Unity

by S. D. Perry

  A new start, for anyone who wants it. Almost anyone, she thought, wondering what she was going to do about Quark as she stopped near one of the small line drawings, looking around for the big oil painting he’d pointed out to her on their one and only tour of the exhibit. She remembered that it had been the first time she’d really accepted that he might allow his depth to shine through. His expressions, his comments . . . he had exposed real insight, not in a practical sense but as a fellow being of emotions and spirit. He’d made her really look at the piece, the divided faces that he’d named as Ziyal’s self-portrait . . . and that, in turn, had made her look at him in a way she hadn’t seriously considered before.

  If I stay, what will I tell him? She’d been so set on leaving, determined not to be folded back into an organization that had only been trouble for her . . . but what she’d done in the past weeks had been invaluable to stopping the parasites, and had made her feel needed. Which felt . . . good. Kira had even pulled her aside to mention that Akaar had withdrawn his objections to her staying on—reluctantly, undoubtedly, but it was what it was. She’d been approved, and stranger still, she’d found that she liked it.

  Still, she’d been ready to tell Quark that she would leave with him. They’d gotten together twice since the end of the parasites, but the conversation had been light, the mood deliberately casual. Neither time did they discuss anything of real import, but the future had been there, silent and possible between them. If they didn’t work out personally, they could still look into opening some kind of a business together . . . she could actually see herself a few years ahead, comfortably dressed, hair pulled back as she leaned behind the bar of some pleasant neighborhood tavern somewhere, polishing glasses while Quark worked the customers. He’d get himself trapped in some minor intrigue, she could spend her spare time getting him back out. It wasn’t such a bad vision of the future.

  The package that had been on her desk, that she’d opened only a few moments before walking across to the exhibit, had her name and designation on the outside, nothing more. Inside were only two items, one of which had made her decision complicated again. The first, a Starfleet uniform, standard-issue security gold, what many of the Bajoran Militia would be wearing before much longer; she hadn’t been terribly impressed, until she’d seen the second item—a slip of hardcopy resting near the uniform’s insignia, only a few words dashed across, the script fine and elegant.

  “In case you needed encouragement. JLP.”

  From the captain of the Enterprise. A man she admired, respected, and even feared in some ways, a man she couldn’t begin to fathom. He’d taken an interest in her that she’d never really understood, that had both flattered and irritated her more times than she could count . . . and in spite of the fact that they’d only spoken once in the last six years, he still kept track of her—and had sent her the package as a vote of confidence, it seemed. Why he continued to find her so deserving, she couldn’t begin to guess.

  And it had worked, too. As though the note was what she’d been waiting for, to make up her mind. Enough had changed for her on DS9 that she wanted to stay, to at least try to make it. There was nothing stopping her anymore . . . except, of course, for Quark.

  She was aware that a good many of the people she knew thought she had a serious emotional imbalance, the only explanation for her willingness to date the Ferengi bartender, but she had ceased to care. Whatever their relationship was, exactly, or would turn out to be . . . it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Quark was obnoxious and strange and often a caricature of himself, but there was also a lot more to him than people gave him credit for. If they couldn’t see it, that was their loss.

  Except if he goes and I stay, what relationship? It’s over. She could accept that, she thought, and also thought that Quark could manage to bluster his way out of seeming to care . . . but he’d be disappointed, and so would she.

  She wanted to see Ziyal’s portrait again, to see if she could feel what she’d felt that day, standing next to Quark . . . to see if she could clarify her options, somehow. The curator had done a good job at salvaging the vandalized exhibit, but Ro couldn’t find what she was looking for, and felt a stab of sorrow at its loss—until she realized it had been moved to the back corner of the room. A lone Cardassian male stood in front of it, his hands clasped behind his back, and though he didn’t look up when she approached, he politely stepped out so that she could also see.

  Ro smiled slightly, looking at the dramatic and beautiful work, remembering that she had touched Quark’s hand while they’d looked at it together. It was amazing, how Ziyal had managed to work stark, geometric shapes into an organic flow, creating the profiles of faces that joined together to make one; maybe not the most subtle of duality interpretations, but it was beautiful and sincere. The man next to her shifted slightly, clearing his throat.

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” he asked softly, his voice filled with pride, an undertone of real sorrow beneath it. It was such a distinctive tone that she recognized it immediately, instinctively—the voice of someone who must have known Tora Ziyal. Ro turned to look at him, sorry for his loss. By all accounts, Ziyal had been an exceptional person . . .

  . . . and realized that she recognized the man himself.

  “It’s my favorite,” she said slowly, her muscles tensing reflexively. “Mr. Garak?”

  Elim Garak, the tailor and onetime spy. How had he gotten aboard without her knowing about it?

  The Cardassian’s smile was slight but his eyes glittered as he looked at the painting again, as he ignored her surprise. “Mine, too.”

  She was at a loss for words. She’d only spoken to him once, via holo, trying to spare Quark more trouble in return for his help, and Garak had been surprisingly genial. But she also knew enough about him, about the allegedly defunct Obsidian Order, to know that his very presence on DS9 was cause for . . . concern. “Are you . . .” What was she supposed to ask? Are you here to cause trouble? To kill someone? She felt extremely off her guard, and asked the only thing she could think of.

  “Are you here for the signing?”

  Garak sighed. “You know, that was my original purpose in coming. See a few friends, watch the ceremony . . . and I suppose I was looking for some kind of closure to my time here. But now that I’ve seen this”—he panned the exhibit with a slow gaze—“I think I might just go home again. Avoid the rush, you know.”

  He turned his attention back to the painting. “She was so . . . herself. Seeing her work, I’m reminded of my real purpose—of what my life is now, you could say, helping others, rebuilding. Creating something new. Stray not from the path that fate decides for you, as my mentor used to tell me.”

  A compelling quote. “Vulcan?” Ro asked.

  “Ferengi fortune cookie,” Garak said. He didn’t smile, but his eyes seemed to glitter ever brighter. He straightened, turning away from the portrait to offer Ro a slight bow.

  “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant. Please give my regards to Quark.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ro said. “Anyone else?”

  He smiled. “No, no thank you. I’m sure I’ll find a way to keep in touch.”

  Another polite bow, and he walked away, leaving her alone. She should probably notify Kira of Garak’s presence, get a detail on his movements, warn Quark . . . but she turned back to Ziyal’s powerful artwork instead, deciding that she would take their conversation at face value. It was probably a mistake, but she believed what he’d told her. She had no reason to think otherwise, except for his reputation . . . and she knew well enough from her own experience that reputations could be deceptive.

  She gazed at Ziyal’s self-portrait a while longer, her brief conversation with Garak replaying itself in her mind, about purpose, about what life became. She told herself that she hadn’t yet decided whether to stay with DS9, to rejoin Starfleet, or to strike out on her own, to try a life with Quark . . . but telling herself that didn’t make it so.

&nbs
p; I’m staying, she thought, wondering at the tingle that the simple statement sent through her, wondering how she was going to break the news to Quark.

  * * *

  Vaughn waited for Prynn outside her quarters, anxious but determined to speak with her. He’d called her every few days since his release from the infirmary, and though she hadn’t agreed to meet with him yet, he thought she had seemed less angry the last time he’d contacted her—had even seemed curious, that he wouldn’t stop calling.

  He leaned against the corridor wall, checked his watch. She’d been off-duty for ten minutes or so. If she wasn’t back soon, he’d have to assume that she’d gone out for the evening, and would try again later. He didn’t want to track her down with the computer, wanted their conversation to be private . . . but also wanted her to have the option of closing a door in his face, if that was what she wanted. So he waited, hoping that he hadn’t been wrong, that she was more willing to speak to him than she had been in recent weeks.

  I’m about to find out.

  Some ten meters away, Prynn rounded the corner. When she saw him she faltered a moment, slowed—but didn’t turn around and leave, either.

  She’s so beautiful, he thought, feeling as though he was seeing her through new eyes. Not just that she was attractive, that she had her mother’s delicate features and casual grace . . . it was her anger, too, the fire in her. The turmoil, the pride and humor, the uniqueness of her.

  “Commander,” she said, entirely polite, entirely indifferent as she walked to her door.

  “May I speak to you a moment?” he asked.

  “If I say yes, will you stop calling me?” she retorted. He heard the barely hidden wound in her voice and shook his head.

  “No,” he said simply. “I’ve already made that mistake.”

  She considered him a moment, searching for something, then shrugged, pressing her door panel. “Come in.”

  He followed her inside, not surprised that her quarters were relaxed, sparsely decorated and casually messy. She didn’t offer him a seat as she turned to face him, a look of studied irritation on her face.

  “What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  Vaughn nodded, drawing a breath. He was nervous, he didn’t want to make things worse—but he wasn’t afraid, either. It wasn’t a test.

  It’s a process, he reminded himself. He’d met Benjamin Sisko twice since his Orb experience, and though the encounters had been warm, even comfortable, neither had spoken of what had happened, of Eli and Benny. Vaughn wasn’t sure they ever would; strangely, he hadn’t felt compelled to bring it up, either . . . but at both meetings, Sisko had asked about his daughter, if he’d talked with her. Vaughn hoped that the next time he saw Sisko—

  —Benny—

  —he’d be able to say he had.

  “Maybe I should tell you what I don’t want,” Vaughn said. “I don’t want to tell you I’m sorry again. And I don’t want your forgiveness.”

  At the very least, he’d surprised her into looking surprised, her apathy set aside. “What?”

  “I could tell you I’m sorry a billion times, and it would never make up for my behavior as your father,” he said, meeting her eyes, hoping that she would hear him, that she could hear him. “And you shouldn’t forgive me. Not for me, anyway. There’s no excuse for how inadequately I’ve loved you.”

  Prynn folded her arms tighter, not speaking.

  “All I want now is to get to know you, a little,” Vaughn said. “You don’t owe it to me, and if you don’t want to talk to me for a while, that’s okay, too. But I won’t stop trying, not ever again. Giving up, telling myself that you were better off without me . . . that has been the worst mistake of my life. Because my life has been so much the poorer without you in it.”

  Still, she didn’t speak—but he saw her gaze turn liquid, and felt hope, real hope.

  “We don’t have to talk about the past, if you don’t want to,” he said. “Or you can yell at me about it every day for the rest of my life. Either way, I’d like it very much if you’d accompany me to the ceremony tomorrow. And maybe afterward, we could get something to eat. Or the next day, or next week. Whenever you’re ready, Prynn. Whatever you want.”

  Prynn cleared her throat, but still, her voice broke slightly when she spoke. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

  Vaughn nodded, struggling not to push it any further, well aware of how very lucky he was.

  “Thank you,” he said, meaning it with all his heart.

  25

  KIRA HEARD THAT HE WAS ON HIS WAY AND READIED HERSELF, EXCITED and anxious and a bit melancholy, all at once. She was also happy, happier than she could remember being since the end of the war. The preparations were finally complete. In less than an hour, she’d be leaving for Bajor, for the final signing, along with DS9’s senior staff. Odo would be coming, too, to stand at her side. The thought made her heart skip a beat. Politics and career and religion aside, her reunion with Odo had done wonders for her state of mind, but with everything else that was happening, all she’d worked toward for so long . . . things were good. Things were wonderful.

  And he’ll be here to see it. Benjamin Sisko, who was on the way up, the first visit back to the station since his return from the Temple, and the first time she’d seen him since the day his daughter had been born. Rebecca, after the woman who’d raised Ben as her own; Jae, after Kas’s mother.

  “Captain on deck!”

  Even with her door closed, Kira could hear the boom of Sam Bowers’s voice. At his grinning declaration, everyone in ops stood up, and all of them turned to face Sisko as he stepped off the turbolift. Kira took a deep breath and tapped a contact on the desk, opening the door to her office. She wasn’t sure who started clapping but it was quickly picked up, gathering momentum as everyone cheered for Benjamin.

  “At ease,” Sisko tried to say, but the words were lost to the applause. They were all smiling, laughing as they continued to clap furiously.

  “At ease,” Sisko said again, louder this time, and slowly, the applause dwindled. “I appreciate the welcome,” he said as he stepped down into the pit. “It’s good to see you all. I hope to be able to catch up with each of you later, and for the chance to get to know some of you better, perhaps after the induction ceremony. But right now, I’m late for a meeting. I know I don’t have to tell you how the CO hates to be kept waiting.”

  Laughter, and warm touches and smiles for him as he walked to the office. Kira watched him approach, hefting the desk ornament he’d left behind, that she’d drawn strength from in the months he’d been gone. As he stepped through the doorway, she threw it at him.

  Sisko reached up and snatched the missile out of the air, grinning as he realized what it was.

  “I suppose you’ll want the office,” Kira said.

  Sisko turned his grin toward her, and she could tell that he remembered. It was one of the first things she’d ever said to him, when he’d come to the station all those years ago.

  “Not this time, Nerys,” he said, tossing the baseball easily from one hand to the other. “The new uniform suits you, by the way.”

  Captain Kira glanced down at her Starfleet uniform, touched the four gold pips on her collar, and smiled back at him. For all of her own doubts about Bajor’s induction, she thought she was finally ready. The suit felt good. That Starfleet had not only forgiven her behavior, her decision to take the Defiant, but awarded her a special commendation . . . it renewed her confidence in the Federation, that they had recognized her commitment to what was important. “Still haven’t gotten used to the rank. Makes me feel like I’ve been demoted. And the combadge is on the wrong side.”

  “You’ll adjust,” Sisko told her, his smile turning slightly wicked. “Or maybe Starfleet will.”

  He tossed the baseball back at her, a gentle lob. “And this belongs with the station’s commander, I think.”

  Kira caught it, her smile fading, her heart skipping a beat. There had been no o
fficial word, no one suggesting that she step down, but she also hadn’t wanted to assume anything. “You’re not coming back?”

  “Actually, Starfleet wants to make me an admiral,” Ben said. “They planned to offer it to me after the end of the war.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Kira said enthusiastically. “And well deserved. You’ll be—”

  “I turned them down, Nerys.”

  Kira wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t coming back, but he wasn’t taking a promotion, either. Ben leaned against the closed door, calmly watching her. He was the same Benjamin Sisko she remembered, but different, too. Not changed, but more . . . more present.

  What did you expect? He’s been to the Temple. With Them.

  As it had ever since his return, the thought threatened to overwhelm her, but she did her best to set it aside. They’d been through that before, when he’d been named Emissary; this was bigger, but the essentials were the same. If he wanted to discuss Them with her, he would, but she would not pry.

  “So . . . what are you going to do?” Kira asked.

  Ben smiled. “I’m going to take my family to the induction ceremony. And after that . . .”

  He studied her a moment, that little smile still playing across his mouth. “After that, I thought I’d stick around for a while, see what happens next.”

  Kira nodded. “Something always does.”

  “Yes,” he said, his smile widening. “Yes it does, doesn’t it?”

  * * *

  To those in the gathered crowd, it must have felt like half the planet had turned out for the ceremony, which was held just outside the great capital of Ashalla. It had been a long time since Kira had seen so many of her people in one place, though from where she stood, she could see that the assembly was far from planetary. Still and all, it was quite a sight. There was no official count yet, but she estimated several thousand people had come, drawn not only by the signing, but by the chance to see the people who’d made it possible. The appearances of Benjamin Sisko and Opaka Sulan played no small part, she was sure.