She only hoped that they would not have to mourn together.
• • •
Kasidy came out of the refresher and walked down the short hall to find the living area of her family’s quarters empty. She quickly doubled back, between the ’fresher and the closet, and ducked into the bedroom she shared with Ben. She expected to see him there; if he’d been called to the bridge, he would have let her know before he left.
Their bedroom was empty.
Kasidy looked around—almost as though she might have somehow missed seeing her husband. Her gaze came to rest on the two rounded rectangular ports that ran vertically up the outer bulkhead. Earlier, she had blacked them out. When the crew had gotten Robinson moving again, sending it somersaulting sidelong through space, the wheeling view of the stars had disturbed her equilibrium. Not that I wouldn’t have felt off-balance anyway.
Kasidy walked over and touched the control pads on the bulkhead. The opaque tint of the ports faded, becoming first translucent and then transparent. Out in space, the stars continued to roll past in tall arcs, up and around, down and around, again and again. It passed muster as a fair metaphor for Kasidy’s thoughts. Her efforts to meet with the other parents aboard the ship had been difficult. She hoped that it helped the others. It had actually done her some good, giving her purpose at a time when her role as a mother had been stolen from her. It also provided a distraction from her own dread.
No, it was more than just purpose, more than just a distraction, she thought. In order to express her assurance to the others, she’d had to find that strength in herself. It didn’t hurt that she knew what to expect since she’d been through the experience before.
Except that it does hurt, she had to admit to herself. Kasidy thought she’d long found her way past what had happened six years prior, but in the time since her daughter and the other children had been taken, those terrible days on Bajor had come back to her. Because of the events on Robinson, Kasidy felt fear and desperation for Rebecca, echoes of what had come before, and her memories revived those original emotions, and more: anger and resentment surged within her and threatened to erupt.
Pressure swelled behind Kasidy’s eyes and her jaw set. She quickly restored the ports to their opaque setting, then closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing, calming it down, then unclenched her teeth. She slowly counted to ten.
Finally, Kasidy went back into the living area of their quarters. She did not see her husband, but she hadn’t expected him suddenly to be there. She knew him well enough to know where he’d gone.
Kasidy crossed by the blacked-out ports and the sitting area on one side of the living space, and the dining table and desk on the other. She walked up to the open door that led to Rebecca’s bedroom. Darkness greeted her. The lighting panels within had been extinguished, and the ports—which Kasidy had earlier rendered opaque—admitted no starlight. Only a thin band of illumination from the living area reached into the compartment; it ran across the deck, onto the bed, and over her husband’s legs. As Kasidy’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that he sat on the edge of the mattress, his head bowed.
“Ben?”
“I’m here,” he said without looking up.
The question Are you all right? rose in her mind, but she had no need to ask it. Ben wasn’t all right, and neither was she. They wouldn’t be until . . .
“What have I done?” Ben asked. The pain in his voice tore through Kasidy. She went to him in the shadowy room, dropped to her knees, and took his hands in hers.
“This wasn’t your fault,” she told him. “You can’t blame yourself for the actions of beings you didn’t even know existed.”
“Can’t I?” Ben said. His voice sounded heavy, emblematic of the tremendous burdens of his position.
“I know you’re the commanding officer of this ship, and that Starfleet holds you responsible for everybody on board . . . that you hold yourself responsible,” Kasidy said. “But you didn’t incapacitate the Robinson, you didn’t fire on it, you didn’t . . .” She had been about to say that Ben hadn’t abducted the children, but she couldn’t force the words from her mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Still looking down, Ben shook his head. “It’s not about being the captain,” he said. “I know I didn’t make any errors in judgment on the bridge, but . . .”
She allowed him time to finish his thought. When he didn’t, she asked, “But what, Ben?” She wanted to help him, and he clearly needed to talk.
“I brought you and Rebecca aboard,” he said. “I rejoined Starfleet, and when we reconciled, I asked you to join me on the Robinson.” He finally looked up and met her gaze. “I wanted you to join me.”
Kasidy understood her husband’s point. He knew—better than most—the dangers of life aboard a Starfleet vessel. Still, she could not allow him to hold himself solely accountable for a decision they’d made together. More than that, she wanted to absolve him of his guilt, or at least to diminish it.
“You wanted us to join you because we’re a family,” Kasidy said. “We belong together. I wanted that too.”
“You wanted us to be together and you wanted to leave Bajor,” Ben said. “We could have done that by going back to Earth or any other planet in the Federation. I didn’t have to stay in Starfleet, or I could’ve taken a desk job. I was selfish and stupid.”
Kasidy rose from her knees and sat down on Rebecca’s bed next to her husband. She put her arms around him. “We made the decision together.”
“You didn’t want to raise our daughter in space.”
“No, I didn’t,” Kasidy said. “At least, not out patrolling the edge of Tzenkethi space or facing down Breen starships. But Starfleet was sending the Robinson out on an extended mission of exploration. I saw what that meant to you when you first ventured into the Gamma Quadrant for your six-month assignment . . . how thrilling it was for you . . . how much you got out of the experience. Yes, the universe can be a dangerous place, but it can also deliver marvels. I realized how much Rebecca could learn in that kind of environment, how beneficial it could be for her. It’s helped make you the person you are. I love you, and part of your identity is being a Starfleet officer. I never wanted you to change.”
Ben unexpectedly pulled away and stood up. He stepped over to Rebecca’s dresser and picked something up, though his body hid it from Kasidy’s view. “Didn’t you?” he asked her, still facing away. “Didn’t you want me to change?”
“Ben . . .” Even though they had rarely discussed it at any length, Kasidy knew he referred to the first time Rebecca had been kidnapped. They had been so happy to bring her home unharmed, and cautiously optimistic—and eventually thrilled—that she’d manifested no emotional wounds from her abduction. Kasidy and Ben engaged Doctor Lennis Delah, a professional specializing in early-age trauma, who initially met with their daughter three times each week, and then just twice, and finally only once. After a couple of months, the doctor declared additional sessions of no particular value to Rebecca and suggested that they continue on an as-needed basis. They never had cause to send their daughter back; they simply concentrated on providing a safe and loving environment for her. They occasionally attempted to draw Rebecca out on what she’d been through, but she never spoke of it outside her counseling sessions, and so neither did they, even to each other—almost as though avoiding the subject would somehow rob the incident of its grim reality.
Ben turned around from the dresser. With her eyes accustomed to the darkness, Kasidy saw that he held a model of a Starfleet vessel, Wellington, which Jake and Rena had brought back from Earth a couple of years prior for Rebecca. “You never liked my being the Emissary.”
Kasidy immediately reproved herself for bringing up the Prophets the day before. She thought that she and her husband had gotten past that part of their lives, and Ben had confirmed that after the attack on Robinson, when she’d asked if he thought it had anything to do with the Bajoran religion. “I never said I didn’t l
ike you being the Emissary,” she told him. “I know I mentioned the Prophets yesterday, but that was the first time in a long time.”
“I know that it’s always bothered you, that you’ve never really accepted it.”
Just as it had a few minutes earlier, anger ignited within Kasidy—anger and resentment. She stood up quickly, the strong emotions driving her to her feet. “I don’t think that’s fair,” she said. She strode out of Rebecca’s room and back into the living area. She made it almost all the way to their bedroom door when Ben called after her.
“Kas, I’m not blaming you,” he said. She stopped and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway to Rebecca’s room. “I think, more than anything right now, I’m blaming myself. I wasn’t sensitive to how hard it must have been for you.”
“That’s not fair either, to you or to me,” she said. Kasidy paced back to the center of the living area. “Look, I’ll admit that I haven’t always been comfortable with your role in the Bajoran religion.” She shrugged as she decided to admit the truth. “Maybe I’ve never been comfortable with it. But you were already the Emissary when we met, and that didn’t prevent me from falling in love with you or from marrying you. It didn’t stop me from giving birth to our daughter or from wanting to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“I shouldn’t have moved us to Bajor.”
“You didn’t, Ben; I did,” Kasidy said. “You were off in the Celestial Temple when Jake and I built our house. You acquired the land for it and designed it, but I made a home on Bajor before you ever did.”
“But you did that for me,” Ben said.
Kasidy crossed the other half of the living area to stand directly before her husband. “I did it for us,” she said. “You know . . . it was a strange experience to have you occupy a significant place in the Bajoran religion. And it wasn’t always easy. I watched you almost die because it was so important for you to experience mystical visions imparted to you by the Prophets. You risked your own son’s life in order to enable the defeat of a Pah-wraith. And when I was carrying our child, the Prophets took you away from me—for eight months, but I didn’t know that at the time; it could have been for a year or a decade or the rest of my life. But I moved to Bajor and made a home there—a home for us, but without you. So, yes, you can say that you being the Emissary bothered me, or that it was difficult for me, but don’t tell me I didn’t accept it. I have always stood by you.”
Ben nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He reached out and pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Kasidy hugged him back, her hands circling around his waist. They stood quietly that way for a few moments, until Ben pulled back. He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “I’m blaming myself for what’s happened, but I’m more concerned that you are too . . . because I think you blamed me for Rebecca being taken from us the first time.”
Kasidy wanted to refute her husband’s claim in order to spare his feelings, but also because she didn’t want it to be true—she had never wanted it to be true. She strived to be a better person than that, but how could she deny it when, just a short while earlier, that old anger and resentment had resurfaced in her? “I didn’t blame you for Rebecca’s abduction on Bajor,” Kasidy said. “But I did feel bitterness toward the Bajoran religion. How could I do otherwise, when our daughter was taken and almost killed by a zealot?”
“He wasn’t a mainstream adherent,” Ben said. “He was an Ohalavaru.”
The response felt like a slap. “Does that matter?” Kasidy asked. She loosed herself from her husband’s grasp and marched away from him, but she didn’t go very far before rounding on him. “When you found B’hala and Istani rediscovered Ohalu’s writings, it essentially brought the Ohalavaru out of the shadows. It all centers around the Prophets and what the Bajorans believe about them.” Kasidy hesitated before going on, but if she truly hoped to put her resentment behind her, she knew she had to say more. “It also has to do with what you think about the Prophets.”
“Because I left you?” Ben asked. “I did that only because I had to . . . because I had to protect you and Rebecca.”
“But don’t you see?” Kasidy asked. “You believed that because the Prophets told you to believe it.”
“But They also brought us back together,” Ben said. “Through Kira, They reunited our family.”
“I know,” Kasidy said. “But don’t you understand how difficult all of that was for me? For major events in my life to be dictated by mystical impressions given to you by the hidden members of an alien race? Even if you believe that they’re omnipotent beings—even if they are omnipotent beings—I don’t care. I don’t want them meddling in my life—in our lives—especially when it ends up, directly or indirectly, putting the well-being of our daughter at risk.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben said again, his voice full of regret.
“No,” Kasidy said, shaking her head. She took herself to task for bringing up their past struggles. She needed to deal with the resuscitated anger and bitterness she felt, but she didn’t have to wound Ben in the process. “I’m sorry. Just because I thought those things for a time doesn’t mean I was right, and it doesn’t mean that I still believe them.” She once more crossed the living area to stand in front of him. She placed her hands flat against his chest. “Ben, it wasn’t your fault six years ago when a mentally unstable man kidnapped Rebecca, and what’s happened now isn’t your fault either.” Thinking about their daughter brought fresh tears to Kasidy’s eyes. “I feel helpless,” she said. “How could we have allowed Rebecca to be taken from us again? It’s not our fault, it’s nobody’s fault but those who took her, but it still feels like we keep failing our little girl.”
As a tear spilled from Kasidy’s eye, Ben seemed to steel himself. He reached to her face and wiped away the tear on her cheek. “We’re going to get her back.”
“I want to believe that,” Kasidy said, “but you don’t know for sure.”
“I know that we got Rebecca back once before,” Ben said, projecting a confidence she wished she also felt. “I know that Rebecca came home safely, and that she suffered no ill effects from the incident.”
“We don’t really know that either, do we?” Kasidy asked, facing yet another uncomfortable reality. “We don’t know how much or in what ways Rebecca has been impacted by what she endured. We don’t even truly know everything that happened to her.”
“We know she wasn’t physically harmed,” Ben said. “We know that she wasn’t molested. And Counselor Lennis told us that, even after months of regular appointments, she could find nothing emotionally wrong with Rebecca.”
On a day of confronting unspoken truths, Kasidy decided to challenge one more. “Didn’t that seem strange to you, that Rebecca could come home after being kidnapped and be perfectly fine?” she asked. “It seems strange to me even now.”
“Maybe, but not in an unhealthy way,” Ben said. “She’s always been strong and steady.”
“The counselor alerted us to watch Rebecca for any behavior that strayed from the norm,” Kasidy said. “Our daughter is strong and steady, and she’s smart, and she’s happy. Maybe that’s why we don’t talk about it—why I can’t usually admit it to myself—but Rebecca is not normal.”
Ben regarded Kasidy without saying anything, then pulled her into an embrace. He held her quietly for so long that she didn’t think he would respond to what she’d said, but then he did. “No, our daughter is not normal,” he allowed. “But that’s always been the case, even before she was kidnapped. She was always different from other children her age—more like an adult than a child.”
With her head still pressed against the front of her husband’s shoulder, Kasidy agreed with him. “She’s so calm, so accepting of whatever’s going on around her.”
“Maybe that’s what helped her survive when she was taken six years ago,” Ben said. “Maybe that will help her now.”
“Maybe,” Kasidy said, hoping that he
r husband spoke from more than mere wishful thinking.
“We’re going to find her,” Ben said. “We’re going to find all the children, and we’re going to bring them back to the Robinson.”
Kasidy cinched her arms tightly around him. She wanted to believe. She just didn’t know if she could.
• • •
Robinson felt whole again. On the main viewscreen, the stars shined in a stable pattern, the ship no longer unfixed and spinning uncontrolled through null space, but soaring on course through the normal continuum. The bridge deck plates pulsed with the deep tones of the warp drive.
Except that the ship isn’t whole, Sisko thought. He sat in the command chair, eager for Robinson to reach its destination, but anxious about what the crew would discover there. To that point, they had found virtually nothing.
Once Robinson had cleared null space, Sisko had ordered a marker buoy anchored nearby to transmit warnings to approaching ships. Scans continued to detect no trace of the alien vessels. The only notable sensor contact came from the distant region of dead space they’d already identified. With no other reasonable options, the captain ordered the ship on that heading.
Almost another entire day had passed as Robinson raced through the Gamma Quadrant at high warp. Time elapsed, for Sisko, like a form of slow torture. Everybody aboard recognized that the longer it took to locate the abducting aliens, the less likely that they would succeed in rescuing the missing children.
The crew had continued scanning for any hint of the alien vessels, but they’d met with no success. Scans did pick out a third and fourth zone of inert space, both much smaller than the one in which Robinson had been stranded and the one to which the ship presently sped. The alien ships had vanished.
“We are approaching the second expanse of null space,” Sivadeki reported from the conn.
“Captain, sensors are picking up a single vessel,” said Uteln. Sisko shared a look with Rogeiro, who sat beside him. The first officer didn’t hesitate.
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