Cardassia First also mocked the castellan’s upcoming visit to Bajor as prostrating herself before a lesser species that had brought irreparable harm to the Union. They alleged that Garan would demean her own people by publicly apologizing for Cardassia’s occupation of that world, a military action that the movement characterized as an attempt to elevate the backward Bajorans. The seizure of resources, the implementation of slavery, the sowing of death and destruction, all as means of “helping” the inferior, the castellan thought. That was the Cardassian way for so long, and how could it be any other way with the military controlling our society?
But the Cardassian Guard had done more than simply rule the Union: its leaders had fostered the natural egotism of her people. As a girl, even as a young woman, Garan had subscribed to the idea of Cardassian preeminence. That position seemed much harder to defend after nearly a billion of their people had perished in a war that the Union had helped instigate.
Garan actually did not intend to offer contrition for Cardassia’s past sins against the Bajorans; if there had ever been a time for that, it had gone, leaving only the events of the present to pave the way for the future. But the castellan knew that the truth of all that wouldn’t matter. The spectacle of discord in the streets of Cemet would matter. The din of the strident nationalists denouncing Garan would matter. The withdrawal agreement with the Federation, no matter its benefits to Cardassia, would matter. And more than all that, the unthinking patriotism and narrow-minded bigotry of small minds would matter.
Cardassia does have a way forward, Garan thought. They had already come so far in the decade since the end of the Dominion War. Alon Ghemor had heroically formed a democratic government, and although he had not endured, his legacy so far had. Great strides had been made in reconstructing Cardassia, from its infrastructure and cities to its population—yes, with the help of the Federation, with the help of Bajor, but that did not diminish those accomplishments.
What would damage that progress would be a resumption of military rule, the castellan thought. The ultranationalist Cardassia First demanded “a return of the Union to its former glory,” a goal they believed predicated upon the renewal of government leadership by the Guard. Garan knew that she could prevent that from happening, but only if she remained in power as castellan.
Behind her, one of the two sets of doors in the interior bulkhead opened with a hiss of air. Garan turned to see the Bajoran first minister enter the room alone, which bespoke her perspicacity. Seeing the castellan’s security team and aide waiting out in the corridor, Asarem had clearly understood that Garan wished to speak with her one-on-one. Of course, the castellan’s request for the unscheduled meeting likely played a role in suggesting its importance and sensitive nature.
The doors slid shut behind Asarem as she walked over to Garan, who met her halfway. “First Minister, thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice,” Garan said.
“I’d thought we would next be seeing each other when I welcomed you to Bajor later today,” Asarem said. Both Trager and the first minister’s transport had been scheduled to depart Deep Space 9 in just a short while.
“I thought so as well,” Garan said. “But I’m sorry to say that I won’t be able to visit Bajor on this trip.”
The first minister gave no outward reaction to the statement, though Garan suspected that Asarem did not welcome the news. So far, their first face-to-face summit had yielded positive results. The two women had gotten along well, quickly establishing a deeper rapport than they’d been able to during their several subspace communications over the prior few years. In their two days together at the starbase, Garan and Asarem had discussed numerous topics important to their respective peoples, and they’d even reached nominal agreements on some trade and social-exchange issues. They had also spoken of the castellan’s impending visit to Bajor, which both leaders viewed as important to the still-improving relationship between the two worlds. Asarem had neither requested an apology for the Cardassian occupation of her world, nor even intimated that she thought one appropriate at that point.
“I am understandably disappointed,” the first minister said, her expression unchanging. “With respect, may I ask why you will not be making the journey to Bajor?”
“It’s not a decision I’ve made lightly,” Garan said. “There is a . . . situation . . . on Cardassia that requires my immediate attention.”
“Your immediate attention?” Asarem said. “I hope it is nothing too serious.”
Garan sighed. “There is unrest on Cardassia,” she said, not really wanting to discuss her political life, but feeling that she owed the first minister an explanation.
“Such is the price of democracy, is it not?” Asarem said.
“Indeed it is,” Garan concurred. “But there is a threat of damage to my government by militant nationalists within it. My return to Cardassia will help put an end to that.”
Finally, Asarem’s expression melted, if only slightly. “I do understand the responsibilities of leadership,” she said. “It’s particularly troubling when you have to deal with threats that come from within.”
“Troubling,” Garan agreed, “and exhausting.” The castellan typically relished the field of political battle, but she found it difficult to deal with Cardassia First. They did not argue either honestly or logically, instead brandishing their contentions with religious fervor. Because it is a religion to them, she thought. The zealots put their faith not in a god, but in their own inherent superiority. They found anathema anybody or anything not Cardassian, as well as anybody or anything that did not exalt the Union. It wore Garan out to stand up to them, but if she wanted to continue leading her people, she had little choice. She told the first minister as much.
“I understand,” Asarem said. “When will you leave?”
“I’ll be departing at once,” Garan said. “Make no mistake, though: I would not leave if circumstances did not demand it of me. I would like to attend the dedication ceremony for this starbase and meet our fellow leaders. More than all of that, though, I am anxious to continue our dialogue, Wadeen.” She hoped that calling the first minister by her given name did not overstep the bounds of propriety, but Garan wanted to express the genuine connection she felt with Asarem. “I am anxious to continue our dialogue, preferably in person, both on Bajor and on Cardassia.”
The first minister did not reply immediately, once more showing virtually no reaction to Garan’s words other than with her silence. As the pause distended, the castellan began to think she had blundered. She realized that she would have to ask forgiveness for her breach of diplomacy, but then Asarem said, “I would rather that we meet in person as well.”
Garan nodded, relieved and pleased with the first minister’s response. “Until then, I do not intend for there to be no Cardassian presence either here on the starbase or on Bajor,” the castellan said. “I have already sent for Lustrate Enevek Vorat.” In his position as lustrate, Vorat served just beneath Garan in the Union government. “If you have no objection, he will travel directly to Bajor to meet with you in my stead, before arriving at Deep Space Nine for the dedication.”
“No, I have no objection; I welcome the lustrate’s participation,” Asarem said. “I appreciate your effort to avert an interruption in the talks between our governments. I truly believe that we can improve the relations between our two worlds, to the mutual benefit of both.”
“As do I,” Garan said. “One of my aides, Onar Throk, will be staying behind to assist the lustrate. Throk will coordinate with your staff on Vorat’s arrival and his visit to Bajor.”
“I will let my aides know at once,” Asarem said. “Thank you for your personal attention in this matter.” For an instant, Garan thought that the first minister meant to reciprocate her earlier gesture by employing her given name, but then she simply went on without doing so. “Safe travels back to Cardassia, Castellan,” she said. “I wish you success.”
“Thank you, First Minister,”
Garan said. Asarem offered a polite bow of her head, then exited the meeting room. The castellan waited, and after a few moments, one of her aides entered. Small in stature, his hair dusted white by age—By his several decades in Cardassian civil service, Garan thought, which would ripen anybody—Throk quickly crossed the room to stand before her.
“Castellan,” he said, “Gul Macet reports that the Trager is prepared to depart as soon as you are aboard.”
“And what about Lustrate Vorat?” Garan wanted to know.
“He is already on his way to Bajor on the Jorrene.”
“Very good,” Garan said. “I appreciate your volunteering to stay behind to brief the lustrate on my meetings with the first minister.”
“And I appreciate the opportunity to serve, Castellan,” Throk said, professional without lapsing into obsequiousness.
“I’ve already informed Captain Ro of my departure,” Garan said. “Coordinate with Colonel Cenn regarding the details of the lustrate’s visit to Deep Space Nine, and with Minister Asarem’s staff about his trip to Bajor.”
“I will see to it at once, Castellan,” Throk said.
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Garan said. She felt confident of Throk’s ability to oversee Vorat’s stay in the Bajoran system. But as she headed out of the meeting room on her way to Trager, she wondered just what she would find when she returned to Cardassia.
Four
With the sound of her heartbeat still enveloping her, Kira watched as Benjamin’s tears at last stopped. He looked so miserably sad to her, and yet somehow not defeated, as he had earlier. Around him, flames consumed Saratoga, sending skeins of noxious smoke coiling through the air. He sat amid the wreckage of his cabin aboard the ship, the still form of his dead wife lying on the deck before him. “Jennifer,” he said, so quietly that Kira did not know if he actually spoke, or if she only read the name on his lips.
After that, Benjamin seemed to gather himself. He closed his eyes, raised his head, and then looked up, away from the lifeless body of the woman he had loved. He rose slowly, with care, and then peered in turn at each of the Prophets with him, who had taken on the forms of his wife and son, the former kai, and Saratoga’s tactical officer.
“What do we do now?” Benjamin asked. Kira wondered the same thing.
“The creature must be destroyed,” announced the Borg-modified figure of Captain Picard from the viewscreen on the Saratoga bridge. The setting still changed so quickly and seamlessly that Kira could not follow the transition, but she had at least grown accustomed to it.
“Corporeal creatures annihilate us,” said Picard in the Enterprise conference room, the captain devoid of Borg alterations.
“They do destroy us,” agreed Kai Opaka in the Bajoran monastery. “And they do not.”
“What does that mean?” Benjamin asked, candlelight quivering across his features. “I told you that I have no interest in destroying you.”
“Aggressive,” said the batter on the baseball diamond. “Adversarial.”
“I do not want to be your adversary,” Benjamin said, a baseball cap once more perched on his head. “I want only to communicate with you, to establish a relationship. But to demonstrate that I am not aggressive, I will withdraw from the wormhole if that is what you wish.”
“When one of you enters the passage,” said Picard, “our existence is disrupted.”
“I don’t want to disrupt your existence,” Benjamin said.
“It is disrupted,” said Jennifer, walking along the beach. “And it is not.”
“I don’t understand,” Benjamin said, walking beside her, the trail of their path left as depressions in the sand behind them. Kira didn’t understand, either.
“When a corporeal entity travels through the passage, our existence is disrupted,” said Opaka in the monastery. “We therefore take steps so that our existence is not disrupted.”
Benjamin hesitated, apparently trying to parse the meaning of the Prophet’s words. “Does that mean that we can contact you again?” he finally asked.
“You are here now,” Opaka told him.
“Yes, but we’d like to continue communicating with you, to learn about you, to learn from you,” Benjamin said. “Not just now, but in the future.”
“Now is what is to come,” Opaka said. “There is no difference.”
“No,” Benjamin said. “There is no difference for you, but there is for us.”
“You travel through the passage,” said Captain Picard. He peered out through a port in the Enterprise conference room. Benjamin followed his gaze, as did Kira. Rather than the stars, she saw the streaming blues and whites and purples of the Celestial Temple.
“We travel through the passage,” Benjamin repeated. “Now, and in the future? And we will not disturb your existence?”
On the beach, Jennifer stopped and looked into Benjamin’s eyes. “You travel through the passage,” she said. “You do so safely.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Benjamin said. “I am eager for my people to get to know your people.”
Jennifer tilted her head slightly to one side, as though understanding that what she had said and what Benjamin had said did not tally. “You travel through the passage,” she said again. “But we contact you.”
Hearing Jennifer’s assertion, Benjamin looked askance at her. “So we can use the wormhole, but we’re not to attempt to communicate with you?”
“You understand,” Jennifer said, a note of finality in her voice.
Behind Benjamin, the sun glinted off the dark-blue water of the ocean, flaring a bright white. Kira narrowed her eyes against it, but it grew brighter still. She turned away, but the brilliant glare surrounded her on all sides. In just seconds, she found herself once more standing in a featureless field of white.
Kira looked back in the direction of the ocean, which had vanished along with the sand and the sky. Jennifer had disappeared as well, leaving Benjamin standing alone again in a white emptiness. Although she saw him clearly, Kira could tell that he could not see her. She expected him to speak, to call out to the Prophets, but then the all-encompassing whiteness fractured: the unbroken vacuity became intersecting planes of light, with patches of darkness visible between them.
Kira’s footing faltered, and she looked down to see a patch of rocky ground beneath her. The earth around her quaked, its surface split into fissures from which the dazzling light emanated. As she peered around, though, the beams actually decreased in strength. Kira saw more of the dark landscape about her. The broken ground seemed to swallow up the light that had burst forth from it, the jagged slits in the earth knitting together like flesh beneath a dermal regenerator.
Suddenly, the light faded completely, leaving Kira on the barren terrain where she had first landed. Before her, Benjamin stood in his Starfleet uniform, his back to her, a runabout sitting with its hatch opened beyond him. He didn’t move.
“Benjamin,” Kira said. Her voice barely registered in her ears, although the sound of her beating heart no longer overwhelmed her sense of hearing. “Benjamin,” she said again, louder, but the name still seemed to leave her mouth and fall to the ground.
Benjamin did not turn around, giving no sign at all that he’d heard Kira. Instead, he began walking forward, slowly at first, but then with more purpose. When he reached the runabout—Rio Grande, Kira saw—he climbed aboard and disappeared from view. Kira took a step forward, not really sure if she intended to follow Benjamin, but then the main hatch slid closed.
A moment later, Rio Grande lifted off.
The vessel sped off into the night sky. Kira followed it until it became a point of light indistinguishable from the stars. She looked after it anyway, immobile, unsure of all that had happened since Elias had appeared aboard Rubicon, picked her up, and hurled her to safety.
If I even am safe, Kira thought. While not entirely certain about her circumstances, though, she did not feel threatened. In the hands of the Prophets, she felt protected.
In
her peripheral vision, Kira saw another flare of light—not white, but an ethereal green. She whirled in place, knowing what she would see. In the distance, on the other side of the canyon that divided the land before her, beneath sunlight and blue skies, spread the lush parklike vista she’d seen earlier, so vastly different from her immediate surroundings. The source of the singular green light hovered above the grass: an Orb of the Prophets.
Kira recalled at once her determination that she must get to it. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know how she would cross the open chasm separating her from her goal, but she put her faith in the Prophets to guide her. She took one step forward, and then another. She walked purposefully toward the great gap in the land, and beyond it, the Orb.
By degrees as she approached it, the chasm began to glow, emitting another gleaming white light. Kira squinted against it. As before, it began to overwhelm the setting.
Undeterred, Kira began to run.
Five
The doors parted before him, and Captain Benjamin Sisko walked into the quarters he shared on Deck 8 with his wife and daughter. He clutched a personal access display device in one hand. Across from him, he saw the bespeckled sprawl of space through the ports that lined the outer bulkhead of the compartment. “I’m home,” he called as the door panels eased shut behind him. “Where are my girls?”
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