by Judith
Even our worlds. A hundred years for an individual and he's gone, only a memory
for a hundred more, at most. Perhaps longer if he's someone to whom they build
statues. But after a thousand years, whom do we really remember? Garak shrugged,
enjoying the rustle of the robes he wore. On
some backward worlds of his acquaintance, such garments would be considered
quite fashionable.
"You must remember that as nation states rise and fall, each one is always eager
to erase its predecessor from the records. I doubt if Cardassian historians even
knew the names of more than a few of the warlords who ruled our world, or parts
of it, at least, one after the other. And each of those worthy souls fought
mighty battles, brought death to tens of thousands, gave life to tens of
thousands more. Yet their empires are gone, their deeds forgotten.
"And worlds, my dear Odo, are no different from people or countries. Had the
universe continued, Cardassia's sun would have swollen into a red giant, or
gone nova someday. And then the whole planet, the sum total of every
pre-spaceflight Cardassian who had ever lived, warlords and rabble alike, would
have returned to the elemental gas from which the planet had condensed in the
first place. Five billion years from now, perhaps some of my parents' atoms
would come back to life in the bodies of aliens we can't imagine. Aliens who
would never know of the glories of Cardassia, because they would be too busy
fighting mighty battles of their own. The same would happen to Earth. And to
Vulcan. Even to your Great Link."
Garak smiled at the changeling. "Death is never a surprise, Odo. Only the timing
of it."
Odo snorted. '1 wish I had your blunt outlook on life."
"No you don't," Garak said amiably. He pointed ahead, to where the others were
gathering around an excavation site with Sisko and Weyoun. "Shall we continue?
The Emissary did say he had something of interest to show us. I can't imagine
what it might be."
"We'll continue," Odo said. "For a while at least."
Garak appreciated the changeling's flair for the dramatic. So many people
lacked it these days.
As they walked on together, Garak decided that Odo would be an ally today. At
the same time as he made that decision, he found himself idly wondering which
number was greater—the grains of sand that covered B'hala or the number of stars
in the sky, somewhere beyond those infernal space mirrors.
He took a moment to contemplate, in honest wonder, the idea that something—some
physical process as yet unknown and undefined—might actually have the power to
erase every star from the heavens.
The very concept was astounding.
And to be present, to see it actually take place...
In truth, the possibility was making him feel privileged, even humble.
And considering how few things had actually had that effect on him hi his
lifetime, the experience was novel, and one he fully intended to enjoy
exploring.
As far as exploring other things, however, it appeared Weyoun had been a busy
Vorta.
He had obviously invited all eighteen prisoners from the Defiant to see B'hala
before the end. Garak recalled that back in his present, B'hala had been merely
a series of tunnels deep beneath the mountains. But here and now, the great lost
city was exposed to the sky—at least, according to the briefing they had been
given, a third of it was exposed. The rest apparently was still buried, and was
destined to stay that way until the end of time.
Despite the fact that the end of time was only seven days and some few hours
away, Garak couldn't help being fascinated, as he and Odo approached the other
prisoners who stood beside Weyoun, that the Bajoran
1
workers under the Vorta's command were diligently continuing their digging and
tunneling, and recording every detail of the flayed site—as if any of it would
or could matter anymore.
But the latest excavation in B'hala was a very special one, or so Weyoun had
said when he had offered his invitation.
Right now, in fact, the Emissary to the True Prophets was crouched down at the
lip of the deep pit—its opening was almost twenty meters across—peering with
great interest into its depths, which were crisscrossed by wooden ladders and
catwalks and only dimly lit by flickering combustion torches. The angles of the
space mirrors appeared to be set too low to provide any appreciable downward
illumination.
Behind the kneeling figure of Weyoun, Garak recognized Captain Sisko, Major
Kira, and Commander Arla. Their only apparent guard was Captain Tom Riker. He
was also the only member of this gathering who was not wearing religious robes.
Instead he was dressed in what Garak considered to be a most inelegant uniform,
a hodgepodge of Starfleet severity and Bajoran pomp.
All it would take is one gentle push, Garak mused to himself, as he and Odo
joined the outer edges of the group. A simple nudge and Weyoun would tumble into
the depths faster than Riker could run forward to save him. In his mind's eye,
Garak watched the Vorta's arms thrashing, heard his wheedling voice receding in
a doppler shift of death.
If Weyoun could only be removed from the events to come, it was entirely
possible the universe could be saved.
Garak was familiar enough with Sisko and Kira to know that both possessed the
courage to take such ac-
tion—even if it meant immediate death. So the fact that they were choosing not
to take advantage of their opportunity revealed to Garak that the two knew
something he didn't. Most probably, that Weyoun couldn't be stopped by a fall.
"Such a fascinating time," Garak said aloud.
"I'm sorry?" Odo asked.
"A private musing, Odo. Not important. What do you suppose is down there?" Garak
gestured to the yawning pit
"With our luck," Odo grumbled, "more red orbs."
Garak nodded. How interesting. He himself hadn't thought of that. "Now that
would be a delightful complication."
Beside him he heard Odo sigh.
Then a shout echoed up from the excavation floor. Someone reporting that "it"
was under way.
As Odo leaned forward to stare downward, frowning, Garak amused himself by
turning to study the other prisoners clustered beside them. People had always
been of more interest to him than things.
And the most interesting grouping was that of the two Ferengi—Quark and Rom—with
the human engineer, O'Brien. These three had single-handedly come up with the
plot to escape from the Boreth, sending Odo out on his fool's errand to overload
the ship's powergrid. Garak had tried to explain that no one in their right
minds would put all of their hostages in one location without arranging
surveillance. But humans had mis hopeless notion, that if they whispered softly
enough no one would overhear what they were saying.
Surprisingly, Odo had not been executed. In fact, Weyoun had taken no reprisals
against the prisoners at
all. In Garak's experience, that was a sign of a sloppy leader, or perhaps of
someone who could not conceive of anyone's challenging his authority. From
events that had transpired since, Garak was leaning towards presuming Weyoun to
be one of the latter. No one who could command Grigari could be considered
sloppy.
Someone in the crowd jostled Garak, as several of the prisoners edged forward to
the lip of the excavation and began pointing down. With a sigh, Garak pushed
forward to look down into the gloom as well.
And saw Weyoun staring down at a large object, perhaps four meters long and two
meters across, that was rising from the depths. Given the absence of ropes and
pulleys, Garak concluded that the Vorta had relaxed the rules of B'hala's
restoration to allow the use of antigrav lifters.
A few meters down from the lip of the excavation, it became apparent that the
object was nothing more than a large boulder, the same pale color as the sand
and stones that surrounded everything here.
"It must have some special significance," Odo said expectantly.
"After all this work, I should hope so," Garak said.
They watched with the others, as the enormous rock floated easily upward from
the excavation, then shifted sideways through the air to a barren clearing to
one side of the spectators. By the time the boulder had settled—without the
slightest disturbance of the dry soil beneath it—Weyoun had scaled its summit so
that he could speak to his audience.
As he did so, Bajoran workers swarmed the base of the rock, detaching from it
blue devices the size of Garak's forearm—obviously the antigravs.
"My dear friends," Weyoun said. "What we are gathered here to witness today—or
should I say, tonight—is the last preparation we must undertake before the
ceremony of the Ascension can begin. Now, I know this rock doesn't look like
much. It's certainly not a sacred stone, and there are no mystical carvings upon
it. But it has fulfilled a very special function for us all.
"You see, the events that will lead to the transformation of the universe
are—and always have been—very well known to Bajoran scholars. True, in the past
those scholars made misguided attempts to censor the revealed truths of the
True Prophets, and were reluctant to share their knowledge of the transformation
with the people who trusted in them.
"But we have changed all that. Now we know the steps that must be undertaken
before the transformation can begin."
Here Weyoun pointed down at Sisko. "First, the False Emissary must rise from the
dead who fell when the Gateway vanished—and I'm so glad to have your own Captain
Benjamin Lafayette Sisko with us here today." In a moment which Garak felt was
amusingly surreal, Weyoun began to applaud, gesturing for his audience to join
in. But no one did.
Weyoun made a show of adjusting his robes before continuing. "In the days ahead,
I can promise you all that there will be further ceremonial activities
conducted here in B'hala, and eventually up on the Gateway—and then at the
doors of the sundered Temple itself." The Vorta smiled broadly, and Garak could
see he was trying to make eye contact with every prisoner. Garak nodded in
acknowledgment when Weyoun's gaze fell upon him. But he heard Odo's harrumph of
disapproval, and saw the changeling look down when the Vorta's attention settled
on him.
Garak caught the flicker of disappointment that touched Weyoun's face at Odo's
dismissal of him. How strange that someone with such power could still want for
something.
"In these troubled times," Weyoun began again, "we of the Ascendancy must admit
that we have enemies. Doubters we can accept. Nonbelievers we can coexist with.
But enemies ... they're not interested in either our acceptance or coexistence,
only hi destruction. Our destruction, my dear friends.
'To date, I can tell you that our enemies have tried to destroy our ships, our
worlds, our places of prayer. So we have fought back, as is our right. While our
enemies have used their most sophisticated weapons against us, filled subspace
with their lies, even tried to subvert us from within."
Garak was intrigued to see that at this point in his speech Weyoun bestowed a
most meaningful look on Sisko, although even Garak could not understand how
anyone could accuse the captain of duplicity. Sisko had never made any effort to
disguise his fierce opposition to Weyoun and the Ascendants.
"But, dear friends, we have withstood their assaults, and in only seven days we
will never have to endure them again." The Vorta paused, as if allowing time for
his audience to cheer his words, but again there was no response.
"However," Weyoun said after a moment, "these next seven days bring special
risks. Because the enemy will now be provoked into using its most fearsome
weapons against us. And one of their greatest perversions of technology is the
ability to travel through time itself."
A current of reaction raced through the gathering. It seemed to Garak that all
but Sisko, Kira, and Arla were whispering to each other. He himself glanced at
Odo, and the two of them silently shared their sudden interest in whatever it
was Weyoun was building up to.
"In fact," Weyoun said, his voice ringing across the excavation site, "die
scientists of the Ascendancy have said that it is even possible that our enemies
would go so far as to travel back in time to before any of this existed." He
spread his arms wide, and Garak knew the Vorta's reference was to the city of
B'hala, revealed and unrevealed.
"And there and then," Weyoun said, "they could bury bombs of immense destructive
power... bombs mat would be hidden through the ages among the lost treasures of
B'hala... bombs that would not detonate until after their timeships had set off
on their blasphemous journey, so that our enemies could falsely claim that they
had not wreaked havoc with the timeline."
"What an absolutely splendid concept," Garak murmured admiringly to Odo. 'To
change the past without changing the present... only the future. I'm truly taken
aback with admiration. I wish I had had a chance to employ a similar technique
when—"
"Be quiet," Odo hissed.
Undeterred, Garak cast his eye across the group again, wondering who the
specific audience for Weyoun's performance was. Because that's exactly what
this invitation to the excavation was—a performance, pure and simple, for the
benefit of one or two of the prisoners.
His eye fell on Rom. Certainly the midlevel Ferengi technician had astounded
everyone with his savant abilities in engineering. In fact, after Rom had come
up with the audacious technology of self-replicating mines,
seemingly in defiance of the laws of physics, Garak himself had even gone so far
as to risk contacting some of his old... business acquaintances. He'd been
curious to find out if any brilliant Ferengi scientists had disappeared in the
past decade, perhaps predisposed to find a new and simpler life in some kind of
disguise.
But this investigation had turned up no evidence regarding the possibility that
Rom was something other than what he claimed to
be, though Garak still had his
suspicions.
However, he reminded himself, even if it was Rom who had conceived of the
delayed temporal warfare Weyoun had described, it still seemed improbable that
Starfleet could have moved on the idea so quickly, or mat someone as lowly
placed as Rom could have passed word to the correct authorities to begin with.
And that problem of communication likely ruled out Chief O'Brien as well. A
stolid, boring sort of fellow to be sure, but also dedicated and forthright.
Just the sort to have under one's command in case a grenade someday came
through a window and required someone to throw his body upon it and save his
betters. People like O'Brien had their uses.
But not in this case.
Which meant, Garak reasoned, that Weyoun's performance could only be intended
for the one person present who could have had ample opportunity to be in
contact with Starfleet—the real Starfleet—in time either to suggest preparing
an attack in the past or to have learned that such an attack was planned.
Captain Thomas Riker.
Someone who—beyond any doubt—would be dead before this gathering was over.
Garak straightened his robes, pleased with the realization that of all the
people here, only he knew what Weyoun was thinking.
Garak's attention returned to the Vorta, who was still emoting up there on his
rock. Effortlessly picking up the thread of Weyoun's speech in progress, Garak
wondered precisely how many heartbeats Riker had left. Such a fragile thing,
life.
"Of course," Weyoun whined self-righteously, "knowing our enemies' plans, we
had to take action. Yes, we could have sent our own forces into the past, to set
up a shield of justice around our world. But the possibility that some
unforeseen accident might change the past made us rule against it. Instead, our
scientists concluded that we should let our enemies do their worst: Let them
stand revealed as the monsters that they are.
"Let them take their sordid voyage into our history, plant their bombs, and be
done with them, but"—Weyoun broke off unexpectedly to wave to a group of workers
who had been waiting at the far edge of the excavation— "be certain that
whatever cowardly action they take in our past cannot be hidden from the eyes of
the Prophets."
