s lab, assuring that she—or anyone else visiting—wouldn’t notice that the connecting lab, a lab not being used for Blue Sky, was occupied. Anyone working on their project had security clearance allowing access to highly classified materials; there wasn’t anything hidden among them, unless a scientist was working on an unauthorized, even illegal, project. ... The hair on her neck prickled.
She edged, silently, toward the open door. Flattening herself against the workstation, she listened.
The hum of machinery. The tonal responses of an interface console being tapped. Slow, regular inhalations. Too bad for Admiral Ross that they certainly didn’t waste any time, but oh how I love being right ...
Retrieving a Jem’Hadar pistol from among several samples tagged for study, Jadzia pivoted into the doorway, and thrust her weapon out in front of her. “Move away from the terminal.”
Hands went up. The slender Romulan stood, took several steps backward.
The short, androgynous hair and military uniform gave few hints as to the trespasser’s identity. “Turn around. I’d like to know who I’m turning in to station security.” Jadzia’s eyes never left the Romulan, who complied without comment. She needed only a profile to ascertain the intruder’s identity. If the “spy” hadn’t been so obvious, she might have laughed. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Subcommander T’Rul,” she said, “if you want to make friends, breaking house rules is a guaranteed way to get off on the wrong foot. You haven’t had a chance to catch up with Captain Sisko yet, have you?”
Pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the interrogation room did little to alleviate Jadzia’s anger. She’d brought T’Rul to Odo’s office three hours ago. Three hours. What did it take to determine if security protocols had been violated? Wasn’t it obvious?! Of course they’d been violated—she’d been an eyewitness. Why hadn’t they put T’Rul in a holding cell or dispatched a team from Starfleet intelligence to question her? She muttered a few potent Klingon curses that Curzon had been particularly fond of.
“Take it easy, Old Man,” Benjamin said, raising a warning hand. “I know the Standard translation of that little diatribe and I assure you, this situation doesn’t warrant that level of anxiety.” He sat in the visitor’s chair, his hands palm to palm, flexing his fingers, a calmer version of Jadzia’s pacing rhythm.
She turned on her heel, eyes blazing. “Then what does? A full-on takeover of the station? At least you have a hint of what she was up to. Apparently I don’t have clearance to be in the loop.”
Benjamin shook his head. “That’s not true, and you know it. Until the specifics of her story are confirmed, details are on a need-to-know basis.”
“Yes, Benjamin, you already told me,” Jadzia said, dropping into a chair. “I still have a hard time believing that she didn’t even try to excuse herself. She admitted that she was attempting to hack into our database!”
“From everything I’ve seen, T’Rul has cooperated with security. We ought to find out what prompted this procedural breach before we turn her over to higher authorities.”
“Procedural breach? Is that what we’re calling it now, because I’ll be—”
A door slid open and both Sisko and Jadzia stopped, their attention fixed on Odo.
“Starfleet Intelligence just uploaded a transmission to my database. You’ll want to see this, Captain,” he said. “You ought to come along too, Commander Dax.” And he ushered them into the interrogation room.
Odo took a seat beside T’Rul; Worf was already positioned on her other side. Jadzia noted with some satisfaction that the Romulan had been cuffed to the armrest of her chair. At least Odo isn’t a fool, she thought. Jadzia and Sisko took seats facing her. I dare you to lie to my face, she thought, fixing her stare on T’Rul.
Without the slightest change in her facial expression, T’Rul met Jadzia’s eyes.
So that’s how it’s going to be, feeling grudging admiration for the Romulan’s tenacity. I’ll still win.
Worf tapped some commands into the tabletop interface. A screen on the forward wall lit up.
“Before we watch the recording,” Odo said, addressing T’Rul, “I’d like you to tell Captain Sisko and Commander Dax what you told me.”
Apparently unwilling to concede defeat in her battle of wills, T’Rul kept her eyes locked with Jadzia’s as she began speaking. “The Dominion’s assassination of Senator Vreenak surprised my government. Having seen no prior sign of Dominion treachery in our dealings with them, we found ourselves in the unfortunate position of having personnel in hostile territory. A full diplomatic contingent was on Cardassia Prime when Romulus declared war, including my mate, a senior attaché to the Romulan ambassador, and my two children, who worked as interns.
“State Security claims that they sent advance warning of the Senate’s war declaration to all Romulan nationals within enemy territory in the hopes that they would evacuate.” Her eyes narrowed and she buried her fingernails into her palms. “I have no proof of those claims, nor do any of the others whose family members were trapped on Cardassia. It was the only excuse State Security offered us when they delivered word of the wholesale slaughter of all Romulans by the Jem’Hadar.”
T’Rul lowered her eyes to the tabletop. “When I asked for proof of the massacre, they refused to provide it.” Her voice dropped. “They laughed when I suggested that our people might not be dead—that they’d be valuable prisoners, possibly used as currency in a future deal. The knowledge they’d have about the Empire’s intelligence networks and military capability could be invaluable to the Dominion. State Security refused to entertain answering my questions, saying only that if I pursued the matter further I would be turned over to the Tal Shiar for a lesson in patriotism.” She spat. “When the opportunity came to leave Romulus to work on Blue Sky, I took it, hoping that I might find the proof—proof that the Tal Shiar was lying—in a Federation database.” T’Rul’s eyes met Sisko’s. “My reasons for accessing your data systems were personal, not political, Captain. I acted without the consent or knowledge of my superiors.”
An awkward silence permeated the room as the ramifications of T’Rul’s story settled on them. Jadzia hardly dared breathe aloud. Secret battle plans, codes to defense networks, ship movements—a Romulan seeking that information would have been predictable. This ... this had taken her off guard.
“Mr. Worf, I assume you have the next piece of the puzzle,” Benjamin said, looking at her husband.
Leave it to Benjamin to smooth the way, Jadzia thought gratefully. She took a small amount of pleasure in knowing that some of Sisko’s diplomatic finesse came from the time he’d spent with Curzon.
“There was nothing in the station database related to the event Subcommander T’Rul describes,” Worf said. “However, through back channels, Starfleet Intelligence had evidently obtained a recording that they say should clarify the situation.” Worf touched the interface again, and the monitor came to life.
A dark, cavernous judgment chamber—clearly of Cardassian design—appeared on the screen. Identifying the participating parties in the sea of gray faces proved challenging for Jadzia, especially since the recording device shifted in and out of focus. What wasn’t in question were the Jem’Hadar soldiers lined up behind what appeared to be dozens of kneeling, bound Romulans. A clumsy zoom-in revealed a cluster of Cardassians, Damar among them, standing with a Vorta who may or may not have been Weyoun. Damar appeared to be holding something in his hand, and only when he raised it to his lips and threw back his head did she realize it was a fluted glass of kanar.
A Jem’Had
ar First stepped toward the pair. The Vorta seemed oblivious to him, gabbing away cheerfully, though the words were inaudible to Jadzia. She saw Damar nodding, looking impatient. The Vorta finally seemed to notice the First and with a careless wave of his hand, gave the signal. The camera jerked and zoomed out.
The Jem’Hadar standing in the back drew their pistols as one and fired on the first row of Romulans, point-blank shots to the backs of their heads. Shattering skulls sprayed bits of bone and brain into the air, spattering both the Jem’Hadar and the other Romulans.
Stunned, Jadzia couldn’t stop staring.
When the first line of bodies fell over dead, the Jem’Hadar stepped over them and repeated the act on the next line. Row by row, the Jem’Hadar were making their way forward as each subsequent line of Romulans fell dead.
Jadzia closed her eyes and whispered, “Enough.”
“I agree, Commander,” Sisko said, his voice tight with emotion. “Turn it off.”
The relief in the room—the release of tension—when Worf stopped the recording was palpable. Jadzia looked around at the others, seeing her own horror reflected in each of their faces.
“I take it, Mr. Worf, that this is authentic?”
Worf nodded. “Starfleet Intelligence has independently confirmed the authenticity of the record through an informant on Romulus. They’ve also been able to determine that Subcommander T’Rul’s family was among those in the judgment chamber.”
T’Rul was shaking. Her shoulders convulsed; a wail escaped her throat.
Jadzia looked away, her own senses still reeling with the images of slaughter. And what must T’Rul feel, now knowing what fate her loved ones suffered? Her chest tightened.
Benjamin walked around the table, stopping in front of T’Rul. “Under the circumstances, Subcommander, reporting you to Starfleet security or to your delegation would only bring further suspicion and mistrust between our peoples.” He signaled to Odo, who unfastened her restraints. Her arms slid bonelessly off the armrests, into her lap.
STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change Page 24