Warchild

by Esther Friesner

  Dax accepted the invitation, doing her best to keep her reactions from showing. What did Julian call these children? she thought. Remarkable? The girl is, at any rate. She settled herself tailor-fashion. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed Cedra also crouching at the foot of the pallet.

  "What's it like?" Dejana asked abruptly.

  "What's what like?" Dax returned, taken by surprise.

  "Being a Trill. Having so many lives inside you."

  "Who told you I was—?" Then Dax laughed, relieved as the answer came to her. "You've been talking to Dr. Bashir."

  The girl blushed and looked away. Cedra coughed. His sister's head jerked up. "He's very nice," she said, sounding more like a child. "I like him. It's very kind of him to spend so much time showing Lika how to play that string game."

  Dax glanced from side to side. With the sheets up, it was impossible for Dejana to have seen Dr. Bashir's game of cat's cradle. Still, the child was not terribly ill. She looked in perfect health, if a little delicate. She might have grown bored and crept to the end of this cubicle to peek out and spy on her beloved doctor.

  "I wish he'd teach me how to play it the way you people do," Cedra said with a heartfelt sigh. "We do different shapes with the string. I'm the best at it!" He dug a length of dirty cord out of his pocket and tangled it over his fingers.

  "Cedra, you awful liar!" Dejana lunged past Dax to snatch the string from her brother. Dax's eyes never left the little girl as she swiftly wove the string into a perfect replica of the figure Dr. Bashir had created for his young patient. "I'm much better at this than Cedra is," the child announced proudly.

  "You are very good," Dax replied. "You're also very healthy. I'm going to have a word with Brother Gis about—"

  Dejana uttered a theatrical moan and sank back onto her pallet. "I don't feel well," she announced plaintively.

  Dax exchanged a knowing look with Cedra. "I see. In that case, maybe I'd better fetch Dr. Bashir?" She heard a loud groan from Cedra when she made that suggestion.

  "Don't you think he's too young?" Dejana asked innocently.

  "What did you say?"

  "You like him, but he's too young for you. Compared to what you know, what you are, I mean. But if that's all you—all you look at, you'll never find anyone old enough for you, will you? And he is nice."

  Lieutenant Dax stared at the girl. She recalled Commander Sisko describing the uncanny feeling he had the first time he met the Kai Opaka. Could it have felt any stranger than this? Dax wondered. Talis Dejana sat with hands folded in her lap, regarding the Trill as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary, and yet she had voiced Dax's thoughts about Dr. Bashir exactly.

  "Dejana," she said slowly. "Dejana, where do you—?"

  "My father bred the best verdanis in Bennikar."

  CHAPTER 8

  "YOU'RE SURE?" Commander Sisko's voice came in loud and clear over Lieutenant Dax's comm badge.

  "Positive, sir." The Trill sat at the table that served Brother Gis for a desk. The monk had given her exclusive use of his office while she relayed the good news to Deep Space Nine. "I have at least one adult Bajoran from Bennikar village who confirms it. When I mentioned the girl's name, it jogged his memory, and when I brought her to see him there was no further doubt in his mind. He says Talis Dejana and Talis Cedra are definitely two of the surviving Bennikar children his sister Cathlys mentioned. The little girl's older brother says that Remis Jobar's sister nursed Dejana back to health before she died."

  "I hope his testimony will be good enough to convince the Dessin-ka representatives." Sisko did not sound at all sanguine about the possibility.

  "There's more to it than that, sir. This may not sound precisely scientific but … there's something about her."

  "What, precisely?"

  "Call it a feeling she gives me."

  "A hunch? That doesn't sound scientific at all, old man."

  "Yet I think you can recall a time or two when my hunches turned out to be right." Dax grinned. "And didn't you tell me that your first meeting with the Kai Opaka gave you the same sort of—?"

  "No argument," Sisko said quickly. "So you've informed Brother Gis?"

  "He's ecstatic. Things couldn't possibly have turned out more to his liking. Even Brother Talissin stopped scowling when he heard the news."

  "Why was Brother Talissin informed? I thought I made it clear to you that secrecy was vital. If the wrong people learn we've found the Nekor—"

  "Who are the 'wrong people,' sir?" Dax asked.

  "Anyone who might profit from thwarting the Dessin-ka. Anyone who might have a reason to see the provisional government undermined and shattered."

  "Brother Talissin doesn't fall into either category. Even before he learned she was the Nekor, he regarded the child as something special, to be protected at all costs. He's been insisting that the best place for her is the religious life, and he's more than pleased that we've proved him right." She smiled faintly at the memory of the grim-faced monk's smug told-you-so expression.

  "Proud enough to talk about it to everyone he meets?" Sisko asked.

  "Sir, whom could he possibly talk to out here?"

  "Even though the camp is isolated, you know the monks still travel to trade goods and news with other camps. The epidemic kept them confined to their settlement for a while, but now that you and Dr. Bashir have developed the fever cure, they'll be eager to make up for lost time. Increased commerce between the camps is a good sign that they're evolving into interdependent communities. I'd like to encourage that, but not at cost of this project's security. In addition, there's the danger that word of this might reach the local underground factions. I don't want to put a child's life in peril because some splinter group sees her as a bargaining chip."

  "You needn't worry, sir," Dax replied. "There's too small a window of opportunity for anything to go wrong. We can bring Talis Dejana to the Temple as soon as you can dispatch us a runabout. But you'd better have it land near the camp. I wouldn't advise using the transporter."

  "Why not?" Sisko was puzzled.

  "The girl is still in recuperation from the fever. The experience might be too intense. She's a very frail child, Commander."

  "I thought you reported that your vaccine was successful?"

  "She made her own recovery before we arrived, without benefit of the vaccine. Dr. Bashir thought it would be unwise to give the antibody injection to someone whose natural defenses had already dealt with the illness."

  "Not a complete recovery, if what you say about her present state of health is true," Sisko opined.

  "You're not taking into consideration her age and constitution. The most robust immune system in the world can't function efficiently in an undernourished, overworked young body. Benjamin, if you could see these children—" Dax's voice broke for an instant. "Dr. Bashir never stops working with them. The fever is as good as wiped out, but he continues to work nonstop. We never would have made so much progress in so short a time without his efforts."

  "That's commendable."

  "Can you praise a man for saving others at the risk of his own life? The needless risk?"

  "Is Dr. Bashir's life in danger?"

  "His health certainly is. I've cautioned him about the stress he's putting himself under; he agrees with everything I say and goes on as before. I'm—" She hesitated, glancing at the dance of passing shadows against the cubicle's cloth walls. "I'm afraid for him, Benjamin."

  "Then it's a good thing I'll be recalling you both to Deep Space Nine once the Nekor is delivered to the Temple. I want this whole matter wrapped up within twenty-four hours."

  "Very good, sir."

  "You can begin departure preparations at once. Sisko out."

  Ensign Kahrimanis knocked on the laboratory door. It opened a crack and Talis Cedra's brown, dirty face peered out. "Healer's busy," he announced in his queerly rough voice.

  "I didn't expect to see you here, Cedra," Kahrimanis said pleasantly. "I thought you'd be helpin
g your sister pack."

  "Pack what?" the child asked quite reasonably. "All we've got between us is the clothes we're wearing and one of Mother's old necklaces. Just clay beads; no one would swap us any food for it on the road."

  "Well, all that's about to change." The ensign leaned against the doorpost. "I overheard Brother Mor talking with Lieutenant Dax. Your sister's a very special girl."

  Cedra eyed him suspiciously. If the child were full-grown, it would have been a look that promised nothing good. "What did you hear?"

  "Just that she's important to a lot of people and she's going to the Temple. Hey, what's wrong?"

  Cedra flung the lab door wide open and stepped out to poke a skinny finger into Ensign Kahrimanis's chest. "You keep your mouth shut about it, you hear me?" he snarled. "Being special means she'll be safe at last, once she gets to the Temple, but until then being special means danger. No one's going to hurt my sister just because some fool couldn't keep his mouth shut."

  Kahrimanis swatted the boy's hand aside. "I can keep a secret. But you'd better watch who you're calling a fool. Now, step aside. I have to see Dr. Bashir." He did not wait for the boy to consent, but strode past him unceremoniously.

  Dr. Bashir looked up from his microscanner. "Oh, hullo, Kahrimanis," he said. "I didn't hear you at the door. I've been studying samples of the drinking water. There appears to be a bacterium in some samples and not in others. I think it might have a connection with the intestinal problems some of the children have been experiencing. Odd thing: I've sampled the well water and found nothing, but it's not universally present in all the rainwater samples. I think it may have something to do with how the rainwater barrels are—" He caught himself running on and laughed sheepishly. "Listen to me babble! You didn't come here to listen to a disquisition on water supply. What can I do for you?"

  "I've just come to secure a few things, sir. Don't worry; I won't be in your way." Ensign Kahrimanis walked past Dr. Bashir to where the supply chests were stacked. He took down the top one and began packing.

  Dr. Bashir's face turned pale. "What are you doing? Don't tell me we've been ordered to leave already?"

  Kahrimanis paused and turned around to face him. "No, sir, we haven't been ordered back; not yet. But it's only a matter of time. Lieutenant Dax told me to begin preparations. Our mission here's done."

  "But it can't be!" Dr. Bashir protested. "Granted, we've stopped the fever cold, but that's not the sum total of the health problems these people—these children still have to face!"

  Kahrimanis rested one hand on the lab table. "That's the truth, sir. Physical and mental health, both. I've been meaning to tell you, I think it's wonderful, the way you've been helping the kids. Having someone give a damn about them—" He glanced guiltily at Cedra. Sullen-faced, the boy was polishing some glassware for the doctor. "Uh, Cedra?" the ensign called. "Sorry about how I spoke to you before."

  Cedra looked up and gave him a half-smile.

  "This is impossible," Dr. Bashir went on, shaking his head. "If we leave now, how can we assess the long-term effectiveness of Lieutenant Dax's antibody injection? And if it is effective, we have to implement an inoculation program in every refugee camp in the Kaladrys Valley. Word must be gotten to the hill fighters, too. They're a dangerous vector; they could take the infection out of the valley altogether, and then where would it—?"

  "Sir, calm down," Ensign Kahrimanis urged. "There's three medical aides from the Federation ship Keppler and one nurse from the Shining Blade waiting to replace us here. They'll look after things."

  "The Shining Blade . . . a Klingon nurse … wonderful," Dr. Bashir muttered. "If she doesn't scare the children to death first."

  "He," Kahrimanis corrected him.

  "Even better." Dr. Bashir sounded ironic enough to pass for Odo.

  "I wouldn't worry about how the kids react to a Klingon nurse if I were you, sir." Kahrimanis grinned. "They've seen worse."

  Dr. Bashir bent over his microscanner. "When do we leave?" he asked dully, not looking at the ensign.

  "Whenever the orders come, I suppose." Kahrimanis waited for the doctor to comment; there was only silence. He might as well have been invisible. He shrugged and went back to packing.

  He had only secured a few items when Dr. Bashir's voice rang out, sharp and commanding: "Leave that for now, Ensign. I may need some of that equipment."

  "But sir,—"

  Julian's eyes blazed. "That's an order, Ensign."

  Kahrimanis gave him an odd look, but replied, "Yes, sir," and left the laboratory.

  As soon as the ensign left, Dr. Bashir declared, "Thank you for your help, Cedra. You can go now. You must have lots of preparations to make for your departure."

  The boy gave Bashir a sideways took that seemed to measure the doctor, inside and out. However, all he said was "All right." He set down the polishing cloth and the glassware and went without an argument.

  Alone in the laboratory, Bashir leaned back against the table wearily. Leaving … we can't be leaving! Not with so much left here—

  He thought of the children, sick and well. He would never forget the change he saw in their faces when those still fit enough to work the fields came back to camp to find their fever-stricken playmates on the road to full recovery.

  They thought their friends would die. They had no reason to hope for anything better. Their lives were stripped of hope, and then I—we gave it back to them! We let them see that there's still a chance for something good to happen. They can go on, now. He pressed his fist to his mouth. They can, but what of the others? The children in the camps on Cedra's map, what about them? Are their eyes dead? Do they still have the strength to dream? I can't go back yet. I was sent here to do a job. I'm not done. My work isn't done. I—I was ordered to Bajor to help the children, but—but—Realization hit him so hard he had to voice it aloud:

  "But I haven't received orders to return. Not direct orders. Not yet."

  There was little time. If Dax had sent Ensign Kahrimanis to start packing, the orders must be coming soon. How soon? He couldn't lose a moment. He dashed to the laboratory door and glanced outside. There was no sign of Kahrimanis or Dax. If he avoided his crewmates, he avoided the chance of receiving the departure orders through them.

  I can't hear the orders. I must not hear the orders. Once I do, I'll have no choice but to obey.

  He slammed the door behind him and rested against it, eyes closed, making a swift mental listing of the bare minimum of supplies he would need to carry on his work where he was going. It was the task of moments for him to secure an array of hypodermics, all loaded with Dax's miracle-working antibody vaccine. A physician's basic field kit followed, assembled with a degree of efficiency that would have made his old teacher Selok nod approval. There were no theatrical flourishes, there was no fuss at all in Julian's preparations. He no longer acted for an unseen audience of potential. admirers; he acted for a purpose, a cause that claimed his heart.

  It took him a while to find a comfortable way of carrying the Klingon biosample replicator. He had no idea of how many patients in the valley camps were awaiting inoculation; with this device, he was relatively certain he could manufacture enough vaccine for all. He slipped the thick carrying strap over one shoulder and his head. It felt somewhat awkward, but he had no choice; it was necessary.

  Outside the lab, the paths of the camp were largely deserted. At this hour, the refugees were finishing their day's labor in the fields, the monks were supervising rounds in the infirmary, and anyone left over was lending a hand with dinner preparations in the square. Quickly and quietly Dr. Bashir ran through the camp and sought the privacy of his own tent. He saw no one, and reasoned no one could see him. Once safely inside, he selected only the most essential personal items and stowed them in a crude bedroll.

  "Where are you going, healer?"

  Bashir whirled around. Talis Cedra stood just inside the tent flap. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

  "What are you d
oing?" the boy replied. He strolled over to examine Julian's preparations. "Won't you get in trouble for defying orders?"

  "Defying—?" Dr. Bashir tried to turn the whole thing into a joke. "I knew this day would come, Cedra; you've been eavesdropping and for once you've gotten the story dead wrong."

  The boy's mouth twisted into a skeptical knot. "Am I hearing wrong or are you pretending not to hear?" The words made Julian startle. Cedra's eyes were not dead, but they were older than his years, their stare piercing to the bone. "You like to teach us your people's games. Teach me how to play hide-and-find with the truth, healer."

  "I'm doing nothing of the sort," Dr. Bashir said, strongly on the defensive. Then, more gently: "Cedra, do you know what it means to be a healer?"

  "What d'you mean?" the boy asked cautiously. "I know I'd be a good one. There wouldn't be any more fevers on Bajor, or any more gut-cramp, or—When Dejana goes to live in the Temple, I'm going to join Brother Gis's order and become the best healer on Bajor!"

  "Being a healer means more than how good you are," Julian said, wistfully hearing much of himself in Cedra. "When I was at Starfleet Medical, the first thing they taught us was that a doctor's prime directive is never to betray his trust. There are people depending on healers for health, for life, for a future, Cedra. Every healing is a part of that trust. You can't walk away from a task half-done. I came here with orders to cure the camp fever. It's gone now, but only gone from this camp. I can't leave it at that and still be true to my trust. Do you understand?"

  The boy nodded. "You don't disobey orders that you don't want to hear; you just make sure you're too far away to hear 'em when they come." He ducked out of the tent without another word, leaving Julian puzzled and perturbed.

  What if he's run off to tell Lieutenant Dax? Dr. Bashir threw himself back into the work of tying up the bedroll with even more haste. He had to be gone before they returned.

  He stepped out of the tent just in time for Cedra to come barreling into him. The doctor staggered back. "What—?" he gasped, catching his breath.