LEGACY
An Alternative History of the Dominion War
Year 1
Part 3 _ Adjustments
Chapter 11
Deep in the wastelands left behind by the Cardassians, concealed inside a
cave that had sheltered other secret travelers, Kira Nerys nibbled on her
dinner. A little ways away, where the map could be laid out flat, Odo knelt over
the map holding a small portable light. Other than the two bright circles from
the light the fire, the cavern was pitch dark.
She and Odo had been traveling slowly and carefully across Bajor,
backtracking and keeping to the wastelands. She had a special destination.
All she wanted was to go home, to Dahkur Providence. It was still very far
away, and many, many days travel before they had to leave the caves and their
relative safety. Beyond that lay uncertainty.
Since leaving Keiko and the children to others, it had been the goal.
It was a perilous one. Dahkur was terribly far away and would require crossing
many places where the control of the land by the newly imposed government of
Bajor was tenuous at best, and when it failed the Jem'Hadar made up the
difference. If there was no active resistance, the Dominion soldiers simply
patrolled. But while in most places that had proved sufficient to guarantee
relative peace, not all were willing to wait. When they didn't the Jem'Hadar
imposed direct Dominion rule and retribution.
Those who remembered stories of the arrival of the Cardassians counseled
caution. When the Jem'Hadar was kept at bay life was liveable, but all it took
was one act of revenge and all that changed. The Cardassians had been brutal
to everyone, but the Dominion was different. Those who behaved were left in
relative peace. Those who didn't were eliminated. The Cardassians had wiped
out villages, but not always. The Dominion soldiers killed everything alive and
burned the ruins to the ground. Those who ran were caught and slaughtered
too. The sort of resistance that had driven away the Cardassians would only
destroy the Bajorian people.
Even those, like Kira, who had fought before understood. But for her and Odo,
there was a special price that guaranteed a hard, secretive life. They dared not
risk discovery. Kira had already been counted as dead, and if she was found
Weyoun would make certain it was true. But before she died, she'd be
questioned. She knew far too much about the secret places that Keiko and
others might need.
And Odo faced an even greater risk. They had agreed, from the start, that Odo
would remain a secret. The other changelings knew he'd been on the station,
and would look for him there first. When he wasn't found they'd turn to Bajor.
But they would have to find him first. As long as anyone was around to see, he
would be the bird in the sky or the animal slinking along in the brush. He
could enter places she would not dare approach, and obtain information few
others could. Even more than her, he could not afford to risk being discovered.
*****
But there were other changelings, and some of the trees and birds might be
one of them. Each day they retired for the night still safe and alive they
counted a victory.
Generally, out of necessity, Kira traveled alone. Odo stayed near, but always in
some other form. Sometimes she knew which of the creatures around her was
Odo, and sometimes not. When she was forced to make contact with others, for
food or information, he'd not be near.
Loneliness haunted them. So, in a sense, the desolate wasteland they were
passing through was a kind of oasis. It was only an alternate route taken
because of the Jem'Hadar, but so completely deserted they could risk traveling
together as companions.
Once they were past the caverns, they would once more live alone.
Kira had finished her food, and Odo was done with the map. The soft glow of
the waning fire was the only light, and thoughts had turned to memories and
things not spoken of in the daylight. Gazing into the fire, Kira sighed, softly, "I
thought I was done with this," shaking her head. "Ten years ago I might have
planted that bomb myself, but now I wonder if the Khon Ma knows what it has
brought down on us."
"The people in Rezara know." Odo looked at the fire as Kira poked it with a
stick and a few sparks flew. The local farmers had had a bad crop. Their new
overlords required them to trade it to the new civil authority in exchange for
seed the next year. But there wouldn't be enough, so they refused.
The Jem'Hadar had come. The farmers had been rounded up and enslaved.
The land was taken to house other species being brought to Bajor, the
survivors of other planets that had crossed the Dominion. Away from home,
they had nothing. The Bajorans would be shipped away somewhere else, too,
where they would be alone.
Disobeying the rules was all that mattered. Other villages with worse crops
had given them away after Rezara. There was no reason to save a crop if it
would cost them their homes.
Kira jabbed the fire again, harder and more sparks flew. "It's so frustrating.
Everything I've ever been taught says we can't leave this kind of thing
unrevenged. But what do we do about it? Any resistance and they wipe out
more places." She slowly pushed the stick into the fire, gazing at the glow.
"Somehow there has to be some hope."
Odo watched the sparks as she pulled the stick free of the fire and its end
glowed a little before fading. "You can't fight them like the Cardassians. That
should be quite obvious."
"I know, but what else then?" She looked at the embers, growing dimmer like
her hopes for freedom from this new oppressor.
"Something . . . quiet, invisible," said Odo sadly. "What purpose will fighting
this enemy on Bajor serve when everywhere else opposition is met the same as
Rezara."
"It is what we do," said Kira, waving the glowing stick around in the darkness.
The embers glowed brightly in the small breeze.
"Then your people are doomed."
Kira put the stick into the fire, watching as it caught and the flames flared for a
time. Then they vanished as surely as her people and culture might some day.
*****
As the fire slowly faded and Kira finally drifted off to sleep, Odo watched. He
would not leave her side tonight. It would be too short a journey through the
caverns before they had to separate again. But as the fire softened to faint
glow, he wondered how long and how many dead Bajorans it would take before
the survivors gave into reality. He feared it would be too many. He vowed to do
his best to see that Kira was not among them.
*****
The small office was a sea of paper. Tom Rafferson was finishing the monthly
tally of supplies, meeting with Carl Jackson to obtain the inventory figures he
needed to complete the form. Jackson, to whom the job of maintaining the
supply records had fallen, sat with a stack of scribbled lists. In a few months,
this would become automatic, but this was the first time they had done it and
it was taking hours. Rafferson had to record how much of each item supplied
had gone to what department. Jackson's records were not organized by
department. So they had sat for hours shuffling paper.
Next month Jackson would have everything recorded properly. But both of
them were tired, and it was getting hard to concentrate. They dared not make
any mistakes, and tomorrow they'd have to review it again, just in case. But
now it was time for a break.
They shut the door of the small, stuffy office and decided to take a walk. It was
late afternoon and the temperature had started to drop. Jackson was getting
cold. "I'm still not used to these temperature changes. It was always the same
on the station. After five years, you get used to that."
Rafferson said softly, "At least they don't control that." He and Jackson sat
down on one of the benches near the food crew. It was in_between servings,
though there were a few lone diners, eating their late afternoon dinners. "By
the way, I have a complaint. The food was much too bland today. No life at
all."
Jackson grinned briefly. "Oh, just wait until tomorrow. Carra has crew duty.
She doesn't do bland."
"I'll spread the word. You'll be busy tomorrow."
Jackson sighed. "We're always busy. But I guess it's better than doing
nothing."
Rafferson didn't answer. Finally, he mumbled, "I guess."
Jackson looked at the early diners, and noticed one was staring at them,
especially Rafferson, who had already noticed. "He looks familiar," Jackson
said in a low voice.
"I used to work with him. Most of Vance's people quit. I'm one of the few that
didn't. We're . . . considered sellouts." Rafferson looked bleakly at Jackson.
"You're lucky you work with supply. You provide dinner".
"I started right after we got here. I really never thought about quitting,"
Jackson said. "Why did you stay?"
"Mostly because I liked Sisko. I thought Vance was being unfair. I don't like
his attitude. Sisko is trying to be realistic. I guess Vance would rather see us
starve. Of course, he never misses his three meals a day."
"Just think of the attention he'd get if he did," Jackson commented.
Rafferson shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past him." He looked up at
Jackson. "Or something equally effective. I mean, what are we supposed to
do? Do we refuse to fill out their reports and not get any supplies? Do we put
the supplies in a warehouse and work them on the honor system? Or would he
rather have the Jem'Hadar handing them out?"
Jackson sighed. "I used to work with someone at the station, one of the
Bajoran engineers, and one time we got into a conversation about the
resistance. Oh, he hated the Cardies. But he didn't think much more of the
resistance. His family were farmers. The Cardies would set quotas or they
would take the land. They'd just manage to reach them, and the resistance
would come and destroy their crop. So the Cardies would go somewhere else to
get their food, and the farmers were heading for a refugee camp. That's what
happened to his family. Both his parents died during an epidemic the year
after they ended up in one. It's never as simple as it sounds."
Rafferson asked quietly, "Did he make it?"
"He died a week after the transfer. His wounds got infected. There wasn't
anything left to treat them. I went home that night, and almost quit. But then
I remembered what he said about the farmers. I have a wife and two children.
What happens to them if Vance and his type take too many chances?"
Rafferson looked thoughtful. "Would you silence Vance?"
Jackson took a deep breath. "I've thought about that. When I hold my baby
daughter I think of her growing up here, as a . . . . " He paused, "But I do
want her to grow up. I can't decide about Vance. He should have the right to
speak his mind. I'm just not so sure it's such a great idea right now. I don't
want my family to end up like my friend's did."
The two men were silent for a moment, when a sudden gust of cold breeze
reminded them of how late it was getting. Rafferson sighed. "I guess if we
want dinner we better get back and finish." Jackson nodded and they made
their way to the paper sea, but this time they understood it was about much
more than inventory figures.
*****
Dinner was thicker as the shredded ration pieces got soft and absorbed more of
the broth, and the soup turned into a stew, but neither man noticed. Justin
had sent one of his aides to get their dinners, and Jaro felt a little
uncomfortable about that. But he was far too involved in their discussion to
want to take the time to go themselves.
The meal had interrupted the conversation, but had diverted it to more
practical things. Justin had a lot of the other things he was required to do.
And it might look suspicious if Jaro was around the office too often. There
would be neither the time nor the propriety to repeat that day's session. But
they had to find a way. All the bleakness outside vanished when Justin
remembered the first time they'd laid out the concepts when they were both in
college. Jaro had never enjoyed that kind of world, but he understood the
power of their dreams.
Then Justin looked up from his stew and smiled. "You know, I have an idea.
I'd like to appoint you my chief assistant. I'd be working with you all the time
that way, on a lot of things. There would be no reason for suspicion."
Jaro was as flattered as when he'd been brought in on the project, but this was
a different matter. "I'm sorry, but no. Personal reasons."
Justin looked disappointed. "You aren't going to be like Walter, are you?"
"I just don't make a good official. I've tried it." Jaro hoped he wouldn't have to
explain the rest.
Justin appeared to be surprised there was a problem. "You would be my
assistant. I'm the one with the big responsibilities. Please, it would be ideal."
Jaro tried to think of a different reason other than the real one. He respected
the choice others made to work as staff when it meant working for Them.
Someone had to. He had no problem with Justin's position. But he, himself,
simply could not do it. He would work with Justin on the project, but not as
an official.
He had not done all that well as one in the Provisional Government. He
remembered all the work it had been. Under Dominion rule, it would be even
more time consuming. "If I was your number two, I'd have as much work as
you. I wouldn't have time for our research."
Justin sighed. "I suppose your right. We'll say you're helping with the field if
anybody has questions. Shouldn't, though. Oh, I have the official designations
in my department but I don't pay much attention to them. I'm not much for
hierarchies. I try to keep things friendly. It worked before, and I don't see why
it shouldn't work now."
Jaro wasn't sure about that. He'd seen the piles of documents others had to
deal with. Sooner or later Justin would be happy to delegate as much work as
he could. If he didn't, they would have no time for the project.
But then, deep inside, a part of him wondered if that would be better.
*****
Sisko was buried in stacks of paper. Almost any of the mandatory reports, no
matter which department filed them, needed his stamp of approval. Virtually
anything sent out to Them had to come from him, and some days went half
way into the evening as well. He wouldn't finish the stack that day, even if he
stayed late. He pushed the little pile he was working on out of the way and
prepared to retreat to the little office he'd taken from Vance where he could
relax in private.
But someone knocked on his door, and he sat back in his chair. "Come in," he
said, a little disappointed. It was probably more work or a new problem. All
he'd wanted to do was spend a few minutes away from the mess.
But instead of one of his aides with work, Rom and Leeta stood waiting for
permission to enter. "Please, come in," he said, standing to greet them.
Rom scrambled inside. Leeta was more hesitant, but stood next to him. She
was holding Rom's hand and squeezed it hard.
Prompted by the hint, Rom stepped forward a little. "Sir," he said, his
nervousness betrayed by the squeak in his voice. Leeta was still holding his
hand, but not so hard now. He stammered a few times. Leeta was watching
him, giving him an encouraging look. "Sir, we would like you to marry us."
It was the nicest request Sisko had heard since leaving the station. It made
him forget the pile of work and what it represented for a moment. "I would be
honored." He smiled at them. "It would be a pleasure." Leeta didn't look
enthused, but the transparent relief of the Ferengi more than made up for it.
"When do you want to get married?"
Leeta spoke this time, a little more reserved than Rom. "We were hoping in a
few weeks, when the new meeting area is ready."
Sisko smiled again. It was odd to smile. "I'm sure that will work. I can
certainly make time for a wedding."
Rom gushed, "Thank you, sir."
"Let me know which day." Rom looked uncertain, as if he was ready to go. But
Sisko wanted them to know he appreciated the two Ferengi survivors, and how
much they all missed Quark. "Oh, I've gotten good reports on both you and
Nog. O'Brien is very happy with his work. And Dax commended you on your
ideas." Rom shrugged a little, probably unused to compliments. Then Sisko
grew somber. "And, of course, my condolences on your brother's death."
Rom looked away, and Sisko thought it must be hard to be the only surviving
Ferengi. Leeta took his hand and pulled him closer. Rom started to mumble
something, but Leeta answered. "I'm sure Nog will appreciate the compliment,"
she said and Sisko wondered if she didn't. "I guess if Quark had made it, he'd
be running the restaurant." She almost smiled and he thought she looked like
the Leeta who'd worked for him for a flash. But only for a moment. She
retreated into her reserved, almost submissive stance again and he guessed
she would rather not have been there.
But she'd come for Rom. He looked up, rather drawn. "Thank you, sir, for
remembering."
Sisko nodded. "I think Leeta is right and we're all a little poorer for it."
"You must be busy, sir," said Leeta quietly.
She was looking at the mound of reports. He stared at them, himself. "Yes.
Just let me know when you'd like the ceremony. I'll be prepared." He picked
up a few sheets of blank paper, nicer paper that was normally used only for
reports. "Why don't you write up a formal announcement we can post. Invite
everyone, if you want. We'll make it a celebration."
She took the paper. "That would be good," she replied, but there was a certain
reserve.
They left, Leeta nearly pulling Rom out the door.
Sisko looked forward to the wedding. But, facing the mounds of reports, he
wondered if the Emissary would be as popular as he might have been before.
But at least they had asked. He only hoped he wouldn't dampen the occasion.
*****
Julian watched Willman as he pulled back the bandages that covered his leg.
He couldn't see much. Most of it was hidden in the leg restraint. He wasn't
sure he wanted to see what was left. He knew about the two main chemical
cleanings and the other surgeries. He knew how bad it still hurt. He just
wasn't ready to deal with the future. Willman had talked about his therapy,
and learning to walk again once the healing was complete. He hated being
confined to this bed, unable to move his hips or leg, but he could read between
the lines when Willman talked about how hard it would be. He already had
guessed. Even with the best of Federation medicine some recoveries were not
that easy. He wanted out of the bed but didn't look forward to the ordeal that
would take.
Willman was re_wrapping the area, soaking the bandages in disinfectant. It
stung, and for a few minutes he forgot about the future in favor of the present.
He winced when the brace was fastened again and his hips were immobilized.
The only good things about examinations were when he could relax his back for
a few minutes while the restraints were loosened.
Willman finished his tugging and pulled the sheet back over his leg. He sat
down in the chair next to the bed.
Julian waited for the bad news. He already knew Willman's expressions. This
one said things were not going right. "It's healing, but very slowly. I'll do
another evaluation in a couple of weeks, but you should be fine in the new
Recovery unit. At least it won't be so crowded. We'll be moving you later
today."
Julian was surprised and relieved by the news. He had heard the rumors, of
course, but nobody expected to be moved this soon. "How long will I be there?"
he asked Willman, knowing there couldn't be a real answer but needing to ask
anyway.
Willman surprised him. "You'll be there a while. This is going to take a long
time to heal." He looked at Bashir, very seriously, "You might even consider
yourself lucky when you get well enough to go to work. It's not what you were
used to."
That was evident enough. He had seen the old instruments and expediency in
treatment. He wanted to be a doctor again, but knew it wouldn't be much like
it had been. And he would have to learn to walk first. He had managed not to
think about that yet.
The disinfectant was seeping into the still half_raw wound and it hurt. He was
done with conversation. It was going to be a hard day, with the move, and he
wanted to sleep now. "I guess so," he said, looking away from Willman.
"Get some sleep," said Willman, standing. "It won't be for a few hours."
Julian shifted his pillow a little, closing his eyes. It was odd, but for a moment
Willman had let down his guard and suddenly he was more afraid of the future
than ever before.
*****
He watched, with detached interest, as the orderlies unfastened the restraints
from his bed, then prepared to transfer both himself and the contraption to a
stretcher. True to his word, Willman was moving the whole corner of the
hospital to Recovery. He made himself hold still while they jerked him around,
sliding the stretcher under him and lifting. He bit his lip as they lowered the
restraint and his whole body shook.
For once, he was glad they had his leg so well restrained. He was strapped
down on the cart and it bounced ever so gently as it rolled over the hospital
floor. It hurt, but not much more than normal. He was looking forward to
leaving the large, gloomy room too much to care.
It wasn't until they reached the main door that he realized that in the months
he'd been there he hadn't seen what it looked like outside.
When the cart was pushed out the door, the most immediate thing he noticed
was how bright it was. He closed his eyes as the sun's glare made them ache,
but opened them again anyway. He had to see the outside world he'd only
heard of..
But he wished he'd kept them shut when he saw the area around them.
There was a hill in the distance, with a smattering of some kind of grass, and a
cluster of little cubicles up the hill closest to the hospital itself. He guessed it
was the new residential area for the hospital people. He'd heard the staff's
complaints before Willman had squashed them and could see why they'd been
unhappy. Of course, should his leg heal and Willman put him to work he'd
have to live there, too.
The ground itself was greyish rock, and as people walked on it it crumbled
under their feet. The recovery building was new, but as utilitarian as the
housing units, set slightly apart from the hospital itself. It didn't have any
windows. He wasn't sure he wanted to look at the grey rock, but natural light
would have been nice. And if the summers were as muggy as he'd heard, the
metallic building was going to be hot. Perhaps, he thought sarcastically, they
wanted them to hurry up and recover so they could leave the overheated room.
He lay in the stretcher for a while, enjoying the feel of the sun. It wasn't
particularly warm, but it had been a long time since he'd been outside. And he
realized how much better it smelled out in the open air than in the crowded
hospital. He'd never even noticed the smell until they carried him out.
Others were being moved into the sun. It was just warm enough to make his
sleepy. Already, he was tired. The grey world faded in favor of the one he'd
created inside his head.
Then the movement of the stretcher woke him. The wheels squeaked a little,
and there were loud crunching sounds as the crushed rock was mashed under
the weight.
Then his brief visit to the outside world was over. They were at the door when
the stretcher stopped for a moment He took one last look at the sun, as they
pushed him inside the small building.
Once they stopped bouncing his leg, he opened his eyes. To his great relief, it
was nothing like the gloomy hospital. Above, there was a small skylight in the
ceiling which lit the room during the day. The walls were a creamy white, but
the brightness was far more cheerful than the stone brown color of the hospital
walls. There were no barriers, though he almost hoped some would be added.
A little privacy would be welcome now and then.
The ordeal was almost over. But now they had to lift him to his bed. The
wheels slid on the polished floor, and the stretcher jerked as they moved it into
position. The straps were unfastened, one at a time. His good leg was barely
balanced on the surface and he tensed to hold it up, rather than pull against
the brace. They jerked a little less than when he was removed, but not much,
and he slid down into his new bed with relief when it was over.
He lifted his head while the nurse put a pillow underneath, then she covered
him with a blanket. He had his eyes closed when they pulled the noisy
stretcher away and he heard the door close.
Despite the weariness and stabs of pain from his leg, he opened his eyes. He
was *alone*. It had been months since he'd been by himself, and it was spooky
now. The room was too quiet. There was nothing to do, not even watching
other patients. The door opened, the flood of light hurting his eyes but he
didn't care. Duncan was watching as the he cleared the door, studying the
skyline. He smiled. Duncan collapsed on his bed and had a pillow stuffed
behind his head and the cycle was repeated again.
He watched each of those he'd grown used to as they were moved inside. It
was comforting to be with them. When things got bad, they helped one
another. If he had to sit in a room for months, he'd rather it be here than the
stuffy hospital.
Then the last was in bed and the nurse was done. She checked quickly on all
of them and left.
Immediately, the conversation began. Duncan was still looking at the skylight.
"I like my spot. You can't have it," he joked to Bashir.
"I think I like this one, as long as nobody makes me move."
Nobody complained. But they had all seen the grey nothingness outside, and it
was unsettling. They knew about the way Willman had come down on his staff
for complaining. Even the rumors had reached them. But they had never had
a private place to talk before. It was scary. Outside Recovery was an mystery
they knew nothing about, except filtered bits of life. Eventually, all of them
would have to live in that unknown, and until then, the white building had
become a haven of safety surrounded by an intimidating uncertainly.
*****
Jaro was asking the tenth question about a process that was no longer of any
interest to Justin. It wouldn't work here. He had consigned the past to its own
realm, but Jaro was finding the history of the terraforming project absolutely
fascinating. Justin was willing to answer questions when he could, but at times
Jaro got lost in the old details. Walter hadn't even cared after awhile, but Jaro's
barrage of questions was almost worse. After one question after another about
a part of the project that was, to Justin, ancient history, he had had enough. "I
could go into that, but it really has no bearing on anything. It was a dead end."
Jaro was too enthused to be put off. "But then I'll know we should avoid it."
Justin gave in and supplied a short summary of the unsuccessful experiment.
Jaro nodded carefully. He took more notes. He had been rapidly filling his
notebook since they began and Justin had hardly gotten started. He
appreciated Jaro's great interest, but he was growing tired of dredging up the
past. "Perhaps we should go over this material later," he suggested. "It's the
most recent material that we'll need to redesign the process."
"Don't be impatient, Justin." Jaro looked up from his scribbles. "You never
know what will be important. Something which you dismissed years ago may
yet work in this new version."
Justin thought of the mound of work that waited for him in his office. He had
taken the position to be able to keep the project alive. He was just finishing the
reports on the planting, already sprouted and filling the cultivated half of the
valley. He imagined he might be finishing the work generated by the harvest
about the time the next planting came around. He was already spending all
his spare time on the project history. At this rate Jaro might be ready for the
second stage of the project, only twelve years past, by then.
He glanced at the time. He had to get back to work. "I've got to go. We'll get
together this evening." Jaro nodded, still writing. He remembered when Walter
had given him this lost look when he described his latest discoveries, before he
realized that Walter had long ago lost interest. Jaro and his questions were
annoying, but it was far better that way. It made him think. Perhaps, if Walter
had ask a few more question they might have not needed the machines. Then
their masters might have left the project behind.
"I'll review this, there is so much," muttered Jaro in his now familiar accent.
When the next pile of papers arrived for him to review, he'd remember that Jaro
was waiting at home to sit in his time machine and remake the world. It would
make the whole miserable day worth it.
*****
Lonnie didn't want to be a doctor, but was being turned into one anyway.
Every week she had a new assignment to study and a tutor to help her.
Julian's was still confined to bed, his leg still immobilized, but Willman had
already found something for him to do.
She came into the Recovery ward nearly every day now, carrying a folder of
material to review with Julian. She would draw the curtains and they would
sit and talk. At first, the tutoring was just that. His fellow patients had gotten
quickly bored with the conversation and found better things to do than try to
listen. But now and then, she carried the book in for show. They would open
it and discuss a page or two, and when any eavesdropping ears were tuned out
would talk about other things.
She tried to warn him about the world he lived in, about the fears and secrets,
and the difference between the illusion and the reality. She had come to see
both. There were no Jem'Hadar. Almost all the rules could be justified in some
way. The food was boring but more nutritious than the Federation version, and
they had found ways to make it taste rather good. But that was the illusion.
The tabs they had to wear were reality. The unofficial curfew was a reminder of
what might be insisted on. That they were trapped here, at the mercy of their
captors, was the core. She wanted him to know this. When the day came he
left the hospital and Willman added him to staff, Bashir would have to learn
about the hard world he'd survived to join.
But he didn't understand. She talked about the daily events that made up her
life, and he just looked at her. She worried that on the day he left this room it
was going to be a shock, and perhaps that was the only way he could
understand.
She liked him. She couldn't prepare him for the adjustment he'd have to make,
so she did the next best thing. She was his friend. She told him stories. She
listened to his thoughts. She answered his questions when he asked them.
When he needed someone to talk to, later, she would be there.
He might even understand. The camp he'd been in had been worse, on the
outside. But when Willman chose him for the example of the day in the
morning meeting, or new rules imposed from above suddenly changed his day
off, he'd not be so surprised anymore.
*****
Justin stared at the pile of paper, wishing it to vanish. He had been working
on the reports for several hours. There was a pattern he'd noticed. He
wondered, not for the first time, why they had to submit so many details of the
planting season when it was supposed to be their own business. As far as he
could see, nothing was entirely their own. Even if They did not interfere, it was
necessary to file reports on every event in the community. Justin wondered if
his hopes for the project were realistic; they were under such strict controls
that he wasn't sure it would be possible to test a small sample of soil without
doing it in secret. If it became necessary, he would risk it, but eventually he
hoped it might be possible to do it openly. They would have to find a way to
make the process work without the machines. At Jaro's pace they would have
plenty of time.
He had taken a break, and asked for his dinner to be brought to him. It was
no wonder why few of the department heads came to eat in person; they were
probably still working. It was lucky Jaro had turned down his offer or the
project would be years down the line.
He pushed the reports out of the way and looked over his records on the
project. He had never changed the page from the one Jaro had been
discussing. He read the report he'd kept__it had been one of their total
failures. It was strange to see something so old it in paper form, so out of
place. But he was grateful that all the records had been copied before the rest
was taken. Without it he'd be no different from the others Sisko had made his
command staff. Justin could cope with the distance if there was the dream in
the cave, but he didn't know what he'd do if it wasn't there.
He closed the book, marking the page for Jaro to begin, and pulled his latest
notes out of the desk drawer. He scanned them, wanting to escape into
memories, but had to get the reports done by the close of day.
Most of the evening was spent finishing the pile, and he'd sent Jaro a note
explaining he was busy that night. When it had been reduced to a series of
stacks of completed reports, he shut off the light and wandered into the dark
night.
There were no stars that night. A faint cloud cover blocked them out, and the
darkness was absolute. Following the small lights along the walkway, he
retreated to his rooms. He was so tired all he wanted to do was sleep. But
while he dressed for bed, a thought teased his mind, one so intriguing he found
himself wide awake.
Jaro had said the answer could be anywhere, even hiding in a failure. Too
excited to sleep, he nearly changed again to go to his office. But a wary sense
of caution stopped him. It would be too obvious that way.
But he kept pads of paper in his room, ready for the bolts of lightning that
came to his mind late at night. He set the light low, as if he was reading, but
hunched over the paper holding tight to his pen.
There was no real focus to the idea yet. But he was consumed by the rest, all
the little parts that would make up the new approach. When the last word was
scribbled on the page, he hid the pad of paper and collapsed into bed, falling
into an excited exhaustion.
When he woke, early with the first light, he knew. It was the answer, and it
came from the marriage of old and new, a recent test result merged with a 14
year old failure, or a scientist who had lived with nothing but his passion for 15
years and one who had only recently shared it. He needed to tell Jaro, to lock
them both in a room and work undisturbed until they were done. But there
were the reports he had to turn in, and a meeting he had to attend, and
invariably more paperwork.
The morning passed quickly, all the reports and Sisko's meeting barely
touching him. He was meeting Jaro for lunch, and it was hard to conceal the
impatience as the meeting ran late. Sisko's first department meeting had been
brief and to the point, but no longer. Now, he brought his assistants, each
responsible for one subject, and he let them pay attention. It was not planned,
but as with every other department had occurred on its own. The chief aides
did most of the work. The department heads did the paperwork. Each gave
their reports while Justin decided how to tell Jaro of his discovery.
Lunch finally arrived. Jaro noticed he was excited, and ate his lunch a little
faster than usual. Then the Bajoran suggested they take a walk; he hadn't
looked the fields over in a few weeks.
Standing in the middle of the treated area, the smell having faded in favor of
the wet dirt and fertilizer smell of the growing one, he could tell Jaro was
impatient.
"I'll have all my reports done early today," he said, keeping his voice calm. "We
have some very important *new* things to talk about tonight."
Jaro didn't ask. The only sign of his excitement was a glimmer in his eye and
the way he twisted his hands around impatiently. "Then you should be getting
back to work," he said.
Justin had never finished the days reports with such efficiency before. He
assigned one of his aides to verify all the figures that night, a standard practice
but more important this time since he'd rushed them so much. The young
man was slouched over the pile with his dinner on the side when Justin left,
hardly able to keep his pace to a normal, sedate walk.
The food was already there when Jaro arrived, and neither man cared what it
tasted like once Justin had outlined his idea. It was only in its infancy, with
many calculations to be done before it could even be written up. But what had
gone wrong fourteen years before had given him the clue, unexpectedly shaving
years off of the project, and setting in motion something neither man, in their
enthusiasm, could have imagined.
*****
Keiko and her children trudged alone the pathway, today the same as all the
other days. They'd been walking for months__keeping on the move, skirting
trails and villages, often hiding in mountain caverns. As the small gap she'd
learned to recognize appeared in the mountain, she assumed it was just
another night's hiding place. But as they approached, she could see more
signs of activity than normal. A few times they'd stopped at villages hidden
inside the caves and caverns along their trail and she realized this one was
another.
This one was small, tucked into the mountains, and the residents had carved
most of their homes into the mountain itself. The effect, especially when the
rains came, were as if there was no village at all.
They were ushered into a domed shaped opening.
Then an older Bajoran woman appeared and affectionately embraced their
guide.
Keiko understood most of the conversation.
"Is this them?" the woman had asked. "We expected you weeks ago."
"We had to backtrack around the Jem'Hadar."
"Ah, they must be very tired and hungry." She spoke to a young woman
standing behind her. "Get them some food and a place to sleep."
Turning back to their guide, she suggested an introduction.
"Keiko, this is Marlam Sira, the Elder of this village and my grandmother.
Grandmother, this is Keiko O'Brien, and Molly," he said, patting her on the
head, "and this is Kirayoshi."
The Elder came forward to meet them, smiling at Keiko and the children. She
asked in Bajoran, "Do you speak our language? My grandson is the only one
here who speaks any Standard."
Keiko nervously smiled back. "I understand enough and my daughter speaks
both." Nodding at Molly, she translated for her mother.
"Good. I was concerned. My grandson will be leaving soon. Now, I would
guess you are hungry and tired. We have your room ready, but would you like
a meal first?"
Keiko translated it slowly, but had no problem replying. After scant meals for
weeks nothing had sounded so good in a long time.
*****
Miles looked up from his desk, watching the lanky young man as Cary Larson
opened the door. He had come straight from work, called in by his supervisor
unexpectedly, and he was just a little hesitant. He was trying to straighten up
his clothes, unroll the sleeves and generally present a neater image. Miles
remembered how someone had once commented that if there was a way to
make a Starfleet uniform practical, Miles O'Brien would find it. He envied
Larson and his ability to use up some of the frustration. Since splitting
departments, and becoming head of Operations, Miles missed the occasional
chances to get away from reports and meetings, which now occupied most of
his life.
"Sit down, don't worry about your clothes. I won't keep you long." Larson
stopped straightening. "I need some information about supplies and progress.
How far along are we on the R section?" Miles had been referring to the main
residential section like that in so many reports he had started to think of it that
way.
Once he knew he wasn't in trouble, Larson relaxed a little. "All the families and
families with kids have units, and we're finishing the single units. It delayed
things a lot having to do the MR units first."
Miles nodded, adding that to his notes. "Well, that couldn't be avoided," he
said, which wasn't strictly true, but was none of Larson's business. It had
been that or putting the medical people in tents. If they had waited to reshuffle
everyone until there was somewhere to put them it would have been
unnecessary. But Sisko had ordered it and Miles was pretty sure where that
order had come from.
Looking down the list of information he needed, he continued, "Let's see, I need
your best guess when R will be done and how much material will be left."
"We should be done with R in a week, two at most. I'll have to look at my plans
to give you an accurate estimate on supplies." Larson was confident when
talking about solid physical objects, but failed miserably at asking questions.
"Sir, um, what happens after that? We have no new building plans."
"We're looking into that. There will be something for you to do." Nice
meaningless phrase, thought Miles. "I'll need those figures on the estimate by
afternoon, though."
"Certainly, Sir. I'll bring them over before lunch."
Miles nodded, and let him go. Larson nearly bolted out the door. Miles
watched as he closed the door more slowly, remembering decorum again.
Larson had been very daring, he thought, asking about the future. Miles
understood how he felt. Cary had sent his wife home, and Miles almost wished
Keiko and the children were there. At least he would know they were safe. He
didn't even know if they were alive, but assumed so. Somewhere between the
reports and meetings he realized that taking this job and doing it the best he
could was the only chance to see his family again.
*****
end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1_3,Chapter 11