7.

When Spock entered the dimly lighted cavern for the first time, the prisoner did not even glance up at him. Dressed in a pale blue coverall, the Reman sat on the ground atop a bedroll, his back against the cave wall. His arms encircled his steepled legs, and his forehead rested against his knees. A metal shackle bound each of his wrists, the cuffs attached by monofilaments to opposite rock faces. His breathing did not appear shallow enough to indicate sleep, so Spock watched, silent and motionless, to see if he would stir.

Spock did not reach out with his mind to search for the Reman's consciousness, nor open himself up to receive any empathic impressions. Eight days had pa.s.sed since the failed a.s.sa.s.sination, six since Spock had first awoken after surgery, but he still did not feel entirely recovered from his experiences. So he simply waited. Two full minutes pa.s.sed before the prisoner finally looked up, his expression mixing curiosity and confusion; he'd obviously heard Spock enter, but then had heard him neither leave nor move.

The Reman said nothing.

Spock knew that, though held captive in awkward circ.u.mstances, the a.s.sa.s.sin had been tended with as much care as possible. Though he was restrained, the lengths of monofilament allowed him some freedom of movement within the cavern. The lighting had been kept low to accommodate the general photosensitivity of most Remans. Dr. Shalvan had surgically repaired his head wounds; his soiled, bloodied clothes had been replaced; and he'd been fed regularly. Corthin had overseen his interrogation, which had been conducted by Venaster and Dorlok. Because of its immoral nature and dubious effectiveness, torture had not been employed; rather, a range of techniques had been used for the questioning, though none had yet proven successful. The Reman had said virtually nothing, refusing even to give his name.

Making eye contact with the prisoner, Spock stated his own name, then asked, "Who are you?"

The Reman held Spock's gaze a moment longer, then dropped his forehead back onto his knees. Spock closed his eyes and directed his mind, not to the prisoner, but back to the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt, to the moment he had let down his mental guard and had connected empathically with his attacker. He searched within his memory of the Reman's emotions for a name. When he found none, he sought any other detail that might be of use.

Opening his eyes, he saw the Reman's position unchanged. "You do not hate me," Spock declared. "You were determined to kill me, but not motivated by some personal enmity." He paused, exploring what he had detected of his attacker's psyche. "Why, then?" he asked. "What actions have I taken for you to believe that I should die?"

Again, the Reman did not look up or say anything, or give any indication at all that he had even heard the questions. Trusting that he could not improve upon the efforts of his compatriots to extract information from the a.s.sa.s.sin, Spock knew that he could add but one distinction to his interaction with the man who had tried to kill him. As both the leader of the Reunification Movement and the intended target, he told his would-be murderer what he would do with him if he did not cooperate.

And still the Reman said nothing.

Spock turned and left, intending to follow through with his threat.

"You want to do what?" D'Tan asked sharply, apparently incredulous, accurately reflecting Corthin's own reaction.

"I wish to turn the Reman over to the Romulan authorities," Spock repeated. He stood at one end of the cavern, addressing several leading members of the Reunification cell that worked out of Ki Baratan. While Corthin listened quietly along with Dr. Shalvan, Dorlok, and Venaster, D'Tan voiced his objection.

"That makes no sense," he told Spock with unrestrained indignance. He raised his hands into the air, palms up, clearly a gesture of his frustration.

"On the contrary," Spock said evenly, "informing the Romulan authorities of the crime and remanding the perpetrator to them makes complete sense."

As Corthin attempted to understand why that might be so, she paced slowly toward Spock and D'Tan. The flat soles of her shoes crunched along the ground. "I understand the practicality of what you propose," she said. "We're obviously not going to kill the Reman, and we are not set up to keep him as a prisoner." Since finding the a.s.sa.s.sin, they'd had to improvise his detention, which had necessarily claimed some of their already limited resources, including their time. In addition to providing the Reman with food, water, clothing, and medical care, they'd had to commit personnel to continuously guarding him.

Corthin stopped beside D'Tan as Spock went on. "Additionally, keeping anybody captive as we have violates Romulan law."

D'Tan barked out a derisive laugh, which Corthin interpreted and translated into words. "That seems a curious position to take," she said, "given that the Romulan government has declared the very existence of our Reunification Movement a violation of the law."

"Granted," Spock said. "But that declaration can be revoked, or another made to supersede it."

"Is that what you hope to accomplish?" Dr. Shalvan asked from the rear of the cave. Corthin stepped aside so that Spock could see him. "Do you seek legitimization of the Movement by offering up the a.s.sa.s.sin as some sort of conciliation to the Romulan authorities?"

"What if he's working for for the authorities?" asked D'Tan. the authorities?" asked D'Tan.

Corthin thought that idea unlikely. "It's difficult to imagine a Reman acting on behalf of the Romulan government," she observed. "A government that kept the Reman people enslaved and confined to unspeakable living conditions for centuries."

"Actually, Tal'Aura's autocracy granted the Remans their freedom," Spock said.

"During an attack on Romulus by the Remans," D'Tan said, "and only after the Federation got involved."

"Nevertheless," Spock said. "But whether or not it seems improbable for the Reman to have acted in concert with the Romulan government, I submit that it is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" Venaster asked from beside the doctor. "You're talking about the possibility of handing an a.s.sa.s.sin over to those employing him."

Spock walked between Corthin and D'Tan to the center of the cave, where everybody gathered around him. "Let us a.s.sume for a moment that Tal'Aura did retain the services of the Reman. Returning him to her would not harm us in any material way. We have kept him apart from our operations, so he would be unable to provide any useful information about us. We would free an a.s.sa.s.sin, but such operatives are easily replaced." Spock paused, then continued his argument. "Regardless of why the Reman attacked me, or for whose purpose he did so, turning him over to the authorities would demonstrate the Movement's fidelity to Romulan law, and it would relieve us of the burden of detaining him."

Logical, Corthin thought. But incomplete. But incomplete. In her time with Spock, she had grown accustomed to the thoroughness of his reasoning, as well as the foresight with which he examined possible courses of action. It seemed to her that, in transferring custody of their prisoner to the Romulans, Spock had some objective in mind other than simply obeying the law. "If we do as you suggest, there's no guarantee that the authorities will even believe our story about the Reman," she said. "They might just as likely think we are attempting to plant a terrorist in their midst." She saw D'Tan and Dorlok nod their agreement with her. "You've told us why your proposal is not a bad idea," she said to Spock, "but why is it a good idea? What do you seek to achieve?" In her time with Spock, she had grown accustomed to the thoroughness of his reasoning, as well as the foresight with which he examined possible courses of action. It seemed to her that, in transferring custody of their prisoner to the Romulans, Spock had some objective in mind other than simply obeying the law. "If we do as you suggest, there's no guarantee that the authorities will even believe our story about the Reman," she said. "They might just as likely think we are attempting to plant a terrorist in their midst." She saw D'Tan and Dorlok nod their agreement with her. "You've told us why your proposal is not a bad idea," she said to Spock, "but why is it a good idea? What do you seek to achieve?"

"I wish to open a dialogue with Praetor Tal'Aura."

Corthin expected a surprised reaction from the others, perhaps even another outburst from D'Tan, but everybody remained silent for a moment. Spock's a.s.sertion did not shock Corthin because she had lately sensed his dissatisfaction with the progress of the Movement. Since the attack on him, he had spoken to her several times about augmenting their methods; establishing communication with the praetor would clearly mark such a new direction.

"Why would you want to speak with Tal'Aura?" Dr. Shalvan finally asked. "She has continued Hiren's program of hunting our people down. Under her regime, Vorakel and T'Solon were captured."

"Captured, but not executed," Spock said. "They remain imprisoned, awaiting trial. And the sweeps for our people have become less frequent under this praetor. If I am able to speak with her, I will attempt to negotiate for their release."

"Does that seem reasonable?" D'Tan asked, his voice more measured than it had been earlier. Corthin could see that Spock's proposal concerned him deeply.

"It may prove more reasonable than you think," Spock said. He folded his hands before him and slowly made his way back to the front of the cave, Corthin and D'Tan parting to allow him past them. "As I said, the sweeps for Reunification sympathizers have occurred less frequently during the past few months, which may indicate a softening of the praetor's stance. Indeed, considering the current state of affairs, the praetor may even be persuaded to completely reverse her position."

"Tal'Aura suspiciously survived the murders of Hiren and most of the Senate, then later seized power, and now rules essentially as a dictator," Shalvan said. "She does not seem the type open to persuasion."

Corthin agreed with the doctor, but Spock had mentioned the "current state of affairs," and she thought she understood why. "The divided empires," she said. "For the eventual reunification of Romulans and Vulcans to take place, the Empire itself must unite."

"Precisely," Spock said, turning back to face everybody. "Although the praetor may not support our ultimate goal, she certainly must support uniting all Romulans."

"And we now have more adherents to our cause than we have ever had before," Corthin reasoned along with Spock. "If Tal'Aura allows us to bring the Movement out of the shadows, it could help her focus public opinion on restoring a unified Empire."

"Yes," Spock said.

"I don't know," said the doctor. "I'm not convinced that we can trust Tal'Aura."

"Nor have I suggested that we should," Spock said. "But if for even a short while our aims coincide, it stands to reason that both parties can benefit."

"Do you suppose that is why you were attacked?" D'Tan asked. "The Remans have only recently gained their freedom, at least in part thanks to the Romulan schism. A united Empire does not stand to be in their best interests. Could the attempt on your life have been a means for the Remans to disrupt our Movement, in order to make it less likely that we would aid Tal'Aura?"

"Possibly, but again, it is irrelevant to how we proceed," Spock said. "Are there continued objections to turning the Reman over to the authorities, and to my opening talks with the praetor?" Corthin watched as Spock looked in turn to each of those present. Only D'Tan spoke up.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he said simply.

"Noted," Spock said. He waited for any other response but received none. "Very well," he said.

Corthin understood that Spock regarded the silence of the others as tacit approval of his plan, and that he would look to obtain a similar endors.e.m.e.nt from the rest of the Movement's leadership. She wondered, though, if Spock considered such consent irrelevant as well. Although he often sought the opinions and advice of others, he also sometimes exhibited a calculated single-mindedness, choosing his own counsel over that of the aggregate.

Corthin agreed with the logic Spock had just voiced, but she still held grave reservations about what he had proposed. She'd said nothing because it would not matter. Before long, she knew, Spock would make his argument to Tal'Aura. Corthin could only hope that the praetor would not have him hauled away in irons.

Or executed.

8.

Sisko walked out of the Uptown public transporter facility into the crisp New Orleans evening. Though darkness had not yet descended, the sun had already set, allowing the modest afternoon warmth to begin bleeding off. With the end of winter still several weeks away in North America, Sisko had known what sort of weather to expect. He moved off to the side of the large marble terrace that fronted the transporter terminal, set down his duffel, and pulled on his lightweight brown jacket over his civilian clothes.

Before moving on, Sisko took a moment to peer down the wide stairway that led to St. Charles Avenue. The antique-style streetlamps that marched along below the elevated maglev rail had already come on in the gloaming. The great, twisting forms of southern live oaks lined the boulevard, with an occasional southern magnolia interspersed among them.

Sis...o...b..eathed in deeply, and though the magnolias would not bloom until springtime, their citrusy scent returned to him in memory. During the summer months, he knew, the sultry air would hang heavily throughout the Crescent City, laden with the aromas of both flora and food. Sisko had spent so much time in New Orleans during his life that he imagined he could detect the savory smells of the Cajun and Creole dishes he had grown up eating, and that he relished still: gumbos and jambalayas, etouffees and brochettes, bisques and remoulades.

The scents of home, he thought.

The idea brought him up short.

Discomfited, Sisko tried to put the notion out of his mind. He grabbed up his duffel and headed down the steps. At street level, he turned left, in the direction of the fading sunlight and Audubon Park. As he fell in among the people strolling along the avenue, though, the feeling of "coming home" welled up within him once more.

That's not a bad thing, he told himself. More than likely, what he felt stemmed from his father's unexpected return to health. Five days earlier, when Sisko had departed Starbase 197 after receiving Jake's message, he hadn't known if he would ever see his father alive again. Sisko replied to his son, letting him know that he would get to Earth as quickly as he could, but with so many Starfleet vessels lost to the Borg and so many private ships pressed into humanitarian service, he ended up having to make his journey piecemeal. Less than twenty-six hours ago, while aboard U.S.S. Vel'Sor U.S.S. Vel'Sor, the third of four different starships he took on his trip, he heard from Jake again. With Sisko so much closer to Earth, they spoke with each other in real time.

On the companel in Sisko's small cabin aboard Vel'Sor, Vel'Sor, Jake had looked exhausted, but his smile had returned. Although the doctors concluded that they could do little for Joseph Sisko other than to make him more comfortable, the old man actually rallied-enough, at least, that the medical staff agreed to release him from the hospital. When Jake contacted Jake had looked exhausted, but his smile had returned. Although the doctors concluded that they could do little for Joseph Sisko other than to make him more comfortable, the old man actually rallied-enough, at least, that the medical staff agreed to release him from the hospital. When Jake contacted Vel'Sor Vel'Sor, he did so from the apartment above the elder Sisko's restaurant.

And since Dad's still here, Sisko thought, no wonder this place feels like home. no wonder this place feels like home.

He crossed Soniat Street and glanced at the expansive grounds to his left, and at the Beaux Arts mansion that had graced the site since its construction in the early nineteen hundreds. Sisko had always loved the look of the beautiful old building, with its wide, columned porch on the first floor, the ornate railing enclosing the upstairs porch, the detailed brackets beneath the eaves, the paired dormers rising from the red-tiled roof. The venerable structure had somehow survived the numerous natural and man-made disasters that had struck the Gulf Coast through the centuries. Originally erected as a private residence, it later served as a public library for more than a hundred years, until falling into disuse during the dark days of the post-atomic horror. After decades of neglect, local residents eventually restored it to its former glory and converted it into a museum showcasing the works of regional artists. Sisko had reached his twenties before he'd come to appreciate the contents of the building as much as he did the building itself.

As he continued along St. Charles Avenue, he realized that his easy familiarity with New Orleans, combined with the ongoing presence of his father in the city, made the place come alive for him in a way no other had for some time. He had resided in many other locations-San Francisco, Starbase 137, New Berlin, Livingston Livingston and and Okinawa Okinawa and and Saratoga Saratoga, Deep s.p.a.ce 9 and Bajor-and he had eventually adopted a sense of belonging in each of them. He'd even accepted his stay with the Bajoran Prophets in the Celestial Temple, for a period of time he could not define but that the outside world had perceived as about eight months.

In the four-plus years since his return from that other-s.p.a.ce and other-time, Sisko had lived with Kasidy and Rebecca in Kendra Province, in the house that he had planned, and that Kasidy and Jake had built during his absence. And they had been happy there-at least until recently. But then something happened. He couldn't be precisely sure just when it started, or how, but of late, he had begun tracing it back to the accident.

Eighteen months ago, their friends and neighbors Eivos Calan and his wife, Audj, had died in a house fire. Kasidy took the loss hard, as did Sisko. Something more clicked within Sisko, though, something he couldn't cla.s.sify at the time, but which affected him very deeply. It went beyond sorrow, beyond loss, something stoking a dread within him that he could neither articulate nor share.

In part, that undefined emotion had driven him to join the archeological teams working at B'hala. The revered Bajoran city had been lost for twenty millennia, until Sisko himself had unearthed it during his command of Deep s.p.a.ce 9. Eivos Calan, at the time a prylar in the Bajoran religious hierarchy, started toiling at the site immediately after its rediscovery. Years later, he even supervised Jake, who, for a few months during Sisko's time in the Celestial Temple, chose to volunteer at the B'hala dig as a means of feeling closer to his father. Sisko supposed that his own decision to enlist in the excavation reflected similar emotions with respect to Calan, with whom he'd grown close.

Although Kasidy had claimed to understand Sisko's need to help at B'hala, she'd been opposed to it. She pointed to the "unusual brain activity" that led him to the lost city in the first place, and which almost killed him. Quite simply, she said, the city scared her.

Sisko had enrolled with the archeologists anyway. Kasidy seemed to resent him for it, and so before long, he quit. He resented her for that. They agreed to put the incident behind them, but bitterness remained within him, and he could see that it remained within her too-that, and more.

Kasidy had never mentioned the Ohalu text, a very old book of prophecies recovered from the ruins of B'hala. The ancient ma.n.u.script-it antedated the city itself-identified their daughter as the "Infant Avatar," whose birth would usher in a new age for Bajor. A year ago, that prophecy contributed directly to the abduction of Rebecca, and nearly to her death. Though Kasidy voiced no accusations, Sisko knew that she blamed him, at least in some measure, for bringing upon them an almost unbearable ordeal, and to the brink of what would have been a crushing loss. If he hadn't found B'hala, they never would have come so close to losing their precious Rebecca.

But those events, and all of the thoughts and feelings they had wrought, failed to completely define the trouble between Kasidy and Sisko. What happened and what they felt contributed to it, exacerbated it, but also masked it. Only very recently had Sisko come to fully recognize the issues at the heart of it all, and the source of his terrible dread.

But maybe now everything will be all right, he thought as he walked along St. Charles Avenue. He'd left Kasidy and Rebecca only temporarily, to protect the Federation against the Borg; he'd always intended to return to them. But after the unthinkable losses throughout the Federation, after what had taken place aboard James T. Kirk James T. Kirk . . . . . .

And then he thought of his father, released from the hospital, back at home in his own bed. Maybe it'll be all right now Maybe it'll be all right now, he told himself again. Maybe I don't have to talk with Kas after all. Maybe I don't have to talk with Kas after all.

With a start, Sisko realized that he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings. He stopped and stepped to the side of the pedestrian walkway, then took a moment to orient himself. He saw that he had almost reached Arabella Street, and so after resettling his duffel on his shoulder, he headed up to the next corner and turned left. Not more than a couple of kilometers ahead, he knew, the Mississippi River made its southernmost approach past the city. Much closer than that stood his destination.

In the firmly entrenched dusk, islands of light centered around the lampposts, chasing away shadows from the narrow street. With satisfaction, Sisko saw that little, if anything, had changed in the neighborhood. The news kiosk still occupied the far corner, the movie theater and the playhouse still filled the second block down on the right, and in the middle of the third block on the left, Mr. Roby's bookstore still adjoined Sisko's Creole Kitchen.

A warm feeling enveloped Sisko as he approached the restaurant. It didn't surprise him to see the place mostly dark. Normally, yellow neon illuminated the outsized name Sisko's Sisko's on the sign above the front doors, with blue neon outlining the entire sign. Though his father always strived to keep the restaurant open during regular lunch and dinner hours, he also did not like turning over its operation to anybody else. Until the elder Sisko fully recovered from his infirmity, it seemed likely that his eatery would remain closed. on the sign above the front doors, with blue neon outlining the entire sign. Though his father always strived to keep the restaurant open during regular lunch and dinner hours, he also did not like turning over its operation to anybody else. Until the elder Sisko fully recovered from his infirmity, it seemed likely that his eatery would remain closed.

Lights shined from the downstairs windows, and also from one of the rooms on the second floor. As he heard the clip-clop of a horse drawing a carriage down the street, Sisko reached for the right-hand k.n.o.b on the double doors. It turned beneath his touch, and he pushed into the restaurant.

Inside, only the lights in the foyer had been left on. The soft yellow glow did not penetrate too deeply into the main room, leaving its far corners shrouded in gloom. Chairs had been placed atop all but one of the tables, as though somebody had wanted to sweep the floor. On that one open table, which seated eight, Sisko saw gla.s.ses, dinnerware, napkins, and half-eaten plates of food, as though the meal there had been consumed in haste.

Sisko set down his duffel and moved to the right, to the base of the steps that rose to the second story, to his father's apartment. He saw light leaking into the stairwell from an upstairs room. "h.e.l.lo?" he called, though not so loudly that he would wake his father should he be resting.

Footsteps immediately met his greeting, hurrying toward the second-floor landing. The tread fell lightly, certainly not that of Jake or either of Sisko's brothers. He waited to see who would emerge from the apartment.

When Azeni Korena appeared, alone, Sisko knew at once that the situation had changed since he'd last spoken with Jake. "Mister Sisko," she said, seeming fl.u.s.tered. She and Jake had been married for almost four and a half years, and she had become as much a member of the family as anybody born into it. Sisko had even invited her to call him Dad Dad, though probably because she'd lost her parents in her youth, she preferred Mister Sisko Mister Sisko-an appellation that he at least favored over Emissary. Emissary.

Korena rushed down toward him, the heels of her shoes banging loudly on the wooden steps. "I'm sorry," she said as she descended, "I didn't hear you come in." She reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped just a pace from Sisko, anxiety revealed in her aspect.

"I didn't knock, I just let myself in," he said, pretending to himself that Korena's disquiet came from not having met him at the door. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's not that, it's-" she began. She reached out and took his hand in her own, and the sadness on her face told him that he could pretend no longer.

"What's happened?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice quivering, her eyes glistening. "Your father pa.s.sed away."

Sisko staggered backward a step, and Korena grabbed at his arm to steady him. "When?" he managed to say. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though he'd been punched in the gut and had the wind knocked out of him.

"This morning," Korena said. Tears slipped down her face, leaving quicksilver trails on her cheeks.

"This morning," he repeated. His father had been dead for hours and he hadn't known, he hadn't felt felt it. it.

"Jake wanted to wait until you were here to tell you," Korena explained. "He wanted you to be with family."

"Where is Jake?" he asked. "Is he here?" He looked past Korena to the stairs.

"No." She still had hold of his arm, and she squeezed, as though trying to hold him up both physically and spiritually. "I'm sorry . . . we expected you later."

"Where is Jake?" Sisko wanted to know, and then he recalled that his sister and brothers had come to New Orleans as well. "Where is everybody?"

"They're at the hospital, making arrangements," Korena said. "When . . . when . . ." The words seemed to catch in her throat.

Sisko stepped forward and hugged Korena to him. As she sobbed into his shoulder, he closed his eyes, causing his own tears to spill down his face. So many losses So many losses, he thought. The tens of billions killed by the Borg, including eleven thousand on Alonis, the entire crew of forty-seven aboard Cutla.s.s Cutla.s.s, thirty-one on James T. Kirk James T. Kirk, and nineteen on New York. New York. Elias. Calan and Audj. Elias. Calan and Audj.

And now my father, Sisko thought. If he hadn't been convinced before, he was now: it it had begun. And he knew in his heart that if he didn't run, there would be no stopping it. had begun. And he knew in his heart that if he didn't run, there would be no stopping it.