He, on the other hand, could scarcely contain himself. There were still aspects of this messy business he had questions about. For instance, were the parasites really gone for good? Or were there more out there, somehwere beyond Federation space, waiting for the right opportunity to try again?
But now didn’t seem an appropriate time to discuss such things. Bashir remained silent, though he thought the quiet tension that had built up in the cabin over the past hour could have repelled a quantum torpedo attack.
Idled by the uncomfortable stillness in the runabout’s cockpit, his mind again wandered back to the heavy-handed manner in which Ezri had conducted the mission on Trill. Though subsequent circumstances had largely vindicated her actions, he still felt a lingering resentment about it, as livid and painful as a bone bruise.
Since she seemed unlikely to bring up this subject—or any subject—he decided it was up to him to do it.
“Ezri, we have to talk.”
She continued staring straight ahead at the ever-shifting star field for several seconds before noticing that he’d spoken. “Hmmm?”
“Ezri, I want to talk to you about the mission.”
She turned her pilot’s chair so that she faced him. “You’re right. I suppose we could append a few more details to the initial reports we sent to Kira.” She started to rise from her chair.
He laid a hand on her arm, gently preventing her from getting to her feet. “DS9 is less than half a day away. I wanted to talk to you before we get back and end up getting swept into yet another crisis.”
She nodded. “You want to talk about the mission?” As reticent as she still obviously was about rehashing her world’s history with him, Bashir thought she was hoping she wouldn’t have to discuss anything else.
“Only peripherally. It’s really about, ah, the way you handled certain aspects of the mission.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her in a classic display of defensiveness. Her dazzling blue eyes narrowed. “Trill was attacked by a clandestine global terror network, Julian. Under the circumstances, it seems to me that the mission was as successful as anybody could have hoped.”
“I can’t argue with that, at least in retrospect.” Feeling she was beginning to tie him in knots, he decided he’d better simply come out with his point. “But I think you may have been a bit…high-handed when you went off to Mak’ala.”
Judging from the puzzled look on her face, he might have just sprouted a second head. “ ‘High-handed,’ ” she repeated.
“When I tried to point out that it was a risky thing to do, you simply brushed me off.”
“Going diving at Mak’ala was risky, Julian. You didn’t have to tell me that. But it turned out to be the right thing to do.”
He nodded. “Yes, but only in retrospect. At the time, it was as though you had no regard whatsoever for my input.”
It was her turn to nod. “Ah. So this isn’t really about the mission. It’s about your evaluation of my command style.”
His frustration finally boiling over, he rose from his chair and stepped to the rear of the cockpit before turning once again to face her. “Dammit, Ezri! Don’t trivialize this! I’m not trying to defend my delicate ego. Each of us took wholly opposite approaches to the crisis. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Not especially, Julian. It was my call, and I made it.” She paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “And maybe that’s what’s really bothering you—that I’ve stepped into a role you’re not comfortable with.”
“That’s not true,” he said, waving his hands dismissively. “I’ve always supported your decision to switch over to a command-track career.”
“Even though it came as a bit of a shock, at least at first.”
He felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “I prefer to think of it as a surprise, and Daxes are nothing if not surprising. But again, this isn’t about your becoming a command officer.”
Ezri, however, wasn’t smiling. “Then is it about me being your commanding officer on this particular mission?”
“Ezri, you were above me in the Defiant’s chain of command all those weeks we spent exploring the Gamma Quadrant. That wasn’t a problem for me then, and it isn’t now.”
She sighed wearily. “Then what exactly is this about, Julian?”
As he paused for a moment to compose his thoughts, he began to realize how difficult a question she had posed. “It’s about whether or not my expertise is important to you. My judgment. My advice. My experience, even though I admit I don’t have a backlog of eight other lifetimes of memories to tap into.” He hesitated a beat before plunging on to the real crux of his complaint. “It’s about whether or not I’m important to you.”
All of the exasperation abruptly drained from her face, and she looked stricken. “And you think you’ve become less important to me since I started wearing this red collar.”
His response was nearly a whisper. “It seems that way, yes. At least sometimes.”
She rose from her chair, put her arms around him, and buried her face in his shoulder. He returned the embrace, which seemed fueled more by regret than by passion.
They stood that way for a long time, in silence, while the runabout’s autopilot carried them inexorably homeward.
“Jadzia,” Ezri said finally, her head lying against his chest.
He partially disengaged himself from the embrace so that he could see her face. Unshed tears stood in her wide, cerulean eyes.
“Sorry?” he said.
She finished dismantling their embrace, then resumed her place in the pilot’s seat. She stared straight ahead at the shifting star field as she spoke. “You were in love with Jadzia.”
“I don’t really see what that has to do with anything,” Bashir said, feeling defensive in spite of himself.
“You loved her,” she repeated, turning to face him. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to talk to me about it. Worf may have arranged a place in Sto-Vo-Kor for her, but she’s still right here.” She placed a hand on her abdomen, where the Dax symbiont stored the memories of all its previous hosts.
And she’s in my heart as well, he thought. And always will be. He slumped into the seat next to Ezri’s, knowing he was beaten.
“All right. I did love Jadzia. What of it?”
“You were in love with her, but you lost her to Worf before you could do anything about it. And you lost her again when she died. Then Ezri Dax blundered into your life. Suddenly, you had a second chance at Jadzia. And now, here we are.”
“I love you, Ezri. Not Jadzia’s ghost. Don’t you believe that?”
She nodded, the tears in her eyes sparkling like distant quasars. “I do believe you, Julian. But I’ve always wondered if the only reason for that is because you loved Jadzia first.”
He was feeling adrift; when he’d decided to air his grievances with her, the last thing he’d expected was for her to reciprocate. “What’s your point, Ezri?”
“My point is that we came together under some pretty strange circumstances. There was the emotional baggage you had with Jadzia. The Dominion War. The final battle for Cardassia. We became a couple not knowing whether we’d even survive the first day.” Tears began painting wide stripes down both her cheeks.
All at once he saw precisely where she was heading. And he was more than a little surprised when he realized that she was making perfect, if painful, sense.
“And none of that bodes well for a stable relationship,” he said quietly. He suddenly noticed that his own cheeks were damp as well.
“It isn’t that you’re not important to me, Julian,” she said. “You’re a dear, sweet, man. A good man. But the part of me that’s just plain old Ezri wonders if we’d have been drawn together at all if I didn’t see you through Jadzia’s eyes…or if you didn’t see her in mine.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself. Was it egotistical to acknowledge that he might not have developed feelings
for Ezri if not for her symbiosis with the renowned polymath Dax symbiont—and the link to his beloved, dead Jadzia that had come with it?
“I suppose we’ve both changed quite a bit over the past year,” he said finally, knowing that his words communicated little of value even as he said them.
“Me especially,” she said, gracefully permitting his obvious dodge as she chuckled through her tears. “And now we’re two very different people.”
We’ve matured together, he thought. I don’t think we could have had this conversation just a few months ago. At least not without a good deal more shouting.
They sat together in silence, watching the stars. Holding hands.
“I suppose we’re done now,” he said at length. “As a couple, I mean.”
They faced each other. He studied her eyes, just as she was clearly studying his. The truth now stood revealed as obvious.
“I hope you don’t mind my telling you that I still love you,” he said, fixing his eyes back on the interstellar void ahead. “I think I always will.”
Her fingers felt cold against his as she squeezed his hand. “And I’ll always love you, too, Julian.” A brief sidewise glance told him that her gaze now faced front as well.
Very gently, he released her hand. She withdrew it. Whatever cord had connected them romantically seemed to snap with that gesture. They were friends now. Dear friends, and colleagues.
The Rio Grande continued hurtling homeward, mere hours away from Deep Space 9. And though Ezri remained seated beside him, the blackness of space seemed not nearly so deep and cold as the gulf that now yawned between them.
Bajor
Fragments and Omens
J. Noah Kym
About the Author
J. Noah Kym has been characterized by his friends as a tough nut to crack.
For Mom
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, deepest gratitude to Paula Block for her support, her enthusiasm, and her suggestion of this story’s villain.
Muchas gracias also to Heather Jarman and Jeff Lang, scribes extraordinaire, whose help and inspiration were invaluable to the crafting of this tale.
A big shout out to all the folks who make Star Trek, on screen and in print, for all the worlds and characters they continue to create.
Finally, a tip of the hat to my editor, Marco Palmieri, for inviting me to explore the world of Bajor.
Historian’s Note
Chapters 1, 2, 11, and all the “Rena” portions of this tale unfold over the three weeks immediately following the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine novel Unity. The rest of the story transpires during a single day at the end of that period, in late October, 2376 (Old Calendar).
There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
—OSCAR WILDE
The whole world is an omen and a sign.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
1
Sisko
Eyes closed, Benjamin Sisko listened to his wife’s slow, steady breathing. Inhaling deeply, he began a mental list of the smells: lemon-scented laundry soap, Kasidy’s face cream, mother’s milk, baby powder. Oh, my, he thought, but that takes me back. How many years? Jake was—twenty-one? Could that be right? And I thought I’d left baby powder far, far behind me.
Only a meter from Kasidy’s side of the bed he heard a faint stirring no louder than a mouse kicking in its sleep. In response, under his arm, Sisko felt Kasidy’s arm spasm and she mumbled something low and unintelligible. “Don’t worry,” Sisko murmured, eyes still shut. “I’ll get her.”
He opened his eyes and watched the blades of the ceiling fan churn the early-morning air. Kasidy had installed the fans shortly after she’d moved into the house, one of the many changes she had made to his original design that made their home seem as wonderfully strange as it was familiar. After the years upon years he’d spent in perfectly modulated environments on starships and starbases (and the even less perfectly modulated spaces of Deep Space 9), a ceiling fan seemed a delightfully anachronistic detail. What a wonderful idea. He was glad Kasidy had thought of it.
The mouse in the tiny crib stirred again, sighed, and made a wet sound. Lifting his head, Sisko, the Old Campaigner, the Experienced Dad, sniffed, then drew a breath and held it. Ah, yes, I remember this, too.
The tiny creature in the crib voiced her displeasure with the recent change in her comfort level. Kasidy’s head rose minutely. “Sorry, love,” he said, rolling out of bed. “I’m going.”
“She’s going to be hungry,” Kasidy muttered into her pillow.
“Of course she is,” Sisko said as he reached into the crib and scooped his daughter up into his arms. Check for leakage, the Old Dad instincts told him. Structural integrity may be compromised. All appeared to be well, though Rebecca’s distress level was sharply rising. Lowering his daughter gently onto the changing table in the corner, Sisko unfastened the diaper, tossed it into the recycler, smiled briefly at the tiny, perfect derriere, then gave it and all other visible parts a thorough but gentle wiping. A spray of powder, then a new diaper, and voilà, all was sealed and in place, and the proud papa stopped only long enough to inspect his daughter’s rounded belly. The baby, whose face had been in danger of scrunching up for a howl, suddenly became aware that something significant had changed; she stopped and considered. Ah, the face said. Better. But all is not well. The lips pursed and Baby Rebecca, Princess of All She Surveys, screwed up her face in a yawp of discontent.
“Well,” Sisko said, and carried the unhappy child to her waiting mother. “I can’t help you with that.” Kasidy slid down the corner of her gown, nestled Rebecca next to her breast, and then covered them both again. The mouth searched, Kasidy guided her head, and then there came a coo of satisfaction. Sisko bent down and pressed his face into his wife’s neck, inhaled again: yes, all still there—face cream, milk, powder, love.
Kasidy wriggled away from his rough cheek, smiled, asked sleepily, “What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
“You go back to sleep. You were up past two last night talking to Jake and here you are up again with the birds.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re never tired.”
Grinning, Sisko stroked his wife’s hair. “The Prophets didn’t believe in getting up early. And they’re very leisurely about how they spend their mornings. Slippers. Sweatshirts. Two cups of coffee before they even think about what’s for breakfast. And then naps all around in the afternoon.”
Kasidy stroked the baby’s fine curls. “Sounds like it would drive you mad, Mr. I Must Be Up and Doing.”
“That’s why I had to come back.”
“Oh, right,” Kasidy said. “That was why.”
Sisko straightened and listened to the morning. The shuff, shuff, shuff of the fan drowned out a lot of noise, but he was fairly certain no one else was stirring around the house. Birds out in the hedgerow were busily tending their own families, adults making sure their almost-grown chicks were ready to fly. “Coffee,” he said aloud, knowing Kasidy didn’t hear him; she was already asleep again, Rebecca snuggled close. The baby had stopped nursing, asleep, but her mouth was still firmly attached to her mother’s nipple, close, close, so close. Closer to Kasidy than any other human being ever would be. Sisko touched the child’s cheek and said, “This is why.”
As Sisko stepped from the bedroom, he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his robe. Summer came on slowly in Kendra, evidenced by the cool air from the northern mountains mingling gently with the breezes blowing off the Yolja River. This morning was warmer than the one before and tomorrow would be even warmer, but for an old New Orleans native like himself, anything below thirty Celsius warranted a wrap. Still, Sisko did not wish away these cool mornings. Each graduated environmental change bespoke time passing and he savored the sense of being reconnected to its flow.
Enjoying the way the flesh of his arms prickled slightly
in the cool air, Sisko strode into his kitchen only to be greeted by the whiff of overripe garbage. I thought I’d asked Jake to take that out to the compost pile. Searching his memory, Sisko had to admit that he could only remember thinking about asking Jake. After all, between the two of them, they had drunk two bottles of the good spring wine last night and he, Sisko, had probably downed more than his share. The nursing Kasidy would only wet her lips with it during dinner. And Jake…
Where was Jake? On the floor next to the couch were signs of his nest, a loose roll of blankets and a well-scrunched pillow. The shades that had been drawn over the sliding door to the garden had been pulled aside. Sisko padded softly to the door and looked out.
Shoulders hunched, his son was standing in the garden staring into the south, hands thrust deep into his jacket pockets, shadow long behind him, morning dew soaking into his boots and pant legs. Lost in thought, Jake did not hear his father as he pulled the sliding door open. Glad for the opportunity, Sisko stood and regarded his son as dispassionately as he could. He’s grown up to be a fine-looking young man, the father thought. Or maybe I need to stop saying “young man.” He’s a man now. No “young” about it. Sometime in the past week, Jake had decided to stop shaving, and the unruly stubble of a couple of days past had already become a thick tangle. Everyone had teased Jake about it for a day or two, but Jake had known the change was blessed when his stepmother had run a hand over his chin and commented that all the Sisko men looked better with beards.
But what is he thinking about? Sisko wondered as Jake absentmindedly rubbed his chin. Never an early riser, this one, not unless he has something on his mind. Sisko amended the thought. Or when he’s working on a story, but then it’s not getting up early; he just doesn’t sleep. But Jake had not been working on a story or, near as his father could tell, much of anything since Rebecca was born. Considering it now, he realized that Jake had been looking restless the past couple of days. Thinking about the past, he concluded. And thinking about the future. Thinking about anywhere but here.
Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine® Volume Two Page 22