LEGACY
An Alternative History of the Dominion War
Year 1
Part 2 _ Transience
Chapter 7
There was a line. Miles waited grimly, like the others, for the exchange. He
was already wearing civilian clothing; his uniform and assorted pins were in a
bag. In another was what was left of Julian's, who wouldn't be needing the
new clothes for a while. At least he was better, the fever almost gone, and
receiving medication for the pain.
The line slowly shuffled forward, tempers building. There had been several
fights, broken up by evacuated station security personal.
The heat, the rations, and the lack of privacy had already taken their toll.
Despite Garnet's sympathies, the rather distant detachment of the transition
team didn't help. Granted, it wasn't a very happy job. But it made them feel
like their lives were already out of their own control.
Eventually, it was his turn. He gave the crisply dressed young ensign his
bundles and waited. The ensign avoided looking at him. "Miles Edward
O'Brien?" asked the clerk?
"Yeah," said Miles, putting his hand on the screening device to prove who he
was.
"This one's yours," said the young man, accidentally glancing at Miles. He
didn't look any happier than the people in the line. Miles guessed he would
rather be nearly anywhere else than on the wrong side of the truce line.
"These are for a Julian Bashir?"
"Yeah. He's in the hospital".
The officious young man disappeared for a moment, reappearing with another
bundle. "It checks. You have to sign for it."
Miles signed his name at the bottom of the form and again put his hand on the
screen.
It was done. The clerk motioned him out of the way without a word, looking
beyond Miles and his bundles. Then the ensign called out, loudly and officially,
"Next," as Miles stumbled along with his load.
*****
It was a scene out of the wrong century, thought Miles, watching the sprawling
hospital area made up of any shelter they could find. He was heading towards
the main building area where Julian was still housed, along with more serious
cases.
A nurse waylaid him. "Just a few minutes. His cleaning was just finished."
He nodded and slowly made his way to where Julian lay on the flat cot, his legs
and hips immobilized so they would not move.
He lay with his head to the side, jaw clenched. His eyes opened at the noise of
Miles arrival, the pain evident.
"I could come back later," said Miles.
"It fades," said Bashir through clenched teeth. His eyes closed and an
involuntary groan escaped as a wave of pain hit. A minute later he added,
"eventually."
"Aren't you getting something for the pain?" asked Miles.
"Yes," said Julian with a feeble attempt at a smile. "It was better before. I just
fainted then."
Miles tried to think of something to say. "I got the clothes. The line took forever.
I stashed them with mine."
Julian turned his head away. "I hope they fit you. It will be over once they get
here," he whispered, grimly.
"You don't know that," said Miles as steadily as he could.
"Thanks for trying," said Julian bitterly. "I have to sleep now," he said, very
groggy, his latest dose of medicine kicking in.
Miles hoped it was enough to banish the nightmares.
*****
Lonnie spread the new clothes over her bed, sorting through them. Officially,
the original residents weren't entitled to packets, but Garnet didn't like that.
She'd heard from Willman that privately he had gotten the records from Vance,
and the colony staff found clothing packets waiting for them when they
returned to their quarters.
Garnet had done more he hadn't announced. A surprise supply of general
household items, minus the special electronics, had been replicated. He had
sent more food as well, mostly in dried form, something they could save. He
had ordered a large supply of antiquated medical equipment for the hospital.
Among the supplies, they found more crates labeled 'extra children's clothes'
for the children not yet born.
But the most touching act of kindness were the letters. There was one from
her parents, trying to express the pain in them without calling it pain. They did
not say goodbye. It would be too final to put it into words. But it was there,
written between every line. There was a sorrow to their words that made the
situation all the more real.
There was another, this one from a good friend who had gone into Starfleet. Its
tone was different, almost pleading. "I know you won't understand," he said,
"and probably believe that you are being abandoned. I hope they have told you
about us, about how many are dead, how many ships are gone. The truth is
they won't say it all. But we can't save you. If the war doesn't stop now we will
lose. I know the truth is hard to say and nobody official will, but it's you who
are saving us. I don't know what they will demand of you but I know it will be
hard. Try to remember that at least one of us is grateful to you and will not
forget. Feel free to share this letter with any others you wish. To all of you,
goodbye."
Lonnie sat on the bed among her new clothes, holding the second letter,
grieving for the world she thought she had run away from but desperately
wished she could see again.
*****
Before they left, it was hammered into his head that there could be no
deviations from the rules. This supply mission was being permitted to continue
unharmed because of that agreement. It meant they couldn't bring anyone
back with them.
Garnet looked at the man sitting across from him in his improvised office with
compassion. "Really, Mr. O'Brien, I do understand. I wish we could do
something for your friend. But that could jeopardize this entire operation. We
can't make exceptions."
He wouldn't give up easily. "It was less than a year ago. They held him in one of
their internment camps for over a month. They escaped. He's the only one left
here that was part of the escape, but he's expecting to be taken away when
they get here. I've tried to say something, but he's right. There really is no way
to tell. You can't do this. Starfleet can't do this."
Garnet hated his job at that moment. He hated what the Federation had done.
He hated having to be the instrument of that policy. Personally, he wished the
politicians and admirals who made the deal had to tell these people that they
were no longer deemed important. But he knew he could not get around that
part.
He looked the man in the eyes. He hadn't done that before. "I really wish I
could. If there was a way I could justify it I would, but there just isn't. This
isn't up to us anymore. If I took anyone back with me, we'd never get there.
It's that simple. I don't like doing this anymore than you do. But my answer
has to be no." His voice carried all the pain and hurt he felt. He hoped O'Brien
would come to respect it.
"I'm sorry I've bothered you, then," O'Brien mumbled. The anger was gone.
The sense of betrayal was still there, but no longer directed at Garnet. He
watched O'Brien as he left, hesitant and scared.
When he was gone, Garnet stared for a time at the door. He wasn't sorry that
Mr. O'Brien had come to plead his friend's case. At least he had gotten to tell
someone exactly what he thought of his orders.
When he got home, he'd make sure the letters were delivered with an extra note
from him. He didn't much care if Starfleet or the politicians minded. All he had
to remember was the pain in the man's face who had just left his office and the
fear for the friend he was trying to save.
*****
Jadzia had kept to herself since they arrived on the planet. She could not
push away the absolute conviction that she had lost Worf forever. She had lost
many loved ones in her multiple lives, mostly when her host changed, but this
was different. This had been beyond her control. This time it was as if he had
been simply torn away.
But then she had found a letter from Worf in her clothing packet. He had
fought in the battle to break the Dominion line, in hopes of freeing those
caught behind it. His first words were simple and abrupt. He did not say what
he could in private, but she could tell how bad it had been. He said goodbye.
He had stopped there, signing the letter. But later, he'd started again.
Worf was more complicated than any of the others imagined. He tried to be the
Klingon warrior he looked to be. But she had not pledged herself to him for
that. Underneath was a sea of feelings, and after he'd blurted out the truth, he
tried to say what he might have had the Dominion not separated them.
She honored him for the reality of his letter. She doubted many others had
been able to do that. But she loved him for the flowery, wonderful words about
what they shared she'd hold inside her forever.
She had lost lovers before, and learned to survive. With the memories of seven
lifetimes, she knew how hard it was to suddenly have someone taken away.
But this was not the same. Death had not separated them this time. She and
Worf were alive and she could not mourn for him. It was war, and they both
understood the chances of losing each other. Still, she sensed a frustration
despite the finality of Worf's goodbye. She knew he would think of her when
entering battle, and perhaps vow revenge. In his place she would do the same.
It would do no good, though. She knew, as they all did, that they had lost their
families and friends. All of them would work out their own grief, in their own
way, and would ultimately have to learn to lean on each other. These were the
people she had to be concerned with now, those who shared this gritty little
world.
That morning, while they had done a requested survey of supplies on hand,
Miles had mentioned Julian was feeling better.
"He can actually say three words in a row that make sense and stay awake to
hear a reply."
"It must be all that soup you're feeding him," she said.
Miles had looked surprised. It was the first spark of life he had seen in her in
weeks. "You know, I bet he'd enjoy seeing you. I'll ask Lonnie about a good
time for you to come."
"Who's this Lonnie?" asked Jadzia, very curious.
"Willman's assistant. She's been running interference for Julian since he talked
to her, apparently really scared her too. She actually ran one of Garnet's more
obnoxious people out of the hospital when he got unreasonable. Julian's
getting these treatments that knock him out sometimes. You have to pick when
he's feeling better. She knows his schedule."
"What about all that equipment they brought? Is this place so backwards
already that he has to go through all that pain?" She was angry about that.
She knew it was inevitable but it didn't help.
"Actually, Willman doesn't want him too fully recovered. He's hoping he won't
be too noticeable."
Jadzia hadn't said anything but Miles could tell she didn't understand.
"They are both afraid they'll take him back to that place he was held before.
Julian's convinced himself they will. Willman has an idea that if the Vorta in
charge of the area sees him as useful he could keep Julian here. Willman's
been around."
She nodded. "I hadn't considered that," she said thoughtfully. "You respect
Willman."
"He's thinking. Too many people aren't. At least we got you back."
She liked Miles and respected him, but would not unburden herself on him.
He was dealing with his own grief in his own way. "You know, Julian once
described this soup his mother used to make. Something unusual she did with
it. I wonder if the replicator could do it. Would you mind if I brought him his
dinner?"
"I think he's probably tired of looking at me by now."
*****
Jadzia hadn't been to the hospital before. She hadn't been out of her own small
quarters much. Everything about the place surprised her. The three weeks that
the others had spent learning to cope with the new world springing up around
them had been spent in a self-imposed isolation for her. Except for her job,
which she had dealt with distantly, she had not seen the changes.
But now she saw them all. Walking up the small hill that led to the hospital,
she dreaded what she would find there. Heading for the main building, soup
sloshing in its container, she paused. A sudden chill overcame her, and a
disorientation that she couldn't explain. It came and went in an instant, but in
its intensity it lived with her for the rest of her life.
*****
She didn't remember seeing Lonnie. But when she ask where he was in the sea
of cots she knew it was Willman's assistant that took her to a quiet corner
instead. "He's feeling a lot better, but he isn't very strong. Don't encourage him
to talk unless he wants to. Mostly he just likes someone being there."
Jadzia smiled at the nurse. "I've done this before. I'll just feed him his soup."
The nurse both amused and irritated her. She didn't need the pep talk. But the
way the nurse was carefully protecting him was extremely interesting.
"One other thing, he's been insisting on feeding himself. He gets upset if you
try to help. Just try to keep him from spilling too much of it on his bed. We're
short of supplies and it's very painful when we have to move him."
"I have it wrapped in a blanket. I'll put that down first." Jadzia smiled at the
nurse again, still on guard but a little more reassured. "I'm glad he has
someone to worry about him."
Lonnie blushed. Jadzia could tell she didn't appreciate it. "We will need
another doctor," she said calmly. But she was still blushing.
*****
Jadzia sat next to Julian's bed, fighting off a wave of claustrophobia that was,
at best, only lessened. Julian had managed almost half the soup by himself,
delighted by her surprise, but had faded suddenly and gone back to sleep. She
moved the food and waited for him to wake up again.
Still full of casualties from the crash, with patients still dying from injuries that
could not quite be treated, she was taken by the sense of miasma that had
come over the place. In the nine days since the crash, the death toll had risen
to seventy-five. Looking around the hospital with its look of something lost in
time, she was surprised so many had survived.
For those who lay in these cots it was still an uphill battle. Julian looked awful
for someone who was improving. None of the others were much better. She
wondered what would happen when the Dominion arrived and what little
equipment they had was taken. She wondered how many of those around her
would be dead.
Lonnie distracted her with a tap on the shoulder. "I don't think he's going to
wake up for a while," she said quietly. "Would you like to have a talk? I'm on
break."
Jadzia was curious, and very grateful to escape the room with its sense of
foreboding. She followed Lonnie out to a small table in a relatively secluded
spot. "How is he doing, really?"
Lonnie thought for a minute before answering. "He's alive, and if we can keep
the infection down he'll eventually recover. It's going to be a long haul, though."
"He looks pretty bad."
"You didn't see him last week. He looks a lot better than he did. Um, what I
wanted to ask you about was a letter. Do you know if he got one?"
"Mine was in with the clothes. I don't think anyone's opened his yet."
"His friend Miles has his things. If you could bring it I'll help him with his
reply."
Jadzia nodded, looking back towards the hospital with its cloud of death. "I'll
get him to bring it." She wanted to run back to her room and try to forget this
place.
"I'll make sure he gets the rest of his soup," said Lonnie. Jadzia could tell she
knew how hard it was to be in that room, and expected her to be stronger.
But the memory of that chill and the sudden shift in time was still too strong.
She'd sat by her friend and fed him soup, but none of it was real.
In that room she was walking on a grave. It wasn't his. She knew many there
might die, but it wasn't theirs either. She had the uncanny feeling that the
grave belonged to her.
It wasn't time, but it would come. She drew away from the place, from the
woman standing beside her, and the belief that she was doomed.
"I have to go," she said calmly. The nurse eyed her but said nothing. She made
her way out a side door, then around the small hill. Walking down the pathway
she felt nothing. She would someday return, but not now.
There were things to do. She had to write a letter to Worf and say goodbye. She
thought to herself that maybe it might be a little easier now.
*****
Sisko watched with the same neutral expression he had worn since the
transition team had arrived, but beneath it, where only he knew, he marveled
at the adaptability of people. They had been here less than a month, stuck
mostly in tents, but there was already a sense of belonging. Those obliged to
move their tents since building supplies would soon be covering their spot
looked annoyed. Those who were in the unused areas were almost smug.
The supplies materialized over the site in bunches. Vance came up beside him
and said nothing for a few minutes. "It sure looks like a lot."
"Or not much, if you consider," replied Sisko.
Vance stared grimly at the messy scattering of people and tents and supplies.
"Maybe we'll be lucky," he said.
Something in the tone alarmed Sisko. He didn't expect Vance to work with him
any longer than he had to, but hoped he wouldn't make things worse. Now
Sisko wasn't so sure about that.
"At least we'll have something to do when we're building," said Sisko carefully,
watching Vance.
"Um, yeah," he muttered. Then a look crossed his eyes, one of intense
bitterness but something else--revenge. "I'm sure we'll find other things to do
after that," he finished
Vance wandered away but Sisko kept watching him. He was sure the
Dominion would find uses for all these people. He just hoped that Vance's
ideas weren't as dangerous as he assumed.
He remembered all the reports he'd read about the Dominion, especially
Bashir's about that planet that had rebelled. He was almost certain that They
wouldn't wait a generation to punish their captives now. He'd brought these
people here. Somehow, even if they came to hate him, he'd keep them alive.
*****
Jadzia had ask Miles about the letter, and he'd given it to her to deliver. He
was busy with something and she didn't want to explain why she could not go
back. But she walked up the pathway feeling nothing, and stood at the door
waiting for Lonnie.
The nurse arrived shortly after her arrival. Jadzia handed her the letter
without comment. "Was this all?" asked Lonnie.
"Yes. We looked through everything." She could smell the place. It was turning
her stomach the longer she stood here. Somehow, even Dax was curling
around in a tight ball. If Jadzia died here, what would happen to Dax?
She wished she'd sent someone else. The shield she wore was breaking in the
face of the foreboding mist she could feel touch her. She didn't want the nurse
to see her panic, but nearly just walked away.
She didn't want anyone to notice. So she stood while Lonnie checked the
header on the letter. She was so cold, almost shivering.
Lonnie must have seen. She was worried. "Look, is something wrong? You
almost look like you're sick."
"I'm fine. I need to write a letter." She kept her tone calm while the cold came
closer and the need to run grew more intense.
"I'll read it to him."
Jadzia nodded, trying not to hurry. "He'd probably rather not have me see it
anyway," she said.
"I've done my letters," explained the nurse. "It's hard. Take your time."
Then Lonnie reached out and took her hand. A curious quiet overcame her
mind. Darkness filled her sight. But there was a calm about the moment, too.
She turned and looked at the woman. She was young and scared, but there
was strength there she didn't even suspect. She cared about Julian. She'd be
there for him.
"I know. I will." Jadzia was almost reluctant to let go. An unspoken task was
passed from one to the other.
"Take care of yourself," said Lonnie, still caught in the moment. "Please. He
cares about you."
Jadzia nodded. But now it was time to go. She needed to put into words what
she could not say to anyone but herself. Then she'd find a way to tell Worf how
much he mattered.
She touched Lonnie's hand, just once, a quick brush of fingers in answer.
Then, she walked away, the mask stripped again.
She could not ever go back there, not until there was nothing left but that.
She closed her door and sat on her cot, Worf's letter in hand, suddenly
missing him terribly. She could not write. All she could do was see him come
near and take her hand.
"Fight for us," she told him. "Fight for those dead and dying and lost."
She could feel his strong hands as he rolled her onto the bed, and he slid near.
'I will,' she heard him say as if from a distance. 'For you, for all of you,' he
declared.
She slipped the blanket over her, over both of them as he came so near she
could smell him next to her. The letter dropped to the floor as she surrendered
to the exhaustion and slept in the comfort of his arms.
*****
Bashir was a little better, and that evening he was awake. He clearly hoped his
friend would come back, but Lonnie could tell the woman would not return.
She'd looked so pale that day, almost as if she were going to pass out. Lonnie
had tried to get her to talk, but settled for a quiet touch.
Or, it was supposed to be something like that. She still hadn't sorted out all
the emotions that had come over her when the Trill had looked her in the eyes.
But somehow Lonnie knew there was a connection there. She thought it might
not be a happy one from the way the woman had nearly run away.
She'd reread her own letters after going off-shift, and then came back to help
him with his own. His vision was blurry and often double from the drugs, and
someone would have to read his parents' letters to him.
The two letters were sent together, one following the other, but clearly written
separately. She decided not to ask any details. He lay on his back, staring at
the ceiling, as she finished the last one from his father.
"Write something for me. Just don't tell them about my leg. They won't have
any way to know how it comes out."
"I'll remember that. But this has to be from you. I'm just recording it." For a
moment she wondered if she should read the second letter she'd received to
him. But he wasn't ready for that. "Do you want to know what I said to my
parents?"
"Sure."
"I said I loved them and would always love them even if I couldn't see them."
He seemed to be thinking of something else, and she waited.
"No," he said slowly. "Tell them I forgive them. Tell them I love them and will
miss them. Tell them, thank you for their sacrifice."
She recorded his words, confused. "Anything more?" she asked.
"Tell them that I am their son."
It sounded odd to Lonnie, but it could be his condition affecting his state of
mind. She read it back to him to make sure it was as he wanted. He just
nodded.
He was very sleepy. She thought his parents should know a little more, so
added a few more lines from herself. He was ill, she said. But he would be fine.
He was almost recovered already.
They wouldn't know anyway. But the whole abrupt tone of his own words
would be little comfort.
She finished off his letter. He reached out for her hand and she realized how
warm he was. She touched his forehead and it was too hot.
"I'll drop this off in the basket," she told him, excusing herself. She made a
quick trip past the basket and dropped in the letter, but was much more intent
on getting some equipment and a message to Willy.
The fever was back. It was probably some spot of infection they'd missed, and
she only hoped that her lines on the letter were only written prematurely.
*****
Sisko sat in the solitude of his tent, now sitting on damp dirt, and finished his
letter to Jake. He had already finished the one to his father. He struggled with
the words that would say goodbye to his son, perhaps forever.
He was disappointed that there was no letter from Jake. But his father had
said he'd save the letter for Jake. He was on a quick trip for the news service
and they'd missed him by a day or so. He should be safely home by now, Sisko
told himself.
Nothing he tried to say sounded right. Finally, he just said that he loved him.
It still nagged at him that there had been no letter. Things must have been
much worse than anyone would say if it had been impossible to ask Jake for a
subspace transmission.
Or, perhaps, it was true. Perhaps his father didn't know where Jake was and
couldn't get word to him. To have a letter from his son would have made his
own a little easier. Reading over the short page, he added a few more lines,
thinking to himself that Jake was so much better than him at words.
He knew he should say goodbye. But the words would not come. He added a
line about missing him and wishing he'd gotten a letter, but kept it at that.
Like the others the task of saying goodbye was proving something that words
were not quite enough to do. He slipped the letters in his pocket and decided to
drop them in the bin personally. The walls of his office were too small and he
had to see the faces of his people again, and be reminded of the strength he
saw.
Maybe it would make up a little for Jake.
*****
James sat on his bed, staring at the words he had written. The Padd said, "I
will never see you again," and he had stopped there. The numbness that had
come over him seemed to drive all the words out of his mind. He had never
been all that good at words. Pictures, and swirls of color were his forte. He
stared at the words as if they were a death sentence.
For the first time, it had completely sunk in that he would not go home, nor
ever see his family again. He would not spend his seventeenth birthday in the
greenery of the park, with all of his family. He would never be able to show his
grandfather the beautiful pictures that floated in his mind, impatient to get
them out. He didn't even know how he would make them. His precious box of
art supplies would not paint all the images in his mind that he needed to
express. He stared at the pad wishing he could erase the thoughts in his head
as easily as the words on the Padd.
Ever since they had received official word that they were being sacrificed, he
had been in a kind of fog. He did the things that needed to be done, rose in
the morning and went to sleep at night as always, and spent his spare time
alone, committing to a sketchpad the images in his head that would some day
come to life in the bright colors he saw in dreams. He knew what Vance and
Sisko had said, but could not believe it because if he did his life was over. This
could not be home. It had never been home, and time would never change that.
But when he had written those words, he discovered he could not deny them.
He was dead and no one knew it yet. The Padd lay in his hand and no words
came. He wanted to say something, to give them some token, but his mind had
gone blank. Words did not exist to express the emptiness within him.
He abandoned the Padds. He took his sketchpad and began to draw. He
couldn't see the pictures in his head either, but a vision of the tree that had
stood guard on his grandmother's house grew until he was standing
underneath it, smelling the light perfume of its flowers, feeling the light breeze
that always stirred its leaves. He began to draw, quick strokes of his pen that
were fraught with emotion. He had never drawn so well and quickly before. He
could not rest until it was done. The ink would have to be dry before he placed
it in the box. When the last detail was complete, he lovingly wrote, in his best
script, "To My Family" at the top, and carefully laid it flat to dry.
He checked the time. Two hours would be enough for the ink to set. He hated
to fold it, but that was the only way he could put it in the container with the
Padds.
Calmly, he sat down on the bed and composed a short letter for each of them.
The words didn't matter. What mattered was drying on the shelf. He finished
the last of them and fitted the Padds back in the box with his name. He had
found a slightly larger one so his picture would fit as well. Folding it carefully,
with the minimum of bends, he slipped it into the box and closed the lid.
Writing his name on the top, he said goodbye to all he cared about and left for
breakfast. On the way he put it with the others.
*****
Miles stared at the letter, the hardest one he had to write. Keiko's parents
deserved to know something of what had come of their daughter, but he did
not know what to say. He couldn't say they were alive or dead. He could not tell
them later if he did come to know. All he could do was promise, with as much
effort as they would allow him, to find them. And Kira had been with them.
She had carried his son, and would protect them. If she could she would find a
way to save them.
He wrote what he knew. It wasn't much, and he could not make promises, but
he would not have them living a lie. He had had quite enough of lies and half-
truths in the last month. He had been as honest with his own family. The
letters were done. He stared at the Padds, wishing he could write one other, to
Keiko and his children. If fate separated them forever at least he'd like to have
the chance to say goodbye.
Someday he might find them. Sometime he might find a way for them to be
together. He had chances that others didn't, but right then, none of that
mattered. His family was lost as surely as the others. Even if they did manage
to survive, even if he found them again they would be the wounded strangers
he'd found before on Bajor. Staring at the Padds, he took a sheet of paper and
pen. Wounded or not, he wanted them back. Perhaps he could never send the
letter, but later, when he'd forgotten what the moment was like, he could
remember.
*****
Jadzia woke a while later, finding the letter on the ground. She rescued it and
wrapped herself in a blanket, rereading the letter he'd written.
She was grateful he'd been able to be realistic. It made it possible to be true to
his feelings. Somehow, she had to do the same.
She picked up the Padd left for her letter. She almost began by telling him of
the hospital, but it wouldn't matter. She knew he would grieve for her if she
lived or died.
"I do not know how long any of us will live," she said. "But if it isn't a long time
every day I live will be with thoughts of you."
It said what she must say to him, but not too much.
She reread the second half of his letter. It was so beautiful. She wasn't as good
with words as some of her hosts had been. She called on all she'd been for
help.
The words were vivid, full of the grief she let free, and yet this was the woman
he loved.
But there was another thing that must be said. She wondered how many of
those who'd sent families home and were not alone had the nerve to put the
finality of it into words.
"Goodbye. I will not hold you to our promise to wed. There is no future in that.
Do not deprive yourself of the comfort another can bring in my memory.
Instead, live. Find someone who can share your days and nights. Keep my
memory close, and remember, but do not cease to live out of your grief."
She would need no one herself. She would not die alone but live that way.
Worf was free. He had more options in his life than hers. She did not want him
to be alone because she chose to. She picked up the Padd and added, "I cannot
say for myself, but here things will be hard. If it happens that someone can
make life less hard I claim the right to take that path. I will live in more comfort
should I believe that you will do the same."
She knew she would never see Worf again. She would be dead before that
chance ever came. But she reread the words that would set him free to live,
and it didn't matter so much that she would be the sacrifice.
*****
The runabout was ready to leave. For a few days they would be alone, then the
world would fall into a darkness none could really imagine.
The last thing loaded was the letters they had written, trying to say all that
they ever could in a few words. Stanley Garnet could not take them home, but
he had done every possible thing to help, far beyond the defined limits of his
job. As the runabout lifted off, watched by a large silent crowd, the
thoughtfulness of Stanley Garnet was on their mind, not the politics of
Federation survival. It was fitting that in the end they remembered the best as
the last trace of home vanished from sight in the clear skies of Cyrus 3.
*****
Miles pushed the image from his mind, the departure of the runabout the
moment of last contact with the Federation, and the end of a tiny hope that
somehow things might change. Now they were on their own. People stayed
longer than they had to, as if the runabout might come back. But eventually
everyone there to watch had drifted back to the places they called home now,
and an uneasy quiet settled over the two little villages that would become one.
For Miles, it was a hard moment. Keiko and his family were trapped far away,
lost to him now. Or were they? If the Dominion controlled both Cyrus and
Bajor, somehow he might get them back. Some of his people had sent their
families back to Earth and for them it was the end. But Miles found a little
secret solace in the one thing he shared with the family he missed.
He was relieved that Sisko had things for his people to do. Miles had been sent
to do a quick survey of the remaining rations, and had been urged to take
James along to help. The boy followed him, silent and lost, and had done
everything Miles had asked but hardly noticed any of it.
Miles watched as he recorded the count of rations, and wondered how hard it
must be to have the only thing that mattered to you destroyed and denied.
Now there was a line that could not be crossed, and James was on the wrong
side. He'd lost more than most and for a moment Miles almost felt lucky.
They were half-way through the crates when they discovered one that did not
contain rations. It was only half full, but inside were spare parts, just bits and
pieces, but it would be confiscated.
Miles had personal orders from Sisko that there was to be no contraband in the
supplies. There should be no reason for suspicion. He knew they should be
destroyed, but even as bits of scrap this crate might be of great use. They
couldn't be added to the rumored stash. Neither Miles nor James knew where it
was. Nor could they be taken outside the building, increasing the chance of
being hidden in the wrong places.
Work stopped while they considered what to do. James came out of his fog and
was almost the same young man who had been so much help before. Miles
had no idea what to do, but suddenly James moved to a corner where a pile of
crates stood, and motioned Miles to help moving them out of the way.
Not a word was spoken. James hurriedly studied the now empty corner,
fishing around the edge. Miles stood back, just watching.
Then James discovered what he'd been looking for, a small covered panel, and
pulled it free. Together, they lifted up a segment of the floor to reveal a hidden
area underneath.
Miles studied the small area. It was heavily shielded, intended for storage of
dangerous or radioactive materials. The shielding was heavy, and would hide
what was hidden inside.
Together they dumped the crate inside, then replaced the floor and the small
lever. They moved crates over it again and James held up the survey list.
"What did we count?" he asked out loud.
"I'm not sure. We should have left it all where it was," said Miles.
"I guess we start over then," muttered James.
They recounted the crates placed over the stash, then moved more in front. By
the time the count was done there was no sign of a hidden compartment and
the empty crate was full of the overflow of the others.
Miles pointed at the corner, signaling with his finger to keep silent. James
nodded.
Sisko would have been furious, but neither would tell him.
*Someday,* thought Miles as they closed the door, *someday that will matter.*
But in the meanwhile, there was much work to do.
*****
The tent city and all it stood for began to disappear that day. The building
supplies were stacked and ready, and one by one the new shelters they would
call home were to be assembled. Everyone came to watch, even those from
Vance's people who had nothing else to do. But there wasn't much room, and
the crowd, displaced tent dwellers and old residents alike, were sent a safe
distance away while the crew worked.
The crew was chosen from those who knew what they were doing. Even so, it
took most of the day, in the limited space, to assemble the first small house.
Everyone cheered. It was an odd sound to hear drifting past the tents, thought
Sisko. He had taken over Vance's old office. He had much to do, piles of
paperwork left behind by Garnet. It was information the Dominion required
before any supplies would be shipped.
Vance had declined to help and Sisko had asked him to leave. Vance had taken
a few personal items and shut the door behind him.
Sisko didn't expect him back. But he intended to keep a watch on him.
When heard the cheer, he put down his pen and closed his office.
*****
The shelter was complete, and everyone stood around waiting. A number of
tents had been required to move to the damp upper shelf to make room for
supplies and work, and most of them were expecting to move that night.
It wouldn't hold them all. Tomorrow there would be another, or perhaps two,
but tonight only one family got to move.
Sisko chose to make the decision himself. Later, he might want to ask other's
opinion, but this policy would be his. They didn't have time for arguments.
He called in Jadzia. She had hardly left her own quarters since they'd last had
rations given out. Her orders were a quick list of how many families there were
and if they liked where they were living. He was especially interested in how
many children there were.
He hoped to replace the tents in each little huddle with permanent shelters and
have those who lived there stay together if possible. It would disrupt their lives
a little less that way. But he needed to know what there was to build with too.
Miles got a pick of however many experts he needed to get an idea of how
many buildings they could build.
Of the group of families living where the house was built, one had two children.
They got the house. The others would move in as soon as the building was
done.
They carried their small possessions, including cots and blankets, inside the
solid walls and shut the door. Their neighbors watched, and lingered for a
time, but eventually moved up the steps hacked out of the hard ground to
their tents.
Miles knocked on Sisko's office door a few hours later. He had his survey
already done. Jadzia wasn't finished, but there was no hurry.
"Looks like we have enough for everybody and then some. Garnet must have
made a few suggestions to the supply ship."
"Good," said Sisko, working on a report on supplies. "I need to add that to one
of these reports."
Miles surveyed the office, noting a few bare spaces. "What happened to
Vance?"
"He's made his choice. He doesn't want to play anymore."
Miles watched, saying nothing, as Sisko scribbled a note on a ruined piece of
paper.
"Dinner, tomorrow, my quarters, bring Jadzia."
He nodded. Sisko finished off the scribble with a signature, Ben.
Miles took the paper, taking the pen and adding "When".
"Late afternoon," wrote Sisko, taking it back.
He watched as Miles nodded, then returned the paper.
Vance was up to something. Somehow, he was going to find out what before it
brought the Jem'Hadar.
*****
Willman didn't bother with the doctor face. He was being honest. Bashir was
conscious and aware at least. He lay very quiet, listening without saying a
word.
"It's not a big infection, but it's deep. It might kill you if we don't get it under
control very soon. It's going to go septic if it isn't." He watched as Bashir
turned his head away. He didn't need to tell his patient all the details. Bashir
knew all about that.
Very quietly, he asked, "Did you miss it?"
Willman replied calmly, "No. It's new. If I had the kind of surgery you and I are
used to I could treat it a lot easier, but I don't have that. I'm going to do
another procedure tonight. Now I warn you, it's very deep. It's going to hurt
more than before. But I don't have any other way to treat it."
Bashir paled a little more. "Chemicals?"
"I'm afraid so. I've got more supplies this time. You'll be knocked out
completely."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then you won't make it."
He said nothing. But Willman noticed that Lonnie was holding his hand.
"Just . . . do your best."
Within the hour he was put under and they burned a new wound. This time
Willman made sure all of the infected tissue was gone. This time Lonnie sat
beside him and held Bashir's hand. It was bandaged carefully, and every effort
would be made to keep the infection away. But there was no guarantee that
he'd live to see if the Dominion wanted him back or not.
*****
end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1_2, Chapter 7