Chapter 6

The darkened corridor made the walk to the Promenade even less enjoyable, Nog noted glumly. The lights in this corridor had shut off, giving way to the dull orange glow of back-up lamps. Yet another glitch. He knew the crew should have fixed all the lights in the Habitat Ring, he had signed an order himself. But knowing Jensen and Pryen, he could only imagine where that order had gotten to on their list of priorities. Well, he thought, maybe they're just not ready to fix the lights in this hall yet.

He was going up to see his uncle. His latest attempts to call his father had been futile, and he was hoping Quark had had better luck. Even after more than eight years on the station, he still loved Ferenginar, and hearing about his birthplace gave him a warm feeling. He especially needed it now. And he needed to hear from his father. After a night of tossing and turning, he was hoping it would be a comfort.

He rounded the corner. Someone was waiting by the turbolift, and Nog instinctively unrumpled his uniform, straightened his back, and gulped.

Lt. Commander Alden. The first officer stood lazily, whistling a tune Nog couldn’t identify, his hands hanging loosely behind his back. He seemed particularly pleasant for it being so early in the day. Nog nervously stepped toward Alden, hoping that he wouldn't set him off. In all honesty, Alden intimidated him. The human's mood swung from meek to violent so easily.

Without warning, Alden gave the bulkhead a mildly frustrated kick. “Damn it, why does it take this turbolift so long?” he griped. “Lieutenant, why aren’t you fixing these things?”

If Nog could have paled, he would have. “W-well, sir, uh... I’m not on duty.”

Alden turned his head and looked at him blankly. “What the devil sort of excuse is that?”

Nog gulped again. “Well, s-sir...I’m not assigned to work on the turbolifts right now.”

Alden raised his finger accusingly, then dropped it. “Whatever,” he muttered. As he spoke, the turbolift car made its lethargic way to their deck, and the doors creaked open. "Finally!" the commander said, and strode inside.

Nog hesitated, considered waiting for the next one. Alden stared at him for a second, then rolled his eyes and waved him in. "I don't bite, Lieutenant. Come on."

"Y-yes, sir." Nog stepped into the turbolift as the door shut. “Promenade,” he mumbled.

“Ditto,” Alden said absent-mindedly.

The computer chirped. “Ditto is not a valid location.”

Alden blinked, then sighed. Part of Nog had to smile at the computer’s response. Not even the computer spared him criticism.

“I can’t yell at a computer, unfortunately,” the commander said wryly, as if in response to Nog's thoughts. “Well, I could, but then I’d look crazy.”

Too late.

“Promenade, Computer -- no, wait, what’s the time?” Alden muttered.

“The time is oh-eight-hundred-hours.”

Alden sighed. “Ops, then.”

After a tiny tremor, a recent side effect of technical problems, the lights came on and the turbolift ascended toward the Promenade. The sluggish journey began in silence.

“Looks like Vic will have to wait until I’m on break,” Alden noted. Then he gave Nog an idly interested look. “Ever been to Vic’s Lounge, Lieutenant?”

Nog cleared his throat. "Um... yes. Sir."

Alden frowned slightly as that attempt of conversation ground to a halt. “Tell me again why you aren't on duty?"

Nog wasn’t certain of how to answer. How much could he divulge to his first officer? What would Alden do? “The colonel allowed me a day off,” he finally answered.

“Well I figured that. I certainly didn’t sign the order,” Alden shot back, looking irritated. Nog cringed, and the commander sighed. “I’m sorry. Things are just.... I’m sorry."

“Well... you’re not the only one things are 'just...' for,” Nog stumbled. Alden gazed at him, and the Ferengi braced himself for another fiery look. But Nog was shocked to see something else in Alden’s eyes... was that understanding?

“What is it?” the older man asked.

Nog sighed, frustration compelling him to talk, even if it was to someone like Alden. “I just... I feel like I’m failing everyone. I don’t mean to, but... maybe I’m just complaining too much... maybe everyone is right.” Nog sighed. “Maybe I’m fooling myself. I just....”

“You're doing the best you can,” Alden said softly. “But you feel as though people aren’t giving you the proper credit.”

“It’s not that I want credit. I just want....”

Alden finished the statement. “A break. And no one seems willing to give you one." And he seemed to smirk.

Nog nodded, a little taken aback. That was the last thing he'd expected from the commander, given his track record. He'd just never thought of Alden as capable of commiserating with anyone, much less his own situation.

There was a profound silence for a few seconds as the turbolift rode slowly up, until Alden quite suddenly began talking. His head was tipped to one side, his eyes distant and meditative. “In my younger days I served as an apprentice to a legislator for the Boagwaren Assembly," he said. "I worked as a close member of his staff, and a page in the assembly. It was a very prestigious apprenticeship, especially for one of my social class. Most had to work their way through the apprenticeship to get so high."

Nog waited for him to continue, intrigued. He'd never heard this about the commander. Alden half-smiled, caught up in the memory. "Needless to say the other members of the legislator’s staff were much older than me, and some from higher social classes. I was in the higher position, though, and I strove to do the best I could. But I always had to double my efforts because the other staff members were all against me being in such a close position to the legislator. It didn’t matter that I had worked hard to earn that spot. They all set out to personally sabotage my relationship with him. I had no one to support or stick up for me, not even the legislator, who was turning a blind eye to the whole affair."

"Sounds familiar," Nog muttered. Alden snorted in agreement, then continued.

“Anyway. One day, there was a crisis. A controversial bill or something was being debated a few days before the legislative session was to close, and the debate was so heated that someone started a filibuster. Threatened to shut down the entire assembly. Without the assembly, more important legislation would be dead, never getting the chance to pass or fail, including an important institute bill proposed by the legislator I worked for. There was little time to lose, so I quickly organized a lobbying campaign, and we managed to rally enough legislators and passed cloture."

"Really."

"The politics may not sound like a big deal," Alden admitted with a chuckle, "but trust me, at that time, for a legislator, it was. Point is, my quick thinking and resourcefulness saved time, and many of the staff members apologized for their treatment of me. Not all of them, but enough that I had people to stick up for me. I had earned my position in their eyes. The legislator was proud of me as well. And when he thanked me for my hard work, I asked him why he had never helped me with the other staff members. The legislator said, ‘If I had, they would have only hated you more for it.’”

Alden smiled as the story closed, and Nog blinked as the lift made it to the Promenade, a little impressed. The door opened, and Alden started out with Nog, but remembered and backed up. “I forgot I'm going to Ops," he grumbled. Then his tone changed, and he held the door for a second. "Just think about what I said, Lieutenant. Prove who you are by your actions. You know what you're capable of. They'll come around, eventually."

It felt like sound advice, Nog admitted. Now, the question was how. "Yes, sir... thank you."

Alden shrugged. "Just glad I could...." And without explanation, he trailed off, his gaze falling to one side, startled, confused. Afraid? Nog watched him oddly. "Are you all right, sir?"

The commander blinked, and the look disappeared. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Uh, nothing. Good day, Commander."

As Nog exited, he caught a glimpse of blue, then Kira appeared through the crowd. He still hadn’t adjusted to her new blue-gray uniform. "Nog, can you grab the turbolift for me?" she called.

Nog smiled and halted the turbolift as Kira caught up to him. "Having a good morning, Colonel?" Nog asked, mustering a cheerful smile.

Kira smiled gently, looking rested and peaceful. "It hasn't been too bad. I just came from the temple. How are you doing?" she returned.

Nog thought about their conversation yesterday, and what Commander Alden had said. If they thought he could do it, he didn't want to disappoint them. "I'm a bit better. I still can't get my father on Ferenginar, Colonel. It's been three days."

Kira's expression became full of worry. "I'll have Ensign Kuhlman on it today. We'll figure out what's going on."

"Thank you, Colonel."

The Colonel nodded. "I have to get to Ops. Enjoy your day off, that's an order." The Colonel smiled and made for the turbolift. As the door opened, Nog could see her eyes meet with Alden, and the two seemed to freeze. Nog knew their working relationship had been tense the past few days. He hoped things got better between them. Kira entered the turbolift, and the door closed.

The Promenade was comfortably busy for this time of day. People were loitering at shop fronts, sitting at tables in the Replimat, debating various topics over replicated dishes that some would call lunch, but others would call -- well, certainly not lunch. A small group of people were leaving the Bajoran temple, looking peaceful and enlightened.

Lieutenant Nog had often wondered what went on in there to make people so relaxed. Many a time he’d sat on the upper level of the Promenade with Jake, legs dangling over the edge, watching the Bajorans emerge from the Temple, talking about what went on in there. In the early days they’d dared each other to go in and find out, but neither of them had ever taken up the challenge. As Nog watched the worshippers depart, he had to wish he had a similar refuge that would make him feel, at least temporarily, that all was right with the world.

He shook off his thoughts and headed across the concourse toward Quark's Bar. He'd just made it to the wide, garishly-lit entrance when, with absolutely no warning, all the lights on the Promenade flared with an ominous snap and went out.

Nog slapped at the badge on his chest, feeling his heart thundering in panic. Not even the emergency lights were on, which meant the secondary generators had gone down too, which meant something was very, very bad. “Nog to Kalcheb!”

Either comms were down too, or Kalcheb had decided not to answer. “Nog to any engineering personnel, please respond!”

Silence. At least, silence from the engineers -- startled voices and shouts of alarm surrounded him on the Promenade. He turned away from Quark's and started in the direction of Ops, jostled on all sides by the crowd. If the back-up lights wouldn't work, the turbolifts certainly wouldn't. There was a ladder access close by.

As the voices around him grew louder, he heard someone whisper to a companion, “Are we under some kind of attack?”

That was something Nog hadn’t thought about until now. But it was enough of an incentive to make him break into a run to the access hatch.

***

Ezri Dax was tired. Not quite exhausted, not drowsy enough to sleep -- it was more subtle than that. Slouched on the sofa in her softly-lit quarters, flipping a data rod over and over in her fingers, she simply felt like she'd been thinking too hard, too long. Even after a night's sleep, her brain felt sluggish, chasing itself in circles.

I hope Endar appreciates what he's putting me through.

That thought came across as too curt, and she pushed it aside. She wasn't unsympathetic to his plight, by any means. Chasing memories, trying to understand a past that seemed detached from real life -- Ezri and almost every other host in her memory had to deal with that at one point in their lives, one way or the other. Fortunately for her, only once had that period of adjustment ever included hallucinations, repressed memories.

She frowned slightly, tugging the collar of her uniform open and leaning her head back on the cushions. That time in Jadzia's life had been the most frightening she'd ever experienced. She'd never felt more vulnerable, more in fear of her identity than at that moment. Remembering that, she knew she could hardly think Endar unreasonable for putting up barriers or flashing out in anger or frustration when she tried to question him about it. Faced with that all over again, she wasn't sure she wouldn't do the same.

But connecting to him! Ezri groaned, rubbing her eyes. Yes, she'd already been through this agitated cycle of frustration, and it didn't do her any good to torture herself over it, but at the moment it didn't seem like she had a choice. Her patients had never been so hard to merge with, emotionally. She felt a connection to him, but where she had always expected some facet of her personality to link to that of her patient's, to see through their eyes if only for a moment, she was finding herself against a wall. Endar Alden was becoming a mystery to her.

"He's not cold," she remarked to the empty room. "There's emotion there, compassion, and he hasn't pushed me completely away. He just...." And she faltered to silence, her emotions growing beyond her ability to put them into words. There was something there that she couldn't figure out, something in Alden's intense personality that either held her at a distance or snatched her into a world of random images that confused him as much as they confused her.

"Something's out of place," she murmured. "I look into his eyes, and... it doesn't make sense."

A few moments of silence ticked by. No explanation surfaced -- not that she'd been expecting one.

"Ugh," Dax groaned again, and tossed the data rod to the small table in front of the sofa. It bounced on the smooth surface with a clatter, then spun to a stop. She didn't want to think about it anymore. She felt like she needed to regroup before she faced the issue again. And she would face it, she told herself firmly. For all his complications, Alden was fascinating, almost kindred in a way, and a challenge worth taking. To give up on him would feel like giving up on herself.

Right now, though, she just wanted to empty her mind for a while.

"Computer," she commanded suddenly. "Music. T'saln's Cicadian Suite No. 9." What had prompted that particular selection, she wasn't sure and didn't particularly care. Curling herself more securely into the soft pillows, she settled her shoulders back and folded her arms across her waist, breathing deeply. She wasn't on duty for another ninety minutes. She could at least relax a little before getting back to work.

The first liquid notes of music spilled into the room, gentle, questioning, filling the air. Ezri closed her eyes and let herself drift as the simple harmony deepened. The music haunted her but didn't feel threatening. It was like voices from years past resurfacing, playing back at random, bringing with them colors, sensations of moments she'd lived, places she'd seen. The graceful melody curled back on itself, repeated with greater complexity, surrounding Ezri with its strange intimacy, inviting daydreams. The effect was soothing; she stretched a bit, sighed.

She thought of Julian. The memory of him was a pleasant one, bringing back two lifetimes' worth of affection. That first night they'd spent together, for all its impulsiveness, had always felt like a refuge to her. Lying in his arms, drifting near sleep, all the complications of the universe had been pushed back to a safe distance. Even the war had faded to the horizon for a few hours. She smiled slightly, holding on to that moment, his heartbeat steady beneath her fingers, his hand drowsily stroking her hair. She missed him.

"I wish you'd stop being afraid of me." His voice, out of nowhere, was sorrowful. He almost sounded disappointed in her.

What...? Ezri held her breath; T'saln faded into the background, the notes sounding oddly off-key. It hadn't happened this way -- this wasn't her memory.

In her mind, Julian sighed, pulled away from her. "What are we doing? This won't work."

Uncertain, a little frightened, Ezri shook her head and opened her mouth to reply -- and the music abruptly shut off.

As quickly as that, it was over; she opened her eyes. She was hunched on the couch, her hands clenched together, and she was staring up at the ceiling. Or rather, where she assumed the ceiling was, because she couldn't see it. The room was pitch black.

She held still for a moment, listening. Somewhere far, far down in the very belly of the station, she sensed a faint, subsonic tremor whisper through the deckplates, then die out. "Computer. Lights."

There was no response. She pushed herself to a sitting position. Starlight filled the room from the wide viewports, a thin, silvery illumination only strong enough to outline dark shapes against darker shadows. Ezri tapped her comm badge. "Dax to Ops."

Nothing.

I really need to stop daydreaming about Julian in my free time, she inwardly muttered. Every time I do, something seems to break. Carefully, she got to her feet and began to make her way across the black living room to her front door. She didn't have a palm beacon or anything readily accessible to light her way. After a moment, she stopped trying to locate the door with her eyes and instead followed the muffled sound of startled voices audible out in the corridor. Fumbling across the bulkhead, she finally found the dead keypad, felt her way down to the emergency release, and pulled down on the lever.

The door popped open a handful of centimeters, revealing a darker strip of the outer corridor. Ezri curled her fingers around the edge of the door and pulled. And the panels slid back enough for her to squeeze her body through. She could hear people down the hallway on each side, emerging blindly from their quarters, asking worried questions.

Footsteps behind her. "Hello?"

Whoever it was stopped in his tracks, held still. "Hello? Where are you?"

"Right in front of you," Dax replied steadily. "Stay there, I'll come to you." She carefully edged forward to where the man's voice had come from, reaching out until her fingers brushed against fabric. She caught hold of it and it ended up being his arm. A warm hand caught her wrist in response.

"Counselor Ezri Dax," she said wryly. "And you are...?"

"Ensign Peter Stevenson," came the reply. "Nice running into you, Counselor."

She rolled her eyes slightly at the pun, but in the darkness the effort was wasted. "Can you tell me what happened, Ensign?"

"Not any more than you already know," Stevenson said. "The power shut off."

Ezri glanced up. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark. She could see tiny pinpricks of light running along the grating of the ceiling, the last flickers of energy along the edges of emergency lights that should have been activated by now. By that tiny bit of light, she could just make out the gold-yellow collar of her companion. "Engineering or Security?"

"Uh... Security," he replied, puzzled. "How did you know?"

"I'm a Trill," she explained matter-of-factly. "My night vision is better than yours. Are you headed to the Promenade?"

"Yes, sir. I tried hailing Constable Emyn, but...." Ezri felt Stevenson shrug. "I'd suggest you get back into your quarters, Counselor. Help will be on its way soon."

"Ohhhhh, no," Dax said firmly. No more almost-dreams sneaking up on her, not right now. That was the last thing she needed. "I don't like sitting in the dark waiting for something to happen. I'm coming with you."

The security officer started to protest, but she was already tugging him down the corridor.

***

Pryen Bennu held up his healed hand for closer inspection, relaxing a little as he saw that it was still in good condition. The way it had looked after the accident had unsettled him, making it difficult for him to forget; indeed, he’d dreamt about the burnt and blistered skin last night. It wasn’t just squeamishness or vanity on his part. He knew fully well that he wouldn’t have been able to function as an engineer if the explosion had caused permanent damage, if he hadn’t been treated in time.

He took a breath, loosening up as he waited for the turbolift to arrive. There was nothing to worry about now: both the injuries to his hand and face had been treated by the medics in the Infirmary, and he had been cleared to go back to work. Maybe there would even be enough time to have a look at that console again.

Bennu turned to where Paul Jensen stood beside him, arms crossed across his chest. His back was slightly turned to the Bajoran, but it was still possible to read the expression on the visible portion of his face -- he was seemingly in deep thought. As if sensing Bennu’s eyes upon him, Jensen turned and gave him a small smile.

“How’s the hand?” he inquired.

“It’s okay. Pretty much back to normal, thank the Prophets.”

Jensen met his eyes, a slight flush apparent in his cheeks. “Look, when we were going down to the Infirmary.… I’m sorry about telling you to be quiet; that was wrong of me. You were in shock.”

Bennu looked down at his hand again. “It was just an accident.”

“One that shouldn’t have happened. One that wouldn’t have happened if there had been an experienced officer in charge.” The human’s brown eyes blazed angrily again, as if a fire as bright as his hair burned behind them. The lift arrived, and they stepped into the car. “I’ll tell you this, Bennu: I don’t think this will be the last accident while we’re under Nog’s command. He just doesn’t have the experience required for the job. He’s only been a lieutenant for a couple of months! How are we supposed to run a safe and efficient operation when our commanding officer barely knows the systems he’s supposed to look after?”

Bennu nodded again. Although he was still unsure of how much blame Nog should take for his accident, he was unable to disagree with Jensen’s assessment of the new chief of operations. “Since when has a Ferengi been concerned with safety?” he muttered, more to himself than Jensen. “Give a Ferengi a choice between a cheap but shoddy piece of equipment, and an expensive but safe one, and they’ll go for the one that costs the least latinum every time.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to make everyone realize,” Jensen responded in satisfaction, folding his arms again as the turbolift jerked into motion. “They have no respect for the safety of their crew, or anyone else for that matter.”

Bennu felt his throat tighten, the old emotions slipping back and settling around him like a favorite coat. “No, they don’t.” He was aware that he’d attracted Jensen’s attention, but he continued to stare at the metal plating of the turbolift floor, hugging his hand to him.

“Bennu?” The human accent invaded his thoughts, and he took a deep breath.

“I grew up on Valo -- a small planet situated on the Bajor-Ferenginar trade route. The Ferengi ships used to travel to Bajor to trade with the Cardassian forces there, and for the return journey, they would take refugees who could afford the passenger fees to Valo. That’s what my family did, and we ‘escaped’.” A bitter smile forced its way onto his lips. “When we arrived, we found that it was just one big refugee camp. Conditions weren’t any different to what they were on Bajor, except there were no Cardassians.”

“So the Ferengi just abandoned you there?” Jensen’s voice was low.

“No, they knew a good business opportunity when they saw it. They'd trade with us for supplies, but they never gave us enough. That way we were continuously dependent on them." Bennu looked up for a moment, gathering himself. "Over the years, the supplies dwindled more and more. We never had enough, plus there were always more refugees arriving. It got to the point when we realized that there was a potential famine on the horizon. My father was a good man, an intelligent man, and he could see the way that the situation was going. He decided that we had to pool our resources and buy what we needed from the Ferengi. So everyone in the camps gave whatever money they had left, money that they’d sworn never to spend unless it was an emergency, to contribute to the well being of every Bajoran there. And my father made a deal with the next Ferengi trader who visited us: our money for the food and medicinal supplies we needed.”

“So what happened?”

“The trader took the money and used it to buy the supplies we needed. But before he left Ferenginar, he heard about another colony on the trade route that was desperate for supplies, one closer to Ferenginar. He stopped there on the way to Valo, opened negotiations, and realized that they were willing to bid a larger amount of latinum than we could ever afford. So he sold them the supplies, took the money, and never returned to Valo again.” Bennu looked directly at Jensen. “As a result, hundreds of people in the Valo camps died of starvation or disease. Including a number of my family.”

Jensen’s voice dripped with disgust. “And now we’ve got a Ferengi in Starfleet. In charge of an engineering team.”

Bennu’s throat still felt tight. “With all our lives in his hands. With the lives of every person on this station in his--”

He didn't get an opportunity to finish. The turbolift suddenly jerked, shuddering to a halt as a panel blew off the wall, narrowly missing Jensen and sending plumes of gas in through the broken vent. Bennu looked up from where he'd fallen, eyes widening as he realized that the turbolift was no longer moving. His gaze locked with Jensen's for a millisecond before he slapped his comm badge.

“Pryen Bennu to Pryen Maki!”

“Maki here.” How calm she sounded. His beautiful wife.

“Something’s happened to the turbolift, there’s been some kind of rupture--” Bennu hesitated at the sudden crackle that emerged from the badge, but urgency forced him to continue. “We’re not moving. We need a team down here now! Did you get that, Maki?”

No sound came from the comm badge. Not even static.

“Maki! Come in, Maki!”

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