Far Beyond the Stars

by Steven Barnes

  On the way into the hall, she passed a tall, graying man who nodded his greeting—and hope blossomed within her. His dark, intelligent eyes had seen so very much of life. This was the one person from whom Benjamin might accept comfort—his father, Joseph Sisko. Hope blossomed within her.

  A resident of distant Earth, Joseph Sisko couldn't have picked a worse time for a personal visit—or a better one—for a mission of spiritual and emotional support. She forced a smile to her face. "Mister Sisko," she said. "So, how do you like our station so far?"

  "It certainly is big," he said. The man had a talent for understatement.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as he headed into his son's quarters. Benjamin Sisko's emotional health now rested in the very best hands imaginable.

  The pounding in Sisko's ears, the darkness that loomed every time he closed his eyes had swarmed closer to the surface. He blinked hard as his father entered his chamber—he needed to collect himself. He didn't want Joseph to worry.

  Too late—his father was already worried. "I heard about Quentin Swofford," the older man said. "I'm sorry."

  Through some odd persistence of vision, the speckles of light remained in Sisko's view even when he tried to focus. They swarmed around his father, diffracting the light a bit. "Look, Dad … I know I haven't been very good company the last few days."

  Joseph Sisko wouldn't even let his son begin the trip down that morose path. "I didn't come here to be entertained. I came to see you and Jake."

  "You picked an interesting time to take your first trip away from Earth."

  His father's laughter was deep and genuine. "Well, I figured it was now or never. Besides, I've been worried about you. Last couple of times we've talked … it seemed like the weight of the entire Alpha Quadrant was on your shoulders."

  Sisko could understand that. "Sometimes it feels that way." He struggled to form the next words—they just didn't want to emerge. "Dad … I'm not sure …"

  "Just say it, Son."

  Benjamin sighed. "I just don't know how many friends I can lose. Every time I think I've achieved a real victory, something like this happens and it all turns to ashes." There, he had said it, and although a weight had been lifted thereby, he also felt hollowed out.

  "So what do you want to do?" his father asked gently.

  "Maybe it's time for me to step down," Benjamin said. "Let someone else make the tough calls."

  The two men, father and son, regarded each other for a long moment. The older man was the first to speak. "I see," he said, and then paused. "Well, no one's indispensable, Son. Not even you. Whatever decision you make, I'll support it." He paused again, and the slightest of thoughtful smiles curled his lips. "Of course, if Quentin Swofford was here … I'd bet he'd have a few things to say to you."

  Sisko thumped his fist on the desk. "But he's not here . . . is he? That's the whole point."

  Joseph nodded. "I'd say you have some thinking to do . . . and I've got a dinner date with my grandson, so I'll let you get to it."

  The light disturbance weakened until Sisko thought it had disappeared … then suddenly strengthened again. Sisko saw his father, but the room around him shimmered. Everything was normal, and yet …

  Something just behind him, in the hall. A man sauntered past. He seemed to be purposeful, calm, directed. In fact, there was nothing unusual about him, with the exclusion of the fact that he wore a gray flannel suit. Sisko blinked hard. No, he was right. It wasn't Cardassian silk, or one of the Vulcan demicottons which sometimes resembled some of the older earth fabrics. He looked as if he had stepped out of the holosuite, still cloaked in fantasy.

  "Did you see that man?" he asked, annoyed that the bizarre image had disrupted his train of thought. "Who was that?"

  "Who?" Joseph spun about. Sisko was up in a moment, and crossed to the door before his father could gather his wits.

  Sisko looked out at Operations, and saw only the familiar faces of Dax, Kira, O'Brien and a half a dozen other crew members, at their stations, holding down the fort as always. There were scanners and communications equipment and weapons controls, but no sign of what looked very much like a mid-20th-century conservative American dress style. He hardly noticed when Joseph Sisko appeared behind him.

  "Where did he go?" Sisko asked, baffled.

  His father was no less confused. "Who?"

  "The man who just walked by my door."

  Dax glanced at Kira, growing more concerned now. "I didn't see anyone," she said.

  Sisko rubbed his left fingers against his temples. "He . . . was wearing a gray suit of some kind."

  "Sorry, Captain," Dax said. "We must have missed him."

  Sisko saw in their faces that they were willing to accept this answer—that someone might have walked right through their midst, right past their captain's office, and that they hadn't seen this odd intruder. They were willing to accept the possibility but they didn't believe it. And neither did he.

  "I could've sworn," he began, then let his voice trail off. More than anyone in the room, he was achingly aware of just how lame that sounded. They were staring openly now, and he didn't blame them a bit.

  With difficulty, he managed to force a smile to his lips. "Never mind," he said to his father. He turned to Dax. "If you need me, Old Man, I'll be with Kasidy."

  Dax watched him carefully. They had known each other far too long—Dax understood the implication between his words. I need to talk, but not now, and not in front of the crew.

  Sisko crossed to the turbolift, and it shushed open for him. "Habitat Ring," he said. "Level Ten, Section Four."

  As it sank out of sight, the others glanced significantly at Kira. "What was that all about?" O'Brien asked. His ordinarily ruddy face was even darker than usual. This was a time of stress for all of them, and no time to doubt the health or sanity of their captain.

  "I'm not entirely sure," she said. "But I promise I'll check into it. I'll keep you posted. Back to work."

  "Yes, Sir."

  CHAPTER 3

  BENJAMIN SISKO SWORE his stomach floated up into his throat as the turbolift sank. He knew that wasn't possible—there was really no perceptible sense of motion in any of the lifts. Still, something like tiny bubbles danced in the back of his head. Maybe he had contracted that Vulcan flu that was going around. It was very rare for humans to catch it, but when they did, it could be exceptionally severe. Nothing to sneeze at, he said to himself and managed to chuckle. If he could make a joke, even one as slight as that, perhaps all was not lost.

  Still, a trip to the infirmary might well be in line. On the other hand, in all probability it was just the stress, mounting steadily now as it had for days. He needed rest of one kind or another. If stress was the disease, he knew the cure any compassionate doctor would prescribe.

  In the five years since assuming command of DS9, he had been involved with several women. Only one had claimed his heart, the beautiful and brilliant Kasidy Yates. There had been long years when he had feared that no one would ever be able to take the place of his beloved wife Jennifer. That had been accurate—no one could. But the human heart is a strange thing. It does not heal so much as grow around the hurt. Kasidy had helped him to heal, and for that, as well as the warmth and joy she brought him, he loved her.

  She stood with her back turned to him as he approached her door, dictating something softly into her padd. Probably one of the last-minute notes that seemed to bubble up from her unconscious only when she had turned her conscious attention elsewhere.

  Sisko slid behind her and slipped his arms around her waist, reveling in the soft strong curves, in the soft sweet scent of her hair-oil. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed into his embrace, leaning back against him.

  "Mmmm, Odo," she said. "If Benjamin catches us—"

  In spite of his dark mood, he managed a chuckle. He spun her in his arms.

  Kasidy's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Why—why, Ben! I was kidding of course—"

  She locked he
r arms around his neck, and cocked her head sideways. "Really, I was," she said.

  "I'm not sure I should believe you," he said. Her eyes twinkled, and her door opened behind them.

  "I think that if you'll step into my quarters," she said mischievously, "I could prove my sincerity."

  "As captain of this station," Sisko was surprised to hear the husk in his voice, to feel the sudden tension in his body, surprised and delighted at Kasidy's infinite ability to take him out of himself. For the millionth time, he gave thanks that she was his. "It is my obligation to investigate all charges made by one crewman against another. You should be given a chance to defend yourself."

  "All rise," she said. Taking his hand, she led him into the welcoming darkness. "Court is now in session."

  CHAPTER 4

  TIME PASSES TOO QUICKLY, Sisko thought. I need a week of this, of just quiet time. Why can't someone synthesize time?

  They stood outside her room, peaceful and content just to touch each other gently and share a few quiet moments. Kasidy's fingers smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from his uniform. Her eyes were liquid gold, and he remembered clearly, only minutes before, when they had boiled with heat for him. His troubles seemed very far away.

  He leaned forward and kissed her again. She returned it enthusiastically and then laid her fingers delicately on his collar, pushing him back.

  "Hungry?" he asked.

  "I can eat," she said, eyes half lidded.

  He playfully pulled her back toward the room, but she laughed and tugged him down the hall. "Down, boy," she said.

  "You're going to have to stop feeding me straight lines," Sisko said.

  "We have time. I'm not scheduled to leave 'til late this evening."

  "Good news and bad news. I was hoping that we might be able to get away for a little holodeck vacation. Until the Federation reacts to the latest Bajoran proposal, I'm in limbo." Sudden irritation stole a bit of the contentment from his mood. "Aren't there any other freighter captains the Bajoran Commerce Ministry can call on?"

  "Sure, but these days, most of them prefer to stay close to Bajor."

  He growled, but couldn't pretend not to understand. "I have to admit I'm worried about you."

  Her smile was so bright, as if she was discussing the possibility of a picnic on the beach, not a potential life and death encounter. "Ben—don't mother me. I'm not taking my ship anywhere near the Cardassian border."

  "I realize that. But the Dominion is getting bolder and bolder … and your freighter is no match for a Jem'Hadar attack ship."

  "They'd have to catch me first."

  "You're really not worried, are you?" He would have thought it impossible, but her smile brightened even further, assumed a fierceness that recalled certain moments they had shared not an hour before. "Me?" she asked. "I'm fearless. You know that. That's why you love me."

  "I think I follow that logic …"

  His mood, roller-coastering up and down, had just found a new and peaceful equilibrium when something—

  For just a moment he thought that he saw Worf, his Klingon friend and strategic operations officer. But no—it was a human of Worf's size and approximate coloration, with some of the same confidence in his stride. Like the momentary glimpse of the earlier man, this man wore clothes that would have been more in place in, say 1950s Earth, in the striped white shirt and pants that Sisko's mind identified quickly as a New York Yankees baseball uniform. He laughed aloud. Of course! There must be some kind of party going on on the holodeck!

  The man looked directly at Sisko—

  (So much like Worf. Not the face, which was human, another Afro-European blend, but something in the eyes. And something inside Sisko knew this person, knew that his name was … Willie. But Willie who?)

  "Hey, Benny," the man said. "See the game last night?"

  Willie/Worf continued to walk by. He seemed not to notice Kasidy at all. Stranger still, Kasidy didn't seem to notice him.

  "What?" Sisko asked after the retreating, oddly dressed figure.

  Willie/Worf walked a few more paces down the hall, and then disappeared into a doorway.

  Sisko stared after him, still confused—dumbfounded really—and aware that his heartbeat had sped up, was trip-hammering against his ribcage. What was happening to him? Why was he reacting so strangely to the mere sight of a crewman—

  (A crewman? Then which was he? And why does he remind you of Worf?)

  —dressed for a costume party?

  "Ben?" Kasidy must have called his name three times before he finally heard her, or was able to respond.

  "Who was that?" he asked. More than anything else, he felt an irresistible urge to get to the bottom of this. Now.

  "Who was who?" she asked.

  For an instant he thought that it was a joke, all some kind of prank being played on him. That was it. His crew knew that he was under stress, and had arranged this to get his mind off his troubles. Dax! It must have been, damn the Old Man's sense of humor, why he'd—

  But when he looked into Kasidy's eyes, he knew she was telling the truth. She hadn't the slightest idea what he was talking about, and more to the point, he was scaring her. There was something very wrong here.

  Disregarding the abruptness of his decision, he ran over to the door through which the ball playing not-Worf had disappeared. Kasidy, behind him, called after him with concern. "Ben …?" she asked. "Where are you going?"

  He didn't answer her. He had no attention to offer her at the moment. All of his attention was on the door. He swiftly keyed in the override code on the door panel and it opened to reveal—

  The impossible.

  CHAPTER 5

  NO ONE WHO HAD studied history, or loved old American movies or television could have mistaken what lay on the far side of the door.

  Sisko immediately recognized the street lamps, soaring up two stories and then curving down like lilies with white bulbs blossoming at their tips. The smell of auto exhaust cloaked the air like a shroud. Wide-grilled automobiles trundling past belching toxins—cars, taxis, even roaring buses carrying passengers by the dozens. Across a wide expanse of concrete street, crowded with vehicles and pedestrians, a neon sign promoting Coca-Cola flashed, its blinking dimly visible in the noon light. Above it a sign read "Planter's Peanuts—a bag a day for more pep!" and above that posted high atop a six-story office building, a sign read CHEVROLET.

  Sisko staggered forward, his senses overwhelmed. The crowd flowed around him like a stream parting for a pebble. Some pedestrians avoided him politely, some wore an expression of disapproval. Stunned, he realized that they were all human, Earth human. American Earth human. Mid 1950s American Earth human. And all of them, everyone he saw was of European descent.

  "I don't—" he muttered to himself. He couldn't make the rest of the words come. What was this? All of this? Was it all a part of the game? But what game? Had he stumbled through the back door of a holosuite? He reached for his padd, but his uniform and equipment were gone. He stared down at himself, and saw that he wore brown pants, a thin leather belt, scuffed leather shoes. No sensory equipment.

  His legs weakened and he stumbled a foot forward, his brain temporarily just … not working. That was the only way to put it.

  There was a sudden blaring sound and Sisko spun, just in time to see a ton of steel grill and rubber tires screeching, weaving trying to avoid hitting him. He had staggered out into the street, completely disoriented, and was trapped between worlds, between identities, between—

  Where am I?

  and

  Who am I?

  —just long enough for the juggernaut to bear down on him. Fear jolted through him like an electric shock. He didn't quite jump aside fast enough, whoofed with the shock as the bumper clipped him. The breath huffed out of him explosively. He torqued to the side and tumbled down into a heap.

  He lay there, numb and tingling, certain that something inside him was irreparably smashed. Dimly, he heard cars beeping, honking. The murmur
of voices: "Is he hurt?" "Did you see that?" "He just stepped in front of that car—" "Isn't that just like a—"

  And another, loving voice. Kasidy's voice, calling to him as across a great and nameless gulf. "Ben? Are you hurt?"

  SHUFFLE

  CHAPTER 6

  BEN SISKO lay on the cold corridor floor, Kasidy Yates beside him. He heard the thunder of his heart in his chest, heard his own breathing and wondered, for just a moment, if he was insane.

  "Ben," she repeated. "Are you all right?"

  Shaken, Benjamin Sisko rose to his feet, too unsteady to really ponder her question. This was bad, and getting worse by the moment. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I'm really not sure at all."

  CHAPTER 7

  DS9's INFIRMARY was built more for function than comfort, and Benjamin Sisko had never felt that starkness more than at this moment. He lay on the analyzer table, steadying himself and trying to force his way all the remaining distance to consciousness.

  Dr. Bashir, DS9's chief physician, was running tests. Kasidy, Joseph, and his son Jake waited nearby.

  "He's awake," Kasidy said, relieved. "Ben, are you all right?"

  He was still fighting to get his bearings, but the confusion was dissipating like smoke in a slow wind. "I think so."

  "Thank God," Joseph said.

  His son punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, Dad—you scared us there for a minute."

  Frankly, he was still scared. There were too many things that could conceivably go wrong. Oh, this wasn't a barbaric age, medicine had made many massive advances. This was no twentieth century butcher shop. But there were still a vast cornucopia of diseases and ailments before which even the most advanced medicine was helpless.