Unity

by S. D. Perry

  The ship was already set to go when he boarded. Someone in ops had cut them loose with a wink, firing up a substantial stasis transmission at the airlock to take the place of the departing ship. Anyone scanning DS9 would get a general reading of appropriate size and mass, though it wouldn’t stand up to real scrutiny. Hell, it wouldn’t stand up to anyone looking out a window, but it would probably hold for a little while, long enough for Defiant to be on its way to Bajor.

  They hadn’t been hurt, that was the important thing, he had to try and concentrate. Though maybe it is time for me to get behind her career, for a change. How many botanists are called away from home to fight terrorist aliens?

  “ . . . Chief?”

  O’Brien blinked, realizing that he’d missed something. “Wha—? Sorry, say again?”

  “I asked if there was any way to transport through the cloak without being detected, even theoretically,” Kira said from the center seat.

  O’Brien started to tell her that there wasn’t, but then thought of the discussion that had cropped up among his AP students one day, on the subject of cloaking technology. One of them, a particularly bright youngster still too inexperienced to know what was impossible, had offered up an interesting theory.

  “Theoretically, I suppose,” O’Brien said, hoping that his obvious reluctance would be deterrent enough, already knowing that it wouldn’t be. The expectant look on Kira’s face wasn’t going away.

  “If we created a series of overlapping subspace fields to use as a transport site,” he said slowly. “Each progressively weaker as it neared the surface . . . they’d get a reading, but too vague to identify, and nowhere near the ship. If it works, though—which it probably won’t—we’d only be able to beam one person through, without setting off surface sensors.”

  “That would take a tremendous amount of energy, more than we have,” the Andorian, Shar, said. Seemed like a nice enough kid, though engineering obviously wasn’t his forte.

  O’Brien shrugged. “So, we tap the warp core. We’re not using it for anything else.”

  “How long will it take?” Kira asked.

  “How long have we got?” Miles returned.

  “Do it,” she said. “Shar, you and Nog help him. You too, Prynn, once we establish an orbit.”

  They all nodded, O’Brien heading for engineering, Shar close behind. Apparently, Kira hadn’t heard the ‘probably won’t’ part, though in his experience, commanders rarely did. If it did work, he’d have to give his student a substantial extra credit write up at the end of the course . . .

  . . . which will probably be my last act as a professor at Starfleet, he thought, barely registering the thought as a decision, already certain that it was the right one, that it felt right. He loved Keiko more than this, than any of it. His work made him happy, but his family was his life, and if she still wanted to go to Cardassia when this was all over, he’d find a way to make it work. He wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of living there, but Keiko deserved to have her turn at a real career, and it wouldn’t hurt the kids to see a fair partnership between their parents. And surely they needed engineers there, particularly any with experience in Cardassian hardware.

  He shivered, remembering the nightmare of rerouting power through DS9’s Cardassian/Bajoran/Federation interfaces, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant shiver. Being with Kay and the children, that was all that mattered. And he did like a challenge . . .

  As they reached the lift that ran closest to engineering, Shar spoke up. “You believe it will be possible to integrate the weakest field into linear space, with the transport subject inside,” he said, a half question as they started down.

  O’Brien nodded. “Anything’s possible,” he said.

  * * *

  As their captors stood silent, watching over them, Opaka sat with the commander for a time, meditating, feeling for his spirit with her own. The pagh that radiated from him was powerful, the energy of a man or woman who had just received a vision from the Prophets . . . except he was still receiving, the muscles of his face and body relaxed, even his pulse and respiration slowed. She worked to stay in tune with him, to breathe as he was breathing, and though she could feel slight surges in his pagh, could feel that his spirit moved, there was no change for him physically.

  After a time she opened her eyes, looking down at his empty face, reaching to ease his eyes closed again; they would dry out if left open, but with so much of him gone, they wouldn’t stay shut. She reached for a strip of cloth, turning to look at the loose assemblage against the wall behind her—the Emissary’s wife and son, father and sister. Kasidy was propped up by every spare cushion in the room, her face flushed, her gaze wide and unhappy.

  Poor child, Opaka thought, smiling gently at her as she spoke to the others. “Would one of you get some water? There’s another basin in the storage cupboard,” she said, nodding at the old wooden unit that stood at the front of the room. “Perhaps one of our . . . watchers might escort one of you to the fountain outside?”

  It was unlikely. They hadn’t even allowed Kasidy to relieve herself in private, but had at least let her use the room’s other basin, the one Opaka had brought in for the commander; it wasn’t uncommon for one coming back from the Prophets to feel ill for a moment or two, as they readjusted to the physical plane. Opaka had discreetly mentioned it when she’d noticed Kasidy’s obvious discomfort, shortly after they had arrived to join her and the wounded commander.

  Unlikely they’d let one of us go, but they might fetch it themselves. If they mean to use us, they have to take care of us, at least on some rudimentary level. She knew she was being hopeful, but also knew that there was no other way to be. The Prophets would provide what They could; it was up to Their children to remain in faith, as much as they could. If these were to be their last moments of life, living them in fear and dread would be a horrible waste.

  “I’ll ask,” Jake said, nodding, and Joseph silently stood up with him, his face set. The Emissary’s father was a strong, determined man; it shimmered from him like light, and in spite of the circumstances, Opaka was pleased to have met him.

  “I’ll go with him,” Joseph said protectively, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the trio of the infected. There were others standing guard outside, and, Opaka imagined, a number more walking the halls, dressed in the skins of her brothers and sisters. The three weapon holders stared blandly back, not speaking, not moving, their attention fully focused on the captives. Their faces were as slack as the commander’s, but their eyes burned, shining with an awareness that didn’t belong. They didn’t frighten Opaka for herself, but she was deeply concerned for the innocents who had been taken, and for the Emissary’s family.

  The two Sisko men took a few careful steps forward and began negotiating for water, explaining Kasidy’s condition, explaining Commander Vaughn’s. After a moment, one of the monks went to the cupboard. Opaka pushed herself closer to Kasidy and Judith, finding another smile for the frightened young mother-to-be.

  “How are you feeling?” She reached out and touched Kasidy’s hand, stroking the back of it lightly.

  “Not very well,” Kasidy replied. She shifted uncomfortably against the floor cushions, forcing a smile of her own. “Though to be fair, I haven’t felt all that great, lately.”

  Opaka smiled wider, still stroking the girl’s hand, feeling her respond to the light touch, her muscles relaxing slightly. It seemed that human women often experienced extreme pain when the child came forth.

  “I remember my last days of bearing too well,” Opaka said. “When the baby comes, women set aside the memories of discomfort, I think, remembering the emotional—the anticipation, the joy—but carrying a new life through the last few weeks is no easy appointment, is it?”

  Kasidy’s smile came more naturally, now. “No, it isn’t. Particularly when—”

  She shifted again, frowning and smiling at once. “The baby’s moving,” she said.

  Opaka instinctively reached for her
belly, hesitated. Kas nodded her assent, placing her own long, strong fingers over Opaka’s, moving her hand to just below her navel.

  Opaka closed her eyes, felt . . . felt the long, shuddering movement of life inside, the Emissary’s unborn turning, the pagh of new life giving off heat and energy. It was magic, the very highest kind, what Kasidy and Benjamin had created. And though pagh was not generally gender-specific, there was an intensity there . . . Opaka thought she knew, or at least had a good guess as to the baby’s sex. And—

  —and there, the sudden tension of the muscle beneath the flesh, the involuntary strain of Kasidy’s abdomen. Opaka remained still, gentle in thought, smiling again at the young woman as she restlessly moved her legs—unaware, it seemed, that she was having a contraction. It was mild but not weak, not at all, and lasted longer than Opaka might have hoped.

  “My back hurts,” Kas said, almost apologetically, shifting away from Opaka’s hand.

  “I’m sure it does,” Opaka said, deciding not to speak of it, not to alarm the sweet young woman unnecessarily. If it was a true labor, she’d know it soon enough.

  Prophets help them, they all would.

  20

  KIRA STEPPED ONTO THE TRANSPORTER PAD, HER THROAT DRY WHEN SHE swallowed. Her legs felt a little shaky, and her utility belt seemed unusually heavy around her hips. She was scared, but she’d make this work.

  A plan would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?

  She had a plan, just not a particularly detailed one. Find the queen and kill it. Find the hostages and help them. If the chief and Nog and Shar had managed to figure out a way to beam someone through a cloak, she could certainly come up with something, once she got down there. She had her childhood to thank for that. Resistance fighting was all about making do with whatever was at hand; planning had often been a luxury she’d gone without.

  She turned, saw Dax watching, Nog and Shar working with an open circuit panel in the bulkhead next to the transporter console. Miles was at the controls.

  “I’ve pinpointed the entrance to the underground chamber,” the Chief said, and Kira nodded, blowing out a deep breath, praying that she hadn’t misinterpreted Gard’s last conscious statement.

  “There are a number of lifeforms near it,” he added. “I can’t get an exact count, the subspace fields are causing a lot of interference.”

  The same reason he couldn’t beam her directly to the Orb chamber; there were lifeforms there, too, so many that he didn’t want to risk putting her in. The thought was an exceedingly unpleasant one.

  One among many. She was going up alone against an unknown number of enemies, and from what she understood of the Chief’s theory, she might also end up scattered across Bajor’s outer atmosphere, a billion burning atoms turning to ash and gone.

  She held phaser loosely in hand, nodding again, her adrenaline up. If he explained one more time that he wouldn’t be able to beam her back, she was going to throw up.

  “Let’s do it,” she said. “I’m ready.”

  Ezri straightened, looking as if she were about to speak, and both Nog and Shar looked up from their work, but Kira only nodded to the Chief sharply, not wanting to hear what any of them had to say. There wasn’t enough time, she could feel it.

  “Good luck, Colonel,” O’Brien said, his hands moving across the controls—

  —and an instant later, she was in a cool darkness, heavy with the scent of old stone—

  —and hands came down across her back, two, three, a half dozen. Kira was spun around, the phaser knocked from her hand, all of it happening too quickly. She tried to drop into a fighting stance, but before she could even find her balance, a leg was hooked behind hers, knocking her to the hard ground. The silence of it was as terrifying as the speed, the parasites apparently not needing to speak as they crowded around her, five, six of them, Bajoran faces that sneered at her with a gleaming contempt.

  No! She could see the entrance to the Orb chamber, less than ten meters away, but the guards were crouched over her, her limbs instantly pinned beneath hands and feet, one of the carriers reaching down to her face, to her mouth, Kas I’m so sorry—

  —and as suddenly as she’d been attacked, she was free, her attackers thrown or pulled backward, seemingly all of them at once. Kira was knocked onto her side, receiving a kick in the ribs, another to her throat. Behind and around her she heard scuffling feet and grunts of exertion, heard the heavy fall of bodies hitting the floor. It was all so quiet, so fast and unexpected; she’d beamed in seconds before, and the battle—if it could be called that—had been lost and reclaimed in the space of a few heartbeats.

  What—?

  She rolled to her feet, confused, searching the near dark, snatching her phaser up. She had time to see the last Bajoran host fall to the ground, to take in that they were still alive, unconscious, but how—

  —a shimmer of movement, and a small figure stepped forward, gray, female . . .

  “Wex?”

  The alien stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch Kira, then letting her hand fall to her side. Kira backed up a step, holding the phaser higher. Wex had saved her, but until she knew why the alien had done so—not to mention how—she wasn’t going to take any chances.

  “I’m . . . sorry,” Wex said, and started to change, her body seeming to ripple, to glow with a soft golden light that Kira remembered so well, that she couldn’t believe, couldn’t let herself believe—

  —and she had no choice, because an instant later, there was Odo.

  * * *

  Her backache was getting worse, not better, and the dull, achy pain of it was working its way all the way through her belly. She checked her timepiece for what seemed like the thousandth time, but didn’t know if she was timing the ache early or late. There was too much going on, her stress level wasn’t exactly tapering down, and she was exhausted, which made it hard to tell much of anything. She just felt crummy, regardless of how many cushions the Sisko family kept trying to ease behind her back, regardless of Jake’s mildly distracting shoulder rubs or Judith’s soft, gentle tones. She hurt and she felt almost as annoyed as she was afraid, ready to snap at anyone who got too . . . well, too something. Annoying.

  She felt that low, rotten-tooth backache get worse again and checked her timepiece, remembering the childbirth holos she’d practiced, time from the beginning of each contraction . . . She had to go to the bathroom again, but the effort of having to get up, take the bucket off into the corner, and be shielded by Judith from their weapon-wielding captors seemed like way too much effort.

  Hell, getting up is too much effort, she thought, counting minutes. If she was having contractions—and she wasn’t entirely convinced that she was—they were somewhere between four and six minutes apart. Was that right?

  The fear overrode the physical again and she took a long, deep breath, trying to relax, tensing in spite of it. This was a bad place to be, to have a baby. Julian said that labor could take a full day before her amniotic sac broke, even longer if the contractions weren’t regular, and though she dreaded the thought of feeling even half this bad for anywhere near that long, she mentally crossed her fingers—also for the thousandth time—that her real labor hadn’t started.

  Which was, of course, when she realized that her bottom and lower back were getting wet. She reached back with numb fingers, doing her best to work her hand behind her . . . and felt the warm, wet spot growing on the pillow behind her, even as she felt a tiny gush of liquid trickle down her left thigh.

  “Oh,” she said, startled by the wetness, by what it meant—and at the sound of her own surprise, she started to cry.

  “Kas?” Seated next to her, Judith turned her wide, worried eyes to Kas’s face, searching to help.

  I’m going to need it, Kas thought, fresh tears welling up as she groped for Judith’s hand. Her water had broken. The baby was on its way.

  * * *

  Ro stood in Kira’s office looking out at ops, feeling reasonably calm, considering. Th
ings were slowly but surely getting under control. Kira was right, she could do this, or at least as long as nothing too unexpected popped up. She didn’t have to second-guess anyone, everyone was competent enough in their respective fields to offer intelligent suggestions; it was just a matter of taking reports and letting the officers tell her what should be done.

  Engineering had reported that the motion sensors were working, and security had backed that up. There were only two parasites still unaccounted for, plus a handful of civilians left to track down, but her people were working their way through, one step at a time. Dr. Bashir had reported that there were no new cases of infection, and no fatalities as a result of the female parasite’s death. It seemed that the parasite soldiers had simply let go of their victims and crawled out, causing surprisingly minor injury in their wake. He was just about to start on the stasis cases, backed up by the Cardassian medical teams. Bashir and Tarses had both noted that the captured parasites were weakening, their systems shutting down. They’d all be dead in a matter of hours. And Vlu had just called in to tell her that for the most part, everyone was now cooperating with the Cardassians. People were finally starting to see that they were here to help, and the response was positive.

  This isn’t so bad, Ro thought, still vaguely amazed that she was running things, more so that people were actually listening to her. Nguyen had passed word along that Kira had left her in charge, and no one had questioned it. She was still nervous, no question, but felt like she had a pretty good chance of getting out of it unscathed—