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  Of course, it was too much to hope that the runabout transporters would be the only thing to go wonky. Leave it to the Cardies to make sure that tech troubles never came by ones.

  "Trulli, I want you to come here and work with McCormick, running the checkout diagnostics on the transporter systems. After that, take one of the runabouts—make it the Ganges—and get it into high orbit over Bajor. We'll see if we can't pick up our package."

  "Aye, sir."

  "O'Brien out." He cut off communication and turned back to McCormick. "After Trulli takes the runabout, join me in Ops to check out the repairs on the long-range sensors."

  "Shouldn't we test all the runabouts, sir?" McCormick asked.

  "We will, in time. I just want to make sure we've got at least one up and running. Don't worry, you'll get your turn."

  "Aye, sir." McCormick sounded a little disappointed. O'Brien knew his two top ensigns were both keen to fly. For himself, he couldn't fathom the obsession. Give him a mechanical puzzle to solve and he'd be just as happy in a hole in the ground as in a runabout sailing through space.

  Miles left McCormick to his work and headed for Ops. He wasn't a suspicious person by nature, but the way things kept breaking by twos and threes aboard DS9 sometimes made him think that it couldn't all be assigned to Cardie cheeseparing. Maybe—just maybe—the departing Cardassians had been "generous" enough to leave a few surprise packages behind, embedded in the computer system. It would explain a lot.

  "A lot," he said to himself as he studied the sensor controls. "Or nothing." He was deep into the problem when Commander Sisko came in.

  "Chief O'Brien, has that difficulty with the runabout transporters been cleared up yet?" he asked.

  O'Brien sighed. "The transporters themselves are fine now, sir. We'll be giving them a test run shortly, just to make sure. Now there's a new difficulty with the runabout sensors, and it appears to carry over to the long-range sensors here. We got scrambled readings when we tried to get a fix on a specific target. I've got a man down there on Bajor, sitting on his thumbs, waiting for us to home in on him and pick him up. On the last run, we couldn't tell him from the rest of the crowd."

  "What crowd?"

  "The crowd in the Pride of Mintak, sir." An impish look twinkled in O'Brien's eye. "It's not up to the standards of Quark's Place, but it's hospitable enough to Federation personnel."

  "That's saying something for a Bajoran bar. So your man's not just sitting on his thumbs after all," Sisko commented lightly.

  "Well, we also needed him to be somewhere there's a few inanimate objects to test the transporters on before we risk a man's life, sir," O'Brien said, trying to look dutiful.

  "Such as a bottle or two of kis?" Sisko suggested.

  "If there's nothing else handy for a target, sir." O'Brien continued to pretend that the famed Bajoran brew was the farthest thing from his mind. "And if a man volunteers to play guinea pig for me, I like to give him somewhere congenial to do it."

  "That's very considerate of you. I'm sure he appreciates it. Now tell me: Does this difficulty with the sensors affect use of the transporters in any way?" Sisko stressed. "We've got people and supplies to deliver the fastest way possible, and I'd prefer not to have the runabout come in for a landing if it isn't absolutely necessary. We must save time. On the other hand, if there's any danger—"

  "Nothing to fear." O'Brien sounded confident. "Trulli's already en route to test the Ganges's transporter system. I saw to that one myself. I'll wager that she'll pick up and deliver as pretty as you please, wide range or narrow. If you wanted me to beam you up a nice warm bottle of Bajoran kis, I could accommodate you, pluck it right from the brewer's hand. Now mind you, when the equipment's in top form, sensors fully operational, you could ask me to pick you out that same bottle by color and taste."

  "All that with Cardassian technology?" Sisko tried to keep a straight face. He knew Miles's opinion on that subject; few crew members aboard DS9 didn't.

  "I like to think that the longer this equipment's been in my care, the faster it'll get over being born Cardie," O'Brien said sincerely. He touched his comm badge. "O'Brien to McCormick. How are those tests coming?"

  "McCormick here, sir. The transporters all checked out fine. Ensign Trulli's gone to try his luck with the long-range sensors and I'm on my way to Ops."

  "Good. O'Brien out." He strode to another console and hailed the Ganges. "Trulli, report. How are the sensors?"

  "Not too good, sir," Trulli responsed. "I wasn't able to zero in on that case of—that test package until Goodman gave me the coordinates. And whenever I get a fix on Goodman, the reading fades out."

  "So will Goodman if we leave him in the Pride of Mintak much longer," the chief muttered. "But the transporter itself is working?"

  "Top-notch, sir."

  "Then never mind the rest. She'll do; we can clean out the bugs in the sensors later. Have Goodman read you his own coordinates, beam him aboard, and report back here on the double. Commander Sisko's got a job for the Ganges. O'Brien out. Sir?" He returned his attention to Sisko.

  "When Trulli gets back, have him fly a landing party of four to Bajor, to be beamed down at these coordinates." Sisko handed O'Brien a preprogrammed chip. The chief of operations slipped it into the console and double-checked the specifications.

  "The Kaladrys Valley … Densely populated area, sir?"

  "No." Sisko took a breath. "Not anymore."

  O'Brien knew what his commanding officer meant without another word being said. Casually, as if he were changing the subject, O'Brien said, "You know, sir, Keiko had her pupils study poetry not too long ago; asked the children to bring in a favorite poem to share with the class, something special to them and their people."

  "I'll bet that left Nog out," Sisko said, speaking of Quark's nephew. It was hard to imagine the supremely materialistic Ferengi having any sort of poetry.

  "Funny thing is, he recited a whopping long selection from a Ferengi epic about a great price war that almost wiped out three whole families. There he stood, holding this absurd heroic pose and declaiming, 'Though cities burn, and all the land's consumed by ravening fire,/Go forth, my son, and buy them out! Acquire! Acquire! Acquire!' and so on …"

  "Yes, Chief, I know all about the assignment. Jake practiced his recitation of 'Casey at the Bat' on me. What's your point?"

  "My point, sir, is that one of the Bajoran children brought in a poem about the Kaladrys Valley. It was so fine, you felt as if you were actually standing there, in the midst of this grand, green, lovely land. But the poem itself dates from the days before the Cardies." Miles shook his head. "The poem went on to describe how a faction who followed the teachings of the Prophets one way set out to destroy this other group that presented the Prophets' message differently. No need to tell you what happened, or how that little difference of opinion left the land."

  Sisko said nothing. He knew.

  "But you see, sir," O'Brien continued, "in the end the people came to their senses and the land came back to its beauty. There've been destroyers before, but there've always been rebuilders too. What the Cardies did isn't the last word, no more than any of us has the last word to say on the grand scale."

  This time Sisko did smile. "You're a bit of poet yourself, Chief."

  "Why not?" O'Brien lifted his chin proudly. "I'm Irish."

  Shortly later, O'Brien accompanied Sisko to the docking bay where the newly returned Ganges waited. The stationside bay door hissed as Brother Gis came in, escorted by Major Kira. "All is ready," he announced, beaming. "Commander, when you said you did not have much to spare us in the way of supplies, you did yourself an injustice. I have been overseeing the young doctor's preparations, and what he brings alone is more than we ever expected. We will have to share this bounty with the other camps."

  "I'm glad we were able to help," Sisko responded.

  "You will be rewarded for it, rest assured." The monk made a gesture of blessing that Sisko had seen the Bajorans use only i
nfrequently.

  "Commander Sisko will be the first to tell you that as a Starfleet officer, he seeks no reward," Major Kira put in. "The satisfaction he gets from having made the right decision is enough."

  Sisko pressed his lips together in a frown. "Brother Gis, have you ever traveled via transporter beam?"

  "Er, no," the monk admitted. He seemed a trifle uneasy.

  "I thought so. This is my chief of operations, Miles O'Brien. I'd like him to explain the procedure to you so you won't have anything to be nervous about. Chief?"

  "Aye, sir." O'Brien took the Bajoran monk aside. Comforting nervous first-time transporter passengers was not SOP. Usually no one even bothered asking; the whole process was accomplished so quickly, there was little need to prepare the uninitiated. Sisko's suggestion struck Miles as a diversionary tactic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Commander Sisko motion tersely for Major Kira to come with him. They retired to a secluded part of the docking bay. While Miles dutifully explained to Brother Gis the theory, practice, and sensations of being beamed down, he also managed to steal a now-and-then glimpse of the interview between Sisko and the strong-minded Bajoran woman.

  So I was right, he thought. He couldn't hear a word of what passed between Sisko and Kira, but it was more than clear from the commander's whole demeanor that Major Kira had stepped over the line … again.

  O'Brien tsked. He admired the major's bold, fiery disposition and her devotion to her people, but it did get her into more scrapes than need be. He wrapped up his lecture to Brother Gis in a hurry, hoping their return would save Major Kira from some of the trouble she'd gotten herself into this time.

  "He's all set, Commander," O'Brien said, presenting himself to Sisko. "No more fear of the transporter now than if he'd used it since birth."

  "Very good, Chief," Sisko said, breaking off with Major Kira. The Bajoran officer looked angry, not chastened. O'Brien was ready to wager there'd be plenty more to say between those two after they got the landing party dispatched.

  At that moment, the docking bay door opened a second time, admitting Dr. Bashir and his assistant, Ensign Kahrimanis. They carried a fair-sized container between them, about the dimensions of a footlocker. The door barely shut behind them before it opened once more to admit Lieutenant Dax, followed by a Bajoran dollying in three similar containers on an antigrav flat.

  O'Brien conferred with Trulli while the freight was loaded. "When you're in orbit, send the supplies down first," he said. "And see that it arrives safely before you beam down the landing party." He knew it might sound foolish to others, but after making any adjustments or repairs to this cursed Cardie equipment, he felt better testing it out on inanimate objects. Anyone but Keiko would laugh if they knew how strongly he felt that any technological device somehow mirrored the cultural tone and moral outlook of its developers. Klingon-made items were trustworthy—honorable tech, he'd call it, that functioned as promised. Ferengi-made things gave you just what you paid for, though you had to keep an eye on them. They'd shortchange you in a pinch if you let them.

  Anything the Cardies created, you couldn't trust.

  "Aye, sir," Trulli responded, looking doubtful. "But—how will we know what condition it arrived in? There's no one at the landing site who can communicate with the runabout, and with the sensors still—"

  "Never mind, never mind. It's fixed; it'll work fine." He hoped his belief in his own tech skills outweighed the treacherous nature of the Cardie equipment in his care.

  "Uh, sir?" Trulli inquired. "We've got a little something to unload too." He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. O'Brien peered into the rear of the runabout. Ensign Goodman sat slumped atop a case of Bajoran kis. He was right in the way of the crew's efforts to secure the supplies destined for Brother Gis's camp. Every time they tried to get him to move, he tried to get them to join him in a few choruses of "Klingon Women and Romulan Ale."

  Gis watched with interest as Chief O'Brien escorted Ensign Goodman and the kis out of the runabout.

  "Take tomorrow off, Goodman," O'Brien said with a wry smile as he gave his bleary-eyed ensign a light push in the direction of the bay door. "It looks to me like you've done enough for Federation-Bajoran relations today."

  "What is wrong with him?" Brother Gis asked, his voice shaky at the edges. "Is that a side effect of this—this transporting we must undergo?"

  "Nothing out of the ordinary," O'Brien said. The monk gave him a doubtful look and regarded the runabout with new apprehension.

  Oh, fine, O'Brien thought. I give him a full lecture on how the transporter works, take all that time, and it's undone by one crewman who can't hold his drink. Wonderful.

  He turned to his waiting passengers. "Ready for you." Might as well see how much damage's been done. He wasn't thinking about the sensors.

  As O'Brien expected—no matter what he had hoped—Brother Gis balked. Kahrimanis and Dax boarded the runabout without a backward glance. Dr. Bashir opted to stand by and figuratively hold Brother Gis's hand.

  "The Prophets have mercy!" Brother Gis breathed, eyeing the runabout. He looked to Dr. Bashir. "And we could not—we could not possibly land?"

  "Transporting from orbit is faster," Dr. Bashir said, trying to soothe the monk's fears. "You did say time was of the essence."

  "So I did." Brother Gis appeared to be regretting his words now. He clutched Dr. Bashir's wrist with a clammy grip. "And this is—safe?"

  "Safe as houses," Chief O'Brien reassured him. "Safer than the trip from here into high orbit itself. Not that there's anything to fear from a ride in our runabout," he hastened to add. "It's just a matter of what you're used to."

  "I admit, having spent so long in the Kaladrys Valley I have had little contact with such-" the monk began apologetically.

  Dr. Bashir patted the monk's hand. "When we reach orbit, I'll have Ensign Trulli beam me down first. Then I'll contact the runabout with this"—he indicated his comm badge—"so you can hear for yourself that I've arrived safely. Will that be all right?"

  "I—I suppose so."

  "Excellent," Julian said cheerfully. "Then it's settled. Shall we?" He waved toward the runabout.

  The monk's chest rose and fell dramatically. He boarded the runabout with the air of a man going to the scaffold, but he went. Julian followed him aboard the Ganges. The last sight that Commander Sisko had of Bashir as the young doctor vanished into the runabout was a smug grin.

  "Just like the Cheshire cat," he muttered as he and the others left the docking bay.

  "What, sir?" Kira asked.

  "A character from an old Earth children's story. Alice in Wonderland," Chief O'Brien put in. To the commander he said, "Sir, I'm going to take McCormick with me and see if we can't run down the source of this sensor problem now."

  "Don't waste too much time on it, Chief," Sisko said. "There are plenty of other repairs that are more urgent."

  "Don't I know it." O'Brien sighed. "If we can't get it fixed in an hour, we'll do the best we can and get back to it later."

  "Very good." Sisko dismissed him and Miles went briskly on his way. Sisko and Kira followed at a more leisurely pace, heading back to Ops.

  As they walked, Sisko remarked, "You know, I think that later—after Dr. Bashir and the others have helped resolve this crisis—maybe we could see about sending the children some additional supplies. Staples, yes, but something extra, something special: Books. Stories. Fairy tales." He looked at Kira. "Do you have anything like fairy tales on Bajor?"

  The liaison officer had a peculiar expression on her face. "I know what you're talking about, if that's what you mean. I dropped by the school a few times and overheard Keiko O'Brien reading to a group of the younger children. It was a story about a poor girl who was given many gifts by a woman even more powerful than the Kai, including a pair of glass shoes. When she lost one of them, she had to get married."

  "That's definitely a new way of looking at 'Cinderella,' Major." Sisko was amused.

  "My mother used to t
ell me stories like that, especially nights when I was too hungry to sleep or the sound of fighting kept us all awake: stories about young girls who had nothing, but they were smart and brave and they didn't give up. Wonderful things happened to them and it all came out right in the end." Kira gazed into the past. "Even after I got too old for those stories, I still wanted to believe in them. Even when I joined the Resistance and it didn't look like we'd ever stop fighting the Cardassians, I held on to the idea that someday there'd be a—what do you say at the end of those stories?"

  "Happily ever after," Sisko provided.

  Kira nodded. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to help gather up storybooks for the camp children. Maybe I could work on them on my own time, use the computer to translate some of your fairy tales into Bajoran."

  Sisko's teeth flashed. "Permission granted." His smile faded. If anyone ever needed a happily ever after, it was the children of Bajor. "I have some books in my personal library that I'd like to donate to the project." He wondered how Mark Twain would translate into Bajoran.

  Major Kira gave him a long, hard stare. "This is a switch."

  "What is?"

  "Suddenly you're so eager to get involved."

  "Why should that surprise you?" It disturbed him that she found his interest surprising at all.

  "Because it took so much to get you to send help to the camp in the first place," she replied. "And because when I made an innocent little remark, you took my head off. Sir."

  "And what innocent little remark was that?"

  "When I told Brother Gis that it was reward enough for you, knowing you'd made—"

  "—the right decision," he finished for her. "Major Kira, you've had a hand in this from the start, haven't you?"

  "I'm the Bajoran liaison officer," she returned evenly. "It's my job to bring certain important matters to the attention of Starfleet, situations where Federation help might actually be wanted." She made the last word sting.

  "I think this goes beyond just doing your job. Brother Gis doesn't strike me as the sort of man who would willingly leave his camp, not without some outside encouragement."