LEGACY

            An Alternative History of the Dominion War

                              Year 1

                       Part 3 _ Adjustments

Chapter 9

In her mind, Lonnie was going to check her quarters and then go to the 
hospital.  She knew she'd be needed there.  But as she dragged herself past the 
open area they'd sat for so many hours, the day's emotions took their toll.  At 
her door she suddenly paused, hesitating to open it.  Pushing gently, she 
watched as the door drifted open. 

She stared at the room.  All of her possessions__everything she owned 
now__was scattered all over the floor.  Despite the tiredness, she sat on the 
floor by the heap, slowly pulling a few things into sorted piles. 

But there was too much.  She looked up at her bed, the covers askew and her 
favorite blanket on the floor.  She needed to know what was missing and 
broken.  She needed to get to work and see how the patients were doing.  But 
she could hardly get up, and stumbled around the mess to her bed, retrieving 
the blanket before she climbed inside. 

She wrapped the blanket around her and curled into a comfortable ball.  A nap 
wouldn't hurt, she told herself.  Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, she 
was asleep. 

She woke up when the sun hit her in the eyes that morning. 

She remembered the searches and the pile of things.  She knew they had to 
look, but why did they have to be so rough and make such a mess?  

Staring at it, she suddenly could not move.  The anger was so strong she 
couldn't put words to it, just a stirring turmoil inside her that consumed 
everything else.  If the monsters that had done this thing were there she could 
have killed them, but they had gone. 

And there had been the square, with its endless hours of sitting and the 
terrifying future laid out so plainly.  She could see their huge rifles and the 
anger deepened, complicated by fear and a sense of reality.  She knew she 
would not be able to strike back.  She knew the animal creatures would not 
hesitate to kill them.  She was important in this new world.  She could help 
keep people alive.  She owed it to all of them.  She had every reason to stay 
alive. 

But the anger was no different.  The personal violation was still very sharp. 

It was morning, and there were things to do.  She sat up, then stood, carefully 
picking her way across the scattered damage.  Ever since the new people had 
come with news of this enemy, especially since the Federation had abandoned 
them to their fate, she had thought about the betrayal. 

But it wasn't real until then.  Enemy soldiers had torn into her personal life, 
and those who were sworn to protect them had allowed it. 

The anger was a double_edged sword now.  She understood her friends sorrow 
poured out in the letter, but understood the betrayal, too. 

Nobody could help them.  Nothing could make the anger dim, not even time.  
She stared at the ruins of her life scattered on the floor, and tomorrow didn't 
matter. 

But it had to.  Lives depended on her.  There was nothing to strike out against 
anyway. 

She took a deep breath.  Already, a barrier was surrounding the anger, an 
almost physical thing that kept it at bay.  She had to go to work today, and all 
the days to come.  She could not function frozen in anger. 

She sat, picking up things one at a time, trying to sort them.  She threw the 
clothes in a pile.  But she could *feel* the filth that covered them.  She looked 
at her clothes, touching them as well. She shivered.  She'd slept in the filth and 
it was all over her. 

Stripping off all she wore, she scrubbed herself hard in the shower.  But even 
the hardest scrubbing did not clean her.  A small pile of clothes had fallen still 
folded.  They hadn't soiled any of them.  She pulled enough for the day from it 
and dressed.  

Even after she had washed everything she owned and scrubbed even the walls, 
it would still be tainted and violated..  She stood looking over the floor, stunned 
by the mess, afraid to move the largest pile.  She'd done nothing to them, but 
they had rifled through her things like they were nothing, like she was nothing. 

She kneeled down, forcing herself to start picking things up.  
She knew she had to go to the hospital, but the need to know was too great to 
wait.  She had brought very little from home to this place and they had defiled 
it.  Inside, the grief was as sharp as if everyone she loved was dead. 

Then she saw a glinted of light, and gently picked up the small piece of glass.  
Next to it was another, broken from the charm.  Her mother had given her the 
little glass charm.  She could fix it, but it would never quite be the same.  Four 
generations of her mother's family had passed that charm to their daughters, 
and she would have to pass the broken pieces.  It broke her heart. 

She couldn't touch anything else.  She was afraid to discover what else had 
been destroyed. 

Her clock was missing.  She didn't really want to go, but Willy needed her.  
Bashir might be gone.  She had to know.  She had to leave this room and the 
pain it held near. 

She carefully laid the broken pieces of glass in a small box to make sure it 
wasn't broken more. She had to hide it for now.  It hurt too much any other 
way. 

Everything hurt too much.  A chill fell over her and she could feel nothing at 
all.  

She looked around for her shoes.  They had been tossed near the wall, away 
from the mess.  She slipped them on, and stepped out of the nightmare into a 
different one. 

Outside, she looked around again.  The Jem'Hadar were gone.  In the supply 
area, there was a small line and a group of people sitting, eating rations.  She 
guessed that was breakfast.  She didn't have time to stand in line and wasn't 
really hungry, so she skipped it.  She wasn't ready for rations, anyway. 

She started down the pathway towards the hospital, noting the quiet turmoil 
inside the tents. Here and there families were moving things aside, and she 
wondered if they'd start building more homes that day. 

No matter how little there was to hope for, you had to go on. 

She tried hard to remember that as she trudged to work. 

                              *****

James had dragged himself back to his quarters the night before, in too much 
of a fog to notice much of anything.  He'd carefully stepped around the mess 
piled on the floor to reach his bed. Everything was disheveled, but he collapsed 
and pulled a blanket over him, falling asleep immediately.  He'd come early the 
day before, for breakfast, having nothing else to do.  He'd sat all day, lost in a 
growing state of shock, all the while wondering what was to become of them. 
Some of them, he thought bitterly, had craved challenges, and he hoped they 
liked the new ones. For himself, all that existed was grief.  He lived for the day 
he'd leave this place, but now that would never come.  He could not bear the 
thought. 

As light filtered into the windows, he woke and slowly surveyed the ruins of his 
life.  He didn't care about the clothes, or the scattered personal items.  He 
wanted his art supplies to be safe.  

He had saved them in the original box Lonnie had put them in, a lifetime before 
on his birthday, and after frantic searching, discovered it thrown against a 
wall.  Most of it was there.  But the tubes had been stepped on and broken.  
Nearly in tears, he gently scraped up what he could to save.  He moved other 
things out of the way, tossing clothes and other unimportant things into a pile.  
A few of the other things were mixed in with the clothes, but still more of it was 
missing.  He held the box with its saved remnants and cried. 

But he left it in the middle of the room, taking his light and searching under 
the furniture.  His hopes soared when he discovered that some of it had gone 
under the dresser.  He shoved the table next to it out of the way and carefully 
lifted a side of the dresser, sliding it gingerly across the floor.  

More of his tubes of unusual paints and brushes were under the dresser.  He 
collected it slowly, as if he'd found buried treasure.  One by one, making it a 
kind of ceremony, he added them to the box.  Then, sitting in the sunshine that 
came through the window, he took it out, laying it on the floor and surveying 
what was left. 

Most of it was still there.  Some of the tubes were half_empty, and a few of the 
brushes and other things were probably scattered elsewhere in the room.  But 
he counted himself lucky that the monsters had not destroyed everything. 

The one thing he could not replace with anything else, though, was missing.  
The iridescent cube Lonnie had shown him how to powder and use to make a 
glistening sheen was gone.  He put the other things back in the box, once more 
fighting back tears. 

First, he moved the furniture along the wall.  It could have fit under some of it, 
and if they'd stepped on it perhaps he'd find the powder on the floor to carefully 
sweep into safety.  But all he found were a few cases and brushes, and more of 
his smaller, unimportant possessions. 

He looked under the bed but couldn't see it.  Exhausted, he sat utterly still 
mourning the ruin of his life, and all the pictures they had vanquished that 
day.  As the sunlight moved across the room he sat on the now empty floor, 
sobbing.  For James, what the Dominion planned didn't matter, for the only life 
he cared about was gone. 

Then, the late afternoon sun had changed all the angles he saw a small shadow 
under the bed he hadn't seen before.  He stared at it, watching as the light 
moved and something glistened in its reflection. 

He moved the bed carefully, afraid of damaging his prize even more.  But it had 
only hid in a shadow, safe from the monsters, until he could rescue it again.  
The cube was half_crushed, but he lovingly brushed the powder into his hand 
and then dropped it into a small box.  Nothing mattered but the cube, not food 
or clothes or monsters at the door. 

Holding the larger half, still in one piece, he cradled it as if it were a child.  He 
would dress in rags and eat whatever they had, but these things would be life.  
He settled against the bed, the box next to him and the rock in his hand, 
holding onto the only thing in life that mattered anymore.  

Tears fell down his cheeks, and he pulled a pillow off the bed.  Curling around 
the things that made tomorrow worth wanting, he fell asleep on the floor.  

The park was all around him.  His grandfather embraced him.  His father and 
mother sat at separate tables, as far apart as they could from each other, but 
both came to hold him. 
Outside, the world was hard and cold, but in his dreams James could go home. 

                              *****

Willman had spent the night in his office, as nobody else had shown up to 
relieve him.  He had no idea what had happened, hoping for some of his staff to 
return soon.  He needed rest, but more than that he craved some information. 

After the search, the hospital had been left alone.  But a line of guards had 
been left outside the door, and when it grew too dark to see they'd still been 
there.  He'd looked out in the morning, finding none, but did not trust that they 
were gone. 

That night, alone with the two nurses and far too many patients, he'd surveyed 
what was left of his supplies and tools. Garnet had replicated the old style 
devices and once his staff learned how to use them they should be able to 
manage.  But that would take time, and some of the patients didn't have that.  
None of those he could save were critical, but there were too many who were 
past his help now. 

Some would live or not.  Most of it was up to fate and if they wanted to.  He 
could not tell which would choose to let go.  He knew from before that nobody 
could tell until the moment came if life was cherished enough to fight for it. 

If he could have just one special thing, a medical tricorder would make a great 
deal of difference. He would know who could be saved and who was doomed.  It 
might preserve a lot of their supplies, assuming he got any. 

The more he thought of it, the more sense it made.  Perhaps, if he asked right 
and with the proper demeanor, it might make as much sense to them. 

                              *****

Lonnie took the long route to the hospital, suddenly fascinated by the people 
around her.  Many were still just sitting, stunned by the day's events.  She 
wondered, if she did not have her job, if she'd still be sitting amid a pile of 
debris mourning her life.  These people didn't have anything to do. 

Or, perhaps they were waiting for the monsters to return.  They didn't need any 
Jem'Hadar on the surface.  The creatures could appear in an instant. 

At the end of the tents, a group of people were sorting the building materials 
and laying them out for several houses.  More space had been cleared, the 
things left piled in haphazard stacks as if they'd been hurriedly moved. 

Most of the building crew were there, but there were many more helping.  
Others stood around in a half_ring, watching and offering water and food. 
They would manage, she knew.  She understood.  Perhaps the building would 
not go so quickly or be as precise, but it was something to do.  If, at the end of 
the day some of these people could move their cots and clothes inside a home, 
it would make the reality a little easier. They couldn't leave but a dry place to 
sleep might help. 

At least it would be a new place, untouched by the monsters and their filth.  
Tonight, when she got off shift, she would have to clean her place and yet 
nothing would rid it of the memories. 

                              *****

When she got to the hospital, Willy was waiting for her at the door.  She'd seen 
the two nurses left the day before as they went home, but others had arrived 
before.  But he was waiting for her. 

"We've rearranged the patients," he said as she followed him inside.  The room 
was split into two clear sides now.  She saw a red marker on one wall and 
could guess what that meant. 

"Bashir?" she asked, anxious to know if his fears had been realized. 

"That side, with the lucky ones," said Willy, though she wondered if that was 
the right word. 

"I left a list of supplies we're left with on my desk.  Check it over.  We'll have to 
get the old style ones here today.  I want all personal to attend the first training 
session later this afternoon.  Make sure they are all notified.  I'll talk to O'Brien 
and get the supplies delivered.  Or I'll get them myself.  Either way, have my 
people here after lunch." 

She listened, wondering where the man she'd known had gone.  This man gave 
orders and she wondered if she'd been promoted to his second in command 
from her duties.  But he was in a hurry to go, and she guessed he wasn't 
intending to sleep. 

"I'll send word to them."  She wanted to ask a question, but wondered how to 
address him. Somehow the friendly nickname didn't quite fit, and yet "doctor" 
was too formal.  It was almost as if she should call him "Sir" as if he had 
become her commander. 

"How's the food situation?" she finally asked.  It wasn't what she'd wanted to 
know, but she that was too personal.  She needed to see his face as he 
answered to tell if it was too late for personal questions. 

"We need to set that up.  I'll ask Supply about that too."  Then he paused, his 
eyes softening for a flash.  "I'm going to need everything you have.  I've got to 
have some kind of official hierarchy. Right now, you're my chief assistant.  Act 
like it." 

She nodded, then hesitantly replied.  "I will, Sir." 

He paused.  "Good.  Remember that.  We've got to show we can handle the 
authority or we'll lose it all." 
He moved past her, hardly noticing the sadness in her eyes.  "I've got some 
important things to do but I'll be back." 

He hurried out the door, and a great sense of loss briefly flashed before she 
banished it.  Her family was gone, lost at the other end of the quadrant.  And 
her friend and mentor had become a stranger.  But the hospital had too many 
patients on the red side, traditionally, in the color code of triage, the place you 
put those who might well die.  

She could mourn later.  There was too much to do now.   

On the red side of the big room, those in critical condition had been moved.  
After reviewing the supply of equipment and supplies, she understood that they 
didn't have a lot of chances.  The other side of the room was no guarantee of 
survival, but given time and luck most of those patients would leave alive. 

Bashir was among them, sound asleep.  He was more relaxed than he'd been 
before, despite the pain.  She checked and was surprised that he'd only 
received a normal the dose of pain killer. 

He'd been sure they'd take him away.  They had his DNA, and the hospital 
record bore his name. He could still be taken.  But these creatures were very 
efficient, and must have known already who he was.  

He, too, would matter to them.  He was a surgeon.  Willy wasn't trained in 
anything complicated, and some of the dead might have lived had he made it 
out of the crash in better shape.  

But that was the past.  The present was the short list of supplies and a pile of 
paperwork Willy had left for her.  The future could hold anything.  

She snagged one of the nurses working the room.  "Dr. Willman is out.  If 
there's any problems I'll be in his office.  And, if Bashir wakes up let me know." 

The nurse was from Bashir's staff, and just nodded.  She'd been Starfleet too.  
She was used to getting orders. 

Lonnie wasn't used to giving them.  She closed Willy's door, settling at his 
desk, and picked up a pen.  The broken pendant had been hard, but this would 
be worse.  She picked up the first form, a list of patients requiring a brief 
description of their injuries.  She put it down, staring at the wall. 

She'd promised him.  She picked up the form, then a pen, and shut out 
everything but the words. It was just a pendant, a bit of broken glass she could 
fix, and the form was just a list.  She couldn't bear for either to mean anything 
more. 

                              *****

Sisko looked around his office, now his alone.  Vance had left a few personal 
items behind, and when Sisko arrived that morning, all of it had been gone.  
Sitting on his desk was a pile of papers, and a note that it had arrived that 
morning, to be completed before any supplies were sent.  Vance had left his 
key, a final parting gesture that was all too clear.  

He'd known when he woke that morning, his things all over the floor.  He 
picked it up without really looking at it.  He'd sort through it later.  His mind 
was on the rest of the day, and all the days, when he would have to somehow 
balance between leading his people down the path of least destruction and not 
becoming a true collaborator. 

It could be done.  It had in the past, though the cost was so high that few 
survived it.  But he'd brought them here__stranded them__and he was the one 
to pay.  It didn't really matter to him if they turned against him, but if he did 
not hold enough of their respect he could lose control. 

Others, like Vance, might end everything then.  He could not take that chance. 

He trusted his own people.  Miles and Dax had opened up rationing on their 
own.  He'd have to have a report about it__there was a report required about 
everything, but Starfleet hadn't been all that different.  People like Miles were 
used to it. 

Willman wouldn't make trouble.  He didn't know much about the others who 
had held positions under Vance, but he'd be careful with them.  And he hoped 
his role as Emissary would help dissuade any of the surviving Bajorans from 
starting some sort of active resistance. 

The Vorta had been very clear about things.  If they followed the rules, nothing 
would happen to them.  If not, they would be taught a hard lesson.  He almost 
wished he could be like Vance and run. But he hadn't wanted to stay on at 
DS9 and had grown into the dual roles he embraced.  

Opaka had helped him understand.  Perhaps, he thought, she knew he would 
have to do what she had done under Cardassian rule.  She could not fight the 
Cardassians, but she could not betray the trust of her own either.  She held 
Bajor together, and he only hoped he could do as well. 

Someone knocked on the door, one of Miles helpers.  He had some papers, and 
stood hesitantly inside the office.  "Yes?" asked Sisko. 

"Captain, the Chief asked me to bring these supply lists." 

Sisko nodded.  He was relieved that O'Brien didn't have to be prompted.  He 
hoped it would be a good example for any others. 

"Good.  I'll need those.  Make sure I get a full inventory of things before 
tomorrow.  It looks like I'll need one." 

"No problem, Sir."

The young man had almost called him "Captain" and he was relieved he'd 
stopped himself.  He wished the rest would remember that Starfleet and its 
ranks were banished here.  But the Vorta went out of his way to call him by his 
old title.  Perhaps, for his people, it was a measure of respect to remember his 
rank, and if he was lucky they wouldn't stop. 

He leafed through the paperwork after the young man was gone.  There was 
several days worth if he worked all day on it.  He started sorting forms and 
reports into subjects when someone else knocked on the door. 

"Come," he said.

It was Dr. Willman.  "Yes, Doctor?  May I help you?" 

Willman obviously had something on his mind.  Sisko was impressed with the 
doctor's realistic approach to things and was interested.  Willman looked 
exhausted, and Sisko indicated that he should sit. 

Willman pulled up the nearest chair and nearly collapsed in it.  He looked up 
at Sisko, eying the pile of paper in front of him.  "Mine is almost as tall," he 
offered.  "But I have a special request.  I want to talk to the Vorta.  There is 
something we need." 

Sisko was surprised, but intrigued.  He wanted to know more, but suspected 
he could trust the doctor.  "He wants to discuss something later today so you 
have good timing.  But I think I'm supposed to pass on this sort of thing." 

"No, Captain, I need to explain myself."

"Perhaps you ought to explain it to me first." 

"Certainly."  Willman proceeded to explain. 

Sisko listened intently, surprised at the audacity.  On the other hand, if anyone 
could make it work, Willman could.  "That's very intriguing.  He just might buy 
it at that.  I'll mention it.  You should be ready if he agrees." 

"Thank you, Captain.  I suspect it may save a lot of lives." 

"Wait," said Sisko.  "You're about the only person around here I'd let see him 
personally.  At least you won't get yourself in trouble." 

"Any idea what Walter's up to?" asked Willman suddenly. 

"He took his personal things out this morning.  He left his key.  I almost wish I 
could do that. But the Vorta won't let me."  He looked at the doctor, sure he 
had an ally he could trust.  "Look, he calls me "Captain".  Why don't you call 
me Ben." 

"Make that Willy, then."

"Thanks, Willy.  I'll let you know as soon as I can."

                              *****

Willman had just started organizing the medical devices into packets for his 
staff to practice with when Sisko's message arrived.  He told Lonnie to tell 
everyone the class was postponed until he returned.  He'd already changed into 
his best clothes and washed his face.  He wanted to make sure the Vorta was 
shown proper respect. 

He hurried to Sisko's office, and was introduced to the Vorta with his bright 
clothes and curled ears.  Then Sisko left and he had his chance. 

The Vorta studied his face.  Willman was careful to give him the proper respect.  
He did not look at the man's face, keeping his eyes down.  But he didn't stare 
at the floor either.  Glebaroun was obviously curious about the request.  
Willman didn't know how much Sisko had said, but he assumed he didn't give 
any details. 

A container of medical instruments lay on the table and Willman picked up a 
medical tricorder. 

"Sir, I request permission to keep this tricorder."  The Vorta looked surprised. 

"Doctor, that is a banned item."

"I know that, Sir, but there are certain advantages to this device which would 
appeal to you." 

Intrigued by the game the doctor was playing, the Vorta said, "Go on." 

"With this device I can diagnose a patient much easier.  I will only use the 
medicines that I need, and not waste any of them on treating things which 
don't exist." 

"I see.  But it is still a banned device." 

"It could be used for other purposes," Willman agreed.  "That would take 
modifying it, however, and I have no intention of doing that." 

The Vorta gazed at him, looking interested.  "I actually do believe you, Doctor, 
but you are one of many who could modify it." 

"Not if it was monitored.  Place a small chip in the device and it will transmit 
whatever it is reading.  You'll know if it's being used properly that way.  Anyone 
trying to modify it will set off a silent alarm." 

The Vorta looked interested.  He smiled at the doctor, with a fake smile that 
Willman found creepy. 

"I will consider it." 

                              ***** 

The early afternoon sun was bright, and Sisko paused at his new quarters, 
stopping to get a hat. He'd temporarily taken one of the smaller quarters of the 
Vance's departed staff, waiting for Vance to be evicted. Most of his people were 
not used to the bright sun, and Willman had suggested they make some sort of 
visors to help.  Sisko had asked for a baseball cap. 

He'd moved a few days before.  He had to be near his office, and as Vance's old 
staff had mostly resigned they were moved to the new residential area.  Miles 
and Dax and others with official positions were give their rooms. 

Vance hadn't been evicted yet, but would be.  For now, Sisko was content to 
live with the fiction that he'd come back.  

Sisko stepped down the pathway that had been so strange a short while before 
but was already familiar.  The stepped layers were gradually being covered with 
homes.  He noticed more were being built at once now, with an overflowing pool 
of help.  The breeze covered everything with a fine dust, billowing from where a 
small knot of people were breaking up the dried mud from the rains. 

For a moment he just stopped and watched, proud of his people.  It wasn't 
much of a life, but they were doing the best they could.  It would be easier for 
them when they had a dry place to sleep, at least. 

Each new building had a designation.  Everything in this section was "R" for 
residential, followed by a number.  It was required so the Dominion could key 
the dna tags they would have to wear with a location.  Most of them didn't 
really understand that.  It wouldn't be much different than wearing a 
combadge, except the tag was strictly required at all times. 

Each building was to have a purpose, as in the residential "R".  The number, in 
this area, would reflect the order in which they were completed.  In what was 
supposed to be the first large scale terraforming operation, a community was 
being created instead. 

Skirting past the building supplies on an already worn path, he took the slight 
turn that led to the hospital.  It was set apart by a small rise from the main 
residential area.  Construction of housing units for the hospital personal was 
stirring up another cloud of dust on the small rise near the pathway.  

Two boxes had arrived in his office that day, one containing household items 
that were deemed acceptable and a small one marked "medical".  The larger 
box had been moved to Supply, now headquartered near his office in one of the 
warehouses, 
He had a surprise for Willy.  Against all odds, Glebaroun had indeed given him 
the monitored tricorder.  Having finally completed the records on the residents 
of Cyrus, both new and old, the Vorta had authorized the first official 
shipments of food and supplies.  The box with the returned items had been 
with the first shipment, and been brought to his directly to his office. 

He was also hoping that Willy would know where Vance was, as Sisko had not 
seen him since the long meeting the day of the takeover.  Glebaroun didn't 
seem to have noticed the man's disappearance, but Sisko wanted to talk.  He 
didn't expect any help, but needed to know, inside, if the man was up to 
something. 

Just because everything was there in his warehouse, or had been, didn't mean 
Vance hadn't found some other way.  You kept your friends close, but your 
enemies closer.    

                              *****

Walter Vance sat on floor of the empty warehouse that had once housed the 
terraforming equipment.  Enough of it was hidden in the mountain, but the 
real equipment was gone.  It could be remade, and for Justin that was enough.  
But for him it was over, and the empty warehouse made it final.  After fifteen 
years, his dream was dead. 

Sisko had sent a message about some paperwork to be done. He had been 
cleaning up his rooms when it had arrived.  Looking at the shattered remnants 
of his memories, strewn about the floor, he wanted to burn the papers and be 
rid of them.  If Sisko wanted to be nice he was welcome to.  Walter Vance would 
not allow himself to be soiled by the taint of collaboration. 

Later that day, he'd taken a walk.  He stopped on the little rise that looked 
down on what was to have been their vindication.  The flat, open space was 
covered with people, mostly still in tents, but he noted the gradual 
encroachment of the housing units.  That was Sisko's doing, he thought. To 
Walter, the activity of Sisko's people was another occupation as destructive as 
that of the Dominion.  There was a note in his pocket from Sisko about an 
upcoming meeting he was holding.  Vance removed it and carefully tore it to 
shreds, watching as the breeze took them and scattered them like his dreams. 

Lonnie was looking forward to the end of her shift.  She was tired and ready for 
lunch, even if it was rations, but Willy had asked her to come to his office 
before she left.  So went, hoping he didn't have more records for her to fill out.  
She wasn't sure who had asked her in, the man she knew as Willy or the new 
stranger everyone called Doctor Willman that had replaced him.  But whatever 
he wanted she hoped he would hurry. 

The line for lunch rations was long, and she'd been on her feet most of the 
night and morning. 

He was busy when she entered, and he just looked up from his papers, hardly 
noticing her at all. She waited until he finished whatever he'd been doing. 

"You have tonight off.  I need you packed and ready to move in the morning."  
He pointed towards the dust cloud of new construction outside the hospital. 

She had spent the last few days putting her room back to some semblance of 
what it had been, and didn't expect to have to move so soon.  "But you're head 
of the hospital."  All the other department heads were staying in the old section 
along with their upper staff. 

Willman  looked annoyed.  She remembered he no longer encouraged 
questions, but wanted his rules followed.  He was her superior and she'd 
spoken without permission.  "I don't make the rules.  And there just isn't room 
for the staff."  He was very tired, and she noticed he was filling out some 
documents.  She suspected what they might be. 

"I heard the rumor," she said.  "I was just surprised."  He nodded, looking up 
from the papers. "May I take those to Captain Sisko when you're done?" 

"No.  I'll take care of it.  Go and have a look at the new quarters before you 
leave.  They are a bit smaller.  I'll get some crates sent to your rooms tonight.  
Relocation will take care of the actual moving.  Just label everything." 

He was too tired to lecture her, as he had a few of the staff.  But she was 
relieved to be dismissed. She knew better, by now, than to just walk out. 

Crossing into the dust cloud she found a small cluster of completed buildings.  
One of the crew was approaching.  "You sure are working fast," she remarked. 

He was one of Sisko's people.  "We're told it gets pretty hot later.  Easier to do 
this now. Anyway, they want you out of the other section soon, and I bet you'd 
rather have this than tents." 

"That's true.  I'm supposed to look at the inside of one."

"What's your name?  They're already assigned." 

"Lonnie Broadman." 

He looked at what appeared to be a semi_legible paper list.  "Okay, you're in 
MR_4.  You must have priority." 

"I'm Dr. Willman's assistant."  She followed him to one of the identical units. 

He pushed the door open.  "Welcome home." 

She looked around the box shaped room.  Off to the side was another small 
room, where a bed had already been placed.  She sat on it.  It felt strange. 

A bit smaller was an understatement.  Shelves might help, but it was still going 
to be cramped. The bedroom section had a small window built into it, but that 
was all it offered in ambient light. "Could I get my own bed?  This one feels 
uncomfortable."  She smiled her best smile at him.  He smiled back. 

"Sure.  I think I can swing that.  Whoever gets your room will complain, but 
that's somebody else's problem.  I need a list of what furniture is to be brought, 
too."  He handed her a handful of stickers. "Post these on whatever you want 
moved. Look, I have to get back to work.  Stay as long as you want." 

She heard the door shut behind him.  She sat on the bed again.  Whoever got it 
should like a hard mattress.  Studying the room, she tried to envision her 
things around the walls but couldn't.   It would be hard to figure where to put 
it all, and what she might have to leave behind.  It was almost like having her 
things scattered all over, except this time she got to choose what fell where. 

She'd bring it all, she decided.  Once it was inside, she'd figure out how to 
stack it.  But it was all she had, and nobody was going to take any of it. 

                              *****

Sisko finally found Willy in his office staring at a small stack of documents.  "I 
guess I don't have to make an extra trip now," said Willy, looking up, handing 
him the documents.  Glancing at them, Sisko realized they were death 
certificates.  He counted them, finding ten.  

"I guess it's been a bad day. I was hoping to surprise you with some good 
news." 

Willy didn't look any happier.  "Come back tomorrow.  There are at least that 
many that aren't going to make it.  I'm afraid you're going to lose a lot of your 
people." 

Sisko handed him the tricorder.  "Would this help?" 

"Not for them.  No less than Starfleet Medical would, probably.  We should just 
have just let them go before, but I had to try." 

Sisko let his guard down for a moment.  "I just wish we'd tried to fit them in."  
He could hear the drag in his voice.  "I know it wouldn't have worked, but I 
wish we had tried." 

Willman was wearing his professional face when he looked up at Sisko.  "Okay, 
I'm playing doctor now.  Captain, you did what you had to.  You can do all the 
second guessing you want, but you can't change it.  What really matters is 
now.  I've heard a few things about Vance the last few days.  I wouldn't expect 
any help from him.  You have a lot of responsibility,  and you don't have time to 
second guess old decisions." 

"Thank you, Dr. Willman.  I'll remember that."  Sisko was serious, but handling 
things. "Speaking of doctors, how is mine?" 

"He's on the lucky side of the room.  It's going to be awhile, but he'll make it." 

"Can I see him?" 

"Not now.  I'm keeping the area off limits for visitors at the moment.  I can't 
isolate individuals so I have to isolate all of them.  But I'll pass on your 
concern." 

Sisko looked at the papers in his hand.  "I suppose I have something to do." 

Picking up the tricorder, Willy turned it over in his hands to examine it.  He 
studied the special seal.  "I really didn't think it would work.  But whatever 
reason he had, I'm glad I tried." 

"I hope it helps.  And, umm, remember, *Ben*, not Captain."  Sisko managed a 
weak smile. "I won't call you Leonard." 

Willy made a face.  "You know, most of the people here before you came don't 
even know who that is.  You already know my deepest secret.  Sure, Ben."  He 
managed a weak smile as well. 

Sisko slipped the records in an empty folder on a nearby table.  "Remember, 
Willy.  You're as responsible for what happens here as I am.  We need to work 
together." 

The doctor nodded, vaguely picking up a paper.  "Keep in touch," he muttered 
as he went back to work. 

                              *****

Lonnie had stopped at her rooms__her old rooms, she corrected herself__to 
drop off the stickers before going to lunch.  There was very little to look forward 
to with meals anymore.  The new shipment of food had arrived and while the 
little round cakes were a change from the Federation version, it wasn't an 
improvement.  They were chewy.  They were nutritious.  Willy had confirmed 
that with the tricorder.  But they didn't have much taste.  She had gnawed on 
one for breakfast and still had little chunks stuck here and there. 

But somebody had a large pot of something boiling, and it smelled good.  She 
wandered near and found a heap of rations and dried vegetables being soaked 
in separate pots.  One of Sisko's people was stirring the larger pot, standing on 
a bench.  Several people were mincing the soaked rations, underlings from the 
Ag department.  It was the first actual mixing of groups she'd seen in other 
than an official capacity.  

One of Sisko's people noticed her standing there.  He dipped out a bowl full of 
the stuff and offered it to her.  It was reasonably thick and smelled all right.  
She accepted a spoon and took a taste.  "Hey, this is good," she said, surprised. 

"Thank the chef," said one of the mincers, pointing at the stirrer.  "By the way, 
has anybody seen James?  I don't have any records of his getting any meals 
since we got the new supplies." 
It occurred to her that she hadn't seen James at all in the last few days.   "I've 
got to pack," she said with a sigh, "but I'll go and check."  She joined several 
people at one of the tables, enjoying the treat, but was worried about  James.  
He'd been living for the day he could leave.  She was afraid he had just given 
up.  She hurried her lunch so she could check. 

                              *****

James's door was unlocked, but he didn't respond to her knock.  She called his 
name, but he didn't answer either.  So she pulled open the latch and pushed 
open his door. 

A pile of his ordinary things still lay on the floor, heaped in disarray, next to 
the bed.  He was asleep, one blanket half over him.  She stepped quietly 
around the bed and discovered an easel, with a half_finished drawing of a park, 
and trees he was just beginning to add.  His art supplies, in contrast to the 
other things, lay in careful order, organized in whatever boxes he'd found. 
Stepping carefully around the art setup to the bed, she gently shook him 
awake.  

He stirred, staring at her still half_asleep.  Curling back into his sleeping 
position, he murmured something unintelligible.  She shook him harder this 
time, finally getting his attention.  He looked up at her, his eyes young and 
scared and lost.  She stared at him, locking eyes.  "When did you last eat?" she 
asked.  

There were tears in his eyes.  "I don't know.  Go away," he sobbed out. 

She shook him again, giving him a stare.  "No.  I can't go away.  You are going 
to get up and go get some food.  Now," she said as she pulled him to a sitting 
position. 

"I'm not hungry.  Just leave me alone."  This time he was angry.  He tried to 
pull away but she had a firm grip. 

"No.  Get some clean clothes on," she said, beginning to remove the paint 
soaked shirt.  The pants were a mess, too, but she wasn't worried about them.  
She grabbed a reasonably clean shirt and handed it to him.  When he didn't 
put it on himself she began to do it for him. 

"I can do it myself," he said angrily, yanking it out of her hands.  When he was 
done with the shirt she handed him socks and shoes.  When he was dressed he 
continued to sit on the bed.  "I said I wasn't hungry," he said again, this time 
resigned. 

She looked him over.  "You're a mess, James.  Your clothes are filthy.  You 
need a bath.  And I bet you have hardly been out of this room since the 
transfer.  I'm not going to let you hole up here like some hermit until Sisko has 
you and all that stuff moved." 

He looked protectively towards the picture.  "Half  . . . half the stone was 
broken.  I'll need all of it for the water now." 

He was projecting an enormous pain and it hurt, but she didn't let it show.  
The last thing he needed was sympathy.  "And you'll lose more than that if you 
keep this up.  Come on, James, let's get you some food." 

He looked longingly at the painting he was creating, and then at Lonnie, who 
was more determined than ever.  He carefully hopped off the bed, and around 
his art.  "Okay, but I still don't want it." 

"That's perfectly all right," she said, guiding him out the door. 

                              *****

She left James sitting at a bench with the mincer and the stirrer keeping 
watch, eating his second bowl.  He had declared he wasn't hungry again on the 
way, but once the bowl of soup was in front of him he had agreed to try it.  He 
came out of his shell, at least a little, and was slurping it down too fast.  She 
was half_worried he'd eat too much and make himself sick.  But that was 
today, and she was concerned that without something to do James was going 
to go back to being a hermit. 

She tapped lightly at Sisko's door, hoping this wasn't a mistake.  A minute 
later someone opened it and she noticed several people were there, both from 
supply, involved in what appeared to be a personal conversation.  She almost 
lost her nerve.  Sisko motioned for her to come in. 

She introduced herself and Sisko nodded.  "Dr. Willman has mentioned your 
name.  What can I do for you?"  

She had heard that he was short with unexpected visitors, but seemed very 
accommodating at the moment.  "It's about one of our people.  I'm very 
concerned about him."  She hesitated to say more. 

The tall woman with the spots and her companion began picking up their 
things.  "This can wait, Benjamin,"  she said as they left the room.  She heard 
the door close and Lonnie took a deep breath. 

"Sir," she began, "there is a young man, just sixteen, that was here as a guest 
of Mr. Vance.  He was here because his family was breaking up, and while he 
put up with us, he didn't like being here.  If things had worked out he'd be 
leaving in about a month to go to a prestigious art college. Art is really all he 
cares about, especially now." 

"I met him.  James, I believe.  He did some work for Vance," said Sisko.  She 
noticed a picture of a younger version of Sisko, a little older than James, sitting 
on his desk. 

"James.  He asked us to call him that.  Really, though, with the exception of a 
few people, he wasn't close to anyone.  He did gofer work for Mr. Vance, or the 
like.  He is very conscientious about it.  But since the transfer, he's barely been 
out of his quarters.  He just sits and paints.  I made him get dinner, but I can't 
do that every day.  He really needs something to do, and to stay in the room 
he's in now." 

"Why does he need that particular room?" ask Sisko without any sign of being 
upset. 

"He has his masterpiece set up.  It's rather large, and I'm afraid it would 
destroy it to be moved. But I think that is all that's holding him together." 

She noticed that Sisko was looking at the picture of the young man, guessing it 
to be his son. "He did a lot of good work before.  I'll add him to my staff.  Tell 
him to be here first thing in the morning.  This," he said, indicating the sea of 
paper sitting in little clumps, "needs to be organized.  He was pretty good at 
that.  I hope filing is among his skills." 

"He's very organized. He should be good at it." 

"Good.  I've got plenty for him at do." 

                              *****

Lonnie found James still eating, but slowly this time.  Letting him finish his 
last bowl, she watched as he pulled himself up, the empty bowl in his hand.  
"Wait a minute.  You've got some housekeeping to get done__that pile of stuff 
you left on the floor.  You'll need something clean for your new job tomorrow." 

He stared at her as he started home, dropping off the bowl first.  She followed 
and didn't let him close the door without letting her in. 

Carefully leaving his art in tact, she helped with his more mundane 
possessions.  She started by sorting the pile on the floor.  She pulled the 
dirtiest clothes out of the rest, but found a few clean things for him to wear the 
next day.  "Tomorrow, we wash clothes," she insisted.  "But now you get a 
shower." 

He kept glancing at his picture, his gaze lingering on the trees.  "I'm fine," he 
muttered, making for the easel.  

"No, shower," she ordered. All the while he kept looking at the painting.  "If you 
insist," he muttered finally, going into the bathroom and shutting the door.  
When she left, she knew he'd go straight to the easel, but tomorrow at least 
he'd be ready for work. 

He came out of the room already dressed and headed towards the painting 
shirt, draping it over his clean clothes. 

"What job?" he asked without looking at her.

"You work for Sisko.  He's got a mountain of papers to organize." 

"Oh," he grunted.  He returned to the pile on the floor, finding a splattered 
blanket which he draped over his legs as he arranged himself to paint. 

"You don't lose this room," she told him. 

He was mixing paints.  He paused, suddenly staring at her.  "His file clerk?" 

"More or less," she replied. 

"I start tomorrow?" he muttered, back to his paints. 

"First thing after breakfast."

He grunted a little, not looking up.  "I guess . . . ."

She watched as he mixed a small vial of paint.  "Try to get some sleep," she 
suggested as she let herself out. 

She went to her rooms, hers for one last night.  Slowly, she started packing her 
things.  She didn't think of her life, but tried to remember that James might 
not give up now, and if he could make it she could too.  Tomorrow, they'd take 
all she owned and cram it into a little box.  But she'd be close to work.  She 
wouldn't have to walk through snow in winter to get home.  Maybe it would 
work out. 

And they'd already taken what mattered most.  She made sure all but the next 
day's clothes were packed, one box left unsealed for her sheets and 
nightclothes.  Maybe it would be easier to leave this place so filled with 
memories. 

                              *****

end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1_3,Chapter 9