Unity

by S. D. Perry

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Ro said, standing.

  “You don’t have to,” Quark said, putting on his practiced winning smile. “You just got here. I’ll—I’ll buy you a drink. Anything you like.”

  Nog gasped audibly, but Ro didn’t seem to catch it.

  “I’d like to, but I’ve got about a thousand things to do before I can call it a night,” she said. “I don’t expect I’ll have much free time coming up, but I’ll try to stop in for lunch or dinner, soon . . . and I’m glad we talked.”

  She smiled at Nog. “Welcome back, by the way,” she said, and with a final nod at both of them, she walked, stalked out. Quark gazed dreamily after her, thinking that he was also glad. They hadn’t resolved anything, but knowing that she was as hesitant as he was to firm up plans made him feel much better, about everything. That, and she said she’d been thinking about it . . . maybe while she was showering . . .

  He was a romantic, to be sure, but his lobes weren’t dead.

  “I had no idea it had gotten so serious,” Nog breathed, staring at Quark. “Even Grilka had to pay for that cask of bloodwine.”

  Quark sighed, remembering his last great affair. “You know how much a Klingon can drink. I did give her a discount, though . . . .”

  He shook himself, turning his attention to his nephew, his thoughts about Ro Laren and business and the Federation moving from the forefront of his mind . . . except for that nagging, shameful detail, that he hadn’t known the Defiant was back. Contacts ran dry, but the failure of his docking information system, and his hardwire line to ops . . . they were top-of-the-line. Both had been working fine last week, and could only be bypassed by a full channel switch, a complete reprogram, something the station had never done before. Exactly how serious was this so-called conspiracy? And why didn’t he know more about it?

  Nog ordered food and Quark started questioning him about possible business ventures in the Gamma Quadrant, setting aside the concern until he had a chance to review the data privately. Maybe there was something big going on, something the Federation was keeping under wraps . . . and if there was, a man with good business sense and a big set of lobes would be just the man to find and exploit the opportunity there, one way or another.

  He grinned at Nog while the boy ate, feeling hope again.

  5

  JAKE AND WEX HAD GONE ON TO QUARTERS OF THEIR OWN, WHICH WAS just as well; Opaka Sulan was still absorbing what they’d heard along their walk to the living area of the station, supplied by a local vedek, a man named Capril, who’d recognized her as they’d passed his shrine. Capril had been only too eager to share the events of recent days . . . and, no doubt, from the excited shine in his fervent gaze, to spread the word of her own return. Much as she’d wished for time alone to readjust to Bajor, it seemed that events and attitudes weren’t going to allow for it.

  The Ohalu prophecies. The return of the Tears, thank the Prophets. The first minister, murdered . . ..

  Opaka sat on the edge of an overstuffed chair provided with her rather opulent living area, thinking of how different Bajor was now, how different it was sure to become in the days ahead. Any one of the three events described by Capril would have far-reaching effects on the Bajoran people; two of them, at least, were positive changes to Opaka’s view—obviously, the return of the Orbs, and the discovery of the Ohalu book . . . although the vedek hadn’t been nearly so excited about the book. It seemed that the ancient tome of prophecies had caused something of a rift in the spiritual unity of the people. Capril had been quite adamant about the horror of it all, that this heretical text was turning the once faithful away from the Light of the Prophets.

  Jake’s prophecy, given to him at B’hala. The passage that had led the Emissary’s son to her had been from this Ohalu book, she was certain of it. From what she’d been able to glean from Jake and now Capril, the Ohalu prophecies were all turning out to be true . . . and they didn’t extol the Prophets as gods, but rather as teachers of alien origin. That this has caused a rift was understandable.

  Before she’d left Bajor, she, too, would have disdained such a book as heresy . . . and she had little doubt that the vast majority of the Bajoran people did so now, clinging to their faith in the Prophets, afraid to expand their boundaries. But . . . in her eight years away, far from the gentle, daily routines of self-referential worship and meditation, what had she learned, if not that truth was a matter of perspective? Why couldn’t the Prophets be gods and aliens? The Eav’oq, the race of Gamma Quadrant beings that she and Jake had been led to discover, called the Prophets “Siblings,” seeing Them much as Ohalu apparently had—beings to learn from, not just to worship. Opaka knew the love of the Prophets, she had felt Their Touch, but that didn’t necessarily mean that there was only one way to understand Them.

  Strange times ahead, she was sure. The Cardassians had returned the sacred Orbs, inspired by a vedek she hadn’t known before, one Yevir Linjaren. In spite of his lavish praise for Yevir, Capril had flushed when she’d asked him about this new vedek’s history . . . and had then stumbled over her title, stuttering out the word “kai” as though it were poison. Opaka had smiled, and explained that she was only Opaka Sulan now, but Capril had not been eased . . . which suggested to her that Yevir Linjaren was favored to be the next kai. The title meant nothing to her personally anymore, and though it was not a position one retired from—a new kai was elected only when the old had passed to the Temple—she had no desire to interrupt the current evolution of Bajor’s spiritual leadership. If the people wanted Yevir, they should have him.

  Except . . . does he also fear the Ohalu text? She hoped not, hoped that a man who could bring the sacred Tears of the Prophets home, thus forming a union of peaceful intent between Bajor and Cardassia . . . Such a man would surely be open to new ideas, to change. Wouldn’t he?

  Opaka sighed, feeling overwhelmed by the circles within circles, unclear on what her role was to be, if any. The Prophets had brought her back for a reason, and she was willing to accept any responsibility that They had planned for her . . . but she was only mortal, and not such a young mortal, either. That Shakaar Edon had been killed, only moments after the Orbs were presented by Yevir, only months after this Ohalu book was discovered—it was difficult to accept so much so quickly. At least when Jake had helped her catch up on the years she’d been away, she’d had some time to think it over, to let the information become thought, to become the beginnings of memory . . . .

  There was a signal at the door. Opaka stood, stretching her back as she walked to answer it, feeling every one of her years. It would be Kira Nerys, of course; still more information to digest, though she’d been expecting the visit. Even with all the trappings of chaos that had greeted the Defiant’s arrival, Opaka had seen and sensed the turmoil of the Bajoran woman’s pagh . . . and the missing earring could not be overlooked.

  The door slid open at Opaka’s touch, and there she stood, smiling and anxious and obviously very tired. Opaka welcomed the colonel in, remembering Major Kira, the brash young resistance fighter who had struggled to contain her own violence once the fighting had stopped. Opaka hadn’t known the major well, but had known so many like her . . . clinging to faith with the rabid intensity of the brutalized, growing to adulthood in an atmosphere of deprivation and destruction. Once the Occupation was over, the roots of struggle roughly cut away, these children had faced a loss of identity, had been left to find themselves in a new context, many of them so damaged by the old that they could barely see, let alone seek.

  But not this woman, Opaka thought, smiling as the colonel sat down on the couch, the look of exhaustion she wore unable to disguise the strength of purpose that radiated from her fine features, from her straight shoulders and lifted chin. Opaka took the chair once more, facing Nerys, both women still smiling.

  “You look well, Colonel. Tired, but well.”

  “Thank you, Kai.”

  “Call me Sulan,” Opaka said gently. “If I may call
you Nerys?”

  The colonel’s smile became easier, less forced. “Of course. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here. I had to get some things organized . . . and I stopped by to see Jake Sisko. We called his stepmother together.”

  “I imagine she was very happy to hear from him,” Opaka said.

  “She was. It seems that Jake’s grandfather is on his way to visit, too. Kind of a family reunion, for the birth.” Nerys trailed off, her weariness showing, before focusing on Opaka again.

  “It’s so . . . I’m so happy to see you, Sulan. Bajor will be rallied by your homecoming, and so soon after . . . but so much has happened since you’ve been away, I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Jake was kind enough to fill me in on most of it, on our journey,” Opaka said, trying to keep her tone light. As hard as it was to know some of the things Bajor had experienced, living through them must have taken great fortitude; she didn’t want to open any recent wounds. “I know about B’hala, and the Reckoning . . . about Winn’s election, and Bareil, and the Emissary’s path, about Dukat and the war so recently waged. Our world has had a time of it, wouldn’t you say?”

  Nerys nodded, unsmiling. “There’s more, Kai . . . Sulan. In the past few months, there have been developments . . .”

  She frowned, searching, and Opaka cut in.

  “I was approached by a vedek on my way here, Vedek Capril,” Opaka said. “He told me about the return of the Orbs, and the first minister’s death. I’m very sorry to hear about Shakaar. He walks with the Prophets, I’m sure.”

  Nerys nodded again, but didn’t look at her. “I’m certain he does.”

  “Capril talked about a book, too, one that was found at B’hala,” Opaka continued, curious at the subtle expressions that flickered across the colonel’s face at the mention of it. “Thousands of years old, written by a man called Ohalu. Capril seems to believe that this book is dangerous.”

  Nerys met her gaze again—and was it guilt Opaka saw there? “It has caused problems,” she said slowly. “There’s a small but growing community of men and women who believe that this book offers a choice . . . a spirituality very different from that which the Vedek Assembly promotes.”

  Perhaps this explained the absence of her earring. Opaka wouldn’t have thought it of Kira Nerys, a girl she’d known as deeply faithful, but as she’d said herself, things had been changing; perhaps she’d turned to this new way.

  “What do you think, Nerys?” Opaka asked, no judgment in her tone or in her heart. “Do you think this book is heresy?”

  The colonel gazed back at her a moment, then seemed to slump within herself, her shoulders sagging, her entire demeanor changing. It was like watching a dam break. “I . . . I don’t know, Kai. I thought it was, at first . . . then the Assembly didn’t want anyone to read it, they tried to have it destroyed, and I—I gave it to the people. It’s my fault, I put it on the comnet because I thought—I really believed that it was no threat, that our faith was stronger, and I was so furious with Yevir, with what the Assembly had done and was trying to do . . . .”

  Her voice cracked with fatigue and emotion, trembling with tears. “I was Attainted for it. I’m unwelcome in the public shrines, forbidden to share the faith, and now everything is so wrong, there’s so much going wrong and I feel so alone . . . .”

  Opaka went to her as she began to weep, understanding that there was nothing more that needed to be said, not now. Nerys was exhausted to the point of a breakdown, her tears the lost, hopeless tears of a small child, and Opaka did what she would have done for any crying child. She held her, rocked her, soothed her with meaningless words of comfort until Nerys’s hitched breathing became deep and regular, the young woman falling into a heavy slumber.

  After a time, Opaka stood and went to find a blanket, pleased that she had given in to sleep, the only real cure for what was wrong . . . and glad, too, that she had cried. It gave Opaka real hope, that someone like Kira Nerys had traveled so far from her childhood of anger and defense, had become strong enough inside to admit despair. People who never cried were the weakest of all.

  She found extra blankets on a shelf in the bedroom. After covering the colonel, her tear-streaked face at rest, Opaka sat and watched her for a time, thinking.

  Attainted, by the Assembly, by this Vedek Yevir. For exposing Bajor to a piece of its own history . . . a religious text that defied the Assembly’s beliefs. What kind of place had Bajor become, to be led by such people? And how would these leaders accept the news of the Eav’oq, the peaceful, beautiful beings on the other side of the Temple that also benefited from the love of the Prophets, but called them by a different name?

  Bajor was on the brink of great change, there was no question. The question was whether or not the people were ready to go forward, if they were strong enough in spirit and faith to embrace something different from what they’d known.

  “You are, child,” Opaka whispered, and Nerys slept on, unaware, perhaps, that she represented what Bajor could be . . . at least to one old woman, who was returning to a home she knew but did not know, not anymore. All she could do—all anyone could do—was hope.

  * * *

  Ezri watched the Promenade, watched the small groups of morning people as they walked by the security office, their faces drawn and too pale. There was an air of anxiety that she could feel, that radiated from each man and woman who passed, mostly Bajoran—a sense that something vast and unpleasant was ahead, something that would leave no one untouched.

  Most of them don’t even know about the parasites. Is it the Federation, is that what they fear? Ezri wondered, leaning against a pillar outside the office. Only weeks after finally having their petition for UFP membership accepted, Bajor was dealing with the loss of their first minister and a lockdown of the severest order, at least partly patrolled by armed Cardassians. If she were a citizen of Bajor, she’d certainly be wondering if this was what they had to look forward to, as Federation members. It made her question whether or not Starfleet had the right idea, not telling the people the truth about the threat. The security reasons were sound, even necessary, but the trust issues being raised weren’t exactly conducive to the bonding process.

  Case in point. A pair of Cardassian soldiers stood near the entrance to Quark’s, talking quietly, and the Bajorans that passed by either glared at them or looked away; there didn’t seem to be a middle ground. Containment was necessary, but it was going to cost.

  After a restless night mostly alone in Julian’s bed—he’d stayed at the lab until very late—she’d arrived at the security office a few minutes early for her meeting with Cyl. A quick glance inside told her that Ro Laren was busy, surrounded by a number of padds, a frown deeply embedded across her brow. Not wanting to disturb her, Ezri had decided to wait outside. There wasn’t enough time for a real distraction from the meeting with Gard, to hit Quark’s for a warm drink or visit Ziyal’s art exhibit in Garak’s old shop—an exhibit that was plainly deserted—but she was disturbed enough by the Promenade’s atmosphere that she was on the verge of bothering Ro, after all . . .

  Taulin Cyl stepped off the nearest lift and walked toward her, wearing a reserved smile. Ezri reflexively matched it as they exchanged pleasantries, still not sure how to treat the symbiont of one of Dax’s children. They lingered outside the security office, Ezri sensing his reluctance to get to business, feeling it herself. It seemed like they had a lot to talk about . . . so why was nothing coming to mind?

  “You were trained as a psychologist?” Cyl asked, breaching the topic before she could think of anything. “And before that, you were in sciences, I gather. How many hosts since Audrid?”

  “Five. Jadzia Dax was the science officer here, she was before me. I was a counselor, but since the end of the war, I’ve found myself drawn to command.” She straightened her red collar, smiling. “Let’s see . . . before Jadzia there was Curzon, he was a diplomat, I suppose you’d say—”

  Cyl nodded, his expression wry.
“I know about Curzon.”

  Ezri decided not to ask. A lot of people knew about Curzon, and a lot of what they knew wasn’t exactly flattering. “There was a, ah, musician, briefly, before him . . . and a test pilot just after Audrid, Torias. What about you?”

  “Three, since Neema,” Cyl said. “A professor—forensic science, actually—and a xenobiologist. I’m a military advisor, now. Career. On a leave of absence, technically.”

  Ezri nodded, not sure how to ask what she wanted to ask, finally deciding to blurt it out and live with the consequences.

  “Was Neema . . . did she do well?”

  Cyl hesitated, then nodded slowly. “She lived to be very old, and very wise. She had two children late in life, both girls, and a husband who loved her—he also taught sciences at the Ganses University. Neither of their daughters joined, but she was very proud of them; Kiley, she was the oldest, became a professional dancer, part of the Balinsta troupe. And Toshin ran her own business, a consulting firm. Very successful, too.”

  Ezri was fascinated, hearing of grandchildren she’d never met . . . and relieved, that even after such turmoil between Audrid and her daughter, Neema had gone on to have children of her own.

  “Neema . . . she missed Audrid for the rest of her years,” Cyl said. “She had great respect for her mother.”

  The last was delivered almost shyly, a side to the aging general that Ezri wouldn’t have expected. She smiled, pleased with his bare honesty, reminded once again of Neema.

  “She also spent a lot of time trying to research the parasite that Audrid told her about,” he added, lowering his voice slightly. “As did Reck, and Elista, Cyl’s hosts since Neema . . . and me. We’ve never stopped looking.”

  Ezri nodded, feeling some guilt that Cyl had carried on with the search. She’d let it go, Dax moving on to Torias and then to other things. “Did you find anything?”