Disclaimer: Star Trek Deep Space Nine is the property
of Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: A missing scene from season seven's "When It Rains...", this
is another response to the ASC uniform challenge.
For Seema, who declared December 'International DS9 month.'
Reflections
By Rocky
Kira kicked aside the twisted bedsheets and rose well before the computer
chirped its wake-up call. She doggedly went through her early morning routine
to keep herself from thinking of the day ahead. Stretching exercises, a shower--and
a hurriedly mumbled prayer before the small memorial candle burning brightly
in the corner of her living area. No different from any other day.
She pulled a small satchel from the closet and began mechanically tossing
in the personal items she'd need on the journey--and once they reached their
final destination. She froze for a moment over the word 'final'-- it was
wartime, and all missions carried a certain amount of risk. But she was acutely
aware that the chances of coming back alive--for any of them--were slim to
nonexistent.
Her hair was almost dry. She gave it a few brisk strokes, then tossed the
brush into the satchel as well. There was no sense putting off getting dressed
any longer. She inhaled sharply, then took the uniform out of her closet
and laid it on the bed.
It was not the familiar orange jumpsuit of the Bajoran militia. Instead she
drew a red turtleneck over her head, then stepped into a pair of smartly
tailored black slacks. Highly polished boots followed, the heels somewhat
lower than the ones she usually wore. She thrust her arms into the close-fitting
gray and black jacket, quickly fastened it. Straightening up, she caught
sight of herself in the mirror.
It was like gazing into the eyes of a stranger. For all that she was constantly
surrounded by people garbed this very way, the Starfleet uniform looked all
wrong, alien. Her face above the somber colors appeared unusually pale. Her
hands trembled as she fastened the silver comm badge to the outside of the
jacket--not on the side she was accustomed to--and attached the three golden
pips to the collar.
I am Bajoran.
But Captain Sisko had 'recommended' she dress as Starfleet, even going so
far to translate her militia rank into the nearest Starfleet equivalent.
This was an official Starfleet mission, he'd stressed, to aid Damar
and his small band of followers in their rebellion against the Dominion.
But she knew very well that the real reason for her uniform change was to
make her presence more palatable for the Cardassians.
It was hard enough for the Cardassians to admit they needed help if
they were ever going to throw off the yoke of the Founders, but to accept
such help from a Bajoran? From the people they'd subjugated for half a century,
and tried every way they knew to grind into the dust but had somehow never
managed to break? No, ordinarily the Cardassians would sooner slit their
own throats than take such assistance. But Damar's back was against the wall,
and there was no denying that the expertise he so desperately sought--guerrilla
tactics against an occupying force--couldn't be found elsewhere. Kira wondered
if he appreciated the irony.
Hence the Starfleet uniform--so as not to offend Cardassian sensibilities.
Kira had objected; she could simply wear civilian clothing. That was what
Odo would do, after all. But Sisko shook his head.
"You'll wear the uniform." He hesitated slightly. "For the authority it conveys."
She knew he wasn't referring to the fact she would be in command of the mission.
They both knew the Starfleet uniform would likely be her only protection,
alone among men who would sooner see her dead than take orders from her.
Even Damar...she laughed suddenly. Especially Damar; as Dukat's former second-in-command,
he had more reason than most to hate her. And as the murderer of Dukat's
daughter, more reason to fear her. A potentially lethal combination.
I am Bajoran. She touched her earring chain almost instinctively,
seeking comfort. So much thought given to whether or not the Cardassians
would accept her assistance--no one seemed to worry about how she felt in
giving it, in being part of a Starfleet errand of mercy.
Kira had long ago come to the realization that not all Cardassians were evil,
were not equally culpable for the suffering her people had endured. But that
was a far step from risking her own life to save them, rendering assistance,
teaching them tactics, helping them to build an organization to overthrow
their own oppressors. It brought back too many memories; every time she tried
to think of the beginning steps, from setting up autonomous cells and short-term
goals to selecting targets for maximum impact and demoralization, she was
swept along on a wave of memories, seen through the eyes of a frightened
young girl who had lived with too much brutality to ever be a child again.
She saw the faces of her dead comrades, contorted in pain, horribly disfigured--and
shivered. And she questioned once more if what she had been ordered to do
by Sisko--what she intended to do--constituted a betrayal of her own self.
The Starfleet comm badge chirped. "Odo to Kira. We're waiting for you by
airlock four."
"On my way. Kira out."
I am Bajoran. She took one last look in the mirror, then hefted her
satchel and strode rapidly to the airlock. Odo's eyes met hers and a look
of understanding passed between them.
Garak smiled sardonically. "Ready, Colonel?"
"Yes," she replied shortly. "Let's go save your people."
FINIS
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