by S. D. Perry
“But you don’t—” Quark said, before he caught on. He shook his head, forcing a laugh as he opened his arms to the watching group. “Ha ha. My nephew’s pet.”
He turned to Nog, eyes flashing. “I’ve told you time and again, that’s a stupid pet to have. See what happened?”
He addressed the customers again, promising a ten-percent discount on drinks for the next round, cursing Nog’s irresponsibility to anyone who would listen. Most seemed at least slightly mollified. Nog saw Ro and two security people discreetly slip through the doors, and allowed himself to breathe . . . but he also heard a few furtive whispers, telling him that not everyone was convinced.
Ro casually spoke with Taran’atar and Wex as one of her team scooped up the remains of the parasite, then went to speak with Quark, presumably to try and convince him to shut the restaurant down until it could be scanned. The parasites were getting bolder, it seemed . . . and Nog felt that he’d just witnessed the beginning to the inevitable breakdown of the information lock ordered by the Federation. Tactically, a bad thing, but he couldn’t help some measure of relief, and suspected he wouldn’t be the only one. When it had been a handful of cases, the lying made more sense. But it was obviously getting to the point where people needed to know, to protect themselves.
As he left Quark’s, Nog thought of all that would have to be done to get the infestation under control, and all that they hadn’t even started to address, and felt his usual optimism dwindling. What were they going to do? Where was safe, anymore?
It seemed that no one could say. Nog trudged back to work, his heart heavy.
* * *
After his call from Kira, Vaughn wandered through the quiet corridors of the monastery, not realizing that he was looking for Opaka until he saw her. She was alone in one of the small reading libraries, seated in front of a pile of opened books, apparently cross-referencing something or other. Outside, a light rain fell in the deepening twilight. She seemed thoroughly immersed in her work, and as much as he didn’t want to intrude upon the woman, his brief conversation with the colonel—one that had included his current medical status—had left him in need of some peace.
Vaughn stood in the entrance a moment, watching Opaka’s gentle, graceful movements as she flipped through one of the books, the slight frown of concentration on her brow. In the few days he’d spent at the retreat, his conversations with Opaka Sulan were the only times he didn’t feel . . . well, bad. Frantic to return to work, or depressed about Prynn, or hopelessly self-pitying. The former kai was one of those rare people whose very presence was soothing to those around her.
And after that call . . . Kira had updated him on what was happening with the parasites, but only in the most general way; Vaughn suspected she’d been holding back, to spare him additional anxiety. He’d had another physical only that morning, one of the docs sent over from the scan camp just outside Ashalla. Vaughn wondered if she’d had any idea how much worse that had made it for him, how frustrating it was to hear a diluted version of the crisis—knowing that Ro had learned “something” that “might” be useful and would be back at the station soon; hearing that Bashir and his team were nearing “several good conclusions”; being told that the screenings on Bajor were moving right along, nothing he needed to worry about. The colonel was a good liar, but not that good.
Neither am I, unfortunately. At least, his body wasn’t. Nervous exhaustion, according to the med tech, another three days, minimum. It seemed his rest wasn’t turning out to be particularly restful.
And why should it? He watched Opaka, not really seeing her. He hadn’t done anything to address his “problem,” hadn’t managed to pin it down. Hell, he hadn’t even tried. Heavy self-analysis wasn’t in his nature, never had been. Maybe that was part of it; maybe his fierce need to feel completely independent, to carry no emotional ties, had finally caught up to him in a way he could no longer handle.
And why? Except for my own pride, what good has it ever done for me, this self-imposed requirement that I deal with everything on my own? Looking back over his emotional life, he saw nothing useful in his autonomy. It had kept him apart from Ruriko and then Prynn, had kept almost every friend he’d ever had at a distance. Had kept him alone, and safe. Or so he’d thought, so he’d told himself.
“Commander.”
Vaughn smiled at Opaka’s gentle acknowledgment, still hesitating in the doorway. “I don’t mean to interrupt . . .”
“Nonsense,” she said, closing the book in front of her. “I’m done for today, I think. Come in, sit. Would you like tea, something to eat?”
At Vaughn’s shrug, Opaka reached for a panel on the table, politely asking for a tray to be sent to the library. She settled back into the worn wooden chair, focusing on Vaughn. It was strangely calming, to be closely scrutinized by someone seemingly so at peace with herself. Vaughn knew how rare that actually was, a truly peaceful spirit . . . and knew that he was ready to talk to someone about his medical leave, and the source of his troubles. He thought, he hoped that Opaka might be willing to listen.
The tray arrived, tea and light fare for both of them, fresh greens, sliced fruit, a loaf of bread. They talked about the weather as they ate, about the harvesting seasons of Bajor’s different continents, about history, travel, about nothing in particular. Vaughn let himself be soothed by the conversation, enjoying Opaka’s perspective on even the simplest of things—and though he’d planned to work up to it, he found that their talk led naturally into more personal matters. Opaka was younger than he, but was certainly old enough to share a few laughs with him over the follies of youth, and the experience of aging. Twilight turned to dark, and their conversation continued, deepening as the evening deepened to night. She was easy to talk to, open with herself but not presumptuous, her judgments tempered with kindness. It was after she told him of her son, killed during the Cardassian occupation, that he found himself telling her about Prynn. Then Prynn’s mother, and then his short time at DS9, and how nothing had seemed to turn out as he’d hoped. Opaka listened with a gentle ear, no trace of the scorn that he’d feared in her countenance or manner.
Vaughn recounted what had happened to him in the Gamma Quadrant, what had happened to the sad remnants of his family, and trailed off, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and relief when he’d finally run out of things to tell her. It was hard, harder than he’d expected, but it was out; at last, he had talked about it, about the dreams, about his inability to focus.
Opaka sipped from her long-cold tea, quiet settling over the dim room as Vaughn waited. She seemed perfectly content to say nothing, and after a few moments, he felt a burst of impatience. She must know how agonizing it was for him, to share such private things.
“Do you think I should resign?” he asked.
“Do you want to?”
“I—don’t know,” he said. “No, I suppose not.”
Opaka nodded, took another sip of tea. It seemed she wasn’t going to offer any unsolicited advice.
“What should I do?” he asked finally, feeling a flash of irritation with her because he had to ask, with himself for asking.
Opaka raised her eyebrows. “How am I to know? It’s your life.”
“I thought—I thought you might have some insight,” Vaughn said, his anger melting away even as he said it. She was right, of course, and his impatience was only because he wanted to share the responsibility of his problems. She knew better. He should have.
“I have opinions,” Opaka said, smiling. “Insight, no, but I can tell you what I see . . . if you’re willing to look with me.”
Vaughn nodded, relaxing a little. “I’d like that.”
“In our religion, it is said that our lives are like tapestries, all of us weaving our own stories . . . and that these stories become threads in a much greater Tapestry,” she said. “I’ve found it to be an apt analogy in secular matters, as well. Tell me—if you had to pick a moment or an event that changed things for you, that turned your life
onto this path you now walk, what would you say it was? Don’t think on it too long.”
That was relatively easy. “My experience with the Orb, on the Kamal,” he said.
Opaka smiled wider. “Ah, yes. It made you want to explore, to seek out new places. To become what you wanted to be, in your youth.”
“I took the job at DS9 because of it,” Vaughn said. “I didn’t even know that Prynn was stationed there . . . .”
He trailed off, remembering. The Orb experience had led him to his daughter and a new career, that had led him to the Gamma Quadrant and Ruriko. It wasn’t a direct line by any means, but it was certainly a chain of related events. He had said as much to Prynn after trying to make sense of their improbable discovery of her mother.
“If you could go back now, and erase that moment—unravel it from your story—would you?” Opaka asked. “Would you cast aside the knowledge you’ve gained from this thread?”
Vaughn started to answer, to tell her that knowledge should never be cast aside—and then frowned, pushing aside the automatic response. It wasn’t a time for reflexive answers.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Right now, I just don’t know. What I want is . . . clarity, I suppose. It felt so right, when I looked into the Orb, and afterward. For a time. I just wish I had some sign, that I’m still doing the right things, for the right reasons . . . .”
Opaka’s half smile told him he wasn’t the only one.
“I know, I know, but if there was some way I could refocus, find that deeper understanding. Remember why I chose. Maybe that would make things easier.”
Opaka nodded. “And you can’t, because . . . ?”
“Because . . . because I’m lost right now,” Vaughn said slowly, and was somewhat horrified to find himself near tears. It was worse than being lost; he was stuck, repeating the same loop of self-hatred and doubt, living the nightmare of killing Ruriko over and over, seeing it in his daughter’s eyes every time she looked at him, every time he imagined her looking at him. “I don’t know if my judgment is sound.”
He struggled to maintain himself, and Opaka looked away, allowing him the privacy to regain control. After a moment, she spoke, still looking away—and gave him what he’d been looking for, an option he hadn’t even considered.
“The Tears of the Prophets are here,” she said softly, and Vaughn grasped to her words like a drowning man might grasp a thrown rope. He started to nod, the faintest hope touching his damaged soul, knowing already that he’d do whatever was necessary to look into the brilliant light of the Bajoran artifact once again, to see what he could see.
13
THE NOTIFICATION THAT THE O’BRIENS HAD ARRIVED CAME FROM THE station late, just as they were getting ready to turn in, and instantly banished all thoughts of sleep from Jake’s mind. Learning that his grandfather had suffered an attack of some kind after hearing that Jake had disappeared had been weighing on him, as he couldn’t help but feel responsible; seeing him again would be a relief, in all kinds of ways. And he hadn’t seen his aunt since just after Jadzia had been killed, when he and Dad had gone back to Earth. Even then, they’d only had one dinner together; Aunt Jude had been leaving for a Sol system tour with the orchestra.
Jake and Kasidy hurried outside, Kas pulling a shawl around herself as they stood on the back patio, overlooking a rolling field of brush and wild kava, pale and multishadowed in the soft glow of the moons. Something about being awake and excited so late made Jake feel like a child again, up past his bedtime for a holiday, some special occasion. Kas seemed to feel the same, fidgeting anxiously as they waited, almost giggly with anticipation. Whoever had called from the station said that the party would transport down as soon as they’d been given clearance to enter orbit, which meant anywhere from five minutes to who knew how long, but Jake had no intentions of waiting inside. He wanted his face to be the first his grandfather saw.
Jake spotted a grouping of lights north and west of the property, a few small fires, perhaps. They seemed awfully close to the house for a campsite. “What’s over there?” he asked.
Kas smiled. “Remember I told you I’ve had some volunteer help around here? And those monks that stopped by, yesterday?”
“Really?” Though it made sense that the locals would want to watch over Kasidy, Jake was surprised that they would actually camp out . . . and felt an echo of his guilt returning, for having been away for so long.
Kas seemed to sense it in him. She took her hands off the small of her back—what he’d come to think of as the pregnancy pose—long enough to pat his arm reassuringly. “You’re here now,” she said. “Besides, they just want to make sure the Emissary’s wife doesn’t happen to lose communications, break her leg, and go into labor all at the same time.”
Jake felt a surge of protectiveness for her. “With the chief and everyone coming, I can tell them we’re okay . . .”
“Feel free to try,” Kas said. “I’ve been telling them that I’m perfectly fine for weeks now. They seem determined to stay, and I don’t really mind the—”
Whatever else she was going to say was abruptly cut short by the shimmer of a transporter effect, five beams a dozen meters in front of them. In the beat it took them to fully materialize, Jake saw that Mrs. O’Brien—he still thought of her as his old schoolteacher—was holding her small son against one hip. All was silent for another beat, and then Granddad’s strong, deep voice called his name, the loved and familiar face emerging from the gloom as he stepped forward from behind the chief, arms open wide.
Though he’d had some vaguely formed idea of shaking his grandfather’s hand when they met again, the sound of the old man’s voice triggered some gut reaction, sent Jake hurrying over to be solidly embraced. Even light-years from his kitchen, Joseph Sisko smelled of good food, a faint odor of cooking garlic and wine that Jake had always associated with him. Joseph squeezed him hard, and as they stepped apart, Aunt Jude was there, all smiles, waiting her turn, exclaiming over how much he’d filled out.
As his family moved on to Kasidy, Jake had a clumsy embrace with Mrs. O’Brien, still holding Yoshi. His right leg was solidly tackled by Molly. He could hardly believe how much both of the children had grown, in so short a time.
“It’s good to see you, Jake,” the chief said warmly, extending his hand, as Molly pulled on his shirt, holding up a hardcopy child’s book.
“I can read you a story, Jake!”
“I can’t wait,” Jake said, scooping her up after shaking with the chief, as his grandfather slapped him on the back, aware that he had a big, stupid grin on his face, not caring one bit. He was with his family. The only thing missing . . .
Nope, not tonight, Jake thought firmly. Kas and Judith were laughing about something, the shimmer of the transporter beam casting a fine light over them all as the luggage was beamed down. Tonight was just perfect as it was.
* * *
What if we bait her out?
The idea wasn’t new, it had already been rejected because of the obvious impossibility of an open quarantine, but if they could just get everyone on the station doing something else, somewhere else . . .
What if we bait her out while everyone’s accounted for? If it was something that everyone was required to do, or see, that wouldn’t tip our hand. It would have to be big. Like a public address from Opaka and the first minister, perhaps . . . .
Ro walked slowly back to her office from the morning’s briefing, working the problem for what felt like the billionth time. Dr. Bashir had reiterated it yet again—while they could learn a lot about the species from the individual parasites, for any real breakthrough they needed to get their hands on a queen.
If we made the message available only on the Promenade, an announcement about the kai, maybe, or some standard patriotic speech about sticking together in times of crisis . . . and then sent a handful of three-person teams into the suspect areas, two to check and a third to stand watch with a scanner . . .
Or . . . what if they ma
de a big show of outfitting the Promenade with step-through scanners, making sure it got out that it was a new weapons check, something innocuous. Nog and Shar were getting closer to developing a scanner with the right sensitivity. Calibrating one to pick out subtle abnormalities in different types of humanoids—each of which had a spectrum of what constituted “normal” within their species—was still yielding too many false positives. But they could let the computer weed through the faces of everyone who showed, then check up on those who neglected to attend. Some of the individual parasites might try to slip through, but the queen carrier would surely avoid coming; she was a spawning ground, filled with parasites, and would set off even the most obtuse scanning equipment.
And yet we have no idea who has her. It felt like they’d run checks on everyone, thrice, and nothing.
Still, they hadn’t seriously considered trying to group the station population somewhere. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was enough to turn Ro around, hoping to catch Kira before she left the wardroom. The day’s briefing had been sadly lacking in innovation, and Ro figured that even an unlikely plan was worth a mention.
Nog and Shar were headed back to the Defiant together, and stopped for a minute to discuss the afternoon’s schedule. They thought they’d be ready to try one of their step-through scanners within the next twenty-six hours, which was something. They’d coordinate a test with Dr. Bashir, send one of the stasis field patients through; they agreed that Ro should attend. Ro wished them luck and continued on, thinking that both young men looked the way she felt—hopeless, or at least a little beaten down by the work that wasn’t getting done. She’d gotten used to the look on Shar since his return from the Gamma Quadrant, his personal troubles undoubtedly making his job that much harder, but even Nog, the perpetual optimist, seemed to be affected, his chin low, his tired eyes downcast as they walked away.