“I am Spock of Vulcan,” he said. “I am a citizen of the United Federation of Planets, but I am also a legal visitor to Romulus. And thanks to the efforts of Praetor Tal’Aura, the Continuing Committee, and the Romulan Senate, I am now permitted by law—as is anybody on Romulus—to speak about reunification.
“As D’Tan and T’Lavent have so eloquently described, our goals are to promote mutual understanding between Romulans and Vulcans, to foster peace and friendship between us, to find the best that we both have to offer, and to work toward the time when our two societies can become that which they once were before the Sundering: one people.”
Spock paused and looked out over his audience. Nobody moved. He saw expressions of rapt attention, but he also noted apparent anxiety in many faces. “As some of you may know,” he continued, “modern Vulcan culture focuses on the individual mastery of emotion, as well as an everyday reliance on logic.” He paused again, this time for effect. “This, of course, contrasts with Romulan cultural norms.”
The comment drew laughter, though little more than a brief murmur drifting through the crowd. Still, it seemed to bring about the result Spock intended. He saw several fleeting smiles and a general relaxing of those listening to him.
“Humor is perhaps a ready source of cultural enrichment that Romulans can provide to Vulcans,” he said. “There are others.”
He spoke for twenty-five minutes, offering up his own life experience and his own outlook, comparing and contrasting the two cultures, and hypothesizing the boons to be gained from reunification of the two. Afterward, although most of the crowd departed, he, D’Tan, and T’Lavent spent an hour answering questions from those who remained. At no time did Spock detect even the threat of violence, though a number of queries came delivered in hostile words, tones, and attitudes. Overall, he considered the event a success. Only a few hundred people attended the rally, and only a few dozen stayed after that to ask questions, but Spock believed that, quite possibly, a new phase of the Reunification Movement had begun.
17
The blue-white light bathed him in its glow, so brilliant that it penetrated his closed eyelids. It surrounded him, painted his world, his universe, with its dispassionate amalgam of color. Time passed, one minute after the next.
On his knees, Benjamin Sisko, Emissary of the Prophets, opened his eyes and directly beheld the Orb of Prophecy and Change. The mysterious hourglass-shaped artifact shined intensely, its aspect one of movement and energy. It radiated power, and embodied both promise and dread.
Reaching up, Sisko pushed closed the two hinged sides of the ark that carried the Orb. The light enclosed, Sisko waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the temple. By degrees, the details of the ark came into focus, its unremarkable appearance the antithesis of what it held. And yet, gazing upon the simple container, Sisko found himself beset by profound emotions: Sadness. Loss. Fear.
He pushed himself up from his knees and slowly made his way out of the empty temple. He felt staggered, as though physically beaten. For the first few steps, he leaned heavily against the wall, afraid that, otherwise, he would crash to the floor.
Outside, the temperature had risen as morning had given way to afternoon, the moderate climate of Ashalla a shield against the autumnal chill felt elsewhere on Bajor. Vedek Sorretta stood near the temple’s doorless entryway, his eyes closed and his face turned upward to catch the sunbeams filtering through the clouds. Sisko tried to walk quietly past, not wanting to disturb him—not wanting to be forced into conversation with him—but as he came abreast of Sorretta, the vedek opened his eyes.
“Emissary,” Sorretta said. Dressed in traditional orange vestments, he filled them out like no other clergy Sisko had ever seen on Bajor. With his well-muscled physique, he resembled a bodybuilder more than a man of the cloth. “I trust your Orb experience provided you what you needed.”
“It was . . . what I expected,” Sisko hedged.
“I’m glad,” Sorretta said, obviously not picking up on the particularity of Sisko’s verbiage. Of course, the vedek had no reason to expect him to misrepresent himself. “Will you be staying with us much longer?”
“No, I’ll be leaving tonight,” Sisko said. He had come to the Bajoran capital and the Shikina Monastery six days ago, after leaving Adarak—after leaving Kasidy and Rebecca. In the days prior to his scheduled departure for the Sierra Sector and his new command, he wanted to clear his mind. Alone, he filled his days with long walks through the extensive grounds of the monastery, and his nights with hours of quiet contemplation in the plain room that the vedeks had provided for him. But he hadn’t found the peace that he sought. The events of the past days and weeks and months recurred to him, and with them came the question of whether or not he had made the right choices.
“We will be sorry to see you depart,” Sorretta said, “but it has been an honor to have you staying here with us.”
“Thank you,” Sisko said. “I appreciate your hospitality.” He quickly walked on before the vedek could say more, darting around the corner of the building without looking back.
Sisko marched to the back of the temple and descended the stone stairs that led to the rear grounds of the monastery. As he did, he considered—as he had numerous times since his arrival—seeking out Opaka, who he knew still visited Shikina with regularity. He hadn’t seen the esteemed former kai in many months, and he missed her guidance and quiet strength—especially in the current circumstances. Though always circumspect in her counsel, she often found the words that somehow allowed him to help himself.
Even if I did reach her, Sisko thought, I don’t know if I could find the words to explain to her all that’s happened. Except that he did know the right words. He just didn’t know if he could say them aloud to another person.
At the base of the rear steps, Sisko followed a paved path out toward the gardens. He had until almost midnight before his scheduled departure from Deep Space 9 aboard U.S.S. Mjolnir, a Norway-class vessel that would deliver him to Robinson. That left him several hours until he needed to take a transport from Bajor to the station, where he would still have time to stop at the infirmary and see Elias. That late at night, he hoped he would be able to make it on and off DS9, and in and out of the infirmary, without encountering anybody he knew.
With my luck these days, Quark will be camped out at the airlock. Thinking of the old Ferengi barkeep—the Ferengi ambassador, Sisko corrected himself—actually brought a chuckle to his lips. He latched onto the positive emotion and let it put some distance between him and his experience a few minutes earlier, inside the temple.
Sisko strolled along the path as it weaved through colorful, variegated flowerbeds, trying to let his surroundings bolster his mood further in his last few hours on Bajor. At the leading edge of the arboretum that filled the back third of the monastery grounds, pavement gave way to dirt. Sisko continued on, heading for his favorite spot on the Shikina grounds.
In just a few minutes, he came upon the brook that flowed through the arboretum. He walked along beside it, traveling upstream, until he saw in the distance the burst of pink blooms that marked the location of the undersized waterfall. It surprised him to see the vibrant nerak blossoms flowering so late in the season. He decided that, despite everything, he would accept it as a positive omen.
When he arrived at the spot, Sisko bent and selected a rock from the ground, then tossed it into the small pool that fed the cascade of water. He watched the ripples spread out in concentric rings, and then, impulsively, irrationally, he made a wish. Let there be peace, he thought, for Kasidy and Rebecca, for Jake and Korena.
Lowering himself down, Sisko hung his legs over the stone wall that bordered the pool. His feet dangled half a meter above the water. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, taking in the fragrant scent of the neraks.
For a while, he sat that way, listening to the flow of the brook across the little falls. He concentrated on the pink noise of the water and tried to blank his mind. He
didn’t hear anybody on the dirt path until the scrape of shoes reached him from just a couple of meters away.
Sisko turned and looked up, squinting into the late-afternoon sunlight. He made out a figure standing in the path, clad in the orange robe of the Bajoran clergy, and he initially assumed that Vedek Sorretta also had come out for a walk in the arboretum. But though Sisko could not see the person’s face because of the placement of the sun behind it, he distinguished a much smaller frame. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes. “Hello?” he said, though he still had no desire to speak with anybody.
“Hello, Benjamin.”
He had not heard the voice for quite a while—probably not for more than a year—and it sounded softer, gentler, than he remembered, but he still recognized it at once. He clambered to his feet. “Nerys,” he said. It startled him to hear the delight in his voice, simply because he hadn’t felt that way for so long.
Kira stepped forward with her hands out, and he took them, then pulled her in and hugged her. When they parted, he held her at arm’s length and studied her robe. “Vedek Kira?” he asked. “Is that even possible? From novice to prylar to ranjen to vedek in three years?”
“I know,” Kira said. “This—” She gestured down the length of her robe. “—just happened ten days ago.”
“Well, congratulations,” Sisko said. He took a stride backward and regarded her. “It seems to agree with you. You look . . .” He peered at her face, at the beatific expression she wore. “You look at peace.”
“Thank you,” Kira said. “I feel at peace. For most of my life, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to say that.”
“I’m very happy for you,” Sisko said. “So what are you doing here? Are you a member of the Vedek Assembly?”
“Oh, no,” Kira said. “And I’m not sure I ever want to serve in that way. I respect the Assembly, but engaging in politics and staying at peace don’t necessarily go together.”
“No, I guess not,” Sisko agreed.
“I’ve got a meeting this evening with Vedek Garune,” Kira said. “But I’ve got some time to take a walk, if you’d like.”
Sisko stood aside and motioned forward. Side by side, they started down the path. “So then I shouldn’t expect to hear the announcement of Kai Kira anytime soon?” Sisko asked.
Kira laughed, the same loud, hearty guffaw Sisko had heard back on DS9. For some reason, that pleased him.
“Putting aside my complete lack of qualifications and suitability for the position,” Kira said, “I think we’re very fortunate to have the kai we do right now.”
“You always did like Pralon, even back when she served as Bajor’s minister of religious artifacts.”
“She’s extremely bright, a woman of strong faith and conviction, but she also has a deep empathy for others,” Kira said. “And she’s not as . . . political . . . as some of her predecessors have been.”
“I know what you mean,” Sisko said, assuming that she referred to the terribly misguided Winn Adami.
Ahead, the brook curved left, cutting from the right side of the path to the left beneath a footbridge. Their shoes thumped along the wooden structure as they crossed it. Sisko recalled walking there with Vedek Bareil, many years earlier.
“How have you managed to rise through the ranks so quickly?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not that I have any doubts about your abilities, but three years isn’t the typical timeframe in which to enter the clergy and become a vedek.”
“Honestly,” Kira said, lowering her voice in mock-conspiratorial fashion, “I think I’ve been credited with prior experience.”
“I don’t understand. What prior experience?”
“Serving directly alongside the Emissary of the Prophets for seven years,” Kira explained. “And being his friend for . . . what? Twelve years now?”
“Something like that,” Sisko said, then added dryly, “although I’m not sure we were friends in the beginning.”
“No,” Kira admitted, “maybe not at first.”
Sisko stopped in the path, and Kira did so too. “As I recall,” he told her, “you weren’t in favor of a Bajoran space station being run by Starfleet officers, including me.”
Kira shrugged good-naturedly. “But I learned fast.”
Sisko nodded as she made precisely his point. “You’ve taken quite a journey, Nerys—a journey I’m not sure too many people are capable of making, Bajoran or otherwise. I’m proud of you.”
The accolade seemed to embarrass Kira, but she accepted it modestly, bowing her head in acknowledgment. Then she began walking again, and Sisko did so as well. “Sometimes I find it difficult to believe myself,” Kira said. “For so much of my life, all I knew was strife: hunger and subjugation and violence. It was a struggle just to survive, and so many didn’t.”
“You are nothing if not a survivor, Nerys.”
“And that was important—it’s still important—but there comes a time when you realize that there’s a world of difference between surviving and living.”
Sisko couldn’t tell if she’d spoken with a note of regret. “You did what you had to do,” he said.
Kira nodded. “And I suppose I’d do it all over again if I needed to, though probably not quite in the same way,” she said. “My time on Deep Space Nine, and my time with you, and even my time commanding the station . . . all of that helped put a lot of things in the past and keep them there.” This time, after they had traipsed around a sharp bend in the path, Kira stopped walking and turned to face him. “It helped me learn to cherish the present, and to accept the future as it comes.”
For an instant, Sisko thought that she might be trying to advise him about his own life, that she somehow might have gleaned the events of his own present, as well the immediate future he had planned for himself. But she can’t know, he realized, and then another thought occurred to him about what she had just said. “In many ways, Nerys, your story is the story of Bajor.”
“I suppose you could say that,” Kira said. “You know the old proverb: The Land and the People are One.”
“I do know it,” Sisko said. “But I have to admit that I was concerned when you decided to leave Deep Space Nine and Starfleet. I was worried that you might be running away.”
“From everything that happened with the Ascendants.”
“Yes.”
“I understand why you were worried,” Kira said. “Believe me, I spent quite a few sleepless nights worried about it myself. In the end, though, what all of that really did was open my mind to new perspectives.”
“I think what it did, Nerys, was to deepen your faith,” he said. “Not in the Prophets, but in yourself.”
“You may be right,” she said.
Sisko noticed a tall, square totem a bit farther along the path. A wooden bench nestled beside it. “Shall we sit?” he asked. They did.
“What about you, Benjamin?” Kira reached up and rubbed her hand across the top of his head. “What’s this?” Since departing Adarak, he hadn’t shaven his pate, and so his hair had begun growing back. After less than a week, he knew that it more or less looked like a shadow falling across his skull.
“I guess I just needed to change things.”
“Is that why you’re here at Shikina?” Kira asked. “To change things?”
Sisko took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He cared for Kira, and he held a great deal of respect for her, but he didn’t want to discuss his life, even with her. “I’m not here to change anything,” he said. “I just needed some time alone, a place to clear my head.”
“Has it worked?” Kira asked, in a way that reminded him of Opaka, whose questions often seemed to imply that she already knew the answer.
“Not as much as I’d hoped,” he said, concerned that an outright lie might encourage more questions.
“How are Kasidy and Rebecca?”
Sisko glanced away involuntarily, and so he pretended to examine the totem. “They’re both well,” he said. Kira said nothing, and when
he peered over at her again, he saw her gazing at him with a look of concern.
“So much tension, Benjamin,” she said. “You seem so troubled, so . . . isolated.”
The last word sent Sisko bounding up from the bench. He walked a few meters away and stopped, not sure what to say, but aware that his long association with Kira gave her a special insight into his moods and behavior. On top of that, his reactions to her had obviously confirmed her concerns. He raised his arms, then dropped them against his sides. Still facing away from Kira, he said, “I am isolated.”
“I’m sure you must feel that way,” she said. “But you’re not. You have your wife and daughter, your son and his wife. You’ve got friends, not to mention virtually an entire planetary population that treasures you. And you’ve got the Prophets.”
“No!” Sisko yelled, whirling back toward Kira. “I don’t have all that.”
Kira stood up and paced over to him. She reached out and tenderly placed a hand on his arm. “What’s happened?”
“The Prophets have abandoned me.” He hadn’t wanted to actually speak the words, and now that he had, the situation seemed more real to him.
“What?” Kira said, plainly disbelieving. “No. I’m sure it feels like that to you, but—”
“Nerys, they’ve left me,” he said. He shook his head and walked past her, unwilling to discuss any of this but suddenly unable to stop himself from doing so. He turned back toward her. “For a while, after I returned from the Celestial Temple, I still felt their presence. I thought that they continued to communicate with me, in dreams and in visions . . . but now I’m not so sure. I think those might simply have been my dreams, my visions, with no communication from the Prophets at all.”
“Benjamin, I can’t believe that’s true,” Kira said, “but even if it is, you know as well as I do—better than I do—that it is difficult to know the will of the Prophets. You’ve also said that they exist nonlinearly in time. Since we do live linearly, could this just be a . . . disconnect . . . of some kind?”
Star Trek: Typhon Pact: Rough Beasts of Empire Page 14
