CHAPTER 16

“I AM LEEJ TERRELL,” the leader of the Cardassian mission said in the relative calm of the Wardroom. “And these are our credentials.”

Sisko accepted the articulated Cardassian padd she gave him. The excitement of the unannounced arrival of three Cardassians on a neutral cruiser had finally lessened throughout the station. But the security concerns remained.

As he took his seat across from his visitors at the conference table, Sisko studied the padd, comparing the identity dossiers it displayed as the station's computer automatically tested the authentication codes in the padd's memory.

According to the padd, Leej Terrell was the widow of a minor trade diplomat from Cardassia Prime. Her technical specialist, Dr. Phraim Betan, was a physician retired from the Cardassian Home Battalions. And her associate, Atrig, of no specified job function, was a businessman who ran an import-export company among the Cardassian colony worlds. The three Cardassians were, each dossier proclaimed, volunteers working for the Amber Star, with no official connection to the Cardassian government.

Sisko, however, didn't believe a word of the dossiers. For a diplomat's wife, Terrell was too clearly used to giving orders, not practicing diplomacy. Dr. Betan was too young to have retired from anything. And Atrig—perhaps the most striking Cardassian Sisko had ever seen—had not lost his hair nor been so badly scarred at the base of his neck and across one of his wide shoulder membranes ferrying goods from one world to another. Atrig had been in battle.

Decked out though they were with false identities, innocuous civilian outfits, and singularly hollow smiles, Sisko had no doubt he was seated across the table from three Cardassian soldiers. Three very active, and dangerous, Cardassian soldiers.

A Federation authorization window opened on the padd's display—the authentication codes had been confirmed. Terrell, Betan, and Atrig had been cleared for travel within the Bajoran sector.

But Sisko didn't really care. He placed the padd on the table as if it held nothing of interest or of value for him.

“So, you are traveling under the guise of a humanitarian mission,” Sisko began.

“Not under the guise,” Terrell replied easily. “We are a humanitarian mission, accepted by both the Federation and the Dominion during this terrible conflict.”

Sisko folded his hands. “Then why didn't you make travel arrangements directly with this station? If you are permitted to travel through Federation space, why arrive unannounced?”

Seated directly across the table from him, Terrell matched Sisko's gesture, folding her own hands in a mirror image of his. “In times such as these,” she said, “I often find it is more expedient to beg forgiveness than ask permission. If I had requested your approval to travel here, would you have given it to me?”

“No,” Sisko said, registering Terrell's surprise at his decision not to hide the truth through the more standard practice of equivocation and diversion.

“Then I was right to do as I did,” she said with a smile.

“Again, no,” Sisko said, keeping his tone deliberately impassive and uninformative. “You have disrupted my station. You have raised many questions in the mind of my strategic operations officer. Whatever delay you might have expected if you had contacted me ahead of time you can be sure will now be even longer, as Commander Worf tries to uncover what you're hiding.”

Sisko saw Terrell shoot a swift glance at Dr. Betan. And then as if the glance had been a signal for his action, the doctor spoke next.

“Captain Sisko, I assure you we have nothing to hide. We are volunteer workers of the Amber Star, private citizens aligned with no political group. We are merely here to repatriate the remains of the unfortunate Cardassians you discovered fused within the hull of this station. I'm sure you'll understand how this humanitarian act will at last bring closure to their families, as their fates are now known and the two unfortunates can be laid to rest according to their own customs.”

“Ah, but I understand completely, Doctor,” Sisko said. “And I am very pleased that the genetic profiles of the soldiers have allowed you to identify them.” Hastily suppressed reactions from all three Cardassians informed Sisko that his statement had startled them, a suspicion Terrell quickly confirmed.

“I believe you have reached an incorrect conclusion, Captain Sisko. The dead whose remains we are recovering are not—were not—soldiers. Their identification files are in the padd, as well. You will see that they were civilian support staff for the Terok Nor mining operation. Low-level. Of course, they worked for the military in trying to restore order to Bajor—”

“Excuse me?” Sisko said, not sure he had heard Terrell correctly.

Undeterred by his interruption, Terrell proceeded silkily. “Captain, you know what a troubled world Bajor is today. Believe me when I say that in the past, it was even more so. Remember that the Bajorans endured centuries of petty political and religious squabbling. And almost sixty years ago, when we could see these poor people were about to allow those conflicts to erupt into the horrors of all-out world war, well, we had to act, didn't we? We're a compassionate people, Captain. If we had not brought order to these people—our closest neighbors in space, after all—when we did, Bajor would be a wasteland today.”

Sisko clenched and unclenched his hands so vigorously during Terrell's vile tirade that the popping of his knuckles rang out in the Wardroom. “Parts of Bajor are a wasteland today, because of what you and your Occupation forces did to it.”

“And we regret that,” Terrell said. “If you could only know how it pained us whenever we had to discipline these people.”

Terrell paused as if to let him take part in the conversation. But Sisko remained silent because he knew if he opened his mouth to say a single word, he'd end up screaming at these sanctimonious monsters.

“I understand what you're feeling,” Terrell said with infuriating condescension. “I know how attached one can get to Bajorans. In a way, they're so much like children. In fact, our research has proven without doubt that the reason they remain so backward, and so dangerously unable to consider the consequences of their actions, is that their brains are not as developed as most other sentient creatures. Those parts of the neural structure responsible for higher-order thought are stunted, more like those found in less evolved animals such as—”

“That is quite enough,” Sisko said through clenched teeth.

Terrell waved her hand as if what she had to say was of no real importance. “I know, I know.”

Sisko could hear his heart thundering in his ears. He wanted nothing more than to end this meeting and escape from Terrell's presence. He put his hands on the table, prepared to stand, to . . . he saw the padd.

He forced himself to relax back into his chair.

Terrell had almost succeeded in perfectly deflecting him off the topic they'd been discussing.

He looked at her with new respect—as an adversary.

He decided it was time to deflect her. “To return to the topic at hand, your identification of the bodies as those of ‘civilians’ does not match other details we've obtained from our investigation.” Now Sisko stood to end the meeting. “I can only surmise that the Amber Star has made some error, and so we will not be able to release the bodies until a more detailed analysis is completed.”

Terrell was on her feet at once. “Captain Sisko, there is no error.”

Sisko smiled. “I know an error would be unlikely coming from your military's Central Records. But as you said yourself, the Amber Star is a civilian organization. I'd prefer my medical staff continuing with—”

“I would be happy to be of assistance,” Dr. Betan interjected. “There are subtleties to Cardassian biochemistry and physiology with which an alien doctor might not be familiar.”

“Thank you, but it won't be necessary,” Sisko said. “Our Doctor Bashir is one of the finest in Starfleet. And he has the advantage of working in a Cardassian medical facility.” He gestured to the door. “I'm sure we'll clear this up in oh . . . a week or two.”

Terrell gave no sign of leaving. Her voice turned harsh and her manner seemed more threatening. “Captain, do not turn this into a diplomatic incident. Whatever slim chance for peace exists now will be lost forever if the population of Cardassia believes the Federation would play politics with the bodies of Cardassian citizens. That they will not forgive.”

“I don't understand,” Sisko said.

Terrell's eyes narrowed. “That we care for and respect our honored dead?”

“No,” Sisko said. “That you think Cardassia has anything to do with the disposition of this war.” Sisko made no effort to disguise his pleasure at his Terrell's displeasure. “Admit it, Terrell, your world is as controlled by the Dominion as Bajor was controlled by you during the Occupation. In fact, I wonder how far down the evolutionary scale the Founders rank Cardassian neural structures.”

“You are making a mistake,” Terrell hissed.

Sisko actually laughed. “I'm not the one who's stepped into the middle of enemy territory.” He turned his back on the Cardassians and walked to the doors. “The Sagittarian cruiser is departing tomorrow at fifteen hundred hours. You will be leaving with it. In the meantime, I'll have you escorted to guest quarters.”

“Captain Sisko,” Dr. Betan fluttered as he looked nervously at Terrell, “for the sake of galactic peace, please reconsider this deadly insult.”

The doors slid open and Sisko looked up to see Major Kira approaching. He allowed himself a moment to contemplate what this meeting might have been like with Kira involved. The Cardassians would be badly injured or dead by now. Neither of which states would have been desirable.

“Captain,” Kira said urgently, “we have a problem.” Sisko was relieved to see that her attention was solely focused on him and not on his visitors.

“It's take care of, Major. I've dealt with the Cardassian delegation.” It was safer not allowing the fiery Bajoran any contact with Terrell and her companions. If she did, a second front could open up right here on DS9.

But Kira was not interested in Sisko's visitors. She glanced back over her shoulder. “Not a Cardassian problem. A Bajoran one.”

Sisko stepped out of the Wardroom to look down the corridor in the same direction Kira did. Past Worf's security detail. Where, surprisingly, four Bajoran monks were striding toward him in great haste.

“Didn't you say you contacted the Kai and the Inquisitors?” Sisko asked Kira. “That they were no longer needed because the Red Orbs of Jalbador don't exist?”

“These aren't Inquisitors,” Kira replied. “And they aren't here about Quark's Orbs.” She frowned at Sisko, lowered her voice. “Word got out about the Cardassians arriving for the bodies.”

“Captain Sisko,” the lead monk called out in a booming voice. “I am Prylar Obanak. It is most urgent we speak.”

Sisko was doubly taken aback. First, by the fact that a Bajoran monk had addressed him without calling him ‘Emissary.’ And second, by the narrow band of red cloth the prylar wore tied around his forehead under his hood. Recent events had compelled Sisko to study a wide range of ancient Bajoran texts dealing with the fallen Prophets known as the Pah-wraiths and he had learned that a strip of red fabric was often worn by those who worshiped them. When the red cloth was worn about the arm, Sisko knew, it was a symbol of a Pah-wraith cult which had been around for years, but which most Bajorans treated as a joke. What the fabric meant when tied around a monk's head—well Sisko wasn't actually sure, now that he thought about it—but each of the three monks accompanying Obanak was also wearing one in that position.

Sisko was not anxious to become involved in a new distraction. He still had O'Brien's search to contend with, along with the mysteries of the murdered Andorian and the dead Cardassians. He tried to deflect Obanak into Kira's care. “You can discuss anything you'd like with Major Kira and—”

“This does not involve Nerys,” the prylar rumbled. Even though he pitched his voice at normal speaking level now, its timbre was still remarkably deep and resonant.

And once again he had surprised Sisko. For a monk, it seemed to Sisko that the prylar was unduly familiar with Major Kira, addressing her as he had by her given name. But then, even before he had uttered a word it was clear to the most casual observer that Obanak was not a typical prylar. He was a full head taller than Sisko, and despite the loosely fitted robes he wore, it was clear the monk had the musculature of a plus-grav powerlifter. Whatever kind of religious he was, Obanak did not appear to be living a life of quiet contemplation.

Kira offered her own explanation to Sisko. “We were in the Resistance together.”

Obanak bared his teeth in a fierce smile, revealing less than a full set. Sisko wondered if the missing ones had been knocked out in battle and if so, in the past or more recently. “And my followers and I consider ourselves to be in the Resistance today.”

Now Sisko was thoroughly confused. “Resistance to—” But that was all he was able to say before being cut off by a deafening roar.

“Murderer!” Obanak raised his arm and pointed accusingly past Sisko and into the Wardroom.

To Sisko, there was no doubt that Obanak meant one of the three Cardassians behind him and, as captain of DS9, he acted swiftly to prevent escalation of a potential incident that could involve the entire station.

Setting aside any consideration of how deserving his visitors might be of Bajoran wrath, Sisko twisted the enraged prylar's arm down and pushed Obanak back against the far bulkhead of the corridor. At the same time, Worf's two security officers held back the other three monks. Meanwhile, Kira stepped in to keep the Cardassians safely in the Wardroom.

As he held Obanak in position, Sisko became aware of the monk's improbably massive biceps. The only reason Obanak wasn't moving was clearly because he chose not to—it was doubtful even Worf would have been able to stop the Bajoran prylar.

With order restored, Sisko spoke sternly to the four Bajoran and the three Cardassians that he and his staff now held apart from each other. “You are all guests on this station. Do I have your word you will not disturb the peace again?”

“Of course, Captain,” Obanak said thickly. “I apologize. I was unprepared for the sight of such kheet'agh in this place.”

Sisko frowned, but he released his grip on the prylar, whose only response, fortunately, was to adjust the position of his robes. Though the term Obanak had hurled at the Cardassians was unfamiliar to Sisko, he could guess it was not a flattering one. His own attention, moreover, had been caught by the prylar's omission of a term that he was accustomed to hearing from Bajoran religious figures. It now seemed somehow wrong not to be addressed as ‘Emissary.’ But that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

Sisko turned back to Terrell, Dr. Betan, and Atrig, who had yet to give their word that they would not cause trouble.

Atrig had moved into position directly in front of Terrell, as if to shield her from attack. His legs and arms were in an unmistakable fighting rest-stance. Now Sisko was positive that the bald Cardassian was no more a civilian than the two dead Cardassians in the Infirmary had been.

“I assure you, you are in no danger,” Sisko informed his visitors.

Terrell stepped out from behind Atrig, though Atrig was still poised to defend her. “So you say, Captain,” she said. “Of course, we've come to expect this sort of overwrought emotional outburst from Bajorans. It's not their fault, you know, any more than a beaten dog is responsible for snapping at its rescuer. It's that the Bajoran neural—”

A powerful voice drowned hers out as Prylar Obanak intoned dramatically: “Leej Terrell. Prefect of the Applied Science Directorate, Bajor Division. Personally responsible for the deaths of over two thousand Bajoran citizens during the conduct of medical implant experiments. It was said that even the Obsidian Order feared her for her ability to make opponents simply disappear.”

The silence in the corridor lasted only a moment.

“Is that all?” Terrell said, unperturbed and now in command of herself again. “Surely you're not finished. There are so many more crimes I'm supposed to have been responsible for. Prefect of medical research. Commandant of a work camp on a colony world. In charge of mining operations here on Terok Nor. I think once someone claimed I was even responsible for the assassination of Kai Opaka.”

“Kai Opaka wasn't assassinated,” Kira said grimly.

“Of course she wasn't,” Terrell agreed soothingly. “And neither was I responsible for any of the other crimes I supposedly committed. It's just that your people have a great deal of displaced anger, and you—”

“I think you should leave it at that,” Sisko warned.

“Good idea,” Kira added.

Terrell looked past Kira as if she didn't exist. “Captain Sisko, again I appeal to your humanity. Given the unwarranted hostility you can see we're facing here, and the unfortunate consequences that might ensue if it's allowed to continue, would it not be to everyone's advantage if you simply let us receive the bodies of our fellow citizens with dignity and—”

“They cannot take the bodies,” Obanak thundered.

Terrell's cold glance flicked off the prylar. “Sir, be reasonable. No matter how your mind's been twisted against us, you can only kill a Cardassian once.”

“Unfortunately,” Kira muttered.

“That's enough, Major,” Sisko said firmly. He turned to the Bajoran prylar. “Why is it any concern of yours what happens to those bodies?”

Obanak nodded his head in the direction of the corridor. “May we talk in private?”

Sisko gestured to Worf and Kira to maintain the separation of the remaining Bajorans and Cardassians. Then, together with the prylar, he walked away from the Wardroom and down the corridor, until not even Obanak's deep voice could be overheard. And it was then that the prylar dropped his posturing and made the case for his position.

“Captain, I don't know how much you know about what happened on this station during Withdrawal, but there were many deaths.”

Sisko knew that wasn't the case. He braced himself for other untruths. “The official death toll was four.”

“Four Bajorans,” Obanak said. “Among the Cardassians . . . well, certain Resistance members undercover on Terok Nor saw the confusion of Withdrawal as their chance to strike a final blow against the enemy. At least one hundred Cardassians were killed on that last day.”

“That's never been part of any account I've heard.” Sisko could not recall Major Kira ever alluding to such an event. But then she did not readily discuss the dark days before the Federation had taken over Deep Space 9.

“Why would it be? If the Cardassian people ever learned that their troops were slaughtered during a retreat, don't you think they would demand retribution? Either against the Bajoran people or against the Cardassian leaders who accepted the slaughter without retaliation?”

Sisko could see the logic in that, though it was still not a full explanation. “But then why didn't the Bajoran Resistance publicize their great victory against the oppressors?”

“Captain, think of the consequences.” Sisko couldn't help noticing that the Bajoran prylar out of the presence of the Cardassians was a most persuasive fellow who presented his arguments in a reasonable, not a rigid manner. “In the past,” Obanak continued, “it would be quite one thing for the Resistance to take credit for wiping out one hundred Cardassians on patrol in some desolate mountain region. Under conditions such as those, it was next to impossible for the Cardassians to be sure which cell was responsible. But up here, as I'm sure you know, the situation was more tightly defined. Consider this: The names of every Bajoran on the station at the time of the Withdrawal exist in Cardassia's Central Records. Among them, inevitably, are the Resistance members responsible for those last acts of righteous revenge. So my point is this: If the Cardassians show no signs of making an issue over what happened, then why would any Bajoran risk calling attention to it?”

“All right,” Sisko conceded. “I agree that both sides have something to gain from hiding the truth. But what does that have to do with Terrell and the bodies we found?”

Obanak paused and took a particularly long, deep breath. The action reminded Sisko of a stress-reducing Bajoran meditation technique Kira had once recommended he try. “As of now, Captain, those actions, those deaths . . . they belong in the past. The two bodies you found, chances are they are two of the hundred from the Day of Withdrawal.”

Sisko saw a shadow pass over the prylar's face as he gave name to the terrible last day of the Cardassian occupation of the station. “Now, what happens when those bodies return to Cardassia and an investigation begins? We on Bajor believe that witnesses will be tracked down, events reconstructed, someone will remember that a certain Bajoran was the last to see a certain dead Cardassian. A few days later, that Bajoran will be murdered in his home by assassins hired by the grieving family.

“And we can't forget the possibility of physical evidence as well,” Obanak added. “A physical altercation during Withdrawal might have produced a fleck of Bajoran blood, a scraping of Bajoran skin under a fingernail, or a single strand of Bajoran hair caught in the fabric of a dead man's suit. Each body could provide hundreds of different ways for Cardassian investigators to identify a member of the Resistance who may or may not have been responsible for a Cardassian's death.” Coming to the end of his argument for Sisko's help, Obanak folded his arms within his robes. “If you allow that to happen, Captain, then the cycle of violence will continue.”

Sisko studied the prylar. He still hadn't decided on a course of action. But he now understood Obanak's position. “What would you suggest I do?” he asked, truly interested in the Bajoran monk's answer.

“My followers and I will take the bodies and, in accordance with Cardassian rituals, we shall cleanse them, prepare them for their journey through their Divine Labyrinth, and then cremate them.”

“Evidence and all?” Sisko asked.

Obanak nodded. “To keep the past in the past, where it belongs.”

Sisko considered his options. Obanak seemed sincere but hopelessly naive. “Prylar Obanak, do you honestly believe I can convince Terrell and her people that you—a Bajoran monk—will perform any sort of Cardassian funeral rite with the proper respect?”

“We are incapable of doing anything except show the proper respect. Captain, my followers and I are not the type of religious with which you are familiar. I refer to the misguided ones who adhere to flawed texts imperfectly chosen from the long legacy of our world's relationships with the True Gods of Creation. Such misguided ones as might call you Emissary.”

That explains his reluctance to call me by that title, Sisko thought. “You're right,” he said. “I'm not familiar with your approach—”

“More than an approach, Captain. We follow the One True Way.”

This encounter with Obanak was causing Sisko to feel both intrigued and uncomfortable. He was well aware that there were many sects on Bajor. Many different ways of interpreting holy texts, the Prophets, and their actions. But for all those different approaches, Bajoran religion was rarely, if ever, confrontational. All but a few Bajoran religions were based on the one central tenet of the Prophets' undeniable existence. But past that point, any group was free to go its own way. Most accepted the guidance and leadership of Kai Winn. Some did not. And, at least in Sisko's experience, Bajor was unique among most worlds of the Federation in that in the face of such diversity, religious intolerance did not appear to exist. Of course, he had also thought that given that the proof of their gods' existence was so tangible—in the form of the Orbs—there wasn't room for much argument.

“You will forgive me,” Sisko began as diplomatically as he could, “but I have seen on Bajor that there appear to be many ways to worship the Prophets.”

“Many ways,” Obanak agreed. “But only one way that is correct above all others.”

Sisko looked back down the corridor toward the door to the Wardroom. Obanak's three companions were still waiting there with Worf's security officers. Kira was standing with them, apparently having no desire to remain in the Wardroom with Terrell and the other two Cardassians.

Cardassians, Sisko thought. Cardassians back on DS9. A Bajoran monk from a sect he had never heard of. Two murdered Cardassians from six years ago—perhaps from the very same day Quark, Odo, and Garak could not remember. One murdered Andorian from four days ago. Quark missing. Smugglers everywhere. Counterfeit Orbs and . . .

Where is the pattern? Sisko asked himself. He could envision all the separate pieces swirling around like flotsam on the steep sides of a whirlpool or like tiny runabouts tossed by the negative energy flux of the wormhole. Yet he couldn't help but feel that somehow, in some way, all those pieces should fit together—if not among themselves, then around some missing final piece.

“Captain?” Obanak asked.

Sisko returned his attention to the Bajoran monk, not quite sure how long he had been staring blankly down the hall in search of answers.

“Were you with them?”

“You mean, with the Prophets?”

Obanak nodded.

“No,” Sisko said. “But I thought you didn't believe I was the Emissary.”

“Clearly, you are not,” Obanak said. His thick brow suddenly deepened over his large, dark eyes. “Do you believe you are?”

Sisko paused before answering. It was ironic, but that was exactly what Commander Arla—a Bajoran of no religious beliefs—had asked him. And now he was being asked the same question by someone on the exact opposite end of the curve of religious possibilities—a Bajoran who seemed to believe that all other Bajoran beliefs were wrong.

“That is what the Prophets call me,” Sisko said. “And that is what many Bajorans call me. So I accept that that is what I am—to them. What it means, though, I really cannot say.”

Obanak regarded Sisko gravely. Almost, it seemed to Sisko, with respect. “I must say I hadn't expected you to be so open-minded, Captain. Usually, when the False Prophets cloud an innocent mind, that mind remains closed.”

“False Prophets?” Sisko was certain he had never heard a Bajoran use the word ‘false’ in the same breath as ‘prophets.’

“Those that dwell in the Jalkaree. The Sundered Temple. What the unenlightened call the wormhole.”

It was then that Sisko realized why the prylar wore the sign of the Pah-wraiths. “I see: you consider the Pah-wraiths to be the true Prophets.”

Obanak touched the thin red cloth strip on his forehead. “Oh, no, Captain. Open your mind even more. This compulsion that exists for people to choose only one path or the other—that of the Prophets of the Jalkaree or of the Pah-wraiths in their prison of fire—it is a deliberate obstruction of the One True Way.”

“And what way would that be?” Sisko asked, wondering if he would ever truly understand Bajorans and Bajoran belief systems.

Obanak held the edge of his robe like an ancient orator about to deliver a speech. “Not so long ago, the misguided believed that a long-prophesied confrontation took place on this very station—the Gateway to the Temple. Is that not right?”

“The Reckoning,” Sisko said. He still had nightmares about that horrifying event, when a Prophet had inhabited the body of Major Kira and a Pah-wraith—Kosst Amojan, the Evil One—had taken over the body of his own son Jake in order to fight an apocalyptic battle between good and evil.

“The Reckoning,” Obanak repeated. “First prophesied twentyfive thousand years ago. Yet what happened?”

“Nothing.” Sisko had trusted in the Prophets and had been prepared to let the battle take place, no matter the personal cost. But Kai Winn had flooded the Promenade with chroniton particles, creating an imbalance in space-time and preventing the noncorporeal entities from remaining within their selected corporeal vessels. Thus nothing had been resolved.

“Exactly. And nothing is all that will ever occur as long as the different sides remain in conflict. No progress. No enlightenment. No rest. And no end.”

“I still don't understand,” Sisko said. Just what did this sect of Obanak's believe in or want to have happen for the good of Bajor? “What is the True Way?”

Obanak beamed at Sisko with an expression of almost transcendental bliss. “The One True Way is that path which shall be revealed when no other paths remain to be chosen.”

Sisko stared at the monk, mystified. For a moment, he had actually believed he might be about to learn something new about Bajoran religious beliefs. But instead, Obanak had responded with a typically obscure pronouncement so imperfectly defined it might mean anything.

“I see you doubt me,” Obanak said.

“I don't understand you,” Sisko said truthfully. “There is a difference.”

“Understanding is simple to those whose minds are open, Captain Sisko. When the Temple is restored, there will be no false paths to chose from. No False Prophets. No Pah-wraiths. No good. No evil. Simply the one True Temple. The one True Prophets. And the One True Way to a glorious new existence beyond this one.”

Sisko shook his head. “That sounds just like what was supposed to happen after the Reckoning.”

But Obanak was full of even more surprises. “The Reckoning,” he said sternly, “was a petty conflict between the False Prophets and the Pah-wraiths of the Fire Caves. The True Way will be revealed when the False Prophets and the True Prophets are at last reconciled.”

Sisko suddenly realized that Obanak might be referring to a third group of entities. He hadn't heard any discussion of that possibility before. “Are you saying that your True Prophets are not the Pahwraiths?”

“Pah-wraiths and False Prophets and True Prophets . . . they are all one and the same, Captain. And in a long-ago time beyond measure, their home—their Temple—was sundered, and they were driven apart. Some to dwell in the Jalkaree. Some in the Fire Caves. And some in the Jalbador.”

“The Red Orbs,” Sisko said with abrupt understanding.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That's why you're here?” Sisko said. “For the Red Orbs of Jalbador?”

Obanak shook his head. “Captain, really, what do you take me for? The Red Orbs of Jalbador are a child's bedtime story. They don't exist, they never have. Don't tell me someone's trying to sell them to you —the Emissary!”

But before Sisko could say more, he heard loud footsteps in the corridor, and saw Kira's compact form hurrying toward him, urgency expressed in every stride.

He called out to her, “What is it, Major?”

“It's O'Brien, sir. He has to see you.”

“Why?”

He's found something with the scan.”

“What is it?”

“He's refusing to tell anyone but you, sir. All he'll say is that it's something that just shouldn't be.”