Togga shuddered and shifted position.

It had been a long afternoon. Dr. Ptacek was exhausted and grimy. Soon, she thought, it would be time for the evening meal. She was looking forward to seeing Kehin and Ibis, and sharing their day, although she felt some trepidation at the serious topic they would have to discuss. She hoped they would be as eager as she was to move ahead with adoption, now that they’d had some time to think about it. It would be a new world for them, a better world.

“You are Ptacek, the Federation doctor?”

The Andorian nearly jumped at that imperious query. The man who’d spoken was a Cardassian soldier, in full military garb, though unarmed. His insignia proclaimed him a glinn.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Ptacek,” she acknowledged. “And you are...?”

He didn’t bother to provide a name. Instead, he said, “You are the one who spoke to the children, Kehin and Ibis? The one who wanted to take them away from their home?”

Taken aback, she countered, “I want to take them away from here and give them a home, something they no longer have here!”

“You cannot take them.”

“You make it sound like I’m stealing them, as bad as that Ferengi! That’s not the case, I’m not taking them, I’m adopting them! They will be my children.”

“They will not go with you.”

“Is there a law or directive that says I can’t adopt them?” she countered.

“No.”

“Then what gives you the right to tell me I can’t take them?” She stood up to his dark stare.

“They do not wish to leave.”

“Oh?” she shot back challengingly.

“They came to tell others what you had offered. They were uncertain how to respond, at first,” the glinn said. “But they have decided. They have chosen to remain here, on Cardassia, and to be part of our rebuilding.”

“You’re making them stay!”

“It is their choice. But Cardassia is proud of them.”

She stared at him. “You’re proud of them,” she spat bitterly. “They have no home, no family, and no future. They’ll be little better than slaves here. But you’re proud of them. You’ve taught those children to choose pride over what’s best for them!”

His eyes widened and his lips curled in scorn. “The Federation prides itself on choosing its ideals over mere physical comforts. And yet you complain when two young people prefer—”

“Comforts!” she shouted. “This is beyond comforts! This is an offer of home, family! A place to belong and to be cared for and loved instead of just a place to serve those more fortunate than they are! Maybe even a choice of survival!”

His face closed down. “They are Cardassian. What would you know of that?” The soldier turned and strode away.

“Garak,” she hissed.

There was no sign of either child around the crowded makeshift dining hall.

What if the soldier had taken them away? What if they were being taken to one of those camps where orphaned children were now being placed, separated from siblings and friends, divided by age and gender, for the convenience of their caregivers and the bureaucracy that commanded them?

Ptacek decided not to wait. She had to find them. The only place she could think of where the children might be, if they had a choice, was back at the memorial garden.

As she expected, she found them still in the garden, still hard at work. Her first thought was that Garak was working the children too hard, and that she was going to stop him. Then she got close enough to hear the voices.

“You should take a break and get something to eat.” Garak’s voice. He appeared from behind a shrubbery curtain, holding out a flask of water. “It’s been a long afternoon.”

“There’s so much to do....” Ibis sighed, looking back over the scattered statues and paths through the memorial garden.

“And you are here to help do it. But it can not all be done in one day,” the adult admonished. “And you need to rest, to have the strength for tomorrow.”

“But what if we aren’t here tomorrow?” She sounded pensive.

“And why would that be?” Garak countered.

“Ptacek wants us to leave,” Kehin blurted out, kicking at a heaved paving stone in the walkway.

“She wants to make us a family.” Ibis was more introspective. “But we’d have to leave Cardassia, to go with her.”

“She means well,” Garak said quietly. “She doesn’t understand what that would mean to you, to any true Cardassian.”

“How can we tell her?”

Garak touched the girl’s shoulder briefly. “I think she will understand. Now go, put away your tools, get some food — I’ve been hearing your stomachs for an hour.”

Her mouth set in a thin blue line, Ptacek watched the children go. As soon as she knew they were beyond hearing range, she stepped out.

“Ah, there you are. I expected you would show yourself, sooner or later.” Garak stepped closer, his expression genial, but with something glittering in his eyes. “So, you have come to berate me for interfering with your plan to provide a home and family for Ibis and Kehin, a plan which involved taking Cardassian children away from their world and their people, in the midst of a time of crisis and rebuilding, a time when our planet is most in need of its future.”

She threw her hand out to encompass the silent garden. “Here? Your planet is dead!”

He met her glare evenly. “If you truly believe that, why are you here?”

She bit her tongue, tasted her own blood. “I ... I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant....”

Garak merely looked at her.

“Why condemn them to a harsh existence here, alone, where they have no family, when I am willing and eager to give them one?” Ptacek couldn’t help sounding plaintive.

“Why force them to leave, to have what you can offer?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Where is it commanded that you must leave Cardassia?” he asked simply.

“My orders—“ Ptacek stared at him for a long moment.

Garak smiled in an enigmatic yet pleased fashion, then nodded and turned away.

The night was both interminable and a race of minutes and hours tumbling over each other. Jake felt out of place and unwelcome as he sat in the quiet ward. He had his PADD, telling himself he would write to pass the time, but he couldn’t put down a single word; he kept watching the young Cardassian in the biobed.

Jeila Gemelen was dying. Jake knew it, and would have done anything to prevent or slow it, but he could see in the compassionate faces of the doctors and nurses that there was nothing they could do.

Herem recognized it too. He didn’t even look up any more with every new footstep in the ward. Despite his effort to hold a stoic expression, the pain and fury in his eyes bared his emotions and turned aside any attempt to talk or offer comfort. He refused to even look at Jake.

The little girl opened her luminous eyes, looking up at Herem, who held her hand protectively.

“Thirsty....”

Herem snatched the cup of sweetened rokassa juice from Jake’s hand and offered it to her. She couldn’t sit up; he put his arm behind her back to support her and held the juice to her lips. She managed a few sips before starting to cough. He hastily pulled the cup away.

“Was that too fast?” he asked anxiously.

“No ... is good.... Throat hurts....” She reached up weakly. “Juice ... good. More?”

He silently offered the rest of the cup. When she was finished, she turned her head on the pillow.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Herem said wretchedly.

“But I ... was sick,” she said breathlessly. “That’s why ... we went to ... the city ... so much.” Another little cough, half-smothered in the pillow. “Here I get ... juice and tojal with sauce ... and you and Togga ... could stay ... with me.”

He hung his head. “I let Father down. I didn’t keep you safe.”

“But you kept us ... together. We ... are still a ... family.” Cough. “And I know ... Mother and Father ... and our grandparents ... are proud of you.... You didn’t ... let ... the Jemmies kill us ... or anyone take ... our farm ... or take us ... away... from each other....” Cough. “You ... will take me ... home?”

“I will,” he promised thickly.

“More ... juice?”

Herem gave her some more of the soothing juice, then sat down as Jeila fell asleep again.

“Should I get some more rokassa juice, for when she wakes up again?” Jake asked. He flinched at the sound of his own voice. The Gemelens had been speaking so quietly, his voice sounded like a shout.

The monitor suddenly went wild. Jeila gasped and opened her eyes, half sitting up and looking around in surprise. Jake and Herem both grabbed for her, but she fell back again. As they watched, she smiled, staring past them, then closed her eyes and relaxed.

Silence.

It took a few seconds for everyone to realize that the monitor over the bed was no longer keeping time with the beats of a young girl’s heart. It took a few more seconds to accept it. She was dead.

“Jeila?” Jake automatically reached for her, as though solid physical touch could prove technology wrong.

“Get out.” Herem stood between Jeila’s body and the human’s tall presence. “She’s dead. Don’t touch her. Get out.”

Jake felt tears rising, and welcomed anger over grief. “I—“

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him back. He whirled to see Dr. Bashir, a somber expression on his face.

“Julian!”

“Come, Jake, we need to give them time.”

He glanced back. Togga was holding up a blanket as a curtain; he couldn’t see what Herem might be doing. “What are they—“

Bashir held him back. “It’s the Cardassian way, Jake. They consider it desecration for non-Cardassians to see or handle the bodies of their dead. We have to respect that. You’ve seen it before. It’s been the same whenever any of their people died. They wrap their bodies so no alien eyes can see them, and take them away for burial. Come away. Now, Jake.”

Outside the ward, Jake stumbled over a chair, unable to see where he was walking for the tears in his eyes. He dropped his PADD; it clattered to the floor. Bashir caught his elbow to keep him from falling after it.

“It’s only been three days. How could she go so fast?” Jake whispered to the doctor, still trying to deny what he’d witnessed.

“She was already too vulnerable, Jake. You said yourself, she hadn’t had a proper diet since the attack. She’d been working on the farm with her brothers, a child trying to do adult work. And she’d been sick for over a month, with that infection. That sapped what strength she did have, weakening her immune system. Her body couldn’t fight it.”

Lost in grief, not even aware of what he was doing, Jake picked up his PADD and trudged out into the dark night. He walked without direction for what seemed hours. In his memory, Jeila’s fading blue eyes closed for the last time, over and over and over again.

Somewhere, he found a bench.

Shivering with emotion and the night chill, he sat.

Dawn came.

He finally looked at his PADD, wondering why he’d brought it with him.

Words seemed highlighted in the text like predator eyes in the dark. Demanding population.... Ungrateful, resentful, undeserving.... Exhausted but heroic rescue teams.... So tempting to give up....

Give up? On the likes of Jeila?

The anger and resentment underlying every sentence took him back. Had he really written these words? And thought they were a good story? Shame flushed his face with more heat than the rising sun. He’d labeled the entire Cardassian race as demanding and ungrateful. The story was as self-serving and self-promoting as Madred had taunted.

These words couldn’t be his memorial to Jeila. She deserved better. She deserved truth.

Very deliberately, he erased the entire story.

Chapter 8