Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust

by David R. George III

  “Like the Bajorans.”

  “Like all of our interstellar neighbors,” Kamemor said. “Withholding a public apology from the Federation and the Bajorans immediately after the attack did not bring excessive harm, but issuing one at that time could have crippled the progress of the Romulan government.”

  “And the progress of which you speak is why you have taken the actions you have?” Asarem asked.

  “Why do you do anything as first minister?” Kamemor responded, answering a question with a question.

  “To protect and enrich the lives of the Bajoran people,” Asarem said without hesitation.

  “Of course,” Kamemor said. “And war does not do that—even wars that are won. What keeps people safe, and what allows for the enrichment of their lives, is peace. That is why I have been working to change the character of the Romulan leadership—to keep the Empire at peace.”

  “I agree that those are laudable aims,” Asarem said.

  “Your agreement is the second reason I have come to see you tonight,” Kamemor said. “I hope to establish a rapport with you, with your people, to create a relationship between Ki Baratan and Ashalla, between Romulus and Bajor. For where there is knowledge and understanding, where there is amity, there will be peace.”

  Kamemor’s words reached the first minister in almost a primal way. Asarem had grown up under the yoke of the Occupation, had lost both parents and her only sister to Cardassian savagery. She’d spent more than two-thirds of her life in servitude and, when newly freed, had sought a place in government so that she could actively work to protect her people.

  In Asarem’s years as second minister to Shakaar’s first, she had fought for a strong Bajor. She believed in border control, a widespread intelligence community, and preemption. She trusted in firepower—even if Bajor’s most powerful weapons arrived in the hands of Starfleet personnel.

  Over time, though, Asarem’s views had shifted. She could see the devastation wrought by the Dominion on Cardassia—eight hundred million dead in an attempted genocide—as deserved retribution, but living the life she had, she could also see it as an abomination. Slowly, her way of thinking about the safety of her people evolved. The tens of billions—including many Bajorans—killed during the Borg invasion, and the resolution that ultimately brought an end to hostilities, only reinforced her conclusion that peace achieved exclusively at the emitter end of a phaser would always be a fragile peace.

  Asarem understood what the praetor preached, but didn’t know if she could truly trust the Romulan leader. She would have to consult with President Bacco, seek out her opinion about Gell Kamemor. But—

  But I want to trust her.

  Asarem noticed that the praetor’s teacup was still almost completely full. “Do you not care for the tea?”

  “I suppose that I should be diplomatic and just drink it down,” Kamemor said. “But in an attempt to foster trust, I will tell you honestly that, no, I do not like it.”

  “We all have different tastes,” Asarem said with a casual shrug. “There are many types of tea on Bajor, though. Can I interest you in sampling another?”

  The praetor rose from her chair. “I did not intend to intrude on so much of your time,” she said.

  Asarem stood up as well and faced Kamemor across the dining table. “I do not consider your visit an intrusion,” the first minister said. “And I always make time for the issues of which you speak.” She walked over to the replicator, but then turned back toward the praetor. “Did you know that humans have an idiom: when they don’t like something, they say, ‘It’s not my cup of tea.’ ”

  “Really?” Kamemor said, one eyebrow arching, the sides of her mouth curling up just slightly, but enough to indicate her amusement. “I will have to remember that for my meeting with President Bacco.”

  “Just don’t tell her you heard it from me.” Asarem again activated the replicator with a touch, then ordered two cups of chiraltan tea. When she carried them over to the table, the praetor sat back down.

  The two women talked deep into the night.

  • • •

  Sisko walked along Deck 8 of Robinson, his wife’s arm curled comfortably through his. They ambled together contentedly, not saying much in the quiet corridor, the lighting dimmed to reflect the simulated nighttime hours aboard ship. They hadn’t intended to stay on Deep Space 9 quite so late, but their conversations with friends, former crewmates, and some of the new station personnel had flowed easily—as had the drinks in Quark’s new bar.

  Sisko reached over with his free hand and placed it atop Kasidy’s forearm, just below the sleeve of the elegant black dress she wore. Her flesh felt warm beneath his touch, and he cherished the sensation. It immediately brought him back to the first time he remembered taking her hand in his own.

  It had been aboard her freighter, Xhosa, in her small cabin, on another late night. Pushed together by Jake, the two agreed to meet for coffee in the Replimat aboard the original Deep Space 9. The conversation proceeded well enough, but the revelation that Kasidy enjoyed baseball—that she even knew about the sport in the first place—gave them something in common and a good place to start.

  At Kasidy’s invitation, Sisko had accompanied her to Xhosa, where they’d listened to an incoming transmission, a play-by-play account of a baseball game in which her youngest brother had participated. They sat for a couple of hours in her cramped quarters, Kasidy on her bunk, Sisko in a chair beside her companel. They cheered Kornelius Yates through his at bats and plays in the field, and later lamented the Pike City Pioneers’ four–three loss to the Cestus Comets on a bases-loaded double in the bottom of the ninth inning.

  Afterward, Kasidy had walked Sisko to the hatch of her ship, where she’d stood before him and looked up with her beautiful eyes. At the time, it had been nearly five years since he’d lost Jennifer, and he hadn’t really thought about even the possibility of meeting anyone else. His immediate affection for Kasidy didn’t confuse him so much as surprise him. He’d been out of practice in matters of the heart, and as he stood at Xhosa’s hatch with Kasidy looking up at him expectantly, he felt awkward and uncertain.

  As Sisko had stood merely gazing into Kasidy’s eyes, she had given up on him, at least for that moment. She raised her arm between them as though offering to shake hands and said, “All right, then.” Sisko laughed, but then reached forward and, for the first time, took Kasidy’s hand. He pulled her to him and their lips met, warmly, sweetly, perfectly. They parted smiling, and Sisko walked through the station all the way back to his cabin, forgoing the turbolift so that he could prolong the night and reflect on the evening just past.

  Sisko didn’t know if he should silently thank the Prophets for maneuvering his life in such a way that it eventually intersected with Kasidy’s. He doubted that she would approve of such an idea. More likely, Kasidy would blame them for allowing—or even causing—circumstances to part the couple. In the normal course of his days and nights, Sisko didn’t actually think about them much, or—thankfully—dream about them. He did remain grateful, though, that they had finally released him from his service to them and to Bajor.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Kasidy said, her soft voice appropriate to the dim lighting.

  “Just thinking about . . . about the past, I guess.”

  “The station?” Kasidy asked. Sisko nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking about Brathaw and Pardshay and Luis.” The three men had been part of Kasidy’s crew aboard Xhosa, and all had perished during the final attack on the original DS9.

  “I know it’s hard,” Sisko said. He could still see in his mind the Tzenkethi marauder’s tail section slicing through Xhosa amidships, as well as the ensuing explosion that had consumed the vessel. Worse, he could still remember the horrible hopelessness and loss and guilt he’d felt, believing that Kasidy and Rebecca had been aboard. “Did you talk to their families today?”

  “I sent messages,” Kasidy said. “I just told them that I was thinking of them. I sent
them your regards too.”

  “Good.” He paused, thinking about the evening. “Captain Ro led a good service, I thought. A fitting service.”

  “I thought so too,” Kasidy said. “I was moved. I think everybody was.” She quieted for a moment, then added, “It was also nice to see some of your old crew—Ezri and Julian and Miles and Nog.”

  Sisko nodded. “It was even nice to see Quark.”

  “Well, I never had any problems with Quark,” Kasidy said.

  “Of course not,” Sisko said. “You were the station commander’s girlfriend and then wife. Quark may be many things, but he’s not stupid.”

  “No, definitely not,” Kasidy agreed.

  They arrived at their quarters, and Kasidy touched her fingertip to the identification pad. Although Robinson remained secure even docked at a starbase, they always left their cabin sealed when Rebecca stayed home without them. Sisko didn’t think often about their daughter’s abduction, which had occurred more than five years earlier, and he didn’t think Kasidy did anymore either, but they had not forgotten it.

  The doors parted and they entered their quarters. Sixteen-year-old Alicia Flynn, daughter of one of the ship’s schoolteachers, sat on the sofa against the outer bulkhead, her stocking feet up on the low table in front of her. “Hi, Captain and Missus Sisko,” she said, looking up from the padd in her lap. Though Kasidy went by the surname Yates, Sisko knew that she didn’t mind the shorthand people sometimes used. “How was your evening aboard the starbase?” When they’d asked the young woman to stay with Rebecca, they hadn’t mentioned the memorial service, since they’d chosen to keep the event from their daughter.

  “Hi, Alicia,” Kasidy said. “We had a good night, thanks, but we’re sorry we’re so late.”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” Alicia waved away the apology with the insouciance of youth. “When you contacted me from the station, I would’ve told you if I couldn’t stay later. Whether I was here or in our cabin, all I would’ve been doing is reading anyway.” She dropped her feet to the deck and sat up, holding her padd in the air. “I’m slogging my way through The Stars Within Reach. We have to read it for history class.”

  “That’s about the founding of the first Alpha Centauri colony, isn’t it?” Sisko asked. Alicia nodded. “I’ve never read that, but I’ve always meant to.”

  “It’s a wonderful book,” Kasidy said. “But isn’t it also a bit . . . mature for you, Alicia?”

  Alicia stood up and deactivated her padd with a touch. “If by ‘mature,’ you mean boring, then yes, absolutely.”

  Kasidy laughed. “Try it again in ten or fifteen years and you’ll think differently.”

  “It might take me that long to finish it,” Alicia said. “Anyway, Rebecca’s fine. She went to bed at her regular time. I haven’t heard a peep out of her since.”

  “She went to bed without any argument?” Kasidy asked.

  “Well, she did convince me to let her read in bed, but when I checked on her ten minutes later, she was already asleep,” Alicia said. “I took her book out of her hands and turned out the light without her waking up.”

  “That girl could sleep through a warp core breach,” Sisko said. Since she had started sleeping through the night as an infant, Rebecca had never had any difficulties getting her rest.

  Alicia put on her shoes and crossed the cabin toward the doors. “Good night, Missus Sisko. Good night, Captain Sisko.”

  “Good night,” Kasidy said. “Say hello to your parents.”

  After Alicia had gone, Sisko turned to his wife. “Care for a nightcap?”

  “Not tonight, Ben,” Kasidy said, putting her hand on the front of his shoulder. “I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow. I met the Gorn delegation today, but I’d like a little more time with them before the ceremony.”

  “Okay.” Sisko took Kasidy’s hand from his shoulder and lifted it to his lips for a quick kiss of her fingertips. “I’ll check on Rebecca while you get ready for bed.”

  Sisko watched Kasidy make her way through the door in the side bulkhead and into their bedroom, then turned and started across the living area. He’d gotten halfway when he suddenly stopped short, startled. Rebecca stood in the doorway to her bedroom. He hadn’t even heard the door glide open.

  For a beat, he stared at his daughter. She stood there motionless, without saying a word. “Rebecca, honey, are you all right?” Sisko asked. He hurried the rest of the way across the cabin, and as he neared, she held her hands up to him. He whisked her up into his arms. Still small for her age, she reached barely 125 centimeters in height and weighed only 25 kilos. He looked at her adorable face, framed by her straight, dark hair that ran down almost to her shoulders. Sisko thought she looked more like her mother than like him, but Kasidy thought the reverse.

  “I’m fine, Daddy,” Rebecca said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine too,” Sisko said. “Your mother and I are both fine. But it’s way past your bedtime. What are you doing up? Did you have to go to the refresher?”

  “No. I just wanted to see you.”

  Sisko carried his daughter forward, past her closet and ’fresher, and into her bedroom. “Well, you’re seeing me now. I’m sorry if we woke you up.”

  “You didn’t wake me up,” Rebecca said. “I woke up to see you.”

  Sisko didn’t quite follow his daughter’s words, but she had a tendency sometimes to abandon logic. Plus she probably just woke up out of a sound sleep. He set her down in her bed, and she immediately burrowed into the bedclothes. He waited for her inevitable plea to read to her from the book they’d been making their way through in recent days.

  “How was the memorial service?” Rebecca asked.

  A jolt rocked Sisko like an electric charge. He felt the muscles of his jaws tighten. “What, honey?” He thought he must have misunderstood her.

  “How was the memorial service?” Rebecca repeated.

  Sisko sat down on the edge of his daughter’s bed, trying to keep his surprise from showing on his face. “It was fine, but where did you hear about that?” he asked. “Did Alicia mention it to you?” Even though Sisko and Kasidy hadn’t spoken of the memorial to the young woman, she certainly could have heard about it from someone else aboard ship—despite that few people on Robinson had known about it.

  “Alicia didn’t tell me,” Rebecca said. “Nobody told me. I just knew.”

  Sisko smiled at his daughter in an attempt to mask the dread surfacing inside him. “What do you mean you just knew, honey?” he asked. “You must have heard about it somewhere.”

  Rebecca regarded him without responding. After a few seconds, she raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. She then yawned. “I’m tired,” she said. “Good night, Daddy.” She pulled the bedclothes more tightly about her, then rolled over on her side, her back to Sisko.

  He thought about pursuing the subject, but he didn’t want to upset his daughter—or, if she came in, his wife. Probably it’s nothing, he told himself. Of course it’s nothing.

  Sisko leaned forward and kissed Rebecca on the side of her face that he could still see. He then rose, turned off the light, and moved back out into the living area, the door to his daughter’s bedroom closing behind him. He stopped and raised a hand to rub at his temple.

  Am I overreacting? he thought. Rebecca surely must have heard about the memorial from somebody else, even if she didn’t remember that herself. Things like that happen all the time. There’s nothing to worry about.

  Mostly, Sisko believed that. He had always been vigilant about watching for any . . . peculiarities . . . in his daughter. He knew what he had experienced in his own life: his communications with the Prophets, his pagh’tem’fars, his visions of himself in another life. He believed all that had happened because of physical events—such as him entering the Bajoran wormhole, or being under the influence of an Orb, or even suffering a plasma shock in a holosuite—but he also questioned whether any portion of those events had resulted from a Prophet inhab
iting and controlling the body of his biological mother at the time of his conception and birth. Sisko always wondered if he was, in some sense, part Prophet himself. That, in turn, made him ask the same question of his daughter.

  And Rebecca is different. Smaller in stature than other human girls her own age, whip smart, often quiet and introspective, and just a bit . . . off . . . from her friends and schoolmates. All of that could have been quite natural, though, having nothing at all to do with the Prophets. Nothing at all, Sisko thought, but—

  But another time had once caught his attention in the same way. It had been a couple of years earlier, on a day when he and Jasmine Tey had been taking Rebecca to school. He could see the incident so clearly in his memory.

  His daughter had been skipping along the cobblestoned main avenue of Adarak, on Bajor. She wore a pale blue dress and carried a padd slung across her shoulder. As she traced a serpentine path through the old-fashioned lampposts that lined the outer edges of the pedestrian thoroughfare, he saw the smile on her face and marveled at the joy that such simple movement could bring to a child. Rebecca seemed remarkably happy and well-adjusted.

  Up ahead of him, Rebecca’s shoe had struck a particularly high cobble and she’d gone sprawling to the ground, her hands out in front of her, her padd clattering on the stones. Sisko raced forward, as did Tey at his side. By the time they crossed the few meters to Rebecca, she had already started to pick herself up and dust herself off. Sisko expected to see tears, if not from the pain of scraped hands and knees, then simply from the surprise of a sudden fall. But as he crouched to examine his daughter, even before he could ask her if she’d hurt herself, she looked up and declared, “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah?” Sisko had said, turning her hands up to look at her palms and then examining her knees. He saw that she’d scraped some skin from one shin, but nothing too bad. “Are you sure?”

  “I knew I was gonna fall,” Rebecca had said. “So I kinda stopped myself.”