by S. D. Perry
I was so proud, so eager…I thanked him. I actually thanked him for referring me to a massacre.
Twenty ships, D’deridex warbirds and Keldon cruisers, cloaked and armed. They’d slipped through the wormhole, sailed through the dark Gamman seas, carrying oblivion to the unsuspecting Founders’ planet. From the Orias system to the Omarion Nebula, Glessin had enjoyed the finest days of his life. He’d been young and unscarred, surrounded by the best soldiers and agents of his world, of any world, on his way to a victory that would reaffirm the Cardassian reputation for excellence and cunning. The rest of the Danasket’s crew had known it, too, the very air alive with emanations of unity and strength and the pleasure of anticipating triumph.
Twenty ships had surrounded the defenseless planet, dropped cloak and opened fire. Standing by in sickbay, making jokes about having to repair the sprained finger of a technician, perhaps the strained vocal cords of a happily shouting gul, Glessin and his colleagues had not known of the trick—that the planet was deserted. That somehow they had been lured into a trap. That for each of their twenty ships, there were seven-plus Jem’Hadar fighters about to attack.
We didn’t know. And then the ship was rocking, alarms blaring for attention, and every deck started screaming that they had medical emergencies as the power destabilized and the flickering corridors began to fill with terrible, choking smoke….
It had all happened fast, the ship taking hits within a minute of opening fire on the deserted world, most of the medical staff beamed out to emergencies in less time than that. Glessin had been ordered to stay behind, to treat casualties that walked or were helped into sickbay, but the Danasket had already been on the edge of total destruction; in the brief time between the first strike and the end, only a handful had made it, most carried in, and Glessin had done what pitiful little he could for them, unaware that it was pointless; everyone on the ship had been dying, they just hadn’t known it.
Everyone but me.
The horrors of those final moments stayed with him, the imagery so vivid that when he remembered, he could sometimes taste the bitter smoke. He remembered the coarse, ongoing scream of the glinn whose legs had been severed below the knees, Glessin had not known how, remembered hearing the sound turn wet as the screamer’s throat had filled with blood. He remembered looking up from a sucking chest wound a moment or so after the artificial gravity had cut out, seeing the bay defined in a million swirling droplets of blood rain. And of course he remembered the panicked, wild eyes of the wounded young soldier who had come in at the very end, who had waved a disruptor in his face, demanding that Glessin go with him to an escape pod; how could he forget? The soldier had died only moments after forcing Glessin into the tiny, damaged pod and ejecting them into space, somehow escaping the notice of the Dominion fleet…and it had been six days before a Merdosian salvage ship had found him drifting helpless amid the wreckage, traumatized and reeking of death, his hands scarred from trying to fix a dying air filter without tools. As far as he knew at that time, he had been the only survivor…not just of the Danasket, but of the entire doomed fleet.
The small, amiable Merdosian crew of the mostly mechanized salvage ship had been short a button pusher and had let him stay on, apparently not bothered that he avoided contact of any kind. He’d remained for almost a year, uninterested in going home, uninterested in anything…until he met Dez, who hadn’t asked too many questions, who’d offered Glessin a job after hearing that he knew something about medicine. The Even Odds had been hit during an escape, it seemed, and though no one had been hurt, Dez had decided that he wanted a medic aboard, that the automated medbay wasn’t enough. The Even had flagged the junk ship down to buy repair material…and besides coming away with a new medic, they had ended up buying and installing a Cardassian cruiser deck segment, from the engagement that had marked the end of Glessin’s peace. Glessin walked through it almost every day. He wasn’t sure if that represented some great irony, but at least it didn’t bother him. It was framing and hull plating, nothing more.
Later, toward the end of the war, Glessin had heard a rumor that one of the Romulan organizers of the short-lived alliance had been working for the Founders…and Glessin discovered that he didn’t care. It didn’t change what had happened, to know how it had come about, it didn’t take away the memories…or the scars. He’d kept them, the scars on his hands, not because they were some symbolic reminder that he had survived, but because compared with what he carried around inside, they were nothing. Less than nothing….
At the sound of shrill laughter, Glessin pushed away the possibility of any more memories, reflexively seeking the source as an escape—not far from the bay’s entrance a grinning, confident Pif and his happy audience, the Ferengi brothers and Brad. Brad was still tittering heavily at whatever quip or story the bombastic Aarruri had come up with. He didn’t begrudge them their excitement, or think them foolish; among the laughing, chattering crew, he was the one who didn’t belong…though a very small part of Glessin suddenly wanted to know the joke, even if only to scoff, to enjoy the comfort of friends while there was time. He ignored it, forcing his attention back to his silent survey, determined to regain his focus. Besides, they were decent people, but they weren’t really his friends. Much of his capacity for friendship had died at Omarion, five years before. Not self-pity, but a fact.
In an open space behind the dropship, Pri’ak and Aslylgof were painting Stessie, spraying her the same rock-shaded colors as the close-fitting suits the rest of the away team wore…except for Pifko, who was also painted. Glessin closed his eyes for a moment, feeling…. Stessie was obviously agitated, threads of eager apprehension escaping her, though Glessin could tell that she was working to rein it in. He knew it wasn’t easy for her, but on days like today, he found it difficult to appreciate her efforts. The generally pleasant, buoyant feelings that the Friagloim radiated were distinctly alien to his inner landscape.
“Glessin?”
Facity. He’d been peripherally aware that she’d moved away from Dez, but hadn’t realized she’d been approaching him. He found a smile for her, determined not to give her cause for concern. She was a kind woman and, except for Dez, the only Even crew member who had more than a vague idea of his history.
“Are we ready for all this?” she asked, her tone light, smiling back at him but her gaze careful, searching.
Glessin shook his head, matching her tone. “Are we ever?”
“Good point. Find your belt, we’re going to drop in ten.”
She lightly touched his arm and then walked away. Glessin took a single deep breath and let it out slowly, as focused as he was going to be, then went to get his equipment belt.
Jake couldn’t believe it was actually happening, but as the dropship fell away from the Even Odds, his stomach confirmed it with an unpleasant lurch. Someone had flipped the AG on without calibrating it first.
“Sorry about that,” Facity called back cheerfully, and was answered by groans and sour expressions. Brad loudly volunteered that she was going to be sick, winning another series of groans, but after a few low, grunting belches, she appeared to get it under control, for which Jake was deeply thankful; he was sitting next to her. Pif started kidding her about what she had for lunch, while Coamis and Fajgin got into a conversation about a statue they both wanted to find, stolen from the Gocibis two years earlier, all of the talk high and excited, the cabin flush with anticipatory glee.
Warm, too. Jake shifted uncomfortably in his bodysuit, feeling crowded. The dropship was easily twice the size of Jake’s transport, but the crew cabin was small, barely enough room for the team. Twelve seats, six to either side, hooked together and facing inward; counting each of Stessie’s parts, there were twelve bodies. Except for the one empty copilot seat at the front, directly to Jake’s right, that was it. There had been transport room for twenty, but Prees, Pri’ak, and Srral had spent the last ten days expanding the transporter area at the ship’s stern, increasing the system’s load ca
pacity and creating some extra cargo space, for all the things they’d be taking from Drang….
…This is so incredible! If Nog could see me now…. Jake looked down at his belt, at his retrieval gear—a hooded light, a transponder beacon and a clip of transport tags, even a small, almost silent nonlethal disruptor with three charges; it was small enough to hide in one hand. No padd to jot notes for a story, no “gear” for observing, he was suited and prepped, like the others. …he’d be insanely jealous. Me, on a dropship with a team of fortune hunters, preparing to infiltrate the stores of alien thieves. Jake wanted to laugh. It sounded like fiction, like the adventure books he always used to read—but he was ready, too, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through him and he knew the plan inside and out. They’d had three practice runs in the big actuality-web room, different tunnel configurations each time, and he had aced all of them.
Sitting directly across from Jake, Dez grinned at him, as if he sensed the burst of excitement. The look in his eyes was somehow casual and intense at once, the gaze of a man in his element, a leader who was enjoying himself immensely—and it was also achingly familiar, and just like that, Jake was nearly overwhelmed by thoughts of Dad. Except it wasn’t thoughts, it was feeling, a mix of longing and nostalgia, warmth and love and…and something else.
He wouldn’t approve of this.
The thought was sharp, clear, and Jake knew that the something else was anger. He instantly, reflexively felt guilty…but a small, sullen part of himself wasn’t so quick to dismiss it.
Since he’s not here, and he can’t exactly be reached for comment, his approval can’t be verified one way or the other, can it? And let’s not forget that you wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t gone off to fulfill his grand destiny.
That’s not fair, he answered himself, disturbed, he thought he’d been through all this already, but the petulant inner voice had fallen silent. It wasn’t fair, either—his father was a person, he had a right to a life beyond fatherhood…and Jake was grown, it wasn’t like he’d left behind a struggling adolescent….
But he did leave. Maybe he had no choice, maybe they just took him, but if he did have some say…if they had invited him, would he have turned them down? Would it have made a difference for me if he’d talked to me about it first, asked what I wanted?
That led to questions Jake was afraid to consider. Over the years, he’d seen time and again how desperately important the Prophets were to his father…sometimes all-important. He still remembered the brutal “touch” of the Prophets, when they had altered Dad’s mind to show him B’hala, among other things. Dad had begun having visions, important visions that had started to tear up his brain. Jake remembered begging his father to have the surgery that would save his life…but would also take away the visions, his connection to the Prophets, and a supposed understanding of the vast mosaic their influence encompassed. His father had weighed his son’s—and Kas’s—tears and pleas against the visions, and chosen. That had been three years ago, but Jake remembered it as clearly as if it had been yesterday; Dad had chosen the visions. Jake had ordered the surgery when the visions had finally put him in a coma, and Dad had survived, all had been well…but he hadn’t picked Jake, and that was something he would never forget, if he lived to be a thousand….
“Jake—you still with us?”
Jake blinked, saw that Dez was watching him curiously. The cabin was still full of talk, but Dez had somehow managed to keep his voice low, directed…and open, always open, inviting him to respond however he wanted—to take it as a light question or as an opportunity to unburden himself. There was no judgment in Dez’s expression, no self-righteousness, not a threat of criticism. As usual.
Jake was suddenly very, very glad that Dez had decided to take him in, to encourage him in. Dez was great; he’d gone out of his way to make Jake feel welcome and accepted, for no other reason that Jake could see except that he felt like it. They’d had dinner together almost every night since he’d come aboard, Dez telling funny and interesting stories about the retrieval business, listening to Jake’s stories about growing up on the station…and if Jake needed any further proof that Dez wanted to be his friend, he’d invited Jake along on the adventure a lifetime.
Feeling a surge of exhiliration, of good feelings toward Dez, Jake nodded, putting his other thoughts aside. It wasn’t the time, anyway. “Yeah, I’m still here.”
Dez smiled, looking down at the clock patch on the back of his hand. “Good, because we’re about to hit atmosphere.”
Even as he said the last word, there was a sound like rushing water outside, getting louder, and Jake felt the AG dip, felt the ship vibrating madly for just a second as the system adjusted. Brad shifted queasily, and across the cabin, Glessin closed his eyes, Pif scowling as the sound became obnoxiously loud—and then it was gone entirely, the ship running smoothly once more, presumably skimming down through the planet’s night sky. The cabin didn’t have any windows or viewscreens.
“We’re in, I’m cutting the grav,” Facity called, and an instant later, Jake felt the heavier pull of Drang. It wasn’t too bad—they’d used it in the actuality-web room runs—but he could definitely tell the difference.
At least they breathe a class-M oxy mix….
Brad sighed, smiling. “Better.”
“Like home, huh?” Jake asked.
She shook her massive head. “No, but it’s a quarter atmosphere closer,” she rumbled. “What was it where you came from?”
Jake was still trying to remember the numbers for gravitational constants he’d learned in Keiko O’Brien’s class years ago when Srral’s soft voice spilled out of the flight control console, presumably directed at Facity. Sitting closest to the front of the ship, Jake could hear it clearly.
“The ship’s long-range sensors are receiving an unexpected energy signature from near our target,” Srral said.
Dez had heard it, too. “Facity?” He asked loudly.
“I see it,” she said. “It looks like a transporter system, but…no, that’s over here. And this is much smaller. Whatever it is, it’s not turned on, we’re just getting a read on its power source.”
Dez unstrapped himself and stood, stepping past Jake into the open cockpit. The rest of the team was listening now, the cabin silent except for the hum of the engines.
Jake frowned, waiting anxiously. Facity and Dez had both made it clear that if the circumstances weren’t as they’d expected, they’d pull out and go back to the Even, no question. It was funny—he’d been so nervous about going, but now, faced with a possible abort, Jake wanted nothing more than to see the mission through.
From where he was sitting, he could just see Dez’s shoulder, the captain leaning over the console as Facity pointed out the reading, talking in a low voice. Jake caught that whatever it was, it was to the north of the TMP. After what seemed like a long time, Jake saw Dez shrug.
“It’s not an alarm system or a weapon, and it’s definitely not shielding, that’d be turned on,” Dez said, loudly enough for all of them to hear. “It’s digging equipment, that’s all. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Jake’s anxiety turned back to nervous anticipation. He smiled, looking at Brad…and saw that Brad, who was exceptionally easy to read, looked skeptical and unhappy. Jake glanced around, saw similar expressions on the faces of the others.
“I don’t like it,” Facity said. “If we knew what it was…”
“Fac, it’s not turned on,” Dez said, sounding exasperated. He lowered his voice then, and they talked another moment before Jake heard Facity’s doubtful acquiescence. Dez stepped back out a second later, smiling reassuringly at the team.
“The sensors picked up an unknown piece of equipment down in the tunnels, but it’s not operating,” he said, turning to sit back down. “Everything’s fine, we continue as planned.”
As Dez strapped back in, Jake saw Pif and Fajgin exchange a look. Brad still wore a dubious expression, and even Glessin’s features s
eemed to have hardened somehow. Stessie, who had been emitting small flashes of excitement all day, suddenly stopped putting out anything at all, as though clamping down. Jake was surprised; he knew everyone liked Dez, and respected him…but it appeared that there was some trust issue he didn’t know about.
It can’t be too serious, though, no one’s saying anything. It wasn’t a particularly reassuring thought.
Dez picked up on some part of it. He held up his hands as if being harassed, looking around at the team. “It’s not a weapon, and it’s turned off. Anyone here want to cancel, speak up, I’m listening.”
The glances exchanged this time were resigned, and no one spoke. Dez lowered his hands, smiling easily at them.
“Okay, then. Stessie, we’re looking at six minutes—are you ready?”
Stess answered, still not giving off any feeling. “I will be in six minutes.”
Dez nodded but didn’t say anything else, settling back in his seat. He didn’t appear to be bothered by the somewhat underwhelming vote of confidence…but he didn’t seem quite as eager as before, either.
The vaguely uncomfortable silence lasted about ten seconds, and then Pif spoke up, asking Stessie if the body paint was making her skin itch because it was him, and the moment was gone.
Jake wondered what it was, what past decision Dez had made that had inspired such caution, but he didn’t wonder long…because then Stess was asking for help unbelting, bringing it back to Jake that it was almost time, that in just a few minutes Stessie would be beamed into the Drang tunnels to take out the guards.
This is really happening, he thought, unstrapping Le and helping her down from her seat, not thinking about his father, Kas, his unborn brother or sister, the station, not thinking about anyone or anything but what they were about to do. He had no idea that he was smiling, but he knew he felt good, better than he had in a long, long time.
By the time Dez had placed Stess’s communication collar and the rest of the team had synchronized their time patches to hers, the dropship had reached transporter range. Stess told Dez she would need a moment and he assented, familiar with her habits. For her to be effective as point, she needed to achieve a unity of self. Arislelemakinstess gathered so that all her parts were touching, and closed her external senses.