Because somethings in the Trek!Verse happen really slow, and others ridiculously fast. The plot thickens.
Briefly.
Part Two: Tip the Scales
"I want him gone, Captain!"A very aggravated woman of half-Klingon persuasion was wearing a hole in the ready room floor. However, what she was doing wasn't quite pacing, more like a quick stomping to-and-fro.
It had been quite awhile since B'Elanna had had an explosion of anger this intense, and instead of watching wearily, Janeway peered on with something resembling amusement. Who had riled her up so badly shouldn't be in question, but one always had to ask, especially when docked at a space station with more than one possible suspect.
"Who, B'Elanna?"
"That…that…he's insulting! He's arrogant!" the engineer was talking with her hands again…with her fists, actually, and Janeway made a note to give her a wide birth for a couple more seconds, "I've always wondered where the Doctor got it from, but now I know!"
That answered it, "Dr. Zimmerman?"
"Ah! The very name makes me want to wrap my hands around something small and break it!"
Janeway took that as a yes and stood from her chair, approaching the younger woman with a great deal of care and self-preservation. When they were within reach of one another, and B'Elanna made no sudden, angry movements, the captain wrapped her hands around each of the half-Klingon's biceps, holding on tightly in case the next statement threw her into another rage, "You invited him."
"And now I wish I'd shoved him through an airlock," despite the growl, B'Elanna was deflating, much of her anger dissipating into a mild annoyance. "Captain, he refuses to allow me anywhere near the Doctor's program. How am I supposed to do my job if…" she trailed off at Janeway's patient expression, "What?"
Treading carefully, Janeway gave B'Elanna's arms a gentle squeeze but did not release them, "I'm sure Dr. Zimmerman has his reasons. For all we know, he believes that, since the Doctor is his creation, he is personally responsibility for his care."
"But I've been the one present for all of the Doctor's 'scrapes' and 'bruises'" the engineer sneered. "Look, Captain, I may not have programmed the Doctor, but I know his idiosyncrasies better than he knows them himself, let alone Dr. Zimmerman. I should at least be able to supervise!"
A bit of warm amusement bloomed in Janeway's chest. It was threatening to make her cough in order to hide her laughter. The engineer was jealous, actually jealous. Despite her poor relationship with the EMH, for better or for worse, she had been his doctor for the last nine and a half years. Having someone else step in and interfere with that…well, let's just say that Dr. Zimmerman was fortunate to still have a nose in one piece.
"If you'd like, I can speak to him on your behalf," Janeway would rather not, five minutes with the man had been enough, but this was for the Doctor's wellbeing.
"Make sure that you do," B'Elanna pulled her arms free and strode toward the door, stopping as they opened to turn and give her captain an apologetic glance, "Please."
"Of course."
"Thank you."
When the doors hissed shut, Janeway rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and walked back toward her desk, "Don't thank me yet."
The man in question had chosen to use Deep Space Nine's medical bay as his laboratory. Whether or not this was to avoid the wrath of B'Elanna or to make the Chief Medical Officer of the station uncomfortable was debatable. When Janeway entered the place in question, the expressions on the faces of the Bajoran medical staff were nothing short of bewilderment. When Julian Bashir appeared out of nowhere to greet her, he was fighting a losing battle against a growing migraine and hiding his irritation.
If she remembered correctly, it had been Dr. Zimmerman who had exposed this upstart's genetic engineering to Starfleet.
"Captain Janeway, it's good to see you again."
She really doubted that. The last time they had spoken it had been during a routine maintenance check at the station, some three months ago. He'd wanted to give a physical to every member of her crew, and she'd all but laughed in his face with a, "We have a Doctor, a damned good one at that. I'd suggest you let him do his job…"
"I hear your laboratory has been commandeered…"
"Of course. Dr. Zimmerman barricaded himself there last night. In fear for his life, I believe, and muttering the strangest things about your Chief Engineer."
Some of the boyishness had seeped back into his expression, and Janeway found that she may have judged him too quickly, "Let's just say that they've had a difference in opinion over how to salvage the Doctor's programing."
Bashir folded his hands behind his back and squinted, "Yes, I believe I heard it through the bulkheads. If I'm not mistaken, Dr. Zimmerman said something about holo-technology being too delicate for Klingon hands, and Lieutenant Paris threatened to do something with those hands that I just cannot allow in my sickbay, unfortunately. He's in the lab right now, as a matter of fact, if you'd like to try to reason with him…"
"If that's possible…"
"…Ah," he said with wisdom a man his age shouldn't have, "if there is one thing we should have learned over the last several years, despite the differences in our journeys, it is that nothing is impossible."
Janeway quirked a brow, "I'll hold you to that."
With a soft chuckle, the doctor left her to it. His humor was not unappreciated, but she still preferred the Doctor's sarcasm and biting remarks to Bashir's soft-spoken barbs and witticisms.
When she was alone, Janeway wondered about cautiously, unfamiliar with this sickbay, until she found the laboratory in question.
She watched Zimmerman from the doorway, her hands tucked against her hips as she did so, and an expression of contemplation on her face. The programmer was grumbling under his breath, a data pad in either hand and a deeply furrowed brow. He could be her Doctor, if only a little older in appearance, but the color of his turtleneck was gold and he wore a white lab coat over his uniform. There was also a markable lack of opera in the room, which was something she knew the EMH enjoyed listening to while working.
"Don't just stand there, Captain," he didn't look at her, but something told Janeway that more of his attention was focused on her than he was letting on, "I can't work when people are…hovering."
"Excuse me," she said, with more sarcasm than necessary, while leaving the doorway of the lab in order to approach him.
At his sharp glance in her direction, Janeway relented and held her hands up in surrender, "Any progress?"
"Yes, in fact. I finally managed to get your engineer to leave me alone."
"I wouldn't call that progress…"
For the first time since speaking, the programmer took the time to fully look at her. There was a seriousness there that lacked the melodrama she had read he was more than capable of, "I would. Look, Captain, I'm sure nine years with that woman has convinced you of her genius, and she may as well be one for all that I know, but your EMH's programming has been embedded in a giant chunk of fused circuitry and relays. Retrieving his vital information is a delicate process, and her usual methods just aren't going to work this time."
Her arms crossed her chest, "All right, I accept that for now, but let me say this: B'Elanna Paris has intimate knowledge of the workings of his program. He's evolved since you designed him, and her insight may be a valuable asset in the process."
The suspicion in his lingering gaze reminded her that, until very recently, this man had been a recluse. His only communication outside of the holograms he programmed was Reginald Barclay and a half-Betazoid counselor. Whether his seclusion was a symptom of some deeper condition of inferiority or superiority, Janeway didn't have the training to know, but what she did know was that his inter-personal skills were severely lacking.
"Think about it."
Zimmerman turned away from her, picking up his work in the process. When she was absolutely certain he'd just ended the conversation, that's when he suprised her by speaking, "All right, but she follows my orders."
"You do outrank her," was Janeway's response, but she was unable to stop the smile of victory from spreading slowly to her eyes.
"Now…if you'll excuse me…"
"You have work to do…of course."
"Captain Janeway, what a coincidence seeing you here."
The slithery tones of a familiar Cardassian drifted toward her from behind, lofted above the comfortable sounds of life being lead on the promenade. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that spending and hour with that Ferengi, Quark, would be far more enjoyable than spending a minute in the company of Garak, but she stopped and allowed him to catch up with her.
"What do you want?"
"Only the pleasure of your company…and your ear…"
Janeway eyed him, from the feigned innocence in his discomfiting blue eyes to the way he pressed his fingertips together in a frustrating show of false timidness, "All right, but it's going to have to be over a cup of coffee. Strong coffee, and not from Quark's."
"Of course, Captain. There's always place to sit at the replimat," Garak gestured toward a large alcove that must have once been the Cardassian version of a station mess hall. Wasting little time, he led her to a replicator, where she ordered a coffee (just coffee, nothing Klingon about it) and quirked her brow at his choice of drink.
"Root beer?"
"A foul beverage…but it grows on you," much like his simpering smile.
"I'm sure it does," Janeway took a seat at a nearby table, pleased when he opted to take the one opposite her, rather than one of the two on either side of her. What did you want to discuss?"
Several layers of duplicity faded from the Cardassian's eyes, and he held her in regard for a moment before responding, "I suppose I could skip the insipid small talk just this once. Have you heard anything interesting about the Breen vessel that attacked the Cardassian freighter you so gallantly protected?"
"Colonel Kira told me that they were suspected of piracy."
"No. Well, yes. And no. It's never really as simple as that with the Breen," the Cardassian spy-cum-tailor-cum-terrorist-cum-diplomat took a tiny sip of his Root Beer and gestured for her to do the same with her coffee.
Janeway eyed him wearily but did so, certain that he couldn't have poisoned her drink, "Go on, don't stop there. I'm hanging on every word."
"No need to be so sarcastic, Captain. What I'm about to tell you is very important."
As she took another sip from her coffee (a wonderful blend, if a little bland from the replication process) she gestured for him to continue. From what she had read of the reports out of Deep Space Nine, the Cardassian had provided many essential details when Captain Sisko asked…and even when he didn't. Why he'd come to her was yet to be determined, but the least she could do was keep an open ear.
His gaze skirted left then right then left again, and he leaned in to speak softly, "The Breen attacks in Cardassian space are only a symptom of the problem, Captain. Conveniently, for those involved, the skirmishes look like leftover aggressions from the war, but there are certain political elements that Starfleet is overlooking."
"As in…"
The smile he graced her with made her skin crawl, "As in the current discourse on Cardassia Prime to submit an application for membership to the Federation. But it's not just about Breen fearing the power of the Federation once Cardassia joins…" he saw the gears churning in her eyes and cut her off before she could even begin, "Because we will join, Captain, it's only a matter of time."
"Your confidence is…reassuring," but it wasn't. There was no love lost between Kathryn Janeway and the fallen Cardassian Empire. Her internal feud with them did not run as deep as much the rest of the brass in Starfleet, but it was still there, sometimes festering, sometimes not. Some would say that it depended on the weather, really.
"I'm sure it is. What your superiors don't know, yet, is that the Federation Ambassador was killed returning from a conference three days ago. It will look like the work of the Breen, but it wasn't. There are many on Cardassia who seek the power we once had or who fear what accession would mean. These are not members of the current government, but as long as Starfleet keeps sending us men and women whose hands were dirtied during the Dominion war, the turbulence between the Legate…the unofficial Cardassian voice…will only get worse."
She saw where this was going, "And fortunately for us, you know just the people to solve the problem."
"Precisely, Captain! And so do you! What we need is someone strong, someone clever, someone who's had enough experience with terrorist activities to spot the…"
"I hope you're not talking about the former Maquis members of my crew..."
"I want to stop a war, Captain, not start one. Who we're looking for may or may not have had experience with them, but they were never really Maquis..."
There was a stirring of suspicion in her; one that told her she wasn't going to like this, "It sounds like you already have someone in mind."
His grin brightened, and he leaned a little closer.
"So it's true, then?"
Admiral Ross's worn but kind face greeted her question with a apologetic nod, "It seems that Mr. Garak is right again, Captain. What I need to know is whether or not you're taking his suggestions seriously."
A deep breath filled the growing silence between them, and Janeway rubbed the bridge of her nose, "I don't know why, but I do. Perhaps its because Colonel Kira paid me a visit yesterday evening. We discussed the matter. She's no fan of his either, but she's worked with him before and holds his counsel on these matters in high esteem. It may all be a farce, or it might be as serious as he paints it to be, but all I know is that I have three dead crewmen and a fourth in programming limbo because of this."
Ross considered her words and nodded in approval, "The last time we underestimated the Cardassians, they brought the Dominion into our backyard. I'd like nothing more than to prevent that from happening again."
Janeway sighed with visible relief, "You're submitting my proposal for the new Ambassador, then?"
His smile was kind. She'd met him only four times before, but each time had reminded her that he wasn't like the stereotypical admiral. He was personable, wielded power with more grace than most, and sensible, "I already have. The committee approved. All that's left to do is deliver the new Ambassador his orders."
"I'd like to do that, if you don't mind. He deserves to hear it from a friend…especially since that friend just hung him out to dry."
"Of course. Your crew is in line for leave anyway. I'll just run it through Command."
"Thank you, Admiral."
His nod was brief, "Ross, out."
Closing her computer, Janeway puffed out a breath of air and ran a hand through her hair, "Tuvok, old friend, I hope you can forgive me for this."
A moment later, after her fill of staring at the ready room ceiling, she tapped her combadge, "Janeway to Commander Paris."
Tom's pleasant voice filled the line, the background noise suggesting that he was enjoying himself at Quarks, "Yes, Captain?"
She tapped her fingers on her desk, and rolled her eyes once before responding, "I need you to find suitable quarters for Dr. Zimmerman. We'll be leaving Deep Space Nine tomorrow at o'eight hundred hours. He's coming with us."