Twist of Faith

by S. D. Perry

  “Commander Vaughn?”

  Vaughn looked up and saw Will Riker in the doorway. He smiled at the young man; even though he’d chosen the small office to avoid being sought out, he was happy for the reprieve from the darkening nature of his thoughts.

  “There’s no one around, Commander. Elias will do.”

  Riker smiled back at him, stepping into the small office. “Elias, then. I’m sorry to interrupt, but the captain asked me to keep you apprised of our situation.”

  “Which is…?”

  “We’ve set a course for DS9, but the warp drive is still a concern. A diagnostic on the core shows a slight imbalance in the antideuterium levels, probably because of the extended exposure to plasma radiation. It’s not serious, but Commander La Forge has recommended that we don’t exceed warp four until we can dock and perform a thorough inspection. We’re looking at twenty hours, maybe a little less. ETA is 1500 tomorrow.”

  “Have you ever been to DS9?” Vaughn asked.

  The first officer nodded. “A few times. The first was just after the Cardassian withdrawal. Commander Sisko had just taken charge of overseeing Bajor’s preparedness for Federation membership.”

  “Captain Sisko of the Defiant?”

  Riker nodded. “He ran the station for the last…seven years, I guess. You never met him?”

  “No. I know the name, of course.” Everyone in Starfleet knew about Sisko; he’d been a key player on the frontlines, one of the Allied force leaders in the final days of the war against the Dominion.

  Vaughn frowned, trying to recall something unusual he’d heard about Sisko’s command. He’d had some kind of connection to the Bajoran religion, though Vaughn couldn’t remember in what context. “Didn’t he retire recently? Or…was he killed?”

  “Neither, actually,” Riker said. “He disappeared. I don’t know the specifics, but I know that Starfleet decided not to pursue an investigation, for some reason. Something to do with Bajor…the Bajorans considered him to be some kind of religious figure, I believe. Maybe they’re investigating, or he stepped down in private and joined their religious council….” Riker shook his head. “I’m not sure. I could have someone look it up for you.”

  Vaughn smiled. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. It’ll give me something to do on the way, now that we’ve got some extra time to kill.”

  “Which reminds me, the captain and I are having a working dinner in about an hour, with Commander La Forge,” Riker said, “to talk over our repair schedule. He specifically asked me to invite you. It’s an informal meeting in the captain’s quarters. Can I tell him you’ll be joining us?”

  “Please do,” Vaughn said. “Thank you, Will.”

  Riker grinned. “You’re welcome, Elias.”

  With a nod, the first officer departed, leaving Vaughn alone once more. His curiosity piqued, he decided to see what he could find out.

  “Computer—show me the current personnel file for Starfleet Captain Benjamin Sisko.”

  The computer’s consistently efficient female voice filtered into the room. “General access to personnel files in the ship’s database is limited to—”

  “Whatever you have will be fine,” Vaughn interrupted.

  A second later, a brief history of Sisko’s career popped up on the screen in front of him, a list of honors and decorations, of postings and dates—but Vaughn only saw the small head shot in the upper corner of the screen, a standard optical capture from about the time Sisko had made captain.

  It’s him.

  When Vaughn had reached the Orb and stepped forward to close the doors of its ark, there had been someone with him for a few seconds, a calm and smiling presence he had discounted as a random Orb-induced hallucination. He saw now that it was Benjamin Sisko who had been with him on the Kamal, a man he’d never met or even seen before.

  “Computer, show me the rest of this file, authorization Vaughn-alpha-zero-seven-zero.”

  “Access to specified files is restricted to Level Fourteen security clearance or above.”

  That was classified. “Recognize, Vaughn, Elias A., Commander, security clearance Level Twenty.”

  A new file hit the screen with multiple category options, everything from medical records to personal history. Vaughn called up pictures and found a good one, a full face shot taken only days before the end of the war.

  Vaughn leaned back in his chair and stared at the picture, unblinking, the seconds spinning into minutes. It was definitely the same man he’d seen on the freighter, suggesting that there were forces at play that extended far beyond the reality he was most familiar with. He could only hope that they were favorable ones.

  Returning to the personal history file, Vaughn opened the first chapter and started to read.

  “‘…and singing, taken to Their eternal home.’”

  Finished, Yevir took a deep breath and looked out over the gathered faithful, gratified to see tears on almost every face, mingled with smiles and nods of acceptance. The piece he’d chosen to read was a powerful one, an affirmation of life and existence beyond life; it had been the perfect choice.

  The Prophets guide my hand, he quickly reminded himself, knowing how easy it was to become lost in pride. It was a powerful experience for him, too, being the focal point of so much faith, even for a few moments. Every seat was taken, many standing against the back wall, and he knew from Vedek Capril that the reading had been broadcast to several private gatherings throughout the station, so that every Bajoran on board could listen.

  Yevir was silent for a moment, aware of the chance he was being given—not just to comfort and lead, but also to put out a few subtle feelers for the missing book. It was hard not to be able to ask outright, but considering the nature of the text, the fewer who knew of it, the better; his small deceit was for the greater good.

  “I want to thank you, to thank all of you for this opportunity,” he said, nodding ever so slightly at Kira Nerys, sitting in the second row. He saw that she, too, had wept; he sincerely hoped that it wasn’t her conscience that had inspired her tears. Earlier, he hadn’t sensed any disingenuousness on her part, but he knew that making faulty assumptions could prove disastrous. Until he located the book, he had to remain vigilant.

  “It’s a particular honor for me to be able to speak to you here,” he continued. “As many of you know, it was just outside this very shrine where I received the Touch that led me into the service of the Prophets, only a few years ago. The Emissary was Their tool, as he was for so many of you, for reaching me. For showing me where I belong in the grand Tapestry that is our culture. It is a tapestry that we weave, with the choices that we make, with the lives that we touch—but it is incumbent upon us to always remember that it is the Prophets who provide the threads.”

  Nods among the gathered, smiles of acknowledgment. Yevir went on, choosing his words carefully now. “As the Emissary showed us all, one does not have to be a vedek to serve. I believe, with all my heart, that we can each do our part—and that it will take each of us doing our part to continue creating that Tapestry. We best honor the Prophets by always seeking Their will, in every thing we do…by choosing love, instead of hate. By seeking to understand, instead of staying in ignorance. By rejecting all forms of heresy, raising our hands to the Prophets and turning our backs to the unclean words and thoughts that seek to pull us away from Their wisdom.”

  In the sea of glowing faces, Yevir saw acceptance and agreement. It was the best he could hope for; if someone listening had knowledge of the book, perhaps he had reached them. At the very least, he had made himself known to them all by leading a well-attended service. It would make his task easier, if he didn’t have to introduce himself to everyone he meant to question.

  “This concludes tonight’s worship; thank you all for coming. Tesra Peldor impatri bren. Bentel vetan ullon sten. Walk with the Prophets.”

  He glanced at the prylar to his left, who softly tapped the gong that signaled the end of the service. Immediately,
people rose and surged forward to greet him, talking amongst themselves about their pleasure with the service, many actually reaching out to touch him. Yevir smiled and nodded as he stepped off the riser, thanking them, receiving their kindness and working to keep it from swelling his pride.

  Kira was suddenly in front of him, her eyes shining. “That was beautiful,” she said, briefly squeezing his hand.

  “Thank you, Nerys.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice slightly. “I hope that means that you’ll buy me dinner. I haven’t eaten since I got here.”

  Kira grinned. “Absolutely. I was just on my way to Quark’s, and was going to ask if you were free. I wanted to introduce you to someone—”

  There were more people eager to speak to him, standing patiently by. Yevir nodded at Kira. “I’ll meet you there.”

  A second later she was gone, a half dozen smiling men and women pressing forward in her place to be near him. For a few seconds, he forgot about the book, forgot about Kira and the Assembly and even the Emissary, instead allowing himself to be enveloped by their faith and happiness. Surely, the Prophets wouldn’t begrudge him a moment of complacency, a single moment to enjoy what his position inspired. He was only a man, after all.

  Yevir opened his arms, accepting their goodwill, accepting their love.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bashir signaled at Dax’s door promptly at 2120 hours, to walk with her to the welcoming party. Ezri was still trying to make her hair do something interesting. The sound of the door’s tone started her heart beating a little faster.

  “Come in!”

  The door opened and Bashir stepped inside, smiling when he saw her in front of the mirror. She frowned, running her fingers through her hair, brushing it forward and then pushing it back.

  “It’s short, Ezri,” he said, moving to stand behind her, speaking to her reflection. He slid his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head. It always amazed her, how well they fit together. “There’s just not that much you can do with it.”

  Dax smiled, still fussing with her bangs, happy to be in his arms. “Says you. I’m going to dye it purple and green, and spike it like a prong flower.”

  She turned around, leaning back to kiss him hello before stepping away. “Are you ready yet?” she asked, teasing.

  “I’m always ready,” he said, his stock answer, but his smile was a little thin…and although she knew exactly why, she wasn’t prepared to get into it. She knew he was hurt by what had happened, but his response had hurt, too, and she wanted a little more time to figure out what she wanted to tell him.

  I need time to figure out what I’m trying to tell me. Since commanding the Defiant, she had discovered new kinds of memories, feelings of confidence and possibility that she’d never felt before. She felt strong and excited and a little bit confused, and she knew that things were changing.

  But that’s good, change is a good thing…and he loves me. He’d understand, he’d be patient and understanding—

  —like he understood about Jadzia?

  Dax ignored the vicious little thought, reminding herself that he’d been surprised into anger.

  “Listen—about tonight…” Ezri smiled up at him, feeling strangely nervous. She trusted him, but was feeling a little uncertain about his mood. “Would it be okay with you if we moved dinner to tomorrow?”

  Bashir’s smile faded. “Why?”

  “I really need to do some serious prep work, for my next session with Kitana’klan. I’d been planning to do it after our dinner, but then Kira called about Jake, and I guess he’s only going to be here for a day….”

  At the tensing of his jaw, she gave up. “I do need the time for work, but I also want to be alone tonight. Not because of what happened yesterday, but because…I just do.”

  Bashir stared at her, and for a moment she thought he would be angry, a thought that both distressed her and opened the door to resentment. She loved him, but she was also unhappy about his reaction to what had occurred between them. She’d reached out for understanding, for empathy and support, and he’d turned away.

  “I understand,” he said finally, obviously doing his best to mean it. “Tomorrow it is, then.”

  “Hey, we’ve still got a party to go to tonight, right?” Ezri smiled encouragingly at him.

  “Right.” His smile seemed a little forced, but she appreciated the effort.

  “I love you,” she said, and his face brightened a little, the lines of tension around his mouth and eyes relaxing.

  “And I love you,” he said, so warmly that she almost regretted changing their plans. Almost, but she had so much to think about, so much to consider. She’d known that a joined Trill had lifetimes of experience to draw upon, obviously, but except in specific instances, she hadn’t really felt it before, not as something that could define her. But since the Defiant…

  All of them, and me; Dax.

  “Shall we?” Ezri asked, taking his arm, and Julian nodded, leaning down to kiss her again.

  They started for Quark’s, and although they walked touching and in love, their arms closely linked, smiling at one another, Ezri could feel the distance, and wondered if they’d be able to keep it from growing.

  It was a beautiful thing, Quark decided, the kind of thing that made him believe in miracles.

  Trays of hors d’oeuvres and sliced hasperat and stick sandwiches, enough to feed 600 with orders to replenish as needed. An open bar for two full hours, no maximum, and half price cost thereafter. And with shrine services ending, a wave of spiritually satisfied but certainly hungry and thirsty customers headed in his direction; all that worship could be rough on a body. It had been too short notice to get the hype up, but he was betting that at least 2,000 people would manage to drop in throughout the evening, at least for a drink. After days of drying profits, caused by those nasty Jem’Hadar driving away the last of his postwar revelers, Kira’s acquiescence to a catered event—at his bar, and one that was open to the entire station—was like a blessed rain.

  After a few final words to his staff—“keep it coming” prime among them—Quark stepped out from behind the bar and started encouraging the arriving patrons to eat, drink, be joyous, and then eat and drink more. He made a point of telling all who entered that everything was free, and that on such a lucky evening, they should consider trying a hand at dabo or dom-jot, perhaps even a late night game of tongo. As the 9th Rule promised, “Opportunity plus instinct equals profit.”

  He was saying as much to an elderly Bajoran woman when he saw Colonel Kira arrive, looking much happier than he’d seen her in a while. She had that bounce in her step that had been missing lately, and she actually smiled and nodded at him after looking over the accommodations. He’d had Frool hang a few streamers around the main food table, left over from Rom’s going-away party. The decorations added that special festive touch, and since Rom had paid for them, it didn’t cost Quark a thing to appear the consummate host; what could be better?

  The bar slowly filled, more and more people wandering in, helping themselves to food and drink. When Jake Sisko and Kasidy Yates walked in together, a small cheer went up. Quark was too busy to see to them personally—that damned replicator of his was still blinking out, requiring him to constantly stay on top of his employees, keeping them running to and from the kitchen—but he had Broik go over with a glass of synthale for Jake and ginger tea for Kasidy. It was the little touches, he knew, that made Quark’s the place to spend money on DS9.

  Quark was fully occupied—keeping the dabo girls smiling, pushing his employees to hurry, advocating merriment—but not so engrossed that he couldn’t keep his eyes and ears open. Sensing and reacting to the emotional undercurrents of his customers’ interactions was the mark of any good entrepreneur. When he saw Shar come in alone, he mentioned to Morn that the new science officer probably knew all sorts of tricks for generating hair growth, and sent Morn over with a fresh pitcher of high-grade ale to share with the Andorian. When the
adorable Ezri came in with her silly doctor, Quark noticed that there was definitely trouble in paradise, at least on Bashir’s part. The doctor was faking his laughter, no question; Quark specifically assigned Frool to keep the doctor’s whiskey glass full, as he had for so many troubled lovers through the years. Sometimes misery was even more lucrative than happiness.

  Quark kept watch on the new vedek, and wasn’t particularly impressed with what he saw. The mostly forgettable Yevir Linjarin had always been a man of simple, inexpensive tastes, and it seemed that getting bit by the Prophet bug hadn’t changed anything. He ate a single slice of hasperat and drank only water, setting a bad example for his small flock of beaming followers. Kira seemed to like Yevir, though, making a point of introducing Jake and Kasidy to him soon after he walked in. Quark noticed with some interest that meeting Sisko’s family was the one thing that actually wiped the pious smile from Yevir’s face; nice to see a little humility in the religious, particularly those who didn’t know how to enjoy free food. Rumor had it that he’d only be staying a short time on the station, at least.

  In all, the party was proving to be a success, the only sour note being that Ro Laren hadn’t put in an appearance. Yet, he reminded himself; it was still early. It was frustrating, particularly considering he had promised to buy her a drink the next time she dropped by. With Kira picking up the tab, he could have plied the lovely Laren with plenty of high quality liquor, saving himself a few slips of latinum.

  Can’t win ’em all, he thought, feeling uncharacteristically easygoing, ducking behind the bar to scrounge up another pitcher of Andorian ale after noting that Shar and Morn were running dry. He was in a good mood; people were eating and drinking and betting, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air, the bill steadily climbing. Besides, Ro wasn’t going anywhere; he had plenty of time to work his magic.