But probably not for a while, Ro thought. She realized that she needed to add yet another task to the list of her responsibilities that day. She should speak with Lieutenant Commander Matthias about the counseling needs of the crew. Ro’s staff aboard the old station had included three counselors—Lieutenants Valeska Knezo and Hamish Collins had served under Matthias—and Starfleet had assigned a fourth—Ensign Valinar—during the crew’s time at Bajoran Space Central. With the increase in the number serving aboard the new starbase, Bashir had added a fifth, Ensign Delinia Phlox, to the medical staff. In light of the upsetting events, though, Ro wanted to check with Matthias to see if she thought they should request additional counselors from Starfleet to serve temporarily on DS9.
Deeming her appearance acceptable, Ro left the refresher. She checked the time and saw it was just past zero six hundred hours, still almost two hours before she officially needed to report for her alpha-shift duty. Of course, starbase commanders could never truly consider themselves off duty unless they left their facility entirely. And in the current circumstances, Ro might not have enough hours in the day to do all she needed to do anyway.
So, despite the early hour, Ro Laren left her quarters to begin her workday. She entered the nearest turbolift and ordered it to take her to the very center of Deep Space 9.
In just a few moments, she arrived at the stockade complex.
Eighteen
Keev approached the gild encampment through the wood with a spring in her step. Altek walked beside her after they’d spent another laborious day clearing the rubble of the cave-in. The Cawlders had assisted them until late in the afternoon, but Keev and Altek had chosen to continue on into the evening. Days earlier, they had all felt the vaguest breath of air moving in the tunnel, an indication that they neared the end of the debris. Because of that tantalizing indication that their goal of opening up the cave might be in reach, Keev wanted to work as much as possible to get there. It had been months—far too long—since they’d been able to rescue any more Bajora from Joradell.
When Keev and Altek neared the gild camp, though, too many voices drifted from up ahead of them. Not just too many voices, Keev thought. Unfamiliar voices. She stopped, grabbing hold of Altek’s arm to bring him to a halt too. She put a finger to her lips, then cupped her hand around her ear and listened. Altek did the same.
Keev heard a man’s voice that she did not recognize . . . and a woman’s . . . and a second woman’s. She held up her other hand and counted off the strangers with her fingers: three . . . four . . . five. She balled her hand into a fist, then resumed counting: six . . . seven. She waited, but heard no more unknown voices.
“I hear Jennica,” Altek said quietly, leaning in close to Keev. “And Cawlder Vinik.” Keev listened specifically for those voices, and after a few moments she heard them too.
But I don’t hear Veralla, she thought, then realized that she could stand next to him for hours and not hear him say a word.
“They don’t sound to me like they’re under duress,” Altek said.
Keev listened for several moments more, then agreed. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.” She let her hand fall to her side, to the reassuring feel of the revolver beneath her jacket, at her hip.
They reached the camp quickly and called out the phrases that told the other gild members their identities and that they traveled alone. When they entered the clearing, Keev saw the faces to which all the new voices belonged: three women and four men, all of them in tattered garments that conveyed their status as slaves—clearly former slaves—of the Aleira. Their ages appeared to range from early thirties to late fifties.
Cawlder Losor came over and greeted Keev and Altek, then introduced them around. Like virtually all the Bajora they aided, each of the seven runaways offered voluble thanks. Keev and Altek visited with them while Renet prepared plates for the pair, who had worked past supper. The energy with which Keev had hiked back to the camp from the cave dissipated, and she resisted mentioning what had so pleased her and Altek earlier that evening.
Later, after the visible influences of B’hava’el on the sky had faded and the moons had risen, Keev waited until Veralla moved away from the campfire—gild members and fleeing slaves surrounding it—and over to where he kept his duffel. As he bent to retrieve something from it, she casually eased herself in his direction, to the outer reaches of the fire’s glow, attempting to draw no notice to herself. She approached him quietly and from behind, but that didn’t prevent him from knowing that she had followed him.
Without turning from where he rummaged in his duffel, Veralla said, “Yes, Keev, what can I do for you? You’ve wanted to speak with me all night.” Not for the first time, she marveled at both the keenness of his senses and the force of his perceptiveness.
“I was surprised to see escaped slaves here again,” Keev said. “And so many of them. The way is not yet clear.”
“But it soon will be,” Veralla said, almost as though he had stood beside Keev in the cave that evening. He closed his bag, then stood and turned to face her. As far as she could tell, he’d placed nothing inside it, nor removed anything from it. She understood that he had walked over there specifically so that she would have an opportunity to speak with him privately.
“Yes,” Keev said. “Altek and I broke through the rubble earlier.” She did not mention that after Altek had pulled away the stone that revealed a passage through the rubble, she had stepped into his arms. “It’ll still take a day or two to finish clearing the way and reinforcing the cave, but we’re almost there.” She paused, then asked, “How did you know?”
Veralla offered a rare smile, though with only one side of his mouth, and with just the slightest curl moving his lips upward. “I have no magical powers, Anora,” he said. “Everybody working in the cave has mentioned feeling a draft in the caverns, a sure sign that enough debris had been removed to allow the flow of air.”
“Of course,” Keev said, feeling a bit sheepish for her immoderate admiration of the gild leader.
“You did not speak of breaking through the rubble in front of the others,” Veralla said.
“I resisted,” Keev said. “I didn’t know what your plans for these people were, so I didn’t want to say anything.”
Veralla nodded. “You were worried that some of them might be Aleiran spies.”
“I always worry about that.”
Veralla regarded her for a few silent moments. “They are all escaped slaves, none of them spies,” he finally said. “The plan is to finish clearing the cave and then deliver five of the runaways to the road to Shavalla.”
“Five?” Keev asked.
“The other two will become gild members.”
“Oh,” Keev said, surprised. Escaped slaves often enough wanted to contribute to the effort of freeing more Bajora, but seldom did Veralla allow it. Most of the time, newly freed slaves required rest and recuperation, from physical, mental, and emotional wounds.
Veralla took a step forward, so that they stood with almost no distance between them. The shadow of Keev’s head eclipsed half his face, while the other half wavered in orange hues beneath the glow thrown by the fire. “You have served very well,” he told her. “You have had a great hand in our success. Now, though, it is time for you to move on.”
“What?” Keev thought she must not have understood him properly.
“It is time for you to go to Shavalla. It is time for you to go back home.”
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Keev said. “If I’ve done something wrong—” She suddenly realized that Veralla must know about her and Altek, and that he clearly did not approve. “If this is about Altek . . .” She let her thought hang in the small space between them.
“It is not about Altek, and it is not about you doing anything wrong,” Veralla reassured her. “You have done everything not only right, but well. That’s why I have one last mission for you.”
Keev stalked a few strides away. Not wanting the others to h
ear their conversation, though, she paced back over to Veralla. “What if I don’t want a last mission?” she asked angrily. Then, thinking more about his choice of words, she said, “Wait. Do you mean . . . do you mean that I won’t be coming back from this mission?”
As deadly serious as Veralla usually appeared, his features took on an even more severe aspect. “You have willingly risked your life for years in the service of freeing your fellow Bajora—and even some Aleira—from oppression. I would not ask you to embark on a mission that would likely end in your death.”
Keev thought about that—about all of that, including her commitment to a cause she had never regretted joining. “I’m not saying I won’t do it,” she told Veralla.
“I’m not asking you to risk your life, Keev,” he reiterated. “At least, no more than usual—and actually, probably quite a bit less than usual.”
“I don’t know what you’re telling me.”
“I’m telling you that we need something done, something important, and I trust you more than anybody else to accomplish it.” Veralla stepped past Keev and addressed the others. “We’re going for a short walk,” he called. Faces turned toward them, but nobody questioned Veralla. “We won’t be long.”
Veralla walked to the edge of the clearing farthest from the campfire, withdrew a beacon from his jacket pocket, and entered the wood. Keev followed dutifully—and with a degree of curiosity. She had no idea what Veralla wanted her to do—though she would argue with him again if he insisted that she abandon the gild.
They walked for several minutes, farther from the encampment than Keev had expected. Veralla finally stopped in a space that looked no different than any other around them, an area in which she saw nothing—no tree, no rock, no object or formation of any kind—that might have acted as a landmark. Still, she did not doubt that Veralla had brought her where he intended; his sense of direction always impressed her, and had, on occasion, astounded her.
Veralla set his beacon down to illuminate the area, then lowered himself to his knees and brushed fallen leaves and twigs from the ground in front of him. He opened his jacket, reached inside, and extracted a small spade, doubled in two. He unfolded the handle and began digging. Before too long, the spade struck something solid. Keev watched him work his way around a midsize wooden container until he had freed it from the earth. After setting aside the spade, he peered up at Keev. “Would you please help me with this?”
Keev kneeled on the opposite side of the newly dug hole, and together they lifted the container and set it on the ground. It felt substantial to Keev. No, not the container, she thought. Whatever’s in it. It seemed heavy to her, though somehow also . . . motive . . . as though it allowed her and Veralla—or helped them—to move it.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It is your mission,” Veralla said. “When we rescued the seven Bajora from Joradell, we also recovered this. I need you to deliver this all the way to Shavalla.”
“And then stay there?”
Veralla sighed. “I would have you return to your life,” he said. “But it is your choice.”
Keev regarded the container. It appeared plain, though she saw some exotic markings carved into it. “What about Altek?” she asked. “Will he be the one coming with me?”
“I need you to make this journey on your own.”
“What?” Of all Veralla had said to her that evening, that seemed the oddest. “We always travel in groups of two or more.”
“I know,” Veralla said. “It’s a good policy—but not this time. This time, I need you to do this by yourself.”
“Why?” Keev wanted to know.
“I cannot tell you.” Keev could only stare at Veralla across the empty hole in the ground. “I cannot tell you because I do not know.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It will,” Veralla promised her. “And I can also tell you that when it does make sense to you and you deliver it to Shavalla, Altek Dans will follow you. He and the Cawlders will take the five freed slaves through the caverns and out the other side of the mountains. Only the Cawlders will return to the gild.”
It suddenly sounded to Keev as though Veralla wanted her and Altek to leave, to travel to Shavalla, so that they could share a normal, safe life together. “Does Altek know about this?” Keev asked.
“Not yet,” Veralla said. “But when he does, he will follow you.”
Keev chose not to respond to that assertion, but she believed it true—and it made her happy.
She pointed to the container. “What is this?” she asked.
Veralla reached out as though to rest his hand atop it, but he pulled back before doing so. “This,” he told her, “is a Tear of the Prophets.”
• • •
Keev gaped at the container in disbelief. “I thought—” she started, but then had to stop and swallow. “I thought the Tears were only legends.”
“Not all legends are untrue,” Veralla said. “I want you to take this to the temple in Shavalla.”
Keev regarded the plain container and thought how incongruous it was that an object of such magnificence and power, of such importance, should be carried in such an ordinary vessel. Even as she examined the unadorned box, she could feel the pull of the object within. She did not doubt Veralla.
Unable to stop herself, Keev reached toward the container. When her fingertips touched it, she felt the uneven surface of the rough-hewn wood. Her hand also began to tingle . . . or she imagined that it did. She could not tell. It seemed almost as though she had reached out of one reality and into another, and yet sensed them both.
“You may open the ark,” Veralla said. “You may look upon this Tear of the Prophets and see what you will see. Then you can decide if you will do as I’ve asked.”
“I don’t know,” Keev said, unsure if she wanted to gaze upon such an object. If I’m found unworthy—But even before she could finish her thought, before she could frame her fear, she reached with both hands for the ark. She didn’t know how she would open it, but then two of its sides came apart beneath her touch, dividing along a corner.
The brilliance that emanated from within the ark swirled around her. She saw a distinctive shape inside, rounded at the ends and narrower through the middle. It did not rest within the ark, but floated and rotated slowly, its surface not smooth but sharply ragged, as though composed of glass shards. It radiated an ethereal green glow, and as she beheld it, it flared and engulfed her.
• • •
At first, her body seemed to float, but then she lost all sense of her position, location, and even orientation. By degrees, Keev became aware of her own heartbeat, slow and steady, like the rhythmic pounding of a drum. Abruptly, a series of images sped across her mind: a standing man; a figure pulling white rock from a pile of rubble; a woman wearing a red headdress; and a girl. It took a moment for Keev’s thoughts to catch up to her visualizations, but then she realized that she knew all the faces she saw, even as she grasped that the people represented something beyond themselves: the Prophets.
Keev suddenly stood in a clearing in the wood, in one of the many encampments she had set up over the years with her fellow gild members. She saw their duffels and bedrolls, and a small fire bordered by stones. The sun shined down from its midday zenith.
“Our hand has returned,” said Veralla Sil from across the clearing.
Keev turned to look at him. Instead, she found herself looking through a narrow tunnel to a pile of earth and broken stone. As she watched, the debris began to tumble down from the top, more and more, until she could see past it and deeper into the caverns.
“Our hand has opened,” said Altek Dans.
“Yes,” Keev said, thinking, I am the hand—and I have opened.
She heard movement in the cave behind her, and she spun to see inside the Temple of the Bajora in Shavalla. Candles lent their quivering spark to the round, high-walled space. More than halfway across the room, a table stood against the lone
straight wall. A figure bent over the pages of a large tome there.
“Our hand rises where the roads meet,” said Denoray Lunas, the spiritual leader of the Bajoran faith. Keev recognized the short, stout woman from pictures, but she had also in her youth once met Denoray, at the time a simple cleric. “There is where our message guides our hand.”
“Yes,” Keev said. “Guide me. Please guide me. How many roads meet?” She sensed movement beside her, and she turned her head to see Veralla in the clearing.
“Three roads,” he said. “All roads meet.”
“Some cross,” said Altek in the cave.
“Some intersect,” said Denoray in the temple.
Veralla crossed in front of Keev, stopped, and turned to face her in the clearing. “Some end.”
“Which road ends?” Keev asked, believing that she needed to know the answer to a question she did not even understand.
“Many roads end,” Denoray told her from the table in the temple. “The road of the Sisko ends.”
The Sisko? Keev thought, unfamiliar with the term, but then another word, a name, bloomed in her mind: Benjamin. She said it aloud.
“Yes,” said a small voice behind Keev. She turned, knowing she would not see the temple, and she did not. Instead, she stood in another room, a large stone hearth on one wall, and across from it, great windows offering views of a beautiful valley. A little girl peered up at her with confident eyes—the girl, Resten Ahleen, that Keev and Altek had rescued from Joradell, but several years younger, and without the crescent-shaped scar on her cheek. “The Sisko’s road ends.”
The girl walked in small steps past Keev, from the room in Benjamin’s home to the battlements of a great fortress. “The Sisko’s road—my father’s road—ends,” Ahleen repeated. “It leads here no more.”
Star Trek: The Fall: Revelation and Dust Page 29
