by S. D. Perry
Someone signaled at the door. Zhavey. Shar pulled himself up, resigned to the shame in her eyes, and went to answer.
Prynn Tenmei was standing there, her arms tightly folded, her face pinched. She spoke in a rush, blurting out what she’d come for before he had a chance to register surprise.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Shar, but he—I mean my father just left for Bajor, and I ignored his messages, I didn’t go to see him off . . . and I know you’ve been having kind of a hard time lately, and I thought . . .”
She saw past him, saw Anichent, and trailed off.
“I thought you might want to have lunch with me,” she said, backing up a step. “But maybe another time would be better.”
“Maybe,” Shar said, strangely unable to remember how to be more polite about it. He searched for something pleasant to say, to send her along without offense, but could think of nothing at all.
Prynn lowered her voice, staring intently into his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Shar looked back at her, saw a real concern for him in her own dark gaze, and still could think of nothing to tell her, not sure how to answer. Was he okay? No, he thought not. But it wasn’t the time to discuss it. He was fairly certain that there would never be a time to discuss it.
“Never mind,” Prynn said, reading something off his face, somehow. “Find me later if you want to talk, okay? I’m sorry if I interrupted.”
She reached out and touched his arm, then turned and hurried down the corridor. Shar stood in the doorway looking after her, vaguely wondering how he might have handled the situation better, not sure if it was important. He thought he’d been doing well enough, but now had to wonder if he was in some kind of shock.
“Shar?”
Anichent’s weary voice rose from behind him, calling him back to the shambles of his life. Shar stepped back from the door, letting it close, and went to sit with his lifelong friend and first love, to try and explain that it was time for him to go, that it was all over.
I caused this, he thought, looking into Anichent’s worn countenance, hearing Dizhei rummaging through clothes in the next room, Thriss cold and silent and watching it all.
More than ever, he understood now that he couldn’t go home with them, that he wouldn’t survive it. All he had was his work. Whether or not that would sustain him was still to be seen.
7
HIS STOPOVER AT DS9 HADN’T LASTED VERY LONG. JAKE HAD STAYED up late, hoping to spend some time with Nog—who had been able to spare all of a half hour for a midnight drink, too busy working on some Defiant array thing to get away—had finally fallen asleep in the early hours, and had crawled out of bed a full ten minutes before Kira was knocking on his door. Yevir, the vedek he vaguely remembered meeting just before leaving for the worm-hole, had apparently volunteered to give Jake’s traveling party a ride to Bajor. And as soon as possible.
Much as he’d been hoping to stick around for a few days, catch up with Nog and Ez and station life, Kira seemed to think it was a good idea . . . and after yesterday’s conversation with Kas, he did want to get to Bajor; she was hugely pregnant, and though her complaints were lighthearted, it sounded like she could actually use some help around the house.
Kira said that Yevir’s shuttle would be ready to return to Bajor in an hour, then went off to find Opaka and Wex. Feeling entirely out of touch with reality, Jake packed a bag. Traveling had always made him feel that way, the sudden change of environments making everything seem . . . not quite certain. Only yesterday, he’d been saying good-bye to Itu, the Eav’oq leader, just returned to corporeal existence after fifty millennia of subspace meditation. The farewell had been pleasant and calm; from there he’d almost been blown up by a malfunction in a Tosk transport, he had seen Weyoun while on board a Dominion ship, and had almost been blown up again by the Cardassians. Now, less than twenty-six hours later, he was on his way to Bajor, with the vedek who had apparently kicked Kira Nerys out of her religion; Nog had managed to catch him up on a thing or two, information he’d gotten directly from Quark. Even Nog agreed that it was a lot to get hit with on the first day home.
Speaking of. Nog had either gotten up early and returned to work, or he hadn’t ever come in. Since Yevir’s ship was docked only two locks down from the Defiant, Jake decided to stop in and see him on his way out.
On our way out, he thought, latching his slightly overstuffed bag. Kira said that she would urge Opaka and Wex to go, too; maybe it was a safety issue. Kas had mentioned something about a few Bajorans hanging around the house, ostensibly to offer their assistance in her last days of pregnancy . . . but maybe they were Militia.
Maybe Yevir is trying to protect us. Jake had gotten the impression from Kira that the vedek’s visit was a welcome-back-important-people kind of thing, but perhaps that was only part of it . . . or maybe Kira was using Yevir’s invitation to get them to the safety of Bajor. How would Opaka and Yevir get along, the former kai and the probably kai-to-be? Jake wondered if she knew yet that Yevir had been behind Kira’s getting pushed out of the faith—Attainted, Nog had called it—and tried again to remember the smiling man he’d met at Quark’s big party. Jake had been distracted, upset by the death of the prylar who had given him his scrap of prophecy, worried about how to approach Quark to buy a shuttle . . . though he remembered thinking that Yevir had seemed a little young to become kai, the big rumor going around. At some point, either Kira or Nog had told him that Yevir Linjaren had actually served on the station as one of the Militia crew, and that he’d had some kind of vision after meeting Jake’s father a few years ago. Touched by the Prophets through the Emissary, Yevir had been quick to rise up through the ranks of the Vedek Assembly.
Interesting, but Jake had already decided that anyone who would banish Kira from practicing the religion she so loved was probably a jerk. He’d already heard about the Ohalu prophecies being uploaded to Bajor’s net, first from the vedek who had stopped Opaka on the Promenade yesterday, then with more details at his midnight meeting with Nog. Jake was certain that the prophecy he’d been given, about returning through the worm-hole with Opaka, was from the same book, and saw no reason at all that the people of Bajor shouldn’t know what was in their history. As far as he was concerned, Kira had done the right thing.
I guess she’s come to terms with Yevir, anyway, Jake thought, hefting his bag and heading out toward the Docking Ring. She obviously trusted the vedek enough to let him transport Opaka . . . and he had been responsible for bringing the missing Orbs home from Cardassia. Jake decided he would reserve judgment for later, when he had the time to actually think about anything.
His visit with Nog was brief. The Cardassians standing security at the airlock wouldn’t let him board, so Nog met him in the docking corridor, hyperspanner in hand, his round face flushed. He apologized about a thousand times for not breaking away earlier, which Jake brushed off. He was back in Bajoran space to stay for a while; they’d have a chance to catch up soon enough. Nog agreed to visit after the baby was born, and Jake promised him drinks at Vic’s within a month. Nog vowed to tell everyone good-bye on his behalf, then reluctantly left Jake in the corridor. Jake watched the entry roll closed after him, then went to find Yevir’s shuttle, glad that all was well between them.
There were another two Cardassian guards at the lock where he was to meet Opaka, Wex, and Yevir’s group, both with scanning devices ready and waiting. Jake was the first to arrive, it seemed, and waited patiently while the taller of the two checked him over, presumably for weapons. It was odd that yesterday Dr. Bashir had been so sure the scans had been health-related; he was usually very precise about that kind of thing . . . though maybe they had been medically scanned, as possible carriers of infectious microbes or disease. The whole conspiracy to keep Bajor out of the Federation . . . Jake could understand why everyone was being so careful.
They’ll get in, though, Jake thought confidently, picking his bag up after the second Cardassian finished searching it. The fact that t
he Federation was going through all this trouble, determined to make everything secure . . . Bajor was already in, the official paperwork just waiting until the conspirators were caught.
He saw Opaka appear at the end of the corridor, carrying her small bag over one shoulder. A trio of Bajoran station workers were following her, and Jake watched as she stopped midway down the hall, gently speaking to them, touching their hands, blessing them. All three went away happy.
Opaka smiled and waved when she saw Jake, and he returned it, surprised at how glad he was to see her. When he’d first found the former kai, he’d been disappointed and angry—he’d hoped to find his father, after all, not the spiritual icon who had named Ben Sisko the Emissary. And he’d expected to have to hear all about the Prophets’ great Tapestry, how he was blessed that his father was in the Temple, and so on et cetera. But when he’d finally approached her for a personal conversation on their way back to the Alpha Quadrant, she’d surprised him, with empathy and open-mindedness. She had turned out to be . . . well, cool, in Vic-speak.
The Cardassians did their job quickly and efficiently, Opaka thanking them as she retrieved her bag. Even they seemed pleased by her, both nodding deferentially as she moved away to stand next to Jake.
“I guess we’re first,” Jake said. “Where is everyone?”
“Colonel Kira is with the vedeks who will be escorting us home,” Opaka said, craning her neck slightly to look up at him. “They’re being scanned, I believe, at the station’s medical center.”
Jake nodded, noting the sparkle in her eyes. “Are you excited to get back?”
“Oh, my, yes,” Opaka said, smiling. “It sounds as though there are many exciting changes taking place. I look forward to reading the Ohalu text, and sharing what the Prophets have taught me during my years away . . . and telling the Assembly about the Eav’oq.”
Her smile faded slightly at the last, and Jake nodded again, understanding completely. If the Assembly had had trouble accepting a book of prophecies from Bajor’s own past, how would they take to an alien sister species with entirely different views on the Prophets?
“Where’s Wex?” he asked.
“Wex has elected to stay behind.”
That was a surprise. “I thought . . . Why? Isn’t that why she came, to spend time with you?”
Before she could answer, Kira came marching down the corridor, followed by three robed and slightly disheveled-looking vedeks and a security guard. The vedek in front was Yevir, Jake was pretty sure; the youngest of the three, he had an earnest and intelligent face, and when he saw Opaka and Jake, he grinned almost self-consciously, an expression that Jake definitely remembered from their last meeting. Almost as if he were in the presence of royalty.
Jake did his best to keep an open mind, but he’d seen the same look on other Bajoran faces, too many of them. It carried implications of how he could expect to be treated by the man.
In a word, differently. After months of traveling in the Gamma Quadrant, he’d gotten somewhat used to being accepted or rejected on his own merits; being treated special just because of his father was one aspect of home that he hadn’t been looking forward to.
Kira ran through the introductions. Vedek Yevir was accompanied by vedeks Bellis and Eran, both of whom had served in the Assembly when Opaka was kai. They bowed low, praising the Prophets that she had returned. Jake couldn’t help wondering if they’d be so pleased to hear that her homecoming had been foretold in the Ohalu book. Yevir made a big show of courtesy to her, asking after her health, offering her accommodations at the monastery where she’d spent her days as spiritual leader of Bajor.
“That is where the nine Tears now rest,” Yevir said, “at least until we decide where to place them. And your own chambers have been reopened for you.”
As Opaka graciously accepted, Jake nodded at Kira. “Wex isn’t coming?”
“No,” Kira answered, keeping her voice down as Yevir continued to rain welcome over Opaka. “She said that Sulan requested some time to get settled before taking on a student.”
It was an explanation, though not one Jake would have expected. Opaka Sulan was one of those rare people who didn’t seem to feel inconvenienced, by anyone for any reason. It seemed out of character that she would ask Wex to stay behind . . . but then, he supposed he didn’t know her that well.
Kira told him that she’d call Kas, let her know that he was coming, and then gave him a long, tight embrace. She stepped back smiling, turning to embrace Opaka. They exchanged a few private words as they hugged, Yevir and his fellow vedeks doing their best not to look impatient.
As Yevir stiffly thanked Kira for “promoting the spiritual health of the people,” Jake turned to Opaka.
“If you need to get settled in, I’m sure Kas would be happy to have Wex stay with us for a few days,” he offered.
Opaka shook her head. “I invited her to come, Jake. She refused.”
Jake frowned, a sudden low tic of concern in his belly. Why had Wex lied to Kira? “She told Kira that you asked her to wait,” he said. “Maybe we should—”
“Everything is fine,” Opaka said, cutting him off with a light touch on his arm. “Wex is no threat, Jake, of that I’m sure. She’ll be along when the time is right.”
Jake wasn’t sure what to say to that; he was more curious than he had been, but Yevir had finished his reluctant appreciation speech and had turned his beaming smile back to Opaka and Jake.
“We’re so glad you’ve come home,” he said, ushering them toward the airlock, Bellis and Eran standing aside so they could enter first. Opaka smiled serenely and walked ahead, Jake casting a final look at Kira before following. Her gaze, fixed on Vedek Yevir, said volumes about what she thought of him . . . but as she turned it to Jake, the complexity of feelings dissolved, becoming much simpler and infinitely more accepting.
I love you, too, Jake thought, grinning at her, and hurried to catch up to Opaka before the feelings could make it to his eyes, suddenly damp with gratification, his throat heavy with a powerful sense that he was, in fact, quite special.
* * *
Ro had just finished reviewing the data from the first mass scan of the day. Today’s criterion was all off-duty engineering and maintenance personnel on first shift, and door-to-door checks in the habitat ring on the second, the entire fifth level. So far, so good, no new cases . . . but Ro was frustrated with the progress, and with the haphazard setup that security had to work with. The poor scanning equipment meant checks could only be done face-to-face, and even with the sixty-plus Cardassians who’d come to help, there was no way to get through even a quarter of DS9’s population in a single day. Thus the revolving basis for scans . . . but while she could tell herself that it was working, there was simply no way to know. People could be slipping through the cracks from day to day, borrowing or stealing identity tags, outright lying for one another so that their loved ones could avoid interacting with Cardassians. Besides, there were people who’d already been “interviewed” more than once, some as many as three times; how much longer would they accept the assassination-ring theory? And what if the parasites could move from person to person? It was a possibility that would make the entire operation worthless.
We don’t know enough about them, Ro thought helplessly. We don’t even know how they got here, how Shakaar was infected. Ro’s desire for neatly unfolding scenarios objected to all of the skipping around; much as she liked solving a puzzle, working one without having most of the pieces was beyond unappealing. Just knowing where Shakaar had become a host would at least give them a point to work from, to backtrack to the parasites’ place of origin and to go forward, to figure out who’d been exposed. Starfleet hadn’t yet ruled out any of the dozen or so planets and starbases they were investigating, everywhere Shakaar had been since he left Earth months ago.
She stood and stretched, gazing out at the Promenade; it was mealtime, so there was a crowd . . . but as it had been for the past week, the atmosphere was apprehens
ive and uncomfortable. There was a line at the replimat, people wanting to grab something fast and get back to the wishful security of their work environments.
Restless, she decided. She knew the feeling. Maybe a quick circuit would do some good. She contacted Shul and asked him to take the desk. After promising to bring him something from Quark’s, she stepped onto the Promenade.
She passed Quark’s for the moment, letting herself drift, letting herself walk without thinking. Past the infirmary and the Spican Jewelers, across the east platform, past the greengrocer and the Klingon Deli . . . and she came to a dead stop in front of the Replimat, feeling truly surprised for the first time in days.
Up on the balcony level, gazing out a viewport, stood Taran’atar. And he wasn’t alone. Wex was with him, the female Trelian from the Gamma Quadrant. And from the look of it, they appeared to be . . . chatting.
She knew about Wex, of course. Dax had briefed her on the Defiant’s last days in the Gamma Quadrant. She also knew that the Trelian had elected to stay behind on the station when Jake and Opaka left for Bajor. She seemed harmless enough . . . But then, so did the sand bats of Manark IV, until they took to the air.
And hanging around with a Jem’Hadar doesn’t seem like a harmless person’s idea of a good time.
Was it really so strange, though? They were both from the Gamma Quadrant, after all. Maybe that was enough of a reason for them to gravitate toward each other. Maybe she was interested in his perspective on life in the Alpha Quadrant. The surprising part was that Taran’atar seemed to be talking back.
Unable to supress her curiosity, Ro ascended the nearest stair spiral, winding her way up to the balcony. Foot traffic was light, but by no means absent. Falling in with a couple of techs passing by, she waited until they were past the Gamma natives’ window before she broke off and stepped to the next viewport over. She was mostly hidden by the window’s thick Cardassian frame.
“ . . . struck by the sight of you here, among all these aliens,” she heard Wex saying. “You aren’t even in a Jem’Hadar uniform. It takes some getting used to.” Wex’s voice was low and piping, like a wind flute.
