The Six O'Clock Alarm Would Never Ring
by Rob Morris
A Hidden Maquis Base, 2372
Ro Laren had overslept. She got up, dressed hurriedly, and uttered more than a few curses as she went.
"Why? Even with all the failings I've partaken of in my misspent life, tardiness has never been a vice I've allowed. He's going to kill me."
Darting about the base, Ro saw that there was no sign of her Vulcan associate. With all the Maquis always spouting Anti-Fed rhetoric, she actually enjoyed the company of this cold fish, who agreed with her that no such statements were needed. Membership in the Maquis meant at its core that you thought the Federation was wrong. Her friend had speculated on the rhetoric stream, though.
"Perhaps it is considered a loyalty test? By being so overt and redundant, perhaps they wish to avoid scrutiny, and deter the fostering of a paranoid atmosphere?"
"No good. All Maquis are paranoid. Its good business sense. I think it's just that this place is so rife with Academy dropouts, they feel the need to revalidate through boisterous behavior."
"I HEARD THAT, RO!!!"
"Did you now? Are you half-Klingon or half-Vulcan----no answer. Good. Anyway, I was fortunate at the Academy. With a ramrod like 'Breaker' Paris as my Track Overseer, I never had a chance to drop out--I was far too busy plotting his death."
"I have heard--positive things about the Admiral, but that was some time ago, before the illogical Concession Treaties were illegally signed in a decidedly nondemocratic fashion. Now, I am here, and must concentrate on the task at hand."
All fell silent as the psychotic quickly entered and then left the room. Even the higher-ups like Eddington were scared of him. Ro didn't know his name, nor did she care to. She breathed in when he was well gone.
"Hey, Ro? Where's your lovely fellow Bajoran?"
Another no-namer, Ro sighed.
"With her snugglebunny, the big-time Raider. Here's a clue, friend--She's so cold, she's almost Cardassian. She doesn't know you're alive, except to use you. Move along home."
"I could kill you for saying that about her."
Ro shook her head.
"No, but you could try. You'd fail."
Ro turned again to her companion who appreciated silence as much as she did.
"At least Starfleet has the brains to kick people like that upstairs, where they can't do any harm."
At times, Ro Laren couldn't help but feel superior to the majority of The Maquis. But not this morning. The ship had left without her. Captain Buso Renkin expressed his sympathies.
"Too bad, Laren. Tuvok in particular was anxious that you should be on this mission. Chakotay tapped Seska instead."
"Oh, Chakotay. You are so dumb around her, you make Geordi seem like a master of social graces."
"Uh, Ro? You NEVER oversleep. Picard even put it in your record. Why today?"
"Buso, you'll laugh."
"I won't. So give."
Ro braced herself.
"In a dream, the Voices Of The Prophets told me to roll over and go back to sleep."
"Eh. It's probably just as well. After all, what could you possibly miss seeing here in the fabulous Badlands? Why don't you go back to sleep?"
"You're right. After all, it's hardly like I missed some grand adventure."
Deep Space Nine, One Year Later
Ro was relaxing in the quarters she rented under another name. Keeping out of sight, she took advantage of certain creature comforts she had almost forgotten existed. She had come to find out if Eddington was being treated fairly while in custody.
He was, so she had a rare chance to kick back.
"Now if I could just meet The Emissary without meeting Eddington again, I'd be doing really well."
Falling back to sleep, she heard a message from one year ago—with one add-on.
*And pull the covers over your head as well.*
Ro didn't know how religious she really was, but she was really tired, and so missed the message most heard that day.
"This is Gul Dukat.....We Have Forged An Alliance With The Dominion.......All Klingon And Maquis Ships Are To......."
The Prophets tend, after all, to protect their own.
