This story was posted to ASC in I believe 2006.
TITLE:Hope
Series: DS9
Rating: G
Codes: S, post WYLB
Summary: Sometimes hope is a leap of faith.
Feedback: I'd love some. I'd especially love to hear what really worked in the story.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Sisko and the Prophets belong to Paramount. Katerina belongs to history. The rest belongs to me.
Warning: Not my usual. Even you children can read this one.
Hope
Benjamin Sisko stood on a hill. Below him, the ruins of Kylsta spread out for miles. Here and there, a building still stood, but even those were little more than hollow shells. When the aide workers had finally come, the surviving population was found huddled inside the hulks that remained, the only shelter from the rains. Now, the ruined town had been declared uninhabitable, a place of the dead.
Beside him was a woman who wore the face of Jennifer Sisko, but held the soul of the prophet who had mothered him. Neither could be seen by the sea of life below.
It wasn't his first visit to the planet. "I remember how beautiful this place used to be." He spoke slowly. He pointed to a flattened space with little to show that anything had ever stood there. "That was Old Town. The houses were very delicate." He paused, remembering how graceful they were and how plain the rest of the town had become. "Nobody ever tried to copy them, not since the first Federation expedition found this place. But they took very good care of their past."
"You speak of linear time. You have transcended that place. You must learn to see beyond the limitations of past and future." He used verbal language much of the time. She remembered how to speak from her union with Sarah.
He wasn't listening. "Now it's all gone," he finished.
"You cling to this existence." She studied the sea of activity below, and watched as he stared at the empty space where the city had been. "There is no need to torment yourself. This pain you carry comes from knowing you can not change things. Let it go."
He stared at the ruins, still lost in his own thoughts. "The war . . .", he said, letting his mind say what words could not.
Images of death and darkness swept over her. She stood before an ever longer list of names and learned to hate Fridays. Death surrounded everything, as friends and allies were taken in battle. But she could not allow herself to grieve. All she knew was that the enemy must somehow be destroyed.
She stood with Sisko and Admiral Ross amid a dead Cardassia, and refused to join a Klingon toast to the victory.
War held no glories, only pain.
"You are not a part of this existence," she spoke quietly. "But you cannot let go of it. You must learn to release yourself so you may grow."
"See over there?" he said, not responding to her words. "Those are the survivors." He stared at the sea of shelters that filled the valley and circled the ruins. "That's all we can do. We can't bring them back their world. We *must* not make promises we know we can't keep."
"This time will pass for them. A new city will rise from this ruin. They will remake their lives."
"Yes, *remake*," he insisted. "But all the rest is gone. The families that are dead or scattered or missing will still leave an empty place. All the memories they had will die with them."
"It is the way of linear time." She took his hand, pulling him towards her, but he kept staring at the valley below. "Our knowledge frees us from this sorrow."
"No. You don't understand," he said softly. "I don't feel. It's not since," he paused, a sudden sharp memory of falling with Dukat and then white light all around him. "Long before, when the war was all there was, when I knew that somehow we had to survive I stopped feeling. I see these people, so lost, and there is nothing, just nothing."
"Before you can leave this linear existence you must let go of this place," she said slowly. "It is time you begin."
The hill and valley vanished. He was again surrounded by light, and all the universe with its potential waited for him to know it. But the barrier remained.
Then he was gone from it again, as if he'd never come to be one of them.
ooo00ooo
He was standing on a dark, devastated street corner. The first rays of dawn were lighting the skies. The soft outlines of the buildings behind him were coming out of shadow. He studied the quiet street and turned away.
It was all wrong. It should have been full of life and sound, the laughter of the late night revelers leaving the bars, the echoes of music drifting from the doorways. But there was nothing but silence. The stench that filled the air made it hard to breath, and muck and water soaked his boots. The flooded street crept up into his clothes, still covering his shirt from the day before.
He was confused. She took him to places to teach him the ways of her kind, but there was always a space between his reality and the one around him. He should not have felt the wet street, or smelled the reeking odors. All of that should have been distant, as if he was watching from afar.
He studied the buildings behind him. The delicate lines and decorated balconies told him he was home. In his time, the buildings still stood. To preserve the past, they had been made strong again, the walls sturdy so they might stand for more centuries.
But this was long before his time. He knew the history of his city, and the terrible week that had stolen her soul. If only Jennifer had taken him here a week before. He might have seen the places that were forever destroyed in the waters. But all of that was already gone. Now, the waters had taken his city and only misery remained.
Then Jake hurried up to him, a young woman following. Jake wore a cap with the words "Press" pinned to it. The woman held a camera.
He stared at his son. This was not Ben's time, but she would bring him here if it served her purposes. It wasn't Jake's time either, but when he had lived Benny's life Jake had been a part of it as well.
"Dad, we got a flatboat." Sisko remembered the day before now, as they'd tried to navigate the flooded town on a rowboat. The debris underneath the water had nearly sunk them and they'd had to stop for the day. "Grampa got one for us from a friend."
He and Jake had been visiting Joseph Sisko, celebrating his birthday. His father had refused to leave for the hurricane, and Sisko wouldn't go without him. And Jake, proud of his press credentials, had stayed as a witness.
It was Wednesday morning. Monday, the hurricane had roared through the city. By Tuesday afternoon the levees had been breached and most of the town was underwater. Nobody had come to help but the people who'd stayed behind.
"Good. Let's get working," he said.
The woman approached. "Sandy," she said. "I guess you're Ben. Jake wanted me along."
He looked at the dead city that nobody had seen. "Just help."
She snapped a picture of a sunken bridge. "Any way I can."
They had to wade through deep puddles to reach the boat. It was docked to a sigh attached to the rail of the bridge. They pulled themselves on the boat with help from a grizzled looking man with life's old miseries written in his eyes.
"Ned," said the pilot. "I've heard there's people on roofs over this way."
Sisko looked around him. A body floated by, face down in the water. The bloating made it buoyant and it bounced in the wake of the boat. He pushed it away with a stick. The dead didn't matter yet.
Ned stopped for a woman wading away from a nearly submerged house. The roof was sagging into the water, disappearing into the muck. She pushed a plastic tub with a child and a puppy inside. They dragged her aboard and she held the tub as if she dared not let go. Sandy took pictures. She'd get them to the news people outside and Jake would add his words. Somehow, the ones who'd abandoned them would have to come.
The day dragged on. Trip after trip, they filled the boat and took the survivors to their makeshift dock, watching as they waded past the water. Some of them were still sitting there, just staring, when darkness ended the day's work. There wasn't anywhere for them to go.
Tired and hungry, Sandy and Jake followed him to his father's restaurant. Ned didn't dare leave his boat. The restaurant was full, but a haven in the midst of misery.
Sandy took Jake to bring back the others. Darkness filled the empty streets. After a small meal, everyone collapsed on the floor for the night.
ooo00ooo
Ned was waiting, guarding his boat. Sisko had found a crate of fresh water, and it was hidden in a pile of blankets. Ned had produced his rifle, and was prepared to use it to guard his boat.
Earlier, Jake had left the restaurant with a case of wine. A little while later, he returned with a container of fuel. Ned filled the tank, and Ben hopped aboard.
It didn't help much to bring people back to sit on a wet street. Jake and Sandy were looking for a better place. Without them, there was space for two more on the boat.
Joseph Sisko had fed people as long as he could but now he was out of food. The water was almost used up. Jake was working on that problem, trying to find someone to help. He was trading wine for water, too.
They kept working. There were too many people sitting on roofs or peering out of upstairs windows. Ned had two hatchets for chopping holes in the roofs. The water had turned to a sludge of oil and dead bodies and unbearable smells. But they pushed through it, saving who they could.
The boat was almost full. A roof held four adults and three children. An elderly woman was carefully lowered to the boat, then the children. The others would have to wait for the next trip.
Ned dropped them off, then headed back. But someone had already retrieved the adults.
The day wore on. Night came. There wasn't anything to eat, and very little water. He collapsed on the floor in the kitchen now, next to his father and son. At dawn, Ned would be back. All of the people were blurring into the same tired, worn face.
He and Ned were too tired to care where the rescued were taken. Now, at least, they wouldn't drown.
ooo00ooo
Ned didn't show up that morning. His engine was shot. Unless they could find another boat, they couldn't rescue anybody else.
Sisko had wandered down the street, watching as people stood aimlessly with nowhere to go. A truck passed by and he watched as it stopped, the driver opening the back. He started passing out bottles of fresh water to a growing crowd. Ben took a bottle for himself, and waited for the driver to give out the rest.
With all the water gone, the crowd disappeared in search of something to eat. Ben approached the driver.
"Where you from?" he asked. "We haven't seen anybody come through."
"We heard about the mess and got supplies together and just drove in. We have blankets and food too, but no place to put them."
"My father runs a restaurant. We were serving meals until we ran out. You could go there."
"Show me where. I'll let the other drivers know."
ooo00ooo
A few National Guard transports passed by every hour. They gave out MRE's and water, but there was nothing organized. The men with the trucks had gotten other help, and Joseph Sisko was feeding anyone who passed by. Locals who'd been rescuing the stranded, police, fire and anyone else who needed food was welcome.
They'd seen the Superdome. They couldn't help. There were so many people. Giving a few bottles of water to those who could catch them only brought a desperate crowd and the threat of violence. Jake and Sandy were talking to outside reporters, pleading for help. It was too big a problem for the Sisko's to fix all by themselves.
He was serving dinner. A woman recognized him, and suddenly burst into tears. "You took my children. I haven't seen them since. Where did they go? I have to find them."
She was scared they'd gotten lost. But they could be anywhere. In a haphazard evacuation people were being bussed out of town to anyplace who would take them. Nobody was keeping track of names or families. He wished he could help her, but he and Ned had no way of knowing where they were.
"They're safe. You'll find them."
"But you took them. Where are they?"
She was hysterical. Sandy was helping with the food, and took her by the hand. She led her away to a quiet place. She'd try to connect the woman with the authorities, but they didn't know where anyone was either.
He was worn out. Faces merged into each other. Each scoop of food was a little closer to the end of the day. He didn't know if this would ever end, but the room was full of people who had a warm meal and a small piece of comfort. It was all he could do.
Jake tapped him on the shoulder. "Dad, get some rest. I'll take over."
He let Jake take his place. He needed to sleep but the restaurant was too busy. And even if the street was too quiet and the people too lost, he wanted to see a little of what still survived.
Sitting on the curb, a woman approached him.
"Thank you," she said.
He looked up. She had dry clothes, something the Salvation Army had given her, and a small backpack that was probably all she had left.
"Sorry," he said, too tired to think straight, "I don't remember you."
"You picked me out of the water. My girl and the puppy are safe. The roof was almost under water, so if you hadn't been there . . . ."
He remembered her, the woman with the tub that first day on the flatboat.
"If you need food, we have a kitchen," he said, pointing inside.
"We've eaten. My niece and her husband are taking us in. We just need a ride out of town with the dog."
"Talk to my father inside. I'm sure one of the drivers with the food can give you a ride."
"Thank you again." She stared at the street. "We won't be coming back. There isn't anything left for us here."
He watched as she made her way in the door. The air still stank, but busses had cleared out most of the refugees. Most of their dinners were going to volunteers.
And then the street changed. It was busy. The cars that had filled it in 2005 were gone. The French Quarter and most of the nearby area looked almost the same, but he knew the rest of the city had changed. Most of those who lost everything, like the woman with the dog, had started again somewhere else. By the time there was a place to return, they'd already found a new home.
It was a new city, a different one. But in the centuries that had passed, it had come to have its own uniqueness. It wasn't the same New Orleans nearly drowned by Katrina, but it was still its own place. And it was his home.
Life was about change. He stood, wandering inside the restaurant. He and Jake were visiting home. Jake was off with Nog somewhere.
There was a book with pictures of the city that had been sitting on the table. There were images of it lost in a sea of mud and muck and water. He stared at them as if he could smell the stench.
"Terrible time," said his father.
"Yes. So much lost."
"But it wouldn't be home, not like now."
There was silence as they pondered the irony.
Joseph picked up the book. He stared at a picture of his street, silent and dingy, with lines of people waiting for food. "I hope we'd do as well," he said.
"We did," said Sisko, and New Orleans vanished.
ooo00ooo
The refugees of Kylsta stood in a jagged line as the workers filled their plates. They were clean and tired and lost. And the food was filling. He stood behind the table where the meals were doled out, watching the faces. He'd already seen them that terrible September in another time.
He watched as a woman held a child's hand. The little girl was small and frail, but she'd survived. This child was lucky. She was recovering. She had a roof over her head and enough food to fill her stomach. Given time and a few chances she'd be fine.
The girl looked up and smiled at him, a spark of sunshine in a dark world. He gave her an extra scoop of fruit.
The line snaked into the hall, one of the prefabs the Federation had supplied, and he finished his shift. Then he had a bowl for himself. The rule was that everything was equal, even the help.
A woman sat next to him. She wore Jennifer's face but it was nothing more than a mask. This time she shared the same reality as he did.
"You said you could not give them hope. But you offer another day of food and shelter. Their children have a chance to grow up. Hope can be many things."
"They need something better than this," he said.
"It will come. But this is far better than a burned out shell with nothing to eat. These people have already left that place."
He watched a few of the children in the corner playing a game of their own making. "Yes, that's true."
"And you gave the other's hope. You saved more than their lives. You let them know someone cared."
"Yes. But most never got to go home."
She turned to him. All around him were the shattered remains of his quarters aboard the Sarratoga, Jennifer's lifeless body trapped in the rubble. "Nor did you. But you learned to let go of this place and found a new meaning in your life."
He remembered the moment that terrible darkness had vanished.
A thought occurred to him. "You said my life wasn't linear. Neither are these people's lives."
"No. The linear life is an illusion. All cling to something, and do not move on until it is set free."
He stared at the streets of New Orleans, the muck gone but the city still not alive. "Was this real? Was I really there?"
She smiled. "Do you need to have been there?"
He watched as people walked up and down the street. Joseph's restaurant was open. People moved about as if there was something to look forward to. "Yes," he said.
"Then you were a part of it."
He thought of the woman with the dog. She had lost all but what mattered. She had the hope of a new tomorrow.
"That woman, the one with the puppy, did she get a new home?"
He watched as if it was a holoplay.
The woman was sitting at a table, the girl eating her breakfast, the puppy grown. The woman was smiling. laughing with the girl as the dog dashed after a ball.
"I think I understand."
"Perhaps, a little."
The white light of his new existence surrounded him. He missed the solid, tangible world she'd let him feel, but not the pain.
"I can't forget about them."
She spoke with her mind. The woman was crying, holding her child. She carried a small picture, damaged from the water, and he understood it was all that remained of her old life. She kept it in a small case, always near her heart. But one day she held it in her hand. She opened up the case. Then she carefully removed the picture and put it in a frame. It was hung among her new pictures, the images of a new life. She and the child and the dog had let go.
He envied the woman. He didn't know how. Maybe he wasn't ready. But he understood that everyone, Prophet of not, lived their lives in a series of leaps to a new place, a new existence. His was delayed. It would be as terrifying and painful a journey as the woman with the dog had known, and yet would grant him the freedom to be new again.
Once, the wisdom of the Prophets had freed him from darkness and death. As he gazed at the woman hanging the picture, he knew she had granted him the same freedom to live as he had given her that wet day in the flood of September.
finis