STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change

by Marco Palmieri, Editor

  She relaxed for an instant as she recognized the voice. Quark. Has he been lurking in the corridor? When he finally took his hand off of her mouth, she asked, “What’s that?”

  “Do you know how to make hasperat soufflé?”

  Jake stared at the ceiling, trying to decide if killing Rom before the scheduled execution would make Dukat angrier.

  The Ferengi was driving them all crazy with his incessant bemoaning of the gloom and doom he was convinced was about to befall them. Kira had long since abandoned any attempt to talk reason into Rom.

  His wife would utter a few words of encouragement every now and again, but even Leeta’s patience only went so far.

  Don’t think about it, Jake. Work on more of the article. Article, more like a biography now. You’ve got shots of every drawing you can get, now what? The piece for Dukat. That’s the cover right there.

  It’s too big to put in the newsfeed, that’s for sure. Does it matter? Once Dad comes back, I’ll be able to get my stories to the FNS again. I won’t need the thing. The thought crept back into his mind unbidden, and unwanted. If Dad’s coming back, then Dukat’ll be gone. If Dukat’s gone, where’s Ziyal going to go? I’ve got to talk her into staying. Kira and Garak need her. She’s like the kid sister Kira never had.

  The more Jake considered his reaction, the more he realized one other thing, he needed Ziyal to stay, too. His biggest problem was figuring out how to talk her into it.

  “All right! No one move!” Quark yelled.

  Jake couldn’t believe what he saw—Quark, disrupters in each hand, and Ziyal shadowing him. Within seconds, the Ferengi had taken care of the Jem’Hadar guards and freed them all. Kira took Rom with her, instructing the rest of them to find someplace safe.

  He followed behind as Quark led him, Leeta, and Ziyal through the hustle and bustle of the bar to a back room Jake had never seen before. It was no larger than Jake’s bedroom, but not a storeroom, even though a tongo wheel gathered dust in a corner behind a spotless table and chairs. One of Quark’s meeting rooms. For the next few hours, he occupied himself with fine-tuning his biography of Ziyal, having snatched his padd from the security office during their escape.

  For her part, Ziyal calmed the distraught Leeta with promises of Rom’s safety and the Emissary’s arrival. There were times when Jake admired Ziyal’s capacity for faith and times when he found it disturbing. He wasn’t sure which of those times this was. He wished he could find a way to convince her to stay on the station, convince her to stay with him.

  A distant alarm broke in on his thoughts.

  Evacuation.

  Jake fought down his own hope and watched Ziyal closely. “Dukat’s evacuating,” he whispered. “Dad must be winning.”

  Ziyal stared at the door. “Father will probably be looking for me.”

  “Probably.”

  A look of sadness passed over her. “He’s not going to be happy when I don’t go with him.”

  “What?” Jake’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head. “You’re staying?”

  Ziyal nodded. “This is my home. They don’t want me on Cardassia.”

  “What about Bajor?” Leeta asked.

  “It’s the same. They’re only more polite about it.”

  The door slid aside. “They’re leaving,” Quark said, stepping into the room. “It should only be a couple more hours before you can get out of here.”

  “I have to go now, sir,” Ziyal stated matter-of-factly.

  “Bad idea,” Quark replied. “Not unless you want to go with your father.”

  Ziyal shook her head. “I need to tell him I’m staying here. I should say good-bye.”

  “He doesn’t deserve to know,” Leeta said. There was a bitterness in her voice that Jake had never heard before. “I don’t see how you can love that man.”

  Hands falling to her side, Ziyal said, “I can’t hate him, no matter how much I want to. He’s my father.”

  “Let her go,” Jake said. Ever since Benjamin Sisko had beamed out of the Promenade that day, Jake had fought against thoughts of how many times his father could have died and how many cruel ways the Cardassians could have accomplished the task. He felt so stupid for never telling his father that he was staying behind. The least he could do was spare Ziyal the same feelings. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “She deserves the chance to see him one more time. I know what it’ll be like if she doesn’t. Until a couple of days ago, I wasn’t even sure Dad was still alive. If she’s never going to see her father again, she needs to say good-bye.”

  “I wish I had said good-bye to Rom,” Leeta said. “I hope he’s okay.”

  Quark rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave you people to work this out. I need to make sure my idiot brother doesn’t get himself killed. But if you want my advice, kid, you’ll stay put.” With that, Quark left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Ziyal turned to Jake. “I have to go to him.”

  “Maybe I should come with you,” Jake said. “Quark’s right. It’s not safe.”

  Ziyal shook her head. “It’s less safe for you. I’m still part Cardassian. I’ll be fine.”

  Jake sighed. “Go,” he said quietly, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “That’s right, you will,” Ziyal assured him. “Listen, Jake ... will you look after something for me until I get back?”

  She has to ask? “Sure, what?”

  Ziyal reached into her pocket, pulling out a folded piece of peacock-blue fabric. He caught a glimpse of silver as she unfolded it, and marveled at the intricate Bajoran earring that it protected. “This is all I have left of my mother,” she said. “Keep it safe for me.”

  Jake held out his open palm, allowing her to place the package in it. “I’ll take care of it,” he promised, surprised at how much he meant it.

  Ziyal smiled. “Thank you.” She stood on her tiptoes just long enough to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a wonderful friend.”

  Jake watched her go. “So are you,” he whispered.

  He kept himself and Leeta calm by reading aloud from the article.

  She seemed to welcome the distraction, wringing her hands no matter how hard she tried to control them. The alarm droned on in the background, until finally he wasn’t sure if he had just begun tuning it out, or if it was actually gone. He paused, and discovered that it had grown silent.

  “Do you think it’s over?” Leeta asked.

  Jake stared at the door for a long moment. “Maybe.”

  He walked toward the door, not sure if he wanted to venture out into the open. Was his father back in control of the place? Was Kira? Had Ziyal found her father before he left? There was only one way to answer those questions.

  He opened the door on a corridor filled to capacity with silence. “Go find Rom,” he told Leeta. “He needs you.” The redhead looked unsure of something. “What about you?” Jake stared down the corridor. “Getting the station back up and running is going to take everybody, Leeta. Everybody but me. I’m going to go find Ziyal.”

  Leeta pursed her lips, putting a hand on his shoulder before she took off down the corridor.

  Jake followed her more slowly, trying to figure out where Ziyal might have gone after bidding farewell to her father. The first place that sprang to mind was her quarters.

  It took a few seconds for the turbolift to take him to their level. As he rounded the corner toward the quarters she had once shared with Dukat, he called out, “Ziyal? Ziyal? Where are you?”

  A deep—whimpering?—answered. Jake quickened his pace, until he found a Cardassian hunched over against the wall. He appeared to be curled around a body.

  Jake caught a glimpse of burgundy. “No.”

  He scanned the corridor walls until he found a companel. “Jake Sisko to the Infirmary. There’s someone injured in the habitat ring. Bring Security. Level two, Section 145.”

  Jake recognized Nurse Jabara’s voice. She’d worked with Dr. Bashir for as long as he could remember. “I’l
l be right there, Jake. Just one victim?”

  “Yes. Hurry!”

  He ran over and tried to pull Dukat away from Ziyal. “Dukat, put her down! What did you do? Put her down!”

  It took all of his effort just to get one of the Cardassian’s hands pried from Ziyal’s body. “Dukat, give her to me. Please. We may be able to help.”

  It took a few more seconds of wrestling before the Cardassian collapsed in a heap against the wall, releasing his grip on the girl.

  Jake collected Ziyal’s body from the floor, instinct sending his fingers to her neck.

  Her skin was colder than he’d ever felt.

  He leaned over and held his cheek near her lips. He couldn’t sense breathing.

  “Ziyal, don’t do this to me.”

  Her chest had been charred by weapons fire, but whether it was a Jem’Hadar pistol, a Cardassian phase-disruptor, or even a Bajoran phaser, he couldn’t tell. “How long ago was she shot?” he asked Dukat.

  Dukat stared straight ahead, helpless panic in his eyes. Something small was clutched in his hand—his father’s baseball.

  Jake ran his fingers down Ziyal’s midsection, fighting to remember the medic training Bashir had given him. Did she have the same organs as a full-blooded Bajoran? He didn’t know, but he had to try. He found what felt like a sternum, and began attempting to resuscitate her as best he could. “Come on, Ziyal,” he whispered.

  Tilting her head into what he remembered as the proper position, he pinched off her nose. Lowering his lips to hers, he began blowing into her mouth. Placing his fingers back on her sternum, he began performing the chest compressions that he hoped would get her heart going again.

  One compression.

  Two compressions.

  How many was he supposed to do?

  The number ten popped into his mind, so he began counting off. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it properly, but at least he was doing something.

  She couldn’t die. She had too much ahead of her that she deserved to see. The world needed her vision of life, her caring, her compassion. It needed her belief that the races could all get along, even if the leaders didn’t think so. Ziyal was living proof of the power of one mind to change the world. She needed to be an example to everyone else.

  The universe needed Ziyal almost as much as he did. Memories came flooding back to him, sharing root beers in Quark’s, watching her work on “The Seat of Power” for her father, hearing her talk about her mother, just the sound of her laughter. Her friendship had been just the tonic he’d needed during one of the worst times of his life. There was no way he was going to let go of that without a fight.

  He kept up the compressions and breathing, the sound of Dukat’s sobbing his only companion, until Jabara arrived.

  “What the—? Oh, no.”

  “Jake,” a male voice said, “tell me what happened.” It took him several seconds to realize that the voice belonged to Odo.

  Jake heard Jabara get something out of her med kit, most likely a tricorder. “I don’t know,” he tried to answer as he began another round of chest compressions. “I was looking for Ziyal and I found him here.” He gestured toward Dukat with a jerk of his head. “She’d already been shot.”

  He heard Jabara’s tricorder begin its work, the tiny electronic pings and whistles not assuaging his fear in the least.

  “Jake.” He knew that tone in the nurse’s voice, knew it better than he ever wanted. “Jake, it’s too late. There are no life signs. She’s been gone for too long.”

  He stopped mid-breath, still not ready to admit what he’d known the moment he’d turned the corner. “No,” he whispered.

  Jabara’s hand came to rest on Jake’s upper arm. “I’m so sorry, Jake,” she said, her voice sincere and compassionate.

  Jake’s legs began to weaken under him. He managed to lean back against the wall before they collapsed. He closed his eyes tight against the welling tears.

  Across the hall from him, Dukat never stopped muttering as Odo tried to get him to stand. Jake was able to make out the occasional utterance of Ziyal’s name, but the rest was gibberish.

  An image flashed in Jake’s mind: Wolf 359, the Saratoga, his mother wrapped around him while the world ended. Even though it had happened years ago, Jake could still remember the sight of his normally stoic father deep in grief when they’d gotten off the lifepod.

  The sight of Ziyal’s lifeless body on the cold floor shredded the thin gauze that had bandaged his emotions since that day. She was so still, so quiet. If it hadn’t been for the charred cinder that was her chest, he wouldn’t have believed it. I wonder if Mom looked like that.

  One of the medtechs brought a gurney to take Ziyal’s body back to the Infirmary for an autopsy. Jabara helped him to his feet, and Jake leaned on her as they walked back toward the Promenade.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “You don’t look that good.”

  Jake shook his head. “One of my best friends was just murdered. How am I supposed to look?”

  * * *

  Jake was working on the last chapter of what had evolved into Ziyal’s biography when a cheering emanated from the Promenade. He looked up from his vigil in the Infirmary just long enough to see Kira staring back at him. Neither of them had left Ziyal’s bedside for hours. He wasn’t sure why they both elected to stay, since there was no way to bring their friend back.

  Kira didn’t move from the wall she was using for support. “Your father just docked.”

  Jake’s eyes wandered to Ziyal’s body. She looked so peaceful, so content. A part of him didn’t want to leave her side, but a part of him knew that his father would be wondering how he was doing. “I should go,” he told Kira as he pulled himself out of the chair. “He’s going to be worried.”

  Kira reached out and caught his arm as he passed. “If you see Garak, just tell him that she’s here.”

  With an absent nod, Jake walked out of the Infirmary and into the chaotic mass of people packing the Promenade. There were Bajorans everywhere, all jubilant over the Emissary’s return. When the airlock door slid aside, Jake’s father walked through to the cheers and applause of what looked like a hundred people. For a moment, Jake thought they might actually pick his father up and carry him around on their shoulders, they were so emotional.

  After greeting his father and sending Garak toward the Infirmary, Jake headed back to his quarters. It was everything he could do to not go back to Ziyal’s side, but he knew that would be a fruitless gesture. With Garak back, there was someone else to keep Kira company.

  Jake had a biography to finish.

  It took a while for Jake to get through everything, fine-tuning each word until he had a perfect final draft. Sleep was a foreign concept to him after thirty-nine hours of revision and raktajino, pushing forward on his quest. Telling Ziyal’s story had become a mission, one he couldn’t abandon until it was completed.

  He saw bits and pieces of messages that had been sent back and forth during that time about a memorial service, something that might encompass everything about her life. Sisko gave Kira and Garak the tasks of arranging things from the standpoint of their respective cultures. It surprised Jake when his father came knocking on his door.

  “Jake-O?”

  Jake didn’t even look up from the padd. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Odo found out who killed Ziyal.”

  That got his attention. Scrolling to the end of the piece, he went to the chapter about her death and looked up. “Who?” he asked, dismayed by the exhaustion he heard in his own voice.

  “Damar.”

  Jake exhaled slowly, putting the padd down. “Damar? He’s sure?”

  His father nodded. “The security cameras backed up Dukat’s statement. Well, what Odo could get out of him, at least. Damar thought she was working against him.”

  Damar. So Weyoun didn’t stop you, after all.

  “How is Dukat?”

  “Not good. He’s barely coherent. Odo has him in a holding c
ell just to be safe.” Sisko walked over and sat in the chair nearest Jake. “Major Kira said you were working on an article about Ziyal?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Only now it’s more like a biography.”

  Sisko raised an eyebrow. “Can I read it?”

  Jake handed him the padd, watching his father’s reaction as he read.

  “This is really good, Jake. I didn’t even know you two had met.”

  An image of Ziyal working on the drawing for her father appeared in his mind. “She was my friend.”

  “She’s going to need a eulogy,” Sisko said, gesturing with the padd. “Do you mind if I show this to Kira?”

  Jake felt his frazzled brain trying to wrap around the notion, and failing. “A eulogy? She can’t use this. It’s too long. I’ll write—”

  “No, Jake,” Sisko said, concern in his voice. “Kira can use what you’ve got here. There are things in here she might not even know about. You need to get some sleep.”

  Jake tried to figure out a way to convey what he was feeling, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could manage was, “I need to be there, Dad.”

  Sisko put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “If you don’t go to bed,” he said, “you aren’t even going to be awake for Worf and Dax’s wedding.”

  Jake couldn’t deny that his father had a point. “I’ll try,” he replied.

  And try he did.

  Jake tossed and turned for hours, but sleep eluded him. His mind kept wandering back to the corridor, Dukat whimpering over his daughter’s lifeless body.

  She was gone before I got off the lift. And I convinced them to let her go.

  He stared at the ceiling for hours, trying to think of any way that the outcome might have been different, anything that might have saved her life. Eventually, his sleep-deprived brain couldn’t take it anymore, and he looked at the clock.

  It was almost time for the memorial.

  He downloaded a copy of the entire biography, images of her drawings and all, into each of two padds as he dressed. His hand brushed the cloth-wrapped earring on his desk. He’d kept it safe, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d let her down in the end. Picking up the small package, he set it alongside the two padds.