Rising Son

by S. D. Perry

  As Korin set the mask aside, the alien opened her eyes for a few seconds, blinking dazedly around the dusky room before lapsing back into semiconsciousness, rolling her head from side to side, tensing and flexing her limbs. Her large golden eyes were fluted at the outer edges, in a way that made them seem to be melting into her metallic skin, and as she tossed her head, she mumbled something unintelligible in a high, melodic language. She wasn’t wearing a translator that Opaka could see, and since the Sen Ennis had no need for them—Opaka hadn’t worn hers in years, having learned the Ennis-Nol-Ennis language soon after her arrival—the alien’s words might have been lost to translation, rather than sickness.

  “I’ll get a translator,” Zlangco said, then turned and left.

  Except for the crack in her chest there were no other apparent wounds, and as Zlangco had noted, she seemed to be able to breathe the air well enough, taking in ragged breaths as she squirmed restlessly. She mumbled again, seeming to repeat what she’d said before, her tone delirious and desperate. It sounded like a plea.

  Gently, Opaka stroked the alien’s brow, noting that the smooth mercurial flesh was cool…and at Opaka’s touch, the alien ceased her thrashing, breathing deeper, calming.

  “Will she live?” Korin asked, in a near-whisper. “Or will she…become like us?”

  Without thinking about it, Opaka reached over and traced the outer curve of the being’s delicate left ear—and felt a powerful tingle in the tips of her fingers, felt the dilation of blood vessels in her own hands and face. The being’s pagh was strong, almost violently so.

  “She’ll live,” Opaka said.

  Before Opaka had happened upon them, the Ennis and Nol-Ennis had been stranded on the moon by their homeworld, Tevlin-De, for at least a century, and had been fighting for well over a hundred years before that. The ruthless leaders of Tevlin-De had imprisoned the two warring factions on the distant moon as an example to other fighting tribes, a punishment for being unable to negotiate a peace—and had condemned them to immortality, inundating the harsh environment with artificial microbes that repaired even the most serious of wounds on a cellular level. Upon being stranded, the Ennis and Nol-Ennis had begun fighting an endless battle, dying and rising and dying again, cursed by their own hatreds to war without end. Made infertile by the microbes, trapped on the moon by the satellites, they had only their vengeance to live for, the original dispute so far in the past that neither side could remember why they had begun to fight in the first place.

  When the Yangtzee Kiang had crashed, the Federation doctor, Bashir, had discovered that a person once repaired by the microbes would be unable to leave the environment…and so Opaka, led to the moon by the Prophets and then killed in the crash, had understood that she was meant to stay behind. She’d remained willingly, recognizing that the Ennis and Nol-Ennis needed her far more than Bajor; why else would the Prophets have sent her to them? And even if she had been physically able to leave with the Emissary and his crew, she wouldn’t have turned her back to such deeply wounded people.

  In the first year, she had learned the language, and talked and talked and talked. Back and forth between Zlangco and Shel-la, trying to reason with each, with their families, she had succeeded in little more than making herself known to both tribes. For much of that year, she’d been viewed with suspicion and disbelief, and even after she’d gained some level of trust, both leaders had insisted that she was wasting her time.

  In the second year, she had added action to her voice, hoping to show them a better way by example. Opaka had spent hours meditating on the battlefields, allowing herself to be caught in the fighting. Both tribes had called her enemy, deciding she was with the other, and both had struck out in anger. The pain had been terrible, her deaths many…but slowly, slowly, some of the combatants had begun to listen when she went to their homes, intrigued, perhaps, by the stranger who refused to pick up arms, who died with the rest of them but held no spite.

  So it had been, her long struggle to help the Ennis and Nol-Ennis, dutifully walking back and forth between the tribes each day, making small increments of progress and seemingly just as often watching the progress unravel. Only once had she faltered, had she found herself unsure of her purpose, and that had been early in the third year, when she had gone to the Emissary.

  She’d dreamed/seen that he’d lost his way, that he was wandering his space station alone, unaware of his own identity; she’d asked him who he was, and he hadn’t known. It had been an orb shadow, his shadow that she had seen, caused by his faltering from his path. Opaka had waked/returned afraid for Bajor. Not because of the Emissary—she’d known that self-doubt was to be his greatest burden, and was sure that he would regain his clarity—but because she’d sensed that something dark was on its way, something vast and consuming. Years later, she had learned of the Quadrant War, and known then why the Prophets had called upon her to visit the Emissary; They’d needed all of Their Chosen, then, supporting one another for the good of Bajor.

  The day after she’d seen the Emissary, looking so changed, bearded, his hair gone, his eyes full of uncertainty, she’d wondered if the Prophets were telling her to return, somehow, telling her that she’d failed and was needed at home…and that very day, both Zlangco and Shel-la had agreed to lay down their arms for the first time. The truce had lasted only two days, but it had been the true beginning of the end, and she had taken it as a sign that she was where she was supposed to be.

  Within a few months, there had been no more fighting, and more and more of the Ennis and Nol-Ennis had joined in her daily meditations as the weeks passed, searching for something to fill the black holes where the hatred had been for so long. Gradually, she stopped holding separate meetings, as much from her own exhaustion as for reasons of unity, and the Ennis and Nol-Ennis had begun coming together to meditate with her. Aware that neither tribe would be comfortable with gods alien to their culture, Opaka showed them ways to look to whatever greater essence they chose, to look within, to look to each other for the light of the eternal…and in so doing, she had discovered for herself a much richer understanding of her own boundaries, ways in which she’d limited herself by believing that there was only one true path to understanding the Prophets. It was a magical time for them all.

  Starved for peace of spirit after so long and bitter a war, the tribes quickly adopted the meditations as lifestyle…and once they’d begun their spiritual searchings in earnest, the last of the tribal enmity had disappeared completely. At her own gentle suggestion, Zlangco and Shel-la had called to combine the tribes, to discard the last great barrier to unity, the separate names…and so the Sen Ennis tribe was born, barely a month before Raiq’s ship landed.

  It took over two weeks for the exoskeletal crack to heal, and in that time, Raiq acted as though in the grip of a fever. The tribespeople took turns watching her, bathing her with cool water, feeding her sips of water or gruel—and though she was rarely coherent, her ravings provided them with some information, through Zlangco’s ancient translator pinned to the pillow. Her name was Raiq, and she believed she was dying, and her gods were not gracious ones. Again and again, she cried out for judgment, her gold eyes glazed with a fevered determination, insisting that her gods find her worthy before leaving her to burn. Opaka’s presence seemed especially soothing to her, so Opaka sat with her as often as she could, calming her when she shouted, praying for her recovery when she was still.

  The condition of Raiq’s ship added to what little they knew, yet somehow made her all the more mysterious. It was an extremely advanced single-pilot vessel, equipped with systems that no one had ever seen, couldn’t even begin to guess at…and it had not been shot down by the moon’s advanced satellite “defense” system, as they had all assumed; everything seemed intact, and there was minimal blast damage on the hull. In fact, from the debris that was found scattered through the cliffs, it seemed that Raiq had been the victor. At least two and possibly three satellites had lost, opening a sizable hole
in the network that had been designed to keep the tribes from being rescued. They could only assume that it had been her sickness that had forced her to land. Perhaps the crack in her exoskeleton had brought on an immediate illness, or perhaps the damage to her exoskeleton had been sustained elsewhere; it was a source of endless interest in the days following her arrival.

  Except for the group healing meditation the day after Raiq’s landing—for which the entire Sen Ennis tribe turned out—life went on as usual…or as it had been going, at least. Opaka had been on the moon almost four years, and so much had changed, she had yet to think of any time period as “usual.”

  After sixteen days, the feverlike trance broke. Korin came and found Opaka, leading the morning meditation outside the main cave garden. He waited until she spoke the final words, reminding the gathered Sen Ennis to reach for light in every deed, and then hurried to meet her, deferentially helping her to her feet as the assemblage broke up.

  “She’s awake,” Korin said. “And she’s asked to see our leader.”

  Opaka sighed inwardly. She was interested in Raiq, curious about her, but wasn’t comfortable portraying herself as the leader of the Sen Ennis, regardless of what the Sen Ennis were determined to believe. She had helped them find peace, it would have been false humility to deny her own part—but neither did she deserve to be deified for it. It was a question that had plagued her from her earliest days as a vedek; why did people so often choose to revere the messenger, rather than the message?

  “I’d think Zlangco or Shel-la would suffice,” she said.

  Korin quickly nodded his agreement, his gaze telling a different story. “They’re with her now. Will you come?”

  Resigned, Opaka smiled, answer enough, and they went to see Raiq.

  She was sitting up when they arrived, her luminous gaze fixing on Opaka immediately, unwavering. Except for a faint discoloration across her chest, a fading bruise, the crack might never have been. Zlangco and Shel-la were in the room, both seeming unsettled even before Raiq addressed Opaka.

  “I will see Opaka alone,” Raiq said, and there was no question in her voice.

  Opaka looked at the Sen Ennis leaders, waiting. They hesitated, glancing at one another, stood, and with nods at Raiq and Opaka, they left the room, taking Korin with them.

  Opaka couldn’t help a faint smile. For as hard as Zlangco and Shel-la still fought to maintain leadership, they were apparently more than ready to turn the demanding alien over to Opaka.

  “You have been with me,” Raiq said, even as the curtain swung closed. “You have saved my life. Sit.”

  Throughout her illness, Raiq had been desperate at times, driven, obsessed with being judged by her gods, afraid of dying unworthy. Her manner now was cool and imperious, her voice still melodic but much sharper, the tone of a being used to getting her way. Opaka suspected that Raiq had commanded her to sit to see how she would react, but she was uninterested in power games. She wanted to talk to Raiq, and so she sat.

  “I’m glad that you’ve healed,” she said. “We’ve been concerned.”

  “When I asked to see this moon’s leader, they told me something of you, and how you’ve brought peace to this world,” Raiq said, as though Opaka hadn’t spoken. “Do you worship the True, the Unnamable? Is that how you control?”

  Opaka studied Raiq, considering the question and what it implied. It wasn’t a surprise, after listening to Raiq in her delirium, but still she felt a great sorrow for the creature, and a wariness for herself—for the Sen Ennis. She had lived most of her life surrounded by worshippers, and while the vast majority of Bajorans had led integrated lives, balancing their love of the Prophets with their secular duties, there were always those who went too far.

  Her first question, too…of all the information we could share, who do you worship? Raiq was a zealot, and Opaka thought she’d best step lightly.

  “I do not control,” she said, finally. “I walk with the Prophets, the gods of my homeworld, and I came here to help these people heal themselves.”

  Raiq stared. “The True have eyes of fire. They see all, and judge the worthiness of those who seek the burning empty that is Their fortress, hidden among the stars. Do your prophets burn? Do your people seek their judgment?”

  Opaka shook her head, speaking gently. “No. The Prophets guide and teach…but the people who live on this world know nothing of the Prophets. The Sen Ennis are only just learning the joys of faith, in themselves.”

  “These people don’t worship?” Raiq asked, her fluted eyes narrowing. “You’d swear it?”

  Opaka sighed. “The Sen Ennis don’t worship.”

  “And these ‘prophets’ of your home,” Raiq said. “Do they live in the stars? Do they see all?”

  Opaka hesitated. The Celestial Temple was in the stars…and the Prophets were all-seeing, but something kept her from saying so.

  “Raiq, why do you ask these questions?”

  “Answer me,” Raiq demanded, her face flushing with color. “Do your prophets have eyes of fire? Will you die and be burned?”

  “No,” Opaka said, relieved that she could answer those questions without hesitation. Raiq sat back, seemingly satisfied.

  “I will trust you,” she said, almost dismissively, and changed the topic without transition. “I will leave as soon as I’ve rested, but you and your people will be rewarded for saving the life of an Ascendant.”

  “An Ascendant,” Opaka said, nodding, seeking more comfortable footing. “Where are you from?”

  “Everywhere,” Raiq said. “Our world is lost to time. I was born on the Quest, and will die on it, as my ancestors did before me.”

  “What do you quest?”

  “The Fortress. I have traveled vast distances to seek the hidden home of the True, so that I might be judged and found worthy to burn in Their eyes. Then I will be all-seeing, as They are.” Raiq sat forward again, her eyes shining. “They hide, just as They hide Their Names, but the Ascendants will find them.”

  Opaka nodded again, starting to understand. “So you wanted to know about my beliefs, and the beliefs of the Sen Ennis, to see if we worship the True.”

  “Only the Ascendants worship the True,” Raiq said, her voice cold.

  “But…” Opaka frowned, confused again. “Why, then, do you concern yourself with what others believe?”

  Even as she asked, she understood, the question answered by what she already knew of Raiq.

  “I am responsible to the True during my quest, to seek the destruction of those who falsely worship,” Raiq said, confirming Opaka’s suspicion. “So it has been for a thousand millennia. Long, long ago, the Ascendants were many, and we cleansed a hundred stars of heresy against the True….” Raiq smiled, a thin, dreamy sliver of imagined glory. “The Unnamed saw us, then, painted in the blood of the false. Those who dared to name the True ran before us like frightened children….”

  Her smile faded, her cool attention turning back to Opaka. “There are fewer of us, now. We rely on technology rather than numbers to cleanse the stars we pass on our quest. But since you and yours don’t shame the True, you have nothing to fear from the Ascendants…”

  Raiq’s expression softened slightly. “…and as I said before, you will be rewarded. I was injured on another world, a misstep that caused a minor wound. I ignored it and it grew into infection, into breach. In my sickness, I believed I was close to the Fortress, and would not rest. I would have died, if not for your ministrations.”

  “We ask for nothing,” Opaka said honestly, her sadness for Raiq tempered now by caution. She silently thanked the Prophets for her earlier reserve, thinking that an explanation of the Celestial Temple would only have confused matters. “We are glad to help you.”

  Raiq tilted her head, a curious expression on her delicate features. “The True are all-powerful and all-seeing, and someday, if I am vigilant, I will join them. Why…why do you worship these prophets?”

  Opaka spoke carefully, but with conviction. �
�On my world, we believe the Prophets watch over us. They are like…mother and father to me, to all the people of my planet, providing as a good parent provides—showing each of us the potential we carry within, to be fulfilled as beings, and to build peaceful communities in which to live, and grow, and care for one another.”

  Raiq nestled back against the cushion she was propped against, blinking slowly. “I need to rest. Tomorrow, I will begin deciding upon your reward.”

  Opaka studied her a moment, not sure what, if anything, she should say, but already Raiq’s eyes were closing. It seemed that the interview was over.

  After a moment, Opaka rose and left the chamber, to tell the others what little she’d learned, and to ask that she be informed the moment that Raiq awoke. It was unfortunate, that Raiq had been raised with such severe beliefs, but the alien was also dangerous, and Opaka meant to stay close until she was ready to leave them.

  In the days it took for Raiq to recover her strength, she mostly slept and ate and sat silently, her eyes closed in meditation, often for hours at a time. Opaka took to sitting with her, using the time for her own prayers. When Raiq did speak, she asked questions about the Sen Ennis, about their moon and their war, though she told Opaka little more about the Ascendants. Opaka did manage to find out that they were long-lived—Raiq, at one hundred and twelve, wasn’t half through her life—and that about every fifty years, gatherings were arranged among them, where information and technology were exchanged, and matings were orchestrated to perpetuate the species. Raiq asked no more about the Prophets, and Opaka didn’t offer…nor did Raiq express interest in speaking to anyone but Opaka, about anything. She treated Tadia and Korin like servants in their own home, and during her few public recuperative walks with Opaka, she openly ignored the people they encountered. The Sen Ennis, in turn, were relieved when Opaka suggested that they leave Raiq to her.