There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
—OSCAR WILDE
The whole world is an omen and a sign.
—RALPH WALDO EMERSON
Sisko
Eyes closed, Benjamin Sisko listened to his wife’s slow, steady breathing. Inhaling deeply, he began a mental list of the smells: lemon-scented laundry soap, Kasidy’s face cream, mother’s milk, baby powder. Oh, my,he thought, but that takes me back. How many years?Jake was—twenty-one? Could that be right? And I thought I’d left baby powder far, far behind me.
Only a meter from Kasidy’s side of the bed he heard a faint stirring no louder than a mouse kicking in its sleep. In response, under his arm, Sisko felt Kasidy’s arm spasm and she mumbled something low and unintelligible. “Don’t worry,” Sisko murmured, eyes still shut. “I’ll get her.”
He opened his eyes and watched the blades of the ceiling fan churn the early-morning air. Kasidy had installed the fans shortly after she’d moved into the house, one of the many changes she had made to his original design that made their home seem as wonderfully strange as it was familiar. After the years upon years he’d spent in perfectly modulated environments on starships and starbases (and the even less perfectly modulated spaces of Deep Space 9), a ceiling fan seemed a delightfully anachronistic detail. What a wonderful idea.He was glad Kasidy had thought of it.
The mouse in the tiny crib stirred again, sighed, and made a wet sound. Lifting his head, Sisko, the Old Campaigner, the Experienced Dad, sniffed, then drew a breath and held it. Ah, yes, I remember this, too.
The tiny creature in the crib voiced her displeasure with the recent change in her comfort level. Kasidy’s head rose minutely. “Sorry, love,” he said, rolling out of bed. “I’m going.”
“She’s going to be hungry,” Kasidy muttered into her pillow.
“Of course she is,” Sisko said as he reached into the crib and scooped his daughter up into his arms. Check for leakage, the Old Dad instincts told him. Structural integrity may be compromised. All appeared to be well, though Rebecca’s distress level was sharply rising. Lowering his daughter gently onto the changing table in the corner, Sisko unfastened the diaper, tossed it into the recycler, smiled briefly at the tiny, perfect derriere, then gave it and all other visible parts a thorough but gentle wiping. A spray of powder, then a new diaper, and voilà, all was sealed and in place, and the proud papa stopped only long enough to inspect his daughter’s rounded belly. The baby, whose face had been in danger of scrunching up for a howl, suddenly became aware that something significant had changed; she stopped and considered. Ah,the face said. Better. But all is not well.The lips pursed and Baby Rebecca, Princess of All She Surveys, screwed up her face in a yawp of discontent.
“Well,” Sisko said, and carried the unhappy child to her waiting mother. “I can’t help you with that.” Kasidy slid down the corner of her gown, nestled Rebecca next to her breast, and then covered them both again. The mouth searched, Kasidy guided her head, and then there came a coo of satisfaction. Sisko bent down and pressed his face into his wife’s neck, inhaled again: yes, all still there—face cream, milk, powder, love.
Kasidy wriggled away from his rough cheek, smiled, asked sleepily, “What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep.”
“Yougo back to sleep. You were up past two last night talking to Jake and here you are up again with the birds.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re never tired.”
Grinning, Sisko stroked his wife’s hair. “The Prophets didn’t believe in getting up early. And they’re very leisurely about how they spend their mornings. Slippers. Sweatshirts. Two cups of coffee before they even think about what’s for breakfast. And then naps all around in the afternoon.”
Kasidy stroked the baby’s fine curls. “Sounds like it would drive you mad, Mr. I Must Be Up and Doing.”
“That’s why I had to come back.”
“Oh, right,” Kasidy said. “That was why.”
Sisko straightened and listened to the morning. The shuff, shuff, shuffof the fan drowned out a lot of noise, but he was fairly certain no one else was stirring around the house. Birds out in the hedgerow were busily tending their own families, adults making sure their almost-grown chicks were ready to fly. “Coffee,” he said aloud, knowing Kasidy didn’t hear him; she was already asleep again, Rebecca snuggled close. The baby had stopped nursing, asleep, but her mouth was still firmly attached to her mother’s nipple, close, close, so close. Closer to Kasidy than any other human being ever would be. Sisko touched the child’s cheek and said, “This is why.”
As Sisko stepped from the bedroom, he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his robe. Summer came on slowly in Kendra, evidenced by the cool air from the northern mountains mingling gently with the breezes blowing off the Yolja River. This morning was warmer than the one before and tomorrow would be even warmer, but for an old New Orleans native like himself, anything below thirty Celsius warranted a wrap. Still, Sisko did not wish away these cool mornings. Each graduated environmental change bespoke time passing and he savored the sense of being reconnected to its flow.
Enjoying the way the flesh of his arms prickled slightly in the cool air, Sisko strode into his kitchen only to be greeted by the whiff of overripe garbage. I thought I’d asked Jake to take that out to the compost pile.Searching his memory, Sisko had to admit that he could only remember thinking about asking Jake. After all, between the two of them, they had drunk two bottles of the good spring wine last night and he, Sisko, had probably downed more than his share. The nursing Kasidy would only wet her lips with it during dinner. And Jake…
Where wasJake? On the floor next to the couch were signs of his nest, a loose roll of blankets and a well-scrunched pillow. The shades that had been drawn over the sliding door to the garden had been pulled aside. Sisko padded softly to the door and looked out.
Shoulders hunched, his son was standing in the garden staring into the south, hands thrust deep into his jacket pockets, shadow long behind him, morning dew soaking into his boots and pant legs. Lost in thought, Jake did not hear his father as he pulled the sliding door open. Glad for the opportunity, Sisko stood and regarded his son as dispassionately as he could. He’s grown up to be a fine-looking young man,the father thought. Or maybe I need to stop saying “young man.” He’s a man now. No “young” about it.Sometime in the past week, Jake had decided to stop shaving, and the unruly stubble of a couple of days past had already become a thick tangle. Everyone had teased Jake about it for a day or two, but Jake had known the change was blessed when his stepmother had run a hand over his chin and commented that all the Sisko men looked better with beards.