Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Mon, 26 Jan 2004 21:22:08 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net 
 

Title: Faith: Hope
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 4/18
Rating: [PG-13]
Codes:

Chapter Two

      Captain Picard stepped forward to greet the passenger as he alighted 
from the shuttlecraft.  Security stood by, as did Doctor Crusher and 
Commander Riker.  "You understand the precautions, of course," Picard 
said, returning the man's salute.

      "Of course," the man returned with an amiable smile.  "We can't be too 
careful these days."  He didn't even turn his head when Crusher 
administered the test.  Behind him, Security had moved into the shuttle 
and were firing specially calibrated phasers at every inch of her. 
Doctor Crusher stepped away and nodded.  "Lieutenant Commander Martin, 
Internal Affairs," the man said, identifying himself.  "It's good to 
finally meet the famous Captain Jean-Luc Picard.  I should have guessed 
it would be someone of your skill who would catch Bashir."

      Riker stepped forward at that.  "Catch?" he asked.

      "We rescued *Doctor* Bashir," Crusher corrected, emphasizing Bashir's 
title.

      The smile vanished from Martin's face.  He took on a more somber 
visage.  "I'm sure that's what he wanted you to think.  He's enhanced, 
you know.  Not an easy man to best in a mind game.  And that's what he's 
playing.  A mind game.  I've been after him for months, and I haven't 
even been close.  Then he turned up dead.  And then he turned up not 
dead.  Clever.  But this time he doesn't know I know or that I told you. 
  We have him."

      "Why would he 'turn up' at all?" Crusher asked, snapping shut the 
medkit she was holding.  "If he was evading you, why would he want to be 
rescued?"

      The blond man didn't answer.  Riker didn't give him time before firing 
off another question.

      "Why were you after him?"

      "Enough."  Picard stepped between the three of them.  "This is not the 
place to discuss this."  Picard looked around and instantly people began 
to look busy again.  "We'll convene again in my Ready Room."  Picard 
turned on his heel and expected them to follow.  He was silent until 
they were all present and safely behind closed doors.

      Martin was the first to speak though.  "I have orders, Captain.  The 
prisoner is to be transported to Starbase 136 for holding until such a 
time as he can be transferred to a maximum security prison."

      Picard spun around.  Martin was holding out a PADD, and Picard snatched 
it from him.  It contained orders, just as Martin had said.

      "Under what charge?" Crusher demanded, clearly unhappy with Martin and 
his mission.

      "Illegally releasing eighty-five liters of biomemetic gel to an unknown 
recipient," he said, speaking slowly, "and accessory to genocide."

      "Where's your proof?" Picard asked.  "What evidence do you have?"

      Martin seemed taken aback by their questions.  "Why the *Enterprise*, 
of course.  Your own findings support that biomemetic gel destroyed 
Deyon III.  And Bashir's own records from Deep Space Nine record the 
release of the gel.  None other is unaccounted for."

      Picard expected Riker to point out the obvious, but Riker wasn't 
speaking at all.  So Picard offered to do it.  "You said you'd been 
after him for months.  We only discovered the cause of destruction of 
Deyon III."

      "There were reports, Captain, several months ago."

      "Rumors," Picard corrected, "and only a few months ago, around the time 
Bashir was declared dead.  You said you were after him before that."

      "Any sizeable release of gel such as this is investigated, Captain," 
Martin replied, with a patronizing manner.  "The charges were only just 
amended to include genocide."  Martin took back the PADD.  "So you will 
please take the prisoner into custody and set course for Starbase 136."

      "I will not," Picard stated firmly, which finally caused Riker to speak.

      "Sir?"

      Martin seemed just as interested in an explanation.

      "We are not a dictatorship, Commander, or even an autocracy.  Doctor 
Bashir is a Starfleet Officer and a citizen of the Federation.  He is 
entitled to a fair trial or an official court martial.  Besides, there 
are other sources of biomemetic gel outside the Federation, and Deyon 
III lies well outside the boundaries of Federation space, as it has 
since the defeat at the Bystron Belt."

      "He's already had a trial," Martin countered.  "Last week.  He was 
tried in absentia and found guilty."

      Crusher's mouth gaped open in astonishment.  "Last week you thought he 
was dead!"

      Martin turned to her and gestured with his hands as if he were speaking 
to a thick student.  "Which is why he was unable to attend."

      "He is able now," Picard held, "to attend."

      Martin sighed.  "You can contest my orders all you want, Captain, but 
you'll have to do it at Starbase 136.  I'm sure that Captain Jean-Luc 
Picard can talk them into a retrial, but we still have to get there. 
And since we have to get there, it would be a wise idea to keep the 
genetically-enhanced accused locked safely away."

      "He can't leave his quarters as it is," Crusher pointed out, the fight 
having left her in the wake of Martin's logic.  "His eyes keep him there."

      "Or perhaps he only lets you believe that," Martin countered.  "But I 
leave it to you, Captain.  It's your ship.  I do believe James Kirk 
treated Khan as a guest on his *Enterprise*."  With that, he turned on 
his heel and left the room.

      "Doctor," Picard suggested, looking at Riker, "find Mr. Martin some 
guest quarters, please."

      "Jean-Luc," she started to protest.  But Picard held up a hand to stop
her.

      "Later, Doctor," he said.  "I haven't decided anything yet."

      She didn't argue, but it was obvious she wasn't happy as she swished 
out the door.

      "She's going to put him on Deck 4, I can feel it," Picard joked, hoping 
to lighten his First Officer's mood.  There were crew quarters on Deck 4 
in stark need of repair after their last firefight.  Some didn't even 
have life support.

      "You can't just leave him there," Riker said with a complete lack of
humor.

      "On Deck 4?" Picard asked.  "It was a joke."

      "Not him.  Bashir."  Riker's intensity had returned with his voice.

      "What about him?"  Picard didn't like where this was going.  "He gets a 
fair trial, Will.  And a *full* investigation.  I expect you to be 
honest and impartial."

      "I will investigate impartially," Riker agreed, catching the suspicion 
Picard was throwing at him, "but I'm not impartial.  I stood on that world."

      "*Innocent* until proven guilty."

      "But not free," Riker countered.  "The accused can be held in custody 
until trial."

      "He's already held," Picard repeated what Crusher had said.  "He can't 
leave his quarters for the light."  He thought quickly to divert Riker 
from quoting Martin.  "And there's medical proof of that."

      Riker turned away in frustration.  "He's enhanced."

      "So?" Picard returned.  "He's not guilty of that either.  I believe his 
father is currently finishing a prison term for that."

      "There may not be any light in his quarters," Riker argued, skirting 
the ethical question of genetic enhancements altogether, it seemed, "but 
there are devices.  The computer, the comm system, the replicator.  He 
could take over the whole ship from in there."

      Now it was Picard who turned.  "You're really reaching there, Will." 
He went behind his desk and sat down.

      "Am I?" Riker asked, leaning his arms against the desktop.  "Khan did 
it.  He read everything he needed in the ship's database, right from his 
guest accommodations."

      "I don't need a history lesson, Commander."  Picard felt his face heat 
up in anger.  "Bashir is not Khan."

      "Bashir read something and turned a replicator into a transmitter in 
complete darkness."

      Picard didn't answer.  He wasn't sure what to say.  If Bashir was 
guilty, he could be capable of such a thing.  But if he was innocent, he 
didn't deserve to be imprisoned again.  He'd been through enough.

      "He's been in a cave for six months," Riker continued, trying a 
different track.  "A cell in our brig is a major improvement in 
accommodations.  Warm, dry, clean, and three square meals a day."

      "And no freedom."

      "If he's innocent, we risk having to apologize," Riker added, standing 
up again.  "I'd do it personally.  But if he's not, we risk more by 
leaving him free.  A lot more."

      Picard looked at him.  Riker didn't know.  He'd never been a prisoner 
before, not like this.  He didn't know what the loss of freedom could do 
to a man who'd already suffered so much.  He didn't know that it was as 
much torture as having one's fingers broken with a hammer.

      But he did have a point.  The pips on Picard's collar weighed a ton 
each when he spoke.  "Have Data escort him to the brig."

      Riker was only too eager to turn for the door.  He didn't know.  "Yes, 
sir."

      "Dim the lights," Picard reminded him.

      Riker nodded.  "To Doctor Crusher's specifications."  The door opened 
for him.

      "Will," Picard called, stopping him.  "He's to be comfortable and 
treated with respect--the respect an innocent man deserves."

      Riker's intensity dropped a bit, but his voice was sincere.  "I'll make 
sure of it."  Perhaps he had an idea after all.


      "You should gather your things," Data was saying.

      "I don't have any things," Bashir replied, standing, "though I do 
remember having some shoes.  Where are we going?"

      But Data didn't answer.  "Please just come with me.  I will inquire 
about the shoes."

      "Alright."  Julian could see only the usual darkness and shadows beyond 
Data's distinct silhouette.  They'd dimmed the lights in the corridor 
for him again.  Data turned and Bashir followed him out the door.

      Perhaps it was time for a medical check-up to see how he was 
recovering.  But that wouldn't require him to gather his belongings. 
Still, he wasn't worried.  What, ultimately, was there to worry about 
anyway?  If something was going to happen, it would happen.  Worrying 
wouldn't change a thing.

      But when Data called out the deck in the turbolift, Bashir felt his 
pulse quicken quite involuntarily.  They were going down.  Why down? 
The lift stopped and he followed Data out into the corridor.  "I should 
amend my earlier question," Bashir decided.  "Where are you taking me?"

      Data stopped and turned to face him.  "I would prefer you did not ask."

      Bashir sighed, but he didn't give in.  He sensed something important 
was happening, and he wasn't going to follow blindly just to save the 
android's feelings.  Or his own.  "I'll know when we get there so you 
might as well just tell me."

      There was a pause, and Bashir took that as sincerity and respect.  A 
pause like that was an eternity for a positronic brain.

      "I have been ordered to escort you to the brig."

      A wave of panic hit him in spite of his former musings about the 
ineffectiveness of worry.  But the empath was always in the back of his 
mind, so he shut the panic down, thinking instead that the brig was no 
different than the darkened quarters he couldn't leave.  There were 
differences in comfort, of course, but the principal matter was the lack 
of choice.  In that, they were the same.

      It was obvious that this wasn't easy for Data, so he wouldn't make it 
any harder.  Keeping his voice calm, he touched Data's arm.  "Then lead 
on."  Data nodded and they began to walk again.

      There were others waiting in the brig.  Security officers probably, but 
one stood out more.  A tall, imposing man.  "Holding cell three, Data," 
the man said.

      He was familiar with Data but also commanding.  He wasn't Picard, so 
that only left Riker.  And that fit the voice Bashir had heard earlier 
in Sickbay.  Bashir stopped in front of him.  "Commander Riker."

      Riker's voice was strained, as if it were an effort to speak directly 
to him.  "Doctor."

      "Am I allowed to know why I'm being imprisoned?"

      "Of course," Riker replied, stiffer even than before.  "Though this 
isn't imprisonment.  We're just holding you pending an investigation."

      There was only one investigation of which he was aware.  And since he 
knew he was himself, he doubted it could lead to incarceration. 
Something else was going on.  "What investigation?  What are the charges?"

      "I don't know if I'm the one to inform you," Riker stalled.

      "I have the right to know," Bashir held, "unless my status is so in 
question as to leave my possession of rights in doubt."

      Riker was silent.  He apparently got lost on the last sentence. 
Finally, he spoke, and his voice was more fluid, more sincere.  "If that 
were the case, you *would* be imprisoned.  We're going to make sure you 
receive a fair trial."

      "That's kind of you," Bashir returned, "but I'd still like to know the 
charges."

      "Illegal release of biomemetic gel, for one."

      Ah, that.  So Sloan had got wind of his release from the cave.  "I want 
an advocate," he said.

      "I volunteer," Data spoke up.  "I will act as Advocate."

      "Data, you don't even know all the charges," Riker argued.

      "Regardless," Data stated, "I know the accused."

      "Number three," was all Riker would say.

      It was easy enough to turn and follow Data to the cell, but he found it 
quite difficult to step into it. *It's just a room,* he told himself, 
*just a room.*  It didn't feel like just a room.  He could hear the 
forcefield humming. *You knew this would happen*, he argued. *They 
wouldn't just let you leave.*

      *But I'm innocent,* he argued back. *Sisko ordered it.*

      But that didn't change anything.  Either he'd be found guilty or 
innocent.  The truth was no good unless it was accepted.  And whether or 
not it was accepted was out of his control.  Everything beyond his own 
body was outside his control.  So the cell was just another kind of room.

      All that was easier thought than really believed, however.  He forced 
his body to calm down.  He didn't want the empath to come racing down 
here because she sensed his panic.  The cell might only be a temporary 
setback.  She could set him back for months.

      Only then did he realize that Data had been talking.  "I will do some 
research on the charges."

      "I was ordered," he told the android, his advocate, the one he could 
trust.  "I asked for written orders, and I filed an official protest."

      "Then it should be a simple matter to clear up," the android concluded 
with a smile.

      A smile wasn't enough though, not for Bashir.  "I'm being framed, 
Data," he said.  "Section 31 is behind this."

      The android side-stepped the last statement.  "I will do my best to 
clear you, Doctor."  He turned to go.

      "Data," Bashir called.  "We're friends, aren't we?"

      Data turned and cocked his head just slightly.  "I am honored you 
consider me a friend," he finally said.

      "Then call me Julian," Bashir said.  Then he added, "I trust you, Data."

      Data nodded and walked out, leaving him alone--except for the guard, 
though he hardly counted as company--in the darkness.  Well, mostly 
darkness.  He'd been too preoccupied with the idea of incarceration to 
notice it before, but he was squinting and his eyes hurt.  Though the 
lights were turned down in the brig, the forcefield on the door to his 
cell meant that the frame was lit.  Had the light been at the other side 
of the room, it might not have bothered him.  But as it was, the light 
was only a few meters from him at the farthest wall of the cell.

      *I've had worse,* he reminded himself.  Resigned, he sat down on one of 
the benches that would serve as his bed.  He leaned back against the 
wall and shut his eyes, cutting most of the light out.  With nothing 
else to do, he set his mind to one of the games he'd learned to play to 
occupy the endless days--or rather, nights--in the cave.  Since he was 
in the brig, he started there.  It was much easier here on a starship, 
he realized, since it was Federation technology such as he'd studied. 
The station, with its hybrid of Starfleet and Cardassian, was more 
difficult.

      Visualizing the walls around him, he chose one and peeled back the 
first layer, exposing the circuits, conduits, and vents behind it. 
Within an hour, he'd deconstructed the whole thing.  And with the 
thought that the other two walls were just the same, he turned next to 
the forcefield that held him in.  Walls were easy.  A forcefield 
generator was an actual device, not just a structure.  But his mind had 
little else to do but worry--and he didn't want to do that.  By the time 
Picard and Riker came to him, he'd laid bare every wire and circuit and 
put them together again.


      "I'm sorry to wake you," Picard said, forcing Bashir to open his eyes.

      "I wasn't asleep," Bashir replied.  "I was thinking."  He squinted 
against the light coming from the door, and Picard realized why his eyes 
had been closed.

      "May I ask what about?" Picard asked, curious.

      "Have you become the ship's counselor?" Bashir asked, matching Picard's 
own tone of voice.

      Picard stiffened, but he understood the brusqueness.  Beside him, Riker 
bristled.

      "I was thinking about forcefield generators," Bashir supplied anyway.

      Riker glanced at Picard, but the captain ignored him.  "I'm sorry we 
had to hold you here, but you are facing some very serious charges."

      "You keep apologizing," Bashir said, not bothering to stand up, "but 
I'm still in here.  You didn't have to do anything."  He leaned forward. 
  "Or don't captains still make the decisions on starships?"

      Picard bit back a sharp reply.  Of course, it had been his decision in 
the end.  "There are risks--"

      "Guilty until proven innocent, it is then," Bashir cut him off, his 
tone softening.  He leaned back again.  "I didn't expect anything more, 
to be truthful."

      Didn't expect more?  Was that just his way of saying he understood the 
risks, the logic in the decision?  Or did it mean something else?  "We 
don't consider you guilty," Picard replied.  "We will investigate the 
matter thoroughly."

      "He does," Bashir stated, inclining his head toward Riker.

      "Have you become a telepath?" Riker threw back just as Bashir had 
earlier.  Picard shot him a look to show his displeasure at the 
interruption.

      "I didn't read your mind," Bashir claimed, "but I can read faces, 
especially with that damned light.  I can read your tone of voice, the 
way you carry yourself in my presence.  I disgust you.  Tell me, 
Commander, is it because of the present charges or my genetic status?"

      Picard gave Riker another warning glare, and Riker wisely ignored that 
loaded question.  "You don't seem overly uncomfortable in there.  And 
I'm sure it's only temporary."

      "Well, that does make me feel so much better," Bashir admitted, though 
with ample sarcasm.  "What you believe doesn't change at all the fact of 
my innocence.  Cell or no cell, I know the truth."

      Picard almost admired Bashir's philosophy, but it still worried him. 
He'd been reading up on Bashir--service records, psychological profile, 
etc.  Picard never would have imagined such stoicism.  His records had 
described him as a passionate, compassionate man with a buoyant sense of 
humor and an easy bedside manner.  What was it about the cave that had 
changed him when the other events in his life had not?  Was it the 
duration? The solitude?  Or had it been simply the last straw?

      "Can I get you something to eat?" Picard asked, feeling sympathy and a 
commonality with the man in the cell.

      "No," Bashir replied quickly, sitting down again.  "I don't need
anything."

      "Please, don't go hungry," Picard admonished, remembering the list 
Bashir had recited only yesterday.

      Bashir gave him a sidelong glance that held both bitterness and 
amusement.  "Eight hours is *hardly* going hungry."

      "Suit yourself," Riker interrupted again.  Picard was liking less and 
less his First Officer's attitude.  "You wanted to hear the charges?"

      "I already know them," Bashir returned.  "Illegally releasing 
eight-five liters of biomemetic gel to an unknown recipient."

      Picard nodded.  He'd gotten half of it right.  Bashir knew the exact 
amount though.  Picard glanced at Riker.  He hadn't been told the amount 
before.

      "Then you don't deny releasing it?" Riker asked, taking notes on a PADD.

      "No," Bashir returned, keeping his voice calm and confident.  "I deny 
releasing it illegally."

      "Would you like to have your advocate present," Picard offered, ready 
to call Data down from the bridge.

      Bashir waved a hand to dismiss it.  "It's not important.  He's already 
heard."  He leaned forward, facing Picard and ignoring Riker.  "I'm sure 
you've been reviewing my records.  Did you happen to note an unfortunate 
incident with a Lethean four years ago?"

      Telepathic coma.  Picard had noted it.  "You were attacked and nearly 
killed when you found a Lethean ransacking your Infirmary."  It was a 
very rare thing to survive such an attack.  That had made it memorable. 
  That and the one link with this case.

      Bashir nodded.  "And did the records say why he attacked me?"

      Picard knew the answer.  "Biomemetic gel," he supplied.  "You refused 
to sell him any."

      "I refused to sell him twenty milliliters," Bashir corrected.  "Do you 
really think I'd just give away eight-five liters?

      "Perhaps the Lethean didn't offer you enough," Riker suggested.

      Bashir glared at him.  "He offered to compensate me well, I assure you. 
  I refused.  I won't be bought."  He was so direct, so blunt.  Picard 
believed him.  That was one thing in his records that fit.  He wouldn't 
be bought.  "Check my accounts," the doctor went on.  "Did I receive 
anything in return for the gel?  Eighty-five liters should have made me 
a rich man."  Then, suddenly, the fire left him.  He sank back against 
the wall again.  "But I'm sure that can be faked as well as anything." 
He turned his head toward Picard.  "But the simple truth is that I was 
ordered to release the gel.  I warned my superior of the possible 
effects and insisted on written orders, which he produced.  I then filed 
an official protest with his knowledge."

      "Your superior officer," Picard repeated.  "Captain Sisko?"  Why would 
Sisko order the release of so much gel, especially after his CMO protested.

      "The only one I've ever had," Bashir confirmed.  "He wouldn't tell me 
why.  He didn't have to.  The orders came from Starfleet Command."

      The same Starfleet Command that had tried him in absentia for it?  That 
didn't make sense.  "That should be easily verifiable," Picard said, 
hoping to offer encouragement.  He turned to go and Riker wisely followed.

      "You'd think so," he heard Bashir say as he stepped through the door. 
The guard slipped back into the room behind them and the door closed.

      Riker scratched his chin.  "What do you suppose he meant by that?"

      Picard didn't like his conspiratorial tone.  "He believes he's being 
framed.  Records can be altered."  Picard turned to face Riker.  "You 
aren't to see him anymore."

      "Sir?" Riker asked, dropping his hand.

      "He may not be able to see very well yet, Will," Picard explained, not 
wanting to be too harsh.  Riker was a good officer, even if he needed 
reminded of it just now.  "But he could pick up on your dislike of him. 
  You've already said you're not impartial.  I'll handle the 
investigation myself if you don't think you can do it?"

      Riker squared his shoulders, taking the discipline like an officer.  "I 
*can* be impartial," he said in his defense.  "It's just his attitude. . 
. ."

      Picard held up a hand to stop him from continuing.  "His attitude is 
mild considering what he's been through."

      "Not if he--"

      Picard shook his head, dispelling the end of that sentence as well. 
"Innocent until proven guilty, Will."  He let that sit for a moment and 
then pressed on with business.  "See if we can't get the lights turned 
down around the forcefield.  I'll be in my Ready Room checking on those 
records."



-- 
--Gabrielle
I'd much rather be writing!

http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/trek/    The Edge of the Frontier
http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/doyle/   This Side of the Nether
Blog: http://www.gabriellewrites.blogspot.com

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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