Cathedral by Michael Mangels (ebook reader color screen txt) 📕

Ezri suddenly felt ashamed. “Of course not, Mother.” She recalled vividly how she had agonized over the decision about dropping out of the Academy. But after the cave-in that had killed both of her brothers—and had dealt the family business a crippling blow—Ezri had made the only choice possible.

I couldn’t let her run the pergium-mining business all alone. She needed me.

Yanas’s smile broadened, but it contained little warmth. “Such a dutiful daughter. I can understand why you didn’t know where you were, by the way. You always did make it a point to get down into the mines as little as possible.”

Ezri’s belly spasmed slightly, then settled down. She placed her hand on her abdomen. Where Dax had once been, she thought. She scowled at the obvious untrust-worthiness of her own memories.

Who the hell is Dax?

“Nobody now,” Yanas said casually. “I think Dax was a symbiont who died just after its host got killed during the Dominion War. But that’s not your concern anymore.”

It never was, Ezri thought, feeling desolate without quite knowing why.

“Right again. Now I need you to get back to the accounting office and catch up on the books. Those quota reports aren’t going to write themselves, you know.”

Quota reports. The idea made her insides squirm in revulsion. She wondered if becoming joined to one of those ageless Trill brain-vampires, as frightening as the notion had always struck her, could really be any worse than giving over the entirety of one’s single, finite lifetime to mining contracts, shipping manifests, and pergium futures.

I’ve been joined, all right, Ezri thought. To stacks of padds and mountains of paperwork.

She heard another pair of footsteps behind her and turned quickly toward the sound.

The man who regarded her was tall, thin, and dour-looking. Humanoid, with the brow wrinkles common to many of New Sydney’s residents. He, too, wore mining attire. She saw a steely glint in his eyes that she recognized.

And hated, without quite remembering why.

“Thadeo Bokar,” Ezri said, taking a step backward. She was beginning to remember still more.

Bokar grinned, displaying even rows of immaculate white teeth. “I’ve come to discuss your recent equipment orders, Miss Tigan. I think you’d do well to consider making a few…additional purchases.”

Ezri struggled to master a rush of anger. “Why, Bokar? To pay off the Orion Syndicate so we won’t have any more mysterious cave-ins down here?”

Bokar made an unconvincing show of sympathy. “It must have been terrible, losing both your brothers like that. So sudden and tragic. Makes you appreciate what you still have all the more. And, I would hope, eager to do whatever it takes to hold onto it.”

Ezri glanced back toward Yanas, who was glaring accusingly at her.

“What’s he saying, Ezri? Did you make some sort of deal with the Orion Syndicate? I knew we had some cash-flow problems after the Ferengi opened those mines on Timor II, but I never thought you’d stoop to…” She trailed off into silence, which was filled only by the weird quasi-music that still reverberated through the stony corridor.

Ezri looked at Yanas, an inchoate apology on her lips. But the naggingly familiar music stopped her.

Because she recognized it now, and remembered where she’d been when she’d first heard it.

It had been aboard the Sagan, during the survey of System GQ-12475’s Oort cloud. Just before the initial encounter with the alien artifact—the cathedral, or anathema, into which she had just transported. With Nog. And Julian.

And Dax.

Ezri experienced another rush of conflicting memory—and realized that she had nothing to apologize for. She hadn’t gotten the family business into bed with the Orion Syndicate. Janel had done that.

But Janel was dead. Had been dead for years.

Misaligned in their worldlines. Sacagawea’s wind-chime voice spoke inside her head, from some spectral interior world. Untethered. Adrift/lost midworlds.

Janel isn’t dead, Ezri told herself, shaking her head as though stunned by a physical blow. Norvo isn’t dead either. Not in my world. They’re the ones who stayed behind with Mother, and the Orion Syndicate didn’t begin leaning on them until years later. Meanwhile, Ezri had finished up at Starfleet Academy, then had shipped out on the Destiny.

Ezri had left home, and had stayed away. She had resisted the all too frequent squalls of withering maternal criticism that had kept both her brothers on such short tethers for so many years. She hadn’t allowed herself to be moved by Yanas’s levers of guilt and duty and obligation the way Norvo and Janel had.

It came to Ezri then why the cathedral had confronted her with this simulacrum of Yanas Tigan: It was an external representation of her need to separate herself from the infinitude of Ezri Tigans whose lives weren’t hers. It was her touchstone for avoiding taking a path traveled only by some phantom-Ezri in some other hypothetical reality.

This artifact-generated creature had to be the key to avoiding becoming “unmoored,” as Shar had put it, from the life she knew, washed away in a torrent of might-have-beens. She’s got to be my ticket to fixing those tangled “worldlines” Sacagawea kept talking about.

Ezri noticed then that Bokar was still talking. “There is a bright side to your little brother’s passing, though,” Bokar was saying, facing Ezri. “Some of those paintings of his are finally fetching some decent prices. It’s too bad that nobody appreciates artists while they’re still alive.”

Ezri could feel something moving within her. Shifting. Something at the core of her being was changing, awakening. She had her own life to lead, and now she was determined to take it back. Sacagawea’s translator-filtered voice rang in her mind: Misaligned in their worldlines.

She reached up and doffed her hat, tossing it to the ground. She touched her hair again, noting without surprise that it had returned to the severe, short style that she’d adopted shortly after her joining.

On the Destiny.

As a Starfleet officer.

Just before she’d been posted to DS9.

Yanas was confronting her again, as though she hadn’t heard Bokar’s cruel words about her late son. Mom never was a great