She turned out of the lift into the main starboard corridor, walking toward the bow of the ship and the cabin she shared with Julian. The dim, night lighting here, a vivid contrast to the bright lights of engineering, reinforced her fatigue. As she passed the short corridor on her left that led to the bridge, she briefly considered and then quickly rejected the idea of stopping in to get a status from Lieutenant Bowers; the ship’s second officer knew his job.
Then, as though her thought had summoned him, the voice of Bowers came over the comm system. “Bowers to Dax.”
She tapped her combadge. “Go ahead.” She stopped walking, waiting to hear what the lieutenant wanted before continuing to her cabin.
“I thought you should know that we just detected a hull breach,”he said.
“How bad is it?” she asked, feeling immediately and fully awake, as though a glass of cold water had been thrown in her face. She turned back toward the hall leading to the bridge.
“It’s just a few square centimeters,”Bowers said, “and the force fields are having no problem containing it.”He seemed serious, but not hurried or upset, which she took as a positive sign.
“Do you know what caused it?” Ezri asked.
“Not for sure,”Bowers said, “but it’s on the bottom of the ship, aft, so we think it might have started whenDefiant was struck by the discharge from the atmosphere. There is an energy reading at that spot on the hull.”
That made sense, Ezri thought. “Have you scanned the exterior of the ship for any other energy readings?” she asked.
“A cursory scan showed nothing,”Bowers said. “We’re now conducting a more rigorous search. I’ve also sent a team down to repair the breach.”
“Good,” Ezri said. “Check with engineering too. They just had a main circuit shut down. The backup’s online now, but see if that problem’s related to the breach.”
“I’ll do that,”Bowers said.
Ezri took a beat, thinking about the writhing cloud cover below them, suffused with energy, and the possibility that it had somehow reached out and punched a hole through the hull of Defiant.“And take the ship to a higher orbit,” she told Bowers. “Let’s not stay any closer to the planet than we need to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything else, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“No, sir.”
“All right. Thanks for the update,” she said. “Dax out.” She pressed her combadge, deactivating it. She again contemplated going to the bridge, but the ship was in good hands. More than that, part of being an effective command officer meant knowing her own limitations, and though she no longer felt tired, she knew she nevertheless needed to rest. She only hoped that she would not dream again of her time on the shuttle.
32
Ro Laren ambled up to the security office doors. Surrounded by the quiet shadows of the early morning, she stopped and peered into the dark, empty office. After a few moments, she stepped back and eyed the access panel, but despite the sizable number of security measures remaining to be implemented between now and tomorrow—when the Bajoran and Federation delegations would arrive on the station—she realized that she had not come down to the Promenade for that purpose. With the morning shift change and the start of her day still more than an hour away, work was the furthest thing from her mind.
Except that’s not true,she thought. Almost all she had been able to think about during the last day and a half had been her position as Deep Space 9’s chief of security.
Ro turned away from the office and began strolling along the Promenade. She considered bringing the lights up—after all, she knew the security codes that would allow her to do so—but she decided against it. She found right now that she liked the dim illumination and the silence; they allowed her to feel a sense of tranquillity.
Except that’s not true either,she scolded herself. The thoughts that had troubled her for much of last night—and for yesterday and the night before that—had not brought her anything even resembling peace. When Kira had informed her the night before last of the upcoming summit, and of the realistic possibility that Bajor might soon join the Federation, Ro had essentially tried not to think about it. She had instead attempted to concentrate on her duties, even during her off-hours, busily preparing the station, her staff, and herself for the enhanced security requirements. Still, her own personal concerns had continued to intrude into her thoughts.
Ro yawned as she passed the Replimat and the florist to her left, and the assay office and an empty storefront—formerly Garak’s tailor shop, she had been told—to her right. She had gotten little sleep last night, probably no more than a couple of hours, and it had been her restlessness that had sent her out of her quarters so early this morning. Even as she had tried to push it away, the prospect of Bajor entering the Federation had unsettled her. If it happened, she knew, then the Bajoran Militia would no doubt be rolled up into Starfleet. She had absolutely no idea whether or not she would be offered a position—although if Akaar’s presence on the station indicated anything, then she supposed she would be fortunate not to end up reinstated and then tossed in the brig. Even if she was invited to rejoin Starfleet, though, she did not know if signing up for another tour would be such a good idea—either for her or for Starfleet. If nothing else, her stints aboard Wellingtonand Enterprisehad demonstrated her difficulties fitting in to a command hierarchy and following orders.
Which is why you’re in the Bajoran Militia now, right?Ro thought, chuckling aloud. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the inanity of it all. She had moved around a great deal during her adult life—even within Starfleet—and yet she had never managed to find a place where she felt that she belonged.
Except maybe here,she allowed. Unexpectedly, she had grown to like this place. And she did not want to have to leave it.
As Ro walked by the hair salon, she reminded herself that she needed to make an appointment soon; her straight black hair had grown uncomfortably long, reaching past the tops of her shoulders. The ordinary nature of the thought provided an odd counterpoint to her anxieties about Bajor joining the Federation, and about the uncertainty of her near future. If she had been asked several months ago, back when the Bajoran Militia had assigned her to DS9, if she thought that she would ever feel comfortable on the station—a facility with a significant Starfleet presence—let alone want to stay here, she probably would have laughed. At that time, her expectations had been that, before long, she would end up either resigning from the Militia or being expelled from it.
And yet, despite her negative outlook back then, the situation had begun to work out here. After a tentative beginning, Ro had settled into her job, and what had started as a rocky relationship with the station’s commander had mellowed into something far less problematic. She had also made friends here, spending time with Nog and Shar—two young and distinctly unusual Starfleet officers—as well as with Hatram Nabir, a seamstress who had opened up a shop on the Promenade not long after Ro had arrived here. For that matter, she had even developed some sort of a positive rapport with Taran’atar. She still shied away from socializing in large groups, but she found that the geography of the station, as well as its immense size, allowed her the opportunity to be as social or as private as she wished—far more so than did living aboard a starship. She even seemed to feel a sense of home here, although her lack of familiarity with the sentiment made such a characterization suspect.