Path: inforamp.net!news.nstn.ca!news.dal.ca!torn!howland.reston.ans.net!news-e2a.gnn.com!newstf01.news.aol.com!newsbf02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: msteenberg@aol.com (MSteenberg) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW: "Week One" [DS9/Kira] pt1/1. Date: 27 Feb 1996 12:28:13 -0500 Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) Lines: 416 Sender: root@newsbf02.news.aol.com Message-ID: <4gvevd$rn2@newsbf02.news.aol.com> Reply-To: msteenberg@aol.com (MSteenberg) NNTP-Posting-Host: newsbf02.mail.aol.com Status: N I did not invent Startrek, but do enjoy playing with it. Startrek itself is copyrighted to Paramount Pictures, which means that everything and everyone in this story belongs to them. What they say and do, however, came out of my head and is copyrighted to me. If you have any comments or critique, I'd love it if you'd let me know at MSteenberg@aol.com. This, by the way, is the disclaimer. "Week One" c1996, MSteenberg [HISTORIAN'S NOTE: This collection of personal log entries by Major Kira Nerys takes place during the first week of her service aboard DS9, beginning on stardate 46379.1; the date of DS9's first episode: "Emissary." Some little details will probably make much more sense if you've seen the episode, so if you can get your hands on it before continuing, all the better. For those of you who haven't seen the pilot and can't find it, Kira has just been posted to DS9 as the Bajoran liaison to the station by the Provisional Government. She resents the Federation's presence in Bajoran space, the whole of the Federation officers, and having to work on the station with them. The following is my attempt at writing down what she might have been feeling during her first days in service there.] ***** Computer, personal log, Kira Nerys, stardate 46379.1. Begin recording. I cannot not stay here. This is wrong; the station, the peace, the government. I have fought too long against oppression and foreign power to sit here and play the nice Bajoran to the Federation and their promises of help and protection. It was not my choice to come, and Prophets know it was not with my best wishes that we even got involved with the Federation, but after a day here I know it will not work. I am requesting transfer back to Bajor tomorrow afternoon. This can never last, it was a foolish dream to begin with. We need to keep Bajor pure, not succumb to another galactic superpower even if it goes around spreading good will. The Federation is not evil, that much is clear, but its goals and ours--as Bajorans--don't mix. They are a collective; they take planets and cultures under their wing and combine them into their foundation. But we need to be free, to have our own wings, not borrow them from someone else. And the egos are tremendous. The commander here at Deep Space Nine is a man named Benjamin Sisko. He's young and well built, but hardly what I would call command material. He's done nothing but strut around quoting Federation mandates and Prime Directive citations since we met, and I am tired of it already. And him. "The Federation is here to help you," he says, high and mighty and ready to stick his nose into Bajoran affairs. There is something about him, though, that won't let me hate him as much as my instincts tell me I should. Something about his demeanor, his voice. Maybe his eyes. He is calm, sure of himself, and strives on confrontation. I almost respected him when we were moving the station... something in his orders as he made the choice and carried it out. The Emissary in action. There might have been something of the Prophets in him then. So now we're here, hours away and a system aside from our location this morning, guarding the mouth of the wormhole. I will not be a party to this. Tomorrow I am gone. Computer, end log. ***** Personal log, stardate 46379.2. Begin recording. The Prophets say that anger burns in us all, and it is in harnessing that fire that we become great. They also say that first appearances often reveal less of their subject than a stayed glance. Yesterday, my fire burned strong, and it continues today. But appearances do change. I met Odo today, our security chief. I had spoken with him briefly yesterday, but the events of the day kept them only that, words. Today I had an appointment to have my various security clearances assigned and approved. The meeting was in his office; a small antechamber off the promenade. Odo is a shapeshifter, from what I've heard, and not what you'd call the galaxy's most amiable fellow. His face is plain and featureless, and during the entire course of our conversation I don't think he looked away from me more than twice. His eyes probe, searching for whatever they might find. I know he will serve well here among the Federation, but I got the distinct impression from my visit that he disapproves of my ways. I do not fit his image of the model officer. All the better... I won't be here for long. Dax was another story entirely. I had never met one of her race before--the Trill--and she is truly different. Hundreds of years old, and she has the appearance of someone my age. Best of all, she is truly friendly; the first Federation officer I've met who hasn't bitten at my nerves. There is something calming about Dax. We talked over a synthale from Quark's... there's another character I'll be happy not to endure for long. I am the first officer of Deep Space Nine. I have to admit that there's a ring to it. I've had many dreams since I was a child... who'd have thought I'd end up here, now. Shakaar fighters aren't usually promoted to these levels. Maybe a little pride won't hurt me. Tomorrow I have a medical appointment with Dr. Bashir. It will be my last day on the station. I don't have the time to file my transferal papers today, but tomorrow I will make the time. End log. ***** Stardate 46379.3, begin log. I've decided to give this place a few more days before resigning; there is some humor to be found here. My medical appointment was nothing if not humorous. Julian Bashir is an overgrown child. His personnel record puts him at 27 years old, but I would have easily guessed 15 or 16. I wasn't sure whether the purpose of my 'mandatory physical' was to determine my medical fitness or to scope me out for a dinner date. The man is encouragable in the extreme. "Hello, Major Kira," he started out, a grin covering his boyish face from ear to ear. He motioned me over to a nearby examination table and told me to take my seat. I, of course, was expecting a medical examination somewhat like those I am used to on Bajor; a few scans, a few questions, and a quick dismissal. Bashir's methods are... different. "So, Major," he went on as I seated myself, "do you have any existing medical conditions I should know about?" A standard enough question. "None," I answered. "Well then, I suppose we'll just have to search some out. I wouldn't want you to be in such good health that I'd never get to see you down here." He began to run the tricorder over my body. That was a pass... an unquestionable pass. But for some reason I ignored it and kept on smiling. "So what brings you to Deep Space Nine?" he asked, his readouts evidently not interesting enough to take his mind off me. "I was assigned here," I answered. "I take it from the tone in your voice, then, that it was not your choice to be here..." "You could say that," I said. "I won't be staying for long. I'm requesting a transfer back to Bajor this afternoon." "Oh, Major, you can't do that. Why would you want to leave us so soon?" "Because I do not belong here. I am not Starfleet, and I don't like the fact that you're even here, interfering. I was assigned to this post and accepted out of military duty. But I've been here two days now, and it is obvious to me that I will not be of adequate service to Bajor while I'm on this station. Someone else will do a much better job." Dr. Bashir glanced over his tricorder readout one last time, folded it closed, and set it down on a medical shelf. Grabbing what I think was an epidermal probe, he turned to me and rolled my left sleeve up to my elbow. "Oh come now, Major," he said, "don't you think you're being a little quick to judge?" "I'm not judging anyone but myself, which I have every right to do." "Well I for one think you're making an unfounded and biased opinion," he continued, setting down the probe and returning my sleeve to normal. "You haven't had the chance to see half the station, or meet half the crew yet." Screw him. Who was a doctor to tell me how to form my opinions. I clenched my jaw and tried to look annoyed, but he wouldn't give in. "How about dinner?" he asked. "What?" "Dinner, you and me. I don't have time tonight--more examinations to get through--but if you'll stick around just until tomorrow evening, I know a great little restaurant on the promenade, and it would be my pleasure to buy you dinner. And in addition, it would give you the chance to see a little more of the station you're so eager to leave." Was he making a pass at me? Asking me on a date? "I don't intimidate you, do I?" he asked. That was too much. I am not easily intimidated, *especially* by a two-year-old doctor. "Of course not!" I snapped, "and I don't like yo--" "Wonderful, then," he interrupted, "I'll take that as a yes. You're in excellent health, Major, and dismissed. I'll see you tomorrow night at 2100 hours." He laid down his PADD and scuttled out of the room, grinning all the way. I had no chance to refute, to argue. One thing I'll say for Mr. Bashir: he's persistent already, and we haven't even been out yet. I have to sleep. Odo wants me to come to his office first thing tomorrow morning to go through the crew roster, running background checks and security reports on anyone and everyone posted to the station. I'm sure it will be adequately dull, but I need to rest. Computer, close my log. ***** Personal log, stardate 46379.4. Begin recording. May the Prophets forgive me, I almost enjoyed myself today. Or maybe it would be better to say I didn't hate every waking moment of the day, which is a major improvement over the past few. I can't believe this Odo character. I've read over his record three times now, and I know almost no more about him than I did when we first laid eyes on each other. Somehow, through all his years of service and hard-headed authority, he's managed to remain in near complete mystery. No one knows where he came from, or if there are more of him. He is the only one if his kind on the station--or anywhere else in the known galaxy--a stranger among the throngs. And I was selfish enough to have felt estranged here. Our work went well and without incident, as might be expected, but it was not the mind-numbing chore of boredom that I thought it would be. Odo doesn't talk much, and has few friends, but is undeserving of the cold and unfriendly stereotype everyone places him in. Hell, *I* placed him in it too, up until a few hours ago, which was wrong of me. He's actually almost... charming. We started out by dividing the crew into two groups: pure Starfleet, and Bajoran stationers. I took the Bajorans, Odo the Feds, and we got to work. "You have not filed for a transferal," he said suddenly. How did he know I was planning on transferring? I had never told him, never told anyone but the doctor. "No, I haven't," I responded, suddenly a little suspicious. "Did Bashir rat on me already?" "No, Major, he has said nothing." Odo picked up an orange PADD and called the next personnel report to appear. "Then how did you know I was planning to transfer." "It's only natural," he said. "You do not like it here. You resent the Federation's presence. I had expected you to request a transfer after your first day. Evidently I was wrong." Here was something I hadn't expected: Odo was perceptive beyond what he let on. I have fought horrors I don't even want to talk about here, seen terrors my mind keeps me from remembering. I've learned to keep my feelings and emotions buried inside; it takes a sharp eye to pick them out. "No," I answered, "no, you were right. I had fully intended to leave DS9 as soon as possible." "So why are you still here?" he asked. Nothing if not blunt. "I haven't had the time to fill out the forms." "I see," Odo said. He touched his PADD and moved on to the next report, his gaze not faltering from the tiny, illuminated display. "Could it be that you are no longer sure you want to leave?" "No!" I answered, almost laughing. "Why in Prophets' name *wouldn't* I want to leave!" "Because you realize these people aren't the power-hungry carnivores you thought they were," he said, still not looking up from his work. "Because you realize that they are willing to treat you with the respect and authority you've fought all your life to gain. Because you know you can make a difference here." How was I supposed to respond to that? Who was this creature in the form of a man who could read my words and analyze my feelings as if they were printed on my forehead? I tried to deny the things he was saying, but couldn't. I stared at him, my eyes wide. Odo looked up, his face as plain and flat as ever. "Give Deep Space Nine a chance, Major. It's not as bad as you're making it out to be." His gaze lingered on me a few seconds, then fell back to his work. He'd made his point, said what he wanted to say, and it was time to move on. The rest of the day was entirely unproductive. I could not focus on the simple chores I had to do; my mind constantly wandering back to Odo's words. His advice. Maybe I am glad to finally be treated with respect, to have *all* Bajorans treated with respect. Maybe I can make a difference here; the fighting edge of space, the portal to planets and stars we've never seen. It's a lot to think about. I canceled my dinner with Bashir, told him I was too tired to be friendly. Somehow I don't think it will deter him. Some people. End log. ***** Personal log, Kira Nerys, stardate 46379.5. Computer, begin recording. Commander Sisko called me his "right-hand person" today, and it was all I could do not to crack up right there in Ops. He seems to think that being called his right-hand 'man' would offend me, and to keep him amused I'm willing to pretend it would. Dax caught me laughing under my breath, and joined in. Sisko calls her "old man" almost incessantly. I'm beginning to wonder if he has a problem with proper names. I've now been on board Deep Space Nine for five days; four more than I'd intended on staying. I am still not sure if I will remain, or transfer. I can think of a thousand good reasons to go, and only a few to stay. Two, to be precise: Dax and Odo. I didn't sleep at all last night, just laid in bed thinking and meditating. I've met hundreds of people in my life, but none have really mattered. My parents were gone before I could get to know them, and I've never had chance to build relationships with others. Fighting in the trenches doesn't leave one with a whole lot of free time. But there is something different about Dax and Odo. When I think of them, something deep inside me tightens, almost as if I've known them for years. Like they are family. I didn't understand this last night, and I still don't now. I don't let people get to know me, but I have an almost guttural urge to share my life and my experiences with both of them. They are becoming friends. I have never had a true friend in all my life, and in five days here on DS9 I have already found two. The Prophets say we are all linked together, that we came into the universe as one and were separated by our differences. When we find those who are close to us--when we find our friends--we find ourselves. Maybe I will finally find myself here on DS9. End log. ***** Personal log, stardate 46379.6. Begin record. I spoke with Minister Er'ral today on a direct link to Bajor. I have known Er'ral since the Provisional Government was founded and he was given his title, and he has kept an eye out for me ever since. He called today, to say hello and see how I was doing. To see if there was anything I needed or wanted. I could have ended it all right then; told Er'ral that I was miserable and ineffective and wanted to be replaced. He would have listened to my words and acted on my wishes, it is his way. But I can not lie to him. I am not miserable, and I do not believe I'm ineffective. And I do not want to leave. There are too many damn thoughts playing tricks in my head. Computer, turn this thing off. ***** Personal log, Kira Nerys, stardate 46379.7. Computer, begin log. I saw Dax this morning, and told her the good news. She was delighted, and even gave me a hug. We're having dinner out tomorrow, and I don't think I'll be canceling this appointment. But it was in telling Odo that I really felt the welcoming hand take hold of my shoulder. I entered his office at 1330 hours, unannounced. "Why Major, what a surprise," he said, lifting his head from his terminal long enough to verify that it was me, returning to his work without delay afterward. "Hello, Odo," I said back. I had decided on the way down exactly how I was going to let him know, and was intent on keeping with the plan. I stood before his desk, motionless and silent, staring at the top of his head as he went about his security tasks. Finally, after nearly a minute of empty silence, his raised his eyes and stared directly at me. "You're staying, aren't you," he said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. I nodded ever so slightly in affirmation. He didn't speak for a few seconds, just stared at me, emotionless. "You'll have to fill out your assignment form," he finally said, and handed me a PADD. His gaze never left my eyes. "I am doing the right thing, aren't I, Odo?" I asked. "Well, you've got some rough edges to smooth, but I think you'll turn out all right." Anyone else would have laughed or smiled as he said those words, but Odo's face remained the same, his voice unchanged. I took the PADD from his hand and authorized the form. Setting the unit back on his desk, I turned and walked slowly towards the doors, half of me wanting to burst into laughter, the other half yearning to shed a thousand tears of joy. I left his office feeling better than I have in years. I have found a home here on DS9, and even a few friends to share it with. I have fought for this for years, and I almost gave it all away without realizing what it was. I feel as if a voyage has begun, and I am to be a part of it. Deep Space Nine does not have wings, and every morning when I stare out the window, the stars I see will be the same. But somehow I think that we will see great things in this place. Only our imaginations form the limits. Computer, end log. ***** FIN