After a moment, Vaughn said, “Sulan, I must be going. But I want to thank you for a most enjoyable time. I look forward to speaking with you again.”
Opaka inclined her head. “As do I, Elias. Be well. Good day, Lieutenant.”
“And to you, Ranjen,” Ro said.
Leaving Opaka to contemplate her lost friend, Ro and Vaughn made their way in silence across the plaza that separated the memorial from a large park on the other side. As they started to cross a gently sloping meadow, Ro saw dozens of people, mostly Bajorans but a few offworld visitors as well, enjoying the mild summer day. To Ro’s surprise, the commander steered them toward a delicately curved S-shaped bench near a copse of trees overlooking the meadow. Vaughn leaned back and took in the view, watching a group of children working to get an elaborate kite aloft. In the distance, the great copper dome of the Shikina Monastery crowned the hill that rose up from the trees surrounding the park.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Vaughn said. “But it’s such a pleasant day, it seems a shame to waste it in a dreary office, or aboard a runabout.”
“No, it’s quite all right, sir. This is fine.”
“You come from a remarkable world, Lieutenant,” the commander went on, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. “The more I experience Bajor, the more I understand Captain Sisko’s feelings toward it.”
“I’m starting to learn a few things about it myself,” Ro admitted.
Vaughn nodded, then got down to business. “You have a report for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Ro said. She keyed open a file on her padd while she spoke. “I have the current figures on Starfleet’s absorption of Militia personnel.”
“Proceed.”
“Close to one hundred ninety thousand officers and enlisted personnel in all Militia divisions have submitted transfer applications for Starfleet service. We believe the rush has peaked, and that the numbers will taper off over the next few weeks. Civilian inquiries into enlistment and Academy enrollment have already exceeded the mandatory cap.”
“Final estimates?”
“We expect one-quarter million total applications for direct transfer. Two hundred thousand of these will likely sail through, although ninety-five percent of those are expected to require three to six months of retraining and reorientation. Current projections are that ten percent of the remaining direct transfers will be officers. Starfleet enlistment and Academy enrollment are expected to max out with ten thousand new recruits each.”
Vaughn stroked his beard, working through the numbers. “It sounds like I’ll need to meet with something like a thousand duty-ready officers.”
“Right now, the number is still closer to four hundred,” Ro corrected, “but it could easily reach a thousand by the time the preliminary evaluations are completed.”
Vaughn sighed. “I was hoping I’d be able to speak with them individually before they got their assignments, but obviously that’s not going to happen. We’ll have to make other arrangements. Perhaps a welcoming ceremony…” He looked at Ro. “In any event, Starfleet may need to set up a retraining facility here on Bajor to handle the bulk of the direct transfers.”
“That recommendation appears in my report, sir,” Ro said, keying the proper page and handing the padd to Vaughn.
“Excellent work, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said.
“Thank you, sir.”
After a moment of silence, the commander added, “You haven’t told me yet how your meeting with Lenaris went.”
“It could have gone better,” Ro admitted. “He’s second-guessing everything now. I did my best to reassure him, but—”
Ro was interrupted by the familiar, quasi-feminine voice of a Starfleet computer. “U.S.S. Brahmaputra to Commander Vaughn.”
“Hold that thought,” Vaughn told Ro before tapping his combadge. “Go ahead.”
“Incoming communication from Dr. Girani Semna aboard Starbase Deep Space 9.”
Vaughn winced. “Very well. Put her through.”
“Channel open.”
“Yes, Doctor, what I can do for you?”
“You’ve missed your appointment again, Commander.”
“And I apologize again, Doctor,” Vaughn said. “Perhaps we can reschedule…?”
“Oh, no you don’t. Not this time,”Girani said. “the report on the annual crew exams is due to be filed with Starfleet Medical tomorrow. Dr. Bashir asked me to finish them in his absence, and you’re the last one, Commander. I may not be Starfleet, but I still have the authority to pull medical rank over any member of the station crew. You’re to return to the station immediately and report to the infirmary. That’s an order.”
Vaughn bowed his head in resignation. Ro tried not to smile, but was only partly successful. As his gaze came back up, Vaughn caught her amusement and scowled.
“All right, Doctor, you win. I’m on my way back to DS9. I’ll be on your biobed in two hours. Vaughn out.” He tapped his combadge again. “Damn doctors. If she wasn’t already transferring dirtside—” He stopped, looked at Ro. “That reminds me…any progress in finding a new Bajoran MO?”
Ro nodded. “I have several candidates lined up. Their files are available for review at your convenience.”
“Good. Kira’s expecting a recommendation soon, and I can’t blame her. Even more than before, Bajorans will be the primary residents of the station. I don’t want to be without a Bajoran Starfleet physician for too long, especially with Bashir taking time off.”
Mention of Bashir’s absence recalled to Ro the awkward circumstances surrounding the human doctor’s return from Trill with Ezri Dax, ten days ago. They had left as lovers and returned estranged. Although, considering what they had been through on Dax’s homeworld, a strain on their relationship could hardly have been considered a surprise. Nor Bashir’s abrupt decision to finally take some leave time.
“I believe you were about to tell me about your meeting with General Lenaris,” Vaughn said.
“It was complicated by the situation in Hedrikspool, which now looks as if it was a deliberate act of mass murder, by aliens, for reasons unknown.”
Vaughn nodded. “I spoke with Dax a short while ago. She filled me in on the latest.”
“Any word from the Defiant?”
“Only that they think they picked up the scent—a warp signature that’s a close match for Besinian propulsion systems. It was leading toward the Badlands.”
Ro scowled. Any ship in the Bajoran sector intent on evading the authorities inevitably went into the Badlands. Who wouldn’t? Sure, you took your chances getting that close to the plasma storms, but once inside, you were home free. That was what made the area so attractive to the Maquis. She made a mental note to look into the possibility of deploying automated sensor drones between B’hava’el and the Badlands; random sweeps of the region might reduce its effectiveness as a bolthole.
“What has your own investigation turned up?” Vaughn asked.
“Nothing useful yet,” Ro admitted. “I kept hitting dead ends trying to trace the ownership and previous whereabouts of the freighter. One of Lenaris’s men suggested that learning more about the village itself might provide a clue about why this happened. I’m looking into that.”
“I imagine Lenaris is feeling pretty frustrated about the whole situation,” Vaughn went on.
“Having to turn the matter over to Starfleet galled him,” Ro said. “This incident has driven home the downside of the Militia’s reduced role as a purely local defense and security force. He thinks they’re becoming obsolete.”
“He knows that isn’t true.”
“Intellectually, sure. But it’s hard to remember that when you’re standing in the ashes of three hundred people you failed to protect.”
“It wasn’t his failure. And if he believes it was, then it’s ourfailure as well. We’re in this together.”