I did not expect this. But then what else is life about if not to continue learning? And to receive the chance to learn afresh, at home, this late in my life—this I can only count as a great gift . . .
She thought she would find him in the temple. And there he was, sitting quietly by himself, hands folded upon his lap, a calm expression upon his half-formed face. There were not many people who knew how to sit and be still, Corazame thought. Too many people dashed here, there, and everywhere, always moving on to the next task, the next project, the next distraction. Corazame suspected that they did not want to be alone with themselves. It took strength to be able to sit with oneself and simply be. Corazame had discovered that she had that kind of strength. There was nothing about herself she wanted to run away from.
Odo, seeing her, lifted his hand in greeting and beckoned to her. He smiled as she sat down beside him.
“I came looking for you this time,” she said.
“In fairness to me, I didn’t come looking for you,” he chided her gently. “Although I was hoping to meet you and suspected the temple might be a good place to start. It’s where I would go if I wanted some quiet.”
“I am glad that we met,” said Corazame. “Very glad. I am grateful for the faith that you showed in me.”
Odo merely grunted, as if to say, It was nothing. Corazame smiled. She would never forget that somebody had been on her side throughout all of this.
“I gather from Captain Ro that you’ve made a decision about where to go next,” Odo said.
“The People have been very kind to me. They understand my situation. And when I was with them . . . I liked them. They are so comfortable with themselves. I find them very restful.”
Odo thought of the many children running around and the chaos in the People’s quarters that Ro had reported. To each their own. “And what about home? What about Ab-Tzenketh?”
Corazame shook her head. “That was the fantasy of a lonely person. I can never go back to Ab-Tzenketh. There would be no Corazame left.” She smiled at him. “And I like being Corazame.”
“So you should.”
“And I have a new home now, if I take the time to make it. The People of the Open Sky are giving me that chance.”
“I hope you travel forward in happiness and find your place among them.”
“I am sure that I will.” She stood to go, but before she left, she let her skin shine brightly; filling the temple with white light that seemed very close to bliss. “Good-bye, Odo.”
She had one last farewell to make, which she did in the privacy of the quarters she and Alden had shared briefly on DS9. “Hello, Peteh,” she said when his handsome, grave face appeared on the view screen.”
“Cory. I’ve been so worried about you—”
She believed him. He could care about her and yet still want to make use of her—and that was something for him to reconcile with himself. Commander Peter Alden was not a man who could sit for long with himself. There would always have to be a distraction. If he reflected too long, he would see too clearly the gap between the man he was and the man he had hoped to be.
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I can’t help that. I always will.” He looked down at his hands. “When I first met you, you were so helpless, so afraid . . .”
“I was very lost,” she admitted. “One of the first people I saw had four arms!”
He smiled in memory. “It was not the easiest of introductions to the wider universe.”
“You know that given the choice I would never have left Ab-Tzenketh. I was happy there. No,” she said, seeing his expression, “I was happy, even if you cannot bring yourself to believe that. Life was peaceful. My surroundings were beautiful. I had plenty of time to think and to be with myself. I loved to sing with my friends. Yes, my work was arduous and repetitive—but not unduly so. No more than that performed by many on so-called free worlds. We were always rested well and never lacked food or comfort—”
“You were a slave, Cory.”
“I didn’t feel like a slave. And please, Peteh—my name is Corazame. I never liked Cory.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You never told me that.”
“I never knew until recently. But I am Corazame.”
“Nothing else?”
“That is enough.”
They stared at each other. He looked awkward, as if he could not grasp how the balance of power had shifted so radically between them, and this shift had left him disoriented. He had never understood her.
“I would like to give you some advice, if I may,” she said.
“You are so different . . . Go ahead,” he said with a smile. “Give me some advice.”
“The life you lead now,” she said, “it doesn’t make you happy. You work all the time. You obsess about my world and its people, and the damage that was done to you when you were among us. You are stuck in that moment. You are less free than I was on Ab-Tzenketh.”
“This doesn’t sound like advice to me.” He was frowning. “More like character assassination.”
“Give it up, Peteh. Now, before it consumes you completely. Do something else. Find something to do with meaning.”
He gave her a sad smile. “If only it was that simple.”
“It is that simple,” she said. “I’ve done it twice now. Once was not my choice, that is true. But this time?” She smiled. “Yes, this is my choice. To travel with the People.”
She let all her colors go free. He gasped—he had never seen her like this before and perhaps had never realized the full extent of her capabilities. But here she was, and she was beautiful and unconstrained. She was Corazame.
“Be brave. Be bold. Don’t wait for change. Seize your own life and make it.”
* * *
Beverly Crusher went down to the docking bay to see the little ships leave. The People were departing in their usual chaotic fashion: half-closed packing cases with clothes hanging out; children underfoot; a few of the adults milling around and chatting, showing no particular signs of urgency about their departure time. Oioli was there at the heart of things, counting them all, a mother hen looking over her chicks. But of course, one was missing.
“I’m sorry,” Crusher said, offering Oioli her hand. “Your time here on Deep Space 9 was so marred by tragedy. I wish I could send you on your way with better memories of us, and of this place.”
Oioli placed long fingers gently upon Crusher’s. “Yes, there was grief, but friendship too. For which I remain grateful. You helped us when you had no need. I won’t forget your kindness.”
“I’ll remember Ioile,” she said, pressing her hand around Oioli’s. “I’ll remember that Oioli loved Ioile.”
“Yes, Ioile was much loved. And now there is but one of us.” Oioli frowned, thinking, no doubt, of Ailoi’s treachery. “Two set out so long ago. And now I travel lonely.”
“Lonely?” Crusher looked at the busy ragtag family that Oioli had assembled over the years. “How can you be lonely with so many around you who love you? The children, Oioli! The children!”
Oioli smiled. “The children, yes. Oh, yes indeed! Without them we’d be nothing!”
They embraced, and she left Oioli to corral the People into some kind of order. She saw Corazame, her skin glowing a beautiful copper, enter the docking bay, but the Tzenkethi woman seemed not to want to be noticed, so the doctor did not approach her, and Corazame slipped unobtrusively on board. Crusher silently wished her well in her new life.
Somehow, under Oioli’s gentle direction, the People sorted themselves out. The children were gathered up and herded onto their ships. The packing cases followed. The adults, in lazy and comfortable fashion, ambled on board. They even made their departure time—give or take a minute or two. The docking bay felt empty once they were gone, Crusher thought, as if they had taken something with them—some goodwill, some kindliness of spirit that animated whichever space they currently inhabited.
“Travel safe,”
she murmured. “Carry on. Gather up more children. Find the lost and sad—and give them homes and hopes and family.”
Crusher left the docking bay. So many good-byes, she thought. Where did one start?
* * *
Command could bring with it so much grief, so much worry and heartache, that it was important to savor the good moments. And this, Ro thought, was definitely going to be a good moment.
Mhevita Pa’Dan stood to one side of Ro’s office, fussing nervously at the sleeves on her dress. Ro could only guess at the complexities of the emotions the other woman must be feeling: the happiness for the reunion that was about to come; the passing of old sorrow. She leaned over to touch, briefly, Pa’Dan’s hand. “You look great,” she said. “You look . . . grandmotherly.”
A beautiful smile curved across Pa’Dan’s face. “Yes. Who would have guessed? Whoever would have guessed? After so long, so many gifts, all at once.”
“You deserve them,” said Ro. The door to her office opened. “Look,” she said, “they’re here.”
And there they were: a young Cardassian male, tall and handsome by his people’s standards, and, very tiny beside him and reaching up to clutch his hand, a little girl. She had a long face, with ears that tapered upward, but there were also little ridges along her neck and the faintest hint of a spoon upon her forehead. Behind them both stood a Romulan colonel. Her relationship to the child was obvious.
“Oh, Terek!” gasped Mhevita. All thought of propriety (and, presumably, dress) was clearly gone from her mind as the mother dashed across to her long-lost son. Ro, from the sidelines, saw the little girl push a fist into her mouth and watch curiously as her father was embraced by this stranger. Then Terek bent down to her, lifted her up, and presented her to her grandmother. The girl eyed the older woman while her father whispered to her—an introduction, presumably. The child chewed her hand for a moment longer and then shoved it forward—small and soggy—to offer it to her grandmother. Two hands, one old and gray, one young and pale, entwined. Ro blinked, rubbed an eye, and turned away.
“A tear, Captain?” Odo murmured in her ear.
Ro cleared her throat. “Perhaps a small one.”
“Perhaps I’d shed one myself if I could.”
Once Varis had been confronted with their knowledge of the children, it had been only a matter of time before the truth of what had happened to Terek and the other missing soldiers had been revealed. It was quite simple: they had fallen in love. In Terek’s case, this had been with a Romulan colonel who also served on the Repatriation Committee. When they learned they were to have a child, Terek sent his mother a message explaining why he would not be returning to Cardassia Prime, and inviting his mother to come and meet his partner and child. But Major Varis, afraid of how the family would be treated and in an attempt to protect her colleague’s reputation (and perhaps, Ro speculated, her own), had intercepted the message. Terek, believing that Mhevita had cut him off at the news of her grandchild—half Cardassian, half Romulan—had not tried to communicate again.
But now they were together—all of them, mother and father and child and grandmother—and it would be hard to think of a happier family reunion. Ro had dreamed of moments like this after her father died and she had left her mother, but of course that had never happened. She would enjoy this vicariously, she thought, and let it bring her joy.
“I understand from the castellan,” Odo said quietly, “that he has invited Terek and his family back to Cardassia Prime. The whole family, mind—Colonel Veelak included. And there’s an open invitation to all the other former soldiers and their families to come. No expense spared.”
Ro smiled. “I imagine the castellan has quite the ceremony planned for their homecoming. Will he be the one to meet them at the spaceport?”
“Oh, I should think so,” Odo said. “And I won’t begrudge him that.” He smiled. “I begrudge him so much else, after all.”
* * *
“So, Kitty,” said Tanj as they relaxed in the director’s ready room. The Athene Donald was on its way again, speeding on into uncharted space. “I think we can call that first encounter a success.”
“As long as I don’t have to see Aoi and that ship of fools again,” said Pulaski. “A more miserable bunch of paper pushers I’ve never seen, and I’ve a long career in Starfleet behind me.” She leaned back comfortably in her chair. “But for now I intend to get on with enjoying this part of the trip—”
The door to Tanj’s office chimed.
It was Peter Alden. “Maurita, can I have a word?”
Pulaski started to lever herself up out her chair. “I’ll leave you to it—”
“No, I’d like you to hear this too, Doctor Pulaski.”
There was something odd about him, Pulaski thought. His hair was crumpled, and the collar of his uniform was slightly undone. His face was shining with . . . was that happiness? Pulaski leaned back. Yes, this she had to hear.
“I’ve resigned my commission,” Alden said. “I no longer work for Starfleet Intelligence.”
Tanj and Pulaski looked at each other in amazement. “Congratulations?” Tanj said uncertainly. “If that’s in order?”
“Yes,” Alden said firmly. “Absolutely in order. And, if I may, I’d like to sign up with the mission.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Tanj.
“You’d like to which with the what?” said Pulaski.
“The mission.” He gestured around him. “This mission. I want to sign up. I want to join the crew of the Athene Donald.”
Pulaski snorted. “Not a chance.”
Tanj waved her hand. “Hush, Kitty, let’s hear what he has to say.”
“I’ve had enough,” Alden said. “The life I’ve been leading . . . It’s made me do things I’m ashamed of. When I think of Cory—Corazame . . . She’s so brave, and all I could think of was how I could use her, how she’d be an asset to me. How is that any different from the way her masters on Ab-Tzenketh treated her?” He shuddered. “I don’t ever want to find myself in that situation again. I want to be free. I want . . .” He held out his hands. “I want to explore.”
“Do you want my advice, Commander?” said Pulaski. “It’s free.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
“Don’t give up your day job.”
Tanj covered a snort of laughter.
“Too late,” said Alden. “It’s done. I’ve quit. I’m not going back.”
“You’re assuming a great deal, mister!”
“I’m not assuming anything,” Alden said. “If I’m not welcome on the Athene Donald, then I’ll return home by private freighter. I’ll find something else to do with my life. I’ll do that doctorate I always wanted to do—”
“Pull the other one,” said Pulaski. “Do you think we’re idiots? You’ll be reporting everything back to Starfleet Intelligence.”
“I really won’t. I’m done. Finished.” He reached up to his collar, pulled off his pips, and threw them down on Tanj’s desk. “There,” he said. “Done.”
Tanj looked at Pulaski. “This seems pretty convincing to me. And it’s in the spirit of what we do—”
“It’s the maddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Tanj turned to Alden. “What would you do if you were on board? Go back to your original studies?”
“I . . . guess so,” Alden said.
“Do that doctorate?”
“If there was someone here to work with . . .”
Tanj nodded. “I’ll speak to Delka. I think that between us we can cook up a supervisory team.”
Pulaski leaned forward in her chair. “Now hold on a minute! This sounds like the decision is already made!”
“You’re right,” said Tanj. She stood up, leaned across her desk, and offered Alden her hand. “Welcome aboard, Mister Alden. We’ll make a doctor of you yet.”
“Maurita, you’re an idiot!”
“Thank you.”
“They don’t let them walk away, you know,” Pulaski sai
d. “They’ll make him work for them whether he wants to or not.”
“So help me get one past them,” Alden said. “Help me get away.”
Tanj burst out laughing. “Oh, Kitty, he’s got the measure of you!”
“Well, Doctor Pulaski,” said Alden, lifting his chin and looking her straight in the eye. “You wanted me to give up my life of crime.”
“Humph,” said Pulaski.
Tanj laughed. “Be careful what you wish for, Kitty!”
“Are you willing to work together, Katherine?” Alden said. “In the spirit of science and exploration?”
“Oh, all right,” Pulaski groused. “If I must. It’d be a damned long voyage otherwise.”
* * *
After dealing with the castellan at such close quarters, Ro could hardly miss his Shape of the Union address. Quark had expressed an interest too (of course, thought Ro, they had been fellow entrepreneurs on the Promenade once upon a time), so they watched together in the bar.
“Of all the people to become castellan, I would never have bet on Garak,” Quark said. “But then, what do I know? Of all the people to become nagus, I never would have bet on Rom.”
“Stick to fiddling the dabo wheel,” Ro advised.
Brash music signaled the start of the broadcast. Quark smiled. “Garak must loathe this,” he said.
“What? Journalism?”
“Yes, that. But mostly democracy.”
“What?” Ro was baffled. “Then why would he stand for election?”
“Why else?” said Quark. “Because he thinks he deserves punishment, and this is the most ostentatious way he can come up with to do his penance. Garak is all about show. But at least he’s showing remorse.”
“So he should,” said a gruff voice from beside them. “And he’s not the only one.”
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