It started innocuously enough. Jake's adviser from the Pennington Institute forwarded him an article from the Earth and Moon Daily Chronicle she thought he might be interested in. It's about the Dominion occupation of Deep Space 9, and how residents were affected by it. It's a good article. Thought-provoking, insightful. Written by a professional, in partnership with a professional holographer. The perfect article, the kind that people will discuss years after the fact.

It was published before the occupation ended.

The reporter interviewed one of his classmates from Mrs. O'Brien's old school.

The holos were taken in the same sector that his and Nog's room was in.

It was published before the Federation News Service had recieved any of his pieces.

Jake bit back the urge to scream profanities. He punched his pillow. He took a few deep breaths.

He calmly posted a link to the story on his socials, so everyone could see his failure right next to this perfect article.

Jake's dad just laughed when he brought it up at dinner.

"Every journalist worth their salt is going to be covering something about the Dominion. You cover what you see, and that's important," he said

"I guess." Jake stared glumly into his gumbo.

His dad got up and started putting dishes away. "Besides, a good feature is a good feature. It'll be a great clip for you when it gets published."

Jake sighed. "If it gets published. I mean, it's already been done, now."

His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Yes. It has been done." He leaned in. "But not by you."

"You know what your problem is?" Nog asked from his position behind home plate.

Jake threw the ball with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Yeah? What's my problem?"

Nog tossed the ball back. "The Federation loves to claim that everything's post-scarcity, but then they go and have a competitive news media market anyway."

"So?" Jake asked as he wound up for another throw.

"So, big entities get to pull shit like this and say there was no harm done 'cause you don't need to worry about rent or food. At least in the free marketplace of ideas, they're honest that it's about screwing people over."

Jake thought it over. "I didn't even know there were other news markets out there. Or, I mean I guess the FNS has to get local wire stories from somewhere, but. People can really make money off the news?"

"Absolutely." Nog grinned. "Well, publishers can. You can really extract a profit if you run a skeleton crew with only the threat of more layoffs keeping them going."

"That's horrible."

"That's business. And in the business, you got scooped. Now all you gotta do is scoop 'em right back."

Dr. Bashir rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. This early in the morning, the Replimat was practically empty. "You need to think about this. I am absolutely certain it wasn't personal."

Jake rolled his eyes. "I know that."

Bashir pointed a finger at him. "I'm serious. Basically no word was coming out of the station. A news organization which had no affiliation to you sent in a professional. They didn't know you were writing your own articles. Hell, they probably didn't know you were still here."

"So you're saying that they don't even know I exist," Jake sighed.

Chief O'Brien looked over from the replicator. "What, you're mad because you're not famous yet?"

Jake put his head in his hands. "No. I'm just- I live here."

"So do hundreds of other people," O'Brien countered.

"But-"

"Jake." Bashir leaned forward. "You have a story to tell. But it is not just your story."

"It's bullsit," Jake whispered into his glass of something that as an adult Federation citizen he was allowed to enjoy, but would not necessarily be condoned by his father.

Major Kira slid onto the stool next to him. "It's not bullshit. But, in the grand scheme of things, it is a little trivial."

He took a sip. "I know."

"Your articles are gonna get published. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing."

"Jeez, does everyone on the station know about this?" Jake laughed.

"Just the people that matter." Kira worked her lips. "You know, you're lucky. People are dead. People are gonna keep dying until we solve this thing."

That single fact seemed inescapable. "I know."

"You have a gift. You can keep publishing your work, keep honing your craft." She stared into her glass. "That's not something everyone gets."

"Yeah." Jake stood from the bar. He had taken enough time to sit in his feelings. He needed to write.