“Jake-O,” Sisko said. “I am so glad to see you.”
Sisko set his son down and gave him a joyful kiss on the top of the head.
As the weary group walked down the city street, people lined up on either side. The meek and the strong, peacemakers and freedom fighters, farmers and politicians—from every village, from every province they had come. A cheer erupted from the gathered people as the Emissary and his companions passed by. It was a time of joy in Ashalla. It was Ha’mara.
It was a time to sing.
The next day, Kira Nerys stood in the main shrine of the monastery, facing a great tapestry purported to depict the grand design of the universe, as imagined by ancient Bajorans. Although in truth, all Kira saw was a complex and seemingly random—albeit aesthetically pleasing—jumble of abstract elements. Which, she reflected, is probably as good a description of the universe as any. After a moment, Kira closed her eyes, held her hands open and apart, and prayed.
She heard someone enter the room. Kira didn’t look, but she sensed the newcomer standing near and joining her in communion with the Prophets.
When Kira opened her eyes, she was shocked to see that it was Kai Opaka.
“Eminence,” Kira stammered.
“Please,” the kai said. “I’ve never liked being called that. Opaka will do. Are you well?”
“I’m mending,” Kira said. Dr. Bashir had tended to their wounds as soon as the welcoming crowds began to dissipate.
“May I?” Opaka asked as she extended her hand toward Kira’s ear.
“Of course.”
Opaka breathed deeply as she felt Kira’s pagh. Her face filled with understanding.
“You are troubled,” Opaka said as she released the major’s ear. “Would you care to talk about it?”
Kira hesitated. The opportunity she was being given was all that she hoped for and everything she feared at once. “Commander Sisko,” she said finally.” I don’t understand why the Prophets would choose a nonbeliever as the Emissary.”
Opaka smiled, and regarded the tapestry before them. “The will of the Prophets is sometimes confusing,” Opaka said. “Often the path they choose for us to walk is not one we would choose for ourselves.”
“This is a strange path, Opaka,” Kira said.
Still smiling, Opaka turned to Kira and took both her hands in her own. “But you need not walk it alone.”
Sisko was in his office on Deep Space 9, seated opposite Major Kira. Three days had passed since their return from Bajor, and in all that time, they had not spoken a word that was not work-related.
Sisko was holding a report detailing the progress on the station’s repairs and upgrades. With all the Federation and Klingon traffic expected to come through Deep Space 9 in the weeks and months ahead, work to make the station ready for it was going on around the clock.
“This is fine,” he said, handing the padd back to Kira.
“Thank you, sir.”
Sisko had expected Kira to return to ops then, but something held her in place.
“Is there something else, Major?”
“Yes,” she said, “there is.” Then she fell silent.
“Well?”
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you in the catacombs,” Kira said.
“No need to apologize, Major. We were both under a lot of stress.”
“With all due respect, Commander,” she said, “I need to get this off my chest.”
Sisko leaned back in his chair. “Then by all means,” he said, “speak freely.”
Kira took a deep breath. “I’m still not sure that the Federation presence here is the best thing for Bajor,” she said. “But after everything we went through in the Paths of the Lost, I want you to know ... I consider myself very fortunate to be working with you.”
Sisko smiled. “The feeling is more than mutual, Major. Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’d like to ask you a question, if I may.”
“Please.”
“Do you believe that I’m the Emissary?”
Kira smiled at him. “I believe in the Prophets, Commander,” she said at last, “And if they believe in you, then that’s good enough for me.”
Sisko blinked. “I see.”
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you, Major. Carry on.”
Kira nodded and left, leaving Sisko alone in his office. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say, but her answer left him with a vague feeling of unease about the future.
He had heard from Starfleet the day before, and it appeared they weren’t going to reassign him after all. Given the circumstances, taking Sisko away from Bajor now would likely do more harm than good. Or so they seemed to think.
Which suited Sisko just fine. His misgivings about his status among the Bajorans notwithstanding, he felt certain, in a way he hadn’t known since before Jennifer had died, that he was where he belonged.
Benjamin Sisko stood up and turned to gaze out the window behind his desk. Suddenly the wormhole flared to life as a starship began its journey into the Gamma Quadrant.
No doubt there were turbulent times ahead. But at least he had made some headway with Major Kara. They still had a long way to go, he knew that, but he took comfort in the knowledge that, whatever lay ahead, they would travel that road together.
The Orb of Opportunity
Michael A. Martin and Andy Mangels
Historian’s note: This story is set between the third-season episodes “Life Support” and “Heart of Stone.”
Michael A. Martin
Michael A. Martin’s solo short fiction has appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. He has also coauthored (with Andy Mangels) several Star Trek novels, a pair of e-books in the Starfleet Corps of Engineers series, and three novels based on the Roswell television series. Martin was the regular co-writer (also with Andy) of Marvel Comics’ Star Trek: Deep Space Nine comics series, and has written for Atlas Editions’ Star Trek Universe subscription card series, Star Trek Monthly, Dreamwatch, Grolier Books, Wildstorm, and Platinum Studios. He lives with his family in Portland, Oregon.
Andy Mangels
Andy Mangels has coauthored several Star Trek novels, two Starfleet Corps of Engineers e-books, and three novels based on TV’s Roswell (all written with Michael A. Martin). Flying solo, Andy has penned Animation on DVD: The Ultimate Guide; Star Wars: The Essential Guide To Characters; Beyond Mulder & Scully: The Mysterious Characters of The X-Files: and From Scream To Dawson’s Creek: The Phenomenal Career of Kevin Williamson. Mangels has written for numerous licensed properties as well as a plethora of entertainment and lifestyle periodicals. He lives in Portland, Oregon, with his longtime partner, Don Hood, and their dog, Bela. Visit his website at
Kira Nerys met Winn Adami at the door to the kai’s VIP quarters aboard Deep Space 9. “Legate Turrel’s transport ship is making its approach, Eminence,” the major said.
Winn found Kira’s tone stilted and formal, far beyond businesslike. The major’s eyes, apparently focused on some point on the gray bulkhead past Winn’s shoulder, practically smoldered with barely restrained hostility.
Winn nodded, her clerical robes rustling as she swept through the doorway and past the major. She didn’t care much for Kira’s angry manner, though she certainly understood the reason for it. Vedek Bareil’s death remained an open wound for both of them.
May the Prophets guide her to the knowledge that Bareil Antos gave his life willingly, and for a noble cause—peace with Cardassia. And that his passing has also paved the way for the return of the Tears of the Prophets to their rightful home.
After they’d traveled together in silence to Deep Space 9’s docking ring, Kira said, “Did Turrel give you any reason for his having delayed his arrival?”
Winn shook her head. “No, child. But he did promise to clarify his reasons once he came aboard.” Despite the historic peace treaty Bareil h
ad just helped her negotiate with Turrel, Winn had sensed from the legate the typical Cardassian reticence about explaining himself before Bajorans—a reluctance that also included, evidently, Bajor’s spiritual leader.
“I managed to take a good look at his ship from ops,” Kira said as they stopped at an airlock. “From the scoring on the hull, it looks like it’s been in battle fairly recently.”
That didn’t sound right. Transport ships, even those of Cardassian design, weren’t built for warfare. Winn felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach as she speculated anew about the possible reasons for Turrel’s tardiness. Considering the incalculable value of the cargo the legate’s transport carried, she didn’t like the direction her conjectures were taking her.
A telltale light flashed green. “Turrel’s ship has docked,” Kira said.
Winn watched quietly as the major keyed an access code into the airlock keypad. A moment later, the heavy door hissed and rolled aside, and Kira led the way into the interior chamber.
Legate Turrel, flanked by a pair of uniformed military aides, entered the airlock from the hatchway on its opposite side. Turrel and his party stopped, the legate standing erect. As Winn remembered from her recent meetings with him across the negotiating table, Turrel’s eyes were cold. But there was something else in his gaze that Winn had never seen before in a Cardassian.
She thought it resembled sorrow, or perhaps desperation. Winn’s guts went into freefall. Clearly, something had gone terribly wrong.
“Legate Turrel,” Winn said after Kira briefly and formally welcomed the Cardassians aboard the station. “What’s happened?”
Turrel hesitated for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. Then he met Winn’s gaze squarely once again.
“The Maquis attacked us while we were en route from Cardassia Prime,” he said. “And they seized our ... cargo.”
Alone with the kai in his office atop the station’s bustling operations center, Commander Benjamin Sisko could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You’re saying the Maquis stole the Orb of Contemplation right out from under Legate Turrel’s nose?” he said.
“Legate Turrel not only offered to return the Orb to Bajor,” Winn said, taking a seat in front of Sisko’s desk. “But he also promised to oversee its transportation personally in order to ensure that nothing went wrong.” Sisko heard a fair amount of anger percolating beneath her voice.
“Sounds like that wasn’t enough,” Sisko said. “Does Turrel have any idea where the Maquis might have taken the Orb?”
“He believes that they took it into one of their secret bases in the Demilitarized Zone. Along with the blindvault they were using to transport it. Turrel thinks the Maquis believed the vault to contain a biogenic weapon.”
“A blindvault,” Sisko repeated, considering the complications that revelation posed. Blindvaults were scan-proof, sound-proof, transporter-proof, and all but impregnable. The odds were pretty good that the Maquis wouldn’t be able to get the vault open, at least not right away.
And since the Maquis had made no ransom demands of which he was aware, the odds were equally good that they didn’t yet know what they’d stolen.
“Emissary, I can’t begin to tell you what a catastrophe this is,” Winn said.
A catastrophe for Bajor, or for your newest political coup? Sisko thought, turning to face the star-dappled spacescape visible from his window as he suppressed a rush of anger. He had witnessed her wringing out every last iota of Vedek Bareil’s negotiating expertise in order to obtain a peace treaty with Cardassia. Watching her take credit for that agreement—an effort that had cost the gravely injured vedek his life—had rankled him. It wasn’t hard for him to believe that the secret repatriation of one of the Orbs taken from Bajor during the Cardassian Occupation was to become merely another feather in Winn’s political cap.
Aloud, he said, “It would have been nice to have received some advance warning that the Cardassians had authorized the release of the Orb. Starfleet could have supplied some protection.”
“So might have the entire Bajoran Militia, Emissary,” came Winn’s tart reply. “Or the Cardassian Central Command, for that matter. Legate Turrel and I agreed that using a large contingent to transport the Orb would have only attracted undue attention to its transit from Cardassia to Bajor.”
Sisko took a seat behind the massive black desk that was the centerpiece of his office. He picked up his baseball from the desktop and tossed it from hand to hand. And a large contingent of escort vessels might also have forced you to share the credit for bringing back the Orb. Even though a lot of that credit ought to have gone to Bareil. Just three days earlier, Winn had commented on how cordial the late vedek’s relationship with the hard-dealing Cardassian legate had been.
“Bringing back an Orb would be quite an accomplishment,” Sisko said, trying to keep his tone neutral. It was already obvious that Winn wanted his help. But he wanted to hear her say so.
Winn nodded, obviously not inclined to beg. “Indeed it would. Especially when one considers what a poor job the Cardassians have done in keeping track of them.”
“I’d always thought that Cardassian stubbornness was the main obstacle to the return of the Orbs,” Sisko said, surprised.
Winn chuckled humorlessly. “Cardassian stubbornness can never be underestimated, Emissary. But their bureaucratic foul-ups and intramural rivalries are at least as big a hindrance.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Of course not, Emissary. Starfleet doubtless has few such inefficiencies,” Winn said, her pleasant expression never wavering. “However, Legate Turrel has just made me aware that the Cardassian Central Command has lost track of nearly all eight of the Orbs they took from Bajor during the Occupation. Which may explain why he wasn’t eager to set a timetable for the Orbs’ return during the last negotiations.”
And it probably gave you quite an effective lever to use on him, Sisko thought, quietly impressed by the kai’s ability to pressure a tough negotiator like Turrel into making such an embarrassing admission of Cardassian incompetence, malfeasance, or perhaps both. If the legate hadn’t agreed to revisit the Orb issue quickly, then you could have damaged him pretty badly by going public about Cardassia’s allowing the Orbs to disappear.
“So has Turrel explained what’s become of the missing Orbs?” Sisko said aloud.
“Only generally. The Orb of Wisdom seems to have been stolen from the Cardassians at some point after they stole it from us. The Orb of Memory apparently never even made it to Cardassia. Turrel assures me that Central Command is close to discovering the whereabouts of the Orb of Time. But the remaining four Orbs have somehow vanished from the science labs where they’ve allegedly been kept since the Occupation.”
“If I were Turrel,” Sisko said, “I’d suspect the involvement of the Obsidian Order.” He had no doubt that Cardassia’s much-feared intelligence service had always had its own secret agenda regarding the Orbs—and whatever weapons potential they might possess.
“I have already broached that possibility with the legate, Emissary. He claims to have looked into this already, and says that the Order flatly denies any knowledge. In any event, the Orb of Contemplation was the only one of the eight Turrel has thus far been able to locate. Now, he says the Cardassian military is scouring the DMZ for the thieves. He promises that they will be tracked down and punished, and that the Orb will be recovered and returned to us. But there can be no guarantee of success. The Maquis can be very wily adversaries, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
Sisko noted that her last utterance was accompanied by an ever-so-slight smile. He wondered if she might not harbor some sympathy for those former Federation citizens; after all, they were no doubt as familiar with Cardassian oppression, and with the struggle against it, as she was.
He set the baseball back on his desk and leaned forward, meeting Winn’s eyes directly. “I suppose we have little choice at this point other than to take Turrel at face value. So what ha
ppens now?”
“Now I need your help, Emissary.”
Ah. There it is. “My help as the Emissary? Or as a Starfleet officer?” He sincerely hoped it was the latter. Having to play the role of one of the most revered icons in the Bajoran religion had always made him distinctly ill at ease.
“Perhaps both, Emissary. For whatever reason, your destiny lies along the path of the Prophets, and of Bajor. And should all the other Orbs remain lost, recovering even a single one would be enormously valuable to my people.”
And to you, personally. Sisko rose, satisfied that he understood what was at stake. “I’ll see what I can do to help you recover the Orb.”
“Thank you, Emissary. As a further gesture of goodwill, Legate Turrel has suggested mounting a large-scale joint mission, pooling the resources of the Cardassian Military and the Bajoran Militia. However, at the risk of insulting the legates’s generosity, I must admit to feeling far more comfortable working with you and Starfleet.”
Through the office doors that overlooked ops, Sisko caught a glimpse of Kira, who was engaged in discussion with Lieutenant Dax. Dax glanced up at the office occasionally. Kira, however, seemed to be expending a great deal of effort not to do so. He knew she must still be grieving Bareil intensely—the vedek had died only three days earlier—and no doubt didn’t relish the prospect of Winn attempting to turn another of Bareil’s hard-won diplomatic victories to her own personal political advantage.
Sisko moved toward the office doors and opened them. Looking down into ops, he caught the eye of the Deep Space 9’s chief of operations, Miles O’Brien, who had looked up from an instrument panel he was in the midst of repairing. Sisko beckoned silently to the chief, who quickly made his way up the stairs and entered the office.
“Yes, Commander?” O’Brien said, nodding respectfully at the kai. Sisko couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable the engineer seemed around Winn, evidently unfamiliar with the Bajoran religion and the protocols of dealing with its senior clergy.
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