LEGACY An Alternative History of the Dominion War Year 1 Part 3 _ Adjustments Chapter 12 Carl Jackson fingered the new little pin he wore, denoting him as second in his department. He even had a desk of his own since the department split, and spent at least half his time sitting at it organizing the figures he gathered. He rarely dealt with the actual supplies anymore. Those who did supplied him with figures to add to his reports. The Dominion required records be kept on every kind of supply, and what department each portion went to. Each department, in turn, had to account for how they used any and all supplies. Carl got copies of all of these, and put them together in monthly reports. There were no Jem'Hadar, he thought, finishing that month's batch, but there were no secrets either. It was just that most people never saw the intrusion. Since his promotion, he had noticed the attitude of his neighbors had changed. He wished there was room for his family in the old section, but he wasn't quite high enough for that. In the meanwhile, the neighbors pointedly avoided him. The children still played together, but he and Cheryl were invisible. Nothing else had really changed. But with each detailed report he was confronted with the reality that the others only suspected. It was harder on Cheryl. He was busy most of the time, and didn't come back until late when most had retreated inside for the curfew. That he was allowed to be out at night was yet another reminder that he was different. But he envied them. They didn't have to see the minute detail by which the masters watched. They had no idea how easily they could all face disaster if it went wrong. Cheryl was almost asleep when he came home. Jeffrey had long ago gone to bed, and little Calla was usually dozing in her mothers arms. He missed them during the day. He didn't like the looks he saw them get when he was there. He wished he worked for Sisko sometimes. All his aides had been moved nearby, along with the department heads. But they were there so he could call on them anytime, and when he slid in behind his wife and held her, he was glad he wasn't so important. It would be nice to have such good quarters. It would be wonderful if his family wasn't the local enemy. But it worried him that the staff was drawing together and pushing the rest away. Isolating them physically would just make it worse. If his children were happy, he could live with things. He'd finished the use reports for the month and once they had gone through channels the next months supplies could be received. He dropped the stack of reports in a box and stuck it under his arm, ready to deliver it to Dax before he went to lunch. ***** It took two taps on the door before Dax responded, and Jackson entered cautiously, carrying the reports. She stood, staring out the window, playing with her ring. He was careful when she noticed the ring. Sometimes she didn't really listen then. But there had been a lot of work, and he assumed she was under as much pressure as everyone else. But he felt awkward standing there with the box in his hand. "I have the Use Reports," he started. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. She left the ring alone and stood straight. Then she turned and nodded. "Is that everything?" He'd seen the sudden changes before and didn't react. "Everything. You'll want to verify it, of course." She indicated a table. "Leave it there. I'll check it over but I'm sure you've done a good job." He hated everything about it but that. She was different. Most of the departments had quickly established a pyramid of authority, and the department heads did little but the final reports. Supply was different. She liked doing the inspections herself, and farmed out the reports to her aids. Since she had to sign them, he was sure she double checked, but she always complimented her staff on good work. Nobody else did. She tried hard to include everyone, even the crew that mostly unloaded the crates. He put the box on the table, but she'd moved to her desk already. "Could you bring the first section here?" she asked. He pulled out the first segment of papers, placing them on her desk. She sat straight, concentrating on the page as she read over the summary. "Go ahead and get lunch," she said, not even looking up. He nodded and left. After he'd finished, he'd get hers and bring it to her. She didn't leave her office for meals. She seldom mixed with anyone but her staff and those who attended the same meeting she did. Sometimes she was like this, so fixed on her work she didn't even see them. And other times she was wore the distant, lost look she'd had when he came in. There was another Jadzia, more relaxed and social, but that one was reserved for her old friends and he only saw glimpsed of her. But while he ate, sitting alone, he remembered the times he'd seen her in Quarks, laughing and playing games, dressed oddly with Major Kira in tow, or dressed in full Klingon attire. There were several versions of her that worked and lived, but that one had vanished. Nobody played anymore. He wished he could remember what it was to laugh. Some found her erratic behavior unsettling, but he did not. He only wished he knew how to put the fears and worries aside, even if just for a time. Every time he looked at his children he wished he knew a way to shut out the pain that drowned all the joy of their smiles. How long would it be before even children had forgotten how? ***** Duncan stood by the door just watching the room. There was something different about him, thought Julian. It was almost as if he wanted to stay. He looked odd dressed in the same non_descript clothes everyone who came to visit wore. After months spent in the next bed he had gotten to know Duncan well, and since his release a few weeks before he missed his friends company. Most of all, Duncan just looked lost. The others watched as well, but no one bothered him with questions until he was ready. Slowly he wandered further into the room, touching his now empty bed. Julian was glad to see his friend, but disturbed by the look he wore. "We missed you," he said. Duncan looked at him, a little stunned. "It's even hard for me to believe, but I wouldn't mind coming back. Anything would be better than out there." Duncan sat on the bed he had occupied for so long. His gloomy look confirmed what Lonnie had tried to tell him, and he realized it wasn't as impatient for his leg to heal anymore. "How bad is it?" asked a neighbor. "It's hard to describe. They don't see it, but they're all running scared. People just don't talk about certain subjects. There is a curfew which isn't official, but that's because people obey it anyway. Nobody complains about anything, not even little things. It's like they are all pretending." He was speaking low, but just high enough for the rest to hear. "I just wanted you to warned. I don't know if you can really be prepared for it." "What about the food?" asked one of the soon_to_be_released. "It's not much different than what we're used to, except you have to get it yourself. There is a square with tables. The top level staff stick together, but everybody else seems to be friendly. Well, sort of friendly. The food's better seasoned, at least some of the time. I guess whoever does the cooking decides on that. And if you just want it in raw form you can get it that way, although I don't see why anyone would want to. I guess it's ok, if you don't want much variety. But then we're used to that part at least. That's something . . . " His voice trailed off, bleakly fading. They were staring at him, growing quiet and worried. He took a deep breath and continued. "I live in this emergency housing unit, or at least that's what I thought they were. It seems before the Federation gave us away they sent some building materials, since there aren't any here. I've got a couple of roommates, a couple in one room and me in the other. It's starting too get hot, and you can't stand the inside during the middle of the day. And they're clustered in little bunches, so at least there is a little more room between them. But I heard that during the spring there is a problem with mud." Julian wondered if the hospital staff's housing was as bad. He'd seen the little cubicles by the main building when they'd been moved. At least there was a view there, he told himself. Duncan was looking at his hands. "There is a channel being dug out of the hill to divert the mud, but it's slow going. At least I got out of that job." "They have equipment for that around here, don't they?" One of the younger patients was staring at Duncan with fascination. "Had. All they have now is shovels. Part of it was dug up quicker, before. You can tell. It's a lot deeper." "What else did they take?" asked a woman, one of Miles' old crew. "Everything. Not just the medical instruments and the replicators, but toys and padds and the diggers they had for the fields. There's replacement parts for some of it, but it's pretty primitive." He paused for a time, shrugging his shoulders. "It's . . . different. I guess most of them are used to it, but it will take a while." "So, what are you doing?" asked someone very soon to be released, with great apprehension. "I was asked if I wanted a job. You don't have to take one, but I couldn't stand the idea of sitting around with nothing to do, just too much like here." He shrugged. "I got sent to Supply, which seems to be using the biggest number of people. I'm working on inventory reports, and keeping track of who got what. I get to sit at a desk all day. They said it's important. All this has to be reported to Them." "Them?" asked someone faintly. "Well yeah, you know, up there . . . " There was silence. "Oh," said the same voice, very softly. And the room became quiet again. Bashir couldn't take his eyes off Duncan. Before his release he had been nervous, even a little scared, but hadn't looked this bleak. Everyone out there had learned to live with it, eventually letting denial make the pain easier. They would not have that luxury. Duncan was trying to tell them, but it was still unreal and they couldn't quite picture it. He wondered if they occasionally reminded themselves not to complain, or to avoid the wrong subjects. Or had denial and habit made it easier by now. He thought about Lonnie, and remembered she had tried to tell him something once upon a time. But that hadn't been real either. Duncan stood up, noting the time. "Ugh look, I've got to get back. I was on a break." He stood, hesitant, as if he didn't want to leave. "I'll be back whenever I can. I won't desert you guys." He made his way towards the door, greeting his friends, and slowly looking around the room, studying the faces. He smiled a small smile and reluctantly left them behind. Then there was silence. Each of them would have to walk out that door one day. Julian still had time to think about it, but eventually he'd heal. And then Willman had a place already waiting for him in his strictly run dictatorship. Duncan didn't much like his job, but he'd gotten to choose if he wanted it. He had no such option. He would be a doctor again, but it would never be the same. Most of his patients had died in the crash. If he'd had them go the first trip__if *everyone* had gone the in one, perhaps they could have gotten where they were supposed to go and wouldn't be trapped in this misery. He thought about all the decisions he'd made that would be different as he slipped into a dream, wishing that he could never wake. ***** A few days after Duncan's visit, Julian was drawn into a world he still didn't know, but understood a little too well. Willman had drawn the curtains and examined his leg. He'd seen it already, the mangled rut of flesh the "procedures" had left. The memories of it were all too easy to remember, "It's progressing as expected," he said. But he didn't leave. He had a folder in his hand, which he laid on Bashir's bed. There was something different about Willman. He was very official. He didn't sit and try to chat. He lectured. Bashir wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but it made him nervous. "Your not healed yet, but you will be," explained the older doctor, "and when you're up to going back to work I want you ready. Since you're not familiar with some of the procedures and medicines that we have available you'll be reading up on them, along with selected treatment records. Now, I know you are familiar with field procedures, but some of this goes a bit beyond that. And of course, anything you know that would add something useful to our tools would be welcome. My chief aide, Broadman, will be handling the rest of your assignments, and she will be able to discuss any questions you have." Bashir listened intently, a bit surprised by hearing Lonnie referred to by her last name. "This one, however, is rather special and I thought we'd start with it. She'll be here in a couple of hours so I suggest you get it read." Bashir knew how Willman dealt with his staff. Still, the brusk tone and straight lecture was unexpected. He was still a patient, after all. But he recognized an order when he heard one. "I'll have it finished by then," he said carefully, remembering what he'd heard about Willman from the staff when they'd thought he was asleep. He thought about Duncan and the gloom he'd brought inside on his visit. Willman had two sides. For the patients, there was the friendly face. But his staff saw the other side, the man who ruled without dissent. He'd have to learn to deal with this different man__the one to whom he'd just been introduced. ***** Julian lay in his bed, holding the folder. He had his suspicions about what it was, and didn't want to open it. But he understood why the staff found Willman daunting. He would read it for the simple reason he didn't want to have to explain why he hadn't. He'd heard about morning meetings, especially when someone had been out of line. If Willman chose to correct him, while the curtains would be respected and it wouldn't be discussed, everyone would hear. He'd rather be reminded of the memories than that. There was only one thing the file could be, and he pulled himself to a more comfortable position before he opened it. A little hesitantly, he opened the file. It didn't surprise him to see his own name. Carefully not reading any of it, he flipped through the pages. There were two separate reports, just as they had treated his leg with Willman's special torture twice. He knew, generally, what the procedure consisted of. More had been done since his, and some day he'd have to perform them himself. There was no reason to dread reading the file. But there were memories, monsters reaching their claws at him, fire burning at his leg. He didn't remember the pain, except it had existed. The mind was kind when it came to pain. Somewhere between the nightmares of fire and flickering monsters and the report was the truth. If he ever was to *be* a doctor here, he'd have to deal with it. He slid the pillow to the right spot and started to read. Then he stopped. "The patient was placed on the table," it said. Did they have any idea of how much it hurt, how rough they'd been and how much he'd been bounced around? Then they'd nearly dropped him on the table after that. The simple bland sentence brought the memories flooding back unbidden. He closed it, studying the blank cover. Willman would not make him do this. He would put up with any lecture the doctor wanted to give, but he would not bring back the nightmares. He even had lost the ones where Garak died, or the Jem'Hadar chose who to kill. He would explain to Lonnie when she came. But he wanted to be a doctor again, even here where he could tell how bitter Willman was over how little they could sometimes do. He'd survived the crash for a reason. The report was clinical, just as those he'd written himself had been. He was a doctor. He should understand. He opened it and started to read again. He stared at the words. They were so cold, so formal. "The patient was sedated and restrained." He could remember the inky mist, and the terror at being tied down to the harness. There was so much they left out. He could see it again, already running through his head. Damn Willman, he thought. It was hard enough sleeping with the constant pain. Now he would have the nightmares back. But he couldn't stop now. He read the clinical description of the effect of the heavy salt solution, the way it slowly broke down the damaged tissue and infiltrated deep into the wound, drawing out the infection, and the pronounced way it began to weep. But in his mind was the sudden cold wet feeling and the fire that came after. He remembered the way the gag had felt in his mouth, as it made it nearly impossible to breath. And the pain, too, that had made him pass out it was so intense. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, remembering the distorted images and the smell of the orange fire as it ate away at his leg. The report said the wound was pale and drawn after that, but he could not visualize it, only the welcome blackness that had taken away the agony. He knew he would see it again in his sleep. He kept reading. They had rinsed the oozing mess from his leg and brought the vat which made up the next step. He did not remember any of that, safe in the blackness, but he did remember what the peroxide had become when he was torn from his safe darkness by the new wave of pain. He read the description of the bubbling and the loosening of the dead patches of skin. But he remembered the roaring in his ears, and the smell of the fumes that came back from the crash. He had relived those moments so many times. He remembered the way the beam had pushed him down rather suddenly when it cut into his leg, and his desperate need to pull away. He had been afraid they would take his leg then and the hissing had become an acid burning through flesh and bone. He wasn't sure if that might not have been better now, if all these months of recovery and the two torturous treatments were going to be worth the results. He remembered the pain, but more the end of it, when blackness once more took him, and the laughing thing the pain had become that had granted his wish when he begged for release. Tears were freely streaming down his face, and he had started to sob. His hands were tightly gripping the folder, letting go only long enough to turn the pages he now had to read. The last page of that report described how the patient had fainted, and the bandaging of the wound. He wished he could tell them how welcome the warm, wet darkness had been, and how safe he had felt. For just a few moments, he would welcome that again, but that had gone, just as the security of this room was being taken away too soon. He read the second report quickly, remembering none of it but the very end, when the chemicals had hit a major nerve, surrounded by the deep infection, and he had screamed from the pain, even deeply sedated. The sound of his screams was distant, and faint, but he remembered them, as he remembered dropping deeply into nothingness and being very cold, before he had gone into a coma. The report noted that emergency treatment for extreme shock was administered, and the outcome was uncertain at that time. He closed the file, and dropped it on the floor. He lay for a time, unable to move, his heart pounding and his breathing irregular. Tears kept running down his cheeks, but he had stopped sobbing. He thought about Willman and what he had done, forcing him to remember. There was a reason, he knew. He'd have to get over his memories before he could treat others with the same need. But even if it had saved his life, he resented the way Willman was making him remember. It was so cold, like the world outside. He would never see Willman with the same eyes again. ***** A little while later, when Lonnie arrived, the folder still lay on the floor where it had fallen. Everyone watched as she made her way to his bed without comment, and slowly opened the curtain and retrieved the file. Bashir was laying flat, stiffly staring at the ceiling. His face was red and his eyes lost. But he was angry, too, and she cautiously opened the folder. Reading the first page, she closed it again. She waited for him to say something. He said very quietly, the anger spilling out, "I read it. Now you can go. I don't have any questions." Lonnie was worried. Anger was dangerous. It was confined to secret letters and dreams. She had to make him understand. She sat. He ignored her. She wished things were a little more private, but they would have to settle for the honor system. "I know it hurts to remember it, but he saved your life. Twice." He looked at her, barely under control, "And he made me remember all the bloody details, too." She put her finger to her lips, trying to keep his voice down. He was talking much too loud. He needed to get it out, but not this way. He stared at her gesture. "What's the matter? Is being human against the rules now too?" He sounded more hurt than angry, but the words stung. At least he had not said them so loudly. But she was certain that everyone in the room was listening. She dug in her pocket and found a pad of paper and a pen. She sat on the chair and waited until she had his full attention. "Yes," she said, softly, "Remember you have to live here after your released too. And you don't want to be on his list." Her gaze was intense, and she could see she was getting through. He was passing into grief now, at the edge of understanding how much had been lost. But he was quiet. She handed him the pad of paper and the pen. "Here," she said very quietly, "write it out. All of it. I'll promise to read it, but then I'll burn it. And you never say it again." "Do I have a choice?" he asked. "Not if you want to be a doctor," she said, already knowing what his answer was. He took the paper, staring ahead. "You can go now," he said bitterly. "I'll be back with your dinner in a couple of hours. Is that ok?" She asked it gently, softly. "I ... I don't think I could eat right now." She nodded, adding, "I'll be back anyway." She took his hand and squeezed it hard. He looked in her eyes and she wondered if he saw the fear. ***** 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