Original Sin

by David R. George III

  “Firing phasers,” replied Lieutenant Rogers.

  Twin cones of reddish-yellow light fanned out from the runabout’s bow and merged in a broad circle on the ice, which immediately began to melt. Sisko pushed Styx forward. The runabout entered the water, phasers still ablaze.

  “The Acheron is directly behind us,” Weil said.

  As the two runabouts burrowed deeper into the ice sheet, the melting point of the frozen water marginally decreased with the rising pressure—approximately three four-hundredths of a degree per atmosphere of pressure, a distinction without a practical difference. Leading the way, Styx made slow but steady progress through the enormous glaciated mass. Piloting the runabout, Sisko ensured that he remained on course for the outer opening of the tube they had chosen to traverse, which emerged on the inner side of the Dyson section at the bottom of a massive lake, closer than any of the other tubes to the three locations of the children.

  Eventually, they reached the outer surface of the artificial world and entered the tube, the runabout’s phasers still firing. The ice continued to melt beneath the assault, until it eventually gave way to liquid water inside the tube. Beyond that point, sensors picked out a series of sieve-like structures, each increasingly finer. They had clearly been designed to prevent rogue chunks of ice or other solid material from advancing through the tube. Lieutenant Rogers used the Styx’s phasers to carve out holes in the filters large enough to allow the runabouts passage.

  Much of the center length of the tube contained no obstructions, and Acheron and Styx made swift progress. At the other end, Rogers once again had to use phasers to slice through a series of filters. Finally, the two runabouts emerged on the inner surface of the Dyson section. The captain set Styx down on the bottom of the lake, and Acheron landed beside it. Outside the ports, a blackness deeper than space prevailed.

  “Report,” Sisko said. Sensors had failed to penetrate to the inner side of the Dyson section during the entire journey through the tube.

  “Scans show all eighty-seven of the children,” Spingeld replied. “They are still separated into three groups.”

  Sisko worked the controls on the main console to open a tightly focused, short-range, scrambled channel to the second runabout. “Styx to Acheron.”

  “This is Stannis,” came the immediate response. “Go ahead, Captain.”

  “We’ve got all of the children on sensors, at three different sites,” Sisko said. “Do you?”

  “Crewman Stokar reports that we do, Captain,” Stannis said. The lieutenant spoke with the deep, ragged voice common to many Corvallen men.

  “Crewwoman Spingeld will transmit the coordinates of one of the sites,” Sisko said. “On my order, Crewman Stokar will beam up the children from that location, while we beam up the others.”

  “Understood.”

  The captain glanced over his shoulder at Spingeld, a petite human with dark, wavy hair. She set to operating her panel, and after a moment, she nodded. “Coordinates sent,” Sisko said.

  “We’ve got them,” Stannis confirmed. “Crewman Stokar is targeting the Acheron’s transporter.” The lieutenant paused, then said, “We’re ready, Captain.”

  “Energize,” Sisko said.

  The captain had graduated the Academy and begun active duty with Starfleet more than three decades earlier; he had served aboard half a dozen starships and as the commander of the most important space station in the Alpha Quadrant; he’d conducted espionage on Romulus, and fought in the Tzenkethi and Dominion Wars, as well as during the Borg Invasion. His first wife had died aboard a starship where he held the position of first officer. Yet with all of that time in uniform, the experience that stood out at that moment took Sisko back to Deep Space 9, to when a Pah-wraith had taken over the body of his son to do battle against a Prophet. He had allowed the confrontation to take place when he could have stopped it—worse, in the service of Bajor’s future, he had wanted it. Jake had survived the ordeal and immediately professed his understanding for what his father had done, but Sisko had never forgiven himself. His son had told him he had done the right thing, but in the years since, that had seemed irrelevant. Sisko’s first duty lay neither with Starfleet nor with the Bajoran people; he had come to belief that, as a father who had brought two children into the universe, he owned no greater obligation than to the well-being of his son and daughter. Rebecca had been taken from him and Kasidy once before, and they had been fortunate to get her back. Losing Jennifer had almost killed him; losing his daughter would. He needed for the transporter to pluck Rebecca and the other children from the bizarre world to which they had been taken and deposit them aboard Acheron and Styx.

  But then Spingeld looked over at him with an expression that told him that wasn’t going to happen. “Captain, the children are visible on sensors, but it’s impossible to establish a transporter lock on them,” she said. “There is equipment at each location that I can’t identify, and it’s interfering with the carrier wave.”

  “Crewman Stokar confirms the same results, Captain,” Stannis said.

  Sisko thought of his daughter and all the other children, frightened after being ripped from their home by unknown beings and taken to an unfamiliar place. He thought of his wife and the other parents, and he knew how they felt. He would not let them down.

  “Break out the weapons,” Sisko told the two away teams. “If we can’t beam the children out, then we’ll have to go and get them.”

  Bajor, 2380

  With Ben next to her, Kasidy marched alongside the top-floor railing of the three-story residential building. The staccato beat of their shoes clacking along the hard-surfaced walkway trailed them like a dog nipping at their heels—except that she would have preferred an animal chasing them to the heartache actually in pursuit. It had not quite been two full days since Rebecca had gone missing, but it might as well have been two weeks or two months or two years; Kasidy felt her daughter’s absence as a physical sensation, as though her body had somehow been drained of that which formed her identity, as though she had been emptied out and the inside of her leftover shell scraped clean.

  Although the sun had risen high in a mostly clear sky, the afternoon carried an autumnal chill. Kasidy fastened her light jacket against the cool air. She wished that she had worn something heavier when they’d left the house.

  I’m lucky it occurred to me to put on any sort of a coat at all, she told herself.

  Since Rebecca’s disappearance, Kasidy had spared few thoughts for anything but her daughter’s safe return. It troubled her to be away from home for the second time that day, after she and Ben had earlier met with Asarem Wadeen. Kasidy had confidence that if the Bajoran Militia found Rebecca, or if they learned anything, or if they required additional information, Major Orisin would let her and Ben know at once. Still, it felt wrong to be out of the house, as though it made their daughter’s return less likely—as though being at home provided a beacon for Rebecca to follow, to find her way out of the wasteland. Kasidy understood that such a notion made no sense: their daughter had yet to reach the age of four; Rebecca would not return on her own—somebody would have to find her and bring her back.

  After meeting with the first minister that morning, Kasidy and Ben had gone back home to discover a message waiting for them. Prior to that, they had wrestled with whether or not to contact Jake and his wife to let them know about what had happened. The young couple had recently traveled across the quadrant to Milvonia III so that Rena could study for a season under the tutelage of Deniskar Treyna, a painter she admired. Kasidy and Ben hadn’t wanted to disrupt that experience, but they believed that Jake and Rena would want to know about Rebecca’s abduction. Ben had tried to reach his son, but had ended up having to leave a message of his own.

  After their visit to Ashalla to see Asarem, Kasidy and Ben found that Jake had attempted to contact them in their absence. He told them that Rena was busily making arrangements for their immediate journey back to Bajor. It would take them da
ys to make their way home—arriving after Rebecca had been safely recovered, Jake was sure—but he and Rena wanted to be there. They sent their love and would reach out again during their trip.

  Ben stopped three-quarters of the way along the building and pointed to the door there, set back from the walk inside a gated patio. Kasidy saw from the unit ID on the door—A13—that they had reached their destination. She glanced to one side, over the railing and down, at the large, hexagonal park on which fronted the six buildings of the Delisa Gardens housing complex. The waters of a fountain danced in elaborate patterns at the center of the greensward, while a playground occupied one corner, and a set of picnic tables another. Several tall trees, their remaining leaves a blend of fall colors, bordered the park, while numerous low bushes, their flowers gone, dotted the landscape. Kasidy saw only a few people about, doubtless a consequence of summer’s recent departure.

  Ben pushed open the gate and held it ajar for his wife, who preceded him onto the patio. An outdoor table and chairs stood to one side in front of a window, but Kasidy saw nothing else: no plants or jardinières, no adornments on the walls, no signs at all of recent use. It made her suspicious and reinforced her feeling that they shouldn’t have bothered making the trip to the purlieus of Ashalla.

  As her husband touched the welcome panel next to the hunter-green door, Kasidy rubbed her hands up and down along her upper arms, trying to warm herself. She regarded Ben and realized that she expected him to offer her his coat, or to put his arms around her, but he didn’t appear to notice her discomfort. He simply stared at the door.

  His mind is elsewhere, Kasidy thought. Her husband’s inattention might have bothered her if she hadn’t understood it. He’s thinking about Rebecca too.

  Kasidy wondered if Ben had considered her role in their daughter’s disappearance—if he resented her for it. Does he blame me? She knew that he wouldn’t, that she had not been negligent in her care of Rebecca, but the victim of a horrible crime. And yet the truth of that hadn’t prevented Kasidy from condemning herself for what had happened.

  The door opened, revealing a slim young woman, about Kasidy’s height. She had light-brown skin and Asian features, which included a wide, flat nose. Her straight dark hair spilled down past her shoulders and curled inward, and the commas of her well-defined eyebrows perfectly crowned her deep-brown eyes. She wore tan slacks, with a black belt and a loose white blouse. A simple gold bracelet circled one wrist. Kasidy thought her lovely.

  “Captain Yates, Captain Sisko,” the woman greeted them. “I’m Jasmine Tey. Won’t you please come in?” She moved aside, allowing Kasidy and Ben to enter.

  Inside, they stepped into a small parlor, decorated sparingly. Covered in white patterned fabrics, a love seat and a pair of undersize easy chairs filled the area. A couple of nondescript little tables sat scattered about, while a few mundane paintings hung on the walls. Plain white curtains covered the front window, which looked out on the patio.

  It hasn’t been decorated sparingly, Kasidy realized. It’s been furnished to make it appear that somebody unexceptional lives here.

  Tey followed them into the room and gestured through a wide archway to the adjoining space, where four tall chairs sat around a rattan-topped pedestal table. A tea set had been laid out on a tray atop it. “I just made a pot of deka tea,” Tey said. “May I pour you a cup?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Ben said.

  They followed as Tey walked into the dining area and reached for the teapot. “Captain Yates?” the young woman asked.

  “Kasidy and Ben will do,” Kasidy said. It always felt odd to her to be called by her position when not aboard ship, and Ben hadn’t been active in Starfleet in more than four years. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  Kasidy knew better than to judge an individual solely by their appearance, but under the circumstances, she couldn’t help comparing Tey to what she and Ben had been told about her. A human, she had a modest frame and a demure bearing, and she looked even younger than her twenty-eight years. Kasidy had trouble imagining her working in security or law enforcement, much less as the formidable, highly experienced figure about whom the first minister had spoken.

  They all climbed onto the tall chairs at the table. Tey placed a cup of tea before Ben and another in front of herself. Kasidy watched her husband take a jumja cube from an open bowl and stir it into his tea. She thought only that she wanted to end their visit as quickly as possible and get back to their house.

  “I don’t know what the first minister’s told you,” Ben said, “but she thought you might be able to help us.”

  “Minister Asarem contacted me after she spoke with you this morning,” Tey said quickly and without inflection. “She asked me if I would be willing, as a personal favor to her, to assist in an investigation. When I agreed that I would, she reinstated my security clearance, and I was invited to the provincial Militia headquarters in Renassa. There, I was informed about the situation and received a full briefing on your daughter’s abduction.”

  Kasidy stared at Tey—not because of what she had just said, but because of how she had said it. Until that moment, the young woman had behaved with a mannerly deference and an unaffected politeness. With just a few statements and a shift in her comportment, Tey commanded the room.

  “We’re grateful for your willingness to help,” Ben said, “though I’m not sure what more you can do than Major Orisin and his people.”

  “I understand that Major Orisin has suggested you consider going public about the abduction,” Tey said. “I would counsel against that.” She seemed very sure of herself. Even though Kasidy agreed with her conclusion, she wanted to hear her justification.

  “Why?” Kasidy asked.

  “The kidnapper employed great care in taking Rebecca. His efforts involved considerable planning and split-second timing,” Tey explained. “That indicates that he is unlikely to risk being caught by taking her to a public place. Announcing the abduction would therefore offer no reward, but it could potentially anger or pressure the kidnapper.”

  “You’re saying ‘kidnapper,’ ” Ben noted. “Singular.”

  “And using masculine pronouns,” Kasidy added.

  “A lone male likely perpetrated this crime,” Tey said. “Most likely middle-aged, probably single and poorly socialized, with emotional problems.” She offered no explanation for her conclusions, but Kasidy understood that Tey based her reasoning on her training and experience. Despite her youthful and unimposing appearance, she suddenly seemed older than her actual age.

  “So if we shouldn’t make the abduction public, then what do you think we should do?” Ben asked. “Wait for the kidnapper’s demands?”

  “There isn’t going to be a ransom,” Tey said. Again, she sounded sure of herself. Her opinion worried Kasidy, who glanced over at her husband. She saw her concern mirrored on Ben’s face.

  “If the kidnapper didn’t abduct Rebecca so that he could make demands, then what is his motive?” Kasidy asked. “And how does that affect the chances of getting our daughter back?”

  “The question of why Rebecca has been taken is of critical importance,” Tey said. “Because of your daughter’s significance to the followers of Ohalu, I agree with the consensus that there is likely a religious motive behind the abduction—either on the part of an Ohalavaru hoping to validate or fulfill those beliefs, or by a traditional adherent wanting to refute or obstruct them. But I also think that’s only one part of the explanation.”

  “What other reason could somebody have?” Kasidy asked.

  “It’s not necessarily about reason,” Tey said. “The kidnapper is probably deeply troubled. So much so that it’s even possible that he selected Rebecca at random, although I think it more likely that she was taken specifically and deliberately, in the service of some unknown end.”

  Kasidy physically recoiled in her chair. “ ‘Some unknown end,’ ” she echoed. The phrase evoked terrible possibilities. “What does that mean?”r />
  “It only means that we don’t know for what purpose your daughter was taken,” Tey said. “If not at random and not for ransom, then it probably has to do, at least in part, with Rebecca’s alleged place in the belief system of the Ohalavaru as the Avatar. I began rereading the Ohalu texts this afternoon, in search of any potential goal somebody might have that would be aided by kidnapping your daughter.”

  “Rereading?” Ben said. “Are you an Ohalavaru?”

  “I do not subscribe to any religious system—Bajoran, human, or otherwise,” Tey said. “I intend no offense, Mister Sisko.”

  “I take no offense,” Ben said. “So then you’re an atheist.”

  “I am,” Tey said. “I believe that there are powerful and remarkable beings in the universe, but I don’t think that any of them are gods, or that there is some existential ‘creator.’ ”

  It pleased Kasidy to hear that. If Rebecca had been abducted for religious reasons, somebody invested in those belief systems could allow their personal biases to cloud their view of the investigation. Of course, a majority of Bajorans hewed to the divinity of the Prophets—including, more than likely, most of those working to locate Rebecca.

  “I first studied The Book of Ohalu not long after it was rediscovered during the archaeological excavation of B’hala,” Tey continued. “At the time, I was a member of the security detail assigned to protect the first minister. It was therefore incumbent upon me to research the Ohalavaru in order to assess any potential threat they could pose to Minister Asarem.”

  “Did you find anything?” Kasidy asked. “I mean, when you reread the texts today?”