Part 5 (2/2)

Numerous security officers at the counters looked up as a pair stationed on either side of the door quickly closed in on Spock and the Reman. Each wore a snug, dark-gray uniform, the Romulan Security sigil emblazoned on the right breast, their name listed beneath it in matching silver characters. A thin, colored insignia marched down the outside of the right arm, denoting rank. As well, each carried an energy weapon on their hip.

”Stop,” demanded the officer to Spock's left. He read her name as Sorent, her rank as sentry.

Both Spock and the Reman stopped. ”I wish to report a crime,” Spock said from within the hood of his robe, ”and to remand into your custody the malefactor who committed the offense. I suggest that you regard him as dangerous.”

”What is the nature of the crime?” Sorent asked.

”Attempted a.s.sa.s.sination,” Spock said. He heard movement to his right, and he looked to see that the other sentry, a man named J'Velk, had drawn his weapon.

”Whose a.s.sa.s.sination?” Sorent asked.

Spock turned back to her. Unlike her partner's, he saw, her firearm remained on her hip. ”My own,” he told her. He saw that the conversation had captured the attention of the security officers behind the counters.

Sorent nodded, her manner one of disbelief. ”And who are you?” she asked.

”I am Spock,” he said. His name appeared to spark immediate recognition in Sorent, as well as in most, if not all, of her fellow officers. That did not surprise Spock, since his efforts-and all efforts-to reunify the Vulcan and Romulan peoples had been deemed illegal long ago by the Romulan government.

”Remove your hood,” Sorent ordered. ”Slowly.”

With care, Spock reached up and pulled the cowl of his robe backward, revealing his face. Once again, he saw recognition in Sorent, as well as in others. Behind him, he heard a faint trill, and he suspected that both the inner and outer doors had just been sealed. Four more security officers scrambled from behind the counters to join Sorent and J'Velk. Past the left-hand counter, Spock saw a door open and a uniformed man emerge, the colored rank strip on his arm identifying him as a protector, the highest field-office grade in Romulan Security.

”You are the Vulcan who preaches for the reunifying of Romulus with your people,” Sorent said. ”Am I correct?”

”I advocate advocate for such a reunification, yes,” Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings. for such a reunification, yes,” Spock said. He watched as the protector stepped up to observe the proceedings.

”And this is?” Sorent asked, gesturing at Spock's prisoner.

”I do not know,” Spock said, ”but he tried to kill me.”

Spock detected puzzlement in the expressions of most of the security officers, though Sorent seemed less bewildered by the situation and more suspicious. ”You,” she said, walking over to the prisoner, ”remove your hood.”

The Reman did so, his hand slowly moving up to the cowl of his robe and pulling it back. As his face became visible, somebody-Spock did not see who-gasped in apparent surprise. Though the Reman made no threatening moves, two security officers rushed toward him, grabbing for his arms.

”No!” yelled Sorent, but too late.

The Reman roared and threw off the security officers, one of them staggering backward into the central counter and crumpling to the floor. J'Velk raised his weapon, but the Reman saw it and batted it from his hand. As two more security officers raced in, Spock saw Sorent step back and take aim with her own disruptor, clearly prepared to stun everybody in order to disable the Reman. Before she could fire, though, she lowered her weapon, and Spock saw why: to his surprise, the protector had also entered the melee.

The Reman fought wildly, throwing another officer to the side, then wrapping his hands around the throat of another. J'Velk jumped in and pulled at the Reman's arm, obviously wanting to free his colleague. The protector tried to wrench the Reman's other arm free.

Spock glanced around and saw more security personnel coming forward. The Reman whirled around, loosing his grip on the one Romulan's throat and tossing him into the advancing officers. With another bellow, he flung both J'Velk and the protector away from him. For a moment, he stood alone in the center of the security office, his head darting around as though searching out the source of the next a.s.sault. Spock waited for the piercing sound of a disruptor, and had enough time to wonder if the weapon that would fire the shot had been set to stun or kill.

But then the Reman collapsed.

Spock looked around confusedly, sure that he had heard no discharge of any weapon. As a strange silence rose in the security office, he saw that others appeared perplexed as well, including Sorent. When the Reman did not move, she handed her disruptor to the nearest officer and said, ”If he moves, fire, even if you have to hit me.” That at least told Spock that she had adjusted her weapon to a stun setting.

Cautiously, Sorent approached the Reman. She stood over him for a few seconds, observing, before finally bending down and taking hold of his hand. She felt at his wrist for a pulse.

”He's dead,” she announced, but then she seemed to notice something. She leaned in closer, then pushed back the sleeve of the Reman's robe and turned over his arm. Near his elbow, on the underside of his forearm, a square patch had been applied to his flesh. All around it, jagged, dark-green lines twisted in myriad directions below the skin.

”A toxin of some kind,” Sorent concluded. ”He killed himself.”

Again, Spock felt a wave of confusion wash over him. The Reman had made no attempt to escape on the way to the security office, but then had killed himself when the Romulans sought to physically detain him? For the first time, he wondered if mental illness might have played a role in all that had transpired, from the attempt on his life to the death of the Reman. In his empathic contact with his would-be a.s.sa.s.sin, he had perceived no psychosis in him, but that did not preclude the existence of such a condition.

As Spock pondered the situation, the Romulans around him began moving again. Sorent stood and ordered the removal of the Reman's body, while other security officers a.s.sisted their injured colleagues. Still others returned to crew their stations behind the counters.

And in the midst of the sudden activity, Spock was taken into custody.

11.

As Sisko strode through the s.p.a.cious atrium of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco, he kept his head down. He hadn't visited the facility in years, hadn't spoken in the intervening time to but a handful of Starfleet personnel outside of Deep s.p.a.ce 9 and the Alonis task force, but he remembered many of the people who had offices in the complex. More to the point, they would remember him, not just for their personal encounters with him, but for what had come later. Even people he didn't know would remember what had come later. Even with him dressed in civilian clothes, many would recognize him as the Starfleet captain revered by Bajorans as the Emissary of the Prophets. The officer who survived on the front lines of the Dominion War, only to disappear into the Bajoran Wormhole for months afterward. The man who reemerged from that experience for the birth of his child and the culmination of his efforts to see Bajor join the Federation. The man who then withdrew from Starfleet to settle on the world where the population venerated him.

Oh, yes, Sisko thought, they'll remember me. they'll remember me. But he didn't want to be remembered, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to speak with anybody. He'd come here for one reason only: to get what he needed-to get what Kasidy and Rebecca needed, what Jake and Korena needed. But he didn't want to be remembered, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to speak with anybody. He'd come here for one reason only: to get what he needed-to get what Kasidy and Rebecca needed, what Jake and Korena needed.

Underneath the clear, concave canopy that swept from ground level up to the top floor, Sisko approached the horseshoe-shaped desk that stood in front of a row of turbolifts. The yeoman stationed at the desk addressed him before he could even introduce himself. ”Mister Sisko, the commander in chief is expecting your visit,” the Caitian said. Sisko took note that the young man did not call him captain captain, indicating that Admiral Walter had processed his separation from Starfleet. ”If you wouldn't mind,” the yeoman added, motioning to a security scanner set into the counter.

Though Sisko had already pa.s.sed through two checkpoints just to enter Starfleet Headquarters, and though he knew that automated sensors scanned every individual who entered the complex, he dutifully placed his hand in the center of the panel. It lighted up at his touch. The yeoman consulted a computer interface on his desk, then looked back up at Sisko.

”Thank you, sir,” he said. ”If you'll take either of the central turbolifts behind me, Ensign Ventrice will see that you're comfortable until the admiral can see you.”

Sisko nodded, then circled the desk and headed for a lift. A pair of security guards stood on either side of the area, carrying no visible weapons but undoubtedly armed. Sisko pa.s.sed between them and entered a car, which began to ascend without his having to specify a destination.

The lift climbed vertically to the top floor, then glided along horizontally for a few seconds. When it stopped, the doors parted to reveal a diminutive woman with short, graying hair standing there, studying a personal access display device. She looked up as he exited the lift, dropping the padd to her side. ”Mister Sisko, I'm Ensign Ventrice, one of the admiral's a.s.sistants,” she said with a warm smile. ”Please follow me.”

They crossed a foyer and pa.s.sed through a door into a well-appointed reception area. Floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the room provided a dramatic view of the coastline and, beyond it, the Pacific Ocean. Each side wall featured a polished wooden door that obviously led to inner offices. Ventrice waved her hand toward where a sofa and several easy chairs sat arrayed around a low, square table. Hanging on the walls above, photo-realistic paintings depicted various Starfleet a.s.sets, including Deep s.p.a.ce 9 and Defiant. Defiant.

”You may have a seat,” the ensign said. ”The admiral should be available shortly.” She asked Sisko if he would like a beverage or some reading material, but he declined. The ensign left him to wait while she returned to her desk, situated in front of the windows but facing in the direction of the turbolifts.

As Sisko sat on the sofa, he debated again the reason for his visit to Starfleet Command. For months, he had considered the course upon which he had now set himself. In the wake of the terrible devastation caused by the Borg invasion, that course had become a more reasonable possibility; and since his father's death, it had transformed into a necessity. In so many ways and for so many reasons, he didn't want it to be, but he genuinely believed that he had no real choice in the matter.

The funeral had been hard. By virtue of his popular restaurant and his long involvement in the community, Joseph Sisko had a lot of friends and acquaintances throughout New Orleans. As a result, many wanted to pay their respects and offer their condolences to the family. Sisko spent the first couple of days after his arrival receiving well-wishers at the restaurant, many of them incongruously bringing gifts of food.

As he and his siblings started to plan the memorial for their father, Sisko found himself ill-equipped to deal with the emotional strain. He ended up leaving the arrangements to the rest of his family, while he consumed his days with long walks through the city. He wandered for hours through Audubon Park, the French Quarter, and along the winding banks of the Mississippi River. One afternoon, he transported two thousand kilometers, to Babylon, New York, where he tramped across the beach on which he'd met his first wife more than a quarter of a century earlier. Indulging in self-pity, he lumbered over the sand with tears in his eyes, thinking about all the things in his life that could have been-not just for him and Jennifer, but also for him and Kasidy.

Kas had wanted to attend the funeral, but travel throughout the Federation remained problematic, and finding timely transportation from Bajor to Earth proved effectively impossible. That might have been just as well, Sisko thought, since neither he nor Kasidy knew how the experience would impact Rebecca, just four years old. It also alleviated the need for Sisko to deal with the next loss in his life-or it at least postponed that need.

The funeral had taken place yesterday, four days after his father's death. Sisko had expected a somber service in Katrina Memorial Cemetery, which already contained the remains of several generations of his father's family. Instead, his siblings arranged a jazz funeral, originating at the northeastern entrance to Audubon Park. The a.s.sembled throng marched down St. Charles Avenue to Nashville Avenue, and then up to the cemetery, with Jake carrying the crematory urn most of the way. The band played a mixture of dirges and spirituals that seemed to elevate the emotions of many, but those elegies left Sisko feeling more lost and alone than ever.

At the memorial, Sisko's sister and brothers-half-sister and half-brothers, he reminded himself-delivered eulogies, as did Jake. Sisko did not. The funeral, though perfectly in keeping with his father's personality, did not connect with him. When the band struck up rousing, celebratory songs on the way from the cemetery to the restaurant, which seemed to stir the spirits of the mourners, Sisko felt further isolated. He allowed himself to lag back in the procession, until finally he stopped walking altogether, watching as the ritual commemoration of his father's life left him behind, ultimately turning left onto St. Charles Avenue and out of sight.

He'd left a message at the restaurant so that his family would not worry, then took the afternoon to set up both his travel back to Bajor and a meeting at Starfleet Command. He returned to Sisko's Creole Kitchen late that night, hoping to avoid unwanted conversation. He didn't wish to be comforted, or reasoned with, or asked about his plans. Jake waited up for him, though, so Sisko had to prevail upon his son to permit him his solitude. Jake did, though Sisko could see both concern and a measure of hurt in his eyes. When Sisko said good night, he knew that he wouldn't see his son for a while but that at least Jake would be safe.

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