By
Creek Johnson and Nance Hurt
The ship slid gently into orbit around the planet. Her crew stood at their stations waiting their next order.
"Very well," said the Vorta removing his navigational head gear. "Maintain our position. I will alert the Founder."
He turned to leave the bridge, but found his path blocked by the First.
"It is time."
"Can’t this wait?" asked the Vorta clearly irritated.
"It is time."
"Very well." He motioned for the box containing the white to be brought before him. Placing his hand on the lock, he began the time honored ritual. "First Zemek’Taklaan, can you vouch for the loyalty of you men?"
"We pledge our loyalty to the Founders from now until death," replied the First. Vorta, are another matter was the unspoken implication.
"From now until death," repeated the Vorta with a thin smile on his lips. "Then receive this reward from the Founders. May it keep you strong." The white having been distributed, he turned his back on the Jem’Hadar, taking his time in preparing the box for the next distribution of white. He ignored the cries of anguish that suddenly filled the bridge. When silence finally descended, he calmly turned and stepped over the body of the fallen First, noting the surprised expression on the face of the poisoned Jem’Hadar.
"It is time, indeed."
"Well, that was interesting," said the man at the desk.
"The colonel is an interesting problem," replied Rem without turning. "She always has been."
"Do you think she bought it?"
"The offer of promotion and a real command? Money, position, power, the thanks of a grateful planet? That would be hard for anyone to pass up, especially when it comes couched in the strong suggestion that Bajor needs her at home."
"And we need her off the station."
Rem watched as the object of discussion walked out the front door and crossed the path to join the man in the Starfleet uniform. "My dear, general, is that a note of regret I hear in your voice?" He turned away from the window to face his companion. "Look around you Torias. Do you see any Cardassians? Are there Founders lurking in the shadows? Are Jem’Hadar warships in orbit?"
General Torias Jahns sighed. It was the sigh of a man who has lived past his time. "No." he said with regret, for these were all enemies he understood.
"No. It’s a new day, a new order of things, and a new enemy. An enemy that strikes from within."
"Yes, yes, and Bajor will need a new militia in order to defend herself. We’ve had this discussion before. I just don’t see why it’s necessary…"
"It’s not your place to understand the necessities, Torias, that’s my job. All you have to do is stand ready."
"So you tell me." He paused. "What about the others? The Ferengi?"
"The Ferengi, I admit has proven to be somewhat of a disappointment. Despite all his talk about preserving the Ferengi way of life, there are still some areas in which he refuses to cooperate."
"Did you offer him a larger profit margin?"
"Of course. And he still refused."
"What are you going to do then?"
"It’s already done. Two days ago, he embarked on a little business trip from which he will not return."
"And the Security chief," asked Torias, "the human. What’s his name again?"
"Mr. Marshall," said Rem turning again to the window, his eyes seeking out the man in the Starfleet uniform. "Mr. Marshall has refused every offer we have made. To add insult to injury he has even gone so far as to arrest our last two messengers."
"He what?"
"Don’t trouble yourself, Torias. There is no way he can trace the offer back to this office."
"Do you think he’s holding out for more?"
"Possibly. It’s what I would do in his position. Anyway, we won’t have to worry about Mr. Marshall for much longer. I’ve hired a - consultant - to pay the station a little visit. And once Marshall is out of the picture, we can place one of our own on the station. You see, there really is nothing to worry about."
Behold a child of the Dominion, in whom we are well pleased. By treating it well you treat Us well and the blessings of the Founders shall follow. By treating it poorly you treat Us poorly and you shall know Our wrath.
Well, brother, he thought. Your journey has come full circle. Go forth and may you find peace.
The door to the cabin slid open to reveal the Vorta. "Founder," he said with a slight bow. "We have arrived and all is in readiness."
Vorta, thought the Founder as he picked up the box, can be so tiresome. "Very well, have the First stand by for transport."
"Perhaps I could be allowed to take that from you," suggested the Vorta indicating the box.
"That won’t be necessary."
"Oh, but I insist," he replied, removing a disrupter from its hiding place behind his back.
"How very droll. Do you really think you are going to get away with this?"
The disrupter blast took the Founder completely by surprise.
"I believe, I all ready have," said the Vorta as he retrieved the box from where it fell. Checking to make sure the seal was still in place he left the chamber, pausing only to kick aside the pile of black ash that had once been a god.
Ever since she had arrived at her office to find the nondescript package on her desk, she had known to expect a visit. The small business card inside had been all the explanation she had required. A thin rectangular piece of plastic with a red C embossed on one side and the word justice embossed on the verso.
Instinct told her to run, but running would only delay the inevitable. Logic reminded her she had nowhere to go, no one to whom she could turn. Accepting her fate was the only option open to her. She had spent the last couple of days tying up the loose ends of her life. She had finished the task today. There was nothing left to do but wait.
It was late by the time she arrived home. The lobby was empty. The turbolift slow in arriving. The door slid open and she entered, wearily giving the command that would send it to her assigned floor. She had no sooner spoken the words before she realized she was not alone. Now that the moment had arrived, she was much calmer than she had expected. She ordered the lift to stop.
"I have no weapon," she announced. "I’ll come along quietly."
She waited patiently as the wall of the lift appeared to melt, pour onto the floor of the lift and then resolve itself into a humanoid form. She looked upon the smooth, featureless face, the military cut clothing and almost burst out laughing.
"You have some nerve showing up here looking like that."
"Ah, but there’s method to my madness."
"There always has been." She gazed at him fondly. "I’m glad it was you. I’ve always liked you, you know that."
"And I you," he replied taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. "Now then, are you prepared?"
She nodded her consent and was engulfed in a flash of white light.
Days later, when questioned, the night watchman reported he was just finishing his lunch break when the missing engineer had entered the building. Shortly after he had returned to the lobby, the turbolift opened. The only occupant was a tall, thin man wearing what appeared to be a Bajoran uniform, only it wasn’t the right color. Had he ever seen the man before? Of course, he replied, everyone in the Alpha Quadrant knew of the changeling from that station near the wormhole.
"General Kira Nerys," said Lieutenant Commander John Marshall as he propped his feet against the console. "General Kira. No, I’m sorry it just does not have the same lyrical quality to it as Colonel Kira.
"I haven’t accepted," remarked the colonel in question. "How did you find out about it anyway?"
"I do believe it is the hard consonant sound that I find fascinating," continued Marshall ignoring his superior officer. "Colonel Kira - it’s the k that commands attention. Colonel. Colonel Kira."
"You’re in a good mood today. I take it you managed to offended most of the delegates at the Security Conference."
"A goodly number, you may be assured. As a matter of fact, I believe I may have achieved a personal best in the offensive category. With any luck, I shall never be invited to attend another conference."
"You didn’t answer the question. How did you find out?"
"Allow me to offer you a word of advise colonel. The average security officer may be trusted with your darkest state secrets, your personal security codes, you might even venture to trust one with your life. But never, and I am in deadly earnest when I say this, never entrust one with a piece of gossip."
"That’s funny, I never imagined you to be a gossip."
"I’m flattered, colonel. However, you may well have guessed by now that I am not your average security officer."
Kira had to agree. In the two years since she had taken command of the station, she had learned to deal with a number of personnel changes. The integration of Starfleet and Bajoran personnel was a tricky business. Some had been good fits, others had not. The most troublesome position had turned out to be security. Walking the fine line between Bajoran, Federation and Starfleet regulations had proven too difficult for the three Bajoran security officers she had hired and subsequently fired over the last two years.
She glanced at her companion. John Marshall had been transferred from Starbase 375 to serve as security liaison officer for the Ninth Fleet. He had arrived with vague recommendations he himself had characterized as being praised with faint damns. Despite her initial reservations, he had proven himself to be, if not an exemplary Starfleet officer by their standards, an excellent security officer by any standards. Rather than seeing the myriad and often conflicting regulations as a hindrance, he possessed the uncanny ability to find the loop-hole in any situation and use it to his advantage. As usual, when she allowed herself to linger on the subject of security too long, she tended to think of DS9’s first and best security officer.
Kira shook herself mentally. She was in danger of straying too far into memory and her memories tended these days to be too personal. One thing she had learned she and Marshall had in common was a careful avoidance of anyone and anything that verged on becoming too personal.
"I thought," she said suddenly, "most security officers were more like Philip Marlowe. You make them sound like a bunch of clucking old hens."
"Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. Raymond Chandler - The Simple Art of Murder," he volunteered noting the surprised look on her face. "A rather romantic view of one of the most thankless tasks a person can be asked to undertake, don’t you think? Do you really suppose a security officer can be above all things he or she encounters? To be the best man in the world and a good enough man for any world? Quite frankly, colonel, I do not. Have you ever known a person like that?"
"Just the one," she replied softly. An alarm suddenly sprang to life, much to her relief.
"Incoming transmission, colonel," said Marshall. "It’s a distress signal."
"What kind of distress?"
"A small freighter near the Belt under attack by pirates. They have taken some light damage so far, but their shields can’t hold much longer."
"Right. Punch in the coordinates and let them know we are on the way. Shields up. Weapons on-line. Going to full impulse. And contact the station, let Mr. Landis know to leave a light on for us, we’re going to be late getting home."
"I like them long," said his companion, holding his hand up to the light, admiring the way the black nail shown against his red skin. "And so do the ladies."
"Yeah, right," said the taller of the two as he worked the controls. The thin transporter beam strengthened and then vanished, leaving the new arrival looking more than slightly dazed.
"Welcome home Rkadi," said the short one. "I hope for your sake your mission was successful."
"You’re late," the taller one noted with a hint of disgust in his voice. "The Boss will not be pleased."
"Grgor and Zit. What an unpleasant surprise. Still stuck on transporter duty I see. Now isn’t that too bad. Well, for your information the mission was very successful and the Boss will be very pleased when I present him with this." He held the ornately carved box up for his two crew mates to see.
"Nice box," remarked Zit as he picked delicately at the seal with his long nails. "What’s in it?"
"That’s none of your business now is it?"
"Well I know one thing," said Grgor. "Neither of us would have allowed ourselves to be altered to look like a Vorta and be sent into Dominion space just to retrieve a box. Especially if we didn’t know what was in it. You do know what’s in it don’t you?"
Rkadi’s reply was cut off as the communications system sprang to life.
"I’m waiting," said the soft voice at the other end of the line. "And you all know how much I enjoy being kept waiting."
"Rkadi is on his way Boss," replied Grgor. "We just had a slight problem with the transporter, that’s all."
"Took longer than we thought," volunteered Zit.
"Very well, have Rkadi meet me in my chambers." All three breathed a sigh of relief as the comm line went dead.
"You heard him," urged Grgor. "Get out of here."
"With pleasure," said Rkadi with a slight smile on his lips. Idiots, he thought as he traversed the dimly lit corridors, doomed to be nothing more than underlings. Toadies. Thank the deities, I am made of sterner stuff than that. He paused at the chamber door and took a moment to collect himself. It would not do to appear over confident in front of the Boss. Satisfied that he was sufficiently humble in demeanor, he rang the chime and was ushered in by two guards. Yes, he thought, one day when I am Boss, I will have twice as many guards and a audience chamber as large, but more tastefully decorated. And those two idiots down in the transporter room…
"Is this the package?" inquired a soft voice.
"Yes, lord," said Rkadi, keeping his eyes averted, but stealing an admiring glance at the man before him. Once again he felt pity for their cousins the Jem’Hadar, whose gray skin and white head ridges paled in comparison to the Zunigian red skin and black ridges. How the Jem’Hadar had allowed themselves to become the lackeys of the Dominion he would never understand.
"Place it here upon the table."
Rkadi complied as instructed and took a respectful step back. "The seal is in place as you instructed."
"You have done well, Rkadi, I am pleased."
"The Vorta live only to serve," he replied extending his arms palm outwards. He was pleased to hear the Boss roar with laughter.
"You do that quite well, Rkadi. Now, to more serious matters. How shall I reward you?"
My own ship would be nice, he thought. "Pleasing you is reward enough," he said.
"No, no, no. This calls for something special." He motioned to the guards. "Kill him."
In shock, Rkadi attempted to step forward, to issue some protest, but found himself held immobile by the two guards. "But, lord," he said amazed to find his voice to be a little more than a squeak. "I did exactly as you instructed. To the letter."
The Boss teasingly held up a finger. "Not exactly, my dear Rkadi. I said, no witnesses, and that my friend means you as well." He motioned the guards to continue. "Take him away."
He waited until the guards had almost reached the door before holding up a hand. "Wait," he ordered motioning for the guards to bring the struggling Rkadi forward. "On second thought, you do deserve more. It was a difficult and dangerous mission and for that you have my thanks."
Rkadi laughed nervously. "So, I’m not going to die?" he asked with a note of hope in his voice.
"Of course you are. Guards, make it quick and relatively painless."
"I rather enjoyed that," the Zunigian lord said to himself as the doors to the chamber closed. It was a good day after all. He caressed the lid of the box. Now, after years of planning, he had in his possession one of the key elements in his plan to bringing the Dominion to its knees. Still, he regretted having to rely on the assistance of the brigands beyond the wormhole, but business was business, and ships and men were after all, ships and men, no matter who paid them to do the dirty work. All the brigands had asked in return was for him to kill one little man and provide a share in the profits once the Dominion was in ashes.
Not that he trusted his new allies to keep their word once control of the quadrant had been obtained. They had, after all, at one time allied themselves with the Dominion and had proven to be a formidable enemy. But so was he. For he understood the ways of the Dominion and the Gamma Quadrant and now he had the one thing that would ensure victory.
He gently removed the seal. Yes, he thought, this is the defining moment. He gently opened the lid to reveal - nothing.
The box was empty.
"Shields down to 60 percent," said Marshall. "I take it that desk job is looking mighty attractive just about now."
"Shut up and try to get a lock on that tractor beam. The freighter can’t help us any until she’s free and we can’t sit here all day playing duck and cover. Hang on, I’m coming around for another pass."
The small craft shot across the top of the freighter, banked sharply, and dove below it coming up under the guns of the pirates. The maneuver worked, giving Marshall a clean shot to the tractor beam which flickered and then failed, freeing the freighter. However, the Rio Grande took another phaser blast as she banked to escape the guns of her opponent.
"Shields down to 30 percent," called out Marshall as smoke filled the small cabin. "If that freighter is going to fire, now would be a good time."
"What the hell was that?" demanded Kira as a bright blue energy beam shot across their bow, striking the pirates amidships.
"I have no idea," replied Marshall. "But let’s just hope they weren’t shooting at us."
The pirates, clearly not wishing to continue the fight now that the odds had evened out, turned their ship away from the freighter and directly in the path of the small runabout. Firing indiscriminately, a stray phaser blast rocked the runabout violently.
"We’ve taken a hit to the starboard nacelle and we are venting plasma," reported Marshall. "Shields at 15 percent. Colonel, I strongly suggest you get us the hell out of here."
"The helm isn’t responding," shouted Kira over the alarms. "Cut all power and route it to the shields."
"Power cut to all systems but life support. Shields at 80 percent."
They watched transfixed as the pirate ship slowly evened out her helm and started to accelerate towards them.
"Okay, colonel, any suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated right now."
"Only one thing we can do, Mr. Marshall. Duck!"
Of course she did not duck. Neither did Marshall. They sat upright in their chairs and watched as the ship continued on it’s path straight toward them, the nose growing larger by the second. Out of the corner of the screen, she saw the flash of blue light. Watched in disbelief as the ship listed slightly and the nose lifted to correct course. The last thing she registered was the wing passing directly before her as the runabout was caught by one of the sensors and sent skipping underneath the belly of the ship like a stone skipped across water.
"Gus!" shouted her Captain. "Can’t you get anymore speed out of her. We’re running behind schedule as it is."
Gus Ferguson shook his head. "I’ve told you a thousand times Jack, you have gotta put us in for a maintenance check. That last debris field you took her through knocked the stuffing out of the power couplings. We’re lucky to manage full impulse as it is."
"I know. I know. But if we don’t work, we don’t get paid…"
"And if we don’t get paid, we’ll never get out of this godforsaken quadrant. But if the ship don’t work, we don’t work neither. Have you thought of that?"
"Of course I’ve thought of that," said Jack. "You know Gus, nothings gone right for us since we got stuck here."
"Well, maybe our luck’s gonna change."
"It’s got to, Gus. It’s just gotta."
There was a disturbance on the bridge.
"Red alert," shouted the Klingon helmsman.
"What now?" wondered Gus out loud.
"On screen," ordered Jack.
The freighter, banking slowly around the planet had come face to face with a Jem’Hadar warship.
Hands gently turned her over on her back and the faces of two Jem’Hadar swam into vision. A Jem’Hadar party then. Oh great. Hours of standing around deciding who next to kill, no wonder she had decided to take a nap. The Jem’Hadar vanished only to be replaced by a face she knew as well as her own.
Odo.
She smiled. It all made sense now.
She wasn’t at a party after all.
She was dead.
She closed her eyes and remembered nothing else.