After the expected uproar and hasty exit from Dr. Beverly's ship party, Kira lay in her bed and listened to the conversation in the other room. Dr. Bashir had officiously accompanied Ben and Kira home, to "confer" with Ben---making sure everybody at the party knew of his intention. In some ways, Dr. Bashir had his own predictability, and he guarded his role as Kira's handler with vigilance. Kira relaxed into the mattress comfortably, then put her hands behind her head and watched the shadows on the ceiling.
I am Soma, she thought fiercely. Beware my female warriors!
"She's never been violent before," Dr. Bashir said in hushed concern. Kira quirked her mouth irritably.
"Virgil started it," Ben retorted. "He's always bothered her."
"Who knows who starts such conflicts?" Dr. Bashir rumbled.
"I do; in this instance, so do you." She heard a clank as Ben put his glass down just a little too hard on the divan table. "She's an adult, Julian, by our terms and probably by her people's too. It's time that she took up an adult life, not this cosseted cottony existence that goes nowhere. I put in my request ninety days ago; it's time you made your recommendation and got on with it..."
"We cannot risk injury to...."
"Kira would be useful. Beverly Crusher's been asking for her in every Glyphs report for the past year. She was to let Kira look at the bas-reliefs on-site at Ciravis, tell us what she sees."
Ciravis? Kira sat up and looked the ajar door, her heart pounding.
Dr. Bashir snorted skeptically. "I don't think Kira knows anything more than we do about the Daleks. How can she understand their language? How would she know what their temples and statues truly represented?"
"She came from Ciravis."
"She did not 'come from Ciravis.' We only found her there---and traces of a ship setdown two miles away. O'Brien's proven conclusively that Kira is not a Dalek. How can she offer anything about them?"
"Theory, pure theory."
"Are you that eager to get back to the field, Benjamin?" Bashir's voice was snide. "She's tied you down, hasn't she? Tired of being her foster father?"
"Don't accuse me of that. Beverly wants Kira on this next survey trip; I agree. So put in your report and let the subproject committee decide."
"This unexpected violence.... I don't know." She could almost see that doleful shaking of the head, the tugging on the long chin, the tap of a slender index finger----she knew it all so well. Kira curled her fingers into her palms, pressing her nails hard in the flesh.
"Bullshit," Ben snorted. "Virgil asked for it."
Bashir shifted tactics, knowing a losing point even when it involved defending his son. For a moment, Kira almost felt sorry for Virgil---almost. "Suppose she comes down with her fever again?" Bashir asked, still a-murmur with concern.
"Kira hasn't had a serious bout of fever for four years---and Survey has excellent medical support." She heard a rustle of fabric as Ben stood up, then the muffled footsteps as he paced. "Listen, I haven't been much of a father to her. How would I know that she'd accept only me as a parent, just because I happened to find her in that garden? I don't know how to parent even a human child---and your ideas haven't been of very much help."
"Basic imprinting...."
Ben snorted. "Imprinting is for ducks, Julian, not people. You don't know why she wouldn't accept a woman as parent, so don't pretend to me you do. But now she's not accepting me, either. I can see it in her face, like I'm part of the enemy---and it's getting worse. Does she ever confide in you about anything? She used to talk to me. I come home now and she's staring out the window, hour after hour, and she's polite to me." Ben's voice cracked.
"Hmmmm...I didn't know about the staring...."
"Like I said, bullshit. Get out of your Neo-Freudian mindset and think of her as a person. Let her go with Dr. Beverly to Ciravis----let her out of prison." His voice rose angrily. "And if don't get your agreement by tomorrow, Beverly and I, along with a few others, will petition the committee for your replacement. You just squeaked by with the troubles at her school---a predictable problem of group dynamics and you go in fumble-fingered; then you nearly killed her with your antidepressant drug therapy last year. You can't cover up everything with bullshit reports, Julian. The committee sometimes has a brain---so don't think we don't."
There was a pause.
"You wouldn't dare," Bashir said in a wary tone.
"Wouldn't I? It's easy."
Kira held her breath for several moments, straining for Bashir's answer. "I'll take it under advisement."
"Tomorrow, Julian, so we can pack Santiphap lifts off. Want that drink refreshed?"
"I do not." The voice was a snarl.
"Anytime. Oh, you're leaving?"
"You think you've won, Benjamin? Just wait and see."
"Since when is Kira's happiness a contest?" Bashir did not answer, and a minute later, Kira heard the muffled sound of the door shutting. Ben's footsteps paced back across the room and stopped near the window. Kira slipped from underneath the covers and padded into the hall. As she stepped into the narrow living room beyond, Ben half turned toward her.
"Oh, you heard everything, did you?"
"You know I did. You didn't have to leave the bedroom door ajar." She waved toward the open-living room window. "I would've heard through there. Good acoustics tonight."
"With your good ears, a shoo-in, I admit. Julian consistently forgets those ears of yours. But just making sure, chick." He smiled tentatively. "I do stand up for you sometimes."
Kira nodded. "Thanks for trying."
Ben shrugged, pretending nonchalance with a jaunty smile that became him well. "You're welcome. Of course, if Bashir lets you go, he'll insist on coming along. I'm not omnipotent, however much I try."
"That is too bad," she said lightly, and joined him at the window. Together they leaned on the broad sill and faced into the warm breeze blowing over the city, a companiable silence between them. Ben pointed at one of the brilliant stars near the horizon.
"Ciravis."
"I know." They watched the star in a comfortable silence.
"Why did you choose me?" he asked in a muffled voice, not looking at her. She turned toward him and leaned on her elbow, craning her head to see his face until he had to oblige her by looking at her, his lined face shadowed by the night and the bright light behind them.
"You were the one I wanted." She touched his sleeve. "Since I couldn't have the other, I chose an honest face. I remember my mother best, Ben; you don't replace someone like that, not her. I think that's why." She paused, thinking about it. "I really don't remember why---I was so young---but I dream sometimes about my mother. She was severe but fierce in her love: she never gave up on anything. If I had let someone in, I would have lost her. I couldn't have borne that." She shrugged, a human gesture she had adopted for herself, and looked back outward over the city. "I remember a dark plain like that, too; I don' t know quite where it was---but it's associated with my Starship. I dream about many things."
"A starship? You've never mentioned remembering the starship."
"I didn't dream for a long time, and later I decided not to tell." She shrugged again. "Dr. Bashir would think my dreams amusing, Ben. He shows me a different face than he shows you; you saw a part of that face tonight because you caught him by surprise. Next time he wouldn't allow himself to be surprised. And he's very good at convincing committees." She grimaced. "When you have one precious thing left, you don't let others ruin it. Especially him." She met his eyes. "You've tried to shard to understand me; maybe it's not possible?"
Ben snorted and straightened from his stoop. "Nonsense. I know everything about you. I would think that's obvious." He smiled down at her, the lines in his face easing. "You have no mysteries."
"No more ship parties, Ben."
"Done." He looked outward at the gleaming sparkle of light that was Ciravis.
"You've been a good dad, Ben," she said softly, offering.
But that embarrassed him all over again; he harrumphed and turned away to clink glasses at the bar to mix a new drink, then stalked around the living room, talking about boring colony gossip. She watched him pace, bemused by his behavior, and wondered wistfully if Ben Sisko would ever give up believing he had failed her in a dozen ways, taking all the blame on himself, as was his way.
The phone chimed and saved him with Dr. Crusher's call. As he talked, Kira turned back to the dark plain beyond their window and its vista of tars and black rock and the glitter of shadowed ice, the rise and fall of Ben's voice behind her a comforting sound that soothed her frayed senses. The scents of Aemnoa washed over her on the warm breeze; she absently catalogued the components, as she usually did, her attention on Ciravis.
What will you find there, if you go? she asked herself, watching the star glitter among a dozen companion stars, a deep yellow-orange jewel among other brilliant gemstones. What will you find? The Naga King? Or a reality she didn't want? The fine hairs on her nape lifted apprehensively.
She sniffed at the warm air of Aemnoa's human city, enveloped in the sensations of scent and touch. In the past few months, her dreams had changed in timbre and content, leaving behind childish randomness and moving toward the True Knowledge, the gestalt of purpose and meaning so valued by her people. Yet----the understanding still eluded her, never quite coalescing into answers to the questions that haunted her. Who am I? Why did they leave me? That the answers lay inside her half-remembered turns of sleep she didn't doubt; her people believed in dreams for reasons she couldn't remember, but she remembered that dreams were important. She looked at the black plain glittering beneath the stars, the old memory teasing again at her mind.
Where was it? Will I find them again? And, when I do, will I still have a place among them?
That she might not terrified her and had made each slow year among the humans a further anxiety as human ways and human insistences steadily eroded the alien within her, making her a stranger to her own kind. Beyond a certain point there might be no returning, but she didn't know where that division lay and feared she had already passed it. And so, she had resisted the humans' wishes to make her more human, clinging to her dreams and alien sense, the two alien parts of her they couldn't change. Where was it, that plain? On what planet? And when? She sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. No use, not tonight.
Easier to play with fantasy friends in a jungle glade. Easier to be stubborn about stupid things because it pleased her to confound. Easier to lash out at a bully, choosing violence. She had not expected this, that the humans would risk letting her go---and wondered what guards they would fashion to hold her.
She deliberately turned away from the window before she wished it and walked over to Ben to perch on his chair arm. He winked at her and she smiled in response, then watched his face as he waved his hands about, aloft in the political scheming he loved so well.
In her daydreams, she remembered fondly, Ben was always Kaundinya, brave and smart, the father of the Khmer people, and the source of Soma's best schemes against the vicious ghosts and demons of the Mekong valley----though Soma and Shiva, the Destroyer, argued afterward for the credit, conveniently forgetting who had suggested the plan. Kaundinya never seemed to mind, content to stand placidly by, chewing slowly on a succulent reed, his large dark eyes deep and knowing as he thought about sacred things.
Kira curled her head around Ben's collar and leaned her forehead against his brushy hair. Ben rarely touched her---he wasn't a tactile man, as some humans were not---but she felt his hand slip around her waist. And when she looked up into her face, his eyes lighted with shy pleasure.
"You are Kaundinya," she whispered in his ear, and made him chortle until Dr. Beverly demanded quite irritably to know the joke.612Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3JNKoNrwoN
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The next night she dreamed of a black plain beneath a jeweled array of stars, and stood on the dark cracked rock, looking upward at the star-strewn darkness. The icy wind whipped into her eyes, chilling her naked body. She shivered, and looked uncertainly around her at the empty plain, a quick darting glance, then lifted her eyes again to the sky.
What is this place? she wondered fearfully, and lifted her hand to will another, wishing the comfort of her Khmer dream world, as she had willed it before. Above her the darkness of sky and plain coiled and fragmented, arranging itself into a canopy of shadowed leaves and the dark webbing of branches, becoming warm and shadowed green. A scudding of black rainclouds swept overhead, quickly gone, then stars sparkled through the high canopy of leaves, touching each leaf-edge with an opalescent gleam.
She found herself on a jungle path she knew from other dreams, her flesh cool white in the dim starlight, surrounded above and to either side by the hushed whisper of moving leaves. The night breeze brought a hundred tantalizing scents and moved over her body with a silky touch, teasing at her. She breathed deeply and touched the nearby fronds with her fingers, caressing their fine-haired softness, then felt their answering caress as she walked easily down the path, the underbrush on each side whispering against her thighs, each footstep firm on the crumbling rich soil. In the distance a tiger roared, and she smiled in response, then hurried forward. At a turning in the path, she emerged into a narrow clearing and faced the tall pyramid of a Khmer temple, cool silver in the starlight.
The temple's sides ascended smoothly in staircased stone, narrow tier upon tier, pale pink in the shadowed light. The richly carved center prang, the tall finger-like spire of the temple was made of over five hundred feet of vertical massive stone, one hundred feet taller than the tallest Egyptian pyramid. There in the prang's entrance stood a door to the Otherworld, caught by a king's deft magic and his right to rule, sealed by his own blood in war and ceremony. In that space, robed priests prayed endlessly to the Naga King, begging him to reveal his knowledge of the deepest mysteries, renewing the connection between the worlds, seen and unseen. The Khmers had understood that magic, so perhaps, had the Daleks, who also worked in stone to celebrate their gods and kings.
Her eyes on the Doorway, Kira stepped forward, every sense alert to the unseen power that filled this place, throbbing upon the air. A step, two steps, and she found herself suddenly blocked by an invisible wall of air. She struggled against the barrier, angered, then retreated in bafflement.
"Let me pass," she cried.
The air before her took coherent shape as a smoky mist, coiling visibly on itself, gathering substance, becoming real. She stepped backward hastily as the Naga King appeared from the mist before her, floating gracefully on the air. Beneath glittering eyes and seven hooded serpentine heads, the Naga floated like a water lily on a pool of still water, his slim body encased in glittering scales; his long tail flashed and coiled beneath the long body, moving restlessly. The Naga drifted forward. The depthless eyes of his seven heads regarded Kira coolly.
In a voice that was, in actuality, seven voices merged into one, he asked, "What do you seek here, young lady?"
"Answers," Kira said, trembling. "Myself."
The Naga turned his heads to regard her, his scales gleaming in the starlight, his hoods and tail moving lazily in a complex pattern. The jaws of his seven heads opened, showing seven sets of long white teeth and a slivered tongue.
"Name thyself," he commanded in his seven-as-one voice.
"I am Kira Nerys," she answered timidly.
"And who is Kira Nerys?" the Naga mocked.
"I don't know," she said, ashamed. "Can you enlighten me, O' mighty Naga?"
The Naga gestured a spiral with his long scaly tail, invoking his magic. A coil of smoke entwined around his body, concealing him behind a wall of mist. Kira strained forward anxiously.
"Do you know?" she demanded urgently, fearing the Naga would slip back into the Otherworld, refusing her.
The mist swirled upward, making no answer, then swept downward over Kira, taking her into its concealment. She stood still, feeling the silky touch of smoke slip uneasily over her body; she coughed shallowly as the acrid scent of burning opium, the fruit of the poppy, struck at her breath. Then, softly, at first so softly she barely heard, the mist echoed with a sound of bootheels, the sigh of air currents confined by metal, the scrape of a chair.
I still dispute, a deep voice rumbled. Kira gasped: she knew that voice!
Their kings failed them, another voice said clearly. Kira gasped again with recognition, as if a vise had suddenly seized her body, twisting it.
"Mother!" she cried aloud in shock.
And then never knew why, her mother continued, oblivious. A fitting fate for such a people. Unlike them, we know why our kings failed us, though the knowledge brings little comfort. In the end, all answers come to one imperative.
Philosophy proves nothing, Ogi, the other voice grumbled.
"Mother!" Kira cried again, and stumbled forward, beating against the mist with her arms. "Where are you?"
We shall go on, Sharr, her mother said firmly. We cannot go home; that is lost to us. But for the children's sake, we will continue. Raise ship.
There's no hope in it. She heard strain in Sharr's voice, the exhaustion and stubbornness of an argument carried too long.
I claim the Dream-Knowledge: we will go on. Is that clear?
There was silence. Yes, Captain. The assent was grudging.
"Mother!"
Nerys, what are you doing? her mother said suddenly, sounding startled. Kira heard her own child's high-pitched laughter, muffled beneath the table, then a series of thumps and squeak of surprise.
I've got her, Sharr said. Another thump and a squeal of protest, then more muffled giggles. Well, I had her. She's as elusive as you are, Ogi. Hmmm, I see the cup is empty. What did she do with the water?
Poured it down my boot, her mother said irritably. Soft laughter echoed around the table from the others. See, Sharr? I'll never be as arrogant as you think I am---my daughter will see to that.
"Mother!"
Before her, the Naga re-formed from his mists, coiling upon himself. He drifted closer in subtle menace. "I am the Dream-Knowledge," he intoned. "I am the Answer. Seek Me and all shall be revealed."
Kira took a step toward the Naga, her hands flexing. "You bring her back!"
The second cobra-head from the right raised its jaw, its tongue flickering quickly over its gums, polishing ivory teeth. "Dreams are not real," he mocked in Dr. Bashir's voice. "Do not delude yourself."
"Bring her back!"
"Dreams are not real---and neither am I!" And he laughed cruelly in Kira's own voice, the dark eyes of all seven cobra heads glinting. Smoke swirled up around his glittering body, and the Naga vanished into the cold wind, blown to wisps and fragments.
"Mother...." Kira whispered in despair, bereft.
Nerys----her mother's voice answered quietly from the distant hills, its sound shuddering on the cold wind.
"Where are you?" Kira called, lifting her arms. "Where are you?" But there was no further answer. She was alone again on the black plain, the stars watching from above without pity.612Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ12xgPUsxkT
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Kira opened her eyes, finding herself on a bed among the warm shadows of her own room, a familiar place of other awakenings. The air currents of the dome city sighed through the open window, tickling the hair on her damp face, bringing the city's odors and sounds, the teasing touch of air on her skin. In the street below, the city rumbled with activity as it awoke to the new morning: she heard distant voices, a shout, the rattling of machines on the pavement. Her alarm clock chimed a moment later and she stretched out an arm quickly to silence it.
Wrapping her bedcover around her, she went to the window and looked out on the black plain. Twice she and Ben had changed apartments in the years they'd been together, but the view of the vast plain changed little from a different vantage of a few streets. She shivered in the coolness of the air on her body, sweat-dampened by her sleep, and pulled the coverlet more closely around her.
Most humans didn't believe in dreams, she knew, not really. To their psychoanalysts, dreams had no true meaning beyond the sleeping mind's schizophrenic reworking of the day's experiences, a mental counter recoiling back to zero, a way the mind kept its sanity through the madness of disordered thought. To some others, however, dreams had esoteric links to the cosmic order, to proof of astral travel and the inner light, to the demigod of human ego-consciousness. The terminology varied as all speculated, scientists and pseudoscientists, skeptics and fervent believers, none agreeing on the vitals. Kira had read vainly through the literature when her dreams returned to trouble her, unsure of human dreams had any relevance to her own.
A few of the articles hinted that some humans could direct their dreams, as she did night after night with her Khmer images, and sometimes human dreams had a persistent clarity upon awakening, as hers did, as if a part of her still walked in that other place for a time after waking up. But when fantasies truly walked in one's waking world, the analysis grew wary, distrusting a madman's ravings. Am I mad? she wondered. She shivered slightly, feeling the slight touch of the black plain's icy wind on her skin. Imagination? Memory? Can a dream truly be real? She scowled in incomprehension. The Dream-Knowledge: her mother had claimed it and Sharr had conceded in the face of that claim, as though such a speaking settled a matter essential. Knowledge of what? Destiny? She shivered again.
I was there once, she thought, staring out at the black plain. There with the Starship, with my mother Ogi on the Black Starship. Not this plain, but another---somewhere else. She looked up at the stars, a thousand points of light scattered across the blackness. But where? And where are they now? She thumped her fist slowly on the window-ledge, frustrated with her own blockages. A jungle clearing and the Naga King, the black plain and a tantalizing distant murmur of her mother's voice: one a doorway to the other? Is that the answer?
Ben tapped at her bedroom door. "Are you awake, Kira?" he asked, his voice muffled by the sealed panel.
"I am, Ben," she called.
"Don't dilly-dally now." Ben always fussed at her when he had an agenda for the day and would go on fussing until she complied with The Plan. She struggled at the closed door and fluttered her fingers at him.
"I won't."
"The ship leaves in four hours," he warned.
"I won't dilly-dally."
He grunted and padded away down the hall.
I am Soma, she intoned slightly, and fluttered her fingers over her head again. I am the Moon King....
"Kira!" Ben bellowed.
"I'm moving!"
She sighed and padded dutifully into the shower cubicle, stripping off her nightdress and rubbing its soft folds over her body, then opened her bathroom cabinet. She swallowed her protein pills, held her hand briefly to the thermometer plate to check for fever, then studied her face in the mirror for several minutes. This is reality, she told herself sternly, not taunting Nagas and black plains and voices in the mist. And your dilly-dallying, she told herself further. You promised not to!
20 minutes later, showered, powdered, and dutifully dressed, she packed several spare sets of clothing in a wide carryall---though Santiphap kept ship suits in its stores, she reminded herself. The Project had everything in stores, for that matter, and as a Team member she'd have the chits to draw everything within reason. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the framed prints and bas-reliefs on her walls, then at the several heavy carvings on her shelf. She tossed out half the clothes in a heap on her bed.
Ben stomped by outside the hall, moving fast. "Take your data disks for that glyphs project!" he commanded. "Dr. Beverly asked specifically."
"Ben! I need your help!"
His footsteps stomped back, and the bedroom door opened. "With what?" he asked, scowling at her. She waved her hand helplessly at the wall and shelves. "Oh. I see. Hmmm." He moved into the room and glowered at the carvings and prints. "Holos won't do?"
"Ben..."
He grunted and made a Solomon's decision. He pointed imperiously. "Two Khmer, two Dalek. Take an Elephant and a Naga for the Khmer----that Banteay Srei relief with a scene from the Mahabharata is especially good for the Naga. Hmmm." He looked at the Dalek bas-reliefs and hesitated. "You can see the Dalek stuff there, Kira," he hedged, "and the real thing----not repros."
"Can I cart the walls I like back to my room?" she demanded.
He grinned. "You have a point." He picked up the small statue of the Mantis God and cradled it in his hands. "This one," he said gruffly. She took it from him, smiling. "How about only three?" he suggested, eyeing the others on the shelf.
"You said four."
"I lied." He frowned at her. "It's only for ten weeks, after all. I'll have the rest shipped if we stay longer than that. Okay?"
"Okay---I guess."
"Weight is not the problem, dear. Bulk is."
"I know." She looked at him solemnly.
He eyed her back. "I could maybe make room in my carryall for a little carving---a very small one, mind you."
"You'll ship the others if I take only three?"
He grunted. "I love negotiating with you, Kira. We can wheedle forwards and backwards for hours while Santiphap takes off and leaves us behind. It'll be fun."
"Three."
"Three it shall be." He snorted. "I'm glad that's over." As he began to stomp out of the room, she picked up her bed pillow and threw it at him, hitting him neatly between the shoulders. He turned and wagged his finger at her.
"That cost you 3 points on your social index, m'girl."
"Stuff the index."
"A solid academic comment, Doctor K.," he said loftily. "Don't forget the language tapes."
"I won't." She sighed dramatically.
But he was gone, back on his agenda. Smiling to herself, Kira shifted the statue of Cykranosh, the mantis god safely inside her carryall, packing clothing around it to protect it, then retrieved the glyph tapes from her desk.
Today is the day, she thought, allowing herself to feel excited at last. No last counterman by the Project, no last maneuver by Dr. Bashir. Today is the day. She zipped the bag closed and hefted it onto her shoulder, then took a final glance around her room, her mind filled with too many things. The air sighed through the open window, bringing a touch of columbine and a faint metallic chiming, the dusty rumble of street traffic far below. She stood still a moment, feeling the air move on her face, gathering the scents in a final farewell. On the black plain beyond her window-ledge, an icy wind blew unseen, scattering a Naga's mist into fragments.
"Kira!" Ben bellowed from the other room.
"I'm coming!"
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