Warchild

by Esther Friesner

  "Who is Lieutenant Dax? Is she also … beautiful?"

  "Lieutenant Dax is … unique."

  "You are fond of her." Jalika's face was unreadable.

  "We're friends. Or so she's stressed." He couldn't help chuckling. "I suppose a fondness for beautiful women is my worst fault, if you'd call it a fault at all."

  "I would." Her vehemence startled him. "If their beauty is all that draws you to them, then with respect, healer, it is a fault indeed."

  Julian lost all pretense of good humor. "Is that what they taught you in the Temple along with healing? How to sit in judgment on others?"

  Borilak Selinn's daughter took a precise portion of the powdered hasva root and added it to the broken needles. "They teach us to judge ourselves and others by the measure of the Prophets. For them there are no externals, only deeds done and their causes. You must see both, healer. To weigh the deed without the cause is to open the eyes to darkness."

  "I think it's not too hard to see why you used that phaser out there," Julian said, his eyes hard. "Maybe you should open your eyes as well and understand how I really see you. You are beautiful, Jalika—I can't deny it and I can't help how it makes me feel—but I see more than beauty when I look at you. When I work, it's like the way you described your Temple studies: There are no beautiful women, no distractions, only the patients who need me. When you came to help me with Belem and the others, all that entered my mind was gratitude and admiration for your skill and kindness. Now, because I've behaved like an idiot—again—I'm afraid I'll drive you away. Please don't go. I need you here. If I promise not to bother you anymore, will you—?"

  She looked away from him sharply, her face hidden by a tumble of tiny braids that had come loose from their securing pins.

  "What have I done wrong now?" Julian asked.

  "I am the one who has done wrong," she replied, her voice thick. "You are right: I should listen to my own lectures. I have not judged you by what you truly are, but by my own measure." One hand clasped the wooden bowl, the other let the boiling water trickle over the mixed herbs.

  Jalika watched the fragrant steam rise. "As soon as I heard that Father had brought you here, I wanted to observe you, to see how you worked your miracles, and whether I could pick up some secret to add to my own knowledge. When Father was busy elsewhere, I stole to a gallery overlooking the infirmary. I saw you at work, and at first the work was all I saw. I came back many times."

  "Jalika, look at me," he urged. At first she would not, but gradually she complied. "You said that at first the work was all you saw. Did that—did that change?"

  "I—" she began.

  He laid a finger to her lips. "The truth. Please."

  "To begin, I came because I was curious. All the stories I had heard about you, your kindness, your devotion—I did not think they could be true. I returned because the stories were true and—and—" The dim light of the cave and the wisps of steam could not hide the color rising to her face.

  "Thank you." Julian took her hand away from the bowl and raised it to his cheek. "You needn't say any more."

  "I am ashamed," she said, shaking her head. "I returned because it stirred my heart to see you. On the mountainside, I wanted to do something—something different—something that would make you notice me as more than just the one who helps you here. I wanted you to know that I can be strong, that I can be as—as unique as your Lieutenant Dax." She bowed her head. "And I wanted you to know that for me, you too are … beautiful."

  He drew her nearer. "And you are more than beautiful to me," he breathed. "More than I hoped, more than I knew a woman could ever—oh, much more." His fingers traced the soft curve of her cheek and he kissed her.

  Jalika was the first to break the embrace. She looked into the wooden bowl as if trying to read the future in its swirling depths. "This is a dream. The Prophets guide you when you heal, Julian. With their help, you will cure Belem. And then … you will leave us."

  "If I do leave, it will be the hardest thing I've ever done. But would you want me to stay if it meant Belem would never get well?"

  "You could stay on after Belem was well." She melted back into his arms. "I could ask my father never to let you go."

  His arms slipped around her slender waist. "You know it would be wrong to keep me here. I must go. There are other camps, other places where the children need my help."

  "I know." A sigh tore from her body. He pressed his cheek to her hair and inhaled its sweet, spicy perfume.

  "I can come back," he whispered. "I can, and I will."

  In the commander's office, Benjamin Sisko heard Lieutenant Dax's strong personal recommendation for dispatching a search party to the surface of Bajor. Major Kira stood attentively nearby.

  "I'm ahead of you, Dax," he replied. "With the long-range sensors back on-line, a search won't be necessary. Chief O'Brien can locate the doctor through his individual life-sign readings. We'll have him back aboard and working on Talis Dejana's case before the day is out. In fact, I've already dispatched a runabout to bring him in. Chief O'Brien is running the scan from Ops and I was about to meet him there. Would you care to join me?"

  Kira and Dax accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. The three of them were heading for Ops when they passed the entrance to the schoolroom just in time to hear a resounding crash.

  "What the—?" Sisko bolted into the class and found Talis Cedra and Jake in the center of a ring of smashed school equipment. The other children huddled in a crowd around Keiko. Jake had his arms encircling Cedra, trying to hold the Bajoran back. It was no easy task. Cedra kicked, squirmed, and struggled madly, spewing curses. Another Bajoran boy lay on his back in the middle ofthe disaster area, his nose bloody, face bruised, and the start of a black eye already visible.

  Commander Sisko took hold of Cedra's arm, relieving Jake. "What's the meaning of this?"

  "Thank goodness you came, Commander," Keiko O'Brien said, coming forward. "Cedra has been difficult since his sister fell ill, but I tried to take the situation into account. This was the last straw."

  "What happened here?"

  "A fight over nothing. Rys Kalben's handcomp was malfunctioning, so he asked Cedra if he could borrow his. He reached for it without waiting for an answer. That was what set the boy off."

  "It's my handcomp!" Cedra shouted, trying to writhe free of Sisko's grip. "Everything that's ever mine gets taken away, and I'm sick of it! And no one cares. No one! Not even now, when my sister's being taken away from me too." He swung a fist at Sisko, who bent away from the blow and easily avoided it. Cedra began to cry.

  Sisko put his arms around the sobbing child. "We do care, Cedra," he said. "We're going to take care of your sister. We've got the means to bring back Dr.Bashir; he'll help her, you'll see."

  Cedra wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I want to come," he announced.

  Sisko saw no harm in it. In view of the recent uproar, Keiko decided that an early dismissal might not be a bad idea, so Jake too was free to accompany his father to Ops.

  "Do you have a reading on him, Chief?" Sisko asked as soon as they entered the room.

  "That I do," O'Brien replied, directing his commander to see for himself. "Give the word and he'll be here as soon as I relay the readings to McCormick aboard the Rio."

  Sisko looked at the sensor readings. His smile faded. "What's this fluctuation?"

  "Minor, sir. For some reason, Dr. Bashir appears to have gotten himself well below the surface of the planet with a good-sized thickness of rock between him and the open air, don't ask me why."

  "That won't affect retrieval, will it?" Sisko asked.

  O'Brien shook his head emphatically. "Not a bit, sir, but it is why we're relying on the station sensors instead of the runabout's system. They're more sophisticated and accurate."

  "Very well, then; proceed."

  O'Brien hailed the Rio. "McCormick, lock on to Dr. Bashir's life-sign coordinates."

  "Got him, sir," came McCormick's voice.
>
  "Energize."

  There was a pause that lengthened uncomfortably. Then McCormick's voice came again: "It's no good, sir. I can't retrieve him."

  "Why the hell not?" O'Brien barked. "Is it the transporter or the sensors that's kicking up now?"

  "Neither, sir. The sensor relay works perfectly; so does the transporter. The trouble is when we try to use 'em both at the same time. I lock on to Dr. Bashir's life-sign readings, but when I try to energize the transporter, the signal slips. Do you think maybe it was something we did to the system while we were repairing the sensors?"

  O'Brien smacked his hand down hard on the control panel. "Blasted Cardie piece of—! And blast me for a brainless idiot. Why didn't I think to check that?" He turned to Commander Sisko.

  "Can't you locate Dr. Bashir, disengage the sensors, and retrieve him from his last known coordinates?"

  "I wouldn't care to risk that, sir," O'Brien said. "You might get him, pretty as you please. If he's sleeping or standing still there'd be no question. But what if he moves between location and transportation?"

  Cedra nudged Jake. "What could happen then?"

  "Either we'd miss him altogether or else only the part of him left at the old coordinates would be transported," Jake whispered. "So if he took a step but one foot was still—"

  "Yuck."

  "If the difficulty's with the relayed sensor signal, have McCormick use the runabout's own sensor system," Sisko directed.

  O'Brien held a short conference with his man aboard the Rio. "No good, sir. The runabout's system would work like a charm if Dr. Bashir were on the surface of the planet, but since he's chosen to burrow in like that—" He snorted. "What the devil ever possessed the man …"

  "How long will it take you to correct this problem?" Sisko asked.

  O'Brien looked unhappy. "Too long, sir." He knew of Talis Dejana's condition and his heart ached for the child.

  "But there is no problem," Cedra piped up suddenly. "We don't need to worry. Dr. Bashir is coming back." Four puzzled faces stared at him. Cedra only smiled.

  In a cold cavern on Bajor, Belem took a breath, released it, and died.

  CHAPTER 14

  JALIKA THREADED HER WAY over the stepping-stones bridging an underground stream. She found Julian, as she knew she would, under a spray of rock the shape and color of a willow's trailing curtain of branches.

  "He is looking for you" she said.

  Juian raised his head. His eyes were red and the marks of tears were still evident on his face. "Why didn't you bring him here with you?"

  She settled herself beside him on a cold outcropping of stone. "This place is mine. I choose who shares it." She took his hand. "Are you prepared?"

  "I have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. Why must I prepare?"

  "He will make terrible accusations against you."

  A humorless smile curved Dr. Bashir's lips. "Is that necessary? Can't he simply order my execution?"

  "Here such decisions of life or death must be made with the agreement of all. So the Prophets have taught us. Father leads by consent. He never tires of telling me that his powers of persuasion won him his place and keep it for him. It is true; I have seen it to be true. He has yet to ask something of our people that they have refused him." Her fingers dug into Dr. Bashir's flesh. "Julian, I am afraid for you."

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Don't be." He stood and stretched until his hands brushed the damp, shiny curve of pale green stone overhead. "Let's go."

  Jalika conducted Dr. Bashir to a part of the caverns he had never seen before. Here there were higher, wider, more open spaces in the rock, huge chambers hollowed by the hand of nature from the living mountain. Cressets of oil burned in metal holders, but in some places the stone itself gave off an eerie glow that provided light enough for human sight. Dr. Bashir thought he could have gazed on so much beauty forever.

  "Up here," Jalika said, turning aside from the great hall of stone yawning before them. She took him up a winding way where rocky inclines lay slippery underfoot in spite of scatterings of dirt laid down for traction. Where the water ran most heavily, the dirt quickly melted into mud, making the way even more treacherous than before. A pickax had bitten handholds out of the walls, and Dr. Bashir clung to them gratefully. Jalika's graceful form seemed to dance up the narrow ramp ahead of him, her tiny feet sure as if they moved over carpet instead of slick stone.

  They emerged on a platform high above the floor of the huge cavern chamber. It was a natural balcony, though without railings or any barrier to keep an incautious visitor from missing a step and plummeting from the little lip of rock to the stone so far below. Dr. Bashir did not suffer from a fear of heights, but even he felt better standing with the wall to his back, as far from the edge of the precipice as he could get.

  Borilak Selinn had no such need for security. The hill fighter chief stood between two of his burliest warriors, a pace from the edge. Jalika's father was no longer dressed in the utilitarian shirt and trousers he and all the cavern dwellers favored; now he wore robes, faded and old yet steeped in an air of grim formality. His escorts, too, were clad in ceremonial garb and the phasers at their sides were accompanied by swords. Such weapons would be useless in the confines of the cavern tunnels; their purpose was to impress, not defend. Looking at those three awaiting him, Dr. Bashir could not deny the gravity of his situation.

  A low rumble came from the chamber beneath the stone balcony. Dr. Bashir took a few tentative steps nearer the brink and saw the hall filling with people. When the influx dwindled to a trickle, Borilak Selinn faced the massed crowd and raised both hands high for silence.

  Dr. Bashir did not understand a word of the hill fighter chief's first speech to his followers. The intonation was Bajoran, but the words were alien. For the first time he regretted that he not longer wore his comm badge, with its accompanying translation capabilities.

  "It is the old tongue," Jalika said softly. "Father was a scholar in the capitol, before the Cardassians killed his family. He too was supposed to have entered service in the Temple. Instead he joined the Resistance."

  "Couldn't he have returned to his studies after the Cardassians were expelled?" Bashir asked, still listening to Borilak Selinn's oration. He was almost certain he could understand some of the antiquated words now. The Bajoran way of saying treachery had changed remarkably little between the old tongue and the new.

  "He wanted to," Jalika said. "But when the provisional government was established, he felt betrayed. There are interests now represented in the council that dealt willingly with the Cardassians. He wants the government purified, for the sake of all those who died during the occupation."

  "Your father is a man of ideals," Julian commented. "Someone should tell him that he'd accomplish more to advance his cause if he borrowed a little practicality. If he shuns the provisional government completely, he misses the chance to affect it. He hasn't enough followers to overthrow it directly and he knows it, or he wouldn't be lurking in the hills. If his knowledge and powers of persuasion are half as impressive as you say, he ought to bring them to the capitol and put them to work where they might do much good."

  Jalika sighed. "He does not believe that his efforts can achieve anything indirectly."

  "Ah." Julian felt a passing qualm—nothing he could put a reason behind. Before he could ponder it, Borilak Selinn finished his formal opening exhortation and returned to the common language.

  "The healer Bashir is accused of the death of our brother, Borilak Belem," he said. The words broke over Bashir's head like a thunderclap.

  "Borilak—?" he whispered to Jalika. "But Belem had no family name …"

  "Father knew. He gave him ours when the boy joined us." Her hand stole into his. "He had no son, Julian."

  Her father saw her take the doctor's hand. His scowl was terrifying and his tone grew even more fierce. "Who here does not know the trust and duty of a healer?" he demanded of his followers. "That his gifts be shared w
ithout prejudice or measure among all who come to him for aid. You have all witnessed the effects of this man's gifts. The fever of which we heard, the fever which we so feared sought us out in spite of our seclusion. Many of you burned with it, many of you would have died of it." He wheeled to point a finger at Dr. Bashir. "You know this man! You knew him long before he came among us. The same tales that came from the camps where our brethren suffer—the tales of the wasting fever without a cure—these tales soon changed from cries of despair to prayers of hope because of this man!"

  "Whose case is your father pleading?" Julian whispered to Jalika. "He sounds like he's taken my side."

  "Wait," Jalika said, miserable.

  "How did Commander Sisko ever get talked into this?" Odo muttered as he and Major Kira climbed the mountain slope, scrambling to keep up with Cedra. "This is not the place for a child."

  "Cedra disagreed," the liaison officer responded. "He can be very convincing when he wants to be. Commander Sisko started out against the boy coming with us; then before you knew it, he gave his approval. He had to: Cedra's plan for bringing Dr. Bashir back once we find him won't work without Cedra."

  Odo snorted. "Why do we need any sort of plan in the first place? Once we find the doctor, you deliver Commander Sisko's orders for his return. Unless you think he'll disobey a direct command?"

  "He's too good a Starfleet officer for that." Kira pushed her way through the bush. "And he's too good a doctor. When he hears we need him back aboard to save Talis Dejana's life, he'll come; that's not the problem. It's making sure he stays put once he's healed her."

  "You don't expect him to do that?"

  "No, to be honest, I don't. You've never seen a refugee camp, Odo. You've never seen the children who are forced to live there. Neither had Dr. Bashir. Lieutenant Dax told me all about how shocked he was, and how he threw himself into his work—one man trying to right the biggest injustice he'd ever seen. If that was you, would you be able to turn your back on a job that was less than half-finished?"