Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:05:14 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith, Part III: Peace Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: NEW 2/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Eleven Continued Sisko waited while they each discussed what they knew of Julian since his return. Dax told how he wasn't sleeping. Kira reported his work in the lower levels. O'Brien recounted a bit of his conversation with the doctor the night before. Odo and Worf didn't have anything to add, so they just listened. That left him. He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he had to do next. It was the only thing he could think of, and it could cost him the trust of his staff. But if he didn't do it, he'd lose it for sure. He was the last piece of the puzzle, and they all suspected him already. O'Brien and Dax were watching the captain sharply, and Sisko wondered which of the two would be the first to bring the subject up. But it was Kira who broke the uneasy silence that had settled over the group. "So what did you have to do with it, Captain?" she asked, her voice still offering some measure of respect. "There is something between you two." He could just stall them with the easy stuff: the order to go with Section 31, his disappearance after Jadzia's death. He could, and they might be satisfied that Julian's recent isolation and exhaustion had amplified everything to the point where he was suicidal. But it wasn't enough to discount his loss of faith in everything and everyone. One uncaring commander couldn't do that. Even Section 31 couldn't do that. No, a commanding officer that stepped over the ethical line--with Starfleet's approval--, that might be enough to push Bashir over the edge. Bashir had tried to hide his turmoil during his time on the station and Sisko had helped him to do it. But in doing so, he hadn't helped Julian at all. Julian was falling apart and Sisko just stood and watched him crumble. It was past time for the truth. It was just that the truth was a hard thing sometimes. This time especially. He looked each of his officers in the eye, trying to determine what they'd feel for him when this was over. Worf wouldn't be much of a problem. He'd never been overly fond of Bashir anyway, but he was honorable to a fault, and what Sisko had done was not honorable. That said, he had sacrificed a key intelligence mission for the sake of his wife. He might understand that the stakes outweighed the question of honor. O'Brien had made hard decisions, too, in the past, had fought the Cardassians before. He would probably come around eventually. Dax was there when the idea had taken shape, if not the specifics. But Ezri? He hadn't known Ezri then, and he didn't know her all that well now. Kira had been a resistance fighter--a terrorist, the Cardassians would have called her. She had said several times that she wasn't proud of everything she did back then. Maybe she would understand. Odo. . . Odo. Sisko remembered Kira's aloofness toward the Security Chief immediately after they had retaken the station. He had linked with a Founder after promising Kira he would not. He had jeopardized their fledgling resistance movement and the lives of Rom and herself. The allure of the link had been too strong. "Constable," he said. "Secure this room." Odo got up and walked to the door. Worf pulled out a tricorder and both concurred that what was said in the room would remain private. Sisko took another breath, and faced Odo, who was still waiting by the door. "We need to have a talk, and what we say--what I say--here, cannot leave this room. Which is why you'll have to." Odo cocked his head to the side. "Excuse me?" His voice was just a bit more gruff than usual. Kira stood up from her seat. "What have you got to say that our Security Chief--our *Bajoran* Security Chief--can't hear?" "Some very serious things, Colonel," Sisko replied, staring her down. "Some of the things that drove Doctor Bashir into that shuttle. And it's not that I don't trust Odo, but he isn't a Bajoran. He's a changeling." That wasn't at all how Sisko wanted to get Odo out of the room. He wasn't even sure why he'd ended up starting the way he had. Odo crossed his arms and grunted. Sisko knew just what he was thinking. "But I'm not a Founder," Odo held. "Haven't we established that?" Well, it wasn't exactly what Sisko thought he was thinking. And the captain was even surprised to hear a bit more hurt in Odo's voice when he'd expected anger and sarcasm. "I'm sorry, Constable," Sisko said. He looked back at Kira again and waited until she sat down again before turning back to Odo. "But you are a changeling and you've had problems with that distinction in the past. Can you guarantee you'll never turn you back on us again, as you did during the occupation?" Odo's eyes dropped to the floor. "Can you promise," Sisko went on, "to never link with a Founder again? Ever? Because that's what I'm talking about. Not just for the duration of the war. Not just for our lifetimes, but forever. Or until the Federation ceases to exist. Can you promise that?" Odo didn't speak. And now Kira's head dipped forward. Odo turned toward the door, but Sisko held up a hand to stop him for a moment. "I'm not leaving you with nothing, Constable. We still need to find him. There's no one I trust more to do that than you. And when we do find him, we've got to find a way to keep him safe." Odo nodded once and stepped outside the door. Sisko looked at the others. "Can any of you make that promise? You know that there was something between Julian and me that pushed him toward that shuttle. But you need to know what you're getting into. You need to know that what I am about to tell you will make you accessories. Julian knows. That guilt is part of why he left. If you don't want that, if you aren't willing to live with it--for the rest of your lives--step outside with Odo." No one moved. O'Brien was openly suspicous now, glaring from his end of the table. Dax's brows were pulled down over her eyes as she watched him. Worf was all business. He did not so much as twitch to give his emotions away. Kira had raised her head, but not her eyes. Sisko's mouth went dry. He'd been thinking of how to start this ever since they left the shuttle bay. But he'd also thought of how to tell Odo he had to leave and that hadn't gone so well. *I made a deal with the devil,* he thought. *It's not supposed to be easy.* And he thought maybe he should have invited Garak, but he dismissed that quickly. Garak had done what he did, but he had also played a big part in the fight against the Dominion and their Cardassian allies, at serious risk to himself. He didn't deserve any more punishment from this crew than he already got. Besides, it was Sisko's decision. He could have stopped anywhere along the way. He finally just started talking, letting the words leave him as they came to his mind. "It's worth repeating: What I say here can't leave this room. Not in words; not in actions. Not in long looks or damning glares. None of you were ever supposed to know this; no one was. Julian found out and he couldn't cover it up. It led you to question. And now you're going to know. And it can't lead to more questions. If the Romulans ever found out, they might end their alliance with us. If the Dominion ever found out, they might make sure the Romulans did, too. If we win the war and the Romulans find out then, we might be at war again. Now or a hundred years from now. That is the danger. No one can ever know." "The Romulans?" Dax asked. Her eyes widened and Sisko knew she'd guessed. "How?" "I'm coming to that, Old Man," he told her, "but everyone needs to understand the risks." He waited until there were nods all around the table. Sisko turned to Worf. "Commander, tell us how the Romulans came to join the war." Riker saw the ships on long-range sensors just before Bashir awoke. The doctor's eyes simply opened and his eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he looked around. Then his gaze fell on Riker and the commander could sense the anger newly mixed in Bashir's expression. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice harsh and a bit course. Since the instruments in front of him did little good, Riker turned his whole attention to the doctor. He looked quite different from the last time he'd seen him. No uniform, for one thing. That was still folded on the floor as Bashir stood. He didn't bother to pick it up. But there was more than that. His eyes looked hollow and his face was thinner and maybe even paler, though Bashir was still dark-complected. Riker guessed that things had not gone well on the station, and he felt sorry for the doctor. "We're in a runabout," Riker answered, making sure to use the first person plural to show that they were in this together. "Have a seat." Bashir didn't move, except to examine all the walls, the ceiling and the deck. "Is this another hologram?" Riker didn't get the reference. "What hologram? This is a runabout." "You said that already," Bashir pointed out, and he gazed at Riker with obvious suspicion. "How do I know you're not just programmed to say that. They've used holograms before and I won't be fooled again." Riker nodded, understanding now. Section 31. "Ask me something," he offered. "Something only I would know. From Carello Naru, the cave. No one else was there." Bashir's eyes narrowed as he considered this. Finally, he offered his question. "Who held the door?" Riker pulled in a breath. Good question. That was not something that Section 31 was likely to know, or at least he hoped they didn't. It hadn't ended up in his report because he still wasn't sure he could believe it himself. Still, he knew the answer Bashir was looking for. "Vlád'a," he replied. "The kid from the camp." If he'd thought to gain Bashir's trust by that answer, he'd apparently thought wrong. Bashir grew more suspicious and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you one of them?" Riker sighed. "If you mean Section 31, no, I'm not one of them. If you mean one of the innocent people manipulated into doing things their way, then yes, I'm one of them. Just like you. Have a seat, Doctor. I think we both could use some explaining." Bashir didn't make any move to sit. "I don't want any explaining. I want to be put back on my shuttle. I want to be left alone." Riker looked at the uniform on the floor again. He didn't need Bashir to explain everything. He could guess. "Do you really think they're ever going to leave you alone?" he asked, and he sincerely wanted an answer to that. Now that he'd been pulled into Section 31's machinations, he rather worried a bit that they'd never leave him alone again. Bashir didn't answer, but his face flushed. Riker took another guess. "You knew they'd come after you." Bashir didn't answer, but he did finally take the seat. Riker wished Troi was here. There was something very important going on with Bashir, he could tell, and he was beginning to fear what it might be. "You wanted them to come? Why? You hate them." Bashir sighed and turned his chair to face the helm. "Because I'm tired." Then his face paled further as he took in the details of their heading. "D'Nexi? Why D'Nexi?" Riker now wished Bashir had remained unconscious. If Bashir had given up his fight against Section 31 and if he would never join them, then it meant only one thing. He was waiting for them to kill him. A suicidal crew member only made this mission more dangerous than it had already become. Pfenner or no Pfenner, they had to turn this runabout around. "Because that's where Section 31 wants us to go," Riker told him, trying to choose his words carefully. "I don't particularly want to go there, but they think that's where Pfenner is. They locked the helm. We can't change course and we can't call for help. We're going to D'Nexi. Unless we can find a way past their lockout. Do you think you could break their code?" He didn't move and Riker held his breath. He needed Bashir. Bashir was genetically enhanced, probably with an intellect closer to Data than the rest of the crew combined. If anyone could break the code, it would be him. But he had to want to do it. Bashir's silence likely meant he was thinking it over, and Riker chose to hope that was a good sign. Finally, Bashir spoke. "In thirty minutes?" There was absolutely no inflection in his voice. No sign of sarcasm or incredulity. If anything, it sounded like disinterest. Riker blew out his breath and decided on a different track. "What about a transmission? We could call for help. They took out the communicator but they didn't touch our replicator." Now, at least, there was emotion to his voice again as he repeated his earlier question. "In thirty minutes?!" He turned away from the helm to look Riker square in the eye. "Do you think I'm that much of a freak? It took weeks the one other time I'd done it." Riker shook his head. He'd gone wrong with that one. He'd let his desparation push Bashir too far. "No, I don't think you're a freak at all. I got carried away. Look, if we can't stop this runabout, turn it around, or get help from someone else, we're going to reach the D'Nexi Lines and there's going to be a lot of fighting going on that we're not equipped to participate in." "So we'll be shot down," Bashir said, and Riker did not like how he said it. There were more people on this runabout than just one suicidal man. "You, me, and the four crewmen in the back." Bashir's head turned quickly toward the back. With perfect timing, Simmons suddenly emerged from the rear compartment. He held the wall for support and dropped groggily into the chair at the tactical station. He did a double-take when he saw Bashir, but addressed Riker. "What's going on, sir?" Riker sighed again. "We've had a change in plans. Not one I'm comfortable with and I'm still holding out hope--" he glanced hard at Bashir "--that we can get out of it altogether. Are the others awake?" Simmons didn't need to answer because now the other three were coming forward. Garulos and Bormann were more alert than Simmons had been, but then they had been resting for hours before they'd been put under. Simmons had just gone aft. Formenos came last, and though she appeared alert as well, she held her left wrist tightly in her right hand. She'd fallen from one of the upper bunks and Riker guessed it was sprained. He hoped it wasn't broken. "Where's Dayton?" Garulos asked. "And who's this?" Then he hastily added, "Sir." "This is Doctor Julian Bashir of Deep Space Nine. Doctor, these are Lieutenants Simmons and Bormann, and Crewmen Garulos and Formenos," he said, indicating each as he introduced them. "Dayton is the reason for our change in plans. She wasn't one of us. She's changed course and locked the runabout down. We're heading for the D'Nexi Lines and unless someone has a great idea in the next thirty minutes, we'll reach them." Simmons blew a low whistle at that news. "D'Nexi?" "Was she a changeling?" Formenos asked. "Not exactly," Riker answered. "It's complicated and right now we don't have time for an explanation. Let's just say she swapped places with Doctor Bashir here." He turned back to Bashir now. "Doctor, do you think you could help Crewman Formenos with that wrist?" Bashir hadn't spoken throughout the entire exchange and now he only nodded. He rose slowly from his chair and retrieved a medkit from behind a wall panel. He stepped over the uniform to get to it and Bormann noticed. "Excuse me, sir," he said, addressing Bashir. "But why aren't you in uniform?" Riker was surprised when Bashir answered. "Because I resigned this morning." That pronouncement was followed by an awkward silence that Bashir seemed completely oblivious to. Garulos and Simmons swapped shrugs and Bormann picked up the uniform and carefully laid it on one of the unused consoles. Deciding it was best to keep the attention off the doctor, Riker again brought up their predicament. "We need options, people. We've got twenty-five minutes before we reach those lines, but someone's probably going to notice us before that." Bashir moved now to the back of the cabin, relinquishing, Riker realized, the helm to someone who was still in Starfleet, as Formenos thanked him and stretched her newly healed wrist. "What about simple Morse Code?" Simmons suggested. "Can we at least get that out." Riker shook his head. "I tried that while you were still sleeping." Before anyone else could offer a suggestion, the tactical station lit up and the ship automatically shifted into alert status. Simmons spun back to the console and froze for just a second. He snapped back to attention and reported his findings. "Two Jem'Hadar attack vessels, sir. Closing fast. I think we just ran out of time." "Red alert! Raise shields," Riker ordered and the runabout's crew rushed to their positions. Formenos took over helm station and tried to change course. Riker didn't stop her. There was no reason not to try. Riker turned next to Simmons. "Weapons status?" Simmons shook his head. "None, sir." "None?" Bashir asked from the back. "We don't have any. No phasers, no torpedoes. Where'd they go, sir?" "Your guess is as good as mine," Riker replied, checking the short-range sensors. The Jem'Hadar were in range. But they weren't firing. Bashir finally came forward. "Why aren't they firing?" Just then the runabout's engines cut out completely, though Formenos lifted her hands and shook her head. Garulos answered for them all. "We've been set up." Riker finally understood. For one brief moment, everything slowed down and allowed him to put the pieces together. The course that brought them to within sensor range of a Dominion fleet and then promptly shut down their engines to prevent their escape. The communications blackout to keep them from calling for help. The unconscious crew to eliminate any chance of a creative solution at the last minute. And now Jem'Hadar ships closing fast but not firing. They were going to be captured. They needed to be captured. Pfenner must have been captured, too. Section 31 had led Riker and the others to him, by leading the Dominion right to them. Riker caught the uniform from the corner of his eye. *No,* he thought, *they led Bashir. We were just the vessel to get him here. Bastards!* Then the moment was over and time returned to its previously frantic pace. The communications console lit up and Bormann reported the hail. "They're demanding we surrender, sir." Riker stood and picked up the uniform. "Tell them we accept, Lieutenant." -- --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 In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! 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