Mere hours after the last crisis the Defiant's bridge was plunged into another. All the remaining senior staff were now there, having resigned to the fact their shifts would never end. Bashir was the last to arrive, having some medical matters to attend to before excusing himself from Sickbay, where nurses Juarez and Richter had resigned themselves to a shift extension.
"Have we located Ezri yet?" he said, his voice gave away the concern of a "not-quite-over-her-yet" lover as well as that of a friend, fellow officer and a man of medicine.
Vaughn looked up and shook his head solemnly. The background chatter was at an absolute minimum, partly because of the lack of sleep but mainly because of the severity of the situation they were now faced with. "A walk in the park," was a favourite phrase of Vaughn's in his rare moments of off-duty banter, the phrase flashed through his head now like a taunt.
Banishing this Vaughn followed Bashir to the science station where the Andorian; Ensign ch'Thane's hands flew over the controls doing and redoing sensor sweeps, different parameters each time.
"How did a runabout leave the ship without us knowing about it?" Vaughn asked no one in particular.
"This and the deficiencies in our current sensor sweeps would indicate sabotage Captain," ch'Thane's professional manner and voice were almost Vulcan in tone.
"And that would indicate our Mr. Charles has had some very odd training to say he's supposed to be a simple journalist gone mad," Vaughn confirmed. And then, made a mental note to add to another mental note from earlier, "Find out who and why Starfleet sent BOTH journalists".
"I'd say we need to find out who assigns these civilians to us," Bashir said as if reading Vaughn's mind.
Vaughn was about to say something along the lines of "Ditto" when ch'Thane cast off his almost Vulcan apathy. What he actually said in his native tongue was open for debate but the universal translator would have told it was something along the lines of; "Eureka!"
Renewing their interest in the young Ensign's panel Vaughn and Bashir leaned in. "Ensign?"
"I've found the runabout, travelling seven-four-two-mark-six at warp 3."
Vaughn, informed received wanted to act as quickly as possible; "Ensign Tenmei set a course and engage at maximum warp."
The chase was short lived, but the inevitable capitulation might not be. With the Defiant matching warp velocity precisely and locking phasers Vaughn ordered a channel open. The potential for a swift and positive conclusion had calmed the atmosphere on the bridge. All staff were at their stations but listening, and where duties allowed watching, Vaughn's upcoming communication. Only Julian, who had no station to attend on the bridge stood. If asked Bashir could've argued his interest and presence were valid for professional reasons, but no one asked... and he was grateful for that.
"Channel open sir," Tenmei confirmed, her voice the usual neutral with a hint of harshness she reserved especially for her father. Regardless of the situation external to their relationship her feelings towards him would never alter.
"Gregory Charles, if that is your real name," Vaughn opened, he wanted to lay the ground work for a later interrogation of the man. He hadn't liked that one journalist had turned out to be a traitor, but both? Something was fishy there and Vaughn wanted to know what before it put his crew or his ship in danger again.
"The Defiant has her weapons locked onto your vessel. This is a warship mister, you won't come out well. I suggest you drop out of warp and hand over Commander Dax immediately." In a previous life Vaughn had been quite the hostage negotiator and he felt a bit rusty, but it had to be like riding a bike. Right?
There was no response for a few seconds, as if the man was thinking it over.
"You can't fire on this vessel, not whilst I have your Executive Officer."
Vaughn was in no mood for this. Indicating to have the channel kept open he called Charles' bluff. "Lieutenant Bowers, arm phasers. Lock them on the runabout's engines and shields."
"Aye sir, phaser banks charged, ready to fire on your order."
Bashir knowing the potential for a bluff, although not a poker play he'd make sure never to play the Commander at it if the social occasion ever occurred, played into the role. Shouting loudly "Damnit man, can't you see the jig is up!" into the still open channel.
"No response sir," Bowers confirmed.
From his vantage point stood just behind and to Vaughn's right Bashir could've sworn he'd heard Vaughn expel his own expletive at the escalation that seemed to be unfurling. And then the Commander did some daring and unexpected.
"Mister Bowers. Fire."
It'd caught Bowers off guard as well, so used to Starfleet Captains bluffing, Vaughn's aggressive move was unanticipated and risky. Still the Lieutenant complied with his orders without hestitation.
The Defiant's phasers let rip in a surgically precise salvo that immediately dropped the runabout out of the rushing starlight that was subspace. Their shields were also down.
"Shields done," Bowers confirmed, "They've dropped out of warp."
"Excellent shooting," Vaughn said turning his chair to allow eye contact with the Lieutenant a visual show of support as well as gratitude.
"Helm, bring us about and along that ship. Mister Bowers I need a Security team to - "
"Commander, if you wouldn't mind," interrupted Bashir stepping forward to fill the void between the Commander and his Tactical Officer.
"From a safety point of view I'd recommend I lead the away team."
"Doctor?" Vaughn's face screwed up in bewilderment, with a hint of disagreement and a dash of understanding.
" I know that Commander Dax and you - "
Bashir cut him off with a raise of the hand, "Commander, my personal relationship with Dax has nothing to do with it. I'm the ship's Chief Medical Officer and Dax or Charles for that matter are quite possibly injured.
Vaughn knew Bashir's logic didn't make sense, rare for a man as smart and calculated as him but a quirk Vaughn put down to concern for Dax.
Weighing the options the Commander decided to grant the indulgence. No different than Kirk re-directing the Enterprise days out of its way to let Spock Pom'Farr on Vulcan is it? was Elias' internal justification.
"Very well Doctor, lead the team."
"My Lord," Cartwright said seeing Boudica alone in the battle cruiser's tiny dining area. Despite the ship's enormous size it's crew facilities were minuscule as they were only designed to serve up, at most, half a dozen Vorta at any one time. The Jem'Hadar, after all, needed no food, water or entertainment.
Boudica sat reading, in fluent Dominion, a datapadd, a cup of now long since cold coffee sat beside her on the table.
Boudica didn't look up.
Cartwright had fallen into the faithful right hand role is grace and ease it appeared. Her primary objective now was to ensure Boudica be given control of vast armies of Jem'Hadar ready to march on Earth and retake it. With a race of genetically enhanced superhumans emerging from the masses, a race of super soldiers to replace the Jem'Hadar their payment for services rendered.
"My Lord?" Cartwright repeated, it was a question rather than a salutation now.
Boudica finally looked up. The confidence that had burned in those burgundy eyes had waned substantially in the intermediate time between the boldness and daring of their escape and the now, it worried Cartwright.
"I am studying Dominion technologies," Boudica said, stating a fact. "Their language is basic and precise, far superior to English. There is only one word for everything and every meaning, it's simplicity is elegant and makes it very easy to learn."
Her admiration for the Dominion, it's structural hierarchy, it's use of breeding facilities and it control mechanisms were genuine and heartedly received by the Founder onboard.
"What is not so easy," Boudica continued; "Is catching up on is the level of technological advancement they have attained."
Cartwright sat now opposite her new Commander in Chief.
"What disappoints me," Boudica continued; "Is that they achieved their current level of technology centuries ago. And since then... they have stagnated. From what I've read the only advancement they've made in the last five decades was the advent of a cloaking device, which the records show they acquired from salvaging parts from a different set of aliens!"
"I suppose that's why they have need of me," she surmised. "If these Founders are considered gods," she continued now making full eye contact with Cartwright, "Then I may be the highest of deities."
THAT was the final straw. The facade the Founder had maintained for days now fell away into a vertical shimmering bronze pool. A second passed before the Founder reformed into a more familiar, featureless Odo-esque, face of a male. If he were Human you'd figure mid-20s and of European decent, but these terms were meaningless to a Changeling.
Boudica, much to the Founder's surprise, didn't flinch. And sensing this the Changeling tackled the issue head on. "Am I not a shock to you?"
"Has there ever been a real Cartwright? A real descendant of my most loyal of disciples?"
"Perhaps once there was, I can no longer remember. For so long I have played whatever role the Link has asked of me."
Assuming this "Link" was some kind of forum or council of leaders Boudica moved on: "I assume you'd be a Changeling from the moment I learned what they were. You didn't... smell Human."
If a Founder were ever to laugh, a single snort, or even an evil belly grumble it was then, but as it happened the Founder simply accepted this statement and retorted with; "Our shape shifting abilities have kept us hidden inside the highest echelons of the Federation, the Cardassian Union, the Romulan Star Empire, the Klingon Empire and countless other Empires that have risen and fallen over the centuries. It has tricked sensor sweeps and all but the most detailed medical scans. But you, a mere Human, believe you can 'smell' something not right?"
Boudica, on the other hand could laugh and she did. A single sharp one escaped her lips before turning back to the Founder. "I am superior. Remember."
Colonel Kira had now been aboard the station longer than anyone else, with the exception of Quark. Her days at the helm made her realize how lucky she was as XO, to avoid the unmitigated bureaucracy that came with command was a joy she hadn't fully appreciated until after it was gone. Yes sure she had worries for the future. With Bajor joining the Federation how would the Bajoran Militia, having established it's very own identity in the 8 or so years since independence merge with Starfleet? What of rank, and pay... when Bajor was expected to adopt the Federation's moneyless economy. All questions Kira was concerned about in the back of her mind, but the concern at the front of her mind right now what how the hell two traitorous individuals got themselves assigned to the Defiant.
She'd been doing some digging using a few contacts she'd inherited from Captain Sisko, and calling on a trust in their shared faith when contacting the few Bajorans already in Starfleet who had obtained rank and assignments in useful spots. She wanted to know who had assigned these journalists on the mission and did they have any idea what was happening.
Finally a name floated to the surface, a Commodore Cartwright, a public relations liaison stationed aboard Starbase 471.
The time difference between DS9 and 471 was only a few hours so Kira called up the network to establish a channel. After a few seconds watching a spinning Federation logo she found she was looking at a sour faced Bolian man, who was most definitely not a Commodore Franklin Cartwright. She opened her mouth to speak but noticed the Bolian's collar colour was black, indicating his profession as Intelligence. Her momentary pause gave the Bolian reason to start.
"To whom am I speaking?" he asked, a sour accent to go with his similar expression.
"I'm Colonel Kira Nerys of the Bajoran Militia, Commanding Officer of the Federation starbase Deep Space 9." Whether he rank, title, position and command held any weight with this man Kira was unsure, but it couldn't hurt throwing it out there.
"I need to speak with Commodore Franklin Cartwright."
"There is no one here by that name," the Bolian reply came.
Typical spook Kira thought. Her face turned into a sarcastic smile. "Really?" she said slapping her hands in false joviality. "That's funny because the crew manifest says there is a Commodore Franklin head of public relations for everything west of Betazed and his name is on an order form for the assigning of two journalists to the USS Defiant."
The Bolian seemed to have no answer, or at least was happy to listen. Aware this was probably a tactical choice on his part Kira decided to play along anyway. "These journalists have turned out to be very dangerous individuals indeed. One has kidnapped a member of Starfleet and the other has defected to the Dominion."
The Bolian looked left, and then right. His hands disappeared off screen to the right for a moment, by his arm movements Kira assumed he was working his terminal's controls.
When he turned back to Kira his expression had changed for sour, to concerned and professional determination. "I am Lieutenant Commander Chrax with Starfleet Intelligence," he introduced himself, even his voice was different now.
"Much of what I'd like to tell you is highly classified, but I can say with full certainty is that there is no and never was any Commodore Cartwright. The so called Journalists that were assigned to the Defiant also do not exist."
"Don't exist? That's just spook talk for - "
"No Colonel," Chrax said earnestly, "I can assure you. Those people do not exist. If you do not believe me how do you explain their name not appearing on any crew manifests in your station's database? All shipping into and out of the Gamma Quadrant comes through Deep Space Nine does it not?"
Kira's head sagged, she hadn't thought to check crew manifests.
"I've already told you too much. You must not pursue your line of enquiry any further. Just trust we have it under control."
The transmission ended. Kira let her weight fall back into the chair and let out an almighty sigh. She let herself slump there for a second, searching inside herself for the motivation to continue. Kira being Kira, she found it after only a few moments. She pulled the terminal closer to the edge of her desk where she could reach it easier and began recording a communiqué to Odo.
