Chapter 7

Needless to say, his confidence in the likelihood of success wasn't the best as he approached her holding cell in the brig. Still, his determination had brought him this far. He wasn't about to back out now.

Hart saved him the task of starting the conversation. "So you wanted to talk to me," she said, glancing around the otherwise-empty brig. "One last plea for compassion, is that it?"

Bashir managed a smile. "Afraid so, Commander."

She sighed, then smiled back with an almost maternal air. "You know, somehow, I always knew you'd be the one to try to reason with me."

"I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose." Bashir paused a moment, took a breath. Now that the ice was broken, it was a bit easier to continue. At least, he thought wryly, it was better than trying to reason with Blake.

"Look, Doctor," Hart interrupted his thoughts, tiredly. "You knew this was practically a hopeless cause before you even came down here. I've already heard all the speeches and justifications for your mission - Starfleet Command hasn't been able to shut you up about Cardassia for months. You don't really think that rehashing the debate is going to change my mind, do you?"

"No, sir," he replied honestly. "I don't. As things stand, I'm thinking you've resigned yourself to facing the consequences."

"Well, glad to see you're being realistic," she said wryly. Walking across the small space of the cell, she sat down on the bunk and stretched out her legs. "Then what exactly do you want to talk about, Julian?"

He waited for a moment before replying, glancing down at the floor and then back up to meet her gaze. "I want to know why, Commander."

Hart glanced back up at him, puzzled. "Why I turned against the mission? You already know that - I said that I wouldn't stand by and allow...."

"I've already heard your speeches, Emily," Bashir interrupted. "Now I want you to tell me why."

The commander looked at him for a long time, as if sizing him up. Then she grinned at his boldness and shook her head. "Do you have a family back home, Doctor? A wife, children?"

"There is someone I care about," he admitted after a pause, "but no, I don't have a family the way you mean."

Hart nodded absently, gazing off into space. "Well, I do. Two sons and a daughter. Nineteen, eleven, three." She trailed off, and Bashir wasn't sure if she wanted a response. After a moment she returned her focus to him and smiled again. "Edward was studying for his entrance exams to the Academy, last time I heard from him. He wants to become a pilot."

"You must be very proud of him," was all the doctor could think to say.

She noted his slight discomfort with a laugh. "I know, my motherly gloating is probably getting on your nerves. No, don't pretend to be interested," she chided him before he could protest. "I know I have a tendency to ramble on about them to anyone who will listen, and I also know I can't do them justice. If you were a parent you'd understand."

Bashir grinned. "I suppose so."

She shook her head with a chuckle. "Either way, you have to know Edward to really appreciate him. He's so young, but even when he was a small child he was so serious, so determined to do the right thing. And to him, Starfleet was the epitome of honor, or at least his father was. He'd tag after Robert for hours, trying to imitate him." Raising an eyebrow, she added "You should ask Miles about it sometime. He'd often come over for visits, back when he and Robert worked together."

You know, I probably should. Bashir hadn't been in contact with Miles O'Brien for what felt like ages. There were many hours' worth of conversation they needed to catch up on. In response to Hart, he only nodded.

"Edward took it pretty hard when Robert was killed a year ago." Hart's expression changed, grew sad. "They were close, the two of them. Larson felt the loss, too, but not nearly as much as Edward did. And Anne...she was too young at the time to really understand what was happening. She barely had any memories of her father as it was, he was called away so often." By the time Hart met Bashir's gaze again, there was pain in her eyes. "She hardly remembers who he was, Julian. She'll grow up never really knowing how much he loved her."

Bashir sighed, lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged, smiling weakly. "It's not a very original story, is it? And you've probably heard it plenty of times already. Doesn't make it any less real. But then," she acknowledged gently, "you know that. Probably a lot better than I do, given your profession."

"Yes," he admitted. "I know."

Hart was silent for a long moment, her head leaned back against the bulkhead. When she spoke again, her voice was hard. "You say that prejudice toward the Cardassians isn't fair. Well, what they did to us - what they've stolen from me and my children - that isn't fair either. And it's damn hard to just forgive something like that." She sighed again and met his gaze squarely. "I'm sorry, Julian. Right now, I can't. There's not much you can do about it."

Well, you asked for the truth and she gave it to you. Happy now? Bashir felt tired and heavy. He rubbed his eyes wearily and dropped his gaze to the PADD in his hands. He understood where she was coming from - but he also understood where the Cardassians were coming from. No, this definitely wasn't a pleasant situation to be in, for any of them.

After a moment the silence became uncomfortable to both of them. Hart gazed at him, still standing on the other side of the force field, then shook her head resignedly. "So Starfleet's already sent me my marching orders," she noted, gesturing to the PADD he was holding.

He shrugged, activating the screen and paging through it. "Their patience was running thin before this whole thing started. Once they heard about the hijacking, they didn't waste any time."

"Typical," Hart snorted. "Now if only they'd be that prompt and efficient when we really need them to be."

"Starfleet isn't going to take this lightly," Bashir continued grimly. "A court martial is pretty much inevitable - most of you could be facing a good deal of time in prison on top of it." He took a steadying breath, then added, "Especially you."

Hart took the news calmly, even smiled at him. "Well, I'm getting exactly what I deserve, aren't I, Doctor?"

"I don't want this to happen," he retorted, tossing the PADD onto a nearby table. "The Federation is short on officers as it is - we can't afford the luxury of locking good people up. I've bent over backwards trying to convince Starfleet to make a compromise, and I still don't know if they'll agree to what I'm suggesting -- and without your cooperation, I can't even deliver on my end of it."

She stared at him in confusion for a second, then leaned back against the bulkhead and laughed. "That's what this is all about. Julian, you're incorrigible. So, I follow you to Cardassia, or you leave me at the mercy of the law. Very clever."

"And delivered with just the right touch of subtlety," Bashir said wryly. Then he shook his head, becoming more serious. "Listen to me, Commander. I know Starfleet's approval of aiding Cardassia was mainly a political decision. And I want Cheiron IV to get help as much as you do. If you agree to help us, Starfleet is considering waiving your penalty - at least for the time being - to be reconsidered later. We can have the relief effort on Cardassia on its feet within a few months, and we won't stay any longer than it takes to get them self-sufficient again. And in the meantime, I'll be trying my hardest to bring more attention to the Federation colonies near the border."

Hart glanced at him wryly. "What makes you think that Starfleet will agree to fork over more of its resources, just because you ask them to?"

Bashir grinned, a little sheepishly. "Well, people tell me I'm very persistent."

She actually laughed. Then she sobered and gazed at him levelly. "And if we don't agree?"

"Then I can't do anything to help you," he replied. "Everyone involved in the hijacking will be sent back to Starfleet Headquarters, court-martialed, and sentenced. The effort on Cardassia could take months longer than we'd hoped. And you'll be facing a minimum of five years in prison. Either way, I promise you that I'll do everything I can to get aid to the Federation colonies, but Starfleet will be much more reluctant to send out another relief team if they have to incarcerate so many people from the first mission." He met her eyes as earnestly as he could. "Your daughter will already have to grow up not knowing her father. I don't want her to lose her mother as well."

For a long time, Hart was silent as she took this in. Finally she stood up and paced across the cell, her expression somber. "All right, Julian. Suppose - and this is only hypothetical - that I agree to this. What about the rest of us? There is a good number of people on this ship that feel the same way I do. I can't guarantee they'll all switch sides just because you want them to. You honestly think that Ted Blake is going to just go along with this? I think he'd rather rot in prison for the rest of his life, rather than admit defeat to you, of all people." She gave him a placating look. "No offense."

"None taken," Bashir shrugged. "Well, I'll give the crew the same ultimatum I've laid out for you. For most of them, the decision won't be an agreeable one, but it won't be incredibly difficult either. And for those that are still adamant, especially Blake - well, that's why I came to you first."

Hart raised her eyebrows. "Really."

"You're one of the most respected people on this crew," the doctor said. "I've seen the way you interact with them. Blake and the others will listen to you."

The idea made her smile. Then she paused directly in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest. "So what you're telling me is that you can't pull this off without my help. Quite a gamble you're taking, putting all of this on my shoulders, Doctor."

Bashir swallowed, squared his shoulders. "You're right. It is. But a gamble worth taking, don't you think?"

Hart's expression was thoughtful as she gazed at him; then she started chuckling and turned to retake her seat on the bunk. "Ah, Doctor, I give you an 'A' for effort, but you said yourself when you first came in here, I'd already resolved myself to the consequences when I made my choice. Really, I do appreciate your attempts. In fact, I would have misjudged you completely if you hadn't tried." She sighed, settling herself as comfortably as she could on the thin mattress. "Well, I'm tired, and it's going to be a long trip. So if there isn't anything else...."

Julian let out a small sigh as she rejected his offer but kept his stance in check. She had taken time to listen to him; he had come close to making a connection. But not close enough. He pressed his lips together. He had a back-up strategy in mind - a testament, he supposed, to the fact that he didn't give up on worthy causes without giving it every effort. "Round two," he whispered.

"Did you say something, Doctor?" Hart leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head.

"I said I might have expected this of you." After the tension of the past few days - hell, of the past few months - it wasn't hard at all to let sarcasm edge his voice. "You're right, Commander. What legacy you chose to leave to the memory of your husband is your business." He turned as if ready to walk out of the room, mentally crossing his fingers.

The commander sat upright, anger flashing through her features. "Exactly what is that supposed to mean?"

Bashir glanced back over his shoulder, impassive. "Nothing you'd be worried about. You've only chosen to be branded a traitor...a mutineer. You'll be in prison. I don't know who'll raise your daughter while you're there -- I'm sure your little Anne will be well-cared for, by someone, you'll see to that. And then you'll have plenty of time to decide how you're going to tell her, when you eventually get out of prison and re-introduce yourself to her, why you did this."

Hart's eyes were narrowed dangerously; all sense of jocularity was gone from her voice as she got to her feet. "You're out of line here, Doctor...."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her, tilting his head thoughtfully. "And Edward - well, hopefully this won't keep him out of the Academy, although having a mutineer for a mother won't help, I'm sure. And things won't be too much easier for him even if he is accepted. But maybe not many people will know," he added soothingly. "Or maybe they'll be kind and feel sorry for him, and politely ignore the fact that he's the son of a traitor. That you turned against the ideals his father stood for and died for, and the very reason Edward is-

"Stop it!" Hart demanded loudly. She stepped centimeters away from the force field, and he knew that it was the only thing preventing her from striking out at him. "Leave my children out of this - I am not betraying Robert! I joined Starfleet because of him, because we held the same beliefs.... How dare you!"

"No," he snapped. Closing the gap between them, he met her fury with his own, eye to eye. "You said your husband stood for doing what's right, taught Edward to believe the same thing! So tell me, Commander, how does this follow Robert's beliefs? Teaching your children that mutiny, treason, hatred, is how you should deal with adversity? And if you don't like your superiors' orders because they don't fit your personal wishes, you disobey them? Is that what Starfleet stands for?"

"Starfleet stands for protecting its own!" she snarled back. "Those people in the colonies don't deserve to be ignored so we can get on Cardassia's good side! How many people do you think will suffer on Cheiron IV because of your little cause, Doctor?!"

"Far less than the number that would have been slaughtered there, had Robert and the rest of his shipmates decided to defy orders!" Bashir stared her down, grief and frustration heavy in his voice. "Those men and women gave their lives defending their oaths to Starfleet, to say nothing of their honor! And yet here you stand, declaring that your personal wishes are more important!"

Something in Emily seemed to shudder, fall in on itself. "You don't know what you're talking about," she rasped, turning her back on him. Bashir caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes before her face was hidden from sight.

He didn't relent. "Don't I? I may have never met your husband, but I know O'Brien, and I know the kind of person he would call a friend. And I don't think he or your husband would stand for this." He turned away to pace angrily across the room, then wheeled back to face her. "So? Am I wrong? Did Robert Hart die for nothing?"

A strangled sob interrupted him, and he stopped, his anger suddenly evaporating. He felt exhausted. Hart still had her back to him - he couldn't see her face. The next time Bashir spoke, his voice was quiet, pleading. "Am I wrong?"

Nothing. Julian waited a few minutes, watching her for some reaction, some sign that he was getting through, making her think of more than her anger. He didn't want to give up, but he was out of options; it was up to her now. She was right - if he couldn't convince her to join him, or at least make an effort to set things right - he didn't stand a chance convincing any of the others. The seconds dragged by in silence. Finally, defeated, he turned to leave - only to hear his name being spoken barely above a whisper.

"Julian."

He turned back. Hart was facing him, her head lifted in firm resolve; but her face was wet with tears. "Tell the crew that I will be staying on Cardassia indefinitely," she said calmly, flatly. "But I'm not doing this for you." Then she walked wearily to her bunk and lay down, turning her face to the wall.

Bashir gazed at her for a long moment, too stunned for the moment to really feel anything. "Thank you, Commander."

"Go to hell."

He chose to ignore that, and managed to walk out of the holding area before letting himself lean heavily against the wall. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed deeply. It was a hard victory. One alliance was made, though he knew it would be far from an easy one. At least, his rational mind told him, things are starting to look up.

Relatively speaking, his cynicism muttered back.

*****

Jake's cameras, sitting in the middle of his bunk, were looking decidedly more worn than they had at the beginning of the day.

The stacks of PADDs and data rods that he'd used were gone. Security had collected all of his recordings from the hijacking. They were being kept as evidence - photographs, data streams, and interviews with five of the eleven officers that had hijacked the ship. Alone in his cramped quarters, Jake felt a little sad as he began repacking the rest of his equipment. Judging from the conversations he'd had with them, they were good people, for the most part, doing something they thought they had to do to help other people, people they cared about and had sworn to protect with their Starfleet oath. But they'd gone about it the wrong way.

A discreet chime came from the door.

"Enter," he called, wondering if Security needed something else.

It was Bashir. "Hello, Jake."

"Oh, hi, Dr. Bashir!" Jake suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He hadn't really been able to talk to the doctor since the hijacking. He could tell Bashir was exhausted, more emotionally than physically -- it showed deep in his eyes. "How'd it go with Commander Hart?"

"Better than I really expected. She's agreed to go along with the mission." His thin smile was bleak. "And she wants me to go to hell."

Jake had the suspicion that Bashir had already been there. "And the rest?"

"They go along with her. In all respects."

Jake stared down at his camera for a moment. "Will you be able to work with them on Cardassia?"

"I'll have to," the other man replied wearily. After a moment, Bashir asked, "How are you doing, Jake? Are you still willing to go and work with me on Cardassia?"

"Yeah, of course I am!" He paused, wondering if the doctor needed to hear it again. "You know I just pretended to join them, because I thought it was the only way I could help."

"I know that. Without your help, we'd still be prisoners." Bashir slowly paced the small room. "I just mean...you've seen how some people perceive this mission. You've learned that things haven't been cleaned up at home yet. This won't be easy, and there might be times you wish you were somewhere else, maybe helping Federation civilians, maybe...just somewhere else."

The doctor studied him intently. "When I told the others that Emily had agreed to follow through with this mission, Blake spat something at me - that I'd really brainwashed you and her as well as Starfleet, to get this mission going and convince people like you and Emily Hart to be part of it." Bashir's gaze dropped to the floor. "Or else that you were the best liar he'd ever met, and I deserved to have a treacherous...well, someone like you at my back. I..." The doctor sighed heavily before continuing. "They won't be easy for you to work with, either. Me, they hate on principle. You, they see as a traitor who betrayed them and the people they thought they would be helping."

Jake realized he hadn't really thought that far. He'd done what he needed to do, not really considering that he might still have to work with some of these people - he'd just assumed, somewhere inside, that if the mutiny was beaten, the hijackers would no longer be with them. He understood Bashir's reasons for needing them, but.... Suddenly the thought of Blake's anger seemed more frightening than it had at any time during the hijacking.

"So I wanted to give you a chance to think about that, and maybe reconsider," Bashir finished seriously.

Jake's stomach tied itself in knots. "I can handle it, Dr. Bashir."

For a second Bashir didn't answer, just kept looking at him steadily, maybe trying to read the emotions behind his words.

Did the doctor think he was afraid of going on with the mission? Was that what this was about? The stomach knots tightened in a flood of memories Jake wasn't proud of. All the specters of Ajilon Prime - his bravado going in, his assurances to Bashir that he could handle anything, and then.... He hadn't realized just how much that sense of...guilt still haunted him. Had his actions over those few days cost him the doctor's trust forever? Left lingering doubts? Was that why Bashir was uncertain of him? Maybe he should never have let Bashir read his confession of cowardice.

Words spilled out with Jake's scalding memories. "I know I screwed up on Ajilon Prime, running like that...I panicked, I thought you were dead...I was-"

Bashir held up a hand, taken aback. "Ajilon Prime? Is that-? I didn't mean that at all, I wasn't-" He stopped himself, considered his next words carefully before continuing. "You saved us there, Jake. You probably saved my life as well as hundreds of Federation civilians when we had to abandon the caverns. I can't hold it against you that an instinct for survival took over a very young man for those few moments." His voice turned gentler, understanding. "You learned a lot about yourself and about human nature. You had the courage to look inside and think about what you did and why. And I've seen what you've done with what you've learned, who you've become. You're not a coward, never think that."

He sat down on the edge of the bunk, the only surface in the room that wasn't currently covered with gear. "This time, you saved me again, and that'll probably save thousands of Cardassian civilians. Because of you. Because of your choice, and what you did. Your quick thinking, your courage, your willingness to take a risk." He paused again. "You've become somebody I can rely on. I trust you, Jake."

"So why did you ask if I still wanted to go with you?" Jake persisted.

"Because it's not going to be easy."

"You've already said that. I've known that from the beginning."

"And now you've made enemies," Bashir cautioned again.

"Your enemies, too. Which just means you're gonna need me there more than ever."

Bashir nodded. "I just wanted you to be sure. Because if you weren't sure, especially after the last day, I wanted to give you a chance to say so. With no blame, no repercussions - and no self-doubts. You don't have to go to Cardassia."

Jake stared at him for a long moment. "Yes, I do. I knew that back on Bajor. I knew. I have to go."

"All right." The doctor stood up, not pressing it any further. "I've got to get back to Sickbay. I know Ptacek and Aya can handle it, but I should double check the inventory to make sure Hart and Blake didn't already divert anything."

"Okay. See you at dinner. And...thanks, Dr. Bashir."

The doctor glanced back, half smiling. "Call me Julian. My friends do." Then he left.

Call me Julian. My friends do. For a second, Jake was silent, standing stock-still, blinking. He felt as though he'd crossed a threshold. A sudden weight of maturity lay across his shoulders like a strong arm.

Like his father's arm. Not like all the times growing up when Ben Sisko had been his comfort and his guide through life, but in the way his father had acknowledged and respected his decision to be a writer, to make his own decisions about his future. It had been the comradery and acceptance of a friend, an equal.

Jake felt years older as he continued repacking the rest of his video gear.

end of episode 3