Very softly, she said, “If we go to war today, that—” She took a step to the side and pointed across the room to the display of Ki Baratan. “—gets destroyed.”
Tomalak looked over at the image of the Empire’s capital city, then back at the praetor. “There were supposed to be no deaths,” he said. “We just wanted to travel back through the wormhole, cloaked, and slip back home, unseen.”
“Really?” Kamemor said, her voice full of skepticism. “Is that why you also planted bombs on Deep Space Nine, and had Breen and Tzenkethi starships waiting cloaked nearby? So that you could ‘slip back home, unseen’? That’s not terribly convincing.”
“The bombs were planted so that Starfleet would evacuate the station,” Tomalak said. He sounded oddly desperate to convince the praetor. “I don’t know if they were planted late, or not found in time, but the evacuation hadn’t ended by the time we got there. And when they went off, they were supposed to disable the station, not destroy it.”
“And the Breen and Tzenkethi ships?”
“A backup plan behind a backup plan,” Tomalak said.
“Because no matter what, the most important thing was to acquire the capability of slipstream drive for the Empire and the Pact,” Kamemor said. “And yet, instead of strengthening the Empire and the Typhon Pact, you’ve left it without slipstream and on the brink of war with the Federation and the Khitomer Accords.”
Tomalak’s eyes flashed. In that look, Kamemor saw all she needed to know about him. He used slipstream as a pretense, she realized, a patriotic rationalization to forward his own agenda—an agenda she had long ago come to understand had to do with the common good of the Romulan people only insofar as it would elevate him to a prominent status.
“Yes, we’re on the brink of war,” the praetor said. “Both sides—the Typhon Pact and the Khitomer Accords—massing at the borders, preparing to fight at the slightest provocation.”
Tomalak jeered. “You see,” he said, “even destroying a Federation space station is not cause enough to compel them to fight.”
“What difference does it make to you?” Kamemor asked. “With the advantage of slipstream, the Federation and its allies will be victorious. And it won’t affect you, because this is where you’ll sit for the rest of your life.”
One side of Tomalak’s mouth edged up in a smirk. “We’ll see,” he said.
“Oh?” Kamemor asked. “Will we?” Kamemor had waited for such a statement. “We’ll see, because you think that one of your powerful compatriots will find a way to bring you back to the Empire? Commander Marius of the Dekkona can’t do it, because Admiral Devix threw him into a military prison. Commander T’Jul of the Eletrix can’t do it, because she’s dead. Perhaps Subcommander Kozik of the Vetruvis, who recently became Commander Kozik. But no, he’s unavailable at the moment.”
“I’m sure he is,” Tomalak said. Kamemor noted the statement, which seemed to indicate that Tomalak knew the next plan Sela intended to put into action.
The praetor turned and walked away from Tomalak, away from his cell. She crossed the room all the way to the display of Ki Baratan, and she stood gazing at it for several moments. When she turned back, Tomalak stood looking at her from his cell.
“Do you think, I wonder, that your most powerful ally will find a way to bring you home?” Kamemor asked him. “That they will somehow infiltrate the Federation system and see you acquitted of your crimes? Or that they will see me deposed and my successor negotiate for your release, perhaps in some sort of prisoner exchange? Or that they will simply find you and break you out of this existence?” She walked slowly back toward the cell, made her way around the bench, and sat down at its center. “You are misguided, Tomalak,” she said. “Sela gave you up.”
She saw that he could not control the expression on his face, which showed both surprise at Kamemor’s knowledge of Sela’s duplicity, and rage that Sela had not protected him. But in the next instant, he attempted to cover. “I presume that you are speaking of Chairwoman Sela,” he said. “I’m afraid that I don’t—”
“Fine,” Kamemor said, standing up. “I can leave now. And once I do, I think you’ll have no trouble believing that I will never be back. Nor will anybody from my government—which, of course, no longer includes Chairwoman Sela.” A lie, though not for long; Sela would remain free—though under surveillance—only until Commander Kozik and Vetruvis could be stopped. Once there could be no chance of Sela or any of her associates warning Kozik that people were searching for him, the chairwoman would face the inside of a cell in Ki Baratan, one far less comfortable than the Federation cell housing Tomalak.
“Please,” Tomalak said, motioning toward the exit door. “I’ve been wanting you to leave for some time now.”
“All right,” Kamemor said. She took a few paces toward the exit, then said, “But rest assured, the Federation will convict you of your crimes, and they will imprison you for the rest of your life.” She looked past him on one side, then on the other. “Your cell is nicely appointed . . . for a cell. And the image of Ki Baratan should keep you from being too homesick, I imagine.”
“We’ll see,” Tomalak said again, but the praetor saw that the idea of remaining in a Federation cell for the rest of his days worried him.
“Yes, we will,” Kamemor said. “We’ll see testimony from Sela, former chairwoman of the Tal Shiar. Because once we arrested her, we gave her a choice. We promised her freedom in exchange for your captivity. She revealed you as the mastermind of all these operations, of the Utopia Planitia theft, of the Gamma Quadrant mission, of Kozik’s mission.”
Tomalak laughed, a short, hard sound.
“I feel the same way,” Kamemor said. “But right now, Sela is our most important witness, so we have to believe her. If you have something different to tell me, then perhaps you can go free instead of Sela. Because one of you will end up imprisoned.” Kamemor shrugged. “I’d prefer it to be the one who actually planned all of these rogue acts, but I’ll settle for either one of you.”
“It was Sela,” Tomalak said. “These were her plans.”
“So what?” Kamemor said. “She’s no longer chairwoman of the Tal Shiar, no longer welcome in the Imperial Fleet or the government, and her movements will now be monitored continuously, but within one entire sector of the Empire, she is free to roam.”
“But it was Sela who planned everything,” Tomalak said.
Kamemor strolled back to the force field. “I believe you, Tomalak. Actually, I never believed her story. But it was all we had.”
“I can tell you a different story,” Tomalak said.
“I’m sure you can,” Kamemor said. “But that’s all it will be to me: a story. I need something more.”
“What?”
“I don’t need to know about your or Sela’s involvement in the plans to steal slipstream from Utopia Planitia or the Dominion,” Kamemor said. “I need to know the next plan.”
“And if I tell you?” Tomalak asked.
The praetor raised her eyes and stared directly into Tomalak’s own. “If you tell me, then you won’t be in the Imperial Fleet and you won’t be in the government, but you will be home. And although we will monitor your movements, you will be free.”
Tomalak stared back into the praetor’s eyes. He said nothing for a long time. He didn’t move, and neither did she.
And then he started talking.
26
Kira regarded the form of her dying friend. Elias Vaughn looked nothing like his former self. The bedclothes—only a sheet and a thin blanket—seemed somehow too large for the body they covered. His skin looked like cheap paper, almost translucent. It pained Kira to see so substantial a man in so insubstantial a form.
And yet he continued to live. Yes, in the most significant way, he had perished two and a half years earlier, above the world of Alonis, aboard U.S.S. James T. Kirk, in a successful attempt to save the lives of people on the planet and the crew of his ship—but he hadn’t saved his own
life. He had died a hero’s death, without fully dying.
At first, it had required a complex array of life-support equipment to sustain him. After a time, that changed, and he required machines only to breathe for him and to provide nutrition and hydration. Eventually, even the respirator became unnecessary. But though his body endured, it became clearer with each passing day that his mind would never return. Finally, none of the equipment employed to keep Vaughn alive remained. And though he would soon die—perhaps at any moment—he had already lasted longer than most in such circumstances.
Somehow, even in death, Vaughn seemed indefatigable. His mind had gone, his spirit had flown, and yet his body fought on. A fragment of the poem Benjamin had read occurred to Kira:
. . . that which we are, we are . . .
Kira knew that she would never forget Vaughn.
“Are you all right, Prynn?” Kira asked. Vaughn’s daughter sat in a chair beside the bed, her hand resting atop her father’s.
“Yeah, I am,” she said. Even with Prynn’s eyes rimmed in red from crying, Kira believed her. After Prynn had asked Doctor Bashir to remove Vaughn’s feeding and hydration tubes, she’d reported to Defiant for a mission. She said what she believed would be her final farewells to her father, fully expecting to find him no longer alive when she returned. With so many of his friends having visited him, and the lovely words they’d brought and read aloud, she told Kira that it seemed fine for her to be away when her father finally passed.
But when Captain Sisko had brought back Defiant, Prynn had learned that Vaughn hadn’t yet died. Because of that, she decided to spend the last few minutes or hours or days of her father’s life with him. Granted a leave of absence from Starfleet, she essentially moved into the hospice. She slept in a visitor’s room not far from her father’s, spending as much time with him as she wished.
“I just wanted to stop in and see him again,” Kira said. “And to check on you.”
“I appreciate that, Nerys,” Prynn said. “But I really am all right. This—” She looked down at her hand resting atop Vaughn’s. “—feels right.”
“I’m glad,” Kira said. She walked over to Prynn and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it. “I’ll see you soon.”
Prynn smiled.
Kira left the room. On her way out of the hospice, she said good-bye to the people she had come to know there. Outside, she started back up the path that overlooked the Elestan Valley.
Kira had a rare free afternoon, and she almost didn’t know how she should spend her time. That morning, she’d thought about transporting out to Ashalla, perhaps to visit the Shikina Monastery and walk the grounds, but it seemed redundant to leave one religious milieu for another. She considered visiting Opaka, but then hadn’t been able to reach the former kai.
Kira had been intending at some point to beam out to Aljuli so that she could walk over to the new Bajoran Space Central—a name that struck her as rather grand for what the old Wyntara Mas Control Center looked like. She didn’t doubt that Ro and her crew had improved it greatly, though, especially since she’d heard that Miles O’Brien and Nog had returned. But although Kira hadn’t seen some of her friends from the station for a while, and even though she wanted to check on them after what had happened, she also didn’t want to intrude on their grief, or interfere with their process of mourning. Really, she should contact Laren and confer with her about when would be the most appropriate time for her to visit.
Something else called to Kira, though, and in that moment, she decided to act on it. She followed the path around and up toward Vanadwan’s primary transporter plaza. When she reached the crest of the mountain, she turned to her right and headed along the covered walkway toward the Inner Sanctuary.
Kira approached the temple as she always did, with a sense of reverence both spiritual and secular. She certainly understood—and felt—the religious significance of the Crown of Bajor, but the age of the place, its endurance, and its beauty also impressed her. As she neared it, she drifted out from beneath the cover above the walkway and gazed upward, along the lines of the Inner Sanctuary’s structure, up to the spires that she could see from her location.
When she reached the old wooden doors, Kira pushed them open and entered. Inside, she waited as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Small, colored windows near the circular roof provided scant illumination, bolstered only by the flicker of candlelight.
Kira saw only a few worshippers within the temple. A straight wall cut across the round space about three-quarters of the way across it. Seated before it, at a table that looked even older than the Sanctuary itself, sat Vedek Sorva, his face buried in the pages of a large tome spread open before him.
Kira approached him, her footfalls sounding hollow and small in the high-walled space. When the vedek looked up and saw her, he smiled. “Vedek Kira,” he said. “How good to see you.” He rose to greet her, and his slow, awkward movements made him seem older even than the dark, pitted table at which he sat.
“Please, please, don’t get up,” Kira told him, but he paid no attention. “Vedek Sorva,” she said, reaching out to take both of his hands in hers. “It’s good to see you too.”
“Come by for some afternoon prayer?” Sorva asked.
“Actually, I was wondering if there was anybody in the Orb room,” Kira said. “I was thinking of going in myself.”
“Of course, of course,” Sorva said. “The room is all yours. Let me take you.” Kira could easily have made her way to the door that led to the Orb room, but as the administering vedek in the temple at that time, Sorva had the privilege of escorting the faithful inside. “Have you consulted the Eighth Orb before?”
“I never have,” Kira said. The Eighth Orb had only been returned to Bajor from Cardassia seven years earlier, along with three other Orbs: Souls, Truth, and Unity. While many Bajorans flocked to the capital to see them, Kira had resisted. She did so not because she didn’t want to experience more of the Prophets’ love and guidance, but because she didn’t want to force the issue. Let everybody get out of the Orbs what they need, she’d thought. And when the time is right for me, I’ll know it.
“Well, we all walk our own paths in our own time,” Sorva said, echoing Kira’s own sentiment.
They reached the door at the end of the straight wall, and Sorva pushed it open. The ancient metal hinges creaked. Kira followed him into the room.
The curved outer wall led around to another straight one, which met the first straight wall at a right angle. The ark stood on a small table in the corner, a pair of candles burning on either side of it. “May you hear what the Prophets have to tell you,” Sorva said.
“Thank you.”
Sorva withdrew and pulled the door closed behind him. Kira regarded the ark. It looked rather plain to her, as they always did, but then how could any artisan hope to match the complex beauty of what the ark would contain? Kira stepped forward, feeling the anticipation of her experience as a flutter in her stomach.
When she reached the table, Kira slipped to her knees. She concentrated for a moment on her breathing, steadying herself, clearing her mind. Then she reached up to the ark, took hold of the wooden handles jutting out of its sides, and pulled it open.
The Orb of Destiny bathed her in its otherworldly light.
Kay Eaton watched as Benny Russell flung open the front door of the police station and raced out into the city.
“Benny!” Cassie Johnson called after him. “Benny!” She tried to follow, but Eaton wrapped her hands around Johnson’s upper arm.
What am I doing? Eaton thought, uncertain why she felt so strongly about not allowing Johnson to chase after her boyfriend. But then something—a flicker of emotion, a flash of intuition—made her glance back over her shoulder. Where earlier Eaton thought she’d seen pieces of the ceiling fall to the floor, she once again saw the sky. She understood that she didn’t really see it, that the plaster above the room remained intact, and even if it hadn’t, if there had been holes there, t
he second story of the building might have been visible, but not the sky.
But in her mind, Eaton envisioned the ragged edges along the openings in the failed ceiling. Through the gaps, she imagined seeing not the second floor, but the pinpoint lights of distant stars. Among them, one of those lights moved.
It’s the Temple, she thought. It’s the spaceship in my story.
And though Eaton did not truly see the holes in the ceiling, or the stars, or the spaceship she’d written into existence, still she saw more. A vibrant blue pinwheel of light appeared and spun energetically in the night, and a moment later, a red one joined it. Somehow, all of that confirmed what Eaton had already decided: that Miss Johnson had to let Benny go, that if she didn’t, then they could never be together again.
She looked back at Johnson. “You have to let him go,” Eaton said.
“But why?” Johnson asked, still trying to tug her arm free of Eaton’s grasp. “We can be together.”
“No,” Eaton said, surprised by the certainty in her voice, but also comfortable with it. “You have to let him go.” She hesitated to say the rest of it, but knew that she must. “You have to let him walk his own path . . . or you’ll lose him. You’ll lose him forever.”
Johnson stopped struggling at once. “What?” She stared into Eaton’s eyes, as though searching for something. “What are you talking about?”
“I . . .” She almost said that she didn’t know, but she did. “It’s the way it has to be.”
“Always?”
The question startled Eaton. It seemed so basic, and so obvious, and yet she hadn’t expected it. Always? she repeated to herself. Would Cassie Johnson always have to let Benny go?
“Maybe not,” Eaton said, and she felt the rightness of her answer, the reality of it. Because what’s true one day might not be true the next. Events occurred and circumstances changed. “Maybe if—”
The front door suddenly burst open. Still standing beside each other, Eaton’s hands still on Johnson’s arm, the two women jumped, startled. They both peered over at the doorway. Benny stood there, his eyes wide. “Where’s my friend?” he demanded.
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Raise the Dawn (Star Trek, the Next Generation) Page 36
