by Andy Mangels
Sisko considered. He knew the names of all the major land-masses on Bajor—the general composition of each continent and their positions relative to each other and the oceans. He imagined he knew as much as any average high-school student, which was to say a lot about a few places and a very little about many others. He answered, “Valley plains and forest spreading out on either side of the Yolja for hundreds of kilometers, and then the sea.”
“Anything on the coasts?”
“The usual sort of thing: fishing towns, light industry, ocean farming. No big cities due south of here, though. Why?”
“Just wondering,” Jake said as he stared into the rising sun, then added, “Mrs. O’Brien tried to teach us about Bajor’s geography, but I don’t think too much of it stuck.”
“Not everything does, son. It’s not like we lived here.”
Nodding, Jake said, “But we do now. You do now. I guess I just feel like I’m a guest here. It’s not my home. I guess I always thought that we’d end up back on Earth again.”
Smiling, finally understanding, Sisko replied, “Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Guess it is.”
Sisko felt a chill creep up through his feet. It was too cool to be outside without shoes, and his robe whipped around his knees in the morning breeze. “I’m going to go start breakfast. You want coffee or tea?”
Still staring into the purple and gold sky, Jake said, “I’ll wipe my feet before I come in, Dad.”
Shaking his head, Sisko ducked back inside.
2
Kasidy
Ten minutes later, just as the coffee was beginning to perk and the tea water was coming to a boil, Kasidy came into the kitchen, face scrubbed, hair held back with a headband, and baby Rebecca over her shoulder. After kissing her husband, she spun around and showed baby to daddy, who stopped sawing at the loaf of sourdough long enough to say, “Hi, sweetie,” and wipe baby’s spit-up-covered chin with the towel he had over his shoulder.
Kasidy lowered the baby into the crook of her left arm, found herself a teabag, and dropped it in the mug Sisko had left on the counter next to the hot water. “Where’s Jake?” Kasidy asked as she poured. He’s not out on the couch.”
“Outside.”
Kasidy pulled aside the curtain over the kitchen window and peered out. “What’s he doing?”
Sisko sawed off another slice of bread. “Trying to figure out how he’s going to tell us he’s leaving.”
“Ben?”
Happily engaged with his egg beating, he didn’t look up. “Hmm?” he asked.
Kasidy said, “I’m going to go talk to him.”
“Then I won’t make your toast yet,” he said. Looking up at Rebecca in her bouncy chair, sucking her fist contentedly, he grinned and said in the high, excited tones the baby responded to, “I’ll talk to Miss Rebecca. Yes, I will. We’re going to have a nice chat.”
Surprised, she asked. “Aren’t you going to tell me to leave him alone? No ‘He’ll come in when he’s ready’?”
Placing the bowl of batter in the refrigerator, Ben shook his head. “Why would I say that? You’re his friend. More, you’re family. If I were him, I’d want you to come out.”
“Oh,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asked as he stooped to lift Rebecca out of her chair.
“Not exactly. Are you sure the Prophets didn’t do anything to you while you were gone?”
Sisko made a “Why would I tell you the answer to that?” face, then offered a finger to Rebecca that the baby promptly grasped with raptorlike force and pulled toward her mouth.
“She shouldn’t be sucking on your dirty fingers, Ben,” Kasidy said.
“Babies,” said the Old Hand at Parenting, “do whatever they want to do and nobody can tell them they shouldn’t.”
* * *
The sun was high enough in the sky that the dew was rapidly drying and the kuja flies were beginning to spiral up in loose clouds from the grass. Another half-hour and it would be unbearably warm out in the sun. Jake had his head tilted back, eyes shaded, intent on something high up. Stepping out from under the arbor, Kasidy saw what he was looking at: a black shape drifting in slow, lazy circles. Kasidy’s pilot instincts kicked in and she judged that the shape might be as high up as a thousand meters and must have a huge wingspan—at least four meters and maybe as much as six.
“Wow” was all she could think of to say.
“Yep,” Jake answered.
“Glider?” she asked.
“Nope,” Jake said. “It was a lot lower a few minutes ago and I saw its wings pump. Whatever it is, it’s alive.”
“I repeat,” Kasidy said. “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like that around here. Do you have any idea what it is?”
“None,” Jake said. Then he added a bit testily, “I’m not the one who lives here, though.”
“Less than a year,” she said, trying not to sound too defensive. “And I’ve been too busy to do much bird watching.”
Jake looked down at her, hand still shading his eyes, and said, “Sorry, Kas. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“’Sokay, Jake.” She took a half-step closer to him, then took his arm loosely in her hands to steady herself.
“They used to have avians like that in South America,” Jake said. “On Earth.”
“I know where South America is.”
“Right.” Again, he sounded apologetic, but only barely. “Anyway, one was called Ornithochirus. Huge wingspan. It lived most of its life in the air because it could barely move on land. It had to live near cliffs because the only way it could get off the ground was by jumping off something high.”
“A pterosaur?”
“Yeah.” He looked down at her. “How do you know about them?”
“I had a dinosaur phase when I was a kid.”
“Really? Me, too. How old were you?”
Kasidy thought back. “Five. Maybe six. I liked reading about them.”
“I memorized all the names,” Jake said.
Shaking her head, Kasidy said, “Didn’t do that, but I liked looking at holos of them.”
“Did they have dinosaurs on Cestus III? Something like them?”
They had talked about Kasidy’s homeworld on several occasions, but always in the context of her growing up there and leaving it. “There were prehistoric creatures, sure, but nothing really big before humans starting settling there.”
Jake lowered his gaze and stared out again toward the horizon. “How about here on Bajor? Did they have anything like dinosaurs?”
Kasidy had to admit she had no idea. “We should check. I imagine that’s exactly the kind of thing Rebecca is going to be asking me in a few years. Or, more likely, telling me about.” The idea made her smile. “I guess she’ll be just like me—reading about Earth and learning about dinosaurs and wondering what it would be like to find some kind of gigantic bone buried in the sand.”
Jake didn’t reply for several seconds, and then he said simply, “I feel like I don’t know anything about anything.”
Ah, Kasidy thought. Here we are then. Aloud, she said, “What do you mean? It’s always seemed to me that you know a lot of things. A lot more than I did at your age.”
Scowling, Jake said, “I know a lot of facts. Sometimes it feels like I don’t even know many of those.” Pointing out to the south, he asked, “Do you know what’s out there in that direction?”
Again Kasidy admitted that she did not. Geography had never been her strong suit, and these days she was not very concerned about anything farther away than the horizon.
“Neither do I,” Jake said, the self-disgust making his voice tight. “I have no idea what’s out there.” He tapped the side of his head and added, “And no idea what’s in here, either.”
Kasidy sensed how delicate the situation was and did not know whether she should err on the side of sympathy or truth. “You’ll figure it out,” she said trying t
o find a compromise. “You’re a writer. That’s your job.”
“Is it?” Jake asked. “And am I? I’m not too sure.”
This is worse than I thought. Kasidy decided that sympathy was no longer useful. “Stop it, Jacob Sisko,” she said sharply. “I’m not going to listen to you indulge in self-pity. You know you’re a writer. If you’re having trouble with something right now . . .”
“But that’s just it!” he exclaimed. “I’m not doing anything right now!” Looking down at her, eyes wide, he said, “I can’t seem to think of anything I want to say right now. Everything seems either too big or too trivial. I can’t make sense of it, can’t get any perspective!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Kasidy said, trying to soothe her friend, “that will come. A lot has been happening the past year: The end of the war, your father disappearing, your adventures in the Gamma Quadrant, finding Opaka and the Eav-oq, your father coming home, Rebecca being born. That’s a lot for anyone, let alone for someone . . .” She bit her tongue, hoping he would let the sentence pass.
He didn’t. “Someone?” he asked. “Someone what? Someone who?”
She gritted her teeth. There was no escaping it now. “I was going to say, ‘Someone so young.’ But that’s not what I meant. I just meant . . . you’ve had an extraordinary life, Jake. All kinds of things have happened to the people around you . . . .” Wincing, she realized her mistake too late.
“Exactly!” He shouted, arms flung wide. “To people around me! But never to me!”
“Now, don’t do that, Jake,” Kasidy protested. “You had your adventures on the Even Odds. Don’t make it sound like you’re nothing but a bystander. You’ve seen more in your short span of years than most people see in a lifetime.”
“Then why can’t I write about any of it?!”
Frustrated, Kasidy decided it was time for direct action. Balling up her fist, she punched Jake in the arm as hard as she could.
“Ow!” he shouted. “What was that for?”
“Did it hurt?”
“Of course it hurt,” Jake said, rubbing his shoulder. “You’ve got bony knuckles. That’s going to leave a mark.”
“And you know why it hurt?” Kasidy asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. She was angry. These Sisko men, she thought. So brilliant and so dense. “I’ll tell you why: Direct stimulus. You get a shot in the arm and you feel it right away. One shot and you feel it very cleanly and clearly. Now, let’s talk about everything that’s been happening to you lately. Let’s say that they’re the same as getting one shot after another after another. Understand?”
Jake took a half-step away. “Maybe. You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”
“No,” Kasidy said, her tone softening. “But if I did, what would that be like? Would you necessarily feel each punch if I got you three or four more times?” She held up her clenched fist. “With my bony knuckles.”
Wincing, Jake admitted, “Probably not. My arm would go numb pretty fast.”
“You see my point now, don’t you?”
Jake continued to rub his arm, but his gaze had drifted off to the horizon again. “I think so,” he said. Then, with more conviction, “Yeah, I think I do.”
He keeps looking out at the horizon. Grabbing his arm and gently rubbing it, she remarked, “Your father said you were thinking of heading out.”
Annoyance flickered across Jake’s face. “Did he?” he asked. “I didn’t say anything to him. Well, what if I did? Where would I go? Back to Earth to see Grandpa? He was just here and, frankly, I don’t feel like cleaning oysters. Back to the station? I’m not sure I have a life there, either.”
“No, silly,” Kasidy said cajolingly. “Not anywhere out there. Not on a ship or using the transporter. Use your feet. Pick a direction and start walking.” She felt him stand a little taller, as if he would be able to bring the horizon closer. Kasidy felt something in his shoulders relax.
“The house feels too small for all of us,” Jake said, his voice cracking a little.
Whatever it was that was coming up out of him was costing him. Good, Kasidy thought. It should. “You understand,” she said aloud, “that it doesn’t feel that way to us. Only to you. And it should, too. Young men aren’t supposed to like living with their parents.”
Jake tore his eyes away from the horizon and looked down at her. The tightness around his mouth disappeared and was replaced by a slow smile. There it is. The smile. The old Jake. “How did you ever get to be so smart?” he asked.
Kasidy rolled her eyes and grinned. “‘Always hang around people smarter than you are and you’re bound to learn things.’ One of the few pieces of good advice my father ever gave me.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say a word, Kasidy saw Jake flinch and hunch his shoulders. Ducking his head, he lifted his arm protectively, as if shielding her from a blow. Looking up and around his arm, she realized that they had both forgotten about the hovering black shape. Somehow, instinctively, Jake had sensed a change in its disposition. The creature, whatever it was, had tipped its wings back along the sides of its body and was now streaking toward them, growing larger by the second. A tiny ground-living mammalian voice from the back of her mind chittered, Crouch down low and hope it doesn’t see you!, but Kasidy tried to ignore it. The sane, sensible part of her, the part that had accepted the fact that she was married (for better or worse) to the Emissary, was sighing, Okay, now what? Abruptly, the creature changed trajectory and winged away from them, slowly losing shape and form until it became a dark blot against the brilliant morning blue, then vanished from sight.
“Why don’t you find out where it’s going?” Kasidy said thoughtfully after a long moment.
Jake’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“When Rebecca goes through her dinosaur phase, her big brother can regale her with his how-I-encountered-a-giant-winged-beast story. You’ll be her hero.”
With an inscrutable expression, he studied Kasidy, then bent and kissed her very formally on the cheek. “Thank you, Kas.” Turning, he strode back through the grass toward the house. She followed, noting the muddy footprints across the veranda and into the house; apparently in his excitement Jake had forgotten to wipe his feet. She sighed deeply. Boys will be boys. Passing over the threshold into the entry hall, she reached inside the coat closet for a cleanup rag she kept handy for just such an occasion as this.
Ben emerged from the kitchen and frowned when he saw Kasidy on all fours. “I told that boy to watch his shoes. I’ll get him back here—”
“No. Let him be.” She wiped up the last of the mud and sat back on her haunches to look up at her husband.
“What’s going on? He seemed to be in a hurry. Is he going somewhere?”
“Yes,” Kasidy said. “For a walk.” And, in her own thoughts, she added, To go see what the rest of his life looks like.
3
Lenaris
General Lenaris Holem scooped up a handful of ash and allowed the dawn wind to scatter it. He watched it sift between his fingers, leaving his palm stained black, and wondered whose life it represented. Man? Woman? Child? Had they been asleep when the end came? Or had the natural-gas leak already done its work by the time it ignited?
Lenaris surveyed the devastation through the thinning smoke. The tiny hilltop village had been effectively incinerated, reduced to charred ruins and a choking dust cloud that twisted up and across the sky over Hedrikspool Province. Not for the first time, the general wondered how such things fit into the Tapestry. He tried to recall if some obscure reference to this event could be found among the prophecies of Trakor, Shabren, Talnot, Ohalu, or any of the others. Had one of them foreseen it? And if they had, did that mean all this could have been prevented?
Such questions had nagged at him for much of his life. Growing up in the Relliketh camps, under Cardassian rule, Lenaris had always been riddled with doubt. It kept him, he believed, from taking anything for granted. As much as he respected those among hi
s fellow Bajorans more pious than he, he took little comfort in the belief some of them held, that even during the worst times of the Occupation, the universe was unfolding as it was meant to. Looking around him now at what remained of Sidau village, he ached for that kind faith, the certainty that even horrors of this magnitude had some meaning in the greater scheme of things.
“General?”
Knees popping as he stood, Lenaris brushed the ash from his rough hands before responding to the voice. Twenty-five years in the resistance, followed by eight as a senior officer of the Militia, had left their marks on him. His curly gray hair continued to recede, the lines on his face were becoming more pronounced . . . but what troubled him most were the aches in his legs and lower back, which were becoming more distracting as the years passed. “Thank you for coming, Lieutenant,” he said. “I apologize for the sudden change of venue for our meeting.”
“Under the circumstances, I would never expect an apology, sir. To be honest, I was surprised you didn’t decide to postpone our appointment.”
Lenaris turned to face his visitor, and found that he still hadn’t grown accustomed to seeing Ro Laren back in a Starfleet uniform. Her previous stint with the Federation’s exploratory and defensive arm notwithstanding, he’d gotten used to thinking of her as Militia. So much so that sight of her in the black and gray uniform, trimmed in the gold of the organization’s security and services division, still surprised him. “How much do you know about what happened here?” he asked.
“I read the initial incident report on my way over from the station,” Ro said. “It’s tragic. I understand there were nearly three hundred people living here. For all of them to lose their lives in something so easily preventable . . .”
So she hasn’t spoken to Kira yet.
