CHAPTER
22

BENJAMIN SISKO walked into his quarters, flexing his arms and feeling a lot stiffer and a lot older. “Jake?” he called.

His son came to him from the next room. Sisko smiled, because Jake was wearing a helmet. “Is it safe?” he asked warily.

“Of course it’s safe,” said Sisko. He stretched out on the couch. “The Cardassians left hours ago, along with the Edemians. If any two races ever deserved each other, it’s them.”

“And the morph guy?”

“Gone. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

“It’s too bad he and Odo couldn’t have been friends or something. It’s kind of sad for Odo, I guess.”

This, of course, had already occurred to Sisko. “Yes . . . I guess it is,” he said carefully.

Jake shifted uncomfortably where he was standing, and Sisko looked at him questioningly. “Something wrong?”

“Well, I . . . I don’t know how to say this, really. . . .”

“Ohhh, boy,” said Sisko. He sat up and braced himself. “Okay. What happened now? Did you and Nog—”

“Huh? Oh . . . no. No, nothing like that. I just . . . Well, I just wanted to say thanks. I mean about, you know . . . saving my life and junk.”

“Oh. And junk.” Sisko nodded. “I see.”

“Yeah. I mean, I was thinking about the other day. About how you said you’d try to keep me safe. And you did. You saved my butt.”

Again Sisko nodded. “Does that make you feel any better about being out here?”

Jake considered it a moment.

“No.”

“Ah. Well . . . give it time. These things always take time. Just do your best. No one can ask more of you than for you to do your best.”

“So . . . ” Jake moved over toward him and sat on the armrest of the couch. “So if, for example . . . let’s just say that I was . . . oh . . . failing math, but I told you I was doing my best. Would that make it okay?”

“If that was the absolute best effort that you could give . . . then, of course, I would have to be satisfied with it. And after all, Albert Einstein failed math.”

“Yes, sir.” Jake smiled.

“On the other hand,” continued Sisko, “you ain’t Einstein. And if you flunk math, I’ll kick that butt of yours—the one I just saved—all around the habitat ring. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Glad we had this talk, son.”

Odo sat at Quark’s, at a table with Dax and Bashir. Quark was at that moment bringing over a large carafe of ale, and saying loudly, “Another free drink for my great good friend, Odo, who risked his life to save me!”

Odo looked at him disdainfully. “I was doing my job, Quark. That’s all. Furthermore, in case you have forgotten . . . if you hadn’t done dirt to Glav early in your misbegotten career, this calamity wouldn’t have been visited on the station in the first place.”

“A minor detail!” said Quark.

“I also noticed when we set up the trap, that you made sure to keep yourself as far away as possible.”

“Only because I so admire your skills as a security officer,” said Quark. “I would have been in the way. But if you insist that you were only doing your job . . . then, fine. If there’s one thing I like, it’s having the score be even. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Bashir nodded glumly.

“Good.” And Quark sauntered off.

“Doctor . . . is everything all right?” asked Dax.

“Oh. Yes. Everything is fine. I . . . saved a life,” said Bashir after a moment.

“Good for you!” said Dax. “Who?”

“The little Edemian boy . . . Rasa.”

“Well, that’s excellent, Julian,” Dax told him. “You must be very happy. I mean, saving lives is what doctors do, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said tonelessly. “Yes, it is. Uh . . . if you’ll excuse me.” And he got up from the table and walked away.

Dax watched him, concerned. “That’s strange. Usually he can’t take his eyes off me. Now he barely notices I’m here. Funny. His infatuation seemed so silly to me before . . . but now I find I’m a little bothered by his sudden indifference. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” said Odo. He was frowning at Quark, who was back behind the bar. “One of those damned Ferengi pulled a fast one the other day. He sent Mas Marko to Ops for no reason that I can discern. I’ll have to worm it out of one of them.”

“Odo . . . ” Dax looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you ever take a break? There’s a world outside of law enforcement, you know. Do you . . . do you wish to discuss the shapeshifter? The encounter must have been very difficult for you.”

Odo looked at her questioningly. “Why should I want to discuss that? It’s a dead issue. He’s gone. Questions remain unanswered, but there are always unanswered questions lying about. No use fretting about it.” He rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, I have a prior obligation I must attend to. I’m not looking forward to it, but it’s an obligation nevertheless.”

“Odo, are you sure you’re all right with . . . ”

But he didn’t stay around to hear the question . . . or answer it.

Molly O’Brien, three years old that very day, her face covered with birthday cake, stepped out of her quarters and gasped. She clapped her hands together in pure delight. Behind her, the children who were her guests, including Dina, squealed with excitement when they saw what was waiting.

The dappled pony stood in the corridor, tail swishing from side to side. O’Brien stood beside it, adjusting the saddle. “He’s just for today, Molly,” he said. “But today is a very special day, so it’s all right. So who’s first? Could it be . . . the birthday girl?”

Molly laughed, running to her father. Keiko came up behind her, trying to wipe her face clean with a napkin, but Molly squirmed so much that Keiko wasn’t entirely successful. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that this was the happiest Molly had been in ages.

“Okay. Let’s go.” And O’Brien began to walk alongside the pony, Molly perched atop the saddle and looking very proud.

“I have to admit,” said O’Brien, apparently talking to Molly, “this is better than my magic tricks would have been. I guess my sleight of hand wasn’t particularly good . . . although, you know, pumpkin, it did serve a valuable purpose. Because thinking about misdirection—about getting people to look at one thing so that they won’t look elsewhere—that got Mr. Odo thinking. You remember Mr. Odo, the nice security chief? He started thinking about misdirection, and one thing led to another . . . and it made him realize how someone was fooling him into looking at one thing when really he should have been looking elsewhere. Wasn’t that smart of Mr. Odo, sweetheart? And because he did, a bad man won’t be hurting people anymore. Isn’t that nice?”

“Yes, Daddy,” said Molly happily. She wasn’t really paying the least bit of attention. She was too busy waving at passersby as the pony patiently carried her around the habitat ring.

“And because I was helpful to him,” continued O’Brien, “Odo felt that he owed me. He thinks it’s very important for everything to be just and right and fair and all that. And since I helped him, he felt he had to help me. And also because your mommy helped him with a well-timed phaser shot. Isn’t that wonderful, Molly, that he is so honest and moral that he felt he had to pay us back?”

“Oh, yes, Daddy.” Molly stroked the pony’s thick neck. “I want to name him Fluffy. Can I?”

“Suuure,” said O’Brien. “Remember, it’s just for today . . . but Fluffy sounds fine to me. Does it sound fine to you, Fluffy?”

And Fluffy muttered, “So help me, O’Brien, if you ever tell anyone . . . especially Quark—”

“Not a word from me, Fluffy,” said O’Brien. “And, hey . . . just to show my appreciation . . . would you like a sugar cube?”

Fluffy snorted disdainfully.

“No?” O’Brien shrugged and popped the cube into his own mouth. “More for me, then.”

And Fluffy clip-clopped on his way.