“If you’d been seriously injured, it would have impacted this starbase,” Ro said. “I could have temporarily or even permanently lost my primary flight controller. If you couldn’t continue in Starfleet, or worse, if you’d been killed, I would have lost a friend.”
Tenmei wanted to tell the captain that none of that could have happened, that she had carefully planned her alterations to Defiant’s conn. But she couldn’t. Instead, she said nothing.
The turbolift continued its journey, until it at last slowed as it reached the top of the starbase. The doors opened onto a short corridor. Ro and Tenmei walked to its end, and then turned left, through the doors to the captain’s office.
Once inside, Ro spun crisply on her heel to face Tenmei, the action as swift and startling as when the captain had flown into a vertical loop. “I don’t care how meticulous you were in your planning, you could’ve gotten hurt,” she said, her voice hard. “Or you could’ve gotten other members of the crew hurt.”
“Captain, I—”
“Don’t deny it,” Ro warned her.
“No, I wasn’t going to,” Tenmei said. “I was going to say that some things are worth taking risks for.”
Ro turned and stalked toward her desk. When she looked around, she said, “Of course some risks are worth taking. We wouldn’t be standing in an artificial environment in the vacuum and absolute zero of space if that weren’t the case. It’s also not my point.” She paced back over to Tenmei. “What you did is a court-martial offense. You could even be extradited to a civilian court. You were never going to be able to get away with it on your own. Frankly, you’re fortunate to have made it this long without being caught. If you had been less expert in performing your sabotage, or if you hadn’t intimidated Ensign Crosswhite, or if . . . if I didn’t trust you so much, you’d probably already be in the stockade.”
Tenmei tried to take in everything the captain had said, but mention of a court-martial and the stockade undercut her ability to process much else. As much as she’d told herself that she’d been willing to take a risk for her friend, she had never believed that she would be found out. The thought rose in her mind that she would need her father’s help, only to realize in the next terrible moment that he had been dead for years. Even so long after the fact, she still missed him more than she could express.
“Is that where I’m headed next?” she finally managed to say. “To the stockade?”
Ro regarded her for a long moment, as though trying to read something in her face. Finally, the captain moved behind her desk, where she sat down. “You should be in the stockade,” she said. “But I don’t want to put you there.”
“Captain—”
“Don’t,” Ro said, holding up the flat of her hand. “There’s nothing you can say to me now to put this right. And there’s nothing you will ever be able to say to put it right. But there is something you can do.”
Anything, Tenmei thought, but she chose to do as the captain had bidden and not speak.
“You can trust me, Prynn,” Ro said. “You can trust me because, up until now, I’ve trusted you. I have a crew of twenty-five hundred; I have to trust people. And if I can’t trust somebody, then I can’t have them serving under me.”
Tenmei looked down at her own boots. She felt ashamed, but if she had to do it all over again, could she have gone to Ro? Would she have? Forgetting about whether she trusted the captain or the captain trusted her, or even whether or not the captain would have agreed with what she’d wanted to do, would Tenmei have wanted to risk Ro’s career by making her complicit in such an endeavor? As she looked back up at the captain, the lieutenant had to admit that she didn’t know.
“Prynn, it’s not as true of me now, but there was a time in my life when I was no stranger to controversial actions, including disobeying orders when I thought I knew better. It turned out that I didn’t always know better, and it cost me, and it cost other people even more.” Ro leaned forward and folded her hands atop her desk. “I can’t promise that if you’d come to me with your plan to sabotage the Defiant that I would have agreed with you. But I would have listened, maybe offered up a different plan. Or maybe I would have stopped you. But whatever we ended up doing or not doing, we would be in it together.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Good,” Ro said. She parted her hands and slapped them onto her desk. “I won’t be able to teach you my flying loop tomorrow night because you’ll be asleep in your quarters.”
“Sir?”
“Starting tomorrow and for the next thirty days, you’ll be standing the delta-shift watch aboard the Defiant,” Ro said. “That’s in addition to your normal alpha-shift duties. I assume that you’ll take the time between the two to have a meal and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.” The punishment actually made Tenmei feel good, as though paying even such a small price for her transgressions would at least begin to repair her relationship with the captain. It would make the next month less than enjoyable for her, but she felt pleased—and more than a little fortunate—that she wouldn’t spend time in the stockade or stand court-martial.
“In my log, I’m entering the cause of your extra duty as insubordination,” Ro said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Relief immediately flooded through Tenmei. She headed back the way she had entered, the doors parting before her. As she reached them, though, Ro called after. When Tenmei looked back, she saw that the captain had stood up behind her desk.
“Even if you didn’t take the actions you did,” she said, “Julian wasn’t going to be stopped.” Ro stood gazing at Tenmei for a few seconds more, then sat back down and turned her attention to the computer interface on her desk.
Tenmei continued out of the captain’s office and down the corridor. On her trip to the residential deck and her cabin, she replayed Ro’s last statement in her mind. Julian wasn’t going to be stopped. Did that mean that the captain thought that Doctor Bashir would have taken other measures to ensure his escape? Or did it mean that Ro herself would not have allowed his capture?
Tenmei didn’t know, but over the next month, she would have many quiet hours on Defiant’s bridge to ponder those questions.
27
Ro Laren walked along the outer edge of the Plaza with Altek Dans, an occurrence that had become commonplace over the previous weeks. Even three months after he had arrived on Deep Space 9, the captain felt somehow responsible for the temporally displaced doctor—in part, because she had made the decision to transport aboard the Orb carrying him, but also because she had to that point been unable to convince the Bajoran government to allow him to return to the world he called home. Her invitation to the kai to visit DS9 had caused a stir in the Vedek Assembly, and so far had gone unanswered.
Ro thought that, for a man displaced from his own time by hundreds, if not thousands, of years, Altek had adapted remarkably well to his new life. After his initial disorientation, he’d come to be something other than just overwhelmed by the state of technology in the twenty-fourth century. Though still impressed and sometimes daunted by it, he had nevertheless embraced it. He regularly used the companel and replicator in his guest quarters, and he almost always carried a padd with him as he continued his education about both historical and contemporary Bajor.
As they walked along quietly, their conversation fallen into a comfortable lull, Ro watched Altek as he gazed out intently over the residential deck and through the transparent bulkhead that bowed out at the starbase’s equator. At that hour, just after the beginning of gamma shift, the holographically projected daytime sky had given way to the enduring night surrounding DS9. Altek’s acceptance of the existence of life beyond Bajor—alien life—had provided an early hurdle for him, but once he’d achieved it, he had become fascinated by the myriad species represented on the starbase. He also developed an interest in the many different ship
s that visited DS9.
As well as Altek had acclimated to his new circumstances, Ro believed that he still sometimes battled melancholy, but then how could that not be the case? Although the memories of his life before his emergence from the wormhole had clouded during his time on the starbase, he still retained at least vague recollections of the people he’d left behind. He hadn’t had any family left, and he’d renounced his own people, the Aleira, because he would not be a part of a society that practiced slavery, but Altek had forever lost close friends and comrades.
And maybe somebody special, too, Ro thought. She sometimes perceived that type of sadness in him.
Regardless of the number of people to whom Altek had been close, he had to cope with the reality that, however far in time he’d traveled, they had all perished. And not just his friends and comrades, but everybody who’d lived when he had. Fortunately, he had been amenable to meeting with Lieutenant Commander Matthias for regular and frequent counseling sessions, which seemed to help him.
Ro noticed the padd clutched in Altek’s hand. “Are you still reading When the Prophets Cried?” she asked. In addition to studying the history of the Bajorans, he also wanted to know about how their religion had developed. A major canonical work, When the Prophets Cried had been written centuries earlier, but almost assuredly after Altek’s own time.
“I am,” Altek said, “but I also started reading a history of the United Federation of Planets.”
“Really?” Ro asked, both surprised and impressed by Altek’s diligence. Though she had been required to take several survey courses about the UFP during her time at Starfleet Academy, most of what the captain knew about the Federation had come from her experiences living in and around it.
Altek shrugged. “I’ve been trying to learn about Bajor,” he said, “and since we’re now part of the Federation, it just made sense.”
Ro noted Altek’s use of the pronoun we. Despite not yet having set foot back on Bajor, he clearly considered himself one of its citizens. That pleased her.
“Have you read enough to draw any conclusions?” Ro asked.
“Not conclusions, I wouldn’t say, but it’s fascinating to me that the political and territorial clashes I saw on Bajor during my lifetime are the same sorts of conflicts that arose between planets. You’d think that, with all the amazing technological advances, cultures would also advance.”
Ro chuckled. “I think we have advanced—I hope we have—but I know what you mean.”
Before Altek could respond, Ro’s combadge chirped. “Hub to Captain Ro.”
Ro stopped walking and tapped her badge. Altek stopped beside her. “This is Ro. Go ahead, Suyin.” Ensign Zhang Suyin worked communications during gamma shift. Like so many of Ro’s immense crew, she had been assigned to DS9 only three months prior. The captain had felt an immediate affinity with the young officer, simply because, despite being human, the ensign’s cultural tradition resembled that of the Bajorans, placing her surname first and her given name second.
“Captain, the dockmaster reports a Bajoran transport requesting permission to dock immediately,” Zhang said. “It’s not on our schedule, but its flight plan shows it coming directly from Bajor. Its master has asked to speak with you on a secure channel.”
“And we don’t know what this is about?”
“They’re being very tight-lipped, Captain.”
“Who’s the shipmaster?”
“A man named Beren Togg.”
“I don’t know him,” Ro said. “All right, Suyin, I’ll head to my quarters. Tell Master Beren that I’ll speak with him shortly.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Ro out.” Then, to Altek, she said, “I’m sorry to have to cut our walk short.”
“That’s quite all right, Captain,” Altek said. “You’ve done so much for me already.” He held up his padd. “I’m eager to get back to my book anyway. I’m reading about a very interesting human named Jonathan Archer.”
“I had to learn about him at Starfleet Academy,” Ro said. “He had an interesting life.”
“That’s certainly true so far.”
“Have a good night, Doctor.”
“You as well, Captain.”
Ro started for the nearest turbolift.
AT THE COMPANEL in her quarters, Ro sat waiting for Ensign Zhang to establish a secure channel with the Bajoran transport. The captain didn’t quite know what to make of the urgent request to dock, least of all from a ship that had come to the starbase directly from Bajor. She wondered if somebody might be seeking political asylum. It also occurred to her that perhaps the first minister had sent an envoy, somebody who would at last directly address Altek’s request to return to Bajor.
On the companel display, the Starfleet emblem winked off, replaced a moment later by the image of a woman. Ro had expected to see a man—Shipmaster Beren Togg—and so she didn’t immediately recognize the face before her.
“Good evening, Captain,” the woman said. “Please forgive my unexpected arrival and the abrupt communication.” The strong voice—which Ro had personally heard soften in other circumstances—snapped the captain out of her momentary confusion.
“Kai Pralon, no apology is necessary,” Ro said. “I must admit that I’m surprised to see you, but I’m delighted that you’ve chosen to visit Deep Space Nine.”
“You should perhaps wait until we’ve spoken before making that determination.” Pralon Onala offered the barest hint of a smile. Ro had always appreciated her sense of humor. Just past her sixtieth birthday, the kai looked at least fifteen years younger, with her well-defined features and bright blue-green eyes. Though Pralon typically wore traditional vestments in public, including a headpiece, Ro saw that she currently had on civilian attire, and that her short, layered blond hair had begun to silver.
“Considering that I can’t get anybody in the Bajoran government to speak with me these days,” Ro said, “I consider your visit a professional victory.” And it’s not just me, the captain thought. As she understood it, even the extradition of the Ohalavaru to Bajor had stalled.
“I trust that means that we have your permission to dock,” Pralon said.
“Of course, Your Eminence,” Ro said. “I will have our dockmaster find you a bay at once.”
“Thank you,” Pralon said. “Is it too late for us to meet tonight? I would like to speak with you privately at your earliest convenience, and certainly before touring the starbase.”
“It’s not too late at all,” Ro said. Through Vedek Novor, the captain had extended an invitation to the kai to take a tour of DS9, but Ro intended such a visit to allow her the opportunity to discuss Altek’s situation with Pralon. She hoped the kai understood that. Pralon rarely acted out of expedience, and Ro had always found her a keen and thoughtful observer of the political landscape. “I will have quarters prepared for you, and I will meet you at the docking bay myself.”
“I look forward to seeing you, Captain.” The kai said nothing explicit to signal the end of the communication, but Ro’s screen went dark, adorned only by the Starfleet insignia.
Ro deactivated the companel, then tapped her combadge. She contacted the dockmaster to secure a bay for the Bajoran transport, as well as the duty officer to assign VIP quarters for Pralon. Then she headed for the x-ring.
“I’M SORRY that I haven’t come sooner, Captain.”
Ro waited as Pralon took an easy chair in the large living area of her guest quarters, and then the captain sat down on a sofa across from her. Between the time they had first spoken and when Ro had met her at the docking bay, the kai had dressed in a traditional robe of her office—not the more ornate version that Winn Adami had favored, but the simpler one that Opaka Sulan had always worn. Pralon had chosen a forest green fabric that brought out that color in her eyes.
“I’ve heard that the Vedek Assembly was resistant to you visiting
Deep Space Nine at this time,” Ro said.
“They cited security concerns to me,” Pralon said.
“Because of the assassination.” Ro did not phrase it as a question.
“Yes, but that was just a convenient excuse,” the kai said. “There’s a vein of caution running through the Vedek Assembly these days that I just can’t abide, but they’re not concerned that I won’t be safe aboard Deep Space Nine. It’s that, after all that happened with Enkar Sirsy and Baras Rodirya, they’re worried about the political turmoil that could arise from dealing with our visitor.”
“You’ve come to help Altek Dans, then?” Ro asked. She heard gratitude in her voice. It did not surprise her that the kai had seen through the guise of her invitation to visit the starbase.
“I’ve come to look into the situation,” Pralon said. “I will speak with him during my visit, and then we can proceed from there. I know that your requests for identity and travel documents for Doctor Altek haven’t been approved.”
“As far as I know, my requests haven’t been approved or rejected,” Ro said.
“You’re right. I’m sure that’s the case, and it doesn’t surprise me,” the kai said. “Nobody in the government—not the Vedek Assembly, not the Chamber of Ministers, and not even the first minister—wants to deal with any difficulties that could arise from allowing Doctor Altek to return to Bajor. At the same time, nobody wants to go on the record denying him that opportunity.”
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