When the performance was over, and she took her bow to thunderous applause, whistling, nods, and body sounds that might have seemed rude in another species, Sabbath left the stage and approached our table.
“Hello, Benjamin, Cal,” she said to us, but slid into the booth beside Dax. Cal made a disgusted clucking sound, and I felt a touch of heat simmering beneath my collar, but managed to repress it. She peeled off her silver mask. The face beneath was slightly flattened, rather like an Egyptian mask, but no less feminine or appealing for it. Her eyes changed color with the light, or her mood. She was a fabulous creature, to be sure.
“I don’t get it,” Cal whispered beneath his breath, sipping from his brew. “She could have either one of us—what does she want with ... ?”
“At ease, Ensign,” I muttered. “The battle is not the war.”
I wanted to know Sabbath with an intensity I had never felt before, and would never again. It wasn’t lust, exactly. Well, maybe it was, but it was much more than that. And the fact that she only seemed to have eyes for Dax was absolutely maddening.
Cal and I had vied for feminine attention since our earliest academy days, and despite an enviable record of success, I sensed our efforts were useless.
I wanted to smile, to dance, to sing, to quote poetry, but knew that Dax would merely smile one of his maddening smiles and undo any efforts either of us might make, revealing us as a clumsy and callow pair of boys in comparison. At that moment I hated and admired him.
So devoid of any meaningful choices, I drank my ale, afraid to speak, fearing that my clumsy mouth might betray me even further.
Curzon Dax seemed to treat her like a fond child, not the devastating creature that she was. “An excellent performance, as always.”
Sabbath inclined her head graciously.
“I’ve only been here two weeks,” Cal said, “But just in that time I’ve seen your performance ripen, and mature.” I’m sure Cal thought that that sounded very worldly.
She took her eyes from Dax for a minute, and regarded Cal seriously. “So many peoples. It is hard to weave the web.”
Should I ask a question? Or not? I noticed that Dax was watching us, with something approaching amusement sparkling in his eyes. Oh, damn him.
“We were having a discussion,” Dax said finally, effortlessly wresting control of the conversation. “About the role of the individual in the nurturance of the whole. We in the Federation have encountered everything from extreme individualism, which virtually precludes the creation of any society at all, to extreme submersion of individual identity. This last creates a society so stable that it remains unchanged for a million generations. Ensign Sisko: Would you care to present your own position?”
I knew I was on rocky ground here. Dax was probably trying to lure me into making some kind of callow, straight-out-of-the-academy comment, which he would use to prove I was incapable of individual thought. That, in turn, might reduce my chances with the lovely Sabbath.
On the other hand, if I said something that went against Academy philosophy, it would doubtless end up in my record. Permanently. Dax was doubtless studying me carefully with an eye to future promotions.
And also, doubtless, enjoying the position in which his young aide currently found himself. Damn him.
“I think,” I said, “that a culture must deny individuality to the point that symbolic logic systems have developed. After that point, there should be sufficient divergence to encourage creativity. But after a time, the needs of the one must be subsumed into the needs of the many.”
Cal rolled his eyes.
“In a cycle,” Sabbath said quietly.
I almost clapped my hands. She agreed with me! Hah! One for the Earthling. I turned on Dax. I mean, to him. “And you, Ambassador. What do you think?”
“Your idea of a cycle presumes, I think, a ‘group will’ which cannot actually exist without constant communication. Not like the turning of the seasons. I think that there is a constant intermeshing of elements. Temporality is not part of the equation. A culture is symbiotic. The organ systems function in a manner simultaneously separate and collective. Evolution occurs when current behaviors and philosophies are challenged or proven inadequate. Unless protected by artificial barriers, such provings happen regularly. Individuality is overrated and immature.”
Sabbath watched us both, with a smile as secretive as her true face. There seemed something sad behind the smile, something I could not quite grasp.
“And you, Sabbath?” I asked. “What do you believe?”
“My people have a saying.” And here I listened eagerly. She had yet to answer a direct question about her people, although I assumed that she had come to the station with one of the gypsy groups that regularly traipsed through, perhaps stranding her here after an argument. “Serve the self, serve the group. Both are slaves to the flesh. Serve instead Spirit, and serve both.”
Cal rubbed his temples. “My head hurts. I’m going to find a game of chess. If I don’t have some logic today, my head is going to explode.” He made his apologies, and left the table.
She laughed, a sound as musical as temple bells. “I am sorry.” She turned to Dax. “Could we be together tonight?” she asked him.
I wanted to pound my head into the table. I had heard of Curzon Dax’s legendary facility with females, but it was still difficult to believe, even when the evidence was as clear and indisputable as this.
Infuriatingly, Dax barely seemed to notice her overture. “Not tonight, my dear. But I may have time for you tomorrow.”
She smiled eagerly, and I ground my teeth. I reached out and touched her wrist. The fur on her arm was very slightly electric. I remembered the sight of her aura, her electromagnetic field shifting into the spectrum of visible light, as she danced, and the urge to touch her more ... intensely was almost overpowering. “I’ve managed to acquire two portions of Rellian beef,” I said, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice. “I would love to prepare them for you tonight.”
She touched my face, gazing into my eyes. Something like passion flared there, and my own rose to meet it. I felt myself drawn forward, leaning into what would have been the most intense kiss of my life. Then she pulled back. “You are very dear,” she said. “And I think one day we will spend the time together that you seek. But it will not be when you think, and it will not be what you imagine.”
Her skin crackled as she brushed it against me, and she stood. “I must prepare myself.” And she went away.
I blinked several times, trying to get my mind back from the edge of overload. When the room stopped spinning, I had the distinct impression that Dax was laughing at me.
“Ensign Sisko,” Dax said. “If you are to succeed with the opposite sex, you simply must stop drooling. Might I furnish you a bib?”
My ears flamed. “What was that all about?”
“Later, perhaps. And did the story about the Rellian beef have any veracity? It’s been a long time since I have enjoyed that delicacy.”
I squinted. “Allow me to understand you. You have no appointment tonight. You admit that the lady is incredible. ...”
“Virtually a singularity.”
“Then why postpone the inevitable? I assume that your symbiotic nature ...” I brought myself up short, suddenly realizing I might be forgetting my place. “I’m sorry, Ambassador. I don’t mean to presume.”
“You presume, but are not presumptive, young Sisko,” Dax said kindly. “My apparent reticence should not deceive you. Sabbath Nile is an extraordinary creature, and I eagerly anticipate the consummation of our relationship.”
That, I decided, was more information than I actually needed. Nonetheless, I had opened the door and could not complain if Dax strolled through it.
“Ensign Sisko—are you familiar with the writing of your sixteenth century master swordsman, Miyamoto Musashi?”
“A Book of Five Rings? I read it, yes.”
“Are you familiar with his nine core precepts?”
“Ah ... ‘Do not think dishonestly ...’?”
“Yes. That was the first. But the sixth and seventh are the most interesting, I think. ‘Perceive those things which cannot be seen,’ and ‘develop intuitive judgment and understanding for everything.’ ” If you have a weakness, it is not in your mind, which is strong and well-wrought. Neither is it in your body, which is quite well developed. It is in your intuition. You don’t understand what you can’t see and touch. And you don’t trust what you don’t understand.”
I felt on slightly firmer footing now, and sipped my ale again. “And I should learn these things from a sixteenth century Japanese?”
“Or a twentieth century jazz artist. I forget his name. I believe that he said, ‘Jazz is what happens between the notes.’ ”
“Between the notes,” I repeated. “And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means, young Sisko,” Dax said, pushing himself heavily from the table, “that it is time for me to find my way to bed. In the morning, then?”
I nodded, studying my sparkling ale. I couldn’t help the sensation that some game more important than chess was being played out, right under my nose. “In the morning.”
I awoke in the morning with my head splitting. That sparkling ale was definitely not as harmless as synthehol, and I made another of my periodic promises to confine myself to the more placid brew. I needed every erg of mental energy. Whatever game Dax was playing, I wanted to be a part of it. Currently, I couldn’t even understand it.
My quarters aboard Pelios Station were modest but comfortable, enough room to sleep and wash, a tiny dining nook for private entertainment (I took most of my meals in the mess hall), and a desk.
Performing my morning ablutions, I caught sight of the time in time to curse, realizing I was late for the morning meeting.
The replicator coughed out the simplest possible meal that would satisfy my morning nutritive requirements, a chewy bar of enriched oatmeal fortified with everything a human body needed to survive a day of manual labor.
It tasted terrible, but those were the wages of oversleeping.
I was out the door, thinking of the reason I had overslept: the attempt to retrieve the fragments of a dream which swam just at the edges of consciousness as I awoke. In it, Sabbath and Dax were pruning a tree, a little bonsai tree, and commenting about the branches: how they appeared separate, but were actually part of the same trunk. The tree was trying to talk. It kept changing aspects, and the last one, held just before I was wrenched awake by the voice of the station computer, was a topiary which bore a suspicious resemblance to one Benjamin Sisko.
By implication I had granted Dax a free rein with the lovely lady, but had no intention of quitting so easily. There were still gambits to be played. Ambassador Dax might well have seniority on the station, and I had to defer to the old man in all such matters. But when it came to affairs of the heart, well, that was one arena where I knew it was fair to compete in any way I chose, including those which might be blatantly unfair.
By the time I entered the conference room, the next set of negotiations were already underway.
The Bactricans sat at one side of the table, Federation officials on the other. I understood some of the negotiation points, such as mutual defense treaties and access to Bactrican technology. Others were secretive, not spelled out explicitly in these meetings. Some codicils were in the memory of Ambassador Dax, and others remained in coded transmissions.
Bactrican mining rights were currently on the table, and the negotiations seemed to be going well.
Dax nodded his head in brief acknowledgment as I entered the room, and then returned to his intense conversation.
Again, I was struck by the drabness of the Bactricans, male and female. It was odd: Both seemed not only androgynous, but utterly bereft of the kind of mild and pleasurable tension one finds between members of most species. Perhaps they only mated at some set time of the year. On the other hand, it was certainly possible that the Bactricans treasured a low birth rate, and toned down their personal chemistry as an odd form of birth control.
A Bactrican rose to speak. “That leaves a final matter, recently brought to my attention by Co-councillor Y’men.” He seemed familiar. Where had I seen him ... oh, yes. The prude who had fled the bar the previous evening.
“The abomination. It must end. The ceremony of death is not to be violated, and must be completed, or the spirits cannot rest.”
There was a buzz around the edge of the table, and Dax spread his hands flatly on its smooth surface. “I cannot promise that,” he said. “Please remember that until you are officially a member of the Federation, you cannot make such demands, whereas our rules of sanctuary are very clear. I doubt if you wish to discuss this further in so open a venue.”
“You blackmail us,” the Bactrican ambassador said. “You know that we need this treaty. And yet our customs, strange as they seem to you, must be respected, or our peoples can never live in peace.”
“I am quite certain,” Dax said, “that we can find a resolution.”
“We must,” the Bactrican ambassador insisted. “The Prince Royal arrives later today, and all such matters must be resolved—or we will resolve them.”
There was a moment of deadly silence. What was passing between this creature and Dax? What was the implicit threat, and what the transgression? Frankly, it was beyond me.
There followed a series of words which I could not understand, but when the translator caught up with it, he said,”—presence of the Azziz is offensive.”
The Bactricans stood from the table and filed out, the drab, gray little creatures seeming to brighten the room by the mere fact of their departure.
“What is the enmity between Bactricans and Azziz?” I asked.
“The Bactricans are strict isolationists. To this day, they will not allow visitors to their planet’s surface. If they didn’t need Federation strength, they wouldn’t be at the table now. The Azziz aren’t part of the Federation—so the Bactricans don’t need to be polite.”
The level of emotional intensity at the table seemed to imply more than mere distaste. I wondered if Dax was lying to me. “The Azziz don’t seem fazed.”
Dax chuckled. “Not at all. They have technology, and knowledge, valuable to us, but nothing we have has ever really been more than an interesting oddity to them. Like a delicacy, not a necessity. They won’t enter into any kind of diplomatic negotiation with us. They barely understand the concept.”
“Because their connections are more basic than that?”
Dax smiled, temporarily lifted from his thoughts. “Yes, Ensign. That is apparently it. It would be like negotiating to be someone’s liver.”
I laughed. Then as casually as I could, I asked: “And what was all of that about ‘the abomination’?”
Dax’s face darkened again. “Well, that is a matter I can’t discuss with you yet. It involves the most basic aspects of their culture. It seems we have offended them. It must be resolved before the treaty can move forward.”
He sighed. “I was invited to meet with the Azziz, who are transferring their goods this afternoon. They will leave again tomorrow. I asked Sabbath if she would care to attend, but I will be detained. You might care to take my place.”
I felt a jolt of surprise. “You’d trust me?”
“Young Sisko,” Dax said kindly. “If I didn’t, I would hardly have requested you as my adjunct.”
Sabbath was surprised to see me when I appeared at her door. I hazarded that she was between shows, and resting. She was dressed in a wrap that was as sheer as a breath of spring, and yet somehow modest. The fine fur that covered her body was at rest, without the fine, rippling motion that was so appealing.
She greeted me with cautious pleasure. “Yes, Benjamin?” she said. “Can I help you?”
I felt much like a schoolboy, wishing that some of Dax’s studied, confident manner would rub off on me. Little doubt why she preferred the old man. Be that as
it may, if I lost the contest, at least I would lose fighting. “Ambassador Dax sent me to escort you to the Azziz ship.”
Her stride was long and fluid, and although she was four centimeters the shorter, she easily matched speed with me. “You’ve never said much of yourself,” I said, trying to open the conversation.
She smiled without answering.
“And Dax has said little about you. He implied once that on Earth you might have been thought of as a nun.”
She cocked her head sideways, as if not recognizing the word.
“A nun. A celibate female practitioner of a religious discipline. Sometimes thought to be married to the spiritual head of the sect. Nunneries were often places to drain off the excess female population, a form of birth control.”
Her smile was secretive, and maddening. “I would expect Dax to say something like that.”
“Is he sworn to secrecy?”
“He is discreet.”
I wanted to pound the walls. “For God’s sake. Where are you from? What are your people? I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”
She stopped, and gazed up at me. “I like you, Benjamin. I really do. But it is not proper for you to ask such questions.”
I sighed, and nodded, and we went on. God damn you, old man, I said to myself. What do you have that I don’t have, and how long will I have to live before I have it? Sabbath moved slightly ahead of me. I watched her body sway beneath the robe. Hypnotic, the most feminine thing I had ever seen in my life. I contrasted her with the Bactricans, the pale males and doughy females, and shuddered.
There was just no justice in this world, I thought, and then hurried to catch up.
The Federation bioengineer, a Vulcan named Sh’tan ushered us through the tunnel toward the Azziz ship. “I have modified our tricorders,” he said, “so you will be able to see the input from the Azziz ship as interpreted by the station computers. This is a rare opportunity.”
Apparently others on the station agreed. Admiral Janeway and two assistants accompanied us. Even Cal was there, although I suspected that he was more interested in Sabbath than Azziz technology.
STAR TREK: DS9 - The Lives of Dax Page 23