by S. D. Perry
After giving her a few moments of quiet, he walked to the bed, noting that she’d been steadily upping her dosage of sedatives over the last hour. While a natural physical death was still many hours away, it wouldn’t be long, he suspected, before she asked for his help. The hypo gun was already prepared.
“How are you?” he asked, looking down at her, not sure if he should sit.
“Tired,” Stess answered, her voice soft. “How are you?”
Glessin hadn’t expected the question. “Fine. I’m…I’m well, thank you.”
“Not dying, anyway,” Stess said, and though it was weak, he could feel a pulse of good humor coming from her. “I believe I’m about ready to stop now.”
Glessin nodded, turning away. “I’ll get the hypo.”
“I…actually, I was hoping you might sit with me for a moment,” Stess said. “Though I’m afraid my self-control is limited…I hope you’ll excuse any emotional indiscretion on my part.”
Glessin was startled. “No, of course. I mean, don’t concern yourself.”
He sat on the low bench next to her, not sure what to say, what to do. He’d spent the last nine hours watching over her, observing the others, feeling…feeling like a medic with a patient, he supposed, and now that she’d asked him for a personal moment, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. About her.
I’m…sorry, he thought, and reached out to adjust the sedation line, wishing he could tell her that he was sorry—that she was dying, that he couldn’t help her more, that he would be the last person she spent time with. It was such a selfish thought, though, he refused to consider saying it aloud. She deserved some peace in her final moments.
Tentatively, he reached out and placed his right hand on the top of Stess’s head, resting it there, knowing that the warmth should be soothing; he’d seen Facity doing it earlier. All three Friagloim parts shifted—taking comfort from the action, he hoped—and he tried to relax into it, wishing it felt less contrived. He’d always felt so awkward around Stessie, but he’d also always known it was his problem, not hers…and he realized, thinking about it now, that she had been perhaps one of the kindest people he’d ever met. She had always worked to make everyone else comfortable, restricting her own nature, keeping her pleasant, curious, friendly emotions to herself so that people like him could maintain their selfish feelings of loneliness. It was unfair, it was dismal and unfair.
I should be the one dying, Glessin thought, knowing it was a ridiculously self-indulgent notion, embarrassed that he should be thinking of himself now, knowing that he meant it…and he suddenly felt a gentle warmth surrounding him, felt a soft, bittersweet longing, felt compassion. The feelings were mild but powerful, and growing stronger.
“Stessie, I…you’re projecting,” he said, and meant to pull his hand away, felt the first tinges of panic as her warmth pulsed over him…and then the panic was being washed aside, her feelings overwhelming his. He knew he should struggle against them but found that he couldn’t, felt the emotions fold over him like warm water. Like an embrace. He’d never felt anything like it.
“Forgive me,” Stess said, her weak voice far away, “but I want you to know the truth, Allo Glessin. I’ve always tried to respect your distance, but I’ve never understood it. It was so long ago, the battle that you carry with you.”
How did she know? His hand was still resting on her head, and he couldn’t move it, wasn’t sure if he was trying. Her empathy, her compassion, was endless, filling him up, the sheer magnitude of the feelings keeping him still—he couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t feel anything except what she felt. There was such sadness, for herself and for him, such warmth.
“Only you think these bad things about yourself,” she said. “Only you keep yourself apart. You’re a good person. I see, I’ve always seen. I’m glad you’re here with me now.”
He’d known she was capable of so much power, that she could knock down enemies with her thoughts, but why was she doing this to him? Did she know what she was doing, did she understand what was happening? Of course she did, he could feel that she did, but how could he possibly deserve such…such absolution?
Her feelings continued to pulse through him, and tears welled up in his eyes, his throat aching…and he suddenly realized that she was accepting him. He couldn’t run from it, couldn’t avoid it by telling himself that she was wrong, that it wasn’t true, because he could feel the truth of it. She had seen inside, and she knew the broken core of him, and she still accepted him. He felt entirely exposed, vulnerable to her…and safe, he knew he was safe because the knowledge wasn’t hidden. There was nothing secret, there was nothing dangerous in her embrace…except that it was starting to fade.
It was all he could do to speak. “Don’t…don’t hurt yourself,” he whispered.
“It’s time now,” she said, and he could feel her becoming weaker, could feel his own emotions coming back…not just the ones he allowed himself, but feelings that he barely recognized, it had been so long. Sorrow and love and regret and gratitude, the gratitude stronger than all the rest.
Glessin stood and went to get the hypo. When he returned, he could feel how ready she was, could feel her exhaustion and her desire for sleep.
“Good-bye,” she said. “Be well.”
“Thank you,” he said, weeping openly as he administered the hypo, and he could feel that she was happy in her last moment of life, knowing that she had helped him.
A few seconds later, she was gone, and the tears went with her. Glessin was himself again, and alone, more confused and uncertain and hopeful than he had been in years.
Dez was on his fifth Saurian brandy when somebody signaled at his door. It was late; Facity, probably. He’d told her that he wanted to be alone, but that had been three brandies ago. He’d been alone long enough, he decided, he was sick and tired of loneliness.
“Come in.”
It wasn’t Fac, it was Jake, looking tentative as he stepped inside. Dez was just drunk enough to be glad to see him, in spite of what he knew Jake must be thinking.
That I should feel responsible, that it’s my fault.
Maybe not, he shouldn’t, couldn’t assume that. The look on Jake’s face suggested only that he was unhappy. No surprise there; since Glessin’s brief announcement shortly before dinner, the Even had been a very unhappy place.
“Jake! Come in, sit…have a drink,” Dez said, gesturing at the open bottle on the table. He’d never seen Jake imbibe but offered anyway, hoping for company. “It’s an Alpha import, Saurian…. There’s another glass over on the shelf there.”
“No, thanks,” Jake said, walking to the chair opposite Dez’s. He sat down, glancing around at the low-lit room, at the handsome pieces with which Dez had furnished his quarters—the antique Seerwagah clay furniture, the matching T’p urns, the Dosi birth-rite masks, the pre-Axwism Hissidolan pottery. Dez remembered that Jake had been by on only a few occasions, that they usually spent time together in the conference rooms or web rooms or dining hall.
We should spend more time here, Dez thought blearily, the thought immediately followed by a wave of sadness. Jake would be leaving before long. And why not? Why would he choose to stay on a ship where the captain couldn’t keep his people safe?
It’s not my fault, Dez told himself, not for the first time since the explosion. He wasn’t any closer to accepting it. Stessie’s death was a tragedy, and the blame had to rest somewhere.
“I just wanted…I thought I’d see how you were doing,” Jake said.
Dez shrugged, took a swig from his glass. “Fine. I’m mostly drunk, I think. Can’t get any better than that, considering.”
Jake’s forlorn expression invited something more substantial. Dez set his glass down and leaned back into the soft chair, studying Jake.
“I’m holding up,” he said, and sighed. “How are you?”
Jake hesitated. “Worried,” he said, after a beat. “When I saw you earlier in sickbay…Are you…Do you think this is your faul
t?”
Dez stared, not sure what to say. Even Facity hadn’t been so direct. Jake fumbled on.
“Because it’s not,” he said. “There’s no way you could have known. Everyone feels terrible about what happened, she was…I didn’t know her as well as you did, but she was really special, I know that. It was a horrible accident, but it didn’t happen because of you.”
Dez reached for his glass, downed what was left in one choked swallow. What Jake was saying…he wanted it to be true, had been telling himself all night that it was, but he couldn’t let himself off the hook as easily as that.
“I could have sent the dropship in for a closer look—” Dez began.
“—which wouldn’t have made a difference,” Jake interrupted, “and you know it, the mines were barely detectable from a meter away.”
Jake leaned toward him, his expression compassionate, understanding.
“You told me yourself, the day I came aboard, that your business is about trouble,” he said softly. “Stessie knew that. When I talked to her earlier, she told me she didn’t regret a thing, that she loved her time here. She didn’t hold you accountable for her death, you know that.”
“I’m the captain,” Dez said firmly, shaking his head, still resisting. “I’m…I’m not going to turn away from my responsibility.”
Jake nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know how important that is, I grew up knowing how important it is…but there are some things you can control, and some you can’t. And if you hang on to feeling bad about the things you can’t control, you’re going to go crazy. You’ll drive everyone else crazy, too.”
From the look on his face, Dez suspected that Jake also knew something about that—watching his father agonize over some decision gone wrong, undoubtedly, Sisko perhaps even taking his frustration and anger out on the young Jake…
…not me. That’ll never be me.
Dez opened his mouth to say as much, to tell Jake that he was right, to send him along his way—Jake’s simple advice had been given, he should be able to feel good about it and go commiserate with the rest of the crew—and what came out surprised him, as completely as if he’d suddenly leapt up and started to sing.
“My father was a ship’s captain,” Dez said. He stared into his empty glass for a moment, then looked up, feeling strangely uncertain. Jake’s expression was receptive and kind. Had he expected anything else?
“He ran freight, but he did some retrieval work, too,” Dez said. “I know he did well for himself…but he turned away from his responsibilities, at least the ones that wouldn’t pay off. His wife, and me. Left us on a mixed agricolony planet with nothing, when I was very small.
“My mother wasn’t all that interested in childrearing, either, but she stayed, at least,” Dez said, remembering. “She used to tell me…”
…you’re just like him, you don’t care about anyone but yourself—
Dez shook it off, grasping for the thread of his original thought, the brandy hiding it, confusing him…and again he saw Jake’s generous expression, and knew, suddenly knew why he’d brought his father up. It was his own subconscious mind, telling him that the time was right, to press Jake into making a decision.
Dez hadn’t yet asked him to stay, well aware that Jake had always meant to return home once they reached Ee—but he’d also known for some weeks that he wasn’t going to let Jake walk away without a fight. His own history didn’t matter, it wasn’t even interesting, let alone important; what was important was the look on Jake’s face. Jake cared about him, he was a bright, good kid and Dez wasn’t going to just let him go.
His father didn’t deserve him, probably took him for granted all those years…and left him behind, off to visit his exalted gods, never caring that his son wanted or needed him, still wants and needs him….
I care. He belongs with me. He had to make Jake understand, that was all…and didn’t he know Jake well enough by now, to see how it could be done? He suddenly felt near soberness, ideas and angles unfolding, his instincts taking over.
“I was your age when I went looking for him,” Dez said, letting his need form his words, letting it sculpt the truth. “I knew he was doing a regular run between a couple of industry worlds, and I worked my way across fifty light-years to see him…to show him, I think, that I was a man. That I was ready to be a part of his life, not as a son, but as his equal.”
Jake was nodding slowly.
“I just wanted him to know that,” Dez said, and he wasn’t lying, wasn’t, he was just elaborating on feelings he’d once had, finding in them what he knew Jake would respond to. “I wanted him to know that I was okay, that I was ready for this…this new phase of my life.
“It took nearly a year to get to him, working on freighters, hopping between ships, running salvage…” Dez smiled. “Amazing times. I learned a lot about myself, and I met a lot of interesting people. I didn’t know, then, how that year would stay with me as one of the best times of my life. Back then, I didn’t know that life was something that just happened, even when you were waiting for it to get started. I had this plan, you see—I believed I’d be happy when I finally got to see him, once this great wish of mine could be realized…that he’d look at me and be sorry that he went away.”
Jake’s gaze had gone distant, but he was paying close attention, Dez could tell by the swiftness of his nod, the eagerness of his acknowledgment.
“And one day, there it was,” Dez said. “The moment I’d been working toward, that I’d wanted more than anything. The ship I was on docked at the same port as my father’s ship, he was supposed to be meeting some client there…and I beamed down and I saw him, standing on this shuttlepad, tossing orders at his crew….”
Dez smiled a little, remembering how hopeful he’d been, how he’d felt like he was going to explode, he’d been so excited—how he felt like his entire life had just been a prelude to that moment, the day he faced his father as a man. He’d known, absolutely, that everything was going to change because of it. Had he ever been so young, to believe that life actually worked that way?
“What happened?” Jake asked.
What happened is, he didn’t remember me, Dez thought, studying Jake’s honest, intent face. And when he finally realized who I was, he clapped me on the back and insisted on buying me a drink. We got drunk together, my father and I, and at the end of the night, he wished me luck and said he hoped I’d find my way home all right…and when I told him I wanted to stay with him, perhaps take a job on his freighter, he made it painfully clear that he wasn’t interested in being a father or even a friend to me. He felt guilty about leaving me, I could see that, but not guilty enough to try and make up for it…or maybe so guilty that he didn’t want to try, didn’t want to be reminded of his failure every time he looked at me….
That had been the last time Dez had seen his father. Two years later, when Dez had been smuggling contraband into a civil war zone outside the Xlidu Expanse, he’d heard that the elder Zin had been killed over a gambling debt. Some creditor had shot and killed him, and that was that. Dez’s days of crying had been long over by then, though he remembered being annoyed that his father had died in debt, leaving nothing behind for his family to claim.
Dez paused for only a second, in that second remembering what had actually happened, the intense pain of that one drunken night, the months and years afterward learning how to bury that pain…and he also decided how it would play best for Jake.
“He was glad to see me,” Dez said, determined to hang on to the truth as much as possible. “And he was sorry that he hadn’t been much of a father to me…but he also made it clear that I was a grown man, who needed to stake out my own life. That I was too old to be following him around, trying to get him to figure out what I was supposed to do with my time.”
Jake seemed uncertain. “But…but he was glad to see you….”
“Yes, I think so,” Dez said. “He was proud of me, too, that I’d grown up, that I was making my own decisions….
I think it pleased him to know that I had taken the initiative, to head out into the universe on my own….”
He smiled at Jake. “Isn’t that what every parent wants for his children? To know that they’re no longer dependent, that they can make their own decisions?”
Jake nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess so. That, and to know that they’re happy.”
Dez nodded. “Exactly. Wouldn’t your own father…wouldn’t he feel good knowing that you’re with friends, having adventures and…”
…and almost dying?
Dez looked away, hit by a sudden wave of guilt. Stessie, poor Stessie. How good would Sisko feel knowing that Jake could have been killed, too? To dust with that, how did Dez feel?
And how do you feel about yourself now, a part of him murmured, manipulating Jake like this, using the emotional chaos that Stessie’s death has brought up?
Dez ignored the thought, remembering that Stessie hadn’t wanted Jake to leave, either. And had he ever lied to Jake? No, never. He only wanted what was best for him. Jake was bright but also woefully naive in so many ways, he needed to be around people who cared about him, who wouldn’t desert him now that he was on his own, now that he needed real friends more than ever—
“Hey,” Jake said gently, reaching out to touch Dez’s arm. “I meant what I said before. You have to know, it wasn’t your fault.”
Dez blinked, realized that Jake had misread his guilt…and that it gave him an edge. Jake was so compassionate, he so wanted to make things better…
…so used the truth. It’s the most powerful tool there is. A Wadi saying, one of Facity’s favorites, and it would be the perfect final push. Jake had cared enough to come to him, to give him comforting advice over Stessie, and Dez had talked about his father, establishing even more common ground between them; a last tap, that was all it would take.
