by S. D. Perry
“So . . . maybe the Cardassians are immune?” Jake said. “And that’s why they’re running this . . . lockdown?”
“That would make sense,” Ezri said, nodding.
“They’re looking for abnormality, though, they’re not running standard viral or bacteriological checks,” Bashir said. “That would suggest an advanced stage . . . or something else entirely.”
“Do you think it could have something to do with what happened to us, with the cathedral artifact?” Nog asked the doctor, somewhat anxiously. “Maybe when we were changed . . .”
“I very much doubt it,” he said. “After our second encounter with the artifact, we were returned to the same physical states we’d been before.”
At Jake’s puzzled look, Nog briefly filled him in on a Gamma adventure that he, Ezri, and Bashir had been involved in, one that had actually altered them physically for a time. As interesting as it was, Jake found it hard to pay attention. Now that he was actually back on the station, he was too busy taking in the environment, feeling like he was in a dream but also in hyper-reality, both at once.
It was beyond weird, to be back after almost half a year in the Gamma Quadrant, even without the unnerving greeting. The air was so familiar, cool and clean, the lights so perfectly muted, the beautifully bland architecture . . . and yet it was all different, too. He was different, maybe. Whether or not that was a good thing . . . he thought it was, but wasn’t sure, either. His own Gamma Quadrant experiences had altered his perspective in ways he didn’t entirely understand yet.
It’s good to be home, though. Maybe Kasidy would come to the station to meet him, so he could spend some time just existing again in familiar territory. But then, she might be close enough to her due date that she shouldn’t be traveling; he’d have to call her and see. The communications blackout probably wouldn’t be a problem; along with being the son of the Emissary, being friends with the station’s commander had its advantages, and considering her own status, he couldn’t imagine Kas being turned down for anything.
Nog wrapped up his story as Commander Vaughn joined them. Bashir told him what he’d noticed about the scanning devices, but Vaughn seemed distant, saying only that they should wait for Kira. He kept glancing over at two young ensigns standing together several meters away, the Andorian science officer and a dark-haired human woman he hadn’t met yet. Jake thought that the woman, at least, was consciously ignoring the commander. Quite an age difference for lovers, Jake thought, but decided in the same thought that they weren’t. Whatever the relationship was, there wasn’t any romance to it.
He noticed that Wex and Opaka were standing with a pair of Bajoran deputies—additional security, Jake assumed—Opaka smiling gently as they bombarded her with questions and stories. Wex only observed, taking it all in, and though Jake had never been entirely at ease around her—the slender gray alien’s manner was somewhat stiff, almost to the point of unfriendly—he felt sorry for her, now . . . stuck in a strange new place with people she didn’t know, caught up in some kind of security crackdown. She had followed Opaka home, she claimed, to learn from her—apparently, spiritual pilgrimages were an integral part of life among her kind—but she definitely hadn’t signed up for being poked and prodded by Cardassians in the midst of some kind of plague alert.
Jake moved closer to her, smiling. “So, how do you like the Alpha Quadrant so far?”
“It’s . . . different,” she said, brushing a length of pale hair behind one tiny ear. She seemed as distant as Commander Vaughn, her liquid black gaze fixed to the end of the connecting corridor that led into the station proper.
“Once this is all sorted out, you’ll be able to go to Bajor, with Opaka,” Jake said. “And me, probably. I owe Kas—Kasidy, the one I told you about—I owe her a visit. Besides, she’ll probably need me pretty soon, she’s going to have a baby any time now . . .”
At the look on Wex’s face, Jake faltered, turning to see what it was that had so completely seized her attention—and grinned widely. Kira Nerys was striding down the hall to meet them, nodding to the Cardassian medics as they finished with the last few crewmembers . . . and when she saw Jake, she stopped in her tracks.
“Jake?” Almost a whisper.
Jake stepped forward, nodding, and she half ran to him, catching him in a huge embrace.
“Hi, Nerys,” he managed, and she stepped back, grinning, searching his face with shining eyes.
“Where—how did they—oh, it’s so good to see you, you have no idea,” she said happily. An instant later she was frowning, her voice dropping half an octave.
“You had me so worried, Jake. Terrified. And Kas, she’s been beside herself, and your grandfather . . . Jake, what happened?”
Jake started to answer, then simply looked toward Opaka, who was watching with her own mild smile of pleasure. “I had to give someone a ride,” he said.
Kira followed his gaze and visibly paled, even as she laughed, a short, surprised sound. Her gaze welled up, but she managed to hold it together as the former kai stepped over to join them. Vaughn and the others held back, obviously aware that it was an emotional meeting for Kira; Jake even backed up a little as the two women faced one another, not wanting to intrude. He exchanged smiles with Ezri as Opaka and Kira embraced, Kira hanging on to the smaller woman as though her life depended on it.
“Oh,” Kira breathed, “oh, thank the Prophets.”
After what seemed a long time, it was the kai who stepped back first, reaching up to touch Kira’s left ear, her eyes closing slightly. Watching, Jake thought there was something different about Kira’s face, something he couldn’t quite place . . . a new haircut, or . . .
Her earring. It’s gone.
Opaka smiled again, letting go. “I’m happy to see you again, Kira, and I hope we’ll have a chance to talk soon . . . but you obviously have business of some urgency to attend to.” She nodded slightly toward the Cardassians. “And I should like to rest awhile. Perhaps we can meet later . . . ?”
Jake was impressed. For someone who claimed no political tendencies, Opaka Sulan was amazingly diplomatic.
“Yes, of course,” Kira said, straightening. Her eyes were still overbright, but she was a colonel again, in control. Jake was surprised that she’d let herself show so much feeling in front of other people, though he supposed it wasn’t every day one’s long-missing spiritual icon came strolling through the door. If that wasn’t a reason for an emotional reaction, nothing was.
Kira turned toward him again, but before she could speak, he realized that Opaka had the right idea. Kira had her hands full enough without having to deal with personal considerations. He glanced at Wex, deciding that a hurried introduction would have to do.
“Ah, Colonel Kira, this is Wex, from the Gamma Quadrant. She’s a Trelian. She’s here with the kai.”
“Welcome to Deep Space 9, Wex,” Kira said, raising her chin slightly and squaring her shoulders, reminding Jake that the Trelian were a new species for the Alpha Quadrant. “I’m sorry that your arrival has come at such a turbulent time, but we’ll do whatever we can to make your stay here comfortable. I’ll see to it that one of our diplomatic aides is available to you for any questions or concerns you might have.”
She nodded politely at the petite Trelian girl, who nodded woodenly in turn, her expression strangely blank.
“If it’s all right, I’ll take the kai and Wex to guest quarters, get them set up,” Jake continued, and saw a flash of relief cross Kira’s eyes.
“That’d be great, Jake. I’ll come find you as soon as I have a moment. We can call Kas together.”
She seemed to know what he was thinking, adding, “Even a blackout has exceptions. I wish I could explain . . .”
You and me both, Jake thought, but he shook his head reassuringly. “Hey, remember who you’re talking to. You’ll tell me about it when you can.” She smiled again, reached out to squeeze his hand, but already, he could see that she was turning her thoughts to whatever cri
sis the station was dealing with, her gaze sharpening, her warm smile turning brisk as she let go. Jake took the cue. He tapped Nog’s shoulder, exchanging a look with his friend that said they’d hook up later—Nog had already insisted that Jake bunk with him about fifty times—and, with a final smile at the Defiant’s crew, he gathered Wex and Opaka and started down the hall.
An armed Cardassian followed them at a discreet distance, though Jake ignored her. No matter what was going on, he was glad to be back.
* * *
Seeing Jake again, and Kai Opaka . . . Kira was stunned and overjoyed and hugely curious, and much, much too busy to investigate any of it, mentally, physically, emotionally. She compartmentalized the feelings, setting them aside as she welcomed her friends back—people she’d missed and cared about, people she respected. It was selfish, she knew, to be glad that they were now locked down with the rest of the station, but she was glad. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been, how unsupported she’d felt in her work, but seeing all these familiar faces, confused by the circumstances but so open and friendly . . .
. . . and Jake! And the kai! It was impossible not to think about it. Jake was home, where he belonged . . . and her own personal reaction aside, as far as Kira was concerned, the former kai was every bit as important to Bajor as any one of the Orbs. Especially now.
After getting an all-clear from Vlu, Kira asked Vaughn and the Defiant’s other senior officers—Julian, Ezri, Nog, Shar, Merimark, and Sam Bowers—to accompany her, promising a debriefing to the remaining crew members within the hour. They started toward the wardroom, Kira asking that they hold their questions for the time being—as much for the opportunity to collect herself as for the fact that the wardroom was heavily shielded—and though her thoughts edged back toward the briefing, on who was waiting for them and what needed to be said, she couldn’t suppress the new lightness in her step.
Things on Bajor, for Bajor, had been rough lately, but everything would be different now; Opaka coming home changed things, giving Kira real hope for the first time since Shakaar had been killed. She and Opaka had never been especially close personally, but the respect and religious awe she felt for the older woman was beyond what she’d ever felt for anyone, even the Emissary. Kai Opaka had been Bajor’s spiritual guide through much of the Occupation; she had sacrificed everything to take care of her people in that bleak time, including the life of her own son . . . and she had never wavered in her faith, never turned to anger or violence, never doubted that the Prophets would somehow provide.
And she’s back, she’s back and the Orbs are home, and the whole planet will welcome her return. She’ll lead us all through what’s happening, with the Prophets’ help . . .
. . . except . . . the Attainder.
Kira felt the absence of her earring, and the reflexive despair that came with it—but let it go, let it die before the memory of Opaka’s smile when she’d reached for Kira’s pagh. Opaka Sulan would never turn anyone away.
As they reached the wardroom, Kira realized that she was doing an extremely poor job of setting anything aside, reminding her that she was tired, that life had been one crisis after another for what seemed like months. She thought of Shakaar, of what Asarem wanted, of what General Cyl had told her on their way back from Trill . . . and with the firm reminder of what was at stake, her mind was focused once more as the doors to the wardroom slid open in front of them.
Except for Ro, the others were already waiting, and stood as Kira made introductions. Starfleet Admiral Akaar knew everyone, as did Councillor zh’Thane, Andor’s representative on the Federation Council. Out of respect for the ambassador and her family, Kira hadn’t asked zh’Thane to attend the meeting. Charivretha zh’Thane had been of great help in their crisis so far, smoothing the Federation’s suddenly troubled relations with Bajor, but her presence at the Defiant’s briefing wasn’t necessary . . . and besides, it would be her first interactive contact with her offspring, Shar, in months, their first since his betrothed’s suicide. Inappropriate or no, however, it seemed she’d taken it upon herself to be present.
For what good it’s doing, for either of them. Though she tried not to, Kira could see the strain between Ensign ch’Thane and his zhavey, the lack of eye contact, the careful distancing after a brief, unemotional greeting. From the quick, sympathetic looks exchanged among the rest of the Defiant crew, it appeared that Shar’s private tragedy had become common knowledge. Whatever they might be feeling, however, the ambassador and the ensign controlled themselves well, much to Kira’s relief. Starfleet and diplomatic training might rechannel the Andorian tendency toward violence under stress, but nothing could change the biology.
The only formal introduction that needed to be made was that of General Taulin Cyl, an older, white-haired man from the Trill Defense Ministry, whom the Trill Ambassador had sent in his stead. Upon learning of the general’s arrival at the station Seljin Gandres had been visibly relieved to turn the whole crisis over to Cyl. Privately, Kira was surprised at the ambassador’s reluctance to take part in what was happening, but Cyl seemed to have a better grasp of the situation, anyway.
Kira noticed the surprise and unease with which Dax reacted to the introduction of General Cyl. Kira couldn’t even imagine how strange it must be, for either of them; on their journey back from Trill, Cyl had informed Kira privately of his previous connection to Dax, several host lifetimes before—One of Dax’s previous hosts had been the mother of a woman who became a host of the Cyl symbiont. Confusing, to be sure. Kira knew that the Trill frowned on symbiont reassociations through new hosts, but it hadn’t seemed to bother Jadzia much, and Ezri apparently felt the same. As for Cyl . . .
Kira watched Cyl’s expression as he regarded Ezri, gazing at her with the intimacy of history, and the grim seriousness of the threat they now faced. She hoped there wouldn’t be any problems between them. With what they were up against, no one could afford a personal crisis.
Ro walked in as they were all seating themselves, followed by Gul Macet, who nodded to Kira as he entered the room. He took a place standing near the door, from where he could watch everyone during the proceedings, keeping his distance. Kira didn’t envy him his situation; his forces were here at the Federation’s request for help, yet he was surrounded by people whose first instinct was to mistrust him simply because he was Cardassian.
Ro Laren took a chair near Shar’s, her usually sharp expression softening slightly as she nodded to him and to the other returning officers. She carefully set the padds she’d carried in on the table in front of her, keeping her hands on them as though they might suddenly disappear. Kira knew the feeling; nothing was as it seemed, anymore.
Everyone was present, and though it had been only minutes since they’d left the docking ring, it already felt like too long. Kira took a deep breath, picked the most obvious starting point, and began to speak.
3
THE EXCITEMENT AND WORRY OF THEIR HOMECOMING HAD WORN OFF, and Ezri’s weary mind had been elsewhere; she had been watching Shar and his mother, and thinking about getting a decent meal, and considering what crisis had occurred to warrant the Defiant’s reception—she was concerned, but not overly so; a health quarantine was nothing to scoff at, but they’d handled them before—and then Kira introduced the general and everything else fell off her sensors, her attention fixing on the older Trill.
Cyl. Once upon a time it had been Neema, daughter of Audrid Dax and Jayvin Vod, a stubborn, brilliant child who, as an adult, had joined to the Cyl symbiont. There had been a period of estrangement between mother and daughter, a bitter one, over lies Audrid had told regarding Jayvin Vod’s death . . . And they had finally mended things after eight years of not talking, after Audrid had sent Neema a letter with the truth. But once Audrid had died, Trill custom demanded that any relationships from the symbiont’s previous host-life be abandoned.
When was Torias, ninety-one, ninety-two years ago? It had been a long time. For Dax, four lifetimes.
And now Cyl was here. Ezri was unable to look away from him as she took a seat next to Julian. A general, at least three times my host age. How many lives has Cyl lived since Neema? How many memories of hers come to Taulin’s mind, when he looks at the universe, when he forms his thoughts and opinions?
It was strange, but Ezri actually felt a trace of pride looking at him, at the deep lines on his well-weathered face, imagining how Neema’s directness must have helped his military career. Strange, and . . . inappropriate? She didn’t know what the emotional protocol was for something like this. Though Audrid and Neema’s relationship had changed dramatically, both from their estrangement and Neema’s joining to Cyl, they had still been mother and daughter . . . and this was the first time Dax had come across any of its host-children’s subsequent lives. It was disorienting, to say the least, more proof that the Symbiosis Commission’s rules against such reassociations held merit.
So, what is he doing here? The general certainly hadn’t been surprised to see her . . . and though both Jadzia and Ezri had found their attitudes about the reassociation taboo relaxing somewhat, she couldn’t imagine that a general in the homeworld military wouldn’t be concerned about ignoring such a rule.
“Past host relationship?” Julian whispered, nodding toward Cyl, more a statement than a question.
“My—Audrid’s daughter,” Ezri whispered back. “Neema was Cyl’s host.”
Julian knew about Dax’s children, of course, but she apparently hadn’t ever mentioned Neema’s symbiont by name. He looked at Cyl with newfound interest, but said nothing. Everyone else had also fallen silent, watching as Kira leaned over and rested her hands on the table, her expression harried and grim.
