by S. D. Perry
Bajor? She believed so.
The man seemed unaware of her presence, and Miras continued to follow him as he walked down a set of stairs that had been built against the side of the porch, toward the back of the small home. When he reached the ground, he lifted a wooden hatch that revealed yet another staircase, this one curving down into an underground passage that had been dug next to the foundation. Miras seemed to float after him down the darkened steps and into a small chamber. The man did not sense her presence as he knelt down before a little hollow in the wall, a hollow that accommodated a four-sided object, tiled, bejeweled, with an oval lens on each face. Miras knew what he would do before he even did it; he opened the ark, and brilliant light spilled into the room.
She shielded her eyes from the glare of the Orb, washed over again with light before the room suddenly went dim. As her eyes adjusted, she found that she had been transported to yet another place—a room lined with books, and there were two other men in the room with her, Bajoran men. The cold, heavy air smelled of incense. From what Miras had read on the subject, the Bajorans’ clothes indicated that they were religious officials of some kind. In fact, she knew who they were, she knew what their raiment denoted without quite knowing how she knew it. These men were Kai Arin and Vedek Gar Osen. The names and titles were unfamiliar, but she knew them anyway.
The men were engaged in an argument, a debate, perhaps, but Miras could not be sure what they were saying. One man, the younger, departed the room—dismissed, she thought. The older man sat down at a desk and began to read from a book, a very old one.
Miras tried to call to the older man, for she was convinced that he was in danger, and when she saw the first man reenter the room, she became sure of it. The younger man crept up behind the elder and slid his hands around his narrow throat.
Miras tried to scream, to move, but she could only watch, silent and still and horrified as the old man thrashed in futile resistance, as his attempts to break free grew weaker. She tried to pull at the mask she wore, hoping that if it were removed she would be transported away from here, this nightmarish experience concluded, but her limbs were like fog and she had no control over her hands, her fingers. She was not even sure if she was inhabiting her own body anymore.
The younger man closed the book that the dead man had been reading, and removed the ceremonial headpiece from his lifeless body. The vision became more dreamlike, blurry and indistinct, things occurring in a jerky, clicking fashion. The murderer looked up, and Miras wanted to shield herself and could not. He seemed to be looking for someone, looking for her—and she realized suddenly that he, too, was wearing a mask, one that bore a strong resemblance to her own. He hadn’t been wearing one before, she was sure of it. He seemed to be looking right at her, and he reached up and pulled his mask away—
—and Miras was finally taken away from the unfortunate scene, just as she registered that the face beneath the mask was no longer Bajoran.
It had been Cardassian.
There was almost no time to consider what it meant, for Miras was suddenly home again, at the very center of Cardassia City, the environment grainy and one-dimensional, like a very old image capture. She recognized it, but at the same time she did not—for the capital of Cardassia Prime lay in ruins, great heaps of smoking rubble and debris blocking the streets, the aftermath of a devastating attack. Bodies were everywhere, Cardassian men, women, and children. The stench of death and burning composite was terrible, cloying.
In horror and panic, Miras squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried once again to tear the mask from her face. At last, she was successful. When she opened her eyes again, she was in the laboratory, the Orb case was closed, and someone was pounding on the door. Before Miras had time to think, Kalisi burst into the room, her face reading fearful bewilderment.
“Miras! What happened in here? The inventory staff was trying to contact you, and the ministry computer indicated that you weren’t in the room—that you weren’t even in the building! They tried to transport the object out but they couldn’t get a lock on it. They called me because the artifact was under my clearance, but then my thumbscan wouldn’t open the door!”
Miras tried to slow her own frightened breathing back to normal, but she was still continuing to receive images and thoughts that were not her own, like faded pictures in a dream, like connections made in deepest slumber.
“Kalisi…I have seen the devastation of Cardassia Prime. I have seen…there is a man on Bajor…his name is Gar Osen…but…but it isn’t his real name. He—he isn’t really a Bajoran, he’s there to—oh, he must not find the final Orb! Cardassia will be destroyed!”
Kalisi’s eyes widened in concern and confusion, and Miras realized how utterly insane her ramblings must sound. Whatever had happened to her, she felt she must not embarrass herself or her friend.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I…believe I need to eat something. How long have I been in here?”
“All afternoon,” Kalisi told her, placing her hand on Miras’s arm. “I think food is a very good idea.” She glanced at the object as it was transported back to storage, her expression even more anxious than before, and Miras stumbled along after her friend, trying to straighten out her thoughts.
“There must have been a malfunction with the linkup to this lab,” Miras suggested. “That must be why you couldn’t contact me, why the object wouldn’t transport to the storage facility.”
“Of course,” Kalisi said. “It might also explain why my thumbscan didn’t work at first.” She did not sound especially convinced. “Miras, I think I will take you up on your earlier offer of a meal. It would do us both good, I think, to catch up a bit. It has been a long time.”
“Yes,” Miras agreed. “Too long.” Her head was finally beginning to clear, and she felt foolish for the nonsense that she had just sputtered, and unnerved by the things she had seen. There had to be a scientific explanation for what had happened, some technology—obviously, it had produced a dampening effect on the ministry’s computer system. Considering the chaos she had caused, she knew that she would not get another chance to look at the Orb. And considering what she’d seen, she thought that that was just as well.
Lenaris Holem was dozing in his makeshift home when someone rapped heavily on his door. He stumbled to answer, blinking in the orange light of the setting sun. The visitor proved to be Ornathia Delle, a round-faced woman of about thirty, one of the people who was conspiring to help Taryl get her brother off Terok Nor.
“Holem,” she whispered, looking around nervously. “Taryl says she’s found something that could help us rescue Lac.” She hunched down slightly, as if it would make the pitch of her voice even lower. “Someone contacted her—someone who says they’ve been on the station.”
Lenaris stepped out into the dying sunlight. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said.
Delle shook her head. “She says not to. She said Seefa is getting suspicious.”
Lenaris was getting tired of sneaking around behind Seefa’s back. Since he’d come to stay with the Ornathias, he’d finally begun to understand why Taryl cared for Seefa; for all his pessimism and neurotic habits, the quirky young man was very bright and entirely devoted to Taryl. Still, if Seefa didn’t like what they were up to, perhaps he should go elsewhere. Ignoring Delle’s warnings, Lenaris headed for Taryl’s house.
A few steps from her door, Lenaris was intercepted by Seefa, who looked troubled. Lenaris attempted to walk right past him, but Seefa addressed him directly. It seemed he’d just left Taryl, as he kept glancing back at her door.
“Seefa.” Lenaris nodded in turn, trying to sound casual. “I’ve just come to check on the progress of those new sensors that Taryl said she was working on.”
Seefa didn’t seem suspicious, only worried, and maybe even sad. “She’s very upset about Lac,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m foolish to be putting pressure on her right now.”
Lenaris was puzzled. It was not unusual for Seefa to sudden
ly blurt out strange pieces of personal information, but that didn’t make this any easier to understand. “I suppose that’s wise, considering her brother’s disappearance.”
“It’s just…we’ve been engaged our entire lives. I don’t understand why we can’t just make it official. Taryl says that the middle of the Cardassian occupation is no time for a wedding. But I think she’s wrong. We have to be able to go on with certain aspects of our lives; we have to be able to occasionally indulge ourselves with small measures of happiness where we can take it. Don’t you think I’m right, Holem?”
Lenaris knew better than to get in a disagreement with Seefa, or even a discussion about how to live one’s life. Taryl’s betrothed was not the sort of person that one wanted to engage in argument; he was perpetually answering questions with more questions, or changing the subject so that any specific aspect of a discussion would never be fully addressed. Brilliant, perhaps, but tiresome.
“Sure,” Lenaris said. “Yes.” His heart dipped as he said it. He continued to work to put his own feelings for Taryl aside, all too aware that they were wasted. Although it wasn’t what he truly wanted, he’d resigned himself to being her friend a long time before.
He looked out to the west, where the old road had once been. He thought he had seen a moving object in the sideline of his vision. In fact, there was something moving. It was a person, that much was clear, but whether it was male or female, Bajoran or Cardassian, it was much harder to tell in the fading light.
Lenaris walked a little closer to have a better look, Seefa following. After a moment, Lenaris could be fairly certain that the person was a Bajoran, probably a woman, and…she wore the raiment of a monk.
“It’s Winn Adami,” Seefa said.
“Who?”
“She’s well known around here. She has long been advocating for a full-scale effort to repair the irrigation systems. Her order does not approve of the departure from the D’jarras—she’s in favor of fighting the Cardassians, but she thinks the fighting should be left to others. She believes our responsibility is to feed Bajor, not to fight for it.”
“Does she come to preach the castes, then?”
Seefa shrugged. “I imagine she has more reason than that. She disagrees with us, but she’s still very well respected. Several years ago, she bribed a Cardassian official who was sending a large group of Bajorans from a nearby village to be executed. Because of her intervention, the shuttle was diverted to a work camp. She saved their lives.”
“Really?” Lenaris squinted.
“Yes, really.” Seefa sounded annoyed. He tended to take offense at any perceived slight. “I had more than one relative on that shuttle. She must be coming to see someone here.”
Lenaris decided the business about Terok Nor could wait until later. “Let’s go out and meet her, then. Bring her some water. She must have come a long way.”
Seefa appeared to agree without actually speaking, and together the two men fetched a gourd full of clean water before they began to walk along the dusty road to meet with the approaching traveler.
“Ranjen Winn!” Seefa called as they drew near her. “What brings you all the way out here?”
The monk appeared to be slightly younger than Lenaris himself. She was fair of complexion, probably originally from the north, with ruddy spots flaming high upon her cheeks—the day had been hot. Her pale hair was twisted into complicated designs at the back of her head, her eyes glassy in their colorlessness.
“Aro Seefa. Hello.” She accepted the gourd that he offered her, and after taking a small sip she reached out and took his ear to read his pagh. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again as she released his ear. “You are troubled,” she said.
“Not any more than usual, Ranjen.”
She smiled tightly. “I have come to speak to someone in your village.”
“Oh? May I ask who?”
“Ornathia Taryl. Can you take me to her?”
“Taryl? Of course.” Seefa offered her the gourd again, and she took another sip, eyeing Lenaris with what seemed to be mild suspicion.
The three started to walk toward the village together, Winn continuing to look Lenaris up and down as if she did not trust him. “You are not one of the Ornathias,” she observed.
“My name is Lenaris Holem. I’m from Relliketh.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I’ve been here about two years now.”
“Two years.” Winn turned to Seefa. “Can it really have been that long?”
“It was almost four years ago that you were here last, Ranjen,” Seefa said.
“Four years,” she said, her expression unreadable. “And I am still but a lowly ranjen.”
Lenaris was not sure how to respond to her. The revelation was spoken without emotion, yet it seemed to upset the woman. They reached the village without further conversation, and the two men escorted her to Taryl’s hut, though she already seemed to know where to go.
“Ornathia Taryl,” Winn said formally as she entered Taryl’s hut. Lenaris and Seefa stepped inside behind her.
Taryl was, as usual, working on something. She stood up from her bench and bowed before the monk.
“Now, my child, there’s no need for that. I am hardly the kai—or even a vedek.”
“You honor us with your presence, Ranjen.”
Winn looked pleased at being addressed with such respect. “I have come with news of your brother Lac.”
“Lac?” Taryl’s hand floated to her chest, and Lenaris saw, for a beat, the emotion that she was denying herself. It was gone just as quickly, that veil of restraint back in place.
“One of the prylars in my order just returned from the Pullock system,” Winn said. “It seems the Cardassians have a prison camp there, on Pullock V. As you may know, the Cardassians permit some religious officials to give counsel to their prisoners, if it is requested. One of the prisoners on Pullock V specifically requested that an official from my order be sent. That prisoner was Lac.”
“Lac!” Taryl exclaimed. “He is alive!”
“He’s not at Terok Nor!” This was Seefa. “I knew it, Taryl. I told you it would have been foolish to go there!”
“To Terok Nor!” Winn looked appalled at the very suggestion. “What kind of foolishness is this?”
“Nothing, Ranjen,” Taryl said, shooting her fiancé a look of urgent fury. “Please, tell us what you know of my brother.”
The ranjen was clearly unsettled, but she continued. “Lac wanted to be sure to send back word to you that he is alive…. He doesn’t believe the Cardassians took possession of his ship—”
“He’s letting us know that we’re still safe!” Lenaris exclaimed. Winn glared at him, and he apologized quickly. “Forgive me, Ranjen.” He turned to Taryl. “I’ve seen star charts of the Pullock system—it’s not far from our own.”
Taryl turned to Lenaris. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“What is the meaning of this?” Winn demanded.
Lenaris continued to talk as if Winn weren’t there. “Tiven Cohr,” he said.
“No,” Seefa argued. “Enough with the warp ship, already. Even if your friend could fix it, you’re guaranteed a death sentence if you leave the atmosphere in that ship.”
“You’re underestimating what kind of a pilot Halpas Palin is,” Lenaris informed him. “He fought the Cardassians in the early stages of the occupation. If anyone can do it, Halpas can. If I leave now, I can get to where he and Tiven live by tomorrow morning.”
He smiled at Taryl, ever so slightly. “I’ll even apologize, if that’s what it takes.”
Ranjen Winn was visibly agitated by this talk, looking back and forth between Taryl and Lenaris. “Any foolhardy attempts to travel offworld will only result in lives lost, more Bajoran prisoners in Cardassian camps!” she admonished.
Taryl turned to the holy woman. “He’s my brother,” she said simply, and went right back speaking to Lenaris. “You would
do it, then? You would contact Tiven Cohr—even after what he said?”
“Of course I would!” Lenaris said. “It’s like you said, Taryl—he’s your brother. And my friend. We can do this.”
Winn interrupted. “Your birthright is to till the soil, not to leave this world in a ship! Just look at what has happened as a result of farmers trying to be something they are not—your brother has been captured, and according to the monk who attended to him, the conditions in that camp will not sustain him much longer.”
“My birthright is that of a pilot,” Lenaris told Winn. “And if you say Lac doesn’t have much more time, then we had better get moving quickly.”
Seefa broke in. “No,” he said. “Lac can’t know for sure whether the Cardassians took his raider, and I believe they would have done so. I suggest we all leave immediately, without our ships. We should go back to the peninsula.”
“Seefa,” Taryl said. “Lac obviously sent us this message with the hope that we would come looking for him.”
Seefa looked unmoved, shaking his head.
“Please,” Taryl pleaded. “He would do the same for you.”
“Lac would be the first to point out that it would be foolish to risk several lives to save one. I know how upset you must be, but, Taryl…” He reached for her, but she stepped away, her eyes flashing.
“How can you say that?” she snapped. “If there’s any chance that we can save him, we should take it. Holem is going to find Tiven Cohr—and I’m going with him.”
“By the Prophets,” Winn said angrily. “The misguided words of a renounced vedek have penetrated the consciousness of this world so thoroughly that farmers leave their fields unplanted, choosing to fly off on suicide missions instead of providing food for their world. You were never meant to take to the skies, Taryl, and neither was your brother. Perhaps this result is the Prophets’ way of telling us that Lac should have kept his feet planted on the ground—as should you.”
“Ranjen,” Taryl said, her tone softer, “we have long disagreed on this matter. We mean no disrespect to you, but we must do this. I must do this. My mind is made up.” She turned to Lenaris. “How soon can we get there?”
