Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 06 May 2004 04:06:31 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: gojirob@aol.comendspam (Rob Morris) Title : Telling Author : Rob Morris Contact : gojirob@aol.comendspam Archive : www.southroad.com/brightfame Series : DS9 Type : Follow-up to the events of the S6 DS9 episode, ‘The Valiant' Characters : Jake, Nog, DS9 Late S6 Cast, ‘Valiant' guests in flashback Part : 1/5 Rating : PG13, for rough tides in a friendship and in Starfleet Summary : The fault line between Jake Sisko and Ensign Nog has always been unnoted. Nog finds he is not in the position he thought he held on this subject; Jake finds out that being right is no comfort when it may mean losing his friend forever. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------- Telling by Rob Morris RED SQUAD AND COURAGE By Jacob Louis Sisko I would very much like to be writing a fluff piece right now, the first of many. I would like to have it so that these fluff pieces were merely the beginning of a career's worth of stories concerning the legendary exploits of Captain Timothy Watters. I would also like to have it so that years from now, Captain Watters and I could be heard exchanging stories of this war, and, God help us, any wars that come after this. I would like my old friend to needle me about how I doubted he could pull that first great covert mission off, and how I was proven so very, very wrong. But I can not write such a piece, even if I thought my editor would accept it. Because Cadet Watters and all but two of his elite cadet squadron are dead, and it is largely his fault. I will not say it was all his fault, for he had accomplices. Accomplices like his executive officer, Cadet Farris. Accomplices like myself. No, I will not tell you that a non-combatant locked in the brig somehow undid the whole ship. Whoever my biological paternal grandmother really was, I don't posess that sort of power. But I played my role in sealing the Valiant's fate, just as surely as I am writing this. You know the basics from certain accounts already available through channels official and unofficial. At this time, I can only add to it my point of view, and my own perspective, and hope that I can fairly tell the story of a group of cadets who had the courage to do everything under the stars except head for home, as was their true duty. At this point I suppose I should pre-empt some questions, so as to keep the focus on my topic. Firstly, I am Jake Sisko, and I am still the coward who ran in battle and left a friend behind to possibly die, and who survived to speak about it all only through the same dumb luck that had me firing blindly at attacking Klingons, only to collapse a roof on them instead of just myself. I don't speak defensively on this because of grief given me by Starfleet personnel in general. In fact, as my father predicted, all too many of them tell me they saw their first combat in my account. As often happens, it is those who have seen the least combat that judge my actions the most harshly. Yet at least most of them are open about their low opinion of me, resulting from this. As I will relate, some held this view without making me aware, and this served their cause as much as I did. Another simple fact is that I did not choose to follow my father into Starfleet. The only qualifier I'll offer there is that when I told him my choice, we did not face a war. Somehow, the perception is out there that I decided against the Academy just as Dukat landed on DS9 with his new Dominion allies. That is no more true than the prejudicial story of my friend Ensign Nog bribing his way into Starfleet. If you met the two of us, you would rather wonder why I ever considered Starfleet, and why Nog ever considered anything else. He is a natural officer, and his mustering forward when war began was not an accident, anymore than was his piloting the runabout we were using to and from Starbase -----, which is when we encountered the Valiant. Jem'Hadar patrols can strike anywhere, but they are not everywhere. All I can say about the one that attacked us is that it was unusually bold, being that far into Federation territory. The Founders don't send them out to breed chaos. Its against their nature. With the Vortas planning it all, no strike just happens, and targets of opportunity may as well not be there, for the most part. They will fire on a hospital ship if its in the kill zone, but they will not strike it just to strike it, unless that is the whole of their plan. No hesitation, but also no wasted shots or resources. That is the Dominion way. That said, there we were, and there we almost weren't, as our runabout was destroyed all too easily. A wiser being than me once said that there's always someone stronger. That's what the Dominion attacker found out as Valiant decloaked and rescued us. I flatly concede several things to Red Squad, and one of them is my life and well-being. But whatever their skill and prowess, I am very glad that they were using a Defiant-Class. I was there when they were built, for no other purpose than turning back and killing the one enemy that may be more implacable than the Dominion. And while I did not lay out one sheet of armor plating, nor install a single circuit, nor do anything that makes the ship a battle-turner, I did give it one thing that I have received permission to tell you about. While my father and Captain Shelby were working specs, I researched Starfleet history. As I looked, I saw something that roughly defined the 2260's, known by some as Kirk's Golden Age. Phaser banks and photon torpedoes are still with us, and they were there before 2260 as well. But one thing has been done away with, power and accuracy needs trumping compactness. These were the handheld Type-1 phasers, the ones that could be hidden away in a clenched fist, if one were careful. That time has been called a 'cowboy' era, and these simple killing machines were a cowboy's weapon. So when my father asked me on a lark if I had any notions about the outer aspect of Defiant's appearance, I told him about those old weapons, and the simple menace they conveyed, their size aside. So that is why a Defiant-Class really makes me feel safe. Because this is a ship so very advanced and powerful, Starfleet felt confident enough to let a kid dictate how it looked. I like to think my choice was a good one. In the end, though, I remain a writer, someone who did not choose Starfleet despite the fact that nearly all my friends and family belong to it. Well, my grandfather doesn't, but as he is very apt to tell you, his own grandfather did. See, while my father is the heroic Captain Benjamin Sisko, my great-great grandfather was the decidedly non-heroic Admiral Brock Cartwright, the man who nearly brought us all to a deadly final war with the Klingons in 2293. The defeat suffered by him and his group of conspirators was the last great accomplishment of the man whose era I studied, Captain James T. Kirk. For some people, Starfleet is what Ambassador Spock called in the eulogy for his dear friend-- 'the first best destiny'. Some though, are apt to lose themselves in a place they do not belong. People like myself, my ancestor the Admiral, and people like Red Squad. It seems odd, even as I write this, to compare myself with a group of young people capable of running a starship, not to mention a months-long campaign of harassment against a decidedly bloodthirtsy enemy. But I also feel confident in saying that they did not belong in Starfleet. For while I am not Starfleet and likely never will be, I do know some simple things about it. One of the most fundamental is this : You Must Take Orders. You must take orders from the boldest admiral with the most brilliant plan for ending the war in one stroke. You must take orders from the most weak-kneed Tactical Officer, who at times seems capable only of cutting and running. You must take orders from the Captain only trying for glory, and from the Captain concerned only for his ship and his crew. You can not like orders. You can not like who's giving the orders. You can raise objection to the orders. You can, within a certain reason and stricture, even question the orders. But a lot more often than not, you must obey those orders, and be prepared to do so quickly. I knew that I wasn't, so after a lot of nerves and sleepless nights, I told my father news I know he was at least a little thrown by. But I could not have separated what is often the necessary conflict between the stated mission and the orders of the moment. And that is why I compare myself to Red Squad, who knew only the mission they created for themselves, and the orders they felt like taking. Not that I felt this way when Nog and I first came aboard Valiant. We were grateful to be alive, and perhaps a bit in awe of our hosts. Based on nothing more than their coming home alive, with Valiant whole and a few pursuing enemies destroyed, Red Squad would have been heroes. If they'd docked at DS9, I would not have been surprised to see my father request that many of them be mustered forward to his command. And yes, I would be writing that fluff piece I spoke of. For what they pulled off in that first instance was remarkable and noteworthy and praiseworthy and several other positive adjectives that fail me. What a story it might have been. Nothing became clear right away, or even very quickly at first. At the start, I was pleased for my best friend, who had both the distinction of outranking the Squad that had once rejected him and then being asked to play a vital role in their astounding effort. Once again, he was where he belonged. But it did start to emerge, a little at a time, that I was certainly not where I belonged. Watters' definitely had a hint of disappointment in his voice when he recalled that I, as the son of Captain Sisko, had opted out of Starfleet. That he knew about this threw me, til I recalled meeting Wesley Crusher during a stopover on DS9 as he trained with the being known as The Traveler. He had told me that the Academy grapevine was flatly unbelievable. During the period of his disgrace following the dissolution of his own Nova Squad, ironically the predecessor to Red Squad in many respects, he found out that a series of practical jokes aimed at him were directed through this grapevine from afar by a crewmember serving aboard The Enterprise-D, whom he had previously been involved with, to express her disappointment in his downfall. He added that her vast foreknowledge of him, once a sign of her attraction, now chilled him on many levels. There can be no doubt that the Academy is a rough and tumble place, meant to prepare cadets for what is an even more rough and tumble career. I decided that I could not have taken it. That I considered this choice to be mine and perhaps my father's business alone I now must count as the first sign of my deep naivete. If reporters seem to ask questions that we should know our subjects won't answer, it is solely because we don't know for certain what someone will and will not answer until we ask. If a reporter can be too pushy, they can also be too timid, and no one ever complains about one who's too timid. The classic image of the beleagured military spokesofficer fending off tens of variations of the same question they have very politely refused to respond to is both overblown and more dead-on than anyone on either side is comfortable with admitting. But again, if we don't ask, then we are just as derelict in our duty as that officer, were they to yield up choice information before their superiors deemed it appropriate. A reporter must also accept that certain structures are apt to be more closed against them than others. Failing to remember or accept this was my next great mistake. I learned little that Cadets Watters and Farris hadn't told me initially, as I questioned the other crewmembers, save that none of them wanted to be questioned much, and that they only wanted to be asked questions that enabled them to sing the praises of Watters. While my friend Nog never fell into lock-step with this mind-set, he did quickly become ardent in urging me to take the evidence of our own senses above any reporter's methodology. Most of those senses told me what he was suggesting. That we were alive, thanks largely to this group of remarkable cadets who had done several things that were just short of miraculous, and who were now looking at immortality. Forgive me if I sound racist, but Nog is by heritage much better at arguing a point than I could ever hope to be. Only in retrospect did my next big error hit me. I was arguing with a friend and roommate as a friend and roommate. I was allowing the regular back and forth that exists between two people with a short but fair amount of history to interfere with a serious discussion about a potentially dire situation. In fact, I should have bypassed all that and talked as two people who know how Starfleet runs. No, I don't wear the uniform, and you can add to that what you will. But I grew up next to it. The finest people I know live in it, and some have died and will die in it. I'll accept criticism of that uniform, but it better be spot-on, or you'll hear from me. Accuse me of the cowardice I admitted to when I started this. Just don't tell me I don't know how Starfleet runs. I was there during its finest hour, when the Wolf came to our door. Is there circuitry lining your face? Are you taking orders from a central mind? No? I know a lot of the people you can thank for that. I know some of the ones who drove the monsters to dust. I've met the man they violated and who played a role in my mother's death. And I only wish I'd sounded this vehement when I talked to Ensign Nog, because it is the Ensign, the only commisioned officer on that ship, that I should have been talking to. I became so focused on who I was not that I forgot who I was, and so I also forgot to remind my friend of who he was. The plan Watters presented before us was audacious. Yet that I knew of, he had the backing of his late Commanding Officer, and the existence of himself and his crew was a fact beyond dispute. Nog, presented with a challenge worthy of Chief Miles O'Brien, felt certain it could be done. I was less stunned than delighted when it came off. The scan was made, and on so many levels, the Dominion's newest warship was in Federation hands. You don't need to know Starfleet or be a reporter to realize what this meant. The enemy would send out their worst, and our forces would have them before sensors even registered the new warship's approach. One major engagement with the Dominion utilizing these fatally compromised ships could concievably even end the war. For wars comparitively bigger than this one have turned on less. Mentally, I began to write the fluff piece I spoke of. Forget Nog. I was going to be Captain Watters' biggest booster. I even imagined hearing a few less snickers about the callowness and inexperience of the young. And all that could easily have become reality. I cannot truly speak for the possible errors of others. But again, this would have been a good time to ask Nog to assume command. Again, though, this was not what I did. I don't know what innate stupidity posessed me to simply assert what I thought my father would have done. I was not and am not my father, and as Watters himself had reminded me early on, I was not Starfleet. I repeatedly said what Benjamin Sisko, who was not there, would have done. How he would have taken the scans and darted back to safety. In fact, even as I did this, I half-wondered when they would simply tape my mouth shut, or the equivalent. It was clear that I wasn't getting through to them, and that I was annoying them all, including and perhaps especially my best friend. What was really going on there would become clear. But for then, I felt I had to try and dissuade the crew from its new goal, destroying the Dominion ship they had just risked so much scanning. How I went about it confirmed anew how much I had to learn. By this point, the only person on board who would speak to me was Cadet Dorian Collins. She seemed nervous about her position and her place within Red Squad. Did I exploit this? I hope I didn't, but I was growing desperate. Despite the expertise at hand, and this was considerable, I couldn't help but recall the last time I had seen an entire fleet face one overlarge ship that in theory should have gone down in plasma flames. That one ship was shaped like a cube, and it took apart fifty ships like they were nothing. One of its successors nearly took out Defiant itself, staffed by the best of the best on Deep Space Nine. And unlike the Borg, the Dominion wasn't known for leaving irrelevant, crippled foes alive in its wake. It was from Cadet Collins that I learned of Watters' darkest secret. He was regularly taking very strong stimulants, and barely sleeping at all. People who don't sleep can have waking dreams. Worse still, they can end up living in those dreams, and taking others in with them. Seemingly dismissed except for her limited medical expertise by the others, something I've heard called for 'ringbanger' syndrome, Dorian was at first willing to talk, just a bit. Then, she warned me not to ask any more questions, just as Watters and Farris had. Nog did the same, when I brought my evidence. Was I angry with him, or with the others, as I finally was taken off to the brig? Yes, but not as upset as I was with myself. For it was only when I was alone and wholly unable to affect things any further that I saw the role I had really played. Even in a group as small and tight as Red Squad, there had to have been questions about Watters' actions. Supressed, kept silent, discouraged, sure. But non-existent? I couldn't believe that. As Watters and Farris grew ever bolder, how to shut down those questions must have been a concern. Then they rescued me. A reporter who had Starfleet blood but failed to join up. A self-confessed coward in a critical instance. Someone who had stayed on DS9 when it became Terok Nor again. A yapping mouth that wouldn't shut up and wouldn't stop asking questions. I was a godsend. An outsider to rally against. A unifying force to drive their children's crusade. They showed that they were tolerant, and then I blew that. As the Valiant came apart under the fire of a warship that didn't care where its weak spot was supposed to be, I was rescued by my friend from certain doom. Jake Sisko hadn't caused the Valiant's loss, or the deaths of its crew. But nor had I done one damned thing to stop or even slow it. All my naivete did was speed things along. In the anterior Sickbay on Deep Space Nine after we were rescued, Nog admonished me to tell the truth about what happened. The truth is, we none of us came off very well. But I can only give an accurate account of what I saw happening, and my role in it. Until Starfleet's main investigation is done, and I can offer a more comprehensive view, I hope that this meets with the standards of Ensign Nog, in my view, one of the only heroes of that debacle. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- DEEP SPACE NINE, 2375 His reading done, Nog disdainfully tossed the PADD back at Jake. "I thought I asked you to tell the truth." After he left the cabin, Jake sat, stewed, and punched the table a few times. Then, he hit the transmit button on his comm-unit and sent the article to his editor. TBC...... -------------------------------------------- "Your would-be attackers don't like you. Your would-be rescuers don't like you. Harry, *most* people don't like you." - Peter Kirk to Harry Mudd, 'Lawful Warrant' -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek.creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? Fri May 07 23:56:40 2004 X-Persona: Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n48.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.67.25]) by condor (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1bmiTq3UY3NZFjK1 for ; Fri, 7 May 2004 20:52:52 -0700 (PDT) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13543-1083988269-stephenbratliffasc=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.com