Rising Son Page 2

  “I’ve got you. You’re going to be all right, I’ve got you.”

  The low voice, soft, warm, strong hands lifting him, cradling. Someone on an intercom, a woman, was talking about something, but all Jake cared about was that deep, loving voice.

  He felt tears threaten, tears of love and joy, an ache in his throat that hurt worse than the cold, but then he slipped back into the dark, lulled into sleep by the same feelings that had woken him not so long ago. His father held him; he was safe.

  2

  “HEY. Hey, human.”

  Jake stirred, frowning, trying to keep hold of the wellheated, pleasantly embracing dark.

  A smell like dirty teeth washed across his face in a humid cloud, accompanied by the same insistent, lowpitched voice.

  “Hey, wake up. Human boy.”

  It was the odor as much as the insistent verbal prodding. Jake cracked open one eye and found himself looking at a dog, one with dark brown eyes and a narrow muzzle, its head streamlined and sleek. He’d seen them back on Earth, played with them in the holosuites when he was younger.

  “Finally!” the dog said, rolling its eyes, and Jake blearily realized it wasn’t a dog. No ears he could see, no lolling tongue, and there was a narrow line of softlooking, floppy spines running down its back, a shade darker than its fur, which was forest green.

  Dogs don’t talk, either, he thought randomly, trying to focus.

  The alien leaned toward him, baring its narrow teeth slightly in a curling sneer. “Listen, if anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this.”

  Jake opened both eyes, backing away from the creature on his elbows until he came up against a wall, confused and very lost. He was on a low bunk in a small and dimly lit room, a ship’s cabin from the layout. There were a few rumpled blankets thrown over him, but he was naked underneath.

  “Easy, calm down,” the alien said, backing up a step and raising its hands—paws?—palms open. Four long fingers and a small opposable thumb on each, also furred, its lean body curving and canine as it sat back on its haunches; definitely male. It wore a plain, rather nondescript collar but nothing else.

  “Damn translators,” it muttered to itself, then it, he bared his teeth again, his tone exaggeratedly friendly and overly loud. “Ah, I mean you no harm. I’m your friend. Frieeend.”

  Funny, under other circumstances. Jake relaxed a little, recognizing that the fierce expression was probably the dog alien’s version of a smile, but he still pulled the blankets up to cover his bare chest, uncomfortably vulnerable. “Right, same here. Friend.”

  The alien laughed, a pleasant chuckling in the back of his throat. “Sorry. I thought…anyway, you’ll say you woke up on your own, right? I’ve got half a Klon paeg riding on it.”

  Before Jake could ask the first of several questions their conversation had already inspired, a deep, feminine voice spilled into the room from a speaker on the far wall. “You know how I feel about cheating, Pif. Not only do you now owe me another half paeg, one more time and you’re banned for a full cycle.”

  “Pif” looked stricken, though his tone was placating. “Hey, Facity, listen, you know I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” the woman, Facity, said. She didn’t sound particularly upset…and her voice seemed familiar, somehow, as if from a dream.

  “How’s our guest?” she asked. “Should I send Glessin down?”

  Pif raised a brow muscle in Jake’s direction. Jake nodded uncertainly, opening his mouth to say that he felt all right, but Pif was already answering.

  “Apex, top shape,” Pif said. “Happy human.”

  “Good,” Facity said. “Why don’t you invite him up to the bridge, Pif? Make him feel welcome, and I might forget to beat you.”

  Jake relaxed further. Alien they might be, but he knew friendly banter when he heard it. They reminded him of Quark and Odo. Kind of.

  “No problem,” Pif said, and sighed, nodding at Jake. “First officer. I swear that woman has a built-in monitor…I’m Pifko Gaber. Welcome to the Even Odds.”

  “Jake Sisko,” Jake said, trying to remember what had happened and drawing a blank. There was the wormhole, and then…nothing. He felt tired and a little achy, his fingers felt tingly, but he was fine otherwise. “Thanks…though I’m not sure…where are my…”

  “Oh, right.” Pifko dropped onto all fours and padded around to the foot of the bunk. He picked up a stack of clothing, Jake’s boots on top, and hopped nimbly back to Jake’s side on his hind legs. “Here, get dressed. These are Dez’s, yours are being cleaned. We found your shuttle late this afternoon, total meltdown, and you were about the same. Glessin said you might be confused when you woke up, though he thought you’d probably sleep through the night…”

  Pifko shook his head, stepping aside as Jake sat up to dress. “…which Facity bet on—me and her and a few of the crew, we have these ongoing wagers? I can’t believe I took her up on this one. She’s Wadi, you know.”

  Jake paused with the loose shirt half over his head; he knew that name. “Wadi…”

  “They bet on everything, you have no idea,” Pifko said. “Anyway, Dez—he’s the Even’s captain, he found you—had us bring your transport on board, and here you are.”

  Still feeling only half awake, Jake tabbed his boots while the talkative Pifko went back to the rather complicated history of his ongoing wager game. The Wadi…Jake remembered them now. They had been among the first Gamma Quadrant visitors through the wormhole, a culture that seemed to live for games and gambling…though thanks to one of Quark’s rigged dabo tables, the diplomatic contact hadn’t been renewed. Jake thought it had been a mutual decision, by the Wadi and the Federation, but he couldn’t remember the exact circumstances, or much about the species; their visit had been seven years ago, and while he’d had the definite impression that his father hadn’t thought much of them, he’d never said why. They weren’t part of the Dominion, at least, he knew that much.

  Pifko isn’t Wadi, though. They’re humanoid. What kind of ship was this? Maybe a freighter…was he in the Gamma Quadrant? Jake was dazed, not sure what he should be thinking, not sure what he should be doing. Pifko was oblivious.

  “…so I told her a full paeg owed equals a week of watch shifts, unless you’re willing to double up on points—”

  Jake nodded absently, rolling up his sleeves as he stood. The clothes were simple, an off-white, woven shirt and dark pants, the top loose through the chest and shoulders. As though he’d stepped into his father’s clothes.

  Dad. Jake remembered hearing his father’s voice on the shuttle, remembered thinking that he was safe. A dream, maybe. Or maybe this Captain Dez.

  Sitting on his hind legs, Pifko’s head came just to Jake’s hip. The doglike alien fell silent as he sidled backward, craning his neck to look up at Jake. A slender, possibly prehensile tail curled around his back feet.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Gaber—”

  “Pifko,” he broke in, baring his teeth. “Or Pif, most everyone calls me Pif. Ga is a region on my home planet, where I’m from, and ber means one of seven born. My mother was Gaba, one of six, my sire, Gabek, one of four.”

  Interesting, though Jake was starting to wonder if his new friend was capable of being quiet. “Pif—are we in the Gamma Quadrant?”

  “Gamma—? Oh, right. Your people are from the other side of the Anomaly.” Pifko cocked his head to one side, his inquisitive expression making him look more like a canine than ever. Jake saw that he had ears, after all, but they were laid flat against the side of his skull. “That is where you’re from, right?”

  Anomaly. Gamma Quadrant nomenclature for the wormhole. Jake hesitated, thinking about the recent attack on DS9. He’d been preoccupied with the prophecy when he’d left for the wormhole, but not deaf or blind; even with popular consensus being that the strike on the station had been an isolated event, a few rogue Jem’Hadar hoping to cause trouble, there’d still been serious concern over renewed hostil
ities between the quadrants. Last he’d heard, the Allies were sending a fleet to check things out, and though the general hope at the station had been that Kira would send them peacefully packing, there was a chance that things could go from bad to worse. And as far as I know, right now I’m the only person in the Gamma Quadrant who knows what the Federation and friends are thinking….

  On the other hand, was there any reason not to tell his rescuers where he was from? If they had his ship, they probably already knew, anyway. Even if there had been a “meltdown,” all they had to do was open the backup files in the computer’s storage boards and look at navigation. The possibility that he might be in personal danger was seeming more remote by the moment…and in any case, his point of origin seemed like pretty useless information.

  “Yes,” he answered finally, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. “I went in looking for something, and there was a kind of energy storm inside…and I guess my shuttle was thrown clear.”

  “I thought no one was traveling through these days. What were you looking for?” Pif asked casually, dropping out of his sit and walking toward the door. “Did you find it?”

  If Pif cared, he was hiding it well.

  “I wasn’t…It’s a long story,” Jake said, looking around the small cabin as he stepped after Pifko. His shoulder bag was on the floor next to a sliding panel door, which presumably led to toilet and shower facilities. He scooped it up and did a one handed inventory, making certain that the prophecy was still safely wrapped inside. If Pifko was offended by the implication, it didn’t show.

  “Maybe later, then. You ready to meet the captain?” Pif asked, as Jake slung his bag. Jake nodded, but suddenly suspected that he might be lying. In the last week or so, his entire life had been one long, strange dream, from a doubtful prophecy at B’hala, to DS9, to a crazy decision based on hope and longing that didn’t seem to be working out. That had, in fact, almost killed him. He was tired and sore and hungry, and suddenly dependent on people he didn’t know. On the whole, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt less ready for anything.

  Pif kept up a steady stream of mostly trivial chatter as they made their way to the ship’s bridge. Jake tried asking a few questions, about the Even Odds’s purpose and where they were headed, but after a few transparent diversions by Pifko, he gave it up. Either the garrulous alien didn’t know, or he wasn’t supposed to tell—though he was agreeably harmless enough about it that Jake wasn’t worried. He figured that he’d get his answers when they reached the bridge. Besides, it allowed him to get a look at the Even Odds.

  He found himself memorizing details as they walked, taking it all in with the journalist’s eye he had developed while working for the FNS. “Inconsistent” would be a fitting adjective, he decided. The few corridors they passed through were large but unevenly lit, some sections of each gloomy hall entirely empty, others nearly overwhelmed by dented storage lockers and half-empty equipment carts. He guessed they were on a freighter, only because he couldn’t imagine what else it might be—not military, definitely, and it didn’t have the organized feel of a science vessel…

  …or the sterility. Cluttered though she was, the Even Odds didn’t seem unclean—the air as flat and odorless as any other ship’s—but it was still a far cry from sanitary. If he were writing an article, “well-used” would definitely make the edit—

  Jake blinked, slowing down. There, to the left, what seemed to be an open control panel slot, a small square window set into the bulkhead—he’d seen a flash of silver movement, a brief, liquid shadow fleeting past the open space. He stared at the empty hole, waiting, but whatever it was, it was gone. He hesitated a beat longer, then jogged the few steps to catch up to Pif, who had continued to walk and talk.

  Some kind of diagnostic mechanism? A trick of the light? A loose pet? Jake waited for an opening to ask about the metallic shadow, but there was none to be had; Pif talked almost as fast as Morn when he was on a roll, scarcely stopping to breathe. Jake sighed inwardly after a moment and filed the silvery glimpse away under things to ask about later.

  They turned a corner, Pifko going on about a humanoid his sister’s mate had once dated (he’d even hopefully mentioned the woman’s name, as though Jake might know her) when Jake stopped in his tracks, staring. In the space of a few steps, the Even Odds’s architecture had changed.

  “This is Cardassian,” Jake said, stepping to the bulkhead wall, recognizing the simple, functional materials and arced construction of the support beams that lined the new section of corridor. They could have just stepped onto DS9, maybe one of the lower levels.

  Pifko cocked his head to one side. “Oh? Interesting. Anyway, Sfeila didn’t want children, and Ptasme did, so his choice ended up being simple, really—”

  Jake had stopped following, forcing Pifko to break off his brightly wandering story and turn back.

  “The rest of the ship doesn’t look Cardassian,” Jake said, lightly touching a support. He felt an unexpected pang of homesickness at the cool, smooth texture beneath his fingers, remembering the time that he and Nog had tried to carve their initials into such a beam, down on one of the maintenance levels. Nog had managed a single, ashy line with an engraving light before Odo had just happened to wander by, scaring them both into renouncing vandalism until death. That seemed like a million years ago….

  “The rest of the ship’s not Cardassian,” Pifko answered. “This area got patched some years ago with salvage, before I signed on, anyway. That was three years ago. You’ll have to ask Prees about who else pitched in on design…though she’ll be guessing, whatever she tells you. She’s Karemman, Prees…kind of the main engineer if you don’t count Srral. The Even’s been around, I’ll say that much.”

  Jake noted the names, oddly relieved that he’d met a few Karemma on DS9, hanging around Quark’s. It made the alien ship feel less intimidating, to know at least one of the species aboard. “Who’s Srral?”

  “You mean what’s Srral. You’ll see,” Pifko said. “But you really should meet Facity first, and the captain. Come on, we’re almost there.”

  Jake trailed Pifko around another corner, noting that the architecture had changed back to generically well-used as the canine alien stepped into an open lift tube, asking for the bridge after the door had closed behind them. The trip took only a few seconds, barely enough time for Jake to straighten his shoulders before the door to the bridge slid open. He hoped he at least looked prepared for whatever was coming next.

  Pifko had gone back to chatting about his siblings, apparently a favorite topic, and continued to talk as he stepped out in front of Jake, leading him into a large, well-lit ship’s bridge, a semicircular room with a sunken floor. The walls of the upper “balcony” were lined with equipment, more sophisticated than anything he’d seen so far on the Even, but as he took in the three humanoids who watched him exit the lift, the ship’s technology immediately ceased to be of interest.

  Jake did his best not to stiffen as his heart started to race. A scantily clad woman sat at a control console against one wall, her blue and purple facial tattoos and plaited hair describing her as Wadi; a well-built man with gray skin and light eyes stood in the lowered center of the bridge, his muscular arms folded, his gaze intense and focused. And next to him, a Cardassian male, tall and unsmiling, staring at Jake and holding what looked like a weapon in one steady, scarred hand.

  Facity Sleedow sat by communications, watching Dez and Glessin as they waited for the boy. Neither man spoke, though the bridge was far from silent—the engineers were in Three Bay, looking over the boy’s shuttle (Jake, Dez said his name was Jake-something, from the other side of the Anomaly) and debating the merits of molded alloy fabrication. Facity studied Dez as she half listened to the open com, as curious about his reaction to their new passenger’s arrival as she was about the young man himself.

  Since beaming back to the Even with the near-frozen boy in his arms, Dez had been uncharacteristically introspective. No joking, no millionth recou
nt of the time he’d been lost in the ice caves on Preth without his boots—which she’d fully expected, he dragged that story out when the mere concept of cold came up; even Srral’s questions hadn’t raised a smile, and the engineer’s usually mistaken assumptions and guesses concerning humanoids never failed to crack Dez up. No, something had happened, she’d wager her last commission on it; he’d returned from the shuttle and disappeared into his quarters for much of the evening, mumbling something about research, and had spent his little time since on the bridge staring off into space. Even now, the captain stood by Glessin with his arms folded, his expression stern in thoughtfulness. Facity expected as much from Allo Glessin, he’d lived a hard life already and wasn’t genetically prone to easy good humor besides…but Zin Dezavrim? The man was the very definition of carefree. Something had taken hold of his mind, and was unwilling to let go.

  The artifact he found in the boy’s bag, perhaps? Probably not. Dez had said the writing was old but not particularly valuable—religious, and in very poor shape—and though he’d been known to understate worth while working an angle, he’d left it with the boy…and if Dez defined carefree, he epitomized opportunistic.

  Whatever the reason for Dez’s mood, she could wonder later. The bridge’s main door slid open and Pif stepped out, chatting away about something or other, followed closely by the young man. He was tall for a human, almost as tall as she was, and though he glanced around the bridge warily, his stance suggesting a sudden readiness for action, there was a sincerity in his brown face that gave him away—not a fighter, and probably much too nice to be traveling on the Even Odds. He seemed to focus on Glessin, nervously eyeing the medical bioreader in the Cardassian’s hand; maybe he didn’t like doctors, a lot of people didn’t. Though a lot of people didn’t like Cardassians, either, at least around the Anomaly. The Even Odds mostly worked the systems surrounding it, and the civilians, the farmers and traders living on the worlds their ship passed, were still trembling from the cold Dominion shadow that had fallen over them during the Quadrant War. A shadow that had included the faces of the Dominion, the Vorta and Jem’Hadar, and the names of their allies, including the Breen and the Cardassians. With the signing of the peace treaty, the shadow had retreated, but fear and mistrust would surely linger throughout the area for years to come, probably toward all strangers.