Strange New Worlds 2016

by Various

  The underground hall was vast. Jadzia Dax could not see where it ended or where it began. From where she stood at the bottom of wide, curving stairs, the hall seemed to stretch endlessly to the right and to the left. Above her, lights hung like stalactites in an enormous cavern. Everywhere she looked, there were things. A ten-meter-tall bronze obelisk. Shelves with actual books and scrolls shared space with small clay figurines. A wooden life-sized carving of a horse. A tile mosaic. She recognized objects from dozens of planets. Was that a Vulcan harp beside a Klingon bat’leth?

  Valel seemed to enjoy her astonishment. “We are the Archivists. We preserve the past in secret. What I am showing you would merit my execution. We are few, but we are loyal.”

  “Loyal to a past that is all but forgotten.”

  “Except here.” Valel waved his arms. “We are a stubborn underground movement.”

  “No pun intended, I’m sure.”

  Valel ignored Dax and said, “We save what we can from each Renewal. There are things ancient and more recent in our archive.”

  “How many?

  Valel shrugged and shook his head. “There are untold millions of objects. Billions of individual pieces perhaps.”

  “I mean how many are there of you, the Archivists?”

  Hesitating, the Cardassian stepped off the last step and ran a hand across a marble table top. The legs were carved from Andorian teak and depicted a long-ago battle with Vulcans. A sehlat’s fangs and claws grabbed the table’s rim. “As I said, we are few. We face a unique challenge. We are not immune to Renewal. We forget along with everybody else.”

  “Then how . . . ?”

  “Before each Renewal we create and hide messages to ourselves. They contain instructions and the secret history of the Archives. And we pass down this sacred duty from generation to generation. My mother and father were Archivists. And theirs before them.”

  “So in a few days, your memory will be erased. But then you’ll find a message to yourself and realize you have an obligation.”

  He looked embarrassed. “Something like that.”

  “Remarkable. But what do you hope to eventually accomplish?”

  He seemed to be a different man from the one she worked with in the lab. “We need your help. Yours and the others.”

  “To do what?”

  “To stay here and teach us. You are living links to the past. You can teach us so much.”

  “Given what you’ve told me about Renewal, what you are proposing sounds like revolution.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We need your help to overthrow the Federation.”

  Sisko and Worf followed P’Tash to Valel’s lab, only to find it empty.

  “She may be in trouble,” said Worf. “Jadzia would not willingly leave with her work unfinished.”

  “We needed a break,” said Dax as she and Valel approached from behind them.

  “I was showing Dax the view from the top of the Citadel,” Valel said.

  “It’s beautiful, Benjamin,” Dax said. “Even you would like it, Worf.”

  Sisko recognized something in Dax’s tone. She was trying to tell him something. “That sounds like something I’d like to see. Perhaps later.”

  “You are tired, I’m sure,” said P’Tash.

  “I can show them to the guest rooms,” said Valel, taking the Trill by the elbow.

  “No, Valel. You should stay and monitor the progress of the repairs. We all have an interest in seeing that our guests are returned to their own time and place.”

  Valel released Dax and gave a slight bow.

  P’Tash gestured toward the door. “Come with me, please.”

  The Starfleet officers followed, leaving Valel behind.

  “It is not our business,” said Worf. “The Prime Directive—”

  “The Prime Directive?” Dax snapped. “You of all people are going to cite the Prime Directive?”

  “It does not matter whether we are in the far future or not, if that is what you are thinking, Lieutenant.”

  “You’re going to pull rank?”

  Sisko thought that it could get violent, and it wasn’t Dax he was worried about. “All right, old man, Mister Worf.” He had picked up an apple from a fruit bowl on a small table and was looking forward to enjoying his second of the day, but he found himself tossing it from hand to hand like a baseball. They had been discussing the situation on Bajor and the Federation for what seemed like hours.

  “Staying here to help in a revolution,” he began carefully, “is out of the question.”

  Dax took a deep breath. “I’m not suggesting that, Benjamin. I never thought I’d say this, but the Federation has failed. In order to keep the peace, they destroy themselves. Again and again. It’s not just burning books, it’s whole families torn apart. Again and again.”

  “Not our problem,” said Worf. “We would be interfering with the timestream.”

  Sisko stopped tossing his “baseball.” “What about that, old man?”

  She shook her head. “Is it interfering in the timestream if none of this has happened yet? From our perspective, I mean.”

  Sisko felt a headache coming on. “I sympathize with Valel. But he can’t be serious about asking for help to bring down the Federation. How could we? We are just three people.”

  “Our combat experience. Our knowledge of subterfuge, subversion, and espionage. We could teach them.”

  The headache was definitely coming. “For the sake of argument, how? P’Tash says that if we are here on the last day of Renewal, which is in less than eight days, we’ll be renewed as well. We’ll forget everything.”

  Dax sat down, defeated at last. “I don’t know.” She looked pleadingly at Sisko and Worf. “Eight days is a long time. There must be something we can do.”

  A groan from Worf caught their attention. “No wars,” he said. “No opportunity for a warrior to show his worth. No chance to vanquish an enemy in honorable combat. Such things are disgusting to a Klingon.” He sat down beside Dax. “But there is peace here, Jadzia. Real peace, at last. I do not believe I am saying this, but do you wish to undo centuries of peace? Is this what you want?”

  Dax looked him in the eye. “Yes.” She looked unflinchingly at Sisko. “Absolutely, yes. The Federation has become a totalitarian regime that oppresses free will. As officers in Starfleet and citizens of the Federation, it is our duty to correct this.”

  Sisko’s head throbbed. He returned the apple to the fruit bowl. “We’re done for the night. I suggest you retire to your quarters. Tomorrow is another day.”

  From the vast veranda overlooking the river, Sisko watched the world burn.

  The ceremony of Renewal had begun. There were to be seven days of “cleansing,” as P’Tash put it. They could have simply vaporized everything that held some link to the past, instead they ceremoniously and very carefully destroyed the past in spectacular bonfires. It was the third day of the ceremony, and yesterday the captain had walked through the village and saw the sad statue of the fisherman being hauled down with ropes to whoops and hollers. He also noticed a distinct and growing lawlessness. Worf and Dax had seen it too. People were acting out without fear of repercussion. They were indulging in vices and unleashing pent-up desires.

  Somehow the sight of the stone fisherman smashed to pieces on the cobblestone stirred him more than the hidden vault of the Archivists. At Dax’s suggestion, Valel had shown him the vault in hopes of moving him to action. While he was in awe, it had not changed his mind. He resisted the desire to explore the collection—there were objects from across the galaxy in that cavern—and left without moving past the doorway.

  But the stone fisherman. The glow of fires played across his simple features before he toppled over and shattered. It had been an ugly thing but now i
t meant something to him. He couldn’t articulate it to Dax or Worf, but it made him profoundly sad.

  “What will you do?” he had asked Valel.

  “All this belongs in a museum. Or in homes or schools. It belongs in the hands of the people, to be seen and held and enjoyed. One day, perhaps, that will be.”

  On his way back from the market he’d found himself in a mob. It seemed as if two groups were clashing, but he could not tell for certain. He found himself jostled at first, and then roughly pushed. He struggled to escape as rough hands clawed at him. He barreled through the throngs, stumbled, and found himself down by the river. Catching his breath, he realized he was on the same rock he’d shared with Gen and Marisa days earlier.

  He had sat there for a long time as the world shuddered and burned.

  The repairs were finished, and P’Tash, Valel, and others were in the hall to see them off. The pair seemed distracted. P’Tash was relieved and Valel defeated. Sisko saw Gen and Marisa off to the side, and the little girl gave him a shy wave.

  “And now we say our farewells, Captain Sisko.” P’Tash stood tall, playing the part of grand officiant.

  “I wish I could say that this visit has been memorable,” said Sisko, “but we won’t remember any of this. And, soon, neither will you. As I understand it, it’s your duty and responsibility to unleash the nanoprobes into the atmosphere that begin the final stages of the Renewal, erasing everyone’s memories.”

  P’Tash met his gaze and gave him a tight smile. “When you are ready, you will be materialized aboard your ship and returned to your time.”

  Sisko turned to his officers. He could see the anger written in Dax’s face. Worf was, as usual, stoic and difficult to read. “There is just one last thing, P’Tash. There’s something I’d like you to see.” He turned to Valel. “Will you take us to the vault?”

  Dax and Valel looked at Sisko in astonishment. “Benjamin, are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “This is dangerous,” Dax said. “The penalty for—”

  “Valel, will you take us?” Sisko asked again, but the Cardassian was speechless. “Very well, I will. Follow me, everyone. There’s something you should all see.”

  P’Tash grabbed Sisko’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Showing you the past. Don’t worry. If you don’t like it, you can just forget about it.”

  Sisko had memorized the passage to the Archives, which was located deep below the Citadel. It was a long march, and any fear that they would be impeded or that P’Tash would not follow vanished as the party seemed to grow noticeably larger. At last they came to a passage that ended in a dead end. “Open it, Valel.”

  Resigned to his fate, Valel did not argue but simply pressed a series of stone panels that caused a section of the wall to recede. Sisko stepped forward and pushed open the door. “Take a look, P’Tash.”

  She followed him in, and the crowd behind them surged forward. Sisko and P’Tash found themselves carried along to the bottom of the stairs as dozens and dozens of people descended the stairs in astonishment. Like children in a toy store, thought Sisko.

  “What is this?” asked P’Tash.

  “The past is full of terrible things, but it is full of wonder as well,” Sisko said. “In my time we struggled to define ourselves. We used the past as a guideline for the future. But we’re not defined by our past. We used it to build a better tomorrow.” He looked around and, for a moment, shared in the wonder of it all. He pushed past a number of people and mounted the stairs. “Listen to me!” Sisko yelled to the crowd. “Listen!” They all were listening. “If you destroy your past you have nothing on which to build your future. And right now, you have no future. Only endless beginnings. A world without history is a world without identity. It is the past that makes the present worth living in. We learn from our mistakes. We learn from our ancestors. And we move on. The sins of the father are warnings to the children: it doesn’t have to be this way. If there is no yesterday, there is nothing today, and no hope for tomorrow.”

  “Captain!” P’Tash’s voice was strong and clear. “Why do you persist in trying to save the past?”

  “I’m not trying to save the past. I’m fighting for the future.” He caught sight of Gen, who carried Marisa in his arms. “You deserve a world where a little girl can learn from her grandfather. You want a world where stories can be passed down from generation to generation. You need a world were music evolves like a living thing and grows and changes. And, yes, a world where bad things can happen. But only if you let them. Look around you! All this came from the past, some of it thousands of years old. We did horrible things in my time, but we were also capable of creating great beauty. We didn’t hide from the brutality of our forefathers. We used it as inspiration to do better.”

  He looked at P’Tash. “Go ahead. Destroy all this or lock it away. It doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to revisit the past. Create a new past. Starting today you can be masters of your own fate. Don’t surrender to the fear of free will and the ugly side of emotions. Learn from it instead. Master it. It begins here. It begins now.”

  Gen, still carrying Marisa, moved through the crowd. All was silent as the old man approached the Starfleet captain. “This isn’t just a new chapter. This is a whole new book.” He turned to P’Tash but said nothing. The old man held her gaze and Sisko wondered if there was an understanding between them. Or perhaps there had been something, three decades ago.

  Marisa looked at Sisko with crystal blue eyes. “You are ancient and wise.”

  Sisko smiled and joined P’Tash and Gen. He took Marisa in his arms and said, “It is a new book. And all of you can be the authors. How it ends is up to you.”

  They stayed for the eighth day.

  P’Tash did not release the nanoprobes. Across the planet there was great fear and confusion, but also growing joy. They knew, from reports, the galaxy had changed around them and only they remembered the last fifty years. By the ninth day, P’Tash’s earlier resolve and confidence was returning. She decreed that the vault should remain closed; one day they would share their gifts with the galaxy. Starting now, they were going to rebuild all that they had destroyed.

  “What you’ve done has taken great courage,” Sisko said to her.

  “Or enormous stupidity. It won’t take long for word of our noncompliance to leak out to the rest of the Federation. But we’ll be ready for them when they come. It’s been a long time since anyone fought a war. I doubt they would know what to do with us. And there are sympathizers everywhere, Valel tells me.”

  Worf approached Lorac, who remained impassive. If he was wary, he did not show it. Worf approved. “You are a Klingon.”

  “What does that mean? What is it to be a Klingon?”

  Worf thought for a moment. “For thousands of centuries our people have been warriors. We have accomplished feats of heroism and valor. Our deeds are known throughout the galaxy.” He glanced over at Sisko, who was saying his farewells to P’Tash. “But many think of us as a savage and barbaric race that revels in destruction. Violence. Aggression. Those were the ways of my people. Those were the Klingon way.” He placed a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder. “It does not have to be that way.”

  Worf joined Sisko and Dax in the center of the hall, and then they were gone.

  The burst of light brought a wave of heat and searing pain. Benjamin Sisko squeezed his eyes shut and choked on the acrid smoke that filled his nose, mouth, and lungs. The environmental systems labored with clearing the runabout and pumping fresh oxygen, but the damage was done. Sisko wondered if they would die of suffocation before being blown up.

  “Environmental systems operating at twenty-two percent!” Worf yelled before another volley of photon torpedoes jarred the hapless runabout.

  At the helm, Jadzia Dax stru
ggled furiously. She swore. “Phasers are offline!”

  What good would it do, wondered Sisko, to fight? They were already lost.

  Another burst of light, this one blinding like the heart of a white sun.

  This is it, he thought. Good-bye, Jake. I’m sorry.

  Sisko took his next breath—his last, he thought—and felt invigorating, fresh oxygen fill his lungs. He looked around. The air was clear of smoke and, while damaged, the console in front of him was intact. Dax sat upright in her seat, her hands resting in front of her. “Old man?”

  As if from a stupor, she turned slowly to face him. “Benjamin?”

  Behind him, Worf stood statue-like. “What has happened?”

  Dax scanned her console. “We’re three-point-two light-years from where we just were. I don’t understand.”

  Sisko analyzed the data on the screen beside him, the same screen he was certain had just exploded moments ago. “Life-support systems are functioning normally.”

  “Phasers are online,” Dax reported.

  “Where are the Jem’Hadar?” demanded Worf.

  Dax ran a sensor sweep, twice. “They are nowhere to be found.”

  Sisko was running his own level-1 diagnostic. “We’ll have to analyze this data back at the station, but it appears as if we were caught in an explosion that hurled us light-years from the fight.”

  Worf growled. “We should return and punish the Jem’Hadar for their cowardly ambush.”

  Dax let out a sound that sounded like a snort. “We got lucky once. This is a one-in-a-trillion opportunity. Let’s not waste it.”

  Puzzled, Sisko sat back in his chair. It didn’t make sense. It seemed impossible. But maybe it was a one-in-a-trillion opportunity as Dax put it. “Agreed. Let’s go home and count ourselves lucky. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  THE MANHUNT POOL

  Nancy Debretsion