- Chapter 2 -
Captain Benjamin Sisko was impatiently pacing the deserted corridor, hands clasped behind his back, every now and then casting a swift glance at the closed airlock to his right. He'd already talked to Evans some hours earlier over intercom and had been anything but unimpressed by the older man's self-confident and reassuring appearance. Even though he hadn't let it show during the short conversation with Evans in his office this afternoon, Sisko was glad to have an experienced and skilled officer like him along. Too much had gone wrong during the last months, too much that had drastically weakened Starfleet's position against the Dominion. When there was the smallest chance of hurting the enemy behind their own lines and delivering them an remarkable if not deadly blow, he would do everything required.
Slowly, he raised one hand to his combadge but hesitated in mid-movement. When would the Kalandra finally arrive at the station? Every minute slipping by without an actual sign of the ship made Sisko's uneasiness grow, making him fear the worst, that he would never even catch a glimpse of the ship at all. How much time had passed since he'd been afraid of space like this? Hadn't it been his very wish to travel to all those distant, pinprick-sized stars scattered across the vast black velvet he once had watched so wistfully every night from the window of his room, that had made him enter Starfleet in the first place? How often had he lain awake, listening to the clatter down in the kitchen while his thoughts had meandered farther and farther away from home, toward that unknown territory in the sky? He had always done it secretly, without letting his father know, who might have set up quite a fuss if he had ever found out what his twelve year old boy had still been doing up so late at night. Sometimes he had fallen asleep over his watching and the fantasies of space-traveling but sometimes he had just lain back and kept watching the moon and stars until long after midnight.
When exactly had it happened that he'd become so afraid of his childhood dream? Sighing, he shook his head. He didn't know. The war changed people, and he was no exception. Now, every time he thought about the vastness and endlessness of space, there was one thing that dominated everything else: the Dominion. It was as if his mind was captured in an endless loop, spinning around in circles without ever finding a solution, without ever finding a way out. Every day brought news about new defeat, about new casualties and the worst of all was – there was absolutely nothing Sisko could do about it.
He had tried to. Since the beginning of the war, he hadn't seen the endless lists of the wounded or dead as pure succession of letters. He had tried to keep every single name – at least for the few seconds he read it – in memory, as a last honor, giving that person's life a final tribute. He had spent hours in front of the big board, reading off every single name, silently praying not to know anyone in person. But as time went by, the columns and endless numbers of names had coalesced into one blurry, inexpressive mass. He still kept reading them, kept sorting through them, but when he now looked at the names, they were simply bright, green letters on a black, lifeless display – and this they would remain for every following generation. Figures and names, whose importance faded in the course of history until ultimately nobody would recall their original value. As much as he wanted to hold the lives of the dead dear, virtue and ideals were weak notions in the face of a war's power of destruction.
But yet he was still there, still ready to follow his conviction, to even go to death for it. If he had learned one thing during these past months, it was that there didn't exist just winners and losers. Sometimes you had to lose in order to win, and sometimes you had to sacrifice a part of your own conviction along the way.
He wasn't willing to give up yet. He wouldn't have been DS9's commanding officer for so many years, if he let himself be put to flight so easily. Starfleet winning the war against the Dominion was against all odds, even with the Klingons on their side. But what good would it do his crew if their own captain lost his courage in the face of such hopelessness? Hadn't it been himself who had not long ago told Bashir, he would never consider capitulation as a possible solution to end the war, no matter what his statistics might say? No, he hadn't considered that alternative and he still wouldn't now. As long as there was hope he would stand his ground and step in for the freedom of the Alpha Quadrant. That was what qualified a good captain. His crew needed hope, and he was the only one to give it to them. Starfleet's ideals were not yet lost and even if he had to lose in order to win at length, he wouldn't hesitate to act. They would fight together.
"Kira to Captain Sisko."
The sudden call pulled him out of his thoughts, bringing his mind back to the here-and-now. Raising his right hand, he tapped his combadge.
"Sisko here, go ahead, Major."
"We've received the Kalandra's hail for permission to dock. I just thought you'd like to know."
Nodding to himself, Sisko let out a short sigh. "Acknowledged. I'm on my way. Sisko out."
Only a few seconds after Kira's voice had faded from the empty corridor, Sisko rubbed his tired eyes and absently straightened his uniform before he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders for what lay ahead. Trying to regain his inner peace, he shook his head and stepping back to take position next to the docking hatch, waited for the docking procedure to end. So he was finally about to meet the famous Federation hero Evans, the incredible man who had worked miracles in the Telarian War… at least for the moment he tried to push those thoughts of death and destruction out of his mind.
"Captain!"
Startled, he turned in direction of the unexpected voice, just to see Bashir on the other side of the deserted corridor, sauntering casually over to him. The young man flashed a sheepish smile, casting a quick but intent lock at the still closed airlock. Nodding to the captain, he stepped right to Sisko's side, adjusting the medkit he had slung loosely over his left shoulder.
"Dr. Bashir?" Sisko wasn't sure what business had brought the young doctor down to the docking ring for Kira would have informed him about possible damage to the Kalandra immediately. No way that there was any medical emergency. If anything, Bashir ought to be in his infirmary, ready to treat possible wounded from the incoming ship.
As if for excuse, Bashir just shrugged, directing his questioning gaze back at the hatch. "Major Kira told me, there was nobody hurt over there. I asked nurse Bendi to have a watchful eye on the infirmary while I'm gone," he smiled mischievously.
Even before Sisko could form a reply, another familiar voice resounded from the corridor walls.
"Benjamin, Julian!"
Commander Dax was nearing them with a small bag dangling absently in one hand. She threw a similar questioning and interested look toward the still closed docking hatch before she offered a genuine, reassuring smile. "I was on my way to the science lab, so I thought I might as well stop by while I'm around. Thought you could use some company, Benjamin," she said with a short and friendly nod toward Julian.
Arching one brow, Sisko opened his mouth in response but his words were drowned when another cursing guest made his way around the corner.
Chief O'Brien was apparently deeply absorbed in the struggle with the tiny device he held in one hand, tapping wildly on its display, only realizing the bunch of them were there soon enough not to completely bump into them. "What are you doing here?" Taken aback, he looked at them in turn, obviously completely forgetting the problems he'd had with his tricorder only moments ago.
Turning to face Bashir and Dax, Sisko said in strained tones: "Good point, Mr. O'Brien."
Bashir smiled again sheepishly, raising both hands in defense. "I think your little speech this morning sparked some interest, Miles…" he remarked casually, pointing vaguely toward the next two visitors entering their view.
"I… didn't figure there would be such a gathering…" Kira said embarrassed, while Odo next to her folded both hands in front of his chest, snorting in amusement.
"Neither did I," Sisko scolded, looking at each one of his senior staff in turn.
"Worf!" Jadzia's cheerful voice announced yet another newcomer. So they were finally complete...
Worf had stopped the very same instant he'd rounded the corner, still standing indecisively in the distance, watching the assembled officers with a dark frown as if he still regretted the moment he'd decided to make his way down to the docking ring.
"I shouldn't have come…", the Klingon grumbled in irritation, averting his gaze. Sisko knew very well how embarrassed Worf must feel about being caught in the very act – though he was not the only one.
"Am I right, if I assume we're all waiting for the same person?" Odo pointed out sarcastically, positioning himself next to Dax to make room for the incoming passengers of the Kalandra.
"Evans?" Bashir suggested innocently.
Sisko didn't have the time to elaborate on Bashir's remark when the familiar hiss of the docking hatch reverberated from the surrounding metal walls. All heads involuntarily spun around toward the huge gearwheel that rolled laboriously to the side only seconds later, revealing the flow of passengers waiting behind. The first newcomers stepped down the narrow stairs hesitantly, confused about the large delegation awaiting them as soon as they set foot on the space station. Sisko nodded encouragingly, gesturing for the them to move on and make way for the remaining passengers.
A few moments later, the wave of arriving passengers had mainly passed, until only some single stragglers kept descending the stairs every now and then, eager to keep up with the on-moving mass that made its way toward the inner core of DS9. Watching the rest of his officers intently studying every newcomer, Sisko smiled slightly over the advantage of knowing what Evans actually looked like – even if he had only spoken to him over subspace.
When finally an elderly, portly man in red uniform descended from the docking hatch, Sisko was the first to step forward and offer his hand. Taking the cue, the older man's lips drew into a genuine smile. "Captain Sisko?"
"Nice to meet you in person, Captain Evans."
Bashir cast a quick glance at O'Brien, though the chief was too busy watching his idol than to realize his friend's questioning gaze.
Captain Evans was a handsome man in his middle years. His face edged with deep lines and his hair with a slight hint of gray, his posture conveyed not only confidence and superiority but also a natural warmth that deepened when Evan's shook the younger captains hand with open sincerity. When Evans stepped next to Sisko, he was about the same height as the younger captain.
"Captain Evans, may I introduce you to my senior staff? Major Kira, Constable Odo, Commander Dax, Commander Worf, Dr. Bashir and Chief O'Brien." Sisko turned round to indicate each of them, finally facing Evans again.
The older captain nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm happy to receive such a reception committee, although I hadn't figured that I'm that important." Smiling crookedly, he added in afterthought: "Well, I really haven't expected such a fuss about my person but thank you anyway."
Sisko once again glanced at his officers. "To be true, this committee was of a rather spontaneous nature. But, what about showing you your quarters? You surely must be tired from the long journey. I think there'll still be plenty of time to get to know each other."
Sighing, Evan grimaced: "Yes, indeed. You wouldn't believe what strange people you encounter on a simple passage across the quadrant..." When Sisko gestured along the corridor, Evans flashed another last smile toward the others. "If you'll excuse me." Then he took the cue and followed Captain Sisko toward the pulsing heart of DS9.
Only a few moments after Captain Sisko and his guest had vanished around the corner, and the assembled group of Starfleet officers started dissipating rapidly in all directions, quick, hastily nearing footsteps echoed from the walls. A few seconds later, a small figure, about the seize of a child, came stumbling round the corner, making O'Brien instantly stop in surprise.
"Nog?"
When the young Ferengi slithered to a halt in front of the chief and Bashir, everyone else turned as well.
The Ensign threw a quick glance toward the docking hatch, panting heavily for breath.
"Did I miss him?"
"So, what do you make of him?"
Pacing impatiently to and fro, one hand absently placed at his chin, O'Brien shot an expectant and somewhat triumphant look toward Julian. No sooner had they made their way to the promenade than O'Brien had installed himself in the young doctor's infirmary. The fact that his commanding officer had just ordered him to get to work with the necessary installation of whatever Evans had brought along in his magic hat must have been completely lost on the chief.
"Evans?" Bashir retorted with slight irritation as he bent over the medical console of the quiet infirmary, trying to search the nucleotide sequence rattling down on the small screen in front of him for traces of a postnatal genetic mutation. He'd received the sample shortly after the arrival of the Kalandra this afternoon from her chief medical officer Dr. Morgan, who'd asked Julian to help with the treatment of one of his patients on board. Even though he had more work of his own on DS9 than he could actually deal with, he just hadn't been able to turn down Dr. Morgan's request – there was a life at stake, after all. There still remained enough time to sort through the sample Dr. Morgan had sent him from the Kalandra and search for the anomalies causing the rapidly worsening symptoms the patient was currently showing. If he hurried and found the genetic disposition quickly enough, the patient would stand a far better chance of a full recovery. The fact that he had only three hours left till the departure of the ship made Julian painfully aware that he was running out of time.
"Of course Evans!" O'Brien called out, incredulous. "Did you even listen to a single word I said, Julian?"
For the first time, the young man cocked up his head, eying the chief with slight resignation. "Of course I've listened, Miles." He let his head drop a few inches and sighed but then leaned back, looking squarely back at O'Brien. "He looks like a nice person," he shrugged warily.
Julian knew that O'Brien wouldn't leave his infirmary until he gave him a satisfying answer, and with the chief pacing up and down next to him, he couldn't work as efficiently as he needed. So the fastest way to get O'Brien out of the infirmary – apart from throwing him literally out of it – was to tell him what he wanted to hear. At least he would be able to concentrate fully on his work afterward. Alone.
"Nice? That's everything you can think of when you see that man?"
If he hadn't know for sure that O'Brien wasn't actually angry with him, Julian would have felt insulted by the chief's tone. So he just shrugged. He just couldn't share O'Brien's enthusiasm about the new captain. Right, when he'd seen Evans standing in the frame of the docking hatch, he'd been no less impressed by the man's aura of authority and superiority than all the other officers present. To O'Brien's credit, the chief hadn't exaggerated. Evans definitely was special and no ordinary Starfleet captain but in was also too early to tell anything more about his real character. And Julian just didn't have enough strength left to lose himself in such blind elation right now.
Shaking his head, O'Brien put both hands on his hips, his face suddenly drawn into a grimace. For one short moment absorbed in his private thoughts, he tried again."You'd never guess that Evans is over sixty, would you?" he pointed out.
Over Sixty? Then he looked pretty good for his age. "You sure?" Bashir asked in spite of himself.
"Look into his medical file," O'Brien bargained expectantly but Bashir just shook his head.
"If you say so."
Frustrated, O'Brien let his arms sink to his side. "What's up with you, Julian? You're so…so…" The Irishmen seemed to search for the right word.
"Uninterested?" Julian offered with a humorless chuckle but became serious again. "I'm sorry, Miles, if I can't share your excitement about Evans' arrival but you see, I had a bad night, a lot of backlog of work and I'm under great time pressure. The only thing I want to do now is get through with everything. Captain Evans might really be the incredible Federation hero you deem him to be but there's still enough time to find out."
"I'm sorry, Julian. You're right. Perhaps I had better get to work myself. I'm sure those phase modulation coils are already waiting impatiently for their installation." O'Brien turn with a last shrug and started for the door.
"Miles…" Bashir sighed.
When the chief arrived next to the door, he turned, finally flashing a sad but encouraging smile. "It's okay, Julian. But please, take care." Then he left and vanished into the bustle of the promenade, the infirmary's door hissing shut in his back, drowning the infirmary once again into silence.
Feeling all at once more exhausted than only minutes ago, Julian let his head sink heavily into both palms. His body still felt groggy and drained, his head hurting with the subtle pain that had already accompanied him over the first half of the day.
He hadn't wanted to make O'Brien angry and he really was sorry that he couldn't bring up more interest for Evans but after he'd seen the captain stepping down from the docking hatch with his own eyes and after Evans hadn't proven to be the super hero Miles seemed to believe him to be, Julian's scantily gathered energy was finally used up. He hadn't lied when he'd told the chief that all he wanted to do right now was finish his work as quickly as possible and get back to the solitude of his quarters.
Pushing the unpleasant thoughts away, he lifted his gaze and with a few taps on the console placed the medical file of the Kalandra's patient onto the display in front of him, trying to drum up his last energy to concentrate. Sorting through the endless rows of familiar base pairings of humanoid DNA, his gaze fell upon a change in the sixty-third base pairing. With another tap he brought the spinning succession to a halt, leaned back and absently took one hand to his chin.
"Computer, compare the present base pairings adenine and guanine of the sixty-third base pairing and the following pairings in both directions of the patient with the records of the Kalandra dating back about two weeks. Is there a change in the complementary characteristic?"
"Negative, samples correspond by one hundred percent."
Sighing, he tried again.
"Computer, compile a table with all known cases in which the symptoms of the malady correspond to the symptoms of the patient of the Kalandra. Compare the designated parts of the nucleotide sequence to each other."
"Acknowledged. Process will take some minutes," the expressionless computer voice answered.
It was the right way, he was sure. Perhaps he could even find a solution before the departure of the Kalandra.
"Doctor Bashir?" a young Bajoran nurse asked gingerly, offering him a PADD. He hadn't even noticed her approach. "Starfleet's request for a status report on Commander Carter."
Taking the PADD he was offered, he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "Starfleet needs a report on Commander Carter?"
Slightly unsure, the nurse's gaze dropped to the floor. Realizing his mistake, Julian turned to face the young Bajoran woman who apparently felt quite uneasy about having to disturb him during his work. "It's okay. I'll see to it," he tried to put as much sympathy in those words as he was able to muster before he turned once more to the spinning nucleotide sequence on the display.
Why did Starfleet Medical need a report about Commander Carter when there were enough other things of more importance than the endless reports about smaller injuries that mainly remained the same anyway? He decided to prioritize. He would deal with the report later.
"Comparison completed. Table was created."
When the endless numbers and letter combinations rattled down on the black display, Julian involuntarily cast a swift glance at the chronometer. It was still late afternoon, even if the infirmary was remarkably silent. Waiting for the end of the listing, Julian closed his eyes, sighing.
It would be a long evening…
