Sisko had always known that he would leave again, that he would return to Starfleet, and yet he understood that he had not behaved that way. Devastated when he’d believed her dead, he’d needed to be with her afterward, but by doing so, in the way that he had, he’d set her up for more disappointment. As he thought about it, it seemed cruel.
And maybe I wanted a different reaction, Sisko thought. Maybe I wanted Kasidy to be angry or upset or sad. That idea frightened him, because he could ignore the warning of the Prophets—he’d done it before—and return to the woman he loved. Had he spent the previous two weeks in her company not just because he’d wanted to and needed to, but because he hoped that she would fight for them to stay together, that she would make it even more difficult for him to leave again?
“Ben?” He saw that she had stopped rocking. As he watched, she withdrew one arm from beneath her shawl and held up an isolinear chip. “I wanted to give this to you before you leave.”
Sisko walked the rest of the way to Kasidy and took the chip from her. “What is it?”
“It’s a signed petition for the dissolution of our marriage,” she said.
Her declaration sliced through him like a hot phaser beam. He sat down in the rocker beside Kasidy. “Are . . . are you sure?” he asked.
“I guess I am,” she said. “It’s what you want.”
It’s not what I want, he thought. It’s what has to be. But he didn’t say that, because Kasidy already knew the reasons he’d left, and would leave again. He looked down at the translucent green chip, with its embedded silver circuitry. “What changed your mind?” he asked.
Kasidy shrugged, then peered back out toward the mountains. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve been thinking for a while that maybe we need to move on with our lives. I mean, we’ll always be parents together, but . . .” She leaned over toward him and gently placed her hand on his forearm. “I understand why you believe we can’t be together,” she said. “So it just seems as though I need to let you go.”
“Kasidy . . .” He wanted to say so many things to her. He wanted to tell her that he still loved her, that he would always love her. He wanted to make sure that she knew he didn’t want to leave her, that his heart had broken when he had, and that it had never mended.
“Ben, I still love you,” she said, “but I understand.”
“I still love you,” Sisko said, grateful for the opportunity to say the words to her again.
Kasidy squeezed his arm, then sat back in her chair. Somewhere overhead, a bird screeched out its call. A soft breeze floated past, and on it, Sisko thought he detected a hint of nerak blossoms, though it had to be too early in the season for that.
“Are you all right?” Kasidy asked.
“Yeah,” Sisko said, although he felt anything but all right. “Yeah. I just . . . I just need to think of everything I need to do.”
“Really?” Kasidy said. “Things you need to do before you leave Bajor?”
“Um . . . no. No, I guess not,” he said. “After I get back from seeing Elias, I just need to pack my duffel over at Jake and Korena’s.”
“Well, that should take only a couple of minutes,” Kasidy said. “So you still have a little time. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy some of the morning with me before you go?”
Sisko tried to read his wife’s expression. He searched for anger and frustration, disappointment and sadness. Instead, he saw only love and acceptance.
And that hurt him. No matter the reasons, he had been the one to leave, and the one to stay away. But did he believe all along, somewhere deep in his heart, that someday he might find a way that they could be together again? But if Kasidy had given up . . .
Sisko pushed himself back in the rocking chair beside Kasidy. She smiled at him, then turned back toward the vernal landscape. He watched her for a while, his mind racing over all the complications in their lives, and thinking how simple love should be.
And so he decided to make it simple. He wanted to reach for Kasidy’s hand and hold it one more time, feel their fingers entwined in the same way that their lives had entwined, but he knew that would complicate matters further. So he sat back and turned his gaze to the Kendra Valley, past the moba trees, across the land to the Yolja River, and beyond, to the mountains.
They stayed that way for a while, idling on the front porch of a house that they had at some point come to call home. They sat together long into the morning, quietly, easily, until at last, Sisko had to go.
The Vanadwan Monastery spread across the crest of Angorseer Mountain, the tallest peak in the Releketh Range. Meandering staircases and long walkways connected the great complex of ancient structures that clung to the lofty slopes. At its highest point, its circular Inner Sanctuary reached farther skyward, its nine spired towers representing the Orbs of the Prophets, earning the site the sobriquet “The Crown of Bajor.”
Vedek Kira Nerys gazed up at the majestic edifice, noting the jagged line near the top of the wall where the towers had been rebuilt a dozen years earlier. Far from any major settlements on Bajor, the monastery had survived intact throughout much of the Occupation, but when the Cardassians had begun running barges along the upper reaches of the Senha River, from which the Crown of Bajor could be seen, the Vanadwan monks feared for the safety of the venerable complex and its residents. In one night, seeking to avoid drawing unwanted attention to the monastery, the monks toppled first the spires, and then the bases, all the way down to the top of the wall. From the upper Senha, Vanadwan became invisible.
The Inner Sanctuary, first raised more than a millennium ago, had originally comprised seven towers, since, to that point, only that many Orbs had been discovered. When the monks rebuilt after the Occupation, they chose to include two additional towers, to symbolize the later discoveries of the Orb of Destiny and the Orb of Wisdom. Recently, the Vedek Assembly had relocated the Eighth Orb to Vanadwan.
Kira stood on the monastery’s primary transporter plaza, the one given over to beaming residents and visitors to and from the site. A round courtyard surrounded by flowering bushes, the area looked nothing like a travel hub. A knee-high stone wall at its center enclosed the de facto transport stage, though all of the targeting scanners and most of the other equipment lay underground. Formerly intended to provide shelter for sentries, a small stone shack off to one side accommodated the transporter console and an operator.
A light breeze whispered through the courtyard, sending Kira’s golden robes aflutter. She adjusted the mauve sash she wore over her right shoulder and brushed her hair from her face. She’d let her locks grow longer recently—they reached down past her shoulders—something she hadn’t done since her time in the Resistance, and which she’d never felt comfortable doing while in uniform. Kira liked the way her longer tresses looked, but she hadn’t quite grown accustomed to the weight of them again, or to how they could fall across her eyes.
As the breeze settled, Kira heard the familiar whine of the transporter. Behind the low wall, bright rays of white light appeared and then coalesced into the form of Benjamin, clad in his Starfleet uniform. He carried a small cloth bag in one hand. Kira waited for him to exit the transporter stage through the gap in the wall, and then she approached him, her hands outstretched. “Captain Sisko,” she said, very pleased to be seeing her old friend.
Benjamin saw her and took her hand with his free one, giving her fingers a light squeeze. “Nerys,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you,” Kira said. “I know how busy the life of a starship captain can be, so I’m glad you could make it.”
“I’m even busier today,” he said. “The Robinson will be under repairs for at least another couple of weeks, but I drew duty aboard the Defiant this afternoon.”
“The Defiant?” Kira said. “That ought to bring back memories.”
“I’m sure it will,” he said. “I’m sorry to rush you, Nerys, but I’ve got to be back in Adarak by fifteen hundred, so we should probably get going.
”
“Of course,” Kira said. “It’s a bit of a walk, so if you’d prefer, there’s a site-to-site transporter just on the other side of the Sanctuary.” She pointed, and Benjamin looked in that direction. When he saw the building, he lifted his gaze to its spires.
“Is that the Crown of Bajor?” he said, awe shading his voice. “It’s magnificent.”
“It is,” Kira said. “And that’s how most people react when they see it.”
“I can’t believe I’ve never been to Vanadwan before.”
“Not even to visit your former first officer,” Kira said, then regretted the words at once.
Sisko looked away from the Sanctuary and back at Kira. “I’m sorry, Nerys,” he said. “I really should have come to see you before now.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound critical. I was just trying to be funny and not doing a very good job of it.”
“I understand, but . . . it’s been too long,” Benjamin said. “I know we’ve spoken via subspace a few times, but we haven’t seen each other since you visited me at Starbase Thirty-Nine-Sierra.” A year and a half earlier, she had tracked him down at the Starfleet facility at Kasidy’s behest, delivering the message that, even though he’d left his wife, he should still spend time with his daughter—a sentiment with which Kira agreed. She opened her mouth to reply, but Benjamin held up a hand to stop her. “I know I’ve said it to you since then, but not in person, so I just want to apologize for the way I acted back then—especially since you were right, both as a friend and as an interpreter of Bajoran prophecy.”
“The latter can be a bit tricky,” Kira said with a chuckle.
Sisko nodded. “But the more important thing is your friendship,” he said. “And it’s easy to see in hindsight that you had not only Kasidy and Rebecca’s best interests at heart, but also mine.”
“I’m just glad it worked out,” Kira said. “So, do you want to walk or beam?”
“Why don’t we walk?” Benjamin said. “At least that’ll give us a little time to talk.”
“Good, I’d like that.” She pointed to a covered walkway that ran from left to right along the mountain’s crest, connecting the Inner Sanctuary with the monastery’s library. “We go through there,” she said. They started forward together.
“I wanted to ask you, Nerys: how are you feeling?” Benjamin said. “Kasidy told me what happened.” Deep Space 9 had been destroyed only fourteen days earlier.
“It was quite an experience,” Kira said. “It reminded me a lot of the Occupation: working frantically to move people out of danger.”
“Everybody but yourself.”
Kira noticed that he did not say, or even seem to imply, that she had also failed to get his wife out of danger. She wondered if Kasidy had told him that it had been Kira who insisted they remain on the station. From the way he spoke, she doubted it.
“Do you remember any of it?” Benjamin asked.
“Everything up until the emergency bulkheads slammed closed,” Kira said. “After that, the next thing I remember is waking up in a bio-bed on the Enterprise.”
“I understand they pulled your section of the station out of the wormhole.”
“That’s what they told me,” Kira said. “It’s all a blank to me, but I have to think that the Prophets were looking out for us.”
Benjamin didn’t react at all, and Kira recalled that he hadn’t acted publicly in the role of Emissary for quite some time. The Bajoran population observed this, but fortunately seemed to endure it equably; with Benjamin spending most of his time offworld, aboard Robinson, acceptance came easier. But Kira also remembered their last encounter in person, when he’d loudly proclaimed to her that he was no longer the Emissary. Among the people of Bajor, only Kira knew that.
They reached the walkway, crossed beneath its cover, and started down an incline along a wide path that curled around to the right. “How is life here at the monastery?” Sisko asked.
“Fulfilling,” Kira said. “After living so much of my life in complete turmoil, I’ve found a serenity I never even really knew existed, much less thought I could achieve. And I’ve discovered that I love teaching. It’s very satisfying to clarify the canonical—and even the noncanonical—texts for young acolytes and novices, to share the history and beliefs of our people.”
“You sound happy.”
“I am,” Kira said. “I’m where I feel I belong. I don’t regret my past—at least not most of it. My path took me through the Occupation and onto Deep Space Nine, and even to being the Hand of the Prophets. But what happened with the Ascendants . . . it just illuminated everything for me in a way I’d never seen before that.”
“How is Raiq?” Benjamin asked.
Kira felt herself deflate. She fought her reaction, throwing her shoulders back and keeping her head high. “Still troubled,” she said. “But better. She’s learned a lot, mostly about herself, I think.”
“She’s recuperated from her wounds, though?” Benjamin asked. “She looked well the one, brief time I saw her.”
“Her physical wounds?” Kira said. “I’ve stopped asking. She never wanted to discuss her condition, and I eventually realized that it hurt her for me to even bring it up. I think there are still some lasting effects from her injuries, and I’m not even sure if she’ll ever fully recover. But she seems to be bearing up well. I’m always more concerned about her emotional well-being. Overall, though, she’s made a long journey, and I’m very proud of her.”
“That’s good to hear,” Benjamin said. “I’m sure she has you to thank for—” He stopped walking and talking, and Kira turned to see his mouth agape. She turned to look where he looked.
“This place has that effect on people,” she told him.
The tree-lined northeastern slope of Angorseer Mountain dropped precipitously away from its soaring summit and the aerie atop it. It plunged to the floor of the Elestan Valley, through which flowed the Elestan River, a tributary of the Senha. Free of settlements, the landscape had changed little in the centuries since the first stones had been laid down at Vanadwan.
“I always think this view is why the hospice is on this side of the mountain,” Kira said. “It might not have magical healing powers, but it has a remarkable ability to bring peace to the dying, and to the people they love who come here to say good-bye.”
Benjamin nodded, but didn’t say anything. He stood there for a few moments, peering at the vista. At last, he started walking again, and Kira went with him, pointing their way around to the right, to an uncovered pathway.
“How is Rebecca?” Kira asked. “She just turned seven, didn’t she?”
“She did,” Benjamin said, “and she’s terrific. Smart like her mother, very determined . . . she loves to read . . . loves to be outside. You can never get her to stop running or jumping or skipping, unless you put a book or a starship model in her hands.”
“The last time I was out to the house, she was up in one of the moba trees, pretending to survey the inhabitants of the planet below her,” Kira said. “Those inhabitants included two snowmen, Kasidy, Jasmine, and me.”
Sisko chuckled. “That sounds about right.”
“And how is Kasidy?” Kira worried about asking, but it pleased her that Benjamin did not hesitate to respond.
“She’s well,” he said, but then he seemed to reconsider. “I think she’s well, anyway. We’ve actually been talking a lot, and she seems very centered to me. I’m not sure, but what the two of you experienced on Deep Space Nine . . . your close call . . . I think that might have given her a new perspective about things.”
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“I think so,” Benjamin said. “She agreed today to dissolve our marriage.” It seemed to Kira that he said the words as though trying them on for the first time.
“Oh,” she said. “Is that a good thing?”
Benjamin stopped and faced her. “I don’t really know anymore, Nerys,” he said. “I know t
hat we can’t be together . . . that I can’t endanger her life and Rebecca’s life like that . . . but I have never stopped loving her.”
“I don’t think she’s ever stopped loving you either,” Kira said. “But I do know your separation has been hard on her. She has Jake and Korena, and Jasmine, and friends, but still, she’s really raising Rebecca by herself. And I know she misses you.”
Benjamin nodded.
“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Kira said, “but the Prophets will guide you along the right path.”
Benjamin sighed heavily, his features molding into a mien of great sadness. “I’m on my path alone. I think I have to be. And that path has led me into the wilderness.”
Kira shrugged. “I have faith in the Prophets,” she said. “But I also have faith in you.”
Benjamin smiled, though he did not lose his look of sadness. “Thank you, Nerys. That means a lot to me.”
They started walking again, until they came to the end of the walkway. To the right, a wide wooden door led into the mountainside. In front of them, terraces hung from the slope, from where the hospice facilities had been carved out of the rock. Kira reached forward and leaned into the heavy door, pushing it open.
Inside, the temperature dropped by several degrees. Lighting panels illuminated the corridor indirectly, lending it a soft, graceful air. Carpeting muted their footsteps. They walked forward into a reception area, where several people waited, and two women and one man sat behind a large semicircular desk. Kira approached one of the women. “Hello, Sulan,” she said. A nurse for many years at the hospice, Ransel Sulan shared her given name with one of the most influential people in Kira’s life, and a former kai, Opaka. Kira hadn’t spent much time at the hospice until a month earlier, when Prynn Tenmei had moved her father there from Deep Space 9’s infirmary, but she had immediately struck up a friendly relationship with the nurse, who had worked at the hospice for many years. Since then, Kira had begun practicing some of her good works there, offering spiritual aid to those who sought it.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 18
