March Challenge-- Star Trek: Section 31 "Passing of Value"

This tale is a look at a man many of us love to hate--and many of us come to feel for, and root for. A question I often asked myself is, "What made this man what he is? What caused him to do the things he has done?"

Part of the inspiration for this thing came from the latter two episodes of DS9 that he appeared in. You may remember, in those episodes, there were times that we could catch a glimpse of genuine sadness and regret in his eyes--particularly in the last one, when he addresses his family (albiet not for real).

Not including this intro, the word count is approx. 4,575. Please hold you're comments until you see the concluding statement.

Thanks for reading--and enjoy!

Star Trek
Section 31​

"Passing of Value"​

He stood there, at the entrance to the cemetery—for how long, he could not be certain. He stared at the many plaques and markers within—symbols of the end of life.

In his hand he held a bouquet of roses—golden…like her hair....

No…he had to go in. It was no use walking away—no use staying at the entrance. And yet…after all these years, he thought, I cannot face this with a straight face…I can’t….

He swallowed, and entered.

He walked for what seemed like miles, past graves dating back to the 22nd Century…back to the founding of the Federation…and a few decades before. There was a division for those who had died in the Romulan War…and over there were those who perished in the conflict with the Cardassians…and there was a new section, larger than all the others, and still growing, for those natives of Earth…who perished in the ongoing war against the Dominion....

His destination, however, wasn’t in any such division. The inhabitant of the grave he sought didn’t die in a war—not exactly.

He finally found it—just like he remembered, last time he came.

It was a stone slab, upright, just like the others surrounding it. There was some special embroidery on it, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the inscription on the stone:

R.I.P.
Jessica Sloan
2324—2261
May it be said that your passing had a reason.​

He’d written the inscription himself…all those years ago…after it happened. That little sentence…had been all he could write. Anything else…wouldn’t have worked. Had he tried to write all she had ever meant to him…and how much he had loved her… whatever he wrote would never do it justice.

He knelt by the grave, laid the roses at the base of the marker…and clasped the stone…with both hands....

May it be said that your passing had a reason….

It had been so senseless—so pointless. And the worst part was…he could have stopped it.

They…could have stopped it.

But they didn’t…they couldn’t.

And the worst part was…it was all his fault.

May it be said that your passing had a reason….

He bowed his head, fighting the tears, struggling to never let them come. He knew that if he broke…it would be a long time before he could regain what strength he possessed.

And then, when he had succeeded in the suppression, Director Luther Sloan of Section 31 raised his head…fixed his eyes on the name of his wife....

And remembered….

* * *​

 

He remembered their last night together—before he would go on his next mission. It was when he was an agent of Starfleet Intelligence—before he had even heard of Section 31. His son had been in Starfleet, too—studying to be a pilot, of all things.

He remembered…how beautiful she was—tall and noble…with airy blond hair…grey eyes…how she carried herself with pride and dignity, a former Starfleet Officer herself. He remembered her lying there, beside him, smiling, beaming at him, asking him, “Luther…do you have to?”

He remembered nodding slowly. “You know I do.”

She sighed. “I wish…I wish I could come with you—fight side-by-side, like we used to.”

“You know you can’t.”

“I know…but it just isn’t right.” A tear came down her cheek. “We’re married, Luther. We shouldn’t have to…be so distant, for so long.”

He sighed, as he wiped away the tear. “No…we shouldn’t. But…it’s my duty, Jess. I have to—”

“Hang your duty. Why can’t we just live…like everyone else?”

He smiled bitterly. “Because they can’t trust this kind of job to everyone else.”

She chuckled…and sighed. “I suppose you’re right…but that doesn’t make it any better.”

“No…it doesn’t.”

“Luther…sometimes…I think being married to you is like a living hell.”

He snickered. “Tell me about it.”

He remembered that night…how they celebrated their years together. They had married young—practically fresh out of the Academy—and they had seen their kids grow into adulthood. They were alone, that night—just the two of them…neither of them knowing that…that it would be the last time.

* * *
​

He remembered that last mission. The division he belonged to…was investigating suspected activities of the Orion Syndicate. They’d picked up some promising leads…leads which could well have lead to one of the bosses of the organization—a man named Karvell. He was ordered to…to lead a team of agents to infiltrate the cell, find out who the boss was, and take him down. Simple enough.

Until it all went wrong, of course.

It started when a member of his team—a graying Vulcan, named Sorak—started talking with each and every member of the team, except for Sloan himself. It was innocent enough—but…it was enough for each of them to express their concerns to their commanding officer—him. “It’s…like he’s prying into me,” one of them—a brash youngster—remarked. “He wants to know too much.”

“Is he asking for sensitive information?”

“Uh, no—of course not.”

“Then I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s a Vulcan—it’s their way.”

Still…he did confront Sorak about it. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, in that annoyingly innocent fashion, and replied, in his elderly, British-sounding voice, “Frankly, sir…the more you know about your fellow officers, the greater the confidence you may place in them.”

“Of course—but...I don’t think the others are taking this well.”

“Indeed…. My apologies, sir.”

For a time…that was the end of it. In the meantime, they were getting closer…and closer to their target. They were certain that Karvell was within their grasp—

And then the trail ran cold. Karvell had left the planet, leaving the majority of his cell behind, taking only his closest minions. The lower ranks—those whom Sloan’s team had reached—had been abandoned.

And Sorak started conversing again—only this time…it was more severe. This time…he was delving into the loyalties of each member of the team—asking how faithful they all truly were to the Federation. It was as if he was implying that the team was to blame….

“Sorak,” Sloan finally said, “This has gone far enough. We have a mission, and I need you on duty. Is that clear?”

Sorak stared at him, with a piercing gaze. “Sir…it is illogical to assume that our leads simply happened to lead to nowhere. Clearly…Karvell was aware of our activities.”

“All right. I’ll accept that as a possibility. Now…what does that have to do with your grilling your fellows?”

“Perhaps nothing, sir. But then…perhaps everything.”

Sloan frowned, and asked, “What…do you mean?”

“Mr. Sloan—I do not wish to burden you with more duties than necessary—”

“Than drop it. If it’s not important enough to tell me, than—any problems you may have with the team can be addressed at Division, when we’re done. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. I apologize.”

But Sloan kept that conversation in his mind. What if Sorak had a point—what if it wasn’t simply bad luck on their part? Was…was it possible…that…?

But he drove that thought away, when they picked up another lead. This time, they were posing as potential customers, eager to do business with the Syndicate. This was proving most successful indeed. And once again, they were getting close.

But another stumbling block occurred—when Sloan discovered Sorak at his computer, tapping into his files, looking for personal information on the members of the team.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he roared, staring Sorak in the eye, with the look of a command that was not to be disobeyed.

The Vulcan stared back at him, with no remorse…no shame. “What is necessary, sir.”

“Oh? You’d better explain that.”

“Sir…if you desire this mission to succeed, you must allow me to investigate the team.”

“I told you to drop it.”

“Sir—I cannot comply. I must do this.”

“On whose authority?”

“My superiors.”

“So…let me get this straight. You…are telling me…that Division ordered you…to investigate this team—without my knowledge—while we were on duty?”

“Sir—”

“Well, as soon this is over, I will speak directly to them…and find out if that’s true. Because—”

“Mr. Sloan…I was not referring to Division.”

Sloan froze. “You…weren’t…”

“No, sir. I—you must understand, this is confidential—”

Sloan narrowed his eyes. “Who…are you working for?”

“I…am working for…another branch of Intelligence.”

“Is that so? Well…in that case, I’ll have to check with them.”

“That is impossible.”

Sloan’s voice lowered to a growl. “Why…?”

The Vulcan hesitated, obviously weighing his options. Then, finally, he replied:

“Because…to be frank, sir…officially…we do not exist.”

* * *​

 

It was then, that Luther Sloan first heard of the existence of Section 31.

At first, it seemed completely absurd: a separate, self-governing branch of Starfleet Intelligence—answerable to no one, reporting to no one. Surely…Starfleet would never dream of creating such a thing—an agency that would do heaven-knows-what, without anyone able to discover it, much less stop it.

But Sorak’s words rang true. And…ridiculous as it sounded…it made sense.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

But—the mission neared its conclusion. It proceeded without relative incident—although Sorak declared that he would keep his eyes open, in case his suspicions were correct—and then…it all came to an end. Karvell was located.

When the time was right, they made their move. The man—a Farian, of strong build and dark, piercing eyes—was subdued, and placed under arrest. Karvell, curiously enough, wasn’t as angry as one would expect. In fact…as their ship returned to Division, the boss smiled, and turned to Sloan. “Tell me,” he asked, “Do you truly expect to attack the Syndicate and escape untouched?”

Sloan spread out his hands. Two could play at this game. “It would seem, Karvell…that we did just that.”

The boss shook his head…and snickered. “You fool. You don’t even realize what you’re up against. And, I assure you…Luther Sloan…the price you are to pay…will be very…steep.”

Sloan kept his composure. “How do you know my name?”

“I know a great deal about you…including the name of your wife. ‘Jessica’…is that it?”

Sloan grabbed him by the cuffs of his suit. “You—”

“Careful, Mr. Sloan. If you do anything to me…your wife may not be the only thing you will lose….”

Sloan said nothing, as he let go of him. And then…he saw Sorak, staring at him…saying nothing.

* * *​

 

The moment they arrived at Division headquarters, Sloan immediately contacted Jessica. Thank heaven—she was fine…for now.

He made immediate arrangements for her to be brought straight to headquarters. He then waited…tense as could be, fearful that something would happen.

When she arrived, he took her in his arms with immense relief. She returned the embrace, asking, “Luther…what’s happening?”

“I don’t know. I’m just…just glad you’re safe.”

“Luther, talk to me.”

“I can’t. Not until I’m sure everything’s all right.”

He remembered her staring at him, unsure of what to make of it all. But she nodded…and Sloan had her placed in a secure room, for her safety—guarded by trustworthy, capable men.

It was what protocol demanded. It was what the rules demanded.

The interrogation of Karvell was routine, ran as the rules demanded. Not a hand was laid on him. They used every psychological trick in the book—but the man held firm. He was obviously well trained against manipulation, and mind games. Of course he was—he had to be, to have risen so high in the Syndicate. The agents made no progress whatsoever. There was no hope—at all—to find out anything about him…or how he intended to carry out his threat.

When they all took a break, Sloan returned to Jessica’s room. He remembered…how she sat there, on her cot…with such dignity, accepting what was going on, with no complaining…no impatience. She smiled at him. “Luther…why on Earth did you choose this job, anyway?”

She’d meant it in good humor, of course. But still…it struck a nerve, and he sighed. “I don’t know, muffin. I don’t know…”

He thought for a moment…and chuckled. “You know what’s funny? Originally, I wanted to be a doctor.”

Her smile widened. “Really? I never knew that.”

He returned the grin. “Only briefly—I didn’t exactly care for becoming ‘personal’ with anyone—except…for the person I wanted to marry.”

She nodded.

“Besides…I guess I’m built for this kind of thing.” He sat down on the cot, beside her. “I guess…it’s what I was meant to do.”

“Well…I can’t exactly say destiny was on my side.”

He turned to her. “Jess…”

“I—I’m sorry, Luther. That was uncalled for.”

“No, it’s all right…” he looked off, and sighed. “And…I have to admit, there are times when…well, when I wish I could have been a doctor, after all.”

Jessica put a hand on his shoulder. “Luther…you’re not a doctor. You are what you are. To be honest…I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a good man, Luther. You do the best you can, to keep me safe…to keep all of us safe. I…I don’t think you realize what a hero you are.”

Sloan shook his head. “A hero? No…no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, really, Luther—”

“Jess…I don’t want to be a hero…not really. What I want to be is a man. I want to…to be the best kind of man…for you. Is that too much to ask?”

She rubbed his shoulder, stressing her words. “You are, Luther—”

He shook his head again. “No…I’m not. I’m so absorbed in my duty, that…I was never really there…was I?”

She was silent.

He turned to her, smiling, encircling her with his arm. “But from now on…it’ll be different, Jess. I promise.”

She shook her head in amusement. “Honey…I don’t want you to—”

“I do.”

“But…if you don’t have the time—”

“I’ll make the time.”

And to seal the promise, he kissed her, knowing full well that he would keep his word. He was nothing…if not a man of his word.

Then…it was time to return to duty. He promised her he would be back…when it was over….

He walked over to the interrogation room, expecting nothing—certainly not what made him freeze as the doors opened.

He saw Sorak, standing before Karvell, clutching both sides of the man’s skull, his head bowed, his eyes narrowed with an unnatural intensity.

“Sorak!” he shouted, rushing into the room. The guards at the entrance—obviously fooled by whatever excuse Sorak had given them into letting him inside—followed, aiming their phaser rifles at the Vulcan.

Sloan grasped Sorak’s face. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

The Vulcan’s eyes snapped open, whirling to face him. “Sir…do not interfere.”

“Let him go—now!”

“Sir, I must do this. There is no other—”

Sloan pulled his own phaser. “Let…him…go.”

Sorak stared at him—and if Sloan’s eyes could be trusted, it looked as if the Vulcan was…pleading.

Sloan did not lower his weapon. He kept his gaze focused on Sorak. The Vulcan paused for a second more…and then released Karvell, holding up his hands, which the guards promptly cuffed.

Sloan looked to Karvell. The boss had fallen to the floor, unresponsive. He was still alive, but comatose—suffering from a forced mind-meld, which Sorak had clearly used to try to shatter whatever barriers he had set up in his mind. It was an illegal process—it was regarded as torture, by the Seldonis IV Convention.

Sloan ordered the guards to call a medical team to the interrogation room immediately—and escorted Sorak to a holding cell.

As soon as he was inside one, Sorak turned. “Mr. Sloan—”

“Spare me, Sorak. I don’t care.”

“Sir, you must. I gained information—”

“By violating the law? By betraying our principles? By—”

“Sir—your rules and principles would have let him sit there, with information that you need—never breaking, never responding. You know this.”

“Oh…so is that you’re excuse? Is that the excuse of your ‘Section 31’?”

“It is not an excuse if it is valid. Sir, our duty demands—”

“Hang you ‘duty’. Hang your ‘Section 31’. Hang you.”

“Sir…you must allow me to continue the meld. If I can—”

Sloan scoffed, and turned to leave. But what the Vulcan said next made his blood ran cold.

“Sloan…if you won’t think of your duty, at least think of your wife!”

Sloan froze, and slowly turned to him. “What…are you talking about?”

The look of intensity had returned to the Vulcan’s eyes. “Tell me…did you ever ask yourself…how he knew your name…and your wife’s name? Or—did you ask yourself why Karvell warned you so openly?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is clear…Karvell knew that you would bring your wife here, to keep her safe. He would have known. And yet he made certain that you would fear for her life.” Sorak took a step forward, so that he nearly touched the force field of his cell. “Sloan…Karvell wanted you…to bring her to Division.”

Sloan stared at him, fighting back his horror. “You mean—”

The Vulcan nodded. “During the mindmeld…I discovered that my suspicions were correct. There is a mole.”

Sloan fought a swallow. “Who? Who is it?”

Sorak’s lip tightened in clear frustration. “I…don’t… know! The meld was broken before—”

Sloan didn’t hear the rest. He ran—ran as fast as his legs could carry him—to Jessica’s room.

And what he saw there…that day…he would never forget.

The guards were on the floor, unconscious. Sloan’s heart skipped a beat…as he entered.

Jessica’s body was in a collapsed position, leaning against the cot, an expression of agony on her face. Blood was running down her dress…and it came from a wound in her chest—which had a knife protruding from it.

Sloan was never sure if he had roared in fury and despair…or if it was all inside him…but he remembered collapsing by her body, taking her in his arms.

She had died before he got there…there was no movement.

They didn’t have a chance…to say goodbye.

Sloan remembered holding her face close to his…and letting out the kind of sobs he had never released before—and never again. Streams of tears from his eyes moistened her hair—which he grasped with his hands, desperate to wake up from this nightmare…

But at the same time…he knew there was no denying the truth. His wife was dead.

And it was his fault.

He had followed the rules…and had brought her here, for her protection.

But that wasn’t all. No…he suddenly remembered Sorak’s words—his constant warnings. The Vulcan, driven to the point of frustration, had tried to tell him—had begged him to accept that there was a traitor in their midst—and that Jessica was in mortal danger.

But Sloan did not listen to him. He had brushed the warnings aside when they had captured Karvell—and had been content to follow protocol, and never cross the line.

It was he who had pulled the gun on Sorak—Sorak, who was struggling to find the mole…and do what was necessary. It was Sloan who had…who could have allowed Sorak to finish—to do his duty.

If only…if only he had listened.

But no…he had followed the rules. He had held true to his principles. He had stopped a man from being tortured…and now…this was the result.

Curse them, he found himself thinking. Curse them all. Curse those who make those “rules”…curse all those preachers of “our values and principles”—all those idiots—all those bleeding hearts—all those…all those…

And then…his tears stopped. He looked up, with an unnatural calm. He squeezed his wife’s body, one last time. He kissed her lips, one last time.

“I love you, Jess,” he whispered. “I love you…I always will. And…I don’t know if you can hear me, but…I give you my word…as the man I once was…and as the man I am, now…that you will not die in vain.”

And then, he let her go, and rose from the floor, and walked out.

And in that moment, he remembered, a new Luther Sloan was born. He held his shoulders straighter, his brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed. He walked with a new purpose in mind, and in life. The words of Sorak filling his mind, he walked straight to the Vulcan’s cell.

He spoke to the security officer on duty. “Release him.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“But, sir—”

“That was an order.”

The man stared at him, unsure of what to make of this. Sloan kept his gaze, and said, “Do it. Now—or I’ll have you on charges of insubordination.”

The guard hesitated for a second longer…but complied.

The force field came down. Sorak rose from the bench in his cell.

Sloan pulled his phaser. “Come with me.”

Sorak nodded, and they walked in the direction of the interrogation room. They ducked into a dark corner, and Sloan deactivated the cuffs.

“So,” he said, in a casual tone, “Out of curiosity, Mr. Sorak…does your…organization…have any positions open?”

Sorak stared at him, expressionless. He clearly knew the only reason Sloan would ask such a question. “Is your wife safe?”

“She’s gone.”

Sorak’s lip tightened. But he composed himself, and replied, “I…see.”

“There’s nothing left for me here. Now, whatever you are…I know now…why you people exist. I know why you do what you do.”

“Do you?”

Sloan nodded. “Yes.”

“Frankly, Sloan, I am not convinced that this isn’t a simple quest for revenge on your part—”

“Revenge?”

“On the universe—or at least, on the system that failed to save…her.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But whatever the reason…I’m part of you now. I think you should accept that.”

Sorak stared at him for a moment. Finally, he nodded his acceptance.

“All right,” Sloan continued, “First…we have to clear some things up. We need to get you to Karvell, finish your meld, and find the mole.”

“Sloan…this will change nothing.”

“What?”

“Killing the mole will not resurrect your wife.”

Sloan bit back an angry retort. After composing himself, he replied, “I know. But at least…the Syndicate won’t cause any more trouble here…for now, at least.”

Sorak nodded. “Of course.”

Before they went, they held each others gaze for a minute longer. And it was then…that a friendship was born.

* * *​

 

Director Luther Sloan, of Section 31, Division Seven, blinked as he returned to reality. He remembered…he and Sorak had found the mole within the hour—finishing the smashing of a ring of the Orion Syndicate. The SI director whom Sloan had answered to…asked no questions, and agreed to purge all records that Luther Sloan had ever been there…had ever worked for Starfleet Intelligence. It was clear that the man was aware of Section 31—and had been for a long time.

And…the rest was history.

He looked up. The sun was going down. He would be returning to Division Seven soon—to sleep…and fight another day.

But first…he looked back at the inscription, once again. May it be said that your passing had a reason….

He reached over, and stroked the name of his wife with his hand. He remembered something he had said…a few days ago—or at least, said in his mind, when, as far as anyone else was concerned…he was dying, by his own hand. It was something…he had said in front of Doctor Bashir, the man who had simultaneously been his unyielding nemesis…and reluctant ally. Then…it was an address, to his friends…to his family…to Jessica, as beautiful as ever, but as he imagined she would look like now, had she lived…and yet, to Bashir, as well, as he hoped it would help…convey to the good doctor…the price he had paid.

As I stand here…‘reunited’ with my friends and family for one last time…I want you—the people I love—to know just…how sorry I am…for all the pain that I’ve caused you…. I dedicated my life to the…preservation, and the protection, of the Federation. This duty, which I carried out to the best of my ability…took precedence over everything else—my parents, my wife, my children….

He stopped…as the memory of their last moment together…the promise he had made…which would have been kept, if only…

I lived in a world of secrets…of sabotage, and deceit. I spent so much time…erasing my movements, covering my tracks…that now, as I look back on my life…I find nothing. It’s as if I never really existed.

He remembered their words, that night, before that fateful mission: “Why can’t we just live…like everyone else?” “Because they can’t trust this kind of job to everyone else.”

I…I cheated you all…out of being in my life…and what’s more, I cheated myself as well.

He grasped the stone with both hands once again, bowing his head. Now I know a simple apology won’t change that. Still, I feel the need to apologize anyway.

He looked up…and felt a sad, ironic smile come to his face. No tears, please: My ‘death’ isn’t a tragedy—it’s a celebration. In death, I can finally step out of the shadows…and prove to myself that I existed…

He stroked the name once again. …that I lived.

How ironic, wasn’t it—the only proof of his existence left…the only proof of his life…was this…this symbol of death…of the end of the existence of this life. But…that was how it had to be.

May it be said…that your passing…had a reason….

“Director?”

Sloan looked up, and turned to see who was behind him. It was Sorak, his unintentional recruiter—and his friend.

Sloan stood up, and brushed himself off. “Hello, Mr. Sorak.”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “You look quite animated…for a dead man.”

Sloan chuckled. “Well…I guess it’s good to be back. Thanks for that, by the way. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Sorak nodded slowly. “Of course not….”

His gaze fell to the gravestone, as he read the inscription. “I…thought I might find you here.”

Sloan returned the nod. “It…was something I had to do.”

“I understand.”

Sorak hesitated for a moment, and asked, “I understand…the good doctor recovered the cure.”

Sloan nodded. “It’s as it should be.”

“Yes…it is….”

Sloan turned, and he read the inscription one last time. May it be said…

“You think it did, Sorak?”

“What?”

He turned back to his friend. “…Have a reason?”

Sorak paused for a moment, and finally replied, “Only you can answer that, sir.”

Sloan nodded. He looked around him…at all the graves of those who gave their lives for the Federation—those patriots who made the ultimate sacrifice…for freedom. When the war broke out, he swore that he would find a way…to save as many of those kids as he could…and ensure that the Allies would win the war, as quickly as possible…so that many a family would not have to live with such a loss…and suffer, as he did.

Would it work?

Only time will tell….

“You’re a good man, Luther. You do the best you can, to keep me safe…to keep all of us safe. I…I don’t think you realize what a hero you are.”

He smiled, and gave the Vulcan an unceremonious pat on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to Division, Sorak. We have a Federation to protect.”

They left the cemetery. Sloan did not look back. He knew that he had gotten what he had come for. And he knew that…somehow…the spirit of Jessica Sloan lived on, in him…and somehow, regardless of all he had done—all he had had to do—somehow, he would do what he could…to keep that spirit alive.

* * * ​

Luther Sloan’s journey is only beginning….​

 

Hm...I'm not a big fan of the "Sloan lived" theory. That said, not bad at all.

 

I'll confess first to being a Luther Sloan fan. *ducks for cover*

He is not in all ways admirable. He is however, understandable. He has obviously lost the moral battle with himself about means and ends. History will probably not vindicate him as he probably believes. I do believe he is a patriot, albeit a misdirected one.

I enjoyed this backstory about him and am fascinated at the idea of a Vulcan also losing that particular battle with himself.

I am glad Julian has remained true to his dedication to preserving life - a nice contrast to Sloan.

Another highly enjoyable read *Rush*! Good luck and Thank you!

 

Thanks, ladies!

Yes...and I think, the idea of Sloan losing his battle brings up a partcular point. I believe a Section 31 tale, more than anything else, should, like "In The Pale Moonlight", ask the question "What would you have done?"

In this case...how far would you be willing to go...to save the one you love? Sloan failed to answer this question...until it was too late. And because of that...you could say he broke, and answered with, "All the way".

Also...one could say, that in "Extreme Measures", the speech, and Sloan's line to Bashir about ideology vs. decency, was a last cry to the doctor, of "Now...do you understand? Do you understand all I gave up--and why I feel I had to?"

Call it a bit of redemption, when I have here Sloan accepting that Julian getting the cure was "as it should be." On the other hand...the exchange could well have a double meaning....

BTW...if you noticed, the reason Sorak seems a bit...emotional...is because, in my other story (coming up), I mention that he's a closet V'tosh ka'tur.

 

Be sure to let me know when that one's up *Rush*! I do love me some Vulcan tales! I know it'll be good stuff!

 

That thing about Sorak being a closet v'tosh ka'tur makes sense. I actually had him pegged as half-human, because some of his sardonic remarks were reminding me of Spock. Not a bad guess...

I wonder when he came to that conclusion, that he didn't want to follow the Vulcan way? And does he follow the traditional ways on the outside to keep from standing out? Or is it fear of the stigma?

 

Interesting take on Sloan. You've certainly captured his voice; I could hear him speaking the words. You also brilliantly met the challenge of showing us the moment that made (or broke) a man. I'm not quite as sympathetic to Sloan as you seem to be, but I do understand him. And this piece reinforced that understanding. Very well-done and unique story -- good job!

 

Thanks, kes7!

 

Well done!

 

Thanks.

 

^ Thanks for directing me to this story, Rush. I'm not part of the "Sloan lives" camp myself, but I can see him being "resurrected" since one of my stories added to the hypothesis that 31 has superior technology kept on a "need-to-know" basis. From the ending, I'm guessing he was willing to cure Odo while appearing not to give up the cure voluntarily (perhaps his "assignment" for Bashir in "Extreme Measures").

 

Thank you for reading!

Absolutely. After all, Sloan seems to have some kind of "enhancement" enabling him to have photographic, detailed memories on the Bureau's operations, as "Extreme Measures" indicates. And there are many methods to simulate death in Trek--Zek's method in "The Nagus", or some kind of technology to "slow" the person's heart rate and brain activity to make them undetectable.

Recall Sherlock Holmes's deductions in the recent film, regarding how Lord Blackwood faked his death so well he fooled even Watson.

That's...for another tale, but you've got great instincts, mate.

 

That was very interesting! I'm not sure if "enjoyment" is the right word, but if it is, I definitely experienced that. Compelling, thought-provoking, emotional...and well-written. (But you knew all that already )

To be honest, I'd never really considered "Sloan, the man". In fact, I tended to not really think much about him. This kinda forced me to start thinking about him (and really, any Section 31 agent) and consider what causes someone to work for Section 31. And now you've got me mulling over story ideas...

 

^Thank you, Valeris.

Yes, Sloan is a most interesting character. I admit, when I first saw DS9, I was as disturbed by the idea as anyone. However...upon reviewing those episodes, I found myself drawn to Sloan, and his justifications for what he does.

I was particularly fascinated by the way William Sadler played the character. Every once in a while, we see Sloan let his guard down, just a bit, and can look into his eyes and see the man.

In "Inter Arna...", in the final scene, as Sloan says to Bashir, "You did the right thing," he looks...sad, and full of regret.

I took that, and the scene in "Extreme Measures" with his family, and basically connected the dots: He is doing all of this for the sake of his family, and others like them. As far as he's concerned...he's keeping them safe.

Still, those brief moments of sadness and regret led me to conclude that he's doing this in spite of his nature--the man he once was.

(BTW...you might notice I actually took Sloan at his word when, in "Inquistion", it's mentioned (in the holoprogram) that he had a son in Starfleet, who dies in the War. As Garak once noted, the best lies are the ones that are true.

Come to think of it...I wonder how Sloan reacted to his son's death....)

 

Hey, Limborg. You do realize we ain't done with the February challenge yet, right?

Oops! My bad, didn't check the date of the post.

 

No problem.