“It buttressed my opinion that the kidnapper does not intend to make any demands—of the two of you as parents, of Mister Sisko as the Emissary, or of the kai,” Tey said. “I also concluded that he does not intend to return Rebecca.”
“What?!” Kasidy said. The idea horrified her. From the moment Rebecca had disappeared from her side, Kasidy had been consumed by concern for her daughter’s safety. But the prospect of Rebecca surviving her ordeal but never coming home spoke to another fear—namely, that Kasidy would never see her daughter again.
“Actually, such a motivation could work to our benefit,” Tey said. “I believe that the kidnapper is an Ohalavaru, and that he wants Rebecca to satisfy her prophesied destiny as the Avatar, perhaps hoping to raise her to take on that role when she reaches adulthood. If that’s the case, it would mean that he intends her no physical harm.” Kasidy understood Tey’s reasoning, but it didn’t address the psychological and emotional damage Rebecca could suffer while in the clutches of the kidnapper. “With the security measures that the Militia has put in place, it will be very difficult for him to take your daughter off Bajor,” Tey went on. “That means the only thing we need to do is find her.”
“You make it sound easy,” Ben said, more than a wisp of disapproval in his tone.
“It will not be easy,” Tey replied. “But I will not give up in the search for your daughter.”
Kasidy appreciated the former security agent’s avowal, not least of all because it fell short of those others had made. Colonel Jalas, Major Orisin, the first minister, even Ben, had all proclaimed that they would find Rebecca and bring her home. Tey made no such promise, pledging only to continue working toward that goal. The honesty of that oath, though it failed to guarantee what Kasidy most wanted, somehow encouraged her. It made Tey seem as though she understood the situation better than the others—better, even, than Ben—and so her declaration never to abandon her efforts to find Rebecca provided hope.
Still, Kasidy wanted something more concrete. “What makes you think the kidnapper won’t harm our daughter?” she asked.
“There is a passage in The Book of Ohalu that I believe supports that view,” Tey said. She raised her hands from her lap, revealing that she held a Bajoran padd. Kasidy had not seen her carrying it when Tey had greeted them at the door, nor had she seen it on the table. The young woman also wore civilian clothing that did not appear to contain any pockets or pouches capable of carrying the device, which made its appearance feel like a magic trick.
“It occurs eighty percent of the way through the text, in a chapter titled ‘Progress,’ ” Tey continued. She tapped at the device, then turned it around so that Kasidy and Ben could see its display. Words marched down the screen in Old Bajoran. Kasidy could not read the ancient tongue, though she had seen it enough to recognize it from its similarity to the current form of the language. Indeed, the characters of the chapter heading bore enough resemblance to modern Bajoran that she read it as the word Progres.
Tey turned the padd back to herself and operated it. “The passage reads, ‘She shall know departure as arrival, and through her journey, the future shall unfold as an era of grace and love. The many paths must diverge again and again, yet there is but one way ahead: through her shebbe toth.’ ” She showed the display to Kasidy and Ben again. The words had all been translated into Federation Standard, but for the final phrase that Tey had read.
“ ‘Shebbe toth,’ ” Ben repeated. “That roughly translates as ‘agony of maturity.’ ”
“Agony?” Kasidy said. The word sent a jolt through her.
“That is one way to read it,” Tey agreed. “It’s how I read it. It carries a connotation different from what you might think.”
“If I remember my idiomatic Old Bajoran, it refers to puberty,” Ben said. “To the often awkward and difficult process of moving from childhood to adulthood.”
“Yes,” Tey said.
“And that makes you think that an Ohalavaru took Rebecca so that he could ensure she grows up,” Kasidy asked.
“So that she can then achieve her prophesied destiny as the Avatar of Peace,” Tey said.
“Why hasn’t anybody on the Militia’s investigative team told us this?” Kasidy wanted to know.
“Probably because, although I’m sure they’ve studied the Ohalu texts in the last two days, none of them arrived at the same conclusion.”
“Why not?” Ben asked.
“For two reasons,” Tey said. “First, because there is no explicit mention of the Avatar in this chapter. It is therefore a matter of some debate as to whom these passages refer. The prevailing belief is that it is an allusion to the spiritual leader of the people. Militia officers studying The Book of Ohalu would know that and probably agree.”
“Then why should we accept your version?” Kasidy asked. She discovered that, because Tey had been so impressive, she wanted to trust her.
“Because of my training and experience in criminal profiling,” Tey said. Kasidy didn’t see the connection between a set of ancient writings and attempting to get inside the mind-set of a kidnapper, but then Tey explained it. “It’s actually unimportant how I read the passage. What matters is how the man who took Rebecca reads it.”
Kasidy and Ben looked at each other. She could see her husband trying to gauge the value of Tey’s opinions. Finally, he asked, “What’s the other reason the Militia haven’t reached the same conclusions as you?”
“Because of the final phrase,” Tey said. “In the original text, it is written as one word—shebbetoth—but there is no such word in Old Bajoran. Almost all current translations render it as sheb betoth, rather than as shebbe toth.”
“Of course,” Ben said. He appeared to understand Tey’s argument, though he did not seem particularly pleased by it. “But I have to ask why we should trust your interpretation over the consensus of scholars.”
“As I mentioned, what I think doesn’t matter,” Tey said. “It’s what the kidnapper thinks.” Ben nodded, evidently accepting that answer.
“But wait,” Kasidy said. “What is the usual translation? What does sheb betoth mean?”
“It means sacrifice,” Tey said.
Once more, Kasidy felt as though an electric shock passed through her body. “You’re telling us that the kidnapper has interpreted the Ohalu texts as meaning that he has to make sure Rebecca reaches adulthood, but also that he might think he needs to—?” Kasidy forced herself to say, “Sacrifice her.”
“Yes, that’s possible,” Tey said. “But if the kidnapper is Ohalavaru and has taken your daughter in order to validate his beliefs, and if he has emotional issues—all of which I believe is the case—he will seek to draw out his experience with the Avatar as long as he can. He will want to inflate his importance to the cause. Even if he reads the passage as ‘sacrifice’ instead of as ‘agony of maturity,’ he will delay the outcome of his efforts so that he can inhabit the role of hero as long as possible. That will give us time to find him before any permanent harm comes to Rebecca.”
Kasidy wanted Tey’s assertions to be true, and for that reason, she didn’t trust herself to judge the security specialist’s conclusions. “I want to believe what you’re saying, but I don’t know if I can.”
“Fortunately, there’s no need for you to do so,” Tey said. If Kasidy’s doubt insulted her, she gave no sign. “If I was the only person searching for your daughter, it would matter. But I’m not. Major Orisin and his teams—scores of people—are also trying to locate Rebecca, taking multiple tacks. Frankly, I’d be content to discover that my conclusions are completely wrong and for Major Orisin to find your daughter in the next five minutes. But until she is found, I’m going to use my instincts and experience to follow wherever the evidence leads me.”
“How are you going to proceed?” Ben asked. “You said that your security clearance has been reinstated, but we know that you resigned your position in the Bajoran government, so what authority do you have to actually c
onduct an investigation?”
Kasidy expected Tey to balk at being asked to detail her renewed credentials, especially just after having her conclusions questioned. Instead, she said, “Per the first minister’s request, Minister Menvel this afternoon appointed me as an at-large investigator.” Menvel Swee, Kasidy knew, served as the head of Bajor’s Ministry of Justice. “Overgeneral Manos then officially requested my attachment to the Militia and assigned me to assist in the search for Rebecca. I report directly to the commandant, so I have a great deal of autonomy, along with full access to the resources of the Militia. I have already been in touch with Major Orisin to coordinate my efforts with those of his teams, in order to ensure that there will be no duplications of effort.”
“What will your first step be?” Ben asked.
Tey blinked, hesitating for just a second. “I have already taken quite a few steps, Mister Sisko,” she said. “By learning the details of Rebecca’s abduction, by being briefed on the actions of the Militia, by examining the Ohalu texts.” She did not sound angry or even annoyed to have her methods scrutinized, but she did appear eager to get on with those methods. “My next step will be to ask you and Ms. Yates some questions.”
Ben gazed at Kasidy, as though to appraise her willingness to revisit everything that had happened. Kasidy looked to Tey. “Please,” she told the young woman, “tell us what you need to know.”
For the next hour, Kasidy and Ben sat with Tey and gave her answers. Some of the woman’s questions trod the same ground as those posed by Major Orisin and his investigative teams, but then she would focus on issues and details different from what the Militia personnel had. Where Orisin had asked about any other patrons Kasidy might have seen in Rozahn Kather’s gallery the afternoon of the abduction, Tey wanted to know about her experience in the art shop—what she’d looked at, what she’d said to the owner, and the like. Where the major had questioned her about whether or not she’d followed a routine during her visits with Rebecca to Adarak, Tey wanted to know about the experience of that particular visit—how comfortable the temperature had been, whether she and Rebecca had enjoyed anything in particular, those sorts of things. Kasidy initially thought the interrogation inexpert, even clumsy, to the point where she considered calling it to a halt. Eventually, though, she came to understand that by asking such personal and subjective queries, Tey managed to construct a different but still accurate picture of what had transpired on that terrible day.
Kasidy and Ben also responded to questions about how the people in and around Adarak had treated them over the prior year. They spoke about the house fire that had taken the lives of their friends Calan and Audj. Tey also asked about Ben’s standing as the Emissary, and about the nature of his recent experiences in that context. He explained that, while the people of Bajor still regarded him as holding that role, he had begun to feel otherwise. Only once in recent times had Ben explicitly acted in that capacity: during the Ohalavaru occupation of Endalla.
The information appeared to pique Tey’s interest. She explained that, while she’d heard about the incident, she didn’t know much about it. At the time, she’d recently resigned her position in the Bajoran government and had taken a trip back to Kuala Lumpur in her native Malaysia on Earth. “So you traveled to Endalla to speak with the Ohalavaru there specifically as the Emissary of the Prophets?” Tey asked.
“Yes, based on the request of Captain Vaughn, whose starship crew first discovered the Ohalavaru presence on the moon,” Ben said. “He had already confronted them on the surface of Endalla, but he’d failed to remove them. He believed that my presence there, both as the Emissary and as the father of the Avatar, might help influence the Ohalavaru to leave peaceably.”
“Did you identify yourself in those ways?” Tey asked.
“No, but I didn’t have to,” Ben said. “Rejias Norvan, the leader of the Ohalavaru group on Endalla, addressed me as ‘Emissary.’ ”
“But not as the father of the Avatar?” Tey asked.
“No, but they all certainly knew my identity,” Ben said.
“Did that help de-escalate the situation?”
“It’s difficult to know,” Ben said. “Everything on Endalla happened rapidly. I think my presence could have had an impact on some of those present, but not on Rejias Norvan, the Ohalavaru leader there. He did not seem stable.”
Tey regarded Ben quietly for a moment, obviously considering what he’d said. “Major Orisin has ordered his people to search for any possible links between Rejias and the abduction,” she said. “He’s sent investigators to question the families, friends, and colleagues of those who died in the explosion, but maybe that’s not the right place to look . . . maybe what took place on Endalla functioned as an instigation for your daughter being taken.”
Kasidy leaned forward over the table and placed her hand atop her husband’s. “Do you mean that you think Rebecca’s kidnapping is retribution?” she asked.
“It’s possible,” Tey said, “but that’s not what I meant.” She pushed back from the table and stood up. “I need to review a report of the incident on Endalla.”
Tey clearly intended to end the meeting. Kasidy and Ben stood up. They thanked Tey again for her willing participation in the search for their daughter, and she assured them that she would be in touch soon. Though Kasidy had told her to use their given names, she called them “Ms. Yates” and “Mister Sisko”—a middle ground between familiarity and the more formal use of their titles.
As she and Ben headed for the front door, Kasidy noticed the tea that Tey had poured had gone untouched.
• • •
Radovan closed the closet in the hall, then dug around in his pants pocket for the two-pronged key. He unlocked his bedroom and pushed the door open. The girl sat on the bed, a partially eaten meal on a tray beside her. She did not look up as he entered the room.
“I’m glad to see you’re eating,” Radovan said, though in truth, he didn’t really care one way or the other. After his explosive encounter that morning with Winser Ellevet, the girl had screamed herself hoarse before breaking down into tears. When finally she quieted, her racked sobs at last run dry, Radovan brought her breakfast, but when he returned for the tray, he saw that she had overturned it and sent her meal spattering to the floor. The girl shrank away from him as he yelled at her to clean up her mess, but then he ended up doing so himself. When he later took lunch into the bedroom, he warned her not to repeat her bad behavior. The girl hadn’t dumped that food, but neither had she eaten it.
Radovan crossed to the bed and picked up the tray. He saw that, while the girl had moved the food around on the plates, she really hadn’t eaten anything. It didn’t matter to him whether or not she kept herself sated, but he did want her to consume enough for the sedative he’d put in her food to take effect. If not, he’d have to resort to the hypospray.
Radovan hovered beside the bed, glaring down at the girl. She refused to look up at him. He closed his eyes and imagined grabbing hold of her, shaking her violently, and forcing her to pay attention to him. Radovan knew it would feel good to do that, to demonstrate the power he had over the Avatar, but he also believed that the time had not yet come to end their journey together. He needed to proceed cautiously in order for them to reach their destination—their shared destiny.
As Radovan carried the tray toward the door, the girl surprised him by speaking. “What happened to that lady?”
Radovan stopped in midstride and turned back to the bed. Several possible responses spun through his head, but he settled on the one he hoped would ultimately provide the path of least resistance. “What lady?” he said.
“That lady,” the girl repeated. “That lady.” She pointed to the floor in front of the door, to the location of Radovan’s physical altercation with Winser.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “There was no lady here.” It occurred to Radovan that his last statement had the virtue of being true: Winser, with her incessant
talking, her alcohol intake, and her sexual aggressiveness, could hardly be considered a lady. “You must’ve been dreaming.”
The girl stared at Radovan. He could tell from the look in her eyes that his assertion had set gears turning in her little mind. Even though he had taken her from her mother and imprisoned her, she wanted to believe him. As an adult, he held a natural sway over her, a de facto authority formed by his age, size, and behavior.
But the girl didn’t believe him. He knew that. Instead of telling him that, though, she said, “I want to go home.”
Radovan saw an opportunity. “If you want me to take you back, you have to be a good girl,” he said. “That means that you can’t scream and you can’t cry and you have to eat the meals I prepare for you.” He crossed back to the bed and set the tray back down beside the girl. She looked down at the food for a long moment before finally picking up a carrot stick. She bit into it with a loud crunch.
“That’s a good girl,” Radovan said. He reached to pat her on the head, but she shied away from his touch. He chose to ignore the insult and started back toward the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, the girl spoke again.
“I know you’re lying,” she said. “You’re never gonna take me back home.” She stared across the room at him with her dark eyes. He met her gaze and stepped back inside, wanting to intimidate her—to show her that she should not talk back to him, that she should not disrespect him. But the girl continued to stare. “You’re never gonna take me home,” she said again, “but I’m going home anyway.”
Radovan saw red. He raced back across the room and cocked his fist, his desire to strike the girl palpable. He knew that he could kill her—that if a single blow didn’t end her life, he could rain down violence upon her tiny body until he had broken it beyond repair. But it’s not time yet, Radovan told himself. That hour might come round, but it would be one he designed, one he curated, not some random moment into which the girl or anybody else goaded him.
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