Legacy

            An Alternative History of the Dominion War

                              Year 1

                       Part 3 _ Adjustments

Chapter 13

Benjamin Sisko smiled as he announced the marriage of Rom and  Leeta.  He 
and the wedding party stood in the middle of the new  Residential deck, 
surrounded by friends and onlookers.  When the  deed was done, a loud cheer 
started with friends nearest the  couple, but spread along the crowd of 
unfamiliar strangers who  didn't really know the bride and groom, but came to 
watch the  wedding anyway.  There wasn't much to celebrate, but the long  
delayed wedding of the little Ferengi and his tall Bajoran bride  became the first 
celebration that had pulled nearly everyone  together. 

Even the food was an special.  The cakes had been carefully  soaked in a spiced 
bath until they were soft, and then were were  grilled on a makeshift barbecue.  
The outside was brown and  tender, the middle juicy and soft There was even a 
choice of  flavors.  The day's allotment of vegetables were soaked and  sauteed 
as a toping, and the marinades simmered into a gravy. 

It was the first time since the Dominion had come that there was  a choice, and 
something other than various versions of soup.  A  little extra seasoning had 
been included for those who liked  their flavors strong.  It was a special treat, 
but one which had  to be reserved for only the most special of occasions.  But 
this  wedding would never be repeated.  For once, the new community  came 
together to do something besides grieve.  

Sisko had been very nervous.  Given the harsh position he held,  he didn't 
know if the Emissary would be as popular as he had been  on Bajor, and he 
doubted those unfamiliar with the importance he  held on Bajor would be 
impressed at all.  He had hardly slept the  night before, wondering if they'd 
stare with reverence or  bitterness.  He'd dressed carefully, avoiding any of the 
clothes  he wore in his official position, and leaving the little pin that  made 
him their leader at home. 

They would accept him or not.  He had to find out if he could be  two men 
anymore. 

But the small Bajoran wedding party had honored him as if he were  still 
standing on DS9, and the rest had chosen to join in the  spirit of the occasion.  
Tomorrow they'd stare with resentment,  but today they saw the man.   

Leeta wore a beautiful dress, donated for the day by one of  Vance's people.  It 
was neither traditional for Bajoran weddings,  nor the natural look of Ferengi 
custom.  But she was special,  extra care lavished on her that morning, and 
despite the grim  world around her, she smiled.  The rest of wedding party, 
friends  of the bride and groom, were dressed in the best that could be  found, 
and they stood straight and proud to witness the moment. 

No matter what came tomorrow, they'd taken that day as their own. 

The crowd dressed for the occasion.  Even if all they had was  everyday clothes, 
they were crisply washed with bright colors  added to make the day festive.  It 
was as if, for a day, the  Dominion and all they stood for had been pushed 
away. 

A table sat nearby, covered with gifts.  Some were from friends,  but not all.  
Bits of cloth and string covered them, but later,  after food, the couple would 
share the bounty of talent and good  wishes for everyone to see. 

But the best part were the musicians.  Some had brought their  instruments 
along, some had made them on Cyrus.  A young man  played a Bajoran flute as 
the bridal pair had entered the square.   A woman played a bowl shaped 
stringed instrument, the sound like  dancing bells, as the ceremony was done.  
The musicians gathered  together, Bajoran and human, along with an 
assortment of other  species and those who had made rattles and bells and 
drums.  

Amid driving rhythms and teasing melodies, lunch was served.  For  once, 
Benjamin Sisko, spiritual leader, ate among his people.   His staff were 
scattered about the deck, partly by deliberate  design but by choice as well. 

It made the day special for everyone, a day that the only stars  were the bridal 
couple.  There were no hierarchy's that day, just  people.  The curfew had been 
lifted for the night, and the music  and food and merriment would last as long 
as the last celebrant  wanted to stay.  Here and there, little groups were 
dancing, and  as Sisko took his leave, he wished that the Emissary had the  
option of leaving his desk behind for a whole day. 

                              *****

Nog stood a little to the side as his father and new bride opened  their gifts.  It 
wasn't Ferengi custom, and Leeta hadn't expected  the table full of things, but 
she and Rom sat in the center of a  circle of friends, each gift passed to them as 
the last was  opened. 

Rom was nervous.  Nog could tell by the way he stammered as he  and Leeta 
unveiled the small symbols of the day.  Leeta carefully  untied a bit of string 
around a round shape, and Rom took the  fabric and added it to a neat pile.  
But she smiled as she held  up the gift.  It was from one of the Cyrus staff, no 
name given,  but just a "Best wishes."  The small basket had been woven from  
the dried native grass, the edges twirled with a bright red  thread.  Its handle 
was supported by a shaft of wood, cut very  precisely, and Nog almost came 
closer to look it over. 

Most of the gifts were simple, but welcome things.  This one was  special, and 
someone had spent time making it.  

Once, thought Nog, it would have simply been a trinket.  Now,  hanging on the 
wall, it would make the small quarters more  liveable, not just for its use but 
for the simple beauty of the  design.  Somehow, he understood that if he'd not 
been lost here  he might not have understood that. 

The Chief had asked for ideas before.  Perhaps later whoever made  it could 
teach them.  He was sure others could use something to  hold their things.  It 
would do more than give them something to  do.  Each basket could hold a 
little of the person who made it. 

But the basket had been put aside, and the next gift was a  drawing of a bird.  
The colors were beautiful.  It flew into a  bright blue sky, and the wings actually 
glistened. 

The guests were silent when Leeta stood and held it up for  everyone to see.  
"To fly free," she read. 

It was added to the other gifts, carefully wrapped in cloth.  She  sat.  "Thank 
you, James," said Rom quietly. 

James stood near, looking up at the sky.  Nog watched him,  wondering if, for 
James, the empty skies of Cyrus were not so  alone.  The bird was a work of 
dreams.  Nog had heard of James'  painting, and when he brought messages 
from Sisko, had noticed  the lost eyes. 

Nog had dreams, too.  But his had been betrayed.  At least James  got to have 
a little of his.  So many of the others here had time  to make a future, even if it 
all had been stolen.  Nog and James  and a few others knew the sort of future 
they wanted, but never  even got to see if they might have succeeded. 

He turned back to the gifts, now almost done.  Behind the  cheerful smiles, he 
could see how tired they were.  The music  would probably go on for hours, but 
the guests of honor were  already impatient to go. 

Nog missed the last few gifts.  James had wandered off, and Nog  watched as 
he kept pausing and looking up at the mid_afternoon  sky. 

Nog wasn't much for birds and animals.  It had never been all  that important 
in Ferengi life.  But somehow he hoped James would  paint all the birds he 
remembered. 

There were none on Cyrus.  If there were children, who would  explain about 
birds if there were no pictures to understand what  they'd lost.          

                              *****

Lonnie balanced the platter, stepping carefully on the slightly  rutted pathway.  
She'd waited for the gifts, knowing he'd made  the basket.  She had seen the 
makings in his office, sitting in a  box almost hiding under a shelf.  But she 
knew he'd learned how  to make them a long time before, when all he had to 
hold his  medicines were the baskets he could weave.  Rom and Leeta were  
impressed, and she imagined they were all wondering who had spent  so much 
time. 

But they never would have guessed that Dr. Willman had made it.   He was the 
big bad enemy.  He terrorized his staff and was short  with the patients.  Some 
day, she hoped, he'd have a chance to  prove there was more there but that. 

She didn't know about the picture of the bird.  James had been  busy with 
Sisko and she hadn't had much time to see him.  But  she'd heard about his 
painting.  Somehow, she would get time to 
see it but Willman always kept her busy.  Even on her day off,  she had things 
to do. 

Today, she decided to sit and watch the people.  It was odd to be  away from 
the constant worry of doing the wrong thing and being  humiliated in the 
morning meeting.  She was Willman's chief aide,  but she wasn't immune.  
She'd lingered longer than intended,  listening to the music and wished she 
could bring a little of  that back to the room along with the dinner. 

Everybody in Recovery would get some of the day's special food,  but she was 
bringing his early.  If only there was a way to bring  him to the celebration__to 
bring *all* of them stranded in the  small room away from the joys and sorrows 
they'd have to fit  into.  At least they'd have the food.

                              ***** 

She looked back, hoping to spend a little more time at the party  later on.  The 
gifts were done, but there was a knot of dancers  moving their feet to the 
rhythms of the band.  There was music  played, mostly in Residential, but 
there was a band today. The  calliope of sounds was cheerful.  So often sitting 
by their  little dwellings, the music was so melancholy. 

At least they could move around the settlement, and weren't stuck  inside a 
room.  She'd gotten used to her daily visits to Bashir,  and the daily greetings 
she got from the others.  Even if she had  to leave the party, she wouldn't miss 
a day.       

She'd found a nice dress to wear, the first time she cared what  she looked like 
since the world had ended.  Walking inside the  half_empty ward, everyone 
instantly noticed.   She smiled at  their comments, ignoring the looks of 
surprise.  Nobody smiled in  Willman's little kingdom.  

Bashir was doing better.  She wished he was well enough for a  day's outing, 
especially since he was friends with the bride and  groom.  But he looked up 
from the book he'd been reading when she  approached. 

She closed the curtains.  Others had personal guests that day,  too.  

He put down the book, looking her over.  "You should wear that   more often." 

"I'll wear it to weddings."  She smiled.  Since they had been  talking in writing 
about reality, they could be much more open in  private.  He even smiled back 
at her.   "Did Rom make it all the way through?" 

"He was nervous.  I wasn't real close, and I couldn't really tell  what was going 
on.  I've never seen a Bajoran wedding before." 

He looked at her reflectively.  "I'm familiar with the one when  you break up."  
She must have looked puzzled since he explained.   "Leeta was my girlfriend for 
a while." 

She sat in a small chair she'd brought inside.  "I wish you could  go.  It's so 
different.  The music is so wonderful." 

He shifted in his bed.  "Tell me about it."

She started with the crowd, dressed so carefully, and remembered  as much of 
the wedding as she could.  He closed his eyes,  listening as she described the 
way the music filled the square  with a special magic.  

"I can hear it a little," he said softly.  She remembered how his  parents had 
had him "fixed". 

After she'd talked a little, he had his dinner.  "This is good.   I want more," he 
said, finishing a  bite.  He looked at her, and  his leg.  "If they'd waited a month 
I might have been there.  Did  you know it itches now?" 

"That's good.  It's healing well."  Tonight someone would check  it again, and 
she would read the file.  But now wasn't the time  for that.  Now was the time 
for friendship and celebration. 

"You don't have to put up with the itching."  He stuffed another  heaping bite in 
his mouth and looked at her again.  When he'd  finished he smiled.  "You really 
should wear that dress more  often.  You'd certainly cheer up some of your 
patients."  He  looked away with a sudden dark look.  "You should go back to 
the  party.  I'll just imagine how beautiful is." 

She wanted to go.  She wanted to hear the music and watch the  dancers.  The 
bridal couple were undoubtedly already gone, but  the party would go on all 
night with curfew officially lifted for  the occasion.  But she wanted him to 
know that there was more  than gritty grey sand on Cyrus, even if not much.  
"If you'd like  to rest," she said.  He had finished and made himself as  
comfortable as he could.  "When you can walk, I want to take you  to a little 
cove.  It's near the main source of the casaba  leaves, and it only stands to 
reason you should have to replenish  our supply, you used so much of it." 

He studied her face.  "Walking isn't one of the things I'm  looking forward to 
doing.  But I'll try if you'd like to show  me." 

She smiled.  "I'm considering this a promise."  

"Have a good time", he said. 
She opened the curtains, and he picked up his book.  Walking down  the 
pathway to the square, still filled with music and people,  she disappeared into 
the crowd.  For one night, she would be just  Lonnie and pretend that there 
was something to celebrate. 

                              *****

Not everyone had attended the party.  Walter Vance sat in the  small room he'd 
been condemned to live in, crammed with personal  possessions, and listened 
bitterly to the echos of the  celebration.  He might have gone if it were not for 
Sisko, but  that he was performing the wedding made it impossible.  He hated  
Sisko, especially what he had become.  Vance hated the Dominion  as well, but 
they were still distant.  Sisko, who met with the  Vorta and carried out their 
policy, was not.  His loss of the  project had gone from grief to bitterness, and 
Sisko was the only  visible target. 

Carefully snubbing the celebration, he spent the entire day in  the hot, stuffy 
room, avoiding even his housemate as he prepared  to attend the wedding. 

He wished the music was not so loud.  It was hard not to listen  to it.  He'd 
tried to read a book but couldn't concentrate.    

Someone was at the door.  He had left his own room and was  reading in the 
central part of the shelter.  He was surprised to  find Willman standing there. 

"Mind if I come in?"  Willman asked.  He was holding a covered  plate.  "I hope 
you like the flavor." 

Walter had intended to boycott the entire event, including the  food, but he 
didn't like being hungry.  He took the plate and  Willman followed him inside 
uninvited.  Vance wished he'd leave  but knew that Willman wasn't going until 
he'd gotten what he  wanted. 

Uncovering the food, he poked at it a little.  "Different.  Who  came up with this 
idea?" 

"Somebody on the food crew.  It's a big enough hit it may become  a regular 
event of sorts."  Willman watched as Vance ate, trying  not to look as if he was 
enjoying it.  

Willman let him finish before he stared in.  "Do you know how  petty this 
makes you look?  There are a lot of bad feelings out  there, but today they were 
left at home.  I know people were  looking for you.  But you had pout like 
spoiled child." 

Vance carefully wiped his mouth and handed Willman the plate.   Unperturbed 
by the tone he stared at the doctor.  "I will not  sell my soul to the demons." 

Willman looked at him coolly.  "Come off it, Walter.  You've  played politics 
enough to know what's going on.  Do you think  Sisko likes what he has to do?  
Do think I like the rules I gave  my staff?  Do you think people are really as 
complacent as they  look?  But what else are we supposed to do?" 

Vance gave him a piercing look of disdain.  "I've heard about you  and Sisko.  
You're his friend now.  Your staff is afraid of you.   I didn't think you'd sell 
yourself to them this easy." 

Willman looked only mildly annoyed. "I spent two years as a  Cardassian 
prisoner.  They were much more open about what we  were, but this isn't much 
different.  I was allowed to be a  doctor, with only the most primitive of 
supplies, but I saved  lives.  But that was the Cardassians.  These people don't 
let  their prisoners have medical treatment.  They didn't have to send  supplies 
for the hospital.  But I was willing to give up my pride  and let them feel 
superior if it got me what I needed.  The  people I save are worth it.  Face it, 
Walter, they make the  rules.  We can go along with them or starve.  You don't 
look like  your fasting in protest." 

Vance, still perfectly composed, answered, "But I'm not *helping*  them either.  
Everybody's heard about those rules you have and  how your staff is as afraid 
of you as the Vorta."  He finished  with a cold stare at Willman. 

"I don't expect you to understand," said Willman just as coldly.   "None of you 
understand."  He sat on Vance's couch, his demeanor  suddenly serious and 
worried.  "This is just the beginning.  They  want something, or things would be 
a lot different.  This is just  games now.  When they get tired of the games, my 
rules will seem  like child's play." 

"You mean we should be good little slaves, do as we're told and  hope to get a 
nice reward at the end of the year.  Or are you  waiting for the Federation to 
rescue you again."  Vance let out  all the bitterness inside. 

Willman looked at him, impatient.  "No, I don't expect to be  rescued.  Not this 
time.  I expect that it's going to get a good  deal worse than it is now.  
Eventually they'll get their excuse  to show what they can do to us."  He shifted 
in the chair, his  face tense and grim.  "Your attitude will just bring us to that  
day a lot sooner."  He stared at Vance.  "You need to stop this  now.  Go to 
Sisko, offer to help.  Certain people still follow  you.  Set a better example."  

"I *am* setting a good example," spit out Vance.

Willman did not react.  Staring at him, the doctor was very  coldly.  "You 
swallowed your pride for your precious project lots  of times.  Now you need to 
do it for the sake of everyone here." 

Vance was insulted.  "I do not ask you to quit your job.  I  simply don't choose 
to take one myself." 

"I'm not suggesting you do.  But you don't have to work a staff  job to influence 
people.  You sit here being so high and mighty  that certain types out there 
might get ideas.  When they stop  sending food and you start to starve, I hope 
you remember that." 

"Then they do," said Walter.
Willman was silent for a moment.  "Have you ever seen someone you  knew 
killed in front of you?  I have.  It hadn't been long after  we'd been captured and 
they were playing games with us.  One of  our people, Chandler was his name, 
just froze up.  He was scared,  but he just flatly refused an order.  I don't know 
if it was  panic once he'd done it or he was trying to make some point, but  he 
couldn't move.  They dragged him away and dumped him in front  of us.  Then 
they beat him to death."  

For a moment, Willman looked lost, and Walter felt a chill,  remembering the 
look in his eyes that other time.  

Willman said, very quietly, "I don't want you to be our  Chandler." 

Vance stared at him.  "I honor this man.  You have no idea what I  believe.  
Please leave my home." 

Willman stood but didn't leave.  "I don't think you know what  they can do.  Or 
will do.  All I ask is you be careful." 

Vance took a piece of paper and started writing.  When he  finished he handed 
it to Willman.  "I don't think this matters  much anymore.  But with it I 
officially disavow any ties with you  and yours."  He glared at Willman, who 
read his resignation as  Director of Cyrus.  Willman shook his head and left, 
closing the  door softly.  

Walter sat in his empty room, staring at the door.  He would not  sell himself.  
But he knew Willman was right about Them.   Outside, the sounds of a 
meaningless celebration drifted into the  room, but Walter shut it out.  

He would not bend.  He would not soil himself with a lie.  But  for the first 
time, he was suddenly and terribly afraid. 

                              *****

By afternoon, the Recovery building was uncomfortably warm.  They  had tried 
to cool it by installing a fan, but it only helped so  much.  His leg itched 
constantly in the heat.  Miles sat next to  him, the drawn curtains making it 
worse, and talked.  Miles came  to visit when he could, usually at least once a 
week, and Julian  was glad for the company.  But lately, he had spent most of 
his  time talking about things which didn't mean much to Julian. 

Everyone had noticed the small pin on Miles's collar.  It was the  same as 
Willman wore.  Since they had split departments, Miles  always looked tired 
and harassed.  Julian watched him as he  talked, listening but not really 
understanding.  He rambled on  about the paperwork, and the completely 
inflexible rules.  Julian  only half_heard him, wondering how long it would be 
until his  next medication and a blessed relief from the itching for a few  hours.  
"They think we have some sort of power," mused Miles,  thinking aloud.  "But 
really all we do is work by the rules.   It's not easy sometimes.  We have this 
project I have to announce  soon.  I had a lot of better ideas than the winners 
but they  would take too many variances.  I don't even want to ask about  
them.  But you'll learn about that soon enough." 

Bashir looked up. He almost asked Miles how he had learned to  cope with it.  
He was no longer the same Miles O'Brien Julian  remembered.  He didn't want 
to find that everyone had changed  that drastically.  He didn't want to become 
like Miles. 

There were so many questions that needed to be asked.  But Julian  could not 
find the words to form them.  It would make it too  real, and he didn't know if 
Miles could really answer them  anyway.  Miles must have noticed how 
uncomfortable he was because  he changed the subject.  "It's been pretty hot 
lately.  They say  it gets real muggy later in the summer.  You should be out of  
here by then." 

Julian was still only half listening.  His leg was driving him  crazy.  "If I don't 
tear this open before then just to stop the  itching." 

Miles halfway smiled.  "At least it keeps you from being bored."   Julian glared 
at him, only half_playfully.  "I couldn't stand  this, myself."  His voice grew 
quiet.  "No matter how bad the job  is, it's better than having too much time to 
think." 

Julian became serious, "There's been no word?"  

Miles shook his head.  "Nothing.  We're so cut off all we get is  what they want 
us to know, no way to tell if they're lying or  not. 

"What about the rumors we've heard about the Federation colony?"  asked 
Julian carefully, worried the conversation was taking a  wrong turn but 
curious, none the less. 

"Leaks from Sisko's office.  I hear a lot of them from my staff  since they eat 
lunch with his." 

"So, it's true?" asked Julian. 

"Some of it.  Leaks tend to get creative along the way.  I don't  think anyone's 
squashing this one since it's serving a purpose."   Miles was beginning to 
sound cautious.  Julian had heard the  rumor of a Federation colony that had 
not surrendered, and been  ripped apart by the Jem'Hadar.  Neither of them 
would have been  surprised if it was true.  But it had worried a lot of people 
who  didn't know as much about the Jem'Hadar as they did. 

A nurse arrived, tapping on the curtain, and Julian looked  relieved.  Miles 
checked the time.  "I've got to go.  I'm  supposed to meet Jadzia for lunch." 

Julian nodded.  "Well, don't be late.  You'd never hear the end  of it."  He was 
looking at the nurse when he said it, waiting for  Miles to leave so the itching 
would stop, but looked up in time  to catch the sudden grief that passed 
through his friend.  Miles  looked utterly lost for a moment, before muttering, 
"Yeah, I  know."  Julian watched as he disappeared, wondering how hard it  
would be to leave this place and go into the world that was  destroying his 
friends. 

                              *****

Jadzia was waiting for him, several reports in hand, and their  food.  It was 
soup again, always soup, but they had made it very  thick and seasoned it well. 
Or, he thought, Jadzia had.  She  tended to do her own and shared it with her 
lunch guests.  They  had taken to comparing their supply use reports 
informally at a  meal to make sure all the figures matched.  Even a slight  
discrepancy could delay the monthly supply shipments.  The stored  supplies 
in the warehouse were only for emergencies.  They pushed  the food aside for a 
few minutes, and compared the main figures.   As everything matched, and 
they went back to their food.  He  looked around for her small pot but didn't 
see it.  Seconds  wouldn't be available until dinner. 

"If this is from there," he said, nodding towards the server,  "you did a real good 
job today." 

"We picked up some new people for the crew.  I had Ben recommend  some 
good questions to ask.  I guess it paid off." 

"I'll be sure to show up personally tonight.  Never get seconds  when the staff 
brings dinner." 

She paused, taking a breath. "How is Julian doing?"  She wore a  peculiar 
expression. 

The question surprised him.  He usually mentioned their friend,  but she had 
never asked before.  "His leg itches.  I guess that's  a good sign."  He looked at 
her, and the people sitting, eating,  being careful what they said.  "It's going to 
be hard for him,  though.  He's not going to have any way of easing his way in.   
And he's got Willman to deal with." 

She nodded.  "He'll manage.  He won't like it, but he'll get used  to it.  Willman 
will make sure there's nothing to be confused  about, at least." 

Miles watched her play with Worf's ring again, and was surprised  by the lack 
of sympathy.  "You haven't seen him in a long time." 

"I  . . . can't.  I just can't go in there."  She was afraid.   She avoided going near 
the hospital at all.  But this was the  first time he'd heard any fear.  "When will 
you be announcing the  new projects?" 

The shift in mood was instantaneous.  He wondered how much she  hid behind 
her calm facade.  "Very soon.  You may even have more  volunteers then." 

They sat for while longer, just talking, and yet Miles could not  get the glimpse 
of terror he had seen out of his mind. 

                              *****

Justin studied the vial containing a small amount of the planet's  soil, and 
then his friend.  The soil had fused itself into a dark  granular chunk, and with 
care a small piece had been broken off.   The initial test had been done a 
month before, and the small  chunk was placed in a chemical solution in which 
it began to  dissolve.  As the chemicals broke down, they changed color.  At  the 
same time, a piece of a core from the most recent  terraforming of the same age 
was tested.  They watched as the  colors in the two dishes turned an identical 
color.  Justin and  Jaro stared at the two vials, until the chemical reactions 
had  finished and they were sure. 

"We did it."  Jaro shook his head, in disbelief.  In the first 20  samples they had 
hit upon a formula that worked, and would make  the grey soils of this planet 
productive.  Neither of them had  anticipated that.  It might have taken years, 
but for Justin's  sudden inspiration.  Even then, neither expected to discover 
the  answer so soon. 

Justin's heart was pounding.  The excitement was enormous.  But  he'd never 
really liked living on the edge, and he knew that this  could lead to victory or 
disaster. 

Jaro was ready to celebrate.  "The Prophets must be with us," he  said. 

Justin was more cautious.  "We may have.  These chemical tests  are not 
entirely conclusive.  We have to run a larger test."   There was silence as reality 
sunk in.  "I believe it will have to  be done in secret.  The climate isn't yet right 
to approach  anyone about our research."   Despite his caution, Justin spoke  
softly, and carefully, stunned by the results of the test.  It  had taken literally 
years before.  He was not prepared for this  to happen so soon. 

Jaro was plainly worried.  "How do you propose to do any kind of  test right 
now.  How would we dispense the chemicals into the  test area?" 

Justin sighed.  "I have what we need.  It's getting it out  without looking 
suspicious.  One, at most two of the dispensers  are all we'll need.  We can mix 
the chemicals on site.  But we  must have a reason to go out towards the 
mountains that will be  believed."  

Jaro was disappointed.  "You told me not to believe rumors.  I  didn't." 

"Be glad they were true.  We do a little test.  Just a small  patch will verify it 
works.  The machines don't put out an em  signature.  We'll just have to be 
careful.  We aren't forbidden  to go into that area...we just have to have a good 
reason, and be  back by dusk." 

Jaro was still suspicious, but kept looking at the vial.  "The  risk is still very 
great.  Something tells me that no matter how  much we want to try it, it just 
isn't worth it." 

Justin stared at the dishes, the colors still bright and glowing.   "I will do it 
myself if need be.  But I should appreciate your  help.  Listen, Jaro, this is a 
time to take that leap of faith  your people speak of.  If your Prophets didn't 
want us to  succeed, why have such extraordinary things blessed our efforts?" 

He could tell Jaro wanted to do it.  He could do it himself, but  it would be 
considerably harder and more risky.  

"Well, perhaps, " said Jaro, hesitating with each word.  "We  might do it here.  
We could mix the chemicals.  Must we use one  of your machines to dispense 
the fluids?" 

Justin considered the idea and dismissed it immediately.  "Where  would we do 
it?  We can't dig a hole in plain view.  And the  chemical composition of this 
area is quite different with all the  habitation.  We want something that can 
transform the lifeless  grit out there, so we have to *go* there to do it." 

Jaro still wasn't ready to accept the idea.  "I suppose your  right about that.  
But, we could have a legitimate reason to go  to the hinterlands *and* bring 
back enough of the ground to test.   We just have to say we're experimenting 
with fertilizers and  other things to see if we can get anything to grow in it.  It  
would even be a good idea.  We can make this place a garden, but  not now.  If 
we could plant the ground *now* with something that  would feed us, it would 
buy us time." 

Justin thought about it.  "The native plants grow in this soil.   Perhaps some of 
them are edible.  We might use that idea, and  then we'd still have something 
to do while we waited on the  other."  He wrinkled his nose.  The smell from the 
sample they'd  treated was giving him a headache.  "And we couldn't keep a 
test  here a secret.  The smell is too strong." 

Jaro coughed a little.  "Yes.  I hadn't considered that.  But we  should do the 
plant survey.  We must get official permission and  all of that.  It could be a 
greater salvation than the other.  *That* could be what the Prophets need us to 
do." 

Justin had heard enough of the Prophets for now.  Jaro was still  wavering but 
before the time came, he'd change his mind.  And if  they'd had such luck on 
one thing, perhaps Jaro's gods were  right.  Nobody'd really tried to research 
the native plants.  Who  knew what they'd find. 

"Yes, I'll write it up today.  I know a pathway that leads  through the best area 
for both.' 

Jaro stared at the dishes.  "You're sure we can do this without  discovery?" 

"Quite sure," he said.  He hoped it was true. 

Jaro no longer looked as if he was in a mood to celebrate.  But  he touched the 
vial with the lab test, looking away from Justin.   "I must know.  I only hope 
this is not a terrible mistake." 

Justin was already composing the proposal in his head that he'd  present at 
Sisko's next meeting.  He didn't want it just on  paper.  He wanted it to be very 
public.  "Dreams are never  mistakes." 

Jaro still wasn't sure.  He stared at the dishes and test, his  look wary.  Justin 
wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded  either, but nothing else mattered but 
finding out.  His eyes were  watering and his throat was starting to hurt from 
the fumes.   "Well, before we make ourselves sick we should get this taken  care 
of," he said. 

They resealed the core, hiding it in a container that made it  look like all the 
others.  The dishes were disposed of along with  the tests they'd done for other, 
legal things.  In a sealed  container, nobody would know.  The windows were 
opened and the  fans blew in fresh air. 

They both had headaches, and a slight cough.  Justin intended to  make sure 
there was always ventilation from now on. 

But his life had turned a corner and the gloom all around him was  gone.  If 
only Walter could know, but he didn't talk to Walter  anymore. 

                              *****

Julian looked forward to Lonnie's visits.  Recovery was half  empty and his best 
friends had already gone.  Her visits were the  one dependable distraction in 
his life.  She didn't smile much,  but they shared more than the words they 
spoke.  If there was  something really wrong, they could still speak of it in a 
letter. 

She brought her lunch to share with him.  Even if the food was  motonous, the 
company was welcome.  He suspected it was same for  her. 

That day, the summer sun streaming in the skylight, she arrived  holding a 
thick folder.  She left it on his bed and went to get  their lunch, but something 
was wrong.  When she arrived back with  the food, she just sat and stared at it. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

"That,"  she said, pointing at the folder.  "Dr. Willman has some  rules I need to 
discuss with you."  She picked up her food and  began eating, but 
mechanically.  It occurred to him she hadn't  referred to him as Willy for a long 
time. 

He picked up the folder and read the label stuck on the front.   It said, "Staff 
Regulations".  Opening it, he studied the first  page.  "Somehow I don't think 
I'm going to like this," he said.   She sipped her lunch while he looked through 
the folder.  "So  these are Willman's rules."  She nodded.  He continued flipping  
through the report.  It looked complicated.  Closing it up he  took his bowl, and 
took his time to eat.  He didn't want to hear  all the rules and he could tell she 
didn't want to have to be  responsible for telling him. 

He wondered why Willman hadn't done it himself.  But then, he  didn't deal 
personally with his staff anymore. 

There was only so much stalling that could be done, however. Both  had 
finished lunch.  He picked up the folder and handed it to  her.  "You might as 
well get it over with," he said resigned. 
Lonnie went through it, explaining the essence of the structure  of authority 
Willman had created.   He didn't have a problem with  that.  It wasn't much 
different than that at any military  hospital.  Before, when they hadn't had the 
Dominion there, it  had been much different for Willman and his staff.  He 
could tell  Lonnie still missed that. 

But Willman had gone beyond standard military rules.  His own  code of 
conduct was very strict, and he enforced it.  That part  wouldn't be so simple to 
live with.  He himself had never been  good at following the rules to the letter.  
But Willman would  demand he did.  

Lonnie put down the folder and closed it.  "I don't have to read  these.  We all 
know them by heart."  She sighed.  "They are  really rather simple.  Let's see.  
Staff will not complain.  This  means about your quarters, your schedule, the 
food, your  supervisor, the weather, Dr. Willman _ or this place.  If you can  
find a private way to talk," she shrugged, "but don't let it get  back to him.  The 
second rule is do what you're told.   Especially, no end runs around your 
supervisor.  And no creative  alterations of rules.  He especially doesn't like 
that." She  looked at him, very seriously.  "That is the essence of it. You  can 
read all the details.  This is yours," she said, indicating  the folder.  "And you 
have to understand one other thing.  He  means it.  He doesn't want to hear 
any complaints.  He doesn't  want to be challenged.  And he does have the 
authority to enforce  it."  

He watched her face, so intent on his.  It sounded excessive, and  it worried 
him.  "Is it justified?"  he asked. 

"I don't know.  He believes it is and he won't give an inch.  I  think he's going to 
make us both chief aides.  You'll have to  watch yourself." 

He studied her face, and saw she was worried about him.  He was  too.  He 
looked at his leg, still in its brace, actually grateful  for its slow healing for the 
first time.  "I guess I have some  time to think about it at least."  

"Some," she said.  She smiled, but it wasn't much of a smile.  
 
She stayed for a while.  But the others had heard despite the  curtains, and 
there was too much silence outside.  Neither could  think of anything to say. 

"I guess I should go," she finally said.  

"Probably," he replied. 

He almost read the rest of the folder, but decided to wait a  little.  His leg 
wasn't healing as quickly as Willman had hoped.   He'd have time. 

Instead, he picked up his book.  Cyrus had had a large database  of fiction, and 
he was making his way through the spy stories.   For the rest of the afternoon, 
he'd worry about someone else's  life but his.      
                              *****

A few weeks before, Miles had had the task of announcing the two  new 
projects.  Sisko had given him the job in keeping with their  new structure of 
authority.  Miles was on the first layer under  Sisko, and it was his 
responsibility to find something for people  to do.  So, since he'd come up with 
the projects, he could make  the speech about them too. 

He didn't like speeches.  He'd much rather have been buried in a  pile of 
reports than have to give one.  But he'd made it as quick  and informal as he 
could.  Then he'd fled to the safety of his  office and the mound that never 
stopped. 

The first had been a given.  The channel they were digging around  the deck 
had been going on since the beginning, but in fits and  starts.  When they had 
the machines it had gone faster.  But  since it had slowed considerably.  When 
the weather was better,  it was easy to get volunteers.  But when it was cold or 
rainy,  hardly anyone showed up.  Those who did so took away a measure of  
control, having made the choice themselves.  But it had to be  done before the 
winter snows and icy temperatures made it  impossible to finish.  It was that or 
be inundated in mud the  next spring. 

It was different now, organized and proceeding.  People applied  to work there.  
There was no requirement that they had to, but  still many did.  Instead of 
coming and going at will, they got  assigned to shifts.  The channel was moving 
along much faster  than it had, but somehow Miles thought something had 
been lost.   Now, this big ditch they'd started digging to help themselves was  
just as official as all the rest.  The diggers got to go home  tired and feeling 
useful, but that little magical sense of  control had vanished. 

He almost wished they'd been able to leave it alone.  But he saw  the way 
things were.  Nothing here would be allowed to continue  if it bore a hint of 
freedom.  The Dominion could control with  the thump of Jem'Hadar boots, and 
the people who survived would  learn to behave.  Or they could do like they had 
on Cyrus, exert  a control so subtle that hardly anyone noticed how complete it  
was.  Sometimes he went to bed hoping that on Bajor they'd been  as delicate 
about things.  There were worse places to live on  that side of the border than 
Cyrus. 

Sometimes he watched as they dug out the grey soil.  It was being  piled into 
sandbags, to be lined along the side of the ditch  before winter set in.  It was 
hoped that the sandbags would deter  some of the mud if the ditch overflowed.  
And it gave more work  for those who wanted it. 

The other project was tricker, but even more necessary.  Their  source of water 
was the river, and when only the original  population had lived there, the 
existing system was sufficient.   But now there were so many more people, and 
the river ran right  next to where they lived. 

They'd tried to keep the water clean.  They'd run pipes as far  away as they 
could for waste, and yet as much care as they took,  it was growing murkier 
near their homes.  The second project  broke the rules; it required small teams 
to go past the mountains  and divert a small stream into a  large pipe.  From 
there, a  series of pipes would be set up to connect to the new housing  units 
they were building.  Before the end of summer it would be  done.  Everyone was 
eagerly awaiting its completion. 

There had been a lot of interest in that project, but it took  only a small crew.  
And that crew had to be approved after an  investigation of sorts, given that 
they would be going into  territory which was technically off limits.  The 
resulting crew  had all come from the station, although a few of Vance's old  
staff had applied.  But they'd already resigned in protest and  were not 
considered trustworthy enough to take the risk. 

Another crew was setting up the piping system on the platforms,  but that one 
hadn't had as large a response.  But they were  making a visible mess as the 
pipes were set in the grey soil.   

Miles scribbled down a quick report on the day's progress.  At  the end of the 
week he'd summarize it all in a report.  The  projects were for their own people, 
but like everything else all  the details had to go to Them. 

He thought about the mud channel and how it had meant so much  more.  
He'd taken that away.  But then he pulled out a small baby  toy from his coat 
pocket.  Was Kirioshi getting enough food?  Was  he very small like so many of 
the little ones on Bajor following  the Cardassian's departure?  Would he be one 
of those quiet,  haunted children Miles had seen too much of before his father  
found a way to bring him home? 

                              *****

Sisko had been stuck in his office all day, obligated by various  meetings to 
miss his daily walk.  But it was later in the  afternoon, and all that was done.  
The residual heat of the early  day made the office stuffy, and the windows 
didn't let in enough  of a breeze.  He closed his inner office door, told his aide 
he'd  be back and set off on his walk. 

He was on his way back, taking his time, when he noticed Vance  approaching.  
It was the first time he had seen the man in  months.  Vance had stopped, 
staring.  Sisko, feeling  uncomfortable, tried to keep things calm. 

"Mr. Vance, is there a problem?" he asked as neutrally as  possible. 

Vance continued to stare.  "I'm sorry," he said slowly, with  disdain, "but I don't 
have conversations with collaborators." 

Sisko stopped dead, taken by surprise.  After a minute, still  shaken, he said 
carefully, "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr.  Vance." 

Vance was still staring.  Sisko moved closer, watching the former  director of 
the colony as he stared.  The word deeply hurt.  He  wanted to walk away, but 
he couldn't.  He had to defend himself.  

Vance looked away, checking the time. "Excuse me, Captain, but I  need to get 
home." 

Sisko knew that he should let him go, and not make the incident  any worse.  
But deep inside an anger was building, and Walter  Vance was the only 
convenient target.  He came closer, standing  only steps away from Vance, 
staring himself now.  

"You don't approve, I know," he said slowly, anger sharpening his  tone.  "But 
I'd like to know what suggestions you have.  We are  being left alone.  The only 
contacts we've had in the last months  have been because we made a special 
request, and all of them have  been granted, I might add.  I'd like to know how 
you think we are  going to eat without cooperating with them.  I'd like to know 
if  you've thought of a way to get off of this planet.  Mr. Vance,  when you come 
up with something of a more practical nature I'd be  happy to listen to you.  
But until you do, please don't make  judgements about things you know 
nothing about." 

Vance looked up at him, sadly.  "I pity you, Captain.  You just  don't get it.  
Now, may I leave?" 

Vance kept staring, anger tinged with pity.  Sisko moved out of  the way and 
Vance continued on, hurrying past Sisko and the  entire complex of offices. 

Sisko continued walking, slowly this time, staring straight  ahead. No matter 
what Vance had said, he did understand.  He had  taken the position because 
he had to; he'd chosen to bring his  people here.  He would pay the price alone.  
He'd been forced to  compromise his friends because he could trust them, 

But what he'd said to Vance in anger was also true.  They didn't  have an 
alternative.  He knew, when he looked at the Vorta, that  one false move on 
their part and that smile would no longer be so  pleasant, the orders would no 
longer be couched in polite  requests.   No one liked the way life was, but he 
knew it could  be made so much worse, so easily.  Vance would never 
understand  this. 

But it would not have hurt so much to hear the word if it did not  have a truth 
to it.  He hated what he was doing, but it was his  choice.  He could not go 
back into his office yet.  He couldn't  stand to look at the reports that went to 
Them.  He was allowing  Them to use him as a personal pawn, but built a 
shield around the  reality.  It was a little too real then, and he was angry at  
Vance for reminding him of it.  

He kept walking, heading further away from people and especially  from the 
cluster of buildings where the illusion of control was  allowed to flourish. 

He crossed the bridge that led to the small field and studied the  contrast.  One 
side was green and plush, the field growing a lush  crop.  The other was dark 
and solid, with a fuzzy greenish  covering of native plants.  It was not yet soil, 
but had gone far  beyond the grey broken rocks that surrounded it.  It was in  
transition, as the people it was meant to help feed were.  He  knew what it was 
to become, but feared for his people.  They had  some greater use for Cyrus 
than this.  

He was still angry at Vance, and sitting in the shade of a  crevice overlooking 
the field, allowed his anger to turn towards  Them.  He stared at the field, 
hating both Them and himself for  what he was doing, knowing that he would 
do the same if he had to  chose again. 

                              *****

A week after deciding to perform the test, on the pretense of  surveying the 
native plants for useful ones, Justin Blanchard and  Tarlan Jaro had set off 
toward the mountains at dawn.  Along the  way they did collect native plant 
species, to avoid suspicion,  but Justin led them along a clear path that led 
towards the  mountains where the caves were to be found.  

They had gathered nearly half of the sample bags by the time they  reached the 
caves.  Jaro followed Justin into the carefully  concealed opening to the cave 
and stopped.  "You wouldn't even  know this was here."  He was awed by the 
cave walls. The rock had  strands of odd colored minerals, and the normal grey 
stone that  littered the planet was dark grey and hard.  A bit of light  filtered 
down from somewhere above.  It was beautiful. 

Justin had hardly noticed the display of light and color.  He had  been busy 
working a control hidden in a crevice.  Suddenly, a  smaller cave, behind them, 
became visible when lights came on  deeper in the system of caverns.  

Jaro stared at the light and followed Justin as he moved through  the small 
cave to the largest one which lay beyond. 

He was stunned.  Around him were neatly arranged lines of  machines, from 
the smallest mixers to the largest of the deep  injection models.  And sitting in 
the back was a replicator.   Jaro stared at it, suddenly deeply disturbed.  All of 
this was  contraband, even if it did not explicitly fit the description  they had 
been given.  No matter how successful or helpful their  experiment, he knew 
the overlords above would not forgive a  violation of this degree.  The only thing 
missing were the large  cookers.  This room would mean death for anyone who 
knew of it. 

Justin was looking around the cave.  "We have everything we need  to remake 
this planet, if we're successful.  We won't even need  the big machines.  This is 
working out perfectly." 

Jaro stared at the replicator.  "How did they miss that?" 

"It wasn't officially here."  He moved toward the smaller  dispensers, picking out 
one near the edge.  "This one should do.   Let's hurry and get this out." 

Jaro helped him carry the empty machine towards the first cave.   Something 
bothered him.  "How did they miss this?  They scanned  the whole area." 

Justin pointed towards the blue_green streaks in the grey stone.   "You can't 
scan thought that.  Willman discovered these caves a  long time ago."  

A sudden thought paralyzed him.  "Does he suspect?  If he knows  about these 
caves . . . ." 

Justin hurried back into the larger cave, returning with several  small 
containers Jaro recognized as the chemicals.  He set them  down carefully.  

They started mixing the chemical soup that would do the work of  the large, 
bulky cookers.  Jaro started coughing a little, and  wished they'd finish soon.  
The chemicals were very concentrated,  and would be mixed with water from 
the little trickle of a stream  that passed through the cave.  But the smell was 
already  horrible. 

To distract himself from the fumes, he asked, point blank,  "Does  Willman 
know about this place?".  

Justin shrugged, "I'm fairly sure Willman has never seen this  one." 

They carried the dispenser and the chemicals outside, the  chemicals inside 
specimen gathering bags.  It was buried in a  pile of rocks along with the 
chemicals.  There were no small  animals to chew through the containers, nor 
any larger ones to  dislodge the rocks.  As long as they didn't call attention to  
themselves, the hidden materials should be quite safe.  

They took another pathway back through the rolling hills,  gathering different 
specimens, and arrived back well before dusk,  nothing suspicious about their 
journey.  They would spend the  next week analyzing the plants for possible 
uses, and perhaps in  a month would need to make another trip to gather more 
of the  most promising of them.  It would all be fine, Jaro told himself.   He 
could not dismiss the sense of foreboding he felt, but it  could not compete with 
the absolute need to know if they were  right. 

                              ***** 

A little before dark, Sisko had returned to his office.  Morris  was still busy, 
finishing up a few reports after an early dinner.   Sisko had not even looked at 
him, and closed the door to his  office as soon as he entered, clearly upset.  
Morris was still  there, a little later, when Dax knocked.  He let her in.  "Is he  
still here?" she asked. 

"Yes.  In his office, but . . . . " 

She looked him in the eyes.  "But what?  Is there a problem?" 

Morris shrugged.  "He looked upset.  He usually doesn't want to  be disturbed 
when he's upset." 

"Then he definitely needs to be bothered," she said.  "He didn't  make dinner, 
anyway."  Besides the small file she was holding,  she had a plate of food.  
"Why don't you go home now, Randy.  You  can finish those in the morning."  

Morris knew when to leave, and went home. 
                              *****

Jadzia watched Morris hurry away, then closed the door.  She  crossed the 
room and lightly tapped on Sisko's door.  He didn't  answer so she opened it. 

He had shoved the papers on his desk onto the floor and was  trying to sort 
them out, looking  embarrassed.  But he relaxed  when he saw who it was. 

She sat the plate on a clear spot on his desk.  "My crew worked  hard on this.  
Eat it while it's still warm." 

He gave up on the mess, and sat down.  They had made the steaks  again.  He 
took a bite.  "My compliments.  You ought to do this  more often."  But he 
sounded depressed.  

"Already promised to.  Ben, what's wrong?"   

Sisko shrugged.  "Vance.  I ran into him today.  He told me what  he thought of 
us."  His voice dragged.  She knew he had already  been thinking about it.  He 
methodically ate his dinner. 

"I'll bet he didn't mince words either."  She had been picking up  the scattered 
papers, and finishing the last stack, had sat down. 
 
"No.  He was rather blunt."

"What did he say?" she asked, watching him stare at the wall. He  didn't 
answer, but nibbled on the last of his dinner.  

"Guess."  He mumbled the word, still lost in thought. 

"I can, but I want you to say it."  She watched him as he nearly  knocked the 
collected papers on the floor again. 

"He called me a collaborator."  He said it softly, taking a deep  breath first. 

"He's right, you know," she said neutrally. 

"I know," he whispered.  This time he did shove the smallest  stack of files on 
the floor, the monthly use reports, watching  them scatter.  "But if Vance had 
his way the Jem'Hadar would be  here.  I'm not sure there was ever really a 
choice.  The Vorta  made sure I understood he wanted me.  And I did bring our 
people  here." 

"I thought Barrett did.  It was the closest stop we could make.   It happened 
that way, Ben.  None of the colonies in the area are  very big.  It would be the 
same if we hadn't come here.  It's not  your fault." 

"But I'm still responsible."  He was no longer mumbling.  He was  angry, at 
Them, but mostly himself.  "Do you have any idea how  hard it is to sit there 
and listen to the Vorta, making it all  sound so natural.  He has this smile.  I 
can see him ordering the  Jem'Hadar to tear this place apart with the same 
smile.  And I  keep wondering what they really want from us.  I can't escape the  
feeling that we're being set up for something they have had in  mind all along." 

Jadzia had gone very quiet.  Her sudden change in mood distracted  him and 
for a moment he forgot how angry he was.  "Something bad  is coming.  I don't 
know when.  But I know some of us aren't  going to survive it.  I could feel it 
that day, at the hospital,  feel death waiting."  She looked up at him, trying to 
make him  understand.  He just looked confused and worried. 

"Then why are we doing this," he said, pointing at the scattered  reports, "if it 
won't matter."

"Because it does.  Look, Ben.  You're not Willman and not Vance.   Vance 
would have us refuse to cooperate at all.  Willman would  have a curfew and 
extend his infamous rules to everyone.  You are  trying to do your best in a very 
bad situation.  You're following  your instincts.  That is all you can do right 
now."  She watched  him closely, their eyes locked. 

He looked away, rubbing his eyes.  "Thank you, Old Man.  But it  doesn't make 
me feel any better." 

"Nothing will.  You are going to have to live with that." 

He nodded.  "I know.  But it did help to talk.  If you'd like to  come some other 
evening and talk a bit more  . . .  You need to  tell me about this . . . feeling you 
have." 

She nodded.  "If I can."  She had gathered up the scattered  reports and 
restacked them.  Sisko had picked up a pile of papers  to sort.  She picked up 
another.  They worked for several more  hours, quietly sorting the papers, and 
for a few moments let his  burst of anger remind them that there is always a 
cost, and  sometimes you have to pay it. 

                              *****

End, Legacy, Year 1, Part 3, Chapter 13