Star Trek Deep Space 9 18 Saratoga

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Star Trek Deep Space 9

Saratoga

HISTORIAN'S NOTE

The events in Saratoga occur between the third and

fourth seasons of Star Trek Deep Space Nine.

Prologue

OLD FRIENDS, THOUGHT Pernon Obahr. You come to

know them as you know yourself, to love them, to rely

on them. You allow yourself to believe they will never

let you down.

And yet, in the course of time, even the oldest

friend may betray you. It was a fact of life, he

mused--not only on Bajor, but on any world in the

great, star-spanning cosmos.

Pernon stood on the highest balcony of the highest

building in Karvis and followed the curve of the

glistening fiver with his gaze. On its near bank, a few

kilometers north of the city, a half-dozen large gray

water pumps worked with the power and perserver-

ance of prehistoric animals.

It was a good thing, too. Thanks to the pumps,

some thirty percent of the river's volume was redi-

rected through a channel that bisected the city. At

the other end of the channel, the river water fanned

out along a steep incline, eventually spilling into the

sea.

Were the pumps not there, the city would have been

washed away long ago. If that had happened, Pernon

and his family would have been left penniless, desti-

tute, like a great many other Bajorans at the time.

Hence, his abiding love for the machines, a love

shared in full by his fellow Karvisians.

But circumstances change, he thought. All manner

of things decay. And what a man thought was solid as a

rock in his youth turns out to have been anchored in

shifting sands.

The words were those of Inartha Dor, one of

Bajor's greatest poets before the Occupation. But they

fit the situation, Pernon told himself--fit it as a hand

fits a well-made glove.

After three decades, the pumps were beginning to

failmnot because they were structurally unsound, for

they had been given a good deal of attention over the

years. No, the machines themselves were not the

problem.

It was the power source that made them run. That

was the problem. And if it were not solved, Karvis

would eventually be destroyed.

Pernon sighed. As a youth, he had seen the birth of

the pumps. He had witnessed the arrival of the

Cardassian architects and the terrain engineers, the

excavation specialists and the builders. He had

watched the ground vehicles converge on the river-

bank day after day, bringing all kinds of construction

devices and raw materials.

Of course, for the Cardassians, the pumping station

was a bandage on a self-inflicted wound. To obtain

cheap power farther north, they had meddled with the

river's tributaries. The result had been a massive

increase in volume and several bad floods the follow-

ing spring.

This was not pleasing to the Gul responsible for the

area--a scaly-necked festival pole of a man named

Divok. After all, it was Divok's head that would roll if

the problem were not corrected somehow.

The point of the occupation had been to exploit

Bajor's resources with a minimum of effort. Wiping

out a fair-sized city was not part of the plan, nor did

the Cardassian authorities wish to deal with addition-

al backlash.

There was already a resistance movement brewing.

Why fuel it any more than they had to?

Even as a boy, Pernon had hated the Cardassians as

much as any Bajoran. He had detested them with

every drop of blood in his body, with every muscle

and every bone. Had he seen the pumps as something

Cardassian, he would certainly have hated them as

well.

But right from the start, he saw the lack of enthusi-

asm in the building of the things. The invaders had

fitted the pieces together methodically, as if they

themselves were nothing more than automatons.

There was no joy in the project for them.

And even when they were finished, the Cardassians

seemed only to tolerate the machines as a necessary

evil. That, as much as anything else, made Pernon see

the pumps as something Bajoran. "Obahr? Is that you?"

Pernon turned at the sound of the familiar female

voice. As he watched, his friend emerged from the

shadows of the room behind him.

"Nerys," he said, glad for the opportunity to speak

her name. "What's it been? Almost a year?"

"More like a year and a half," she told him,

approaching with her arms thrown wide.

"You're kidding," he declared.

"I'd never try to kid an old resistance fighter," she

assured him.

As they embraced, he remembered a time when he

had hoped she would be more than a comrade. As it

happened, the opportunity to express that hope had

never materialized. And with their lives constantly on

the line, he came to value her friendship too much to

try to change it.

Kira leaned back to look at him. "You're gaining

weight," she observed. "Being a city administrator

agrees with you, I see."

"That's not it," he explained candidly. "I'm mak-

ing up for all the times we went hungry fighting the

Cardassians."

Her smile faded. "I remember." Then she patted

him affectionately on the shoulder. "So what can I do

for you, Pernon Obahr? Or were you serious when you

asked me down here for a game of nobmoch?"

"Don't I wish," he replied.

That's when he told her about the pumps. And he

told her some other things as well, things he had

learned through the network of former resistance

fighters--a network made more useful since Shakaar

had come to power.

While Pernon spoke, Kira nodded. And when he

was done, she nodded some more. Despite the cir-

cumstances, he couldn't help but remark inwardly on

her beauty. It wasn't easy to pull his thoughts back on

course.

"Do you think you can help?" he asked at last.

She looked at him. "I can try," she promised.

Pernon smiled with relief. When Kira Nerys said

she would try, the reward was as good as won. It was

good to know at least one old friend could still be

counted on.

CHAPTER

JAKE SISKO LEANED over the rail of the Promenade's

upper level and peered into Quark's. By craning his

neck a little, he could see his father sitting at a table

with Lieutenant Dax.

The elder Sisko was staring into his raktajino, an

iced-coffee type drink. Even from here, Jake could see

the crease in his father's brow. "Jake?"

The boy turned to his companion, whose face

barely cleared the rail. But then, Ferengi were among

the smaller races that populated the station, and

Nog--being a mere teenager--was shorter than

most.

"Mm?" Jake replied.

"Why does your father look so depressed?" asked

Nog.

The human sighed. "He's going to see some of his

old cronies again."

The Ferengi looked at him. "And he's depressed

about that?" He grunted. "They must not have been

very good friends."

Jake scrutinized his father. "Actually, they were

some of the best friends he's ever had. They served

with him on his last assignment, the Saratoga. A

couple of times, they even saved his life."

Nog shook his head. "Then why isn't he glad to see

them?"

The human shrugged. "It's difficult to explain. You

see, he'd have been happy to see any one of them, if he

met them at another starbase or something. But this is

an official occasion."

The Ferengi seemed to ponder the information.

"Ah, an official occasion. I understand," he said with

assurance. "Of course I understand. I mean, who

wouldn't understand?" He paused. "Jake?"

The boy glanced at him. "I know. You haven't the

slightest idea of what I'm talking about."

"That's right," the Ferengi complained, unable to

hide his exasperation. "What difference does it make

if it's official or not? Friends are friends, aren't they?"

Jake shook his head. "Believe me," he said, "it

makes a difference. Dad will be using the Defiant to

take his old shipmates to the Utopia Planitia ship-

yards in orbit around Mars. That's where they'll

witness the commissioning of the new Saratoga."

"The new Saratoga?" Nog echoed. He looked per-

plexed. "What happened to the old Saratoga?"

The boy was suddenly beset by memories, which

not so long ago would have overwhelmed him. But he

was older now. He could take a deep breath and wish

them away.

"The old one," he said, in slow, careful tones, "was

the ship where my morn was killed. You know, by the

Borg."

He wasn't looking at his friend, but he could

imagine the embarrassment on the Ferengi's face.

"Oh," declared Nog, in an artificially cheerful tone.

"Now I remember." He paused. "So that's why it's so

hard for your father to see these people together?

Because they remind him of your mother's death?"

Jake nodded. "That's why," he answered.

It wasn't going to be easy for him, either. But more

than himself, he was worried about his dad. As

commanding officer of Deep Space Nine, the man

seldom let on that he had feelings about anything.

But Benjamin Sisko's feelings ran deep indeed. And

when it came to that terrible moment on the Sarato-

ga, they ran so deep Jake had never seen the bottom of

them.

Sisko turned to Dax. At some point, he had allowed

their conversation to slip away from him.

"Did you say something?" he asked her.

The Trill regarded him with a mixture of compas-

sion and rebuke. "I said a lot of somethings, Benja-

min. At what point did you stop listening?"

The captain peered into his raktajino and frowned.

"I'm sorry, Old Man. I just can't seem to concentrate

on anything lately."

"Because all you can think about is the Saratoga,"

said Dax. "And seeing your fellow officers again."

He looked up at her. "You know, I'd come to grips

with Jennifer's death. As far as I could tell, I'd

accepted it. I'd put it behind me."

"Until you got that message from Starfleet," his

friend suggested, "ordering you to ferry a bunch of

Saratoga survivors to Mars."

Sisko sighed. "The wounds have closed," he ex-

pla ined, "but that doesn't mean they won't open

again under the right circumstances."

"So I take it you're not looking forward to the

ceremony at Utopia Planit/a," Dax concluded.

He looked at her. "Not looking forward to it? I'd

rather be dipped in Klingon hot sauce."

His companion shrugged. "Actually, I'm quite par-

tial to Klingon hot sauce. Being dipped in it doesn't

sound half-bad."

The captain frowned. "You know what I mean."

In her several previous lives as a joined Trill, Dax

had been ambassador and artist, male and female,

scientist and explorer. All that life experience had

endowed her not only with a playful sense of humor,

but with a keen and penetrating intelligence.

"If that's the case," she remarked sympathetically,

"maybe you'd better not go to Utopia P!anitia."

The captain straightened. "Not attend, you mean?"

She nodded. "You know, decline the invitation--as

respectfully as possible, of course. Tell them things

are just too grim here at the station, what with the

Dominion knocking at the door and Bajor on the

perpetual brink of disaster." She grunted. "Actually,

it won't be that far from the truth."

He shook his head. "But I can't decline."

"Why not?" asked the Trill.

Sisko held out his hands in an appeal for reason.

"I'm the old Saratoga's highest-ranking survivor. I've

got to go. I owe it to all those people who died--not to

mention those who lived."

"That's a lousy reason," she pointed out.

The captain disagreed. He was about to say so when

his companion forged on, her blue eyes suddenly alive

with purpose.

"Don't do it for all those others," she told him,

jabbing a forefinger in his direction. "Do it for

yourself Benjamin."

Sisko eyed her. "For myself?." he echoed.

"That's right," said Dax, smiling. "Because you're

alive. Because you gave everything you had to that

proud old ship. And most of all, because deep down

inside, you really want to." She leaned forward.

"Maybe it'll be a little uncomfortable for you, at first.

I don't doubt that. But in the end, you'll have a good

time. I know you will."

The captain couldn't help but smile back, albeit

with a certain wariness. That's how infectious his

friend's enthusiasm was.

He eased back in his seat. "You know me that well,

do you?"

Dax grunted. "Who knows you better?"

Sisko regarded her for a moment, drawing confi-

dence from her. Finally, he accepted the situation.

"Done," he told her. "I just hope you're right about

this, Old Man."

Her smile turned impish. "Benjamin," she said,

"when have I ever steered you wrong?"

Quark smiled. Everyone in the place seemed to be

enjoying himself--or herself, as the case might be.

Even Captain Sisko, who'd seemed down in the

dumps until just a few moments ago.

The Ferengi liked seeing people happy. When they

were happy, they ate and drank more. They spent

more money. And that made Quark happy.

To top off his delight, the long-necked, scaly-

skinned Lu'ufan at the other end of the bar was

describing to yet another innocent bystander the size

of the merragat worm he'd snared for his sister's

wedding feast.

Bending down, the Ferengi reached under his bar

for the naturally cultivated erriz pod that he kept

there. He'd only recently acquired a couple gross of

the pods, which were perfect for cleaning delicate

surfaces. Also, he'd gotten a great deal on them. And

as the Rules of Acquisition clearly stated When you

see a good deal, jump on it.

Of course, at this rate, Quark would go through his

whole supply of erriz pods before the week was out.

But he didn't mind.

The reason for his tolerance manifested itself a

moment later--as the Lu'ufan made a particularly

expansive gesture and knocked over his drink. The

slushy yellow and brown contents of his Scintaavian

Sunset spilled out over the previously spotless surface

of the bar.

Whirling, the Lu'ufan gasped at his clumsiness. But

before he could exhale, the Ferengi was on top of

things. With a few circular swipes of his erriz pod, he

sopped up the mess. Then, with a flourish, he righted

the Lu'ufan's tall, fluted glass.

"Oh, my," he said, picking up the vessel, which was

now empty except for a viscous yellow sediment along

its insides. "It seems you've spilled your drink.

Again."

The Lu'ufan sighed--a response which included a

pronounced, almost comical rise and fall of his very

angular shoulders. "It seems I have," he agreed.

"Spilled it, that is. Again."

"And you'd like another?" Quark ventured.

"Yes," said the Lu'ufan, "I would."

The Ferengi wagged a finger at him. "Try to take

better care of this one, would you? The ingredi-

entsw"

"I know," the Lu'ufan interrupted. "They come

from the planet Scintaavi--which no longer exists,

since it was destroyed by a rogue comet several years

ago."

"Along with the rest of its star system," Quark

reminded him. "It's nothing less than sacrilege to

waste such rare and exotic constituents."

The Lu'ufan nodded soberly. "And worse than that,

it is expensive." Taking another gold coin from his

pocket, he laid it down on the bar. "Please. I'll be

more careful this time. I promise."

"Well," said the Ferengi, in his most compassionate

tone, "all right, then. I trust you." And with another

swipe of the erriz pod for good measure, he went to

mix his guest another drink.

Erriz pods didn't grow on trees, it was true. But

considering what he was charging for his Scintaavian

Sunsets, he might soon be able to buy his own pod

farm.

"Brother?" called a familiar voice.

Quark turned and saw his sibling Rom advancing

on the bar. He was carrying something wrapped in

what looked like a bunch of rags. And he was

smiling--always a bad sign when it came to Rom.

"What is it now?" asked Quark.

"Look what I found in the storeroom," said his

brother. He held out the thing in his hands. "It was

behind a case ofadfittari wine. You know, the stuff we

claim is ten years older than it really--"

Quark clamped his hand over his brother's mouth

and looked around. Fortunately, no one seemed to

have overheard Rom's indiscretion.

"Listen," rasped Quark. "I don't care where you

found it. I don't even particularly care what it is. I just

want to know if you've found out what I asked you to

find out."

Rom regarded him with a certain amount of befud-

dlement. "And what was that, Brother?"

Quark cursed beneath his breath. How could he

and Rom have sprung from the same set of parents? It

defied belief.

"I asked you to find out when the Saratoga survi-

vors were going to arrive. You know, so we could hold

some kind of event to honor them--an event that

would draw people into the bar. You do remember

that, don't you?"

His brother thought for a moment. Then, as he

recalled Quark's instructions, he slapped his forehead

with the heel of his hand.

"You're right, Brother. And I was going to find that

out for you, I swear I was--until I realized we were

out of those little menju nuts Morn is so fond off"

Quark grunted. "Morn's tab is longer than he is tall.

You're forbidden to bring him any more nuts until he

pays his bar bill."

Rom shook his head sheepishly. "All right, Brother.

I won't bring him any more menju nuts. But the point

I was making is that I had to go to the storeroom to

get them. And while I was rummaging around for a

fresh canisterm"

He held up the thing in his hand. What's more, he

seemed proud of it.

"--I discovered this."

Quark sighed. "And what, pray tell, is that thing,

anyway?"

Rom shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was

kind of hoping you would be able to tell me."

With that, Rom began to peel away the rags. They

didn't come away easily, and when they did they

tended to fall apart. But eventually, he revealed

enough of their contents for Quark to get an idea of

what they were dealing with.

And when he did, it took his breath away.

The object was smoky blue and perfectly round,

except for a small hole in the top of it. For the most

part it looked smooth as glass, but there was a band of

coarser material running around its circumference.

"By the Nagus," Quark breathed, reaching out for

the thing involuntarily. "Do you know what that is?"

Rom rolled his eyes. "If I knew what it was, I

wouldn't have asked you, Brother."

"It's a beverage container," Quark told him.

Rom tilted his head. "A beverage container?"

He took a step away from Quark, to view the object

in a better light. But as he moved, his foot snagged on

the base of one of the bar stoolsmand he stumbled,

sending the smoky blue beverage container tumbling

through the air.

Quark couldn't let the thing breakmnot when it

was worth several times its weight in gold-pressed

latinum. Diving full length, he reached out for the

object in an attempt to catch it before it hit the

ground.

He could feel his fingers grazing the beverage con-

tainer, closing about it, trying to cradle it...

Then he hit the floor--hit it so hard, in fact, that

his teeth rattled with the impact and the breath was

knocked out of him.

"Brother, are you all right?"

As he lay on the floor, gasping for breath and

certain he'd broken some ribs, Quark found the

strength to look up at Rom. Fortunately for his

brother, Quark was in no position to throttle him, or

he might have found himself an only child.

"Let me help you," Rom pleaded, grabbing Quark

under his arms and pulling him up--whether Quark

liked it or not.

It was the worried tone of Rom's voice that ulti-

mately saved him from becoming a victim of fratri-

cide. After all, how could Quark kill the only being in

the universe who genuinely gave a spacer's damn

about him?

"Leave me alone," he grated, still trying to catch his

breath. "I'm fine, no thanks to you."

Slumping against the bar, he looked around and

saw that several of his customers were staring at him.

He smiled and waved a bit, to signify that he wasn't

going to die and thereby release them from their

obligations to him.

Besides, it didn't matter what kind of embarrass-

ment he'd brought on himself--or to be more accu-

rate, Rom had brought on him. The important thing,

he reflected, as he looked down at his hands, was that

he'd rescued the beverage container.

Setting the artifact down gently on the surface of

the bar, Quark regarded it with an appropriate rever-

ence. A moment later, he realized that his brother was

gazing at it over his shoulder.

"I still don't understand," Rom told him. "If it's

only a beverage container--"

"It's not just any beverage container," Quark in-

formed him. He was almost able to speak normally

now. "It's from Thetalian Prime."

His brother shook his head. "Thetalian Prime?"

"That's right," said Quark. "Thetalian Prime."

He lowered his voice, not wanting to tempt any

thieves who might be in earshot. After all, one never

knew.

"And like everything else made from the clay of

that world," he went on, "it contains traces of corlan-

dium. In case you haven't heard, that's a mineral. A

rare and very valuable mineral."

Rom's eyes narrowed. "I have heard of it. And it's

in that beverage container?" He leaned closer. "Are

you sure?"

"Sure as I can be," Quark responded. "Of course,

this thing would be even more valuable if the organ-

isms that secreted the mineral were still alive. But

then, it's not a perfect galaxy, is it?"

"Are you going to share the profits with me?" asked

his brother.

"Most certainly not," Quark snapped. "By your

own admission, you found this in my storeroom. And

though I can't say exactly what container it fell out of,

it clearly belongs to me."

Rom frowned. "Then you're right. It's not a perfect

galaxy."

"I'd better lock this away," said Quark, pulling the

beverage container to his bosom. "For safekeeping."

But he'd no sooner turned away from the bar than

he found himself staring at a Bajoran uniform. And

even before he looked up to see whose face went with

it, he could tell from the way it was filled out whom it

belonged to.

"Major Kira," he chuckled--a bit nervously, he

thought. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Kira smiled. It was obvious from Quark's expres-

sion that he was trying to figure out what he'd done

wrong.

But for a change, he hadn't done anything. Or at

least, it wasn't any of the things he'd probably done

that had brought her here.

"Please," she said. "The honor is all mine."

"It is?" Quark replied, clearly surprised.

"Of course," the Bajoran assured him. "I feel at

home here. But then, maybe that's because I feel so at

home with you."

The Ferengi's smile faded. "You want something

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StarTrekDeepSpace918SaratogaHISTORIAN'SNOTETheeventsinSaratogaoccurbetweenthethirdandfourthseasonsofStarTrekDeepSpaceNine.PrologueOLDFRIENDS,THOUGHTPernonObahr.Youcometoknowthemasyouknowyourself,tolovethem,torelyonthem.Youallowyourselftobelievetheywillneverletyoudown.Andyet,inthecourseoftime,eventhe...

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