Part 23 (1/2)

Would any of them accept her back? Most likely they believed her to be dead, for Taban had originally sent word that he felt it would be better if they didn't know what her true fate had been. Could she tell the truth, and would they be willing to forgive her? She didn't know, but she felt it was worth the risk, if only to see them again, if only to return to her homeworld.

Dukat had stopped speaking, and was waiting for her reply. She cleared her throat. ”Skrain, I love you as well. I always will, and I will always appreciate all you have done for me. But if ever there comes a time when you feel you would prefer to...to move on from me...from our relations.h.i.+p...”

Dukat's puzzlement looked different now, and Meru hoped that he had at last begun to understand what she was trying to say. He gave her a terse nod, and stood from his desk, reaching out for one of her hands. ”You've given me much to consider,” he told her, his voice sounding oddly strained. ”But perhaps this is not the most appropriate time for us to have this discussion. I will see you later this evening, if you will consent to have dinner with me.”

”Of course,” Meru answered. His question was a bit strange, as it had been many years since he had put on the pretense of ”asking” her to dinner. Over time, he had dropped most of his formality when the two were together, speaking as plainly and honestly to her as Taban once had. Meru feared she had hurt him, and she squeezed his hand before she let it go. She would never deliberately hurt this man, but the idea of freedom-it was worth almost any price to her.

Doctor Yopal often insisted on observing Mora's research sessions with Odo-as he had taken to calling the ”unknown sample”-but the frequency of her visits did almost nothing to ease the discomfort that resulted from her presence. Mora set a wide display screen in front of the tank, and then plugged an isolinear recording into his computer port. The display lit up with an illuminated diagram of a Bajoran vocal configuration.

”You see, Odo?” Mora said to the tank. ”You understand this, don't you?”

Yopal snorted audibly, and Mora's face burned. He took up an electrostatic device from his work surface, a long-handled object with a probe at one end. He inserted the probe into the tank and set the cytoplasmic charge on a medium setting. The liquid in the tank immediately began to quiver, and in a steady motion the substance swept and twisted itself into a humanoid form, standing oddly erect in the center of the transparent tank. Odo opened his ”mouth” and began making sounds, a rough, guttural sort of noise, akin to a clearing of the throat.

”Ah!” Yopal said, clearly impressed. ”So, you have taught it to make noises, have you?”

”Yes, I have, Doctor Yopal,” Mora said nervously. Odo had done better in the session last night, but increasing the charge actually had an adverse effect on his progress; he had to hold it steady at its current rate.

”M-m-m,” Mora said, trying to get Odo to imitate him, as he had done the night before. ”Mora.” Mora said, trying to get Odo to imitate him, as he had done the night before. ”Mora.”

”Uhmmmm,” Odo replied. ”Memmm. Memdoooo...”

Mora smiled. ”There, you see?”

Yopal nodded vigorously. ”Very impressive, Mora. I must say, I always a.s.sumed from the creature's...expression that it was indifferent to what we were trying to glean from it.”

”I made that mistake as well,” Mora admitted. ”Though I knew his face was only an approximation of my own...it is hard to see past the impa.s.sivity written in his eyes.”

Yopal kept her ever-present smile, but her tone was less than commending. ”I must say, I am surprised you never before considered the possibility that this substance could have some level of awareness.”

Mora was annoyed; in fact he had had considered it, and had said as much. He imagined she was probably galled that he had inadvertently implied that she had made a ”mistake.” considered it, and had said as much. He imagined she was probably galled that he had inadvertently implied that she had made a ”mistake.”

”This is a perfect example of why women are better suited to the sciences,” Yopal said. ”Men simply don't explore all the possibilities. They tend to become stalled on a single facet of an equation, never knowing quite when to move on and branch out.”

”Of course,” Mora said, nodding deferentially.

”Well, Mora, I'll take my leave of you now. I look forward to reading your latest report on this matter.”

”Indeed,” he murmured, nodding to her as she left. He switched off the viewscreen. He reminded himself, as he put the electrostatic device away, that being condescended to by Yopal was still a welcome alternative to doing what Daul had been forced to do.

”Mmmm...memdo-mage,” Odo said.

”Yes, Odo, that's quite enough,” Mora said, and obediently, the pale ”person” turned into a s.h.i.+mmering, twisting ma.s.s of fluid. Mora watched as he did so, for though he had seen it happen hundreds of times, it never failed to fascinate him.

Laren stayed close to Bram as they followed their guide from the freighter's resting place on an old landing field to the meager residences nearby. Mace explained that Valo II had once been a popular resort destination for many well-to-do Bajorans, but the colony quickly went into decline as more and more refugees fled here during the early years of the occupation. Now the primary continent-the only truly hospitable landma.s.s on the planet-was dotted with slums, shantytowns, and nomadic encampments. They meandered through the outskirts of the village, strewn with a few tents and buildings constructed of transitory sc.r.a.p, the dwellings becoming thicker and more numerous as they made their way into the heart of what pa.s.sed for a city here. Laren was astonished; even Jo'kala proper was not so shabby as this. There were structures made of some kind of imported stone that looked to have come from Bajor, but the stone appeared too porous to bear up to the harsh winds of the current season; it was chipped and eroded on all the buildings that featured it. Most of the windows she saw were broken, with improvised covers of worn fabric or strips of old smartplastic, but some were simply left gaping open, the bits of jagged leftover gla.s.s coated with blowing dust. Everything smelled, like root broth and dirt and despair.

”My family lives here,” Mace told them, gesturing to some kind of a heap of wood in front of him. ”I'd offer you accommodations, but it's already a bit crowded. My son and his family live with us. His wife is pregnant, and her time is coming soon...” he trailed off.

”We're accustomed to sleeping outside,” Bram told him. ”You needn't worry about where to put us. We're a bit more concerned with getting back to Bajor, if we can.”

Mace laughed sharply. ”You're better off staying here, if you want my advice,” he told them. ”Anyway, I don't know if it can be arranged. The Carda.s.sians mostly leave us alone here. Between trying to maintain their hold on Bajor and their ongoing border troubles with the Federation, they don't see us as being much of a threat to them. We're just eking out a living here; Valo II has nothing that they want.”

”But you do go into Bajoran s.p.a.ce, from time to time,” Laren pointed out. ”Like after the freighter-”

”Yes, and we still take in refugees,” Mace admitted, ”but we follow a strict procedure in doing so. There might be some way to get you back, but it will most likely be a few days, at least. We'll have to discuss it with Keeve and Akhere.”

”Are they in your cell?” Laren asked him.

”Cell?” Mace repeated. ”What do you mean?”

She wrinkled her nose. ”The resistance,” she said. ”You are a resistance fighter, right?”

Bram held up a hand. ”That's enough, Laren, don't interrogate the man.” He turned to Mace. ”She's just a kid,” he said dismissively. ”Smart for her age, but-you know.”

”Just a kid, eh? Flying a raider, all by herself, out there in s.p.a.ce just swarming with Carda.s.sians...” Mace grinned at Laren, and she scowled ferociously back. She did not appreciate anyone's attempt at being overtly friendly; she found it suspicious. Still, a long-buried part of her visited the man's kindness with an infuriating sort of longing. She did her best to suppress it.

Mace looked up just then. ”Ah,” he exclaimed. ”Here's the man I've been looking for.”

”Darrah,” greeted the other man, nodding at Mace. He was an older fellow, not much beyond Mace in years, but with a completely bald head and a rather ornate earring. It was one of the old D'jarra D'jarra ones, denoting him as ones, denoting him as Te'nari Te'nari. Not everyone wore the jewelry of their caste anymore, though of course everyone still wore some kind of adornment. It would have been as absurd as going without trousers to be seen without an earring.

Following at the man's heels was a tall boy, a teenager, with the greenest eyes Laren had ever seen. The two were clearly father and son, with a resemblance that went beyond their similar earrings: a kind of similarity about their noses and mouths, though the father's head shone with its hairlessness, and the son had a shock of very thick brown hair that hung nearly in his eyes.

Mace clapped his hand against the other man's forearm. ”Juk,” he said, ”I brought back a couple of stowaways with me.”

The bald man turned to regard Laren and Bram. ”Where'd you find them?” he asked Mace, as if they could not hear him.

Bram answered. ”Your friend here claimed a derelict vessel that we had our eye on.” He extended his hand, which the other man looked at for a moment before taking it. ”I'm Bram Adir, and this is Ro Laren. We're from Jo'kala.”

”Jo'kala!” he exclaimed. ”You mean-Bajor?”

”That's right,” Laren answered him, unable to take her eyes off the boy who stood mutely behind his father. He did not appear to be much older than Laren herself. She hadn't had much interaction with people her own age since joining the resistance.

”I'm Akhere Juk,” the man finally said. ”I've been on Valo II almost my whole life, long before the Carda.s.sians came, though my people were originally from Mylea.”

”You're a Te'nari, Te'nari,” Bram observed.

Juk shrugged. ”We don't pay much attention to those designations anymore,” he said, but Laren had a feeling that it might not be entirely true. She fingered her own earring, an old one of her father's that her mother had allowed her to take. Sern'apa. Sern'apa. Caste was so unimportant that she paid it almost no mind-it was little more than a word. Its only significance for her lay in the fact that it was something of her father's. Caste was so unimportant that she paid it almost no mind-it was little more than a word. Its only significance for her lay in the fact that it was something of her father's.

”Neither do we,” Bram said, ”other than to find things to reminisce about. My mother's people were Te'nari, Te'nari, also.” also.”

”Ah,” Juk said, and Laren detected a new light in the other man's eyes. It had always puzzled her, the old D'jarra D'jarra system. The very idea that the adults would still pay any sort of homage to it was laughable. Just like most of the old ways. Foolish. Bram and Juk continued to jaw about their castes, and Laren s.h.i.+fted her weight from foot to foot, bored and impatient for something to happen. She looked over Juk's shoulder at his son, and their eyes met for a paralyzing moment. Laren quickly looked away, realizing that her face had been plastered with a sneer. She rearranged her features to look unreadable, benign, but still durable-a person to be reckoned with. It was the truth, after all. system. The very idea that the adults would still pay any sort of homage to it was laughable. Just like most of the old ways. Foolish. Bram and Juk continued to jaw about their castes, and Laren s.h.i.+fted her weight from foot to foot, bored and impatient for something to happen. She looked over Juk's shoulder at his son, and their eyes met for a paralyzing moment. Laren quickly looked away, realizing that her face had been plastered with a sneer. She rearranged her features to look unreadable, benign, but still durable-a person to be reckoned with. It was the truth, after all.

The boy cleared his throat noisily. ”My name's Bis,” he said, the proclamation clearly directed at Laren. His voice was deep, but not quite like a grown man's; there was still a ragged softness to it. He took a step toward her. He extended his hand to her, and it was then that she flinched, as though she thought he meant to strike her. Ro wasn't much for shaking hands, and in fact, she supposed she had never really done it before that she could remember; she'd only seen adults do it from time to time. To her chagrin, Bis laughed at her. ”What's the matter?”

She put her own hand out, her cheeks burning, and shook with him, without making eye contact. ”This is all very friendly and everything,” she said loudly and sharply, ”but just where do you propose we sleep tonight? We haven't brought our bedrolls or anything like that-”

”Laren, you let me worry about that,” Bram snapped, bossy as always.

”We've got plenty of room at my house,” Juk suggested, but Bram quickly began shaking his head.

”No, no, we wouldn't dream of it. Just find us an empty building and we'll curl up in a corner. Even under a grove of trees-we don't need much.”