Well of Souls

by Ilsa J. Bick

  “Why?” Halak shouted, watching as the horror unfolded. “Why?”

  He never got an answer.

  Garrett let the silence go for a long moment. “Why do you think?”

  Halak turned from his vision of the memory. “Captain, I’ve asked myself that every day since it happened. He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t, and I don’t know why. I guess Strong figured he was dead either way, or maybe there was some last vestige of pride in there, his wanting to make things right, I don’t know. Anyway, he knew that either we ran out of air, or the Barker got there, and I turned him in. Because I would’ve turned him in.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

  “Orders, those damn orders. I wasn’t supposed to be making contact with the Syndicate, remember? SI played that line, hard. No matter who asks, or what happens, stick to the official story. So I did, figuring that SI would watch my ass. That’s why I didn’t say anything when Burke…when Talma was here. I couldn’t, and I didn’t know what she knew, or how this would play out. And then there was Strong, his family. When all was said and done, I couldn’t see how the truth helped. What was the point? The man was already dead. So I let it go.”

  Garrett nodded, and they fell into a silence that Halak broke.

  “What will happen now?”

  “I have to remand you back to Starfleet Command,” said Garrett, as evenly as she could. She kept her gaze fixed on some distant point in space. “There’s the issue about your lying about your past, and your initial report on Batra. You’ll have to answer for all that. At best, you’ll get off with a reprimand, maybe another transfer. At worst…”

  “I’ll be court-martialed.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you want, Captain?”

  “I don’t know,” Garrett said truthfully. She looked over at Halak. Reached out and clapped a hand on his arm. “Let’s just see what happens, Commander. What is it Glemoor says? One step by one step.”

  Epilogue

  “Darya, I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Tyvan, as he hustled into his office and tossed a pile of datadisks onto his desk before dropping into his chair. “I just couldn’t tear myself away from medical. It’s good luck we put in for repairs at Starbase 12 because there’s a child trauma specialist here working with that Naxeran boy, Pahl. So I stayed on, watched her work a bit and time passed and…why are you laughing?”

  “Because it’s nice that even psychiatrists have problems. Anyway, it’s fine.”

  “Then I’ll stop apologizing. You’re looking good, by the way.”

  In the past, Bat-Levi would’ve felt self-conscious, as if Tyvan were trying to compensate in some oblique way for the very obvious fact that she didn’t look very good at all. But now Bat-Levi smiled. “Thanks. I feel good. I think I know why.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was having to come front and center. When the captain made me XO, I didn’t have the luxury of worrying about what how I looked or what people thought every time I gave an order, or had to make a decision.”

  “To put it bluntly, all eyes were on you.”

  “And then some.” Bat-Levi exhaled a half-laugh. “It’s very strange how you said I wanted people to notice me but in a negative way. I was so angry with you, but you were right. I kept telling myself that I just wanted to be left alone, but the way I am…” She made a helpless gesture. “I can’t help but attract notice.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s something like, as bad as you feel, I feel ten times worse. And I just dare you to make something of it.”

  Tyvan folded his hands over his lap. “And now?”

  The left side of Bat-Levi’s mouth tugged into a wry grimace. “There are a lot of times I’d still rather hide in a closet than get out there and be with people. But when push comes to shove, it seems that here, at least…” She used her left hand—the one without nails—to gesture in an all-inclusive way. “On this ship, with this captain and this crew, it doesn’t matter what I look like. What matters is that I do my job, and if I fail or succeed, it will be because of the way and how well, or poorly I do that job. How I look has nothing to do with it.”

  “And when did you come to this conclusion?”

  “Honestly?” and then Bat-Levi laughed again. “That’s dumb. Like I’m going to lie, right? When I was on the bridge, and the captain asked me what the hell I was doing, and when Kodell pissed me off.”

  “Kodell was provocative?”

  “Sort of. Not overtly, but he nagged me, and that made me mad. In retrospect, I understand now that he was pushing me to take a chance…hell, to do something downright dangerous.” Bat-Levi’s gaze skittered away, to a spot on the floor. “Kind of a dare, like, come on, it’s up to you, are you up for it, or not?”

  “So you took the dare. Why?”

  Because I like him, a lot. Aware, suddenly, that she felt uncharacteristically warm, Bat-Levi shook her head, shrugged. Gave a small, embarrassed laugh. She directed her answer to the floor. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He might as well have said he’d caught her out. She knew she was blushing—really blushing—but this time she met those brown eyes square on. “There are some things I want to keep private for now, even—or maybe especially—from you. It’s not that I’m angry, but…remember when you’re a kid and you discover something for the first time? Part of you is just busting with wanting to tell someone, but another private part wants to keep the secret either because you don’t quite believe it, or it just feels good to have something that’s totally yours and doesn’t belong to anyone else.”

  “A delicious secret.”

  Relieved, she nodded. “So we’ll just leave it at that about Kodell, okay?”

  “Fair enough.” Tyvan laced his fingers over his middle, slouched down, and put out his long, slender legs. “And what about the captain? What happened with her?”

  Bat-Levi smiled at the memory. “She got on the horn, told me to back off.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “I knew I was right. No, that’s not quite true. I thought I was right, and the rest of the bridge crew—even Castillo, who probably thought I was certifiable—they did what I said.”

  “Well, you could say they’re just professionals doing their jobs.”

  “Which they wouldn’t if they didn’t have faith,” said Bat-Levi, “especially if the XO didn’t have faith in herself. You’re on the bridge, you can tell these things. So I was right there, up front where Kodell essentially told me I had to be. We make it, we don’t—it’s my call. No place to hide, no one else to blame and…”

  Bat-Levi halted then. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she half-expected Tyvan to ask her what she was thinking, but he let the silence go. Bat-Levi shifted, crossed her right leg over her left, kept her eyes averted. (Another part of her mind remarked on the fact that Tyvan hadn’t commented on the obvious, but she ignored it for the time being. Maybe he’d notice, maybe he wouldn’t.)

  Then Bat-Levi said, as if she hadn’t fallen silent, “And then I realized that I didn’t make Joshua’s choices for him. He’d made them. I told him not to go down into the pod, but he did it anyway and it was the wrong decision to make, and he died.”

  Now her eyes sought Tyvan’s. Held. “Just like the captain and me. She argued, and then she got behind me, and I did what I thought was right. Kodell told me I had to make a decision, and I did. It was my decision, not his. Mine. If I made a mistake, there wouldn’t be anyone to blame but me. Oh, the captain might blame herself for putting me in charge, but she had faith that I’d make the right decisions. I just had to have faith in me.”

  Tyvan gave her a frank look. “There’s only one thing I take issue with. You said Joshua made the wrong decision, but it’s like I’ve always said. We have choices, but sometimes we don’t like the ones we have. So Joshua made a decision, Darya. You’ll never know if it was the wrong one because you’ll never
know the alternative. Perhaps, in the end, his choice was best for you.”

  Bat-Levi was silent. What could she say when she knew he was right? In the quiet, she heard the tick-tock of the pendulum clock, and she suddenly realized something.

  “It’s been five sessions,” she said. “You’re supposed to make a recommendation now, aren’t you? About my being on probation?”

  “I already have. In fact, I’ve given it to the captain, though I doubt she’s had much time to read it.”

  She felt an unpleasant jolt of surprise and then wariness. My God, she’d been absolutely awful to the man for the majority of their time together: a basket case, she thought grimly, and then considered that would be an expression she ought to quiz Glemoor about, if she got the chance. She watched as Tyvan twisted around in his chair, rummaged around a pile of datadisks, and then tweezed out one between his thumb and forefinger.

  He offered it to Bat-Levi. “Would you like to read it?”

  Her anxiety fluttered in her throat, like a trapped bird. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “All right. I’ve recommended no further treatment or evaluation, and I’ve recommended that you stay on.”

  Shock made Bat-Levi’s mouth drop. “But, but I missed sessions, I yelled…”

  Tyvan held up a hand. “First of all, we’ve been kind of busy. Second, you made a choice. You took responsibility, and you told me where to get off. Good for you. I don’t need you to agree with me, Darya. I’m glad you feel better, but I don’t need you to feel better, nor do I need you to have an operation, fix your scars, get a new face, pony up for the latest prostheses, or do anything you don’t want to do. All I want is for you to know what you’re doing, and why, and the rest is up to you, because it’s your life, Darya, not mine.”

  She sat a moment, absorbing this. “So I don’t have to come back?”

  “Not unless you want to.”

  “Well,” she said. “I might, from time to time. Things come up. But you know something?”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes, I talk to you. In my head,” she added hastily. “I mean, I’m not nuts, I don’t hear voices. But sometimes, lately, I hear you making comments and, sometimes,” she gave him a lopsided smile, “I just tell you where to go.”

  “Does this bother you?”

  “It should, but it doesn’t. I’ve been arguing so much with myself for so long, it’s kind of nice to have someone new in there.”

  Tyvan gave a delighted laugh. “I’ll probably go away eventually, when my opinion stops mattering so much.”

  “Probably.” She paused, head cocked. “Does becoming obsolete bother you?”

  “No. I’m not a crutch. My job is to become obsolete.”

  They shared a brief moment of comfortable silence. Then Bat-Levi smiled, rose, and moved for the door.

  “Okay then, thanks. But I’d better get dressed. The captain will have our hides if we’re late.” She hesitated then said, “By the way, you haven’t said anything.”

  Tyvan’s brow furrowed. “About?”

  In reply, Bat-Levi extended and flexed her left arm. Did it again, twice. Then she saw the confusion on Tyvan’s face clear.

  “Wait,” he said. “Your servos. There’s no noise.”

  Bat-Levi laughed hugely. “The ship’s not the only thing that needed repairs.”

  “My God,” McCoy complained peevishly, “you’re as twitchy as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rockers.”

  “Mac,” Stern flung over her shoulder as she palmed open her closet, “I told you before. I have to get moving, or I’m going to be late.”

  “Making me dizzy, what you flitting back and forth like a bumblebee.”

  “Then use audio next time, you don’t like the view,” said Stern, pawing first through her collection of uniforms, and then an array of more casual slacks and a few skirts. She made disgusted sounds. “Now where I did put that thing?”

  “You could be better organized.”

  “I’m a doctor,” she grumbled, “not a chambermaid. I could’ve sworn I put…ah!” Stern yanked out her dress tunic then dove back for her dress slacks. “Now if I can just find my boots…”

  “My God, woman.” McCoy craned his neck as if he could see around the corner of the viewscreen, which he couldn’t. “Are you getting disrobed?”

  “Listen to you.” Stern’s fingers fumbled with her belt buckle. “It’s not as if you haven’t seen this sort of thing before.”

  “Only in an official capacity. But if you’re offering, come over here where…”

  Stern stripped off her uniform tunic. “Watch it, Mac.”

  “I’m not the one doing a striptease. Anyway, I thought you’d be interested.”

  “I am. You just pick the damnedest times, that’s all.”

  “Then why not hop on over, and we can visit? You owe me bourbon.”

  “Mac, I’m at a starbase about a gazillion light years away. It’s not as if I’m next door. I’ll get back to Earth soon enough and then we can visit, have a couple drinks.”

  “Don’t forget, you owe me an R and R. I aim to collect.”

  “I haven’t, and you will.”

  “Promises, promises.” McCoy still sounded miffed. “When are you shipping out?”

  “Tomorrow.” Stern stepped first her right then her left foot into her dress uniform trousers and pulled. “Repairs are just about done. All we’re waiting on is that transfer shuttle.”

  McCoy mmmed. “By the way, I heard a rumor that someone on your ship slipped a subcu transponder into that Halak fellow.”

  Now it was Stern’s turn to mmm. She did so as she pulled her hair free of her standard ponytail and began pulling a brush through. Her hair crackled with static electricity and she made a mental note to talk to environmental engineering about adjusting the humidity in her quarters. Too damn dry. “That’s what they say.”

  “You wouldn’t happen…”

  “Mac,” Stern paused, brush in hand, “open channel.”

  “Ah. Well, I hope our little talk about vitamins was helpful.”

  Stern grinned at her mirror image. “Very. So what were you so hot to tell me?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Only that the data your captain forwarded on to the folks here at Command? From that old tomb site? Looks mighty old. More than ancient: We’re talking thousands of years.”

  “Wait a minute.” Stern turned until she was looking at McCoy, properly. “You’re a doctor, not a xenoarchaeologist. Why are you even involved with this?”

  McCoy held up a hand. “Hold your horses; it’ll all come clear. Like I said, this place was old. We’re talking either pre-Hebitian, or the Hebitians are a hell of a lot older than even the Cardassians know.”

  “Or claim.” Turning back to her holomirror, Stern touched the controls. The mirror shimmered, and then she was looking at the back of her head. She gathered her hair together in her left hand while her right stirred through an array of elastics. “They’re not exactly forthcoming. So you’re saying that the natives were Hebitians?”

  “No, and we’re not entirely sure we’re talking Hebitian either, but that’s the working hypothesis. Anyway, this is where it gets pretty interesting. It looks like the natives were an entirely different species. Tomb drawings show two distinct types of people: the ones that were descendents of those Night Kings, and everybody else. So probably there was an indigenous population on the planet, but one that was very primitive by Hebitian standards. Now there’s always been a suspicion that at least some of the Hebitians were telepaths. Even the Cardassian legends talk about that a little. But I don’t think that, on the basis of what you and your captain saw, we can say that every Hebitian telepath was all sweetness and light.”

  “Amen to that.” Stern smoothed stray hairs back then keyed in for her holomirror to show alternate views: back, front, each side of her head. She twiddled with her ponytail, centering it snugly against the nape of her neck. “Rogue telepaths, right?”


  “Or just common criminals. So how do you control a telepath gone sour? You can either kill him, and that doesn’t seem to have been the Hebitian style, or you can exile him somehow, put him on ice, like stasis only telepath-style. Here, they reduced their neural patterns somehow and put them into a containment field.”

  “Like a genie in a bottle.”

  “Only these genies got out. Probably an accident: one of these rogues figuring out that a person with a certain genetic makeup could act as a receptacle. So breed a select line of those people but make it mystical, like a state religion, and these rogues get their chance, now and again, to go free. Except you’d dilute the stock over time; happens when there’s a large population. And genetics is funny business. Too much inbreeding, you make the stock weak, and too much mixing with the rest of the gene pool and your chances of getting exactly what you want go down.”

  “Makes sense.” Stern replaced her brush and then popped open another drawer and began affixing her pips to her uniform collar. “It would explain the need for the mask.”

  “Yup. So here’s the kicker and where you have to use your imagination, take a couple leaps of faith here. Now, for the sake of argument, let’s say that these rogues were Hebitian and the Hebitians, as a species, were telepaths. Some were good; some were bad. The Cardassians say they’re descendants of the Hebitians. But Vulcans can’t mind-meld with Cardassians and there are no Cardassian telepaths. None. Zip. Not a one. Okay, your turn.”

  “Oh, Mac, that’s a gimme.” Stern turned and ticked off her conclusions on her fingers. “It’s obvious. The Cardassians aren’t descendants of the Hebitians, but they may have evolved parallel to the Hebitians. Only the Hebitians were the stronger, master race. The Cardassians revered the Hebitians, maybe not like gods, but they build up this religion around access to a higher spiritual Oversoul, Overmind, whatever you want to call it. You know those murals they have around Lakarian City?”