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 the emotions from their the day before had taken a great toll. The night before she'd stopped at her door and hesitated to open it. She had gently pushed it open and let it fall back with the room in view.

She had just stared. She knew what they'd do but it now it was real. All of her possessions, everything she owned now, was scattered all over the floor. Despite the exhaustion, she had sat on the floor by the heap, slowly pulling a few things into sorted piles.

But there was too much. She had retrieved her favorite blanket off the floor, and straitened the jumbled covers a bit before climbing inside, lying still in the dark, listening to the rain as it softened the night and she fell asleep. One thing they could not change was the rain.

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? What was missing? What of her cherished things had they broken?

Staring at it from the bed, she could not move. The surge of anger was so strong she couldn't put words to it, just a 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 had no way to strike back. Those who tried would die. How had the Bajorans, in their half a century of this, managed to want to go on?

Wrapping her blanket around her like a protective cocoon, she sat up, avoiding the moment she must separate the mess. But she had things to do. Willy was depending on her. She was important in this new world because she could help keep people alive. She had every reason to stay alive and find a way to manage..

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

It was morning, and her job was waiting. She climbed down, 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 then, it had to. Lives depended on her. There was nothing to strike out against anyway.

She took a deep breath, composing herself. Already, a tiny 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 on the floor, 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 wanted to stay here, sorting and cleaning and hiding from the world outside. But she could not. But there were a few small things that must be there. She would think of them all day if she didn't look. 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 glint of light reflected, 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 so close.

She carefully laid the broken pieces of glass in a small box to make sure it wasn't damaged again. 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 located her shoes, tossed by the wall that night, away from the mess. She slipped them on, and stepped out of the nightmare and into a different one.

Outside, she studied the square. The Jem'Hadar were still gone. In the supply area, there was a small line and a group of people sitting, eating rations. She guessed that was breakfast. Her stomach growled. At least the line wasn't long, even if she wasn't ready for rations.

The Federation rations were dull but quieted her stomach as she ate them on her way to work. But when their new overlords arrived, what sort of food would there be? Bashir had told her about the rations he'd been fed, how distasteful they'd been at first, and she savored what might be their last touch of the world they'd known.

She was passing the tents, people already moving things aside to accommodate more building. The rain had complicated things, but she thought that perhaps they were used it now. They had tarps and piled scrap building material set up to keep their things out of the mud. And they were excited, despite the strain of the day before. Perhaps solid walls around you mattered even more now that there was no denying it was forever. The adults were helping sort the supplies today, following instructions from the crew. Perhaps a *home* would be yours, even here, if you'd put a little of yourself into it.

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 up the mud covered path up the hill.

o0o

Justin stood in the middle of his workroom, staring at the piles of notes they had ignored. He disliked padds and had often used paper. Some considered it odd but then everything about him set him apart from most of them. He did not move, still reeling from the sight of the Vorta. Of course they left them alone. They didn't need to take them. They already knew everything there was. Well, most of it in the last few years when their sponsors had been so generous. The same ones that now had become their owners. Or had they always been since Walter had brought them here?

He had moved the mess they'd made of his personal things into a box for later. He wasn't one to keep trinkets. He couldn't find his clock and that annoyed him, but the rest was just things.

And then, he smiled. They thought they'd taken everything. But it had been stolen away from them. The blasted Vorta and his game with the square had annoyed Justin, who preferred the quiet and orderly place he had made in this room over the outside world, but he had held fast, giving nothing away.

They thought they'd won. They thought they'd bought and paid for he and Walter. But they had simply been a pawn. The two years had been ten of the kind they'd managed before. And Justin, still not liking the deal as fully as it seemed, had not told them quite everything. Some of it was in the notebooks piled in the cabinet. But most of what got left out, small seemingly unimportant things which nobody would notice, was in his head.

They only *thought* they could duplicate the project. But they were wrong. It would work, but not nearly as well as the real thing. He would deny them *everything*.

He studied his rumpled clothes, slept in since he was too tired to change the night before. He would need to clean soon. But he was hungry and even if he had to eat rations he knew it wouldn't be forever. Sorting out his change of clothes from a folded pile fallen on the floor, he showered and dressed. But before he left, he went to the notebooks again, stroking them.

He would play their game. He would let them think he belonged to them. But eventually, they would have to come to him and then they would know that they had lost. They could do to him what they wanted then. The cave would be still be there with its treasures for the future. But Justin would have already won.

o0o

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 that arrived the night before. 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, when 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.

o0o

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.

o0o

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, opposite the ongoing building, a group of people were sorting the building materials and laying them out for several more 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.

o0o

When she arrived at 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.

"There's a list of supplies we're left here 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 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 arraigned. After reviewing the list 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 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, might 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 why did it matter to Them if those below them survived or not? What use did they have that they were allowed to survive?

But that was the past and future. The present was the short list of supplies and a pile of paperwork Willy, or *Sir*, 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.

o0o

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. For these people it was even more important that he succeed this time as well.

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.

"Sir," he said after a hesitation, "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. Or maybe a reminder. But he chose the believe the former because it was a tiny ray of hope.

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."

Sisko frowned. "Mind you," he continued, "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, no *Willy* he reminded himself, was exhausted. He rose slowly from the chair and shook his head, as if to clear it. "No sleep," he said.

"Then get a nap. You can't be looking like your about to fall over today. If he approves of course."

Willman nodded, recognizing an order. Sisko wondered if they were just giving the Vorta another way to spy on them, since the tricorder would be a great temptation. But he knew that Willman understood that. It would make his life easier, and save some lives. And Willy knew that that was worth the risk.

Sisko turned back to his pile hoping the Vorta approved. Even a little victory was better than nothing.

o0o

After a rest, 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 showered. 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. He had never seen one before. He wondered if he'd spent the long day in the square if he'd have to nerve to be here. But it was too late for doubts now. Sisko retreated and it was his turn to play the game. Again, he reminded himself.

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 to the side. 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.

He held out the instrument he had brought with him. "Sir, this device analyzes the patients condition, but only a few of the things a medical tricorder can do. I request that I be allowed the tricorder for it has many advantages for both you and us."

The Vorta looked surprised.

"Doctor, that is a banned item."

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

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

"With that device I can diagnose a patient much easier. This one will require much more in terms of resources to do the same. 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. But didn't let that show.

"I will consider it."

Willman let out a breath of relief when the Vorta dismissed him and he took his leave. He doubted they would allow it, but just perhaps he had given them a way. He knew what it could cost, but if some of them lived he was willing to take the risk.

o0o

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 was waiting for a place to live. He'd be moved to residential within the week. Sisko had bumped up his priority to get rid of him. Then he wouldn't have any basis to argue.

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 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 needed to talk to him. He was no longer in charge of the colony, but had not *officially* separated himself. Everything needed a form and Sisko was concerned he'd drag out the process. He was going to demand he officially work with them or officially resign. He had already been given a notice to vacate his quarters.

It would have been simple to just evict him and stick him in a tent, if necessary, but Vance was not the only of his people who felt as he did and Sisko did not want to push him too far.

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.

Maybe Vance was just a deeply broken man, thought Sisko didn't know the exact reasons, and was going to fade away, but he was quite sure that not all of them would. They might end up despising him for his retreat, but in case they didn't Vance was the best chance of finding them.

o0o

Walter Vance sat on floor of the empty warehouse that had once housed the terraforming equipment, considering his options. Justin had recreated the project in a cave, but even if there was a small sense of victory about it, it changed nothing for Walter. His dream was to give something better than his father had. His parents had created seed which should grow in the poor places where nature went uncontrolled. He'd spent half his childhood in such places, making friends with children who had never heard of the world he came from. Sometimes it worked. And sometimes, heartbreakingly, they left having done nothing but given a failed hope. He saw a better way. His process would make the soil grow whatever you needed. It would be brought to anyone who required it.

But for him, that was only part of it. He wanted recognition. He wanted those who had dismissed their dream to notice. He wanted his dream, and his fathers, vindicated so nobody would forget. He'd even named the colony after his father so he'd never forget why he was here.

That day in the square, fifteen years of work and hope and dreams had been shattered. Not because the Dominion had come to Cyrus, but because they had always been here, because *he* had led them. Just as Sisko had doomed his own by trapping them in what was already lost.

Sisko was deeply consumed by guilt. He hid it well but Walter could see. He would allow them to use him because he needed to punish himself. Walter knew that perhaps his own guilt was worse, betraying family as well, but he did not need to punish himself over it. Instead, fueled by the grief and anger and regret that was past fixing, he vowed he would never be used again.

He would blend with the crowd. The Vorta would prefer dealing with Sisko alone, so there would be no trouble there. He knew certain of his staff had dreams of some sort of victory, but he knew they were wasting their time.

Eventually they would take what they wanted. He'd be hiding in the fields with the peasants, hoping nobody noticed. Warlords were already far too familiar to him and he knew they didn't worry about anyone's rules, even their own.

But this Vorta, did he know? Did they keep secrets from its own, too?

Walter abandoned the empty warehouse, moving up to the rise where he could look out over the new village they were building. The tents were slowly being replaced with solid little hovels, one of which would become his quite soon. Apparently Sisko had broken his rules just to get rid of him. It amused him slightly, though he'd miss his home. But looking out over the place that would never be a field, he felt nothing. To allow loss, or disappointment, or even pride in what had almost been done would be to let in the shame which hovered just past recognition.

Sisko had sent a note requesting a meeting. He pulled it out, crumpling it. He would leave the rooms he'd called home soon. He'd been going through his things, sorting out the mess the Jem'Hadar had left when it had been delivered. Looking at the shattered remnants of his memories, strewn over the floor, he did not want to go to Sisko's meeting. He didn't want to sign the paper giving it up, or receive a hovel in exchange. But it was done that way. It would be over. Perhaps best to be finished and past.

But watching the milling of the people, he knew he would always remember what he had done, how he had disregarded all Justin's worries when it had seemed too good, how he had never ask the questions he didn't want to hear the answers to, and knew in the quiet of night when he could not distract it away, there would no more be peace for him than for Sisko.

It did not even occur to him that likely alone among those places the Dominion now claimed as their own, Cyrus was still reaping the benefits of the dog and pony show.

o0o

A sound, faint and yet distant and Megan stared towards the darkened door. The sounds in the room quieted, everyone waiting in anticipation, the slow breathing of a mixture of suspense and anticipation and the smell of fear. The children crammed against her, not willing to move. The horrible fear now dimmed but never gone. Megan hoped it was food but perhaps it was some terrible interruption in their gloomy existence, or perhaps nothing. Chele, the little girl, was clinging to her so hard it hurt and she pulled her closer. Tanni, the boy, was pressed behind her.

Their mother was dead. She didn't know for sure but one of the people stored in the room had been a nurse. She had been driven out of the hospital with rifle fire in the background. Likely the sick, like the children's mother, were long dead. Their father had died when the Klingons had attacked the ship he'd been coming home on, as had Megan's parents. The two women had become close and when they'd come she'd promised that she'd care for them if they let her. She wanted to. But she didn't want to make the promise a lie and say she could forever.

A month before, she hadn't been filthy and hungry and locked in the storm basement of the city building. A month ago she had heard rumors of the odd problems in communications, but had nothing to do with that. But the nervous questions had worried her and she had wished the children were with their mother so if something happened she would not have to be responsible for them. But their mother was ill and her best friend and when the ambulance had taken her to the hospital there was no choice but to take them in.

The sound was gone. It must be nothing, she thought, disappointed. She was so hungry. Worse, the children were too. They cried in their sleep but didn't ask for food anymore. She'd recover but they were so little. The rest of their life, if they had one, they'd be marked by it. Leaning back she closed her eyes and tried to rest but all she could hear was the sound of the storm sirens as they blared, odd because it was summer and the storms didn't come until late in fall, usually not until winter. But they'd run out and to the shelters. Devon could have used weather modification like they did on Earth and some other places, but the wonderful thing about the Federation was you had a choice. The winter storms blew cold and hard and did some damage, but never enough to lose the sense of living with nature they had cherished for three generations.

Before they got to the emergency entrance, they faced lines of Jem'Hadar. A month ago, Megan's life had began its decent into nightmare. The Jem'Hadar had searched them, taking some out, but shoved the rest into the shelters. Then the doors had closed and shut for days.

Inside was food and water. They'd used it slowly, but they were in shock. They were terrified the doors would open and the hideous creatures would simply mow them down. There was not enough of it and it ran out. A week had gone by and there was no food and little water. The tap that fed their dungeon had been reduced to little more than a drip.

Megan pulled both children to her lap, holding them close. She gave them half of her food. The little girl was sick, running a fever. She didn't want anyone to know, since their month of captivity had changed them. They were afraid of sickness, and just as afraid of the sick.

Three weeks before, she had only been hungry. When the doors had opened and they'd been herded out she had been dragged along, clinging tightly to Megan's leg. Her brother was younger and wrapped firmly inside Megan's arm. She knew life would never be the same for them, even if the monsters were driven away. She clung to the children to give her a reason to care.

Outside, the sun too bright, they shielded their eyes to a line of broken figures. The government of Devon was assembled in a small cage. One by one, as they were forced to watch, they were executed. Then the guards picked out every tenth of those in the line to dig a pit. When the pit was dug, they picked every remaining seventh of them to drag the still living victims and dump them inside. Then they picked every tenth again, this time to cover it with a mound of earth.

She could still smell the blood. She had been spared, the children too tightly clinging and the guard had skipped past counting her each time. But the bodies were dragged past her and the trail of blood would live with her forever. She tried to shield the children but they stared in rapt and horrified fascination.

Afterwards, they had been fed and sent back to their dungeon. The water had resumed its strength. Food came, in no particular schedule or amount. Nobody spoke, and nobody cared to.

Those covered with blood still wore it and the trace of its smell still filled the air.

The boy crawled under her arm, crying. It had been too long since they'd been fed. He was hungry and thus crying, but now, even so young, that was all he would do.

Two weeks before, they had drawn them all out again, making them line up. She held the children. They had ignored her, taking out most of the men. Only the older ones and the ones who were sick were left. The rest were sent back into the living hell they'd been relegated to.

There had been nothing but occasional food since, more but never much. The sick were worse. They were moved far away so she hid the child's sickness lest they all be shunned. But the worse was the not the fear or the hopelessness, but the unknown.

Someone wanted them alive still. Eventually they'd come. She did not want to know what for, but hoped it would be soon.

The door, without any warning, was yanked open. "Out, now!" the order was barked. They moved as quickly as they could.

Outside in the early morning light, she stood with the children clutched to her. A Vorta and several Jem'Hadar were near. With them stood several humans, their hair neatly trimmed, their faces clean, their uniforms neatly fitted.

She stared at them, then away as they looked over the motley survivors. The First addressed them but was conferring with the humans before he did.

"Stand still. You will be scanned."

She didn't move. The children were scanned as well, clutched in her arms. Then she was pulled forward, the human traitor striding up to her. "These children are sick. They'll be taken for treatment. They'll be cared for well. You needent worry over them anymore."

He was cold and unfeeling. He ordered the children taken from her and they were pulled away, as she tried to fight but was too weak. They shoved her down onto the loose dirt where the dead lay and she did not move. But she did not want to die. She couldn't take back the children, but she could get revenge and someday, the smooth faced monster who stood over her, detested and reviled, would understand the price of betrayal.

"Stand," she was ordered by the Jem'Hadar. She pulled herself slowly to her feet.

"This one?" asked the guard.

"Yes, I think so," said the traitor.

She was poked with the rifle and moved towards a group of other women, as they were pushed into a land transport. As the door shut and absolute darkness engulfed them, she collapsed to the floor, missing the children. They were sick and she had no illusions. But she had promised she would safeguard them as long as she could. She had not broken her promise.

Some of the women had been taken from elsewhere, out in the country. Devon had not given up without a fight. It had been an unequal battle but they had chosen to die that way.

Their one city of any note, Delara, where she had been, had been taken so fast there was no chance to fight. But now, for everyone, choice had become between a hard life or a hard death. Megan lay in the crowded transport, not yet knowing in the end which one she would eventually be her choice.

o0o

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 she obeyed, 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. "I have already."

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, a Department head." 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 apparently too tired to lecture her. Of course others had been and she wondered if he'd been making an example. But she waited to be dismissed. Willy wouldn't have minded. But now, she knew better.

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." She wondered if they would have really done that if they hadn't had the crew to build so quickly.

"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 quite an understatement. Shelves would 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 a challenge to find places for it all, but if she could she would leave nothing behind. To not would be no different than the Jem'Hadar and their searches and what they'd left so sullied she could still not bring herself to touch it.

She'd bring it all. She'd find somewhere. But it was all she had, and she would not lose any more.

o0o

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?"

He didn't react. "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 allowed himself to 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*. Vance is done. It's all on you now. You have a lot of responsibility, and you'll not be able to make them if you second guess the past."

Sisko felt the sting of the rebuke. Because Willman was right. But he didn't know if he'd ever stop wondering if it would have made a difference. "Thank you, Dr. Willman. I'll remember that." He allowed the subject to drop. "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.

Sisko retreated, glad to be away from the place. Willy could lecture and make comments, but deep inside he was as terrified as Benjamin Sisko about the future.

o0o

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 him. 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.

o0o

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 opened it and came inside.

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.

o0o

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."

o0o

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 since it was so filled with memories she needed to forget.

end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1-3,Chapter 9