Read Star Trek: Terok Nor 03: Dawn of the Eagles Online
Authors: S.D. Perry
Those in Valo II’s overcrowded settlements were speculating about what the ultimate cause of the withdrawal had been, picking up pieces of gossip as they heard them, often second-hand, or even third-hand, from Valo III. Most wanted to believe that the death of the kai’s son had been the catalyst; that the massacre in the Kendra Valley was the final outrage to thrust the resistance—and the rest of Bajor—into the frame of mind they needed to be able to summon the strength for the final push. Jas Holza was already held in high regard on this planet for keeping the citizens of Valo II alive with very little motivation. Now he was a genuine hero, for coming through with the weapons that gave the resistance the edge in the end. Keeve knew, of course, that there was more to it than that. The Federation had played a role, and Keeve imagined there was some machination of Cardassian politics that must have facilitated this unlikely outcome. Still, he was not such a pragmatist that he would not let the people have their martyr and their hero; it did much to bolster them in the uncertainty of this time. For despite the intense joy of knowing that they could return home once again, there was also unease over the consideration of what they would find when they got there.
Jas Holza had arranged for several of his transport ships to begin ferrying people to the surface of Bajor. He had already come to warn Keeve and the others that Bajor was not the same world they remembered. Jas’s own ancestral home had been nearly destroyed in a recent attack, a great deal of the surrounding farmland and forest burned or permanently altered by either military strikes or the varied interests of the Cardassians over the years of the occupation. But most ignored his caution with eagerness—despite what Bajor might have become, nobody could believe that it would not be better than Valo II. A very few chose to stay behind, but most of the settlers preferred to take their chances on what was left of Bajor.
Keeve was one of the last to leave. He bundled up what few belongings he still cared to take with him, said good-bye to the handful of people who were staying, and prepared to board one of Jas Holza’s outdated carriers. He waited in a slow-moving line, following a mix of people who trudged up the drop ramp and were shown into individual passenger compartments.
One of the pilot’s crewmen took Keeve to a compartment with an open seat, pressing a panel so that the door would slide open, and Keeve was, for a moment, taken aback to see that the compartment appeared to already be full. But as he ducked inside, he quickly saw that he could take his place next to two silent children, close in age, though Keeve had no idea how old they might be. Twelve? Eight? Keeve had always been a poor judge of these things.
Keeve took his seat, and the man who sat opposite him spoke with enthusiasm. “We’re to travel with Minister Keeve Falor?” he asked rhetorically, apparently speaking to his wife, who was seated next to him.
It took Keeve a moment to place him. “Bajin,” Keeve finally said to the middle-aged man. This was the son of Darrah Mace. It was somewhat disconcerting for Keeve to acknowledge how old the man looked to him—if his friends’ children were aging so much, how old must he then be? He wondered how Kalem Apren would look to him now, for he was to meet Apren and Jaro Essa at Bajor’s capital as soon as he arrived.
“Hello, Keeve.” Darrah Bajin greeted him with affection and respect, excitement showing through in his tone. “Have you met my wife and sons?”
“I have,” Keeve said, nodding to the two politely silent boys in the seat adjacent to his. Bajin’s wife, Cheren, gave him a wide smile, and then turned to her boys.
“This man was a great governor on our world when Papa and I were just small children!” she explained to them.
The children smiled shyly, and then quickly looked away, whispering to each other and looking deferentially to their mother. Keeve smiled at them. “Shy,” he remarked.
Cheren’s smile tightened. “Their lives have been difficult,” she said.
“As have all of our lives,” Bajin quickly added. “But that will come to an end, now.”
“Indeed,” Keeve murmured. He thought he remembered that Bajin and Cheren had lost a child, some years ago, but it was possible he had them confused with another couple. A great many babies born on Valo II had never made it to adulthood. He arranged his knees so they would not bump against Bajin’s. The flyer had just jolted into takeoff mode.
The compartment began to vibrate as the thrusters took the ship quickly beyond the atmosphere. The turbulence was slight, even in the outdated ship. Jas had maintained his fleet as well as he could afford. This ship was once one of the best flyers that could be had, and she was still in fine form. She sailed out into the openness of space, and as the ship went to warp, Keeve drew back the cover on the tiny, oval porthole in the compartment, watching the stars as they streaked past.
Keeve looked to the other man. “Is your father on this transport?”
Bajin shook his head. “No, he isn’t.”
“He didn’t stay behind, did he?”
“Oh, no,” Bajin replied. “My parents were among the first to return to Bajor when Jas made the offer to transport us. Father contacted me two days ago, through a third party, to tell me that they had returned to Korto.” Bajin’s smile faltered. “He said to be in for a bit of shock when we land…”
“Yes, so too said Jas Holza.”
Keeve was silent for long hours, and the Darrah family spoke among themselves in muted tones, making tentative plans for where they would stay once they arrived on Bajor. Their conversation was heavy with overtones of unspoken hesitation; they were taking a huge risk and committing themselves to the unknown.
“Look.” Keeve interrupted the family’s uncertain planning to gesture out the small window, for Bajor was visible. It appeared as a bright, green-blue star, but Keeve recognized it immediately from the surrounding constellations.
The two boys tried to peer around Keeve’s shoulder, and he rose to his feet so that they could have a better view of the planet as it came closer into view. Gradually, the twinkling speck expanded until Bajor’s swirling seas were clearly visible. Everyone in the compartment was rapt as they watched their home planet fill the tiny window.
“We’re almost there,” Bajin declared, his voice trembling slightly with the emotion he was trying to conceal. He turned to his wife, and she covered his hand with hers. The planet seemed to sparkle like a gem as the ship came closer still, bright with unspoken promise.
“She belongs to us, now,” Keeve said, almost to himself, but the others in his compartment turned to him to smile and nod their agreement. “We will never lose her again.”
The ship jolted slightly as it tore through Bajor’s atmosphere, dropping back to real gravity, and one of the bundles stowed in the compartment above Bajin’s head threatened to tumble into Keeve’s lap. But the carrier righted itself quickly, and was setting down at Kendra, where most of the passengers were to disembark. Keeve was staying on until he made it to Ashalla. Jaro Essa and Kalem Apren had traveled there already to organize an election for the provisional government.
“Good-bye, Bajin. Good-bye, Cheren.” Keeve nodded to the children, whose names he could not immediately recall. He addressed Bajin directly. “Please, tell your father—” He stopped, for he was not sure how to adequately summarize all that he wanted to say. It seemed suddenly too great a task to pass his goodwill on to another resident of the world where he had sought refuge all these years, and Keeve was nearly overcome with the emotion that he had been denying himself since the first rumors began to fly. It hit him all at once, with a stunning, undeniable blow—he was
here,
he was on Bajor. Tears threatened to spill, and Bajin reached out and took his hand.
“I will tell him,” Bajin said, a moment of unspoken understanding passing through the two men like an electric current.
Keeve nodded in wordless gratitude, and then Bajin and his family disembarked for their shuttle transport to Korto. The door to the compartment closed once again, leaving Keeve alone to stare out the window, taking in the ruined scenery all around him, the world that would have to be rebuilt. The ship lurched on its thrusters again, to take Keeve Falor to Dahkur. To take him home.
T
he gathering crowd of Bajorans bobbed and swayed, people standing on their toes or swiveling their heads so that they might see over the heads and shoulders of the people in front of them. Their varied dress represented the myriad provinces and walks of life from which they had come, all over the planet. Though a great many were clad in shabby rags or overpatched tunics and dresses, many were wearing the very best clothes they owned for the occasion, and Odo noticed more than a few wearing matching uniforms that he supposed belonged to the newly-restored Militia.
First Minister Kalem Apren had already delivered his inaugural address, and Odo had watched curiously as the people in the crowd reacted to his announcement that the Federation was coming to help. Odo could see right away that this was a sensitive topic for the Bajorans, with many seeming to be fully in favor and others appearing to feel exactly the opposite. Odo had observed a great deal of rather heated exchanges suddenly erupting all over the crowd after the First Minister made his proclamation.
Now another official, who had the unfortunate privilege of following Kalem’s volatile announcement, spoke in regard to the reformed Militia, which he had apparently helped to organize. His name was Jaro Essa, and he held a lesser seat on the new Bajoran Council of Ministers. The crowd was much thinner now, many people having moved away from the public oval—it was mostly only members of the militia and their families who had lingered behind to listen to Jaro.
Jaro Essa’s voice was distinct and pleasant, but his words held traces of fire, and the portion of the crowd that was still listening responded noisily to his address.
“My Bajoran brothers and sisters—I was here fifty years ago when a group of aliens arrived on our world, with their proposals for a means to help us, to assist us in modernizing our beloved and traditional ways of life—”
Shouts of anger, the older people in the crowd crying out the fiercest.
“But we are wiser now, and never again will we allow any group of outsiders to dictate for us how we are to run our world…”
Odo quickly recognized that Jaro’s speech was meant to do more than just address the new Militia; apparently he did not agree with his colleague’s decision to bring in the Federation, either.
Which may be exactly why we need them…
If so many Bajorans were in disagreement over how to run their world, was it unlikely that opposing factions would emerge? Could a civil war be on the horizon?
“…the new Militia is comprised of the very best fighters currently on our world, people who fought bravely and tirelessly for Bajor’s freedom…”
Odo was troubled at the idea of any conflict lingering behind on Bajor after the Cardassians had finally been chased away, but he laid his concerns temporarily to rest when he recognized the profile of a man in a brown Militia uniform. The Bajoran looked out of place in military clothing instead of a worn tunic, but Odo knew right away that it was Gran Tolo, the man who had been in the resistance on Terok Nor. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to approach him.
“Excuse me. Gran Tolo?” he said hesitantly, and then took an uncertain step back. How would he be remembered by the Bajorans who had been on the station?
“Odo!” Gran replied, looking immediately happy to see the shape-shifter. “Thank the Prophets you managed to get off the station!”
“You’ve…you’ve joined the Militia,” Odo said, at a loss for anything else to say.
Gran smiled, tugging at his new uniform. “Yes, I’ve been awarded the rank of lieutenant already. It’s a bit…surreal, I think, but…I felt it was the only thing I could do. I’ve always been a soldier, you see, since I was barely a teenager…”
“You’ll be an asset to service, I’m certain,” Odo said, and he meant it. He hoped Gran could see that he did, but it was often difficult for him to convey his thoughts appropriately, and he could never quite tell if people took him seriously or not.
“What will you do now that the Cardassians are gone?” Gran inquired. “You’re out of a job, aren’t you?”
Odo looked up at the sky without quite meaning to, for it had occurred to him often since he had smuggled himself off the station that he was now further away from finding his own people than he had been while on the station. It had, of course, occurred to him that if the Federation was coming, there might be a better opportunity to find out where he had come from, but he didn’t have the first idea how to pursue that possibility. “I don’t know,” he finally said.
Gran scrutinized him for a moment as if he were trying to decide what to do with him, and then he said something that Odo would never have considered. “The Militia…is always looking for volunteers. If you tell them that you worked on the station—”
Odo scoffed. “They’ll have me executed. All known collaborators are to be turned in to the government immediately.”
“No, no. Odo, I can vouch for you that you helped the resistance. You did far more good than harm, and I know I’m not the only Bajoran who will say so. You remember Ficen Dobat? He joined the Militia as well, and I know he’ll tell Jaro Essa how you helped us all when the detection grid came down for the last time…”
Odo thought he remembered Ficen Dobat, but he remembered a few other Bajorans as well—Bajorans whom he had personally committed to death. He worked to keep his face free from emotion, but it was surprisingly difficult after it had become such a habit to associate his emotions with his facial expressions. “Perhaps I
will
join the Militia,” he muttered. It was like Gran had said—all he had ever known was to be a soldier. All Odo had ever known was to follow rules, although he had certainly come to question them in the end. But maybe the Militia
could
use him, and perhaps it would give him the opportunity to feel as though he could be forgiven for the sins he had committed while working for the Cardassians.
“I can take you where you need to go, if you’re considering it, Odo.”
“I am considering it,” he said quickly, before he could change his mind, and he began to walk with Gran through the crowds.
“Where will you be stationed?” Odo asked the Bajoran.
“I don’t know yet,” Gran told him. “I’ll be getting my assignment later today. I’m eager to find out what it will be.” He let out his breath all at once. “After all, wherever I go, that will be my new home. My parents are dead—I have no one left but those I fought with in the resistance. The Militia…will be my new family.”
Odo nodded to himself. “New family,” he repeated, and saw that they had reached the recruiting office. Outside was a short line of men and women waiting to sign up and serve their world. Odo and Gran took their place in the line, but the people just ahead of them quickly spied Gran’s rank designation on his uniform, and moved to allow him to pass ahead of them. He nodded gratefully, and Odo followed the Bajoran inside, suddenly overcome with what Gran had just been saying—he was about to join a new family, just like that. Of course, that all relied on the assumption that the Bajorans wouldn’t turn him in as a collaborator. He looked nervously at Gran, who returned a reassuring smile as they passed the line of people outside.
Just before entering the building, Odo looked up at the sky again, thinking of Terok Nor and how it might have been as close as he would ever be to his people. But he shook off the thought as he walked through the double doors that led them inside the temporary headquarters of the Militia, an old, partially destroyed building that had once functioned as the offices of the local lawkeepers. Just as Gran had said, he was suddenly eager. To be part of a new world, and part of a new family—though he knew, on some level, that it would not be as true for him as it would be for Gran. Odo was an outsider, and a Bajoran uniform wouldn’t change that fact.
He turned to Gran as he was led inside the building with towering, curved ceilings, all blackened with smoke from the fires that had destroyed the rear portion of the building. The aura of destruction was heavy in the atmosphere, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to it as the volunteers filed toward a wide table of officers. The men and women seated behind the tables tapped away at their keypads while doing retinal scans for each Bajoran as he or she approached the table. Odo suddenly felt very uncomfortable, considering that his physiology would hardly permit the sort of inspection that was likely required for a recruited soldier—until he saw something that astonished him. Kira Nerys, bearing the rank of major, was standing behind one of the tables, her once-tangled hair trimmed and smoothed neatly just beyond her chin, the rigid silhouette of her uniform lending an imposing outline to her slender shoulders.
She looked up from her computer, and recognition instantly flooded her face as she glanced in the direction of Odo and Gran. “Odo!” she cried out. “You’re safe!”
“Yes,” he said awkwardly, as several people looked to see what the fuss was about. Gran shifted, seeming to know that it was safe to leave Odo on his own, thumping the shape-shifter on the shoulder and backing away.
Kira gestured Odo forward to the spot at her table, and he moved through the smattering of curious onlookers. “Have you come to join the Militia?” she asked, with eagerness in her voice.
“I…” Odo began, uncomfortable with this very public reunion.
“I’m to be stationed on Terok Nor,” she told him, and then frowned. “Starfleet has been invited to help us administrate it—they’ll be renaming it to suit their own agenda, of course.” Odo could see that she was not at all pleased with the impending arrival of the Federation, but her face twisted back into a smile without further elaboration. “If you’d like to serve on the station as well, I can probably see to it that you can be appointed to security—”
“Security?” Odo replied with gratitude. “You could…you would do that?”
“Of course!” Kira replied emphatically. “Who better to do the job than someone who already knows the station? Odo, it’ll be perfect!”
“Yes,” he replied with faint confidence, before his own particular brand of self-doubt crept back in. He determinedly overrode it. “Perfect.” For a moment, as he watched Kira tap away at her computer console, Odo actually believed it.