Wrath of the Prophets

by Peter David

  There was a beeping over his communications screen. Jake rolled off the couch, walked over, and answered it. To his surprise, Varis Sul's image appeared on the screen.

  "Sul!" he said. "You're … you're all right!"

  She smiled gamely. "About as all right as one could be, given the circumstances. Is your father there, Jake? I know this is after hours, so I was hoping to catch him in …"

  "He's gone," Jake said. "Trying to help find the source of the bad replicator material." He frowned. "Are you really okay?"

  "Jake." She sighed. "I'd be lying if I said things were going well."

  He nodded sympathetically. "What did you want to talk to my father about?"

  "I just … wanted an update," Varis said. "I know your people are working in tandem with our … government." She paused over the word, her disdain for that august body clear in her tone. "Working to deal with this affliction. I wanted to know how it was going. And I wanted …" Her voice trailed off.

  Jake sat down in the chair by the monitor. "Wanted what?" he asked.

  "Hope, I suppose. Something to cling to."

  He shrugged. "It'll be okay, Sul. With everybody working so hard to fight this thing, it doesn't stand a chance."

  She looked at him more intently. "And tell me, Jake … if the news were dismal, the situation hopeless … would you be able to tell me that? Would you have the resolve to look into my eyes and say, 'Sul, my old friend … there's every likelihood that you're going to die before help can reach you.' Could you tell me that, Jake?"

  The captain's son shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I … sure. Sure, I could be honest with you like that." Except he couldn't have been, and he knew it … and from the look on his face, Varis had to know it, too.

  "You're a very sweet young man, Jake," Varis said slowly, "and I wish that things could have gone differently."

  He became angry with her, just for a moment. "Stop talking like that, Sul. It's going to work out. We just have to wait, just have to be patient …"

  "Yes," she said, "that's what I'm always told. Sit and wait." Her voice began to grow taut with outrage. "I waited for my government to sort matters out and feed my people, and it did no good. And so I took matters into my own hands, and now they're dying.

  "But you know what, Jake? You know what? For a brief time, at least, my people were happy. It may not have turned out the way I wanted, but at least for one moment, there was hope.

  "And if my choice is to sit around and be hopeless, or take some sort of action and fight for hope once more, then I would do the same thing again. And again."

  Jake tried to deepen his voice a bit, to take on his father's characteristic air of infinite reasonability. "Sul … it's not entirely in your hands anymore. The Bajorans excel at having faith. That's what you have to have now—faith that we'll come through for you. Faith that a cure will be found."

  "Faith." She sighed. "Believe me, nothing would serve me in better stead than to be able to cling to faith. Unfortunately … I don't think that's really possible anymore. And until it is, I don't really think I deserve to be tetrarch. I'm not even entirely sure I should be Bajoran."

  "Sul," he said, "you're talking crazy."

  "Goodbye, Jake."

  "Now wait a—"

  But the screen blinked off. Leaping to his feet, Jake tried to call her back. But she didn't reply. He thumped the padd below the screen in frustration.

  "Ohhh, Sul, don't do anything stupid, please," he prayed.

  Unfortunately, prayers weren't being answered in any sort of positive manner these days. Not around Bajor, anyway.

  Varis Sul heard the beeping from the communications screen, but she didn't bother to answer it. She knew who it was from, and she knew what he wanted to say. But truthfully … there was no point in further communication. Everything that could be said already had been.

  She was busy packing supplies. Supplies, her small phaser, and whatever other items were easily transportable and might be of use.

  By morning, she would be gone. Gone to find a cure, a real cure this time. Gone to find vengeance for her people against the insidious scheme that had been launched in order to destroy them. A scheme so insidious that many of them didn't even realize that it had to be deliberate.

  Out of habit, as Varis prepared to head out the door, she started to say a quick prayer to the Prophets, asking that they watch over her. Then she thought about recent events and decided that would be the last thing she was inclined to do. She'd be damned if she would give the Prophets that kind of satisfaction.

  Then again, as she had so sullenly told Kai Winn … she was damned anyway.

  CHAPTER

  8

  BENZAR OKRIN HAD laughed in Kira's face.

  "Me?" he had said. "Kira … you've known me for years. How could you possibly think I'd have anything to do with any of this?"

  And, indeed, she had known Benzar Okrin for years. He hadn't precisely been part of the liberation movements with which she had fought, but he had been known as a supplier of weaponry and safehouses when Kira or any of her people were in need.

  Benzar had been extremely expert at working both sides of the fence, with the result that he had risen to a fairly respectable rank in his community. At the same time, he was counted on as a friend by those who wanted Bajor free of Cardassian influence.

  Kira and Ro had sat across from him, on the opposite side of his large and imposing desk. As a prelate in the community of Tindar, he had certain perks to which he was entitled. An impressive office and an excellent view were two of them.

  "You know, Okrin, there was a time when I'd never have dreamed of suspecting you." Kira had sat with her legs crossed at the knees, her fingers interlaced. "But lately I've been chatting with a lot of people. Seen a variety of old friends. Been everywhere from Sorshaq to Ducoa to Mexal, and now here. It's been something of a twisty road, and now your name has entered into the mix."

  "And people have been talking to you?" Benzar had smiled. He was fairly close in age to Kira, with wide-set eyes and a big open face.

  She had shrugged. "Some willingly, some less so."

  "Some, we had to beat it out of them," Ro had said flatly.

  The major had eyed her friend Okrin. "I want to know if you've got any connections in the black market. Any dealings at all."

  The prelate's smile had widened. "And if I don't tell you, you or your friend will beat it out of me?" Benzar had seemed most amused by the idea. Or he had been until Ro had reached across his very large desk, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and yanked him back across it. His chin had thudded hard on the desktop and he had let out a yelp of anger.

  "That's right," Ro snarled.

  "Ro, let him go! Now!" Kira had said.

  "I'm tired of pussyfooting around with your old friends, Major," Ro had snapped at her. "I'm tired of playing things your way. We're running out of time and Bajor is soon going to start running out of people. Now, this slug is going to tell us what we want to know, and he's going to tell us now!"

  Kira had pulled Ro's hand free of Benzar's shirt. "We'll do this my way," she had insisted.

  "Get out!" Benzar had bellowed, staggering to his feet. "Do you hear me? Get out! I have nothing to do with any of this, and you will get out of my office now!"

  They had exited quickly, and Kira had turned to Ro. "Next time," she said, "warn me when you're planning to play a game of 'good cop, bad cop.'"

  "Never heard of it," Ro had replied, and walked quickly down the hallway with Kira following.

  That had been how the afternoon had gone. The evening was going somewhat differently.

  Kira and Ro were sticking to the shadows as they watched Benzar Okrin make his way through the streets. Every so often he would stop and look over his shoulder, clearly trying to make sure that he wasn't being followed.

  "I don't like this," Ro whispered. "It's too easy."

  "Too easy?" Kira echoed. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," said the M
aquis, "if he has some sort of meeting scheduled, why is he going there himself? Why doesn't he send an envoy or messenger? Why risk himself?"

  The major grunted. "Because Benzar has two significant character traits. First, he's overconfident. Second, he's a control freak. He likes to do everything himself rather than trust anyone, and he's eminently confident that he'll never get caught."

  "Why is that?" Ro asked.

  "Possibly because he's never been caught." Kira gestured for Ro to follow her, and kept close after Benzar … but not too close.

  They tracked him across town and at one point nearly lost him. But then, after a few frantic minutes of doubling back, they found him again . . . .

  And he was with someone.

  From around a building corner, Kira squinted through the darkness. "Is that … what I think it is?"

  Ro nodded in confirmation. "It's an Orion, all right. You really have to work on overcoming this perpetual state of shock you're in."

  In a low and angry voice, Kira hissed at her. "Listen, maybe you never found anyone or anything to believe in. Maybe you never—"

  She stopped herself, remembering where she was and what she was doing there. Then she went on, in a much more measured tone.

  "Maybe you never found a cause that went so deeply into your soul you would have done anything to support it, even given your life for it. But I had a cause like that, and I had people who shared it with me. And now, one by one, I'm finding they're all knee-deep in some sort of graft or corruption."

  "I see," said the Maquis. "And what's your point, exactly? You're upset because you're thinking how easily it could have been you?"

  "That," Kira said, stabbing a finger in the direction of Benzar and his Orion partner, "could never have been me."

  Ro chuckled dryly. "You wouldn't be this upset if you really believed that. And you know what's really amazing, Major? With just a twist or two of fate—if things had sightly zigged instead of zagging—I could have been you."

  Kira looked at her. "Ro Laren on Deep Space Nine instead of me. That's laughable."

  "You don't hear me laughing."

  They lapsed into silence then, Kira still burning over what she was seeing. The Orion seemed to hand something over to Benzar, and Benzar gave him something in return. Benzar slid it into his jacket pocket. Then the Orion melted into the shadows and Benzar began to retrace his steps, heading toward home.

  He got three blocks before Kira and Ro yanked him into the shadows. The prelate started to cry out, unable to see his attackers, no doubt thinking he was being robbed—but Ro clamped a hand over his mouth. Then Kira shoved her hand into Benzar's pocket and withdrew a half-dozen small gleaming spheres.

  "Well, well," she said. "Orion energy orbs. Nice little haul you've got for yourself here, Benzar. And what did you give him in return, huh?"

  Benzar tore Ro's hand away from his mouth. "It's not what you think, Nerys!"

  "Actually," said the major, "it's exactly what I think. And don't call me Nerys. Not ever again. I don't give you that privilege. You know … this time I'm drawing a line, Benzar. This time I don't care about whatever information you might have to offer. This time I'm just dragging you straight to the authorities."

  "Yes, by all means, do that," Benzar told her, his startled voice gaining strength. "And how will you know who to bring me to, eh?"

  Slowly his meaning became clear to her. Her voice low and angry, she said, "What are you telling me? That people above you are in on this?"

  "You want us to believe that the entire Bajoran government is on the take?" Ro put in skeptically.

  Benzar laughed nervously. "The entire government, no. But enough. In all probability, you'd turn me over to someone who's going to turn me loose almost immediately—after sharing a few drinks and laughing with me over your ineptitude. And just about everyone else in the provisional government, even those who aren't a part of it, know what's going on and don't want to get their hands dirty.

  "They turn a blind eye to it. And why not? Until this mess in the Paqu village, just about everything that came into Bajor through the black market was beneficial. Who wants to stand in the way of something that serves the public good? So you see, Kira, the chances of you bringing me to anyone who's going to try and prosecute me … well, the odds are pretty slim."

  In a hard tone, the major said, "I'll take that chance. Come on." And she started to drag him out of the alleyway.

  "Okay, wait … wait," Benzar said suddenly. He shrugged in a surprisingly nonchalant fashion. "Who knows … you may be lucky. Certainly you have been enough in the past. All right, listen. You've been chasing all over, but there's really only one person who's going to have the answers you want. He's extremely well connected."

  Kira eyed him. "Name."

  "Manimoujak. He's an Yridian trader."

  "Where can we find him?" Ro demanded.

  Benzar didn't even acknowledge that she had spoken. Instead his full attention was on Kira.

  "Remember that bunker you holed up in once? After the Gallitep camp was liberated and you needed somewhere to hide?"

  She thought for a moment. "Of course. Outside of Sorshaq."

  "Oh, wonderful," Ro muttered. "After all this, we're traveling in a circle."

  "Well, that's where he is." Benzar hesitated, and then said, "I never had the chance to tell you, Kira, because we didn't have all that much face-to-face contact in those days … but I had a nephew who got out of that camp because of you. Threats aside, intimidation aside … I owe you for that, at least. Here." He pressed the orbs into Kira's hand. "Is this supposed to be a bribe?" the major demanded.

  "Yes," Benzar said, "but not for you. Manimoujak isn't going to be browbeaten, and he has no better nature to appeal to. This"—he gestured to the orbs—"is the only thing he'll understand."

  "What will it buy us?" asked Kira.

  "Information, if he has it. A cure if he can obtain it."

  Ro shook her head in disbelief. "Charming. So we'll be dealing with a man who apparently is capable of saving a planetful of people … for the right price."

  "Not everyone is motivated out of the goodness of their heart," Benzar said.

  "Believe me, Okrin," Kira said ruefully, "I've figured that out."

  The prelate nodded and then started off down the street. After a second or two, Kira called after him.

  "Okrin … thank you."

  He smiled. "Don't mention it. To anyone."

  The dining hall on Mephil Trantos was hot and smoky and noisy enough to wake the dead, and full of exotic scents Sisko had no great desire to identify. One of the strongest of them rose from an Orion firepot in the center of the heavy wooden table before him.

  The firepot, made of some iron alloy, was an ancient and ornate piece of work embossed with crudely erotic scenes extracted from Orion mythology. The thing's hourglass-shaped lower cylinder was packed with hot coals, which provided the heat needed to cook the variety of wing slugs still swimming in the several bowls above. The bowls, in turn, rested on a charred metal framework.

  As the human looked on, the corpulent green-skinned Orion who'd been identified to him as Kestralnamen—nominally this sector's trade administrator, but really nothing more than the head pirate—lifted one of the bowls in his heavily padded gauntlets and tilted his head back.

  His dark bulging eyes danced with anticipation as he scrutinized his treat, reveling in the wing slugs' faint high-pitched screams. Then, before the sleek black creatures could quite boil to death, he poured the bowl's steaming, writhing contents into his mouth.

  Fortunately for Sisko, he'd dined with Klingons on more than one occasion. After Rokeg bloodpie, Orion wing slugs didn't seem quite so bad.

  Kestralnamen shook the bowl a couple of times to dislodge any choice tidbits that may have gotten stuck to its sides. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of one gauntlet, he replaced the bowl in its holder.

  "Now, then," he asked the human, "what kind of information were you l
ooking for?"

  Sisko had an urge to tell the Orion a tiny piece of wing slug was clinging to his chin—or one of them, anyway. However, it seemed more important right now to get to the point.

  "Information on trade between the Orions and the Bajorans," he replied. "Specifically with regard to a shipment of food replicators delivered to Bajor just a couple of weeks ago."

  Kestralnamen belched—an action as surprising to him, apparently, as it was to the human. It required all of Sisko's willpower not to turn his face from the resultant stench.

  "We did not supply these replicators," the Orion pointed out. "In fact, we do not trade with Bajor at all. Our last transaction with the Bajorans was before their occupation by the Cardassians."

  Kestralnamen leaned forward to consider the other three bowls in the firepot. They had been placed over the coals on a staggered schedule so they wouldn't all reach their peaks at once.

  It appeared to Sisko the contents of the bowl on the Orion's near left was almost ready for consumption. Judging from the way Kestralnamen was licking his lips, he thought so, too.

  The human smiled. "You don't trade with the Bajorans officially, perhaps. In other words, not with the provisional government. But we both know that transactions take place from time to time."

  The Orion removed another bowl from the firepot. "Do we?" he asked.

  "Don't we?" Sisko rejoined, playing the game.

  Kestralnamen shrugged. "As far as I can tell, no Orion has even made an overture to do business with the Bajorans. And as administrator of this sector, I would be privy to any and all transactions."

  Sisko knew the Orion wasn't telling him the truth. He also knew it would be highly impolitic to say so.

  Then again, he wasn't getting anywhere by being polite. "You," he told Kestralnamen, "are lying through your teeth."

  The administrator's eyes slitted. He glanced at the human. "I would say this audience is over," he remarked. Then he emptied the second bowl into his mouth.