Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 29 Jan 2004 07:03:36 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net 
 

Title: Faith, Part II: Forgiveness
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 6/9
Rating: [PG]
Codes:
Summary:  Doctor Bashir, after having been marooned for over six months,

Chapter Nine

      "Doctor Helmut Pfenner," Sisko said, beginning the morning staff 
meeting.  "It is estimated that he was replaced as early as four months 
ago."  He paused a moment for effect.  "Which would be about the same 
time the Dominion's hunger for dilithium increased."

      "Why do they need a doctor for that?" O'Brien asked.

      Dax spoke up.  "He isn't a medical doctor.  He's a subspace theorist." 
  When every one turned to look at her, she blushed.  "Jadzia read some 
of his work."

      Kira shook her head. "Why a subspace theorist if they're trying to spy 
on us?"

      "Old Man, do you remember what Doctor Pfenner was working on?"

      "He'd proposed a new model of subspace communicators," Ezri replied. 
"It wasn't that spectacular.  But that was a year ago.  He'd finished 
the book.  He was probably on to something else by the time they got him."

      "The head of Aranus Institute reported that Doctor Pfenner had been on 
sabbatical, researching.  He hadn't said what he was researching," Worf 
explained.  He'd spent the night investigating on orders from Sisko. 
"When he returned four months ago, he began working on a three 
dimensional subspace model.  The Institute assumed that had been the 
subject of his research.  But some of his colleagues felt it was 'too 
simple' for Doctor Pfenner's enthusiasm for theoretics."

      Bashir summed up the situation.  "So we don't know what he was really 
working on before the Dominion got him."

      "Only that it has something to do with subspace," Sisko replied, noting 
that, yet again, Bashir had managed to avoid any eye contact.

      It was a new wrinkle, hopefully a clue to help them solve the puzzle of 
the Dominion's latest experiment.  Would subspace be the piece that made 
the rest of the clues come together?  "Old Man," Sisko said, deciding on 
his orders, "I know you're not the science officer anymore, but you've 
got the memories. I'd like you to dig back into Pfenner's work.  See if 
you can find anything helpful.  Doctor, you still have Mtingwa--"

      "For a few more hours," Bashir interrupted.

      Sisko didn't take offense.  Mtingwa was dying.  Bashir had never taken 
a dying patient easily.  "Is there anything you can do for her?"

      Bashir shook his head.  "Same things I did for Bareil.  Maybe.  In the 
end, it won't help."

      Sisko nodded, even though he knew Bashir wouldn't see it.  He felt bad 
for Mtingwa, but there was still work to be done.  "Mr. Worf, anything 
from *Enterprise*?"

      "Not much, sir," Worf grumbled.  "They have traced several attacking 
ships' warp signatures back to the Erilli sector.  However, that sector 
is well behind enemy lines.  Their scans cannot penetrate without 
drawing unwanted attention."

      Sisko nodded at that as well.  "Chief?"

      "I sent Commander LaForge some scanning results from the ship.  While I 
couldn't put my finger on what was different about the wreckage, I was 
hoping he could.  It's breaking down, just as the dilithium did.  It's 
going to crumble to pieces, sir, right in the docking bay, given enough 
time."

      Bashir dipped his head at that, closing his eyes.  Perhaps there was 
some correlation with Mtingwa's condition.  Sisko didn't want to think 
about that.  "What does that tell us?"

      "Nothing in particular," O'Brien admitted, "except that something 
phenomenal happened to that vessel.  They're messing with something big, 
sir."

      The rest of the meeting was rather ordinary--extraordinary in 
wartime--with each department head offering reports that varied little 
from day to day.  Supplies were needed, guests needed quartering, energy 
consumption had increased by two percent over last month, etc.  When the 
meeting ended, the main thing on everyone's agenda was still the 
Dominion's mystery experiment.

      And Bashir.  Ezri continued to see him.  Everyone else continued to not 
see him. And Sisko had continued to avoid him.  *Not this time,* he told 
himself.

      As the others stood and moved toward the door, Sisko called out as 
casually as he could, "Doctor, could you stay for a moment?"

      Bashir froze and visibly tensed, but he turned, expressionless, away 
from the door.  Sisko waited until the others had left before he spoke. 
  Bashir however, only moved far enough from the door to allow it to close.

      "I'm sorry about Mtingwa," Sisko said, hoping to break the ice with 
talk of his patient.

      "I'm sure she'll appreciate the sympathy," Bashir replied, and Sisko 
couldn't tell if he meant it to be a sincere remark or a bit of subtle 
sarcasm.

      He didn't really want to talk about Mtingwa anyway.  He wanted to see 
if being on the station had taken away some of Bashir's rancor.  "You 
seem to have settled back into your duties nicely."

      "Thank you, sir."  Clipped, formal.  Nothing further than business.

      "What about your free time?" Sisko asked.  "Settling in there?"

      "My free time isn't your concern."  There was a hint of harshness in 
that.  Bashir kept his eyes on the table, not on Sisko.  He was trying 
to control it, Sisko could tell, the anger than Sisko had seen before.

      "We were friends once," Sisko tried.

      Bashir didn't reply.

      "If I could change the past," Sisko went on, "I would.  If I could undo 
what I did and find a better way, I would.  But I can't do that.  We 
have to find a way to coexist here.  I can't change what I did, but I'm 
working on changing what I do.  I'm not focussing on the war so much 
that I'm losing sight of my people.  Of you.  I'm not going to make the 
same mistake twice."

      Now Bashir looked up.  "Are you so sure?" he asked, regaining some of 
the venom he'd had on the *Enterprise*.  "You meant what you said in the 
sanctuary district.  And yet, you didn't live up to those words, did 
you?  You may even mean what you say now, but there's a lull in the war. 
  What happens when the fighting gets heavy again, when the casualty 
lists start growing, when ships disappear and systems are occupied? What 
then?  And what about when Sloan breaks my code and comes for me?  Will 
you even notice? Or will you order me to go with him?"

      Sisko didn't know what code Bashir was talking about, but he didn't 
figure that was the important issue here.  Bashir had a point.  He could 
say he would try, but he couldn't be sure of the future.  "I can say 
I'll do my best," he finally said.  "I don't know what else I can say."

      "You can't say anything," Bashir said, calmer now.  "You can't change 
what you did.  And you can't guarantee what you will do.  You can't be 
trusted."

      Sisko smacked a hand down on his desk.  He wanted to do more, to break 
something but he didn't want to act out in front of Bashir.  "That's not 
fair!  I'm not the only one who makes mistakes.  And it *was* a mistake. 
  It was a huge, horrendous mistake, I'll give you that, but it was a 
mistake nonetheless.  You've made them.  Am I to assume that you aren't 
to be trusted?"

      Bashir stepped forward, anger clearly visible in his eyes.  His voice 
was low though, almost a whisper.  "I won't break my principles to suit 
my mistakes.  I won't bend."

      Sisko closed his eyes.  He couldn't remember a time when Bashir had 
bent.  "Why did you come here?" he asked finally.  "You knew I'd be here."

      "I wanted my life back," Bashir replied.  "This was my post, not just 
yours.  Why should I have to give up what I had because of what you did?"

      "You shouldn't," Sisko agreed.  "But you can't go on like this.  Have 
you told any of this to Ezri?  To Troi?"

      "And what should I tell them?" Bashir asked.  "Should I tell them how I 
lost my faith in everything I used to believe in?  Should I tell them 
about you?  Should I make Dax an accessory, too?"

      *God, no.*  Jadzia had been the closest to know what he'd done.  She 
knew he wanted to convince the Romulans, but he never told her how he'd 
accomplished it.  He hadn't wanted to implicate anyone else.  Section 31 
implicated Julian, forcing him to become part of the cover-up.  Sisko 
didn't want it to go any further.  And neither he nor Bashir wanted word 
to get back to the Romulans.  "So I'm the only one who knows how you 
truly feel?"

      Bashir turned his back but didn't leave the room. Sisko knew he'd hit 
something there.

      "And you know that I can't tell Dax either," he continued.  "So where 
do we go from here?  I'm the captain and you're the Chief Medical 
Officer. We're going to run into each other from time to time."


      Bashir didn't respond.  Sisko had won the point.  Bashir didn't have an 
answer.  He'd known Sisko would be on the station but he hadn't dwelt on 
it.  He wanted his life back.  He ignored the fact that Sisko would be a 
part of it.

      "I suppose we could keep to business, duty and nothing else," Sisko 
suggested, and Bashir found himself nodding. It was all they could do, 
wasn't it?  Sisko couldn't be counted on for anything more.

      Sisko wasn't finished.  "But it's not just me, is it?  I saw you with 
Admiral Ross.  You have something against him, too.  Romulus, I'm 
guessing, though you never gave me the details."

      He waited but Bashir still couldn't speak.  *Yes, of course, it was 
Romulus.*  And what good were the details?  It was just another case of 
sacrificing Bashir to the god of war.

      "You won't spend time with O'Brien.  No one sees you when you're off 
duty.  You haven't gotten your life back."

      Bashir felt his stomach drop.  His legs felt weak, but they held him 
up.  He didn't want to have to sit down and display his weakness to 
Sisko.  Riker's words about Tom Riker came back to him.  *But he 
couldn't get his life back.  He couldn't just pick up where he left off.*

      "Don't you trust them?" Sisko asked.  "Did they betray you, too?"

      Bashir closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to be there anymore, not 
wanting to hear anymore.  But he shook his head in answer.  *But they 
could,* he thought.  "I didn't think you would either," he whispered.

      Sisko was silent a moment, but Bashir couldn't turn to look at him. 
Finally, he spoke again.  "So you've got nothing left.  That's what you 
said.  You came back here hoping to find something but you can't trust 
anyone."

      "I trust me," Bashir blurted, wanting desperately for Sisko to be wrong.

      "Do you?  You left Quark's very quickly last night."

      The darts.  No, he could trust. He could control his own choices.  The 
darts were different.  That wasn't the same as making a choice.

      "What can I do besides say I'm sorry?" Sisko asked again.

"I'm human, just like you.  Humans make mistakes.  I made a terrible 
one. I can only try to do better in the future.  How can I make it 
easier for you?"

      Bashir's hand shook as he reached out to lean on the back of a chair. 
He didn't know.  He wished none of this had ever happened because he 
couldn't see how it could ever be put right.  He couldn't stay any 
longer.  He had to get back to the Infirmary.  His answer was so quiet, 
he wasn't sure he'd even said it out loud.  "Restore my faith."

      "I don't know how," Sisko admitted.

      Bashir turned and left the room before he could say any more.


      Kira looked up when the turbolift stopped.  Captain Sisko got off and 
headed right for his office.  He didn't so much as acknowledge her 
presence. Or anyone else's for that matter.  His jaw was set tight and 
his hands were balled into fists.  Had the doors to his office not been 
electric, Kira was sure he would have slammed them shut.  Bashir again. 
  Somehow.

      Kira decided to go see him.  She knew Sisko wasn't likely to talk. 
Bashir, though, had seemed more like his old self at the meeting.  He 
was down about his patient, but that wasn't uncommon.  He'd been that 
way before.  He cared.

      She logged off her station and motioned over another officer to take 
her place.  She stepped onto the turbolift and told the computer to take 
her to the Promenade.

      There was a moderate bustle of people that morning and it took her a 
moment to exit the turbolift as she waited for a group of off-duty 
Starfleet crewmen to pass.  She looked down the Promenade toward her 
destination but her eye was caught by something out of place.  Or 
someone.  Just in the doorway to Quark's.  A man in a striped suit and 
hat.  She'd seen such an outfit before.  On Bashir, and on the men that 
shared his barracks.  The man disappeared inside the bar.

      Kira pushed her way past a Bajoran couple and made for the bar.   But 
when she got to the door, the man was gone.  Quark was washing glasses 
behind the bar.  "Kind of early, isn't it, Colonel?"

      "Did you see someone come in here?" she asked him.

      "Lots of people come in here," Quark told her, smirking.  "You looking 
for someone in particular?"

      "I saw someone," she said, still looking around.  "A striped suit.  It 
was strange."

      "Striped?" Quark asked, repeating her words.  "No, didn't see any
stripes."

      Kira was almost ignoring him, though she found it odd that Quark hadn't 
seen the man when he'd walked right through the main level door.  She 
nodded and moved a bit further into the room.  She scanned the upper levels.

      He was looking back at her.  He was leaning on the railing above and he 
was looking right at her.  His face was dark, but also pale, unhealthy 
pale.  His cheekbones protruded prominently under the skin on his face 
and his eyes. . . .  She felt their gaze.  The sounds of the bar became 
muffled to her ears until she heard the hum of the station itself.  The 
man nodded once and turned toward the upper level exit.

      "Colonel?" Quark asked behind her.  "Maybe you need a drink after all."

      Kira shook off the eerie feeling the man's eyes had left her with, and 
the bar sounds once again filled her ears.  She ignored Quark and 
hurried back out to the Promenade. She looked up, expecting to see him 
passing the rails on the upper level.  He was quick though and she just 
barely saw him step into the turbolift.

      Kira ran to the turbolift shaft on the lower level and called for the 
lift.  It arrived, but when the doors opened, the car was empty.  A 
destination, however, had already been entered.  Kira felt uneasy, but 
she also felt she had to see this through.  She checked the charge on 
her phaser and told the computer to proceed to the destination.

      As the turbolift lowered, and kept lowering, she thought of the 
possibility that the man could be a changeling and that she could be 
walking into a trap.  But it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Why her? 
  The man seemed to want her to follow.  A changeling on the station 
could find a lot more damaging things to do than leading the first 
officer into the lower levels.  Of course, it could be out to replace 
her, and that could be devastating to DS Nine, just as it nearly had 
been when one replaced Bashir.  But why the outfit?  It was conspicuous 
on the Promenade.  Why would a changeling want to be conspicuous?

      Finally, the lift stopped and Kira edged out, phaser drawn.  The 
corridor was dimly lit by emergency lights.  This was one of the last 
levels before the unused sections just above Reactor Four.  She heard a 
sound to her left and spun around just in time to see the striped cap 
disappear down a shaft.  The man was going lower.

      Kira thought maybe she should call someone to let them know where she 
was going, what she was doing, but she didn't.  She didn't know why she 
didn't.  She just didn't.  Something about that man's eyes had caught 
her and she wasn't ready to be let go or even distracted.  She would follow.

      She peered down the shaft and caught a flash of material about two 
decks down.  She wasn't sure how she saw it.  There was no light down 
there, and she didn't have a palm beacon.  Deciding on a little bit of 
caution at least, she pulled the phaser from its holster.  Then she 
began the climb down.

      She climbed slowly though she felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest. 
  She feared she would lose him in the darkness and the time it took to 
reach the level he was on.  She wasn't even sure how far she'd gone. 
She could see up the shaft to the light she'd left, but below her was 
only darkness.  She counted each rung of the ladder and when she 
estimated she'd gone two levels, she reached out a foot to test for a 
landing.  When she didn't find one below her, she used one hand to test 
above.  She moved down three more rungs and tried again with her foot. 
This time, she found the floor.

      Cautiously, she stepped off the ladder onto the darkened level where 
she'd last seen the man in stripes.  The darkness was oppressive, heavy 
on her shoulders and cold on her arms.  She kept her phaser in front of 
her with one hand and followed the wall with the other.  She searched 
her memories of the camp, of the night she beamed down to Auschwitz to 
look for Bashir.  She'd gone into his barracks, seen the faces of the 
many of the men there.  One in particular, high on one of the slats they 
used for beds.  But it wasn't this man.  She thought for sure she would 
have recognized those eyes.

      From around a corner, up ahead and to the right, he emerged.  And Kira 
knew he wasn't a changeling then.  There was still no light, no reason 
why she should have seen him, but there he was.  She didn't know what he 
was, maybe a vision, maybe a Prophet?  She lowered the phaser and he 
motioned to her to follow him still.  He slipped back around the corner 
and there was, once again, nothing to see.

      She kept her steps short and didn't pick her feet up off the ground 
very high.  This area of the station had been ransacked by the 
Cardassians and never really repaired.  Pieces of equipment had been 
cannibalized here and there to repair other, more necessary parts of the 
station.  She knew there could be debris on the floor and didn't want to 
risk falling.  She reached the point where the man had disappeared again 
and her hand found the corner.  She turned and saw him up ahead.  This 
time, there was light though she could not see any source for it.  The 
man himself seemed to be the source as the light played out in a circle 
around him, reaching no further than a meter in any direction.  He was 
perhaps fifty meters down the corridor ahead of her.  This time, he 
didn't move or turn a corner.  He just stood, waiting.

      She stood, too, uncertain of her approach.  Who was he?  Or what was 
he?  The Prophets, she knew from Captain Sisko's descriptions, spoke in 
cryptic riddles.  But at least they spoke.  This man had yet to say a 
word.  Other things didn't fit.  She was on the station, her station. 
Of that, she was certain.  Prophet visions we never so stable as her 
trek to this level had been.  A vision would have transported her from 
one dream-like rendition of a familiar place to another and back again. 
  And Prophets usually assumed the appearance of someone a person knew. 
  She had not seen this man before.  She'd seen men like him, but she 
was sure she didn't remember his face from her one night in that camp.

      She'd already ruled out changeling.  Changelings didn't emit light when 
taking the form of a human.  And Quark hadn't seen him.  Changelings 
could change their shape, but they couldn't appear as one thing to one 
person and something else--or nothing at all--to another at the very 
same time.  So what did that leave?  An hallucination?  She had no 
reason to be hallucinating.  She hadn't fallen or hit her head; she 
wasn't ill.  And why a man from Auschwitz?  Why not someone from her own 
experience?  An apparition?  Humans didn't like to admit that such 
things existed, but Bajorans weren't as closed-minded on the topic. 
Kira didn't discount the notion.  But she didn't put the phaser away either.

      The man beckoned her forward with his hand.  He kept glancing at the 
wall to his right.  His circle of light didn't reach far enough to let 
her see what he was looking at.  She took a breath and stepped forward. 
  She still walked slowly, but the man waited patiently, still casting 
wary glances at the wall.  As she approached, he stepped closer, so that 
his light illuminated the lower section of the wall.  He knelt down and 
touched what she could now see was a power transfer conduit cover.  Then 
he stood again and stepped back a bit, giving her room.  The light, 
however, stayed on the conduit cover, though he remained visible.

      She was close to him now, just barely farther than her arms could 
reach.  She thought of trying to touch him, to see if he was touchable. 
  But she couldn't think of an excuse to do so that didn't sound 
awkward.  And she still couldn't bring herself to break the silence that 
had existed between them.

      He nodded to her again and she knelt down where he had been.  She 
expected maybe sabotage.  This spirit or vision or whatever he was was 
warning her of some impending danger.  It was the only plausible reason 
she could think of for pointing out this conduit.  Like all the others 
in this section, it was unusable, destroyed by the Cardassians during 
their retreat.  She looked back at him.  His eyes told her to open the 
cover.  She wasn't sure how he conveyed that message; she just knew that 
that was what he wanted.  Her mind whirled with the possibilities of 
what she could find there.  A bomb.  Parasitic devices like the Dominion 
used on the *Defiant*.  A vole's nest.  She wasn't sure she wanted to 
open it.  If it were a threat, she should call O'Brien down there with 
the appropriate gear to deal with it.  She hadn't even brought a palm 
beacon.  How could she hope to be prepared?

      Still, she felt she could trust him, and again, she had no rational 
reason why.  Maybe because he had been a prisoner in that awful place, a 
fellow sufferer of unspeakable oppression.  Or he at least took the form 
of one.

      She held her phaser tightly and gripped the top edge of the cover.  She 
pulled and the cover slipped off.  But there was no threat.  No 
explosives, no colorful, worm-like devices, no voles.  Just a conduit. 
A perfect conduit.  There were no loose wires, no shards of metal alloy, 
no spent rods.  Had the usually detail-oriented Cardassians missed one 
when they were ransacking this level?  No there was one thing missing.

      Dust.  There was no dust.  She looked at the floor before her knees. 
No dust there either.  She turned her head and found seven years' worth 
of dust around her.  But not in this place.  This was recent.  Someone 
had repaired the conduit.  But why?  And why did it matter to this 
glowing apparition?  She decided to ask him, to break the silence. But 
when she turned her head, the light winked out and she was left in 
darkness.  Alone.


-- 
--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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