Legacy
An Alternative History of the Dominion War
Year 1
Part 3 _ Adjustments
Chapter 13
Benjamin Sisko smiled as he announced the marriage of Rom and Leeta. He
and the wedding party stood in the middle of the new Residential deck,
surrounded by friends and onlookers. When the deed was done, a loud cheer
started with friends nearest the couple, but spread along the crowd of
unfamiliar strangers who didn't really know the bride and groom, but came to
watch the wedding anyway. There wasn't much to celebrate, but the long
delayed wedding of the little Ferengi and his tall Bajoran bride became the first
celebration that had pulled nearly everyone together.
Even the food was an special. The cakes had been carefully soaked in a spiced
bath until they were soft, and then were were grilled on a makeshift barbecue.
The outside was brown and tender, the middle juicy and soft There was even a
choice of flavors. The day's allotment of vegetables were soaked and sauteed
as a toping, and the marinades simmered into a gravy.
It was the first time since the Dominion had come that there was a choice, and
something other than various versions of soup. A little extra seasoning had
been included for those who liked their flavors strong. It was a special treat,
but one which had to be reserved for only the most special of occasions. But
this wedding would never be repeated. For once, the new community came
together to do something besides grieve.
Sisko had been very nervous. Given the harsh position he held, he didn't
know if the Emissary would be as popular as he had been on Bajor, and he
doubted those unfamiliar with the importance he held on Bajor would be
impressed at all. He had hardly slept the night before, wondering if they'd
stare with reverence or bitterness. He'd dressed carefully, avoiding any of the
clothes he wore in his official position, and leaving the little pin that made
him their leader at home.
They would accept him or not. He had to find out if he could be two men
anymore.
But the small Bajoran wedding party had honored him as if he were still
standing on DS9, and the rest had chosen to join in the spirit of the occasion.
Tomorrow they'd stare with resentment, but today they saw the man.
Leeta wore a beautiful dress, donated for the day by one of Vance's people. It
was neither traditional for Bajoran weddings, nor the natural look of Ferengi
custom. But she was special, extra care lavished on her that morning, and
despite the grim world around her, she smiled. The rest of wedding party,
friends of the bride and groom, were dressed in the best that could be found,
and they stood straight and proud to witness the moment.
No matter what came tomorrow, they'd taken that day as their own.
The crowd dressed for the occasion. Even if all they had was everyday clothes,
they were crisply washed with bright colors added to make the day festive. It
was as if, for a day, the Dominion and all they stood for had been pushed
away.
A table sat nearby, covered with gifts. Some were from friends, but not all.
Bits of cloth and string covered them, but later, after food, the couple would
share the bounty of talent and good wishes for everyone to see.
But the best part were the musicians. Some had brought their instruments
along, some had made them on Cyrus. A young man played a Bajoran flute as
the bridal pair had entered the square. A woman played a bowl shaped
stringed instrument, the sound like dancing bells, as the ceremony was done.
The musicians gathered together, Bajoran and human, along with an
assortment of other species and those who had made rattles and bells and
drums.
Amid driving rhythms and teasing melodies, lunch was served. For once,
Benjamin Sisko, spiritual leader, ate among his people. His staff were
scattered about the deck, partly by deliberate design but by choice as well.
It made the day special for everyone, a day that the only stars were the bridal
couple. There were no hierarchy's that day, just people. The curfew had been
lifted for the night, and the music and food and merriment would last as long
as the last celebrant wanted to stay. Here and there, little groups were
dancing, and as Sisko took his leave, he wished that the Emissary had the
option of leaving his desk behind for a whole day.
*****
Nog stood a little to the side as his father and new bride opened their gifts. It
wasn't Ferengi custom, and Leeta hadn't expected the table full of things, but
she and Rom sat in the center of a circle of friends, each gift passed to them as
the last was opened.
Rom was nervous. Nog could tell by the way he stammered as he and Leeta
unveiled the small symbols of the day. Leeta carefully untied a bit of string
around a round shape, and Rom took the fabric and added it to a neat pile.
But she smiled as she held up the gift. It was from one of the Cyrus staff, no
name given, but just a "Best wishes." The small basket had been woven from
the dried native grass, the edges twirled with a bright red thread. Its handle
was supported by a shaft of wood, cut very precisely, and Nog almost came
closer to look it over.
Most of the gifts were simple, but welcome things. This one was special, and
someone had spent time making it.
Once, thought Nog, it would have simply been a trinket. Now, hanging on the
wall, it would make the small quarters more liveable, not just for its use but
for the simple beauty of the design. Somehow, he understood that if he'd not
been lost here he might not have understood that.
The Chief had asked for ideas before. Perhaps later whoever made it could
teach them. He was sure others could use something to hold their things. It
would do more than give them something to do. Each basket could hold a
little of the person who made it.
But the basket had been put aside, and the next gift was a drawing of a bird.
The colors were beautiful. It flew into a bright blue sky, and the wings actually
glistened.
The guests were silent when Leeta stood and held it up for everyone to see.
"To fly free," she read.
It was added to the other gifts, carefully wrapped in cloth. She sat. "Thank
you, James," said Rom quietly.
James stood near, looking up at the sky. Nog watched him, wondering if, for
James, the empty skies of Cyrus were not so alone. The bird was a work of
dreams. Nog had heard of James' painting, and when he brought messages
from Sisko, had noticed the lost eyes.
Nog had dreams, too. But his had been betrayed. At least James got to have
a little of his. So many of the others here had time to make a future, even if it
all had been stolen. Nog and James and a few others knew the sort of future
they wanted, but never even got to see if they might have succeeded.
He turned back to the gifts, now almost done. Behind the cheerful smiles, he
could see how tired they were. The music would probably go on for hours, but
the guests of honor were already impatient to go.
Nog missed the last few gifts. James had wandered off, and Nog watched as
he kept pausing and looking up at the mid_afternoon sky.
Nog wasn't much for birds and animals. It had never been all that important
in Ferengi life. But somehow he hoped James would paint all the birds he
remembered.
There were none on Cyrus. If there were children, who would explain about
birds if there were no pictures to understand what they'd lost.
*****
Lonnie balanced the platter, stepping carefully on the slightly rutted pathway.
She'd waited for the gifts, knowing he'd made the basket. She had seen the
makings in his office, sitting in a box almost hiding under a shelf. But she
knew he'd learned how to make them a long time before, when all he had to
hold his medicines were the baskets he could weave. Rom and Leeta were
impressed, and she imagined they were all wondering who had spent so much
time.
But they never would have guessed that Dr. Willman had made it. He was the
big bad enemy. He terrorized his staff and was short with the patients. Some
day, she hoped, he'd have a chance to prove there was more there but that.
She didn't know about the picture of the bird. James had been busy with
Sisko and she hadn't had much time to see him. But she'd heard about his
painting. Somehow, she would get time to
see it but Willman always kept her busy. Even on her day off, she had things
to do.
Today, she decided to sit and watch the people. It was odd to be away from
the constant worry of doing the wrong thing and being humiliated in the
morning meeting. She was Willman's chief aide, but she wasn't immune.
She'd lingered longer than intended, listening to the music and wished she
could bring a little of that back to the room along with the dinner.
Everybody in Recovery would get some of the day's special food, but she was
bringing his early. If only there was a way to bring him to the celebration__to
bring *all* of them stranded in the small room away from the joys and sorrows
they'd have to fit into. At least they'd have the food.
*****
She looked back, hoping to spend a little more time at the party later on. The
gifts were done, but there was a knot of dancers moving their feet to the
rhythms of the band. There was music played, mostly in Residential, but
there was a band today. The calliope of sounds was cheerful. So often sitting
by their little dwellings, the music was so melancholy.
At least they could move around the settlement, and weren't stuck inside a
room. She'd gotten used to her daily visits to Bashir, and the daily greetings
she got from the others. Even if she had to leave the party, she wouldn't miss
a day.
She'd found a nice dress to wear, the first time she cared what she looked like
since the world had ended. Walking inside the half_empty ward, everyone
instantly noticed. She smiled at their comments, ignoring the looks of
surprise. Nobody smiled in Willman's little kingdom.
Bashir was doing better. She wished he was well enough for a day's outing,
especially since he was friends with the bride and groom. But he looked up
from the book he'd been reading when she approached.
She closed the curtains. Others had personal guests that day, too.
He put down the book, looking her over. "You should wear that more often."
"I'll wear it to weddings." She smiled. Since they had been talking in writing
about reality, they could be much more open in private. He even smiled back
at her. "Did Rom make it all the way through?"
"He was nervous. I wasn't real close, and I couldn't really tell what was going
on. I've never seen a Bajoran wedding before."
He looked at her reflectively. "I'm familiar with the one when you break up."
She must have looked puzzled since he explained. "Leeta was my girlfriend for
a while."
She sat in a small chair she'd brought inside. "I wish you could go. It's so
different. The music is so wonderful."
He shifted in his bed. "Tell me about it."
She started with the crowd, dressed so carefully, and remembered as much of
the wedding as she could. He closed his eyes, listening as she described the
way the music filled the square with a special magic.
"I can hear it a little," he said softly. She remembered how his parents had
had him "fixed".
After she'd talked a little, he had his dinner. "This is good. I want more," he
said, finishing a bite. He looked at her, and his leg. "If they'd waited a month
I might have been there. Did you know it itches now?"
"That's good. It's healing well." Tonight someone would check it again, and
she would read the file. But now wasn't the time for that. Now was the time
for friendship and celebration.
"You don't have to put up with the itching." He stuffed another heaping bite in
his mouth and looked at her again. When he'd finished he smiled. "You really
should wear that dress more often. You'd certainly cheer up some of your
patients." He looked away with a sudden dark look. "You should go back to
the party. I'll just imagine how beautiful is."
She wanted to go. She wanted to hear the music and watch the dancers. The
bridal couple were undoubtedly already gone, but the party would go on all
night with curfew officially lifted for the occasion. But she wanted him to
know that there was more than gritty grey sand on Cyrus, even if not much.
"If you'd like to rest," she said. He had finished and made himself as
comfortable as he could. "When you can walk, I want to take you to a little
cove. It's near the main source of the casaba leaves, and it only stands to
reason you should have to replenish our supply, you used so much of it."
He studied her face. "Walking isn't one of the things I'm looking forward to
doing. But I'll try if you'd like to show me."
She smiled. "I'm considering this a promise."
"Have a good time", he said.
She opened the curtains, and he picked up his book. Walking down the
pathway to the square, still filled with music and people, she disappeared into
the crowd. For one night, she would be just Lonnie and pretend that there
was something to celebrate.
*****
Not everyone had attended the party. Walter Vance sat in the small room he'd
been condemned to live in, crammed with personal possessions, and listened
bitterly to the echos of the celebration. He might have gone if it were not for
Sisko, but that he was performing the wedding made it impossible. He hated
Sisko, especially what he had become. Vance hated the Dominion as well, but
they were still distant. Sisko, who met with the Vorta and carried out their
policy, was not. His loss of the project had gone from grief to bitterness, and
Sisko was the only visible target.
Carefully snubbing the celebration, he spent the entire day in the hot, stuffy
room, avoiding even his housemate as he prepared to attend the wedding.
He wished the music was not so loud. It was hard not to listen to it. He'd
tried to read a book but couldn't concentrate.
Someone was at the door. He had left his own room and was reading in the
central part of the shelter. He was surprised to find Willman standing there.
"Mind if I come in?" Willman asked. He was holding a covered plate. "I hope
you like the flavor."
Walter had intended to boycott the entire event, including the food, but he
didn't like being hungry. He took the plate and Willman followed him inside
uninvited. Vance wished he'd leave but knew that Willman wasn't going until
he'd gotten what he wanted.
Uncovering the food, he poked at it a little. "Different. Who came up with this
idea?"
"Somebody on the food crew. It's a big enough hit it may become a regular
event of sorts." Willman watched as Vance ate, trying not to look as if he was
enjoying it.
Willman let him finish before he stared in. "Do you know how petty this
makes you look? There are a lot of bad feelings out there, but today they were
left at home. I know people were looking for you. But you had pout like
spoiled child."
Vance carefully wiped his mouth and handed Willman the plate. Unperturbed
by the tone he stared at the doctor. "I will not sell my soul to the demons."
Willman looked at him coolly. "Come off it, Walter. You've played politics
enough to know what's going on. Do you think Sisko likes what he has to do?
Do think I like the rules I gave my staff? Do you think people are really as
complacent as they look? But what else are we supposed to do?"
Vance gave him a piercing look of disdain. "I've heard about you and Sisko.
You're his friend now. Your staff is afraid of you. I didn't think you'd sell
yourself to them this easy."
Willman looked only mildly annoyed. "I spent two years as a Cardassian
prisoner. They were much more open about what we were, but this isn't much
different. I was allowed to be a doctor, with only the most primitive of
supplies, but I saved lives. But that was the Cardassians. These people don't
let their prisoners have medical treatment. They didn't have to send supplies
for the hospital. But I was willing to give up my pride and let them feel
superior if it got me what I needed. The people I save are worth it. Face it,
Walter, they make the rules. We can go along with them or starve. You don't
look like your fasting in protest."
Vance, still perfectly composed, answered, "But I'm not *helping* them either.
Everybody's heard about those rules you have and how your staff is as afraid
of you as the Vorta." He finished with a cold stare at Willman.
"I don't expect you to understand," said Willman just as coldly. "None of you
understand." He sat on Vance's couch, his demeanor suddenly serious and
worried. "This is just the beginning. They want something, or things would be
a lot different. This is just games now. When they get tired of the games, my
rules will seem like child's play."
"You mean we should be good little slaves, do as we're told and hope to get a
nice reward at the end of the year. Or are you waiting for the Federation to
rescue you again." Vance let out all the bitterness inside.
Willman looked at him, impatient. "No, I don't expect to be rescued. Not this
time. I expect that it's going to get a good deal worse than it is now.
Eventually they'll get their excuse to show what they can do to us." He shifted
in the chair, his face tense and grim. "Your attitude will just bring us to that
day a lot sooner." He stared at Vance. "You need to stop this now. Go to
Sisko, offer to help. Certain people still follow you. Set a better example."
"I *am* setting a good example," spit out Vance.
Willman did not react. Staring at him, the doctor was very coldly. "You
swallowed your pride for your precious project lots of times. Now you need to
do it for the sake of everyone here."
Vance was insulted. "I do not ask you to quit your job. I simply don't choose
to take one myself."
"I'm not suggesting you do. But you don't have to work a staff job to influence
people. You sit here being so high and mighty that certain types out there
might get ideas. When they stop sending food and you start to starve, I hope
you remember that."
"Then they do," said Walter.
Willman was silent for a moment. "Have you ever seen someone you knew
killed in front of you? I have. It hadn't been long after we'd been captured and
they were playing games with us. One of our people, Chandler was his name,
just froze up. He was scared, but he just flatly refused an order. I don't know
if it was panic once he'd done it or he was trying to make some point, but he
couldn't move. They dragged him away and dumped him in front of us. Then
they beat him to death."
For a moment, Willman looked lost, and Walter felt a chill, remembering the
look in his eyes that other time.
Willman said, very quietly, "I don't want you to be our Chandler."
Vance stared at him. "I honor this man. You have no idea what I believe.
Please leave my home."
Willman stood but didn't leave. "I don't think you know what they can do. Or
will do. All I ask is you be careful."
Vance took a piece of paper and started writing. When he finished he handed
it to Willman. "I don't think this matters much anymore. But with it I
officially disavow any ties with you and yours." He glared at Willman, who
read his resignation as Director of Cyrus. Willman shook his head and left,
closing the door softly.
Walter sat in his empty room, staring at the door. He would not sell himself.
But he knew Willman was right about Them. Outside, the sounds of a
meaningless celebration drifted into the room, but Walter shut it out.
He would not bend. He would not soil himself with a lie. But for the first
time, he was suddenly and terribly afraid.
*****
By afternoon, the Recovery building was uncomfortably warm. They had tried
to cool it by installing a fan, but it only helped so much. His leg itched
constantly in the heat. Miles sat next to him, the drawn curtains making it
worse, and talked. Miles came to visit when he could, usually at least once a
week, and Julian was glad for the company. But lately, he had spent most of
his time talking about things which didn't mean much to Julian.
Everyone had noticed the small pin on Miles's collar. It was the same as
Willman wore. Since they had split departments, Miles always looked tired
and harassed. Julian watched him as he talked, listening but not really
understanding. He rambled on about the paperwork, and the completely
inflexible rules. Julian only half_heard him, wondering how long it would be
until his next medication and a blessed relief from the itching for a few hours.
"They think we have some sort of power," mused Miles, thinking aloud. "But
really all we do is work by the rules. It's not easy sometimes. We have this
project I have to announce soon. I had a lot of better ideas than the winners
but they would take too many variances. I don't even want to ask about
them. But you'll learn about that soon enough."
Bashir looked up. He almost asked Miles how he had learned to cope with it.
He was no longer the same Miles O'Brien Julian remembered. He didn't want
to find that everyone had changed that drastically. He didn't want to become
like Miles.
There were so many questions that needed to be asked. But Julian could not
find the words to form them. It would make it too real, and he didn't know if
Miles could really answer them anyway. Miles must have noticed how
uncomfortable he was because he changed the subject. "It's been pretty hot
lately. They say it gets real muggy later in the summer. You should be out of
here by then."
Julian was still only half listening. His leg was driving him crazy. "If I don't
tear this open before then just to stop the itching."
Miles halfway smiled. "At least it keeps you from being bored." Julian glared
at him, only half_playfully. "I couldn't stand this, myself." His voice grew
quiet. "No matter how bad the job is, it's better than having too much time to
think."
Julian became serious, "There's been no word?"
Miles shook his head. "Nothing. We're so cut off all we get is what they want
us to know, no way to tell if they're lying or not.
"What about the rumors we've heard about the Federation colony?" asked
Julian carefully, worried the conversation was taking a wrong turn but
curious, none the less.
"Leaks from Sisko's office. I hear a lot of them from my staff since they eat
lunch with his."
"So, it's true?" asked Julian.
"Some of it. Leaks tend to get creative along the way. I don't think anyone's
squashing this one since it's serving a purpose." Miles was beginning to
sound cautious. Julian had heard the rumor of a Federation colony that had
not surrendered, and been ripped apart by the Jem'Hadar. Neither of them
would have been surprised if it was true. But it had worried a lot of people
who didn't know as much about the Jem'Hadar as they did.
A nurse arrived, tapping on the curtain, and Julian looked relieved. Miles
checked the time. "I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Jadzia for lunch."
Julian nodded. "Well, don't be late. You'd never hear the end of it." He was
looking at the nurse when he said it, waiting for Miles to leave so the itching
would stop, but looked up in time to catch the sudden grief that passed
through his friend. Miles looked utterly lost for a moment, before muttering,
"Yeah, I know." Julian watched as he disappeared, wondering how hard it
would be to leave this place and go into the world that was destroying his
friends.
*****
Jadzia was waiting for him, several reports in hand, and their food. It was
soup again, always soup, but they had made it very thick and seasoned it well.
Or, he thought, Jadzia had. She tended to do her own and shared it with her
lunch guests. They had taken to comparing their supply use reports
informally at a meal to make sure all the figures matched. Even a slight
discrepancy could delay the monthly supply shipments. The stored supplies
in the warehouse were only for emergencies. They pushed the food aside for a
few minutes, and compared the main figures. As everything matched, and
they went back to their food. He looked around for her small pot but didn't
see it. Seconds wouldn't be available until dinner.
"If this is from there," he said, nodding towards the server, "you did a real good
job today."
"We picked up some new people for the crew. I had Ben recommend some
good questions to ask. I guess it paid off."
"I'll be sure to show up personally tonight. Never get seconds when the staff
brings dinner."
She paused, taking a breath. "How is Julian doing?" She wore a peculiar
expression.
The question surprised him. He usually mentioned their friend, but she had
never asked before. "His leg itches. I guess that's a good sign." He looked at
her, and the people sitting, eating, being careful what they said. "It's going to
be hard for him, though. He's not going to have any way of easing his way in.
And he's got Willman to deal with."
She nodded. "He'll manage. He won't like it, but he'll get used to it. Willman
will make sure there's nothing to be confused about, at least."
Miles watched her play with Worf's ring again, and was surprised by the lack
of sympathy. "You haven't seen him in a long time."
"I . . . can't. I just can't go in there." She was afraid. She avoided going near
the hospital at all. But this was the first time he'd heard any fear. "When will
you be announcing the new projects?"
The shift in mood was instantaneous. He wondered how much she hid behind
her calm facade. "Very soon. You may even have more volunteers then."
They sat for while longer, just talking, and yet Miles could not get the glimpse
of terror he had seen out of his mind.
*****
Justin studied the vial containing a small amount of the planet's soil, and
then his friend. The soil had fused itself into a dark granular chunk, and with
care a small piece had been broken off. The initial test had been done a
month before, and the small chunk was placed in a chemical solution in which
it began to dissolve. As the chemicals broke down, they changed color. At the
same time, a piece of a core from the most recent terraforming of the same age
was tested. They watched as the colors in the two dishes turned an identical
color. Justin and Jaro stared at the two vials, until the chemical reactions
had finished and they were sure.
"We did it." Jaro shook his head, in disbelief. In the first 20 samples they had
hit upon a formula that worked, and would make the grey soils of this planet
productive. Neither of them had anticipated that. It might have taken years,
but for Justin's sudden inspiration. Even then, neither expected to discover
the answer so soon.
Justin's heart was pounding. The excitement was enormous. But he'd never
really liked living on the edge, and he knew that this could lead to victory or
disaster.
Jaro was ready to celebrate. "The Prophets must be with us," he said.
Justin was more cautious. "We may have. These chemical tests are not
entirely conclusive. We have to run a larger test." There was silence as reality
sunk in. "I believe it will have to be done in secret. The climate isn't yet right
to approach anyone about our research." Despite his caution, Justin spoke
softly, and carefully, stunned by the results of the test. It had taken literally
years before. He was not prepared for this to happen so soon.
Jaro was plainly worried. "How do you propose to do any kind of test right
now. How would we dispense the chemicals into the test area?"
Justin sighed. "I have what we need. It's getting it out without looking
suspicious. One, at most two of the dispensers are all we'll need. We can mix
the chemicals on site. But we must have a reason to go out towards the
mountains that will be believed."
Jaro was disappointed. "You told me not to believe rumors. I didn't."
"Be glad they were true. We do a little test. Just a small patch will verify it
works. The machines don't put out an em signature. We'll just have to be
careful. We aren't forbidden to go into that area...we just have to have a good
reason, and be back by dusk."
Jaro was still suspicious, but kept looking at the vial. "The risk is still very
great. Something tells me that no matter how much we want to try it, it just
isn't worth it."
Justin stared at the dishes, the colors still bright and glowing. "I will do it
myself if need be. But I should appreciate your help. Listen, Jaro, this is a
time to take that leap of faith your people speak of. If your Prophets didn't
want us to succeed, why have such extraordinary things blessed our efforts?"
He could tell Jaro wanted to do it. He could do it himself, but it would be
considerably harder and more risky.
"Well, perhaps, " said Jaro, hesitating with each word. "We might do it here.
We could mix the chemicals. Must we use one of your machines to dispense
the fluids?"
Justin considered the idea and dismissed it immediately. "Where would we do
it? We can't dig a hole in plain view. And the chemical composition of this
area is quite different with all the habitation. We want something that can
transform the lifeless grit out there, so we have to *go* there to do it."
Jaro still wasn't ready to accept the idea. "I suppose your right about that.
But, we could have a legitimate reason to go to the hinterlands *and* bring
back enough of the ground to test. We just have to say we're experimenting
with fertilizers and other things to see if we can get anything to grow in it. It
would even be a good idea. We can make this place a garden, but not now. If
we could plant the ground *now* with something that would feed us, it would
buy us time."
Justin thought about it. "The native plants grow in this soil. Perhaps some of
them are edible. We might use that idea, and then we'd still have something
to do while we waited on the other." He wrinkled his nose. The smell from the
sample they'd treated was giving him a headache. "And we couldn't keep a
test here a secret. The smell is too strong."
Jaro coughed a little. "Yes. I hadn't considered that. But we should do the
plant survey. We must get official permission and all of that. It could be a
greater salvation than the other. *That* could be what the Prophets need us to
do."
Justin had heard enough of the Prophets for now. Jaro was still wavering but
before the time came, he'd change his mind. And if they'd had such luck on
one thing, perhaps Jaro's gods were right. Nobody'd really tried to research
the native plants. Who knew what they'd find.
"Yes, I'll write it up today. I know a pathway that leads through the best area
for both.'
Jaro stared at the dishes. "You're sure we can do this without discovery?"
"Quite sure," he said. He hoped it was true.
Jaro no longer looked as if he was in a mood to celebrate. But he touched the
vial with the lab test, looking away from Justin. "I must know. I only hope
this is not a terrible mistake."
Justin was already composing the proposal in his head that he'd present at
Sisko's next meeting. He didn't want it just on paper. He wanted it to be very
public. "Dreams are never mistakes."
Jaro still wasn't sure. He stared at the dishes and test, his look wary. Justin
wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded either, but nothing else mattered but
finding out. His eyes were watering and his throat was starting to hurt from
the fumes. "Well, before we make ourselves sick we should get this taken care
of," he said.
They resealed the core, hiding it in a container that made it look like all the
others. The dishes were disposed of along with the tests they'd done for other,
legal things. In a sealed container, nobody would know. The windows were
opened and the fans blew in fresh air.
They both had headaches, and a slight cough. Justin intended to make sure
there was always ventilation from now on.
But his life had turned a corner and the gloom all around him was gone. If
only Walter could know, but he didn't talk to Walter anymore.
*****
Julian looked forward to Lonnie's visits. Recovery was half empty and his best
friends had already gone. Her visits were the one dependable distraction in
his life. She didn't smile much, but they shared more than the words they
spoke. If there was something really wrong, they could still speak of it in a
letter.
She brought her lunch to share with him. Even if the food was motonous, the
company was welcome. He suspected it was same for her.
That day, the summer sun streaming in the skylight, she arrived holding a
thick folder. She left it on his bed and went to get their lunch, but something
was wrong. When she arrived back with the food, she just sat and stared at it.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"That," she said, pointing at the folder. "Dr. Willman has some rules I need to
discuss with you." She picked up her food and began eating, but
mechanically. It occurred to him she hadn't referred to him as Willy for a long
time.
He picked up the folder and read the label stuck on the front. It said, "Staff
Regulations". Opening it, he studied the first page. "Somehow I don't think
I'm going to like this," he said. She sipped her lunch while he looked through
the folder. "So these are Willman's rules." She nodded. He continued flipping
through the report. It looked complicated. Closing it up he took his bowl, and
took his time to eat. He didn't want to hear all the rules and he could tell she
didn't want to have to be responsible for telling him.
He wondered why Willman hadn't done it himself. But then, he didn't deal
personally with his staff anymore.
There was only so much stalling that could be done, however. Both had
finished lunch. He picked up the folder and handed it to her. "You might as
well get it over with," he said resigned.
Lonnie went through it, explaining the essence of the structure of authority
Willman had created. He didn't have a problem with that. It wasn't much
different than that at any military hospital. Before, when they hadn't had the
Dominion there, it had been much different for Willman and his staff. He
could tell Lonnie still missed that.
But Willman had gone beyond standard military rules. His own code of
conduct was very strict, and he enforced it. That part wouldn't be so simple to
live with. He himself had never been good at following the rules to the letter.
But Willman would demand he did.
Lonnie put down the folder and closed it. "I don't have to read these. We all
know them by heart." She sighed. "They are really rather simple. Let's see.
Staff will not complain. This means about your quarters, your schedule, the
food, your supervisor, the weather, Dr. Willman _ or this place. If you can
find a private way to talk," she shrugged, "but don't let it get back to him. The
second rule is do what you're told. Especially, no end runs around your
supervisor. And no creative alterations of rules. He especially doesn't like
that." She looked at him, very seriously. "That is the essence of it. You can
read all the details. This is yours," she said, indicating the folder. "And you
have to understand one other thing. He means it. He doesn't want to hear
any complaints. He doesn't want to be challenged. And he does have the
authority to enforce it."
He watched her face, so intent on his. It sounded excessive, and it worried
him. "Is it justified?" he asked.
"I don't know. He believes it is and he won't give an inch. I think he's going to
make us both chief aides. You'll have to watch yourself."
He studied her face, and saw she was worried about him. He was too. He
looked at his leg, still in its brace, actually grateful for its slow healing for the
first time. "I guess I have some time to think about it at least."
"Some," she said. She smiled, but it wasn't much of a smile.
She stayed for a while. But the others had heard despite the curtains, and
there was too much silence outside. Neither could think of anything to say.
"I guess I should go," she finally said.
"Probably," he replied.
He almost read the rest of the folder, but decided to wait a little. His leg
wasn't healing as quickly as Willman had hoped. He'd have time.
Instead, he picked up his book. Cyrus had had a large database of fiction, and
he was making his way through the spy stories. For the rest of the afternoon,
he'd worry about someone else's life but his.
*****
A few weeks before, Miles had had the task of announcing the two new
projects. Sisko had given him the job in keeping with their new structure of
authority. Miles was on the first layer under Sisko, and it was his
responsibility to find something for people to do. So, since he'd come up with
the projects, he could make the speech about them too.
He didn't like speeches. He'd much rather have been buried in a pile of
reports than have to give one. But he'd made it as quick and informal as he
could. Then he'd fled to the safety of his office and the mound that never
stopped.
The first had been a given. The channel they were digging around the deck
had been going on since the beginning, but in fits and starts. When they had
the machines it had gone faster. But since it had slowed considerably. When
the weather was better, it was easy to get volunteers. But when it was cold or
rainy, hardly anyone showed up. Those who did so took away a measure of
control, having made the choice themselves. But it had to be done before the
winter snows and icy temperatures made it impossible to finish. It was that or
be inundated in mud the next spring.
It was different now, organized and proceeding. People applied to work there.
There was no requirement that they had to, but still many did. Instead of
coming and going at will, they got assigned to shifts. The channel was moving
along much faster than it had, but somehow Miles thought something had
been lost. Now, this big ditch they'd started digging to help themselves was
just as official as all the rest. The diggers got to go home tired and feeling
useful, but that little magical sense of control had vanished.
He almost wished they'd been able to leave it alone. But he saw the way
things were. Nothing here would be allowed to continue if it bore a hint of
freedom. The Dominion could control with the thump of Jem'Hadar boots, and
the people who survived would learn to behave. Or they could do like they had
on Cyrus, exert a control so subtle that hardly anyone noticed how complete it
was. Sometimes he went to bed hoping that on Bajor they'd been as delicate
about things. There were worse places to live on that side of the border than
Cyrus.
Sometimes he watched as they dug out the grey soil. It was being piled into
sandbags, to be lined along the side of the ditch before winter set in. It was
hoped that the sandbags would deter some of the mud if the ditch overflowed.
And it gave more work for those who wanted it.
The other project was tricker, but even more necessary. Their source of water
was the river, and when only the original population had lived there, the
existing system was sufficient. But now there were so many more people, and
the river ran right next to where they lived.
They'd tried to keep the water clean. They'd run pipes as far away as they
could for waste, and yet as much care as they took, it was growing murkier
near their homes. The second project broke the rules; it required small teams
to go past the mountains and divert a small stream into a large pipe. From
there, a series of pipes would be set up to connect to the new housing units
they were building. Before the end of summer it would be done. Everyone was
eagerly awaiting its completion.
There had been a lot of interest in that project, but it took only a small crew.
And that crew had to be approved after an investigation of sorts, given that
they would be going into territory which was technically off limits. The
resulting crew had all come from the station, although a few of Vance's old
staff had applied. But they'd already resigned in protest and were not
considered trustworthy enough to take the risk.
Another crew was setting up the piping system on the platforms, but that one
hadn't had as large a response. But they were making a visible mess as the
pipes were set in the grey soil.
Miles scribbled down a quick report on the day's progress. At the end of the
week he'd summarize it all in a report. The projects were for their own people,
but like everything else all the details had to go to Them.
He thought about the mud channel and how it had meant so much more.
He'd taken that away. But then he pulled out a small baby toy from his coat
pocket. Was Kirioshi getting enough food? Was he very small like so many of
the little ones on Bajor following the Cardassian's departure? Would he be one
of those quiet, haunted children Miles had seen too much of before his father
found a way to bring him home?
*****
Sisko had been stuck in his office all day, obligated by various meetings to
miss his daily walk. But it was later in the afternoon, and all that was done.
The residual heat of the early day made the office stuffy, and the windows
didn't let in enough of a breeze. He closed his inner office door, told his aide
he'd be back and set off on his walk.
He was on his way back, taking his time, when he noticed Vance approaching.
It was the first time he had seen the man in months. Vance had stopped,
staring. Sisko, feeling uncomfortable, tried to keep things calm.
"Mr. Vance, is there a problem?" he asked as neutrally as possible.
Vance continued to stare. "I'm sorry," he said slowly, with disdain, "but I don't
have conversations with collaborators."
Sisko stopped dead, taken by surprise. After a minute, still shaken, he said
carefully, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Vance."
Vance was still staring. Sisko moved closer, watching the former director of
the colony as he stared. The word deeply hurt. He wanted to walk away, but
he couldn't. He had to defend himself.
Vance looked away, checking the time. "Excuse me, Captain, but I need to get
home."
Sisko knew that he should let him go, and not make the incident any worse.
But deep inside an anger was building, and Walter Vance was the only
convenient target. He came closer, standing only steps away from Vance,
staring himself now.
"You don't approve, I know," he said slowly, anger sharpening his tone. "But
I'd like to know what suggestions you have. We are being left alone. The only
contacts we've had in the last months have been because we made a special
request, and all of them have been granted, I might add. I'd like to know how
you think we are going to eat without cooperating with them. I'd like to know
if you've thought of a way to get off of this planet. Mr. Vance, when you come
up with something of a more practical nature I'd be happy to listen to you.
But until you do, please don't make judgements about things you know
nothing about."
Vance looked up at him, sadly. "I pity you, Captain. You just don't get it.
Now, may I leave?"
Vance kept staring, anger tinged with pity. Sisko moved out of the way and
Vance continued on, hurrying past Sisko and the entire complex of offices.
Sisko continued walking, slowly this time, staring straight ahead. No matter
what Vance had said, he did understand. He had taken the position because
he had to; he'd chosen to bring his people here. He would pay the price alone.
He'd been forced to compromise his friends because he could trust them,
But what he'd said to Vance in anger was also true. They didn't have an
alternative. He knew, when he looked at the Vorta, that one false move on
their part and that smile would no longer be so pleasant, the orders would no
longer be couched in polite requests. No one liked the way life was, but he
knew it could be made so much worse, so easily. Vance would never
understand this.
But it would not have hurt so much to hear the word if it did not have a truth
to it. He hated what he was doing, but it was his choice. He could not go
back into his office yet. He couldn't stand to look at the reports that went to
Them. He was allowing Them to use him as a personal pawn, but built a
shield around the reality. It was a little too real then, and he was angry at
Vance for reminding him of it.
He kept walking, heading further away from people and especially from the
cluster of buildings where the illusion of control was allowed to flourish.
He crossed the bridge that led to the small field and studied the contrast. One
side was green and plush, the field growing a lush crop. The other was dark
and solid, with a fuzzy greenish covering of native plants. It was not yet soil,
but had gone far beyond the grey broken rocks that surrounded it. It was in
transition, as the people it was meant to help feed were. He knew what it was
to become, but feared for his people. They had some greater use for Cyrus
than this.
He was still angry at Vance, and sitting in the shade of a crevice overlooking
the field, allowed his anger to turn towards Them. He stared at the field,
hating both Them and himself for what he was doing, knowing that he would
do the same if he had to chose again.
*****
A week after deciding to perform the test, on the pretense of surveying the
native plants for useful ones, Justin Blanchard and Tarlan Jaro had set off
toward the mountains at dawn. Along the way they did collect native plant
species, to avoid suspicion, but Justin led them along a clear path that led
towards the mountains where the caves were to be found.
They had gathered nearly half of the sample bags by the time they reached the
caves. Jaro followed Justin into the carefully concealed opening to the cave
and stopped. "You wouldn't even know this was here." He was awed by the
cave walls. The rock had strands of odd colored minerals, and the normal grey
stone that littered the planet was dark grey and hard. A bit of light filtered
down from somewhere above. It was beautiful.
Justin had hardly noticed the display of light and color. He had been busy
working a control hidden in a crevice. Suddenly, a smaller cave, behind them,
became visible when lights came on deeper in the system of caverns.
Jaro stared at the light and followed Justin as he moved through the small
cave to the largest one which lay beyond.
He was stunned. Around him were neatly arranged lines of machines, from
the smallest mixers to the largest of the deep injection models. And sitting in
the back was a replicator. Jaro stared at it, suddenly deeply disturbed. All of
this was contraband, even if it did not explicitly fit the description they had
been given. No matter how successful or helpful their experiment, he knew
the overlords above would not forgive a violation of this degree. The only thing
missing were the large cookers. This room would mean death for anyone who
knew of it.
Justin was looking around the cave. "We have everything we need to remake
this planet, if we're successful. We won't even need the big machines. This is
working out perfectly."
Jaro stared at the replicator. "How did they miss that?"
"It wasn't officially here." He moved toward the smaller dispensers, picking out
one near the edge. "This one should do. Let's hurry and get this out."
Jaro helped him carry the empty machine towards the first cave. Something
bothered him. "How did they miss this? They scanned the whole area."
Justin pointed towards the blue_green streaks in the grey stone. "You can't
scan thought that. Willman discovered these caves a long time ago."
A sudden thought paralyzed him. "Does he suspect? If he knows about these
caves . . . ."
Justin hurried back into the larger cave, returning with several small
containers Jaro recognized as the chemicals. He set them down carefully.
They started mixing the chemical soup that would do the work of the large,
bulky cookers. Jaro started coughing a little, and wished they'd finish soon.
The chemicals were very concentrated, and would be mixed with water from
the little trickle of a stream that passed through the cave. But the smell was
already horrible.
To distract himself from the fumes, he asked, point blank, "Does Willman
know about this place?".
Justin shrugged, "I'm fairly sure Willman has never seen this one."
They carried the dispenser and the chemicals outside, the chemicals inside
specimen gathering bags. It was buried in a pile of rocks along with the
chemicals. There were no small animals to chew through the containers, nor
any larger ones to dislodge the rocks. As long as they didn't call attention to
themselves, the hidden materials should be quite safe.
They took another pathway back through the rolling hills, gathering different
specimens, and arrived back well before dusk, nothing suspicious about their
journey. They would spend the next week analyzing the plants for possible
uses, and perhaps in a month would need to make another trip to gather more
of the most promising of them. It would all be fine, Jaro told himself. He
could not dismiss the sense of foreboding he felt, but it could not compete with
the absolute need to know if they were right.
*****
A little before dark, Sisko had returned to his office. Morris was still busy,
finishing up a few reports after an early dinner. Sisko had not even looked at
him, and closed the door to his office as soon as he entered, clearly upset.
Morris was still there, a little later, when Dax knocked. He let her in. "Is he
still here?" she asked.
"Yes. In his office, but . . . . "
She looked him in the eyes. "But what? Is there a problem?"
Morris shrugged. "He looked upset. He usually doesn't want to be disturbed
when he's upset."
"Then he definitely needs to be bothered," she said. "He didn't make dinner,
anyway." Besides the small file she was holding, she had a plate of food.
"Why don't you go home now, Randy. You can finish those in the morning."
Morris knew when to leave, and went home.
*****
Jadzia watched Morris hurry away, then closed the door. She crossed the
room and lightly tapped on Sisko's door. He didn't answer so she opened it.
He had shoved the papers on his desk onto the floor and was trying to sort
them out, looking embarrassed. But he relaxed when he saw who it was.
She sat the plate on a clear spot on his desk. "My crew worked hard on this.
Eat it while it's still warm."
He gave up on the mess, and sat down. They had made the steaks again. He
took a bite. "My compliments. You ought to do this more often." But he
sounded depressed.
"Already promised to. Ben, what's wrong?"
Sisko shrugged. "Vance. I ran into him today. He told me what he thought of
us." His voice dragged. She knew he had already been thinking about it. He
methodically ate his dinner.
"I'll bet he didn't mince words either." She had been picking up the scattered
papers, and finishing the last stack, had sat down.
"No. He was rather blunt."
"What did he say?" she asked, watching him stare at the wall. He didn't
answer, but nibbled on the last of his dinner.
"Guess." He mumbled the word, still lost in thought.
"I can, but I want you to say it." She watched him as he nearly knocked the
collected papers on the floor again.
"He called me a collaborator." He said it softly, taking a deep breath first.
"He's right, you know," she said neutrally.
"I know," he whispered. This time he did shove the smallest stack of files on
the floor, the monthly use reports, watching them scatter. "But if Vance had
his way the Jem'Hadar would be here. I'm not sure there was ever really a
choice. The Vorta made sure I understood he wanted me. And I did bring our
people here."
"I thought Barrett did. It was the closest stop we could make. It happened
that way, Ben. None of the colonies in the area are very big. It would be the
same if we hadn't come here. It's not your fault."
"But I'm still responsible." He was no longer mumbling. He was angry, at
Them, but mostly himself. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there
and listen to the Vorta, making it all sound so natural. He has this smile. I
can see him ordering the Jem'Hadar to tear this place apart with the same
smile. And I keep wondering what they really want from us. I can't escape the
feeling that we're being set up for something they have had in mind all along."
Jadzia had gone very quiet. Her sudden change in mood distracted him and
for a moment he forgot how angry he was. "Something bad is coming. I don't
know when. But I know some of us aren't going to survive it. I could feel it
that day, at the hospital, feel death waiting." She looked up at him, trying to
make him understand. He just looked confused and worried.
"Then why are we doing this," he said, pointing at the scattered reports, "if it
won't matter."
"Because it does. Look, Ben. You're not Willman and not Vance. Vance
would have us refuse to cooperate at all. Willman would have a curfew and
extend his infamous rules to everyone. You are trying to do your best in a very
bad situation. You're following your instincts. That is all you can do right
now." She watched him closely, their eyes locked.
He looked away, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you, Old Man. But it doesn't make
me feel any better."
"Nothing will. You are going to have to live with that."
He nodded. "I know. But it did help to talk. If you'd like to come some other
evening and talk a bit more . . . You need to tell me about this . . . feeling you
have."
She nodded. "If I can." She had gathered up the scattered reports and
restacked them. Sisko had picked up a pile of papers to sort. She picked up
another. They worked for several more hours, quietly sorting the papers, and
for a few moments let his burst of anger remind them that there is always a
cost, and sometimes you have to pay it.
*****
End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 3, Chapter 13