by Peter David
He looked at her with dark suspicion. “You are supposed to be my little, know-nothing sister. How dare you bandy about sentiments which indicate wisdom beyond your years.”
It took her a moment to realize that he had his tongue planted firmly in his cheek when he had spoken, but when she did, she bowed slightly and said, “At least one of us has wisdom.”
Then Si Cwan frowned, drawing together the rest of his recollections about his old teacher. “Despite the fact that he was not Thallonian, Jereme was considered one of the greatest self-defense experts alive. He taught self-defense not only in the capacity of the body, but of the mind. Since he was non-Thallonian, he came and went as he wished. He had teaching facilities in several different locations. Schooling with Jereme was unlike anything I experienced with any other teachers. There were no regular, formal, scheduled lessons. Whenever he would show up, that was when the lessons would be. In a way, particularly when I was growing up, it made every day a little more exciting. Because when I would wake up, I would always wonder, Is today a day that Jereme will show up?”
“He meant that much to you?”
“Oh yes. He taught me how to think, how to move. Look at me, Kalinda. I’m not exactly an easy-to-miss individual. But thanks to Jereme, I can move across a room without being seen, given the right circumstances.”
“The right circumstances being all the lights shut off.”
“You, young woman, are going to get yourself into trouble someday with that acid wit of yours. But you have not told me; what was Jereme doing in this dream of yours.”
She looked down. “I . . . was trying to put off saying it.”
“Saying what?” His face clouded. “Kalinda . . . if there is something I should know, delaying it will not make it easier to hear. What did you see?”
“There was . . .” She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “There was . . . blood . . .”
Si Cwan steadied himself. It was important for him to remember that this was not a trained clairvoyant or prognosticator. This was his young sister, still haunted by recent experiences, still trying to adapt to whatever abilities she might or might not possess. It was vital that he say and do nothing to upset her, no matter what it was she said or thought. “Where was there blood?” he said with impressive calm.
“On him . . . on . . . everything. Everywhere.” Her breath caught in her chest and she worked to calm herself as she continued, “He was lying on the floor, and he was just staring at me. It was as if there was some message in his eyes that he was trying to convey to me . . . except there was no life in there to do it, so all I was seeing was . . . was the lost hope. The blood was thickest on his chest, and there was a spreading pool of it under him, and on the walls, as if it had just . . . just sprayed and . . .”
She stopped. She couldn’t say any more. “Kalinda,” Si Cwan started to say, putting a hand out to her.
She batted it away with surprising ferocity. “Are you going to make me say more? Do I have to keep describing it! Gods, Cwan, it’s worse than if I’d just seen it with my own eyes! I felt it, too! You have no idea what it’s like . . . you can’t ever know, just feeling something like that, like acid splashed on your soul, it’s . . . the . . . it burns away, it . . .”
He reached for her then, saying nothing, but pulling her toward him. For a moment she resisted, and then she allowed herself to almost collapse against him, sobbing. She sobbed violently, clutching at him. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . I should be strong . . . I should be . . . and . . . and you . . . he was your favorite teacher, he . . . I’m sorry . . .”
He said nothing, merely rocked her back and forth, waiting for the hysteria to play itself out. Finally, when she was showing signs of calming, he said, “Now listen to me, Kally . . . listen carefully . . . you don’t know for sure that what you saw was true, do you.”
“What are you saying? That I’m lying? That—”
“No, no. Not at all.” He smiled. “I’m not saying that. Not at all. But what you saw, what you ‘know’ from your dream . . . do you know it as surely as that you know you’re sitting here with me, for instance?”
“I . . . I suppose not,” she said uncertainly.
“There, you see?” He smiled gently. “There are true dreams . . . but there are also false ones. You are young yet, and unschooled in these matters. So before we do any wringing of hands, tearing of shirts, and tragic songs of times past, the best thing to do is to get in touch with Jereme and see how he is.”
“How will we do that?” The notion that Jereme might actually be alive, that her dream might be the product of simply an overactive imagination, was somewhat heartening to her. “Will it require a quest? Will we have to roam the systems until we find where Jereme currently is? Perhaps we’ll face overwhelming odds, and have to fight our way through in—”
“I was actually thinking more along the lines of sending a communiqué to him at his school on Pulva, where he lives in semiretirement.”
“Oh.” She was significantly crestfallen upon hearing that. “That’s where he is? You’re sure?”
“I cannot anticipate everything. If he’s gone off to visit friends, he would not be in residence. But to the best of my knowledge, he shut down all his teaching facilities save for his first, the one on the world of Pulva. There he maintains a small school, filled with dedicated students. He still teaches, of course. Nothing could stop him from teaching.”
“Except for being dead.”
Si Cwan’s face darkened, and instantly Kalinda regretted the words. He obviously sensed her chagrin, however, and waved it off. “Do not concern yourself, Kally. I am quite sure he will be fine. You’ll see.” He sighed deeply. “Come . . . I doubt either of us will get much sleep the rest of the evening. I’ll send the message immediately and then perhaps we’ll play a few rounds of Pente. I have not beaten you at that for some time.”
“Aren’t we insufferably sure of ourselves.”
“Yes. We are.” Except that it was obvious to anyone who looked close enough that, when it came to his opinion as to the current status of his old teacher, Si Cwan was anything but sure of himself, insufferably or otherwise.
Despite her determination to await a response, Kalinda wound up falling asleep around midmorning. It was not particularly surprising; she had, after all, had far less than a good night’s sleep. Much to her relief, her slumber was uninterrupted. It was as if, having had the awful vision in her sleep and then having told Si Cwan about it, she had essentially gotten it “out of her system.” Her dreams were harmless, even happy things, including a pleasant one in which her beloved Xyon was still hale and hearty and alive, traipsing around the galaxy somewhere and having all manner of adventure. Even as she slept, she wished with all her heart that that one was true, and part of her mind even told her it was. But she knew better, even though in the dream Xyon leaned toward her to kiss her. The moment their lips came together, the dream dissolved around her, tissue in water, and she wished that she could recapture the soggy shreds and reweave them into a pleasant sleeping fantasy once more. Unfortunately for her, such was not possible.
She had fallen asleep reclined on the couch, in the midst of the fourteenth game of Pente against her brother. She was almost certain that she’d actually been in the process of winning, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure since she was falling asleep in the course of that particular match and might have just been dreaming that she was on the verge of triumph. When she awoke, it was still daytime, but the sun had moved further along its path and the long shadows of midafternoon were stretching across the parlor.
Si Cwan was seated opposite her. He didn’t appear to notice that she was waking up. Instead he was simply sitting there, holding an almost empty glass in his right hand, idly tapping his index finger against it and making a rhythmic “plink” sound. He had not changed out of his nightclothes. He was just sitting and staring.
Si Cwan didn’t seem to hear her at first, and then finally took
notice of her and shifted his gaze to her.
He said nothing.
He didn’t have to. She knew just by looking at him.
“It’s true. Isn’t it,” she whispered.
Very slowly, as if the weight of the world was on the back of his skull, Si Cwan nodded his head.
She was off the couch, on her knees before him, clutching his hand tenderly. “Gods . . . Si Cwan, I’m so sorry . . .”
“It was just as you described it,” he said distantly. “Actually, they found him that way two days ago. But they have not yet made the information public. Searching to see if he has any relatives whom they can inform first.” He shook his head, still looking stunned. “They’re wasting their time. He had no one in the universe except his students. They were his family. They were somewhat dumbfounded that I knew about it.”
“What happened? I mean, I doubt it was an accident . . .”
“You doubt? You doubt?” He made no effort to keep the utter incredulity from his voice. “Chest carved, blood everywhere, and you ‘doubt’ it was an accident? Unless, what . . . ? You’re holding out a possibility that somehow he managed to . . . I don’t know . . . kill himself in the most gory, disgusting way possible. Or perhaps it was an accident; he stumbled and fell onto a knife forty-seven times.”
Her eyes glistening, partly from anguish and partly from anger, “I—”
But she got no further, because he put up a hand and on his face was a genuine look of utter contrition. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, Kally, I’m . . . not dealing with this very well, I’m afraid. That’s no excuse, though. I am . . . very, very sorry.”
She shook her head in a dismissive way, telling him with her body language alone that he shouldn’t be concerned over his outburst. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Do they have any idea who . . . did it? Will they get back to us when they have a better idea?”
“No, they’re not getting back to us. They won’t have to, because I’m going to Pulva. I’ve already booked passage. I think you should stay here.”
“Like hell.”
“I had a feeling that would be your response, but I had to try. I booked passage for two.”
“And what will we do once we get there?”
“Do?” There was an edge in his voice that chilled her. “We find out who did this thing. We find out who killed our teacher. And once we do, then I guarantee you: He will be the one whose life becomes one long, horrible waking dream . . . for as long as I leave him alive to dream it. Which, I guarantee, will not be for very long at all.”
SOLETA
“YOU SAW . . . GOD? You aided the Federation because you saw God?”
Soleta was making no effort whatsoever to hide her incredulity. Rajari downed the contents of his glass while she stared at him. “You saw God?”
“Are you going to be saying that many more times? Because you’re becoming a bit repetitive.”
“How do you expect me to react when you tell me this, Rajari?” Soleta had no idea what to make of this. Sitting in a tavern on Titan, being informed by a creature whom she hated more than any other in the entirety of the galaxy that some sort of Supreme Being had revealed Himself to him. “You say to me that a Romulan deity appeared to you, and that was the reason that you chose to provide information and aid to the Federation during the Dominion War. That it had nothing whatsoever to do with a desire to shorten your sentence.”
“Correct.”
“May I ask why you said nothing of this to the Federation?”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“Because,” she said with conviction, “there would likely have been some mention of it in Federation rec . . . ords . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized her error.
Too late. Rajari’s eyes narrowed and he said, “And how did you get access to Starfleet records? Are you Starfleet yourself? You very likely are. You have that air of command arrogance about you.”
“There are any number of ways that such records can be accessed,” she said, sidestepping the question.
She was going to continue beyond that, but to her surprise and relief, Rajari nodded and shrugged. “That is true enough. Any means of information that one person can build, another can crack. I had been wondering how it was that you were able to find me. You see, though, my reason for paranoia. If you found me, others can.”
“What others?”
“Any number of others. The Cardassians would very likely have little love for me, were they to learn of my involvement—however humble—in the war. Then there are my own people, the Romulans.”
“The Romulans? Why would they—?”
“Old enmities.”
“I think your choice of the word ‘paranoia’ is apt,” Soleta said, clearly skeptical. “What you did is not especially different from what the Romulans, as a race, did during the Dominion War. You helped the Federation. How can they condemn you while condoning their own activities? As for the Cardassians, their homeworld is in a shambles. Certainly they have other things to worry about besides the activities of one man.”
“There is more to it than that, young one. Some grudges go far deeper than mere political alliances. I have had . . . disagreements, shall we say . . . with certain powerful individuals for whom I performed smuggling chores. There are always disagreements, young one. Smuggling is a high-risk profession with plenty of opportunities to upset customers. Unfortunately I have offended my share. As problematic as a voyage through space would be for me, I might risk it if it meant returning to my homeworld. I would rather end up dead there than living here. But it would be pointless; my government made it quite clear to the Federation that I am considered an undesirable there. If nothing else, they know that I turned over information on the Cardassians, and they fear what I might have told the Federation about the Romulans as well. They believe that I would have said or done anything to gain my freedom.”
“When in fact your actions were motivated by devotion to a higher power,” Soleta said dryly.
“That is right. That is exactly right.” If he heard the faint sarcasm in her tone, he gave no indication of it. “Oh, make no mistake, I was not totally friendless. I have some allies back on Romulus, people who fought the good fight to try and aid in my return. But there are others, an assortment of senators and proconsuls, who have been in power for so long that they have an iron grip on what happens and does not happen. They have no love for me, and they blocked all attempts by my allies to permit my return. Indeed, my allies garnered some trouble for themselves. One or two of them were even declared traitors and executed, simply because they tried to arrange for a dying man to return home. A great price to pay for friendship, do you not think so?”
“It must anger you greatly. Make you want to avenge them . . .”
“Avenge them?” He smiled sadly. “What good would that do? It would not bring them back. If there is one thing I understand, it is that. Oh, once I would have had exactly the attitude that you suggest. I would have sought vengeance. But one cannot find a higher power and still believe that vengeance is anything except an empty pastime that accomplishes nothing.”
She considered it a moment. “What God appeared to you, if I may ask?”
“No one God. It was . . .” His eyes shone with the memory of it. “It was all of them. All the gods in the Romulan pantheon. They did not appear to me, exactly. It was more that they . . . entered me. Entered my heart, my soul. I was lying there on my rather shabby bunk in the Federation prison camp where I was interred. I was depressed, despondent. And suddenly . . .” He smiled beatifically. “I wasn’t.”
Soleta couldn’t help but think that, if he was sincere, then what she was seeing was very moving. If he was lying, then it was a stunning acting job. “And yet, as I mentioned, you said nothing of this to your captors.”
“Why would I want to? They most very likely would not have believed me. Indeed, I have spoken to no one of this . . . until you. You
seem to be someone I can trust.”
“You still no longer think I am an assassin.”
“No. I turned my back on you and walked away, twice. Either time, you could have shot me with that phaser you have hidden in your jacket.”
Her jaw twitched slightly in irritation. “You’re very observant.”
“I have been known to be so.”
“May I ask, if you are dying, why are you so concerned about assassins? Why should a dead man be concerned about dying?”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, “I suppose it is the principle of the thing. To lose my life is one thing. To have it forcibly taken from me . . . I do not like that notion. If nothing else, I have no desire to give my enemies that sort of satisfaction.”
They were silent for a time. Then Rajari said, “You do not believe me, do you. That I have found the gods . . . or they found me, depending upon how you wish to look at it.”
“It is a bit outside my general field of endeavor,” Soleta said. “As you surmised, I am a scientist by trade. Science and personal theological revelations do not generally mesh very well.”
“Delicately put. But it is the truth that I am telling you.”
“The truth as you perceive it.”
“What more does any of us possess than that?” he asked with a shrug. “When the gods came into me, I knew then and there that I had to change. That once that knowledge had been revealed to me, I could no longer go on as I had been. I had to make every effort possible to make amends for what I had done. In aiding the Federation against the Cardassians, I hoped to bring about an end to the war—and, as a consequence, peace—that much sooner. It was only then that I was diagnosed with my disease. The gods can be fiercely ironic at times. They place into me a realization of the life I have led, and a desire to atone for it . . . but at the same time, they foist upon me this illness. Repentance is mine . . . but only for the limited period that they provide it for me. One almost has to wonder what the point is.”