by S. D. Perry
Kira took it and hefted it. It was a pretty standard design, average balance, nothing spectacular. But it beats being unarmed.
She looked at Torrna, who was now sweating rather more than was warranted by the temperature in the chilly, rank dungeon. “You okay?”
“No,” Torrna said honestly, “but it doesn’t matter. Moloki is right, we must return with this news or everything we’ve fought for will be lost!”
Chuckling, Moloki said, “You’re as much of a crazed zealot as I suspected, General.” He held up a hand to cut off Kira’s protest. “I meant it as a compliment, my dear, believe me. I can say that as the craziest of crazed zealots. Now come, let us go over this map quickly before someone decides to check up on us…”
Chapter Seven
In over thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure many times that she was going to die.
Thus far, she’d been glad to have been wrong each time, but as she crouched in the half-meter of snow, sweat pouring from her brow even as she shivered uncontrollably, checking to see if anyone was coming up behind them, she was starting to wish she would die, just so her present hell would end.
First they had spent two days trudging through a swamp. She had done what she could to keep Torrna’s arm from getting worse, but it was an uphill battle, and she was no medic. Plus, they had no food—Kira had many skills, but foraging had never been one of her best. They’d scavenged a few animals here and there, but most weren’t anything larger than a paluku.
Resistance had been less than expected, but as Moloki had explained, the castle itself was not very well guarded. Support from the Bajora notwithstanding, in order to fight, in essence, a three-front war—on the ground against both Periki and Endtree, on the sea against their combined navies—the prince had limited resources to keep an eye on things at home. Kira and her newly acquired sword had been able to take care of the few guards they had seen with little difficulty.
Then they’d gotten to the mountains.
From humidity and high temperatures to snow and frigidity. From her old wound feeling just fine to her arm stiffening up from the cold. And now, quite possibly, coming down with pneumonia.
If Julian were here, he’d give me a shot of something, and I’d be fine. Of course, I’d have to listen to a lecture about not taking better care of myself.
She shook her head. That part of her life was over now. She was here, and she had a duty to perform. The Prophets sent her here for a reason.
Right. To die on a mountain with a blowhard general who got himself captured, and was only able to escape imprisonment thanks to a spy. Makes perfect sense.
Sighing, Kira satisfied herself that they still weren’t being pursued, despite the five corpses they had left behind in the castle and the obvious trail they had made through the swamp. She got up, hugged herself with her arms (wincing in pain from the wound), and, shivering all the way, went back to the small inlet where she’d left Torrna.
“Dammit!” she yelled when she saw that Torrna had fallen asleep. He’d been fading in and out for quite some time. Kira’s medical knowledge was limited, but even she knew that going into shock would be deadly.
She slapped his face a few times. “Torrna. Torrna! Dammit, Antosso, wake up!”
He blinked a few times. “Ash—Ashla?” he said in as weak a voice as she’d ever heard him use.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said, plastering an encouraging smile to her face, hoping her teeth weren’t chattering too obviously. “We’re still not being followed. And we’ve only got a few more kilometers to go. Think you’re up to it?”
He nodded. “I think so. I just—arrrrrgh!”
Torrna had started to rise, then collapsed back to the snow-covered ground. “Sorry,” he said through clenched teeth. “Keep forgetting that the arm doesn’t really work.”
“Let me take a look at it,” Kira said, moving as if to pull back his cloak—stolen off one of the guards they’d killed on the way out.
With his good arm, Torrna grabbed Kira’s wrist. “No!” He took a breath. “I’m sorry, Ashla, but you fussing over it isn’t going to change the fact that it feels like someone’s driven a flaming hot poker through my shoulder.”
“Once we get back home—”
“It’ll be too late, then. Ashla—I need you to cut the damned thing off.”
Kira laughed derisively. “Antosso, I’m not a surgeon. And I don’t have anything to stanch the bleeding or cauterize the wound with. If I cut your arm off now, you’ll bleed to death.” Not to mention that I’m shivering so much that I’ll probably cut off your head by mistake…
“And if you don’t, I’ll die from the infection. You yourself said that was a risk.”
“A risk means the possibility of success. If I just hack your arm off right now with no alcohol, no bandages, no cauterizing agent—”
“All right! You’ve made your point.” Smiling grimly, Torrna added, “I suppose this means I’ll just have to make it back to Perikia, then.”
Kira just nodded, and helped him to his feet.
They trudged their way through the snow-covered region, climbing over outcroppings, under crevices, and through chest-high snowdrifts.
She didn’t know how long it was before she drained the water supply. Or, for that matter, when the blisters started breaking out all over her skin. She didn’t have the wherewithal to check her tricorder to see how bad the radiation was. Every fiber of her being was focused on the overwhelming task of putting one foot in front of the other.
How long ago was it that she had been trudging through the hot, arid wasteland of that theta-radiation-racked planet in the Delta Quadrant? Days? Months? Years? Now she was engaged in the same mindless task, staying focused solely on moving forward, ever forward, in the hopes of reaching her goal. Then it was to reach a gateway. Now it was to make it back to Perikia.
Of course, the gateway took her to Perikia. Is there some kind of symbolism here?
Or maybe it’s just nonsense. Maybe all of this is. Maybe I’m just here because it’s where the gateway sent me. There’s no purpose, no road the Prophets have put me on, I’m just here because some portal built by a bunch of aliens hundreds of thousands of years ago happened to show up when I needed it to get off a planet.
She closed her eyes and then opened them. Focus, she thought. Just put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about the fact that your internal temperature is skyrocketing while your external one is plummeting. At this rate, I’ll explode by nightfall…
Kira trudged her way through the snow, willing the feeling to stay in her feet even though they were starting to numb again—the last time they did, they had stopped in the crevice.
“Yet your gods cast you out.”
“Not my gods. Only a few men and women who claim to represent them.”
Kira had no idea why the conversation she and Taran’atar had had in the Euphrates was coming back to her, but she tried to banish it from her head. “Shut up!” she cried.
“What?” Torrna asked from behind her.
“Nothing,” Kira said, embarrassed. Great, now I’m yelling at the voices in my head.
“We will make it, Ashla. We must. There is no other way—if we do not, Perikia will be lost. It’s our land—the Lerrit do not belong there, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them out! But we can’t do it if we don’t get Moloki’s information back to the prefect.”
Kira looked back at Torrna, and saw the look of determination on his face even through the snow and facial hair, through the bruises, and through the pain he felt.
And she felt ashamed for doubting.
“We’ll make it,” she repeated.
One foot in front of the other, she thought. You can do it. We can do it. We’ll make it back.
Half an hour later, she collapsed face-first into the snow.
Chapter Eight
“Major?”
“Sir?”
“Tell me another story.”…
“While you had your weapons to protect you, all I had was my faith—and my courage. Walk with the Prophets, child. I know I will.”
…
“I was there.”
“Sir?”
“B’hala. It was the eve of the Peldor Festival. I could hear them ringing the temple chimes.”
“You were dreaming.”
“No! I was there! I could smell the burning bateret leaves—taste the incense on the wind. I was standing in front of the obelisk, and as I looked up, for one moment, I understood it all! B’hala—the Orbs—the occupation—the discovery of the wormhole—the coming war with the Dominion…”
…
“A people can be defined by where they come from. Who the Bajorans are is shaped in part by our world. It’s part of what ties us to the Prophets. The Cardassians didn’t belong there, so I fought them. All my life, I’ve fought for Bajor because that is my unit.”
“You believe caring for your home brings you closer to your gods?”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Yet your gods cast you out.”
“Not my gods. Only a few men and women who claim to represent them.”…
“Why have you taken this woman’s body?”
“This vessel is willing. The Reckoning—it is time.”
“The Reckoning—what is it?”
“The end, or the beginning.”…
“But what do the locusts represent? And why Cardassia—?”
“You were dreaming—and dreams don’t always make sense.”
“This was no dream!”…
“The captain is not going to die. He is the Emissary, the Prophets will take care of him.”
“With all due respect, Major, I’d rather see Julian take care of him.”
“Chief, I know you’re worried, but the Prophets are leading the Emissary on this path for a reason.”
“Do not attempt to convince them, Major—they cannot understand.”
“Since when did you believe in the Prophets?”
“What I believe in—is faith. Without it, there can be no victory. If the captain’s faith is strong, he will prevail.”
“It’s not much to bet his life on.”
“You’re wrong—it’s everything.”…
“Major?”
“Sir?”
“Tell me another story.”…
“Nerys?”
Kira’s eyes fluttered awake. “Where—where am—?”
“You’re back home.”
She didn’t recognize the face. “Who—who are you—where—?”
“You’re in the infirmary—”
Julian?
“—at Fort Tendro.”
No, Fort Tendro’s on the outskirts of the peninsula—practically the front lines. That’s where Torrna and I were headed.
She looked up to see a pleasant, round face, partially obscured by a wispy white beard and equally wispy white hair. “I’m Dr. Maldik,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty. And warm.”
Maldik smiled. “That’s good. Both very encouraging signs.”
“Wait a minute!” Kira cried out as Maldik started to walk away. “What about Torrna? We were in the mountains, and—”
“Yes, you were in the mountains.” Maldik turned back around. “Almost died there, too, based on the shape you two were in when you got here.”
Pouncing on the words “you two,” Kira said, “Antosso—General Torrna. Where is he?”
Tugging on his beard, Maldik said, “He’s already gone back to the capital. You and he had been declared dead by the Lerrit, you see—they claimed to have executed you. It therefore came as something of a surprise to see him stumbling into the fort, carrying you on his right shoulder.”
That bastard, Kira thought. Avtra must’ve been annoyed that he didn’t get his stadium receipts, so he decided to get some propaganda value out of pretending to kill us. Musing over her present condition, she thought, Of course, he came pretty close to calling it right that we were dead….
“In any case, he left immediately to pass on some news or other about the Lerrit, and also to let his wife and children know he was alive.”
Letting out a breath, Kira said, “Lyyra must have been devastated.”
“I wouldn’t know. Oh, the general did ask me to pass on a message.”
Kira gave Maldik a questioning glance.
The doctor tugged on his beard some more. “He said, and I think I’m quoting this precisely, ‘Thank her for me.’”
Snorting, Kira said, “He’s thanking me? What did I do, besides fall on my face?”
“Well, from what he said, you didn’t actually come out and tell him you were dying of pneumonia while you were stupidly trudging through freezing mountains after wading hip-deep in a swamp.”
In a weak voice, Kira said, “I didn’t want to worry him.”
Another beard-tug. “No, better to wait until you fall unconscious and then completely frighten him. Yes, good point, much better than simply worrying him.”
Kira ignored the barb, instead asking, “What about his arm? Were you able to save it?”
“Barely. You did a good job of keeping the wound clean. If you’d continued your summer stroll for much longer, it would’ve been infected, but he got the two of you here in time.” One last beard-tug, then: “Enough gossip. You need your rest.”
“I’m fine,” Kira said, and she started to sit up. The room proceeded to leap around, whirl in circles, and generally behave insanely—until she lay back down, and then everything was fine. “On the other hand, maybe rest isn’t a bad idea.”
In a tone that sounded irritatingly like Julian at his most smug, Maldik said, “Soldiers make such wonderful patients. Try listening periodically, it’ll do you wonders.”
Chapter Nine
Kira spent what felt like an eternity on her cot. Every once in a while she was able to sit up, but never for very long.
As time went on, news from the front lines, and from the capital, came in the form of messengers. Admiral Inna led a convoy of ships to the Kendra Valley River in an attempt to cut off the Bajora’s supply lines. Natlar also sent an envoy to the Bajora, asking them to cease their support of Lerrit.
It turned out that the battle at Barlin Field had been more decisive than Kira and Torrna had realized, busy as they were being captured. It had been a major victory, and led to the complete reclamation of not only Makar Province, but also most of the Lonnat Valley.
By the time Kira was well enough to travel, a ship was coming down the coast—the fort was located near the Korvale Ocean—to bring injured troops home. Being, in essence, an injured troop as well, Kira went along.
The captain of the ship was a very short, no-nonsense woman named Tunhal Din. Kira noticed that she wore an earring in her right ear. “Who the hell’re you?” was her way of introducing herself.
“Kira Nerys. I’m General Torrna’s adjutant.”
“Didn’t know he had one. Well, find yourself somewhere to sleep. If you get sick, do it over the edge or clean it up yourself.”
“How’s the fighting going?”
Tunhal shrugged. “We haven’t surrendered yet.”
Kira had never traveled much by sea. Her initial assumption that it would be much like flying in an atmospheric craft turned out to be optimistic. She managed not to throw up, but that only through a supreme effort of will.
When they came around the bend into sight of Natlar Port, she had other reasons for being ill.
The port was on fire.
She stood at the fore of the ship, next to the wheel, watching in shock. Tunhal was next to her. “Well, that was damn stupid o’ them Lerrits.”
Kira looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“Port’s what makes this land so damn desirable. Why’d they cannon it to smithereens like that? If they’re trying to win back the land, why screw up the most valuable part of it?”
“It dep
ends on your goal,” Kira, who had spent her formative years as a terrorist, said after a moment’s thought. “If you’re trying to take land from the enemy, you’re right, it is stupid. But if you’re trying to do damage to your enemy where it hurts the most, that’s the thing to do.”
Tanhul looked at her like she had grown a second head. “That’s insane.”
Kira had to bite back her instinctive response: You say that because the tactics of terrorism haven’t really been invented here yet. They haven’t needed to be. And you should thank the Prophets for that every night before you go to bed.
Instead, she said, “It’s actually a good sign, believe it or not.”
“How’s that, exactly?”
“They wouldn’t have attacked the port directly if they had any intention of taking it. This was the final defiant act of a navy that knows it’s lost. A kind of ‘if I can’t have it, no one can’ gesture. This probably means the war’s going well for our side.”
“Your definition of ‘well’ differs from mine,” Tanhul said dryly.
There were no obvious piers available for docking—half of them were damaged beyond usefulness, and the rest were occupied. The marina itself was a mass of chaotic activity, with small fires being put out and people coughing from the smoke.
Someone noticed them eventually, though, as a small rowboat approached the spot where Tanhul had dropped anchor. Kira recognized its occupant as the assistant dockmaster, Hiran. As he pulled up alongside the ship, Tanhul ordered a ladder lowered for him.
“Good to have you back, ma’am,” he said upon sighting Kira as he arrived on deck. Then he turned to Tanhul. “I’m sorry, Captain, but as you can see, we’re a bit shorthanded.”
“I’ve got wounded here.”
Hiran frowned. “Let me see what I can do. I might be able to get a few skiffs over to offload the worst of them.” He turned to Kira. “Ma’am, you should know that General Torrna’s in his office. You might want to see him.”
