Chapter 2
Commander Lane did not bother to unpack. After Bashir left, he started for OPS. He had been on the station for a mere half an hour, and already he wanted to leave. Everything about the place made his skin crawl: the dark bulkheads, the Promeneade that was teeming with criminals, the proud Bajorans who walked as if they owned the place. And then there was T'Prenn. He could never have predicted her presence, and had he known there would have been little he could do. Theoretically, one could refuse a posting based on personal reasons, but it required a full disclosure and examination of those reasons. Lane was not eager to air that particularly dirty piece of laundry.
That said, if he really wanted to leave, Lane could request a transfer, citing professional reasons. After all, he had had misgiving about this post from the beginning, but one does not question the collective wisdom of three admirals, especially the admiral who is also your mother. They'd pinned a medal on him for "exemplary service during wartime", and then sent him to DS9, all the while saying that it was a plum assignment, that he should be happy. Though the Station was hardly a backwater these days, it was not where most people pictured themselves in those solemn, earnest Academy fantasies. A first officer's position on a space station was little more than a glorified desk job.
As the turbo-lift jolted its way to the operations centre, Lane felt his resolve growing. He was sure that once he explained everything to that Bajoran Colonel, she would understand and tell Starfleet they'd picked the wrong man for the job. He smiled as the lift jeked to a stop, and he began to stride purposefully toward the large double doors that he assumed led to the Colonel's office.
"Sir?"
Lane felt a polite tap on his arm. Looking down, he saw the pinkish face of a Ferengi Lieutenant looking up at him. From the apologetic expression on his face, Lane got the impression that the young man had been trying to get his attention for a while. "Can I do something for you, Lieutenant?" he asked, using his best "command" voice.
"It's Lieutenant Nog sir,"said the Ferengi. "I just noticed you heading towards the Colonel's office, and I wanted to warn you sir. " He lowered his voice conspiratorily, " Now is probably not the best time to see her." Nog angled a wary glance at the office door, as if it explained everything.
Despite the fact Nog appeared sincere, Lane was not to be deterred. He saw his goal in sight and he refused to back down just because some Ferengi thought he was doing him a favor. So he gave his best condescending smile, and said: "Thanks for the advice Lieutenant, but I think I can handle it". Lane turned and resumed his course to the office. As he mounted the steps and pressed the door panel, he thought he heard Nog mutter something about "hew-mons" but he couldn't be sure because the doors opened and he was treated to a long string of what could only be profanities.Lane almost drew back, but stepped into the office, if only because of his pride, and let the doors shut behind him.
Inside the office was a hellish scene. PADDs were scattered in piles on every available surface, even the floor. Among the small mountains of PADDs were cups, and plates of half-finished food. There was a smell of panic in the air. Sitting amid the chaos, at the cluttered desk, was Colonel Kira who was, st the moment involved in an intense conversation with someone on the viewscreen. She did not appear to notice Lane, so the Commander just stood awkwardly by the door. He had the feeling that if he walked out now, she would probably never notice and then he could come back later and start things out in the right foot. However, that option required that he go out and face the Ferengi, and Lane was not about to do that.
He let is eyes roam round the office, looking anywhere but at the irate Bajoran, who had launched another volley of profanities at the comm system. He took in the half-eaten meals and scattered PADDs with disgust. The small couch even looked as if it had been slept in. His mother had instilled in him a need for cleanliness and order, and it was becoming clear that the station could do little to satisfy that need. Lane was about to reach for what looked like a baseball left in the couch cushions, when he suddenly became aware that the shouting had stopped. Slowly, he turned. In the new silence it seemed as though he could hear the movements of every muscle and bone in his body.
Colonel Kira was regarding him with an expression of such utter weariness, that for a moment Lane was transfixed by the hollowness of eyes and the determined set of her mouth, and her face, which seemed to reveal everything and nothing about her. It was only for a moment, though, and he managed to come to some semblance of attention.
"Commander Stephan Lane, reporting for duty," he said, though that was not what he had meant to say at all.
Something like relief passed over Kira's face. "Well, it's about time," she said, offering a wry smile. "I guess StarFleet hasn't forgotten about us after all. Have a seat."
Lane wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to handle the implied insult, so he just sat down.
"I'm busy, and in a few moments, you will be too, so I'd like to skip the pleasantries and get right to it," she began, rummaging through the PADDs on her desk. "Due to Starfleet's anal retentive need to report on every insignificant thing that goes on around the station, I now have enough paper work to keep me busy at least until the afterlife. So I'm giving half of it to you." Kira ceremoniously placed a large pile of PADDs before him. "As well, you'll need to familiarise yourself with the day-to- day operations of both DS9 and the Defiant. I suggest you talk to Lieutenant Nog, he's the chief of Operations. You can meet everyone else at the staff meeting tomorrow. Any questions?"
Lane shook his head. For some reason he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Kira was smiling at him politely, and it occurred to him that she might want him to leave. He stood up, and backed out, the PADDs in his arms. It wasn't until he was standing numbly in the turbolift when he realized that he'd forgotten to ask for a transfer.
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Commander Lane did not bother to unpack. After Bashir left, he started for OPS. He had been on the station for a mere half an hour, and already he wanted to leave. Everything about the place made his skin crawl: the dark bulkheads, the Promeneade that was teeming with criminals, the proud Bajorans who walked as if they owned the place. And then there was T'Prenn. He could never have predicted her presence, and had he known there would have been little he could do. Theoretically, one could refuse a posting based on personal reasons, but it required a full disclosure and examination of those reasons. Lane was not eager to air that particularly dirty piece of laundry.
That said, if he really wanted to leave, Lane could request a transfer, citing professional reasons. After all, he had had misgiving about this post from the beginning, but one does not question the collective wisdom of three admirals, especially the admiral who is also your mother. They'd pinned a medal on him for "exemplary service during wartime", and then sent him to DS9, all the while saying that it was a plum assignment, that he should be happy. Though the Station was hardly a backwater these days, it was not where most people pictured themselves in those solemn, earnest Academy fantasies. A first officer's position on a space station was little more than a glorified desk job.
As the turbo-lift jolted its way to the operations centre, Lane felt his resolve growing. He was sure that once he explained everything to that Bajoran Colonel, she would understand and tell Starfleet they'd picked the wrong man for the job. He smiled as the lift jeked to a stop, and he began to stride purposefully toward the large double doors that he assumed led to the Colonel's office.
"Sir?"
Lane felt a polite tap on his arm. Looking down, he saw the pinkish face of a Ferengi Lieutenant looking up at him. From the apologetic expression on his face, Lane got the impression that the young man had been trying to get his attention for a while. "Can I do something for you, Lieutenant?" he asked, using his best "command" voice.
"It's Lieutenant Nog sir,"said the Ferengi. "I just noticed you heading towards the Colonel's office, and I wanted to warn you sir. " He lowered his voice conspiratorily, " Now is probably not the best time to see her." Nog angled a wary glance at the office door, as if it explained everything.
Despite the fact Nog appeared sincere, Lane was not to be deterred. He saw his goal in sight and he refused to back down just because some Ferengi thought he was doing him a favor. So he gave his best condescending smile, and said: "Thanks for the advice Lieutenant, but I think I can handle it". Lane turned and resumed his course to the office. As he mounted the steps and pressed the door panel, he thought he heard Nog mutter something about "hew-mons" but he couldn't be sure because the doors opened and he was treated to a long string of what could only be profanities.Lane almost drew back, but stepped into the office, if only because of his pride, and let the doors shut behind him.
Inside the office was a hellish scene. PADDs were scattered in piles on every available surface, even the floor. Among the small mountains of PADDs were cups, and plates of half-finished food. There was a smell of panic in the air. Sitting amid the chaos, at the cluttered desk, was Colonel Kira who was, st the moment involved in an intense conversation with someone on the viewscreen. She did not appear to notice Lane, so the Commander just stood awkwardly by the door. He had the feeling that if he walked out now, she would probably never notice and then he could come back later and start things out in the right foot. However, that option required that he go out and face the Ferengi, and Lane was not about to do that.
He let is eyes roam round the office, looking anywhere but at the irate Bajoran, who had launched another volley of profanities at the comm system. He took in the half-eaten meals and scattered PADDs with disgust. The small couch even looked as if it had been slept in. His mother had instilled in him a need for cleanliness and order, and it was becoming clear that the station could do little to satisfy that need. Lane was about to reach for what looked like a baseball left in the couch cushions, when he suddenly became aware that the shouting had stopped. Slowly, he turned. In the new silence it seemed as though he could hear the movements of every muscle and bone in his body.
Colonel Kira was regarding him with an expression of such utter weariness, that for a moment Lane was transfixed by the hollowness of eyes and the determined set of her mouth, and her face, which seemed to reveal everything and nothing about her. It was only for a moment, though, and he managed to come to some semblance of attention.
"Commander Stephan Lane, reporting for duty," he said, though that was not what he had meant to say at all.
Something like relief passed over Kira's face. "Well, it's about time," she said, offering a wry smile. "I guess StarFleet hasn't forgotten about us after all. Have a seat."
Lane wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to handle the implied insult, so he just sat down.
"I'm busy, and in a few moments, you will be too, so I'd like to skip the pleasantries and get right to it," she began, rummaging through the PADDs on her desk. "Due to Starfleet's anal retentive need to report on every insignificant thing that goes on around the station, I now have enough paper work to keep me busy at least until the afterlife. So I'm giving half of it to you." Kira ceremoniously placed a large pile of PADDs before him. "As well, you'll need to familiarise yourself with the day-to- day operations of both DS9 and the Defiant. I suggest you talk to Lieutenant Nog, he's the chief of Operations. You can meet everyone else at the staff meeting tomorrow. Any questions?"
Lane shook his head. For some reason he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Kira was smiling at him politely, and it occurred to him that she might want him to leave. He stood up, and backed out, the PADDs in his arms. It wasn't until he was standing numbly in the turbolift when he realized that he'd forgotten to ask for a transfer.
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