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Kira no longer bothered scheduling herself for days off when Sisko had leave because something always happened which required her attention in his absence. If it wasn’t a diplomatic crisis it was failing shields when a comet passed by or Quark’s customers getting out of control (when Starfleet crewmen were involved in a brawl on Sisko’s last leave Kira had shamelessly passed the situation to Dax). She thought she might’ve gotten lucky this time – it was late afternoon on the fourth and last day of Sisko’s trip to Bajor – but she should’ve known better.
Four aliens sat in the infirmary, staring at her with disconcertingly large eyes. Their ship had come through the wormhole badly damaged and losing atmosphere; the group gasped for air as soon as they were aboard the station and none of them had spoken a word, which concerned Kira. Not one sound in fifteen minutes.
“It’s difficult to be certain with an entirely new species,” said Bashir, “but they don’t seem to be suffering from any serious injuries. It appears you beamed them out just in time.”
“But they aren’t even trying to communicate.” Their flat, unexpressive faces were no help either.
“Maybe they are.” Bashir looked at his computer screen for a moment, called up another set of diagrams, and finally got around to sharing his theory with her. “It’s possible that they’re telepathic.”
That was easily tested, at least. She hit her combadge and contacted the first telepath who came to mind. “Kira to Avlaum.”
“Yes, Major?”
“Would you join us in the infirmary?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. Kira out.”
Bashir handed their guests water, which after some hesitation they drank. “We call this water,” he said. “Water.”
This got no response, of course, but Bashir seemed to like what he saw on his brain scans. “I think it’s quite likely they’re telepaths,” he said.
It was just as well that a telepath joined them shortly. Petty Officer Shir Avlaum looked human. It still confused Kira sometimes that Betazoids looked exactly like humans, but their new assistant quartermaster wasn’t human and had just the ability this situation called for.
Kira and Bashir didn’t even need to explain the situation. Avlaum announced, “I’m a weak telepath and I could pick them up halfway from the habitat ring, so they’re projecting strongly. I’m guessing that’s why you want me, Major?”
She nodded. “Apparently they don’t talk.”
“They consider it vulgar. Only the lower classes talk on… I’m not going to pronounce this correctly… Opletmartrephoazirta.”
“Is that their homeworld?” asked Bashir, curious as ever.
“Yes. We have the Crown Prince and three of his retinue.” Avlaum frowned. “They won’t say which of them is the prince. Security concerns, apparently. However, they’re very grateful to you for rescuing them.”
“They’re welcome,” said Kira.
“Are they in any pain?” asked Bashir.
“No. They were unhurt until their ship started losing atmosphere, and you got them out in time.”
“Tell them we’ll help them repair their ship if they’d like, or contact someone,” offered Kira.
Avlaum was quiet for a moment before reporting. “They want to contact the crown prince’s ship. Apparently they came through the wormhole in a small scouting shuttle. Also, they’re interested in trading for information regarding the wormhole.”
“We can send them with some basic data,” Kira said.
“It will be much appreciated. One other matter…” she trailed off.
“Yes?” prompted Kira.
“Doctor, they expect you to marry the crown prince.”
“What?” asked Bashir and Kira, almost but not quite in unison.
“Evidently he’s some kind of demigod in their culture. You looked into his eyes and touched his skin. The only men who are allowed to do that are his husbands, but in this case they won’t take offense as long as you marry him promptly.”
Kira wished Sisko was around to deal with this.
Bashir made an unhappy face. “Husbands?”
“He currently has one, and two wives.”
“Please tell him I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding, but I was only trying to make sure he wasn’t injured and I certainly can’t marry him.”
Tense silence for a moment. “They can hardly believe anyone would turn down the chance to marry the crown prince,” said Avlaum.
“Yes, well, I’m quite happy with my life as it is,” insisted Bashir. Kira didn’t see how the doctor could be expected to happily uproot himself for a forced marriage to an alien from a different quadrant.
“Now they’re trying to explain the basics of their theology and why you’re doomed to eternal misery if you refuse to marry the crown prince after what you did.”
Bashir made a choking sound. “I’ll take my chances.”
“In that case,” continued Avlaum, “the crown prince and his retinue don’t want any further contact with such offensive heathens.”
Kira couldn’t say she was very sorry and she doubted Bashir was either.
“The prince’s ship should arrive shortly to collect the scout shuttle and our guests. It appears they’re done communicating. They were very offended by your refusal, Doctor, but I don’t think I impressed them either.”
“Excuse me.” Bashir abruptly made for his office.
Kira followed because it was unlike the doctor to leave his patients, no matter his personal feelings. To her considerable surprise she found him laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Sorry, Major, I couldn’t help it.” He pulled himself together. “I am gay, you know. According to the religion I was raised in, any kind of same-sex relationship is a ticket straight to hell. According to them,” he waved his hand toward their silent guests, “not entering a same-sex relationship is a ticket straight to hell.”
Earth religions confused Kira. Part of the problem was the sheer number of them; Bajorans had different interpretations, but most followed the Prophets, some weren’t particularly religious, and a deluded few worshipped the Pah-Wraiths. Earth, on the other hand, seemed to have spawned dozens of religions. Sisko once tried to explain the concepts of Heaven and Hell, but Kira was sure she missed most of the nuances because of the endless variations. Hell was definitely bad, she knew that much. Eternal misery and fire were involved. It sounded like the kind of place she wouldn’t mind Dukat ending up.
On the other hand, this explained the ‘bitter personal experience’ with religion Bashir had once mentioned, if his overzealous pursuit of women had all been to escape hell. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen or heard of him expressing interest in women lately. This explained it.
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” said Bashir, still chuckling for reasons she couldn’t begin to guess. There wasn’t anything funny about the situation.
“I’ll stick with the Prophets,” she said, because she had to say something and it was the first thing which came to mind.
She left Bashir to pull himself together and joined Avlaum and the Oplet-wherever-they-were-from. Avlaum informed her, “They still won’t communicate with me.”
Some people did very strange things in the name of religion. If these four wanted to sulk until their ship came for them, Kira didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about, like why her breakfast came out of the replicator burnt three mornings running (she really needed to put in a maintenance request); the Minister of Trade wanted her opinion on outlawing Romulan ale and Kira had to find a somewhat respectful way to tell the minister that Romulan ale was the least of Bajor’s worries; and there was the ongoing conflict with the Klingons.
“They really expected Dr. Bashir to marry the prince?” she asked.
“Their conviction is absolute.”
The first rule of interspecies contact was not to expect others to follow your traditions. Apparently nobody had explained that to these people.
Bashir emerged from his office, no longer laughing over whatever strange thing he’d found so hilarious. He kept his distance from their guests and busied himself examining scans.
It was a relief when her communicator chirped. “Ops to Kira. A ship with similar configurations to the disabled vessel has just come through the wormhole,” reported Worf.
“I expect they’ll beam our guests aboard and go home,” she said.
That was exactly what happened and she was glad to be rid of them. “Thank you, Petty Officer.”
Avlaum nodded and walked to the door. “Happy to help, Major.”
When it was just her and Bashir, the doctor remarked, “I’m not sorry to see them go.”
“Me neither.” For plenty of reasons. “You can do better.”
He smiled. “I agree.”
As she made her way out, Bashir remarked, “This is going to make an interesting report.”
“Just what I needed, another report to write.” Starfleet loved reports. Kira did not. She realized the infirmary had no patients and thought this was an excellent time to delegate. “Is there any reason you can’t write it?”
“No. I’ll send it to you later.”
“Thanks.”
Bashir might as well write the report, since he seemed to find the situation so entertaining. Besides, Kira barely made it out of the infirmary when her communicator came to life again. “Odo to Kira.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve caught the Grand Nagus’s nephew attempting to smuggle three illegal substances.”
Crime and politics. Suddenly having nothing more bothersome than writing that report didn’t seem so bad.