“But I didn’t. Not then.” Tenmei shrugged. “But when I needed him most, when I needed him to help me work through the pain of my mother’s loss, he abandoned me emotionally. He didn’t intend to. He thought he was giving me what I wanted: distance from him, because he thought I already hated him.
“And so, eventually, I did.”
Kira didn’t know what to say. Vaughn’s relationship with his daughter, when it had been bad, had been a subject he did not discuss. Neither had Tenmei. And when father and daughter had grown close again, neither ever seemed moved to talk about what had so long divided them.
“I feel privileged that you’re telling me this,” Kira said. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand, at least not in the way you just explained it.”
Tenmei wiped the tears from her face. “I’ve never really told anybody all of it,” she said. “Not in that way. I mean, I talked about the different aspects of what happened, but … I don’t know. I just let people think what they wanted to think, what they felt comfortable thinking.”
“Well, I’m not sure exactly what your father experienced when he encountered the Orb of Unity,” Kira said, “although the one time he talked with me about it, I got the impression that he had somehow relived the tragedy of the loss of your mother, and of his relationship with you.
“What I do know,” Kira concluded, “is that when your father emerged from his second Orb encounter, Benjamin Sisko was with him.”
“I remember that,” Tenmei said. “I guess I didn’t understand that was an Orb encounter. I just knew that my dad went to talk to Opaka Sulan on Bajor, and that while he was there, Captain Sisko reappeared.”
Kira thought for a moment about the course of her conversation with Tenmei. “Can I ask you, Prynn, why you brought up your father’s Orb experience?”
“Because I know that it had a profound influence on him,” Tenmei said. “And because when I made the decision to have his feeding tube removed, I informed Doctor Bashir. We went together to my dad’s bedside, but simply taking him off his last remaining life support didn’t seem right. I mean, I still believe it’s the right choice, but it seemed wrong to do so without some sort of ceremony or … I don’t know, something … to mark his passing, and to honor his life.
“I thought about taking him back to Berengaria Seven, where his mother raised him, but he never liked to go back there. He lost his mother when he was young. So, I don’t know, I just thought that, since he found something of real value to him in the Bajoran religion …” She left her question unasked, but Kira answered it anyway.
“I can do something for him, Prynn,” she said. “We can do something. There are several Bajoran funerary rituals. Many of them have ancient origins and have fallen into disuse. Many of them, such as the Bajoran death chant, are long and complex.”
“I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for, Nerys,” Tenmei said. “I’m talking about something basic, but heartfelt. Maybe even something lyrical, because I really think my father had the heart of a poet.” She shook her head. “When I think of him breathing his last breath on an old Cardassian mining station, so angular and cold … it just seems like he deserves more.”
“I understand,” Kira said. “Maybe … you know, there are hospices on Bajor. We have one at the Vanadwan Monastery. Normally, when patients are brought there, they’re conscious and aware, and the caregivers help them spend their final days in relative peace, surrounded by loved ones. But the experience is important not just for the patient, but for whom they leave behind.”
“That sounds nice,” Tenmei said. “Can we do that for my dad, even though …”
“Yes, of course,” Kira said. “I can arrange for him to be taken to Bajor in the next day or two, I’m sure. When you’re ready, you can bring whoever you need to so that they can say good-bye with you.”
“I would like you there, Nerys, of course,” Tenmei said. “My dad always thought so highly of you, and he thought he owed you a debt for allowing him a place on Deep Space Nine.”
“He owed me a debt?” Kira said. “As I recall, the first time he came aboard, he stopped a rogue Jem’Hadar soldier from blowing up the station.”
“He told the story differently.”
“Of course he did,” Kira said. “I’m touched that you want me there, Prynn, and I want to be there. I’ll just need to find a replacement for me on a trip—”
“A trip?” Tenmei asked.
“I was supposed to be on my way tomorrow to Cardassia Prime for a gathering of vedeks together with adherents of the Oralian Way,” Kira explained.
“I don’t want you to give that up,” Tenmei said.
“I’m happy to do it,” Kira told her.
“I know,” Tenmei said. “But it’s been two and a half years since my dad sustained his injuries. We don’t have to rush.”
Kira wondered if Tenmei actually welcomed the delay, given the finality of what would happen. “I may be gone a few weeks.”
“That’s fine,” Tenmei said. “In the meantime, we can have my dad moved to Bajor, and I can invite who I need to invite, maybe prepare some words to read.”
“I think that would be lovely.”
Tenmei stood up and moved around the low table to sit beside Kira on the sofa. “Thank you, Nerys,” she said. “This means so much to me.” She reached out and hugged Kira.
“You’re welcome.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, she asked if Tenmei wanted to have dinner together, perhaps on the Promenade, at T’Pril’s or the Replimat—or even at Quark’s, if she preferred.
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” Tenmei said. “I want to find out about everything going on in your life. But I don’t think I’m quite up to going out to the Promenade.”
“That’s fine,” Kira said. “We can eat here.”
“Terrific.”
As Tenmei got up and headed for the replicator, Kira wondered when the lieutenant had last been to the Promenade, other than to visit her father in the infirmary. Kira had felt grief often in her life—far too often—but she couldn’t quite imagine the scope of Prynn’s pain, horribly prolonged by Vaughn’s condition. She only hoped that, when she returned from Cardassia Prime and helped Tenmei to finally lay her father to rest, Prynn could find her way back to a normal and happy life.
21
Trok observed from his customary place on the side of the bridge as the holographic projection hovering above Ren Fejin’s navigational console changed. Where for scores of days the spherical display had depicted vast volumes of space and the astronomical objects that populated them, and then the more focused but still sizable extent of an entire star system, it had at last shifted to present only a single world. The surface of the planet showed large landmasses separated by dark, almost colorless oceans, all topped by intermittent cloud cover.
With the ship no longer at warp, its interior had finally stilled. Though during the journey Trok had continually made finer and finer adjustments to the internal settings of his environmental suit, and in that way had combated the noise and vibration surrounding him, those measures could not compare to the genuine calm that had settled within Ren Fejin. And yet the newfound quiet within the ship did not quell his anxiety.
“We have achieved high orbit above Overne Three,” Dree announced, in a voice digitally standardized by the vocoder of his snouted Breen helmet. He reported from the other side of the bridge, where he stood at the pilot’s station.
“Can passive scans identify planetary defenses?” Master Beld wanted to know.
“Yes,” replied another Breen, Zelk, from where he consulted a sensor readout. “They appear considerable.”
“Show me,” Beld ordered.
Zelk worked his controls, modifying the hologram once more. The image of the planet contracted to half its size, while representations of the objects in orbit expanded about it, making them plainly visible. Trok readily recognized the distinctive forms of Jem’Hadar starships. I spent enough time on Goventu Fi
ve watching the excavation team dig up one of their vessels, Trok thought. I certainly should know what they look like.
Except that the ships Trok saw in the navigational projection glowed with power. They did not sit dark and lost beneath masses of frozen soil, but brimmed with energy and the capacity to destroy. And above Overne III, there were many of them.
“Reading what’s visible in orbit, and extrapolating to the far side of the planet,” said Zelk, “I estimate that there are thirty-six Jem’Hadar vessels.”
Inside his environmental suit, a chill shook Trok. It reminded him again of his time in the frigid climes of Goventu V. But even as Trok shivered, he felt beads of sweat tracing down the side of his head.
“There are also six weapons platforms,” Zelk added. He touched a control, and four of the six platforms joined the Jem’Hadar ships in the display. They each featured a cubic base from which emerged an articulated arm that ended in a concave dish—doubtless an energy emitter. “I also read several dozen construction scaffolds, though most appear empty and uncrewed.” He operated his console again, bringing into view a number of large, skeletal frames, all but one of them empty; the exception contained a half-assembled Jem’Hadar starship.
“What about on the surface?” Beld asked.
Zelk again manipulated the controls on the console before him. “It’s difficult to know with certainty because of the cloud cover, and because of the large number of industrial facilities there,” he said, “but I’d say there are at least six land-based defensive emplacements.”
From their alliance with the Dominion during its war with the Federation, the Breen knew of several worlds on which the Gamma Quadrant power manufactured starships, including Overne III. But even though the crew of Ren Fejin had traveled so long to reach the planet, Trok suddenly wanted to be back in the Breen Confederacy. For all of his research and all of his careful planning, and despite the threat posed by the Federation, he wanted to be home, not tens of thousands of light-years away, in the hostile space of the Dominion. Yes, the Founders and the Breen had once joined forces, but Trok did not doubt that, should the Jem’Hadar detect Ren Fejin so deep within their territory—particularly at one of their primary starship-manufacturing locales—they would immediately destroy the Breen vessel. Or capture it, he thought, and then interrogate us. Trok did not know which fate he feared more.
“Is there any indication that they know we’re here?” Beld asked.
“If the Jem’Hadar knew we were here,” said Dree, “we wouldn’t be here.”
Trok agreed with that sentiment, but he still had difficulty trusting the Romulans. The Federation hadn’t permitted any of the civilian Typhon Pact vessels passing through the wormhole and into the Gamma Quadrant to carry cloaking devices, and so Ren Fejin hadn’t. But it did keep scattered throughout its various cargo holds the components necessary to construct such a device. The Romulan specialist who had joined the crew, Joralis Kinn, had spent the time in the Gamma Quadrant assembling the equipment. If he’d done his job correctly, and if the latest version of the Romulan stealth technology functioned as well as the Empire claimed, then the crew of Ren Fejin would accomplish their objective; if not, they would likely never see home again.
The ship’s master stepped over to the side of the bridge, raised a gloved hand up to a panel on the bulkhead, and pressed a button. “Beld to engineering,” he said. “Kinn, what’s your status?”
“The cloak is performing within expected tolerances,” replied the Romulan, his voice sounding tinny as it emerged from the comm unit. His words failed to rouse much confidence in Trok. Apparently Beld felt the same.
“‘Within expected tolerances’?” the ship’s master repeated. “It’s not working at its optimal level?”
“Master Beld, your vessel is not a Romulan starship,” Kinn explained. “We had little time to test the use of a cloak on a ship of Ren Fejin’s size and configuration. Variances are unavoidable.”
“I don’t care about avoiding variances,” Beld said. “I care about avoiding the Jem’Hadar.”
“The cloak is functioning,” Kinn maintained. “We are already at Overne Three, and we clearly haven’t been detected. I don’t expect that to change.”
“You don’t ‘expect’ that to change,” Beld said, and even though his helmet transformed his voice into an electronic blur, his words conveyed frustration. “That hardly sounds like a guarantee of success.”
“That’s because it isn’t a guarantee,” said Kinn. “But if the ship sustains consistent power, we should remain undetectable to the Jem’Hadar.”
Beld did not respond for a moment, instead looking around at both of his subordinates in turn, and then at Trok as well. Finally, he turned back to the comm unit. “Very well, Kinn,” he said. “Let me know the instant you even anticipate a problem with the cloak.”
“Understood,” Kinn said.
Beld reached up and punched at the comm control with the side of his gloved fist. Then he turned and moved to face the navigational hologram at the center of the bridge. He regarded the swarm of Jem’Hadar starships more or less evenly spaced about the planet, before asking, “Are you reading their manufacturing plants?”
“Yes,” Zelk said. “All but the warp-engine construction plants appear to be on the surface. Most shipyard operations are centralized on the largest continent, but there are facilities scattered all over the planet.”
Trok stepped away from the bulkhead and interjected. “Can you tell where deflector systems and structural integrity generators are produced?”
“No,” Zelk said. “Not without engaging active sensor scans.”
Beld pointed to the hologram, where the outsized representations of Jem’Hadar starships, weapons platforms, and engineering scaffolds ensphered Overne III. “Show me the location with the highest concentration of large industrial facilities.”
Zelk complied with the order, and once again, the holographic image shifted. The Jem’Hadar ships and other objects in orbit vanished, and the planet grew in a dizzying rush of movement, until only a segment of its surface showed. Across a flat plain spread a compound comprising dozens of buildings, many of them interconnected. A distance scale along the display’s equator indicated the great magnitude of the complex. “These facilities are located in the center of the largest continent,” Zelk said.
Beld turned toward Trok. “Could any of these be what we’re searching for?”
Trok moved closer to the hologram and studied the buildings. “A few of them appear to be large enough to allow for the full-scale testing those systems would require,” he said. “But I can’t tell just by looking at them from the outside.”
“No, of course not,” Beld said. “But we need to know where to begin.” Peering over to the pilot, he said, “Take us down, Dree. Bring us in over these buildings.” He waved over the complex display in the hologram.
Dree acknowledged the order, and Trok heard and felt the operation of the thrusters as they altered the ship’s trajectory. The holographic projection changed once more, reverting to a view of the planet from high orbit, with the Jem’Hadar ships and weapons platforms circling above it. As the ship began its descent toward the atmosphere of Overne III, Trok could only hope that the Romulan technology installed on Ren Fejin would allow them to reach the surface, do what they’d come there to do, and escape back to the Alpha Quadrant.
But he had his doubts.
Trok watched the industrial complex grow in the holographic display, and he imagined Ren Fejin hovering above it, plain for all the Jem’Hadar crews in orbit to see. He tried to concentrate on the features of the buildings so that he could estimate the possibility of their containing the equipment used to manufacture either structural integrity field generators or deflector systems. But a portion of his mind remained on edge, his body tensed as though expecting a Jem’Hadar torpedo to come hurtling through the bridge, sending the ship and everybody aboard it to their destruction.
“Do you notice an
ything?” Master Beld asked in his short, electronically encoded bluster.
“I’m looking,” Trok said. “It’s not as though the buildings have windows in them or signs identifying their purpose.”
“No, I’m not asking about what you think might be inside,” Beld said. “I’m asking if you notice anything unusual about what’s outside the buildings.”
Trok walked around the spherical display, peering at the complex from different angles, searching for whatever Beld wanted him to see. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he said at last. “I don’t see anything.”
“Precisely,” Beld said, somewhat mysteriously. “There’s nothing to see, no activity. The place seems abandoned.”
Trok looked closer, actually leaning in toward the display. He saw no movement whatsoever. While he surmised that the Founders, and therefore the Jem’Hadar, would insist on the Overne maintaining strict security procedures in the construction and testing of starships and weapons, he still would have expected to espy some indication of the workforce at the plant, and of work being performed.
“Remember the assembly scaffolds in orbit,” said Zelk from his place at the sensor panel. “There were dozens of them, but only one contained an actual starship under construction.”
“That’s right,” said Trok, recalling the large, empty frames floating above the planet. He turned away from the navigational hologram and toward Beld. “Could this place be abandoned?”
“If it’s abandoned,” Dree asked from the piloting console, “then why would there be so many Jem’Hadar ships in orbit?”
Beld looked at Trok, the horizontal light of the shipmaster’s helmet like a fluorescent green eye. “If the place had been abandoned permanently, wouldn’t the Founders want it destroyed or dismantled?” Beld finally asked. “Since it all appears intact, doesn’t that suggest temporary disuse?”
“But why would the Dominion stop the manufacture of starships and weapons?” said Zelk.
“These aren’t their only such facilities,” noted Beld.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact 06: Plagues of Night Page 29
