By Captain Zanh
80320.17
Following Change of Plans
-=Various locations, USS Serendipity=-
80320.17
Following Change of Plans
-=Various locations, USS Serendipity=-
Zanh observed Dane as he moved alongside her. He still had a definite swagger to his walk, but his balance and speech showed marked improvement from the sad state he’d been in a short time earlier. The hyposprays were definitely doing their job.
“So, what d’jarra was your family from, anyway, Zanh Liis?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. In here. We don’t have much time.”
Zanh marched into her quarters and expected Dane to follow. He hesitated in the doorway.
“Now!”
He rolled his eyes upward, finally trailing in behind her.
She marched to the replicator and began to punch in manual commands.
“You need the right wardrobe. Replicated will have to do; most of Jariel’s clothes wouldn’t fit you. But I have to give you something that’s actually from Bajor to make your look more authentic,” She moved to the closet and removed one of Jariel’s two heavy cloaks.
She hated the thought of giving one of them up, she did have such affection for the way he looked in each- but she had no time to obtain an appropriate alternate.
Dane looked around Zanh’s living room, surprised to find it was still sparsely decorated, despite her new rank and position. But then, he thought, she always had liked traveling light.
“Why are you just standing there?” Liis demanded, exasperation evident. “You’re supposed to be reading that to me out loud. Again, from the top.” She gestured toward a PADD Dane was holding.
“I am never going to learn to speak enough Bajoran properly to pass myself off,” he whined. “There’s not enough time.”
She approached him, hands full of clothing, and shoved his new attire at him.
“You’d better. Your life might very well depend upon it.” She placed her hand on his back and gave him a shove toward the bathroom. “Hurry up.”
Soon as the door closed and Dane began to change, Zanh began rifling around in her top dresser drawer for something else he was going to need. ”Besides, I have heard you mocking me enough to know that you speak more than a little Bajoran already. Recite it again!”
“Jia. . .giakada, tra'no'tal'a rim. . .”
“No! NO!” Zanh snapped. “Listen to me. Jia'kaja, tre'nu'tol'a rem!”
Dane reappeared a moment later, dressed in earth-toned clothing, simple and sufficient. She handed him a small communications device that was unlike any he’d seen before. “Instead of a communicator.” She informed him. “Put that where you won’t lose it.”
The small rod shaped device disappeared in a flash- up his sleeve in a slight-of-hand trick he had learned was useful years ago for concealing all sorts of small objects.
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Just walk!” Zanh barked, leaving him behind as she strode out into the corridor. “Put that cloak on before I finish dressing you myself!”
Dane mumbled a series of obscenities, but having no doubt she would finish the job herself if he didn’t, he did as he was told.
He should be grateful, he supposed, to be getting off of the ship and into any kind of interesting assignment. Sitting at the communications console was driving him mad. Now at least he’d have a chance to see if any of the training that Intelligence had given him as part of the Temporal Investigations package was really of any use.
The pair ended up in the Vedek’s empty office, and Zanh pulled a book from one of the shelves and hurriedly began copying dates and other information into the PADD that Dane had been dutifully carrying, if not studying as closely as she wanted him to.
“Listen to me, because this is important and I don’t have time to repeat anything.” Zanh commanded. “You must study this PADD every second until you get to Earth, then you have to destroy it. Understand? It’s got everything from traditional Bajoran folk songs to the names of people you grew up with at the orphanage.”
“But . . .if anyone tries to check the stories won’t these people tell them that they don’t know me?”
“They can’t. They’re all dead.”
For once in his life, Dane didn’t know what to say.
“I’m going to contact Vedek Timal.” Liis continued. “I am certain that I can convince him and Shamira to confirm your story for anyone who may contact them to ask. But you need to remember this. I. You. . . grew up at the orphanage at the Monastery at. . .”
“Altaan.” He interrupted. “I remember.”
“Your parents were killed just after you were born and your grandmother cared for you until her death.”
“She did?” Dane didn’t remember hearing this part of the story before.
“That’s right. She hid you from the Cardassian soldiers every night, keeping you safe. She used to sing you a song,” Zanh paused, trying to maintain her suddenly slipping composure and avoiding Dane’s eyes. “About the night sky and the day when peace would come to Bajor.”
Dane nodded.
“She kept you hidden from the Occupation forces, until she knew she was dying, and then she took you to the orphanage, where she turned you over to Timal.”
Dane continued listening quietly, for a change.
“You’ve been told that your grandmother’s given name was Naloy. You were too young when she died- an infant if your age is going to fit the timeline. Good thing we added a few years.” She thought about how she’d asked the doctor to ‘age’ Dane at the last minute by putting a few wrinkles here and there into his baby face, and was glad she’d done so.
“Yes. You were too young to remember her surname.” Zanh stressed. “She knew Vedek Timal as a young woman and that’s why she took you to Altaan.”
Zanh finished her work, closed the book and sat down at the desk, bringing Jariel’s computer to life. She wanted to reference more of the prayers than she could easily recall from memory, having blocked them out due to the associated heartache they carried.
“It’s really a shame that Jariel can’t help you with the pronunciation on these,” Liis said softly, a penetrating sadness creeping into her voice. “No one has ever said them as beautifully as he did when he still had his voice.”
“He really believes the Prophets are the reason he can’t talk.” Dane shook his head in disbelief, scoffing at the idea.
“Yeah. And at this point, I don’t know what else to believe, myself.” Zanh admitted as she started uploading data into the PADD from the computer. She looked at Dane sideways. “Whatever the Prophets are, how they could take the voice of such a man will always be unfathomable to me.”
”Well, they say the gods move in mysterious ways.” Dane spoke sarcastically, and suddenly he found that Zanh was standing nose to nose with him, holding him fast by the collar of his shirt.
“You can believe, or you can choose not to believe, that’s up to you,” she growled, “But never, EVER mock the Vedek’s faith in my presence, or in his. Do you understand me?”
Dane looked at the floor.
“Good.” She released him over, hating what she was about to do, but again, she had no choice. “Wear this.”
She reached up and clipped an elaborate earring to his ear. Dane looked at his reflection in the view port over her shoulder, and marveled at the piece of jewelry, which he had to admit was not only beautifully crafted, but also looked perfect on him.
“That is Naloy’s earring. Do NOT lose it.” Zanh warned. “I’d give you mine but it’s directly traceable to me.” She frowned. “I mean it. I expect you all back in one piece, and I expect you to return that earring to me in exactly the condition it’s in now.”
She finally picked up the PADD once again from the desktop, and held down a button in order to record a short audio message onto it. She drew a deep breath, and sighed the words slowly.
“Jia'kaja, tre'nu'tol'a rem... La'por i'lanu kos... I'nar tan'a'tali nor.”
When she was finished, his eyes questioned her once again as to the meaning of the prayer. She switched the computer off, and moved toward the door.
“It’s a plea to the Prophets for their blessing. Learn it well, because you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Zanh was hailed as she and Dane walked through the now deserted halls of the Serendipity.
[O’Sullivan to Zanh,]
“Ready?”
[Ready.]
“Where?”
[Transporter room three.]
Zanh noted that O’Sullivan must have thought better of the idea of taking any of the scheduled transports from the Sera down to the planet, and she agreed with his choice.
“Acknowledged. On our way.”
She spoke softly to Dane as he thought to himself about her grandmother, and the Occupation, and how his reflection startled him every time he caught sight of himself in a panel on the wall as they traveled through the ship. He realized he had better get a handle on that before they reached their destination, wherever they were going.
“Watch your pronunciation, and your stardates,” Zanh admonished. “Do not volunteer any more information about yourself or your past than you absolutely have to give- but on the other hand, do not hesitate to use Timal and Shamira to confirm the authenticity of your story if you are questioned. It may buy you just enough time to get out of a tight spot.”
She paused outside the doors as they reached the transporter room, and just stared at him for a long moment.
“Anything else?” Dane asked impatiently, ready to get this going and get it over with.
“Be careful. Do not trust anyone except O’Sullivan and Dalca - but do trust them. I know that you have always had to live with an ‘every man for himself’ attitude, Dane, but you’re part of a crew now. I know that you’ll have their back, you just have to promise me that you’ll also trust that they know what they’re doing, and they’ll have yours.”
He nodded.
“Go.”
He walked through the doors, and Zanh noticed that O’Sullivan had already dismissed the transporter operator. Standing beside him on the transporter dais was Warren Dalca, who nodded to her respectfully as she entered the room.
“You sure you’re up for this, Mr. Dalca?”
“Yes, Sir.” Warren answered without hesitation.
She stepped forward and took the controls herself, prepared to wipe the transport logs immediately afterward.
“Transfer us to section gamma twenty four of the dock,” Keiran requested. “We’ll make our way from there.”
Zanh knew that O’Sullivan would not want to provide her with much information about his plans, but there was one thing she needed to know for the sake of securing Dane’s story with the monastery.
“Dane’s cover?”
“He’ll be going by the name of Jardin Ethos,” O’Sullivan said.
Zanh’s mouth fell open- she was shocked that he had managed, somehow, to unearth the surname of her great-grandfather. The choice was appropriate for not only Dane’s appearance, but also to accompany her history. It was a perfect, if sentimental, choice on O’Sullivan’s part. She lowered her eyes a moment before looking up at Cristiane.
“Dane.”
His eyes snapped front and he held her gaze.
“Writers and poets,” said the Captain, causing O’Sullivan and Dalca to stare at her, confused by the seemingly random comment.
“Seriously?” Dane laughed.
Zanh nodded as her hands hovered over the console. She reddened slightly, and cleared her throat. “Told you that you wouldn't believe it, but yes. My family d’jarra was that of writers and poets. Safe journey, gentlemen. Energizing.”
Her officers, all dressed in civilian clothing, began to shimmer.
”Mind that earring, Cristiane!” Zanh reminded one last time, as she watched him disappear.
As the group rematerialized aboard space dock, Dalca’s eyes questioned Dane as to the special significance of this particular piece of jewelry.
“It belonged to her grandmother,” Dane explained softly, realizing that he was about to walk a great distance in Zanh Liis’ boots, whether he wanted to or not.
-=/\=-Zanh Liis
Commanding Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
Commanding Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012