CHAPTER 23

THE MOON OF Jeraddo was a seething crimson orb of gas wreathed in violent, thousand-kilometer filaments of blazing-blue lightning.

Three years ago, the moon's molten core had been tapped to produce power for Bajor, the world it orbited, an ingenious concept first developed by the Klingons. Decades ago, that initial concept's design flaws had caused the spectacular destruction of the Empire's main generation facility on the moon of Praxis. The flaws had since been corrected by assiduous Federation engineers focusing a low-level subspace inversion field on the moon's core. As a result, the normal convection of heat generated by the decay of natural radioactives had been accelerated a thousandfold.

In less than a year, the end result of the convection would have been to turn the entire moon into molten rock. But a clever feedback loop allowed the excess heat of the moon's core to be shunted into subspace and collected by orbiting conversion platforms. There, the enormous energy imbalance was transformed. Extremely high-frequency subspace waves were changed to more-easily-controlled midrange frequencies, which could be safely transmitted to Bajor's power grid.

The engineers who maintained the system likened it to setting off an antimatter bomb in a flimsy wooden box, and then only allowing the energy to escape through a very small hole in one side. The slightest miscalculation could result in the sudden release of all the energy at once, vaporizing the box—or, in this case, Jeraddo and whatever hemisphere of Bajor it was over at the time. But as long as everything performed according to specs, Jeraddo would be providing power to Bajor for the next thousand years.

And the only cost for that benefit was that what had once been an inhabited class-M moon, was now a class-Y demon world on which an unprotected visitor would live for less time than it took to draw a breath. Whether death would come from the toxic corrosive crimson clouds, the sudden atmospheric pressure waves of 1200-degrees-Celsius heat, or the wildly fluctuating gravity fields that were a byproduct of the subspace inversion at the moon's core no one could predict. Nor did anyone particularly care. All possibilities were equally unpleasant and equally fatal.

The ship that now took up a nonstandard orbit around the hellish moon appeared to be an ordinary Sagittarian cruiser, its gleaming yellow hull making electric contrast with Jeraddo's red clouds.

The cruiser was as long as the Defiant but no more than half its width. For redundancy—not efficiency—its back third was ringed by four half-size warp nacelles. Its middle third was covered almost completely with pressure hatches for twenty-four escape modules—one for every five passengers and crew, though each had seating and supplies for ten. And the front third was thick with ablative shielding on its forward surfaces. Any impact with an unexpected body would first be absorbed by the hull, then by the “crush zone” provided by the forward cargo storage holds. All was designed to protect the all-important passenger cabins amidships.

In short, it was a typical conservative, civilian ship, designed for safety above all else.

Which is why it looked so out of place this close to Jeraddo, a world where even establishing a standard orbit risked the survival of a ship.

Inside the cruiser, though, Sisko had a better sense of the vessel's survivability. Though it looked Sagittarian on the outside, it was pure Cardassian within.

“A Chimera-class vessel” Terrell had called it. She and Sisko both knew that in times of war, a neutral vessel could be a much safer means of transportation. Especially when it was liberally outfitted with hidden weapons and capable of outrunning almost any other ship in the sector.

“You actually plan to beam down there?” Sisko asked as he watched a false-color image of the moon's hidden surface scroll across the main bridge viewer of Terrell's cruiser. Though the thick clouds of the moon prevented any direct visual observation of its surface, the cruiser's sensors had no difficulty picking up ground detail.

“We've found the abandoned village,” Terrell said. She was in the command chair—an imposing black structure that had the silhouette of a looming bat. Atrig was her navigator, seated at a forward console. Sisko didn't know where Dr. Betan was. “And from the details on that map, we can narrow down the Orb's location to perhaps a square kilometer of surface area, and search.”

“I'm curious,” Sisko said.

“I should hope so,” Terrell replied.

“How did you manage to misplace an Orb on the station and have it turn up on this moon?”

Terrell stood up from her chair. Typical of Cardassian design, the chair was mounted on a meter-high platform so that the commander would always be above the crew. “It's not the same Orb, Captain. It's the second. When I find it, then I can return to Terok Nor and find the first.”

“And then what?”

“And then, with Vash's Orb I will have all three, and I will not need equipment to open a wormhole. According to the ancient texts we've deciphered, I merely have to bring the three Orbs together . . . anywhere I choose.” She stepped down from her command platform and walked forward to Atrig's navigation console to check the readings on his display. “We're coming up on the village now.”

On the viewer, Sisko detected a grouping of primitive, blocky structures slide into view, arranged just as he recalled seeing on Dal Nortron's map. Though the crisp layout of the village seemed to be obscured, somehow.

“Is that debris?” he asked.

Terrell made more adjustments on the console and the sensor image of the village expanded on the screen and became more detailed.

“Some of the buildings appear to have collapsed,” Terrell observed. “But with the winds and the gravity fluctuations, that's to be expected.”

A door slipped open, and Dr. Betan walked slowly onto the bridge. He was wearing a bulky Cardassian environmental suit, shiny green-black in color, made up of curved segments to look even more like a beetle's carapace than any other Cardassian uniform Sisko had seen.

In his gloved hands, Dr. Betan carried the red hourglass-shaped crystal which Vash had brought to DS9. Sisko was startled to see that it wasn't as impenetrably dark as it had first appeared to be.

“See that?” Terrell said. “That glow inside?” She looked at Sisko. “It means it's getting closer to its missing mate.”

“You seem to have everything under control,” Sisko said.

“Not quite,” Terrell said curtly. “You still have to answer my questions.”

Sisko had known that was coming. “You won't like the answers.”

“I think I will. Because if you're thinking of disappointing me, remember that Terok Nor is still running under manual-control conditions, and it will be several hours before anyone goes looking for your missing staff and your son. They are right where I left them—which makes them easy for me to find.”

“All right. You want to know how to negotiate with the wormhole aliens,” Sisko said.

Terrell nodded. “I know the science of wormholes. But the aliens are an X-factor. You've dealt with them and returned. My people never did. What's your secret?”

Dr. Betan pressed a small control on a side bulkhead and a panel beside a small transporter platform slid open to reveal four environmental suits in storage racks. Terrell gestured to them. “We don't have much time.”

Sisko went to the suit Dr. Betan pointed out. It seemed to be the right size.

“There is no secret,” he said. “The Prophets—the aliens —are in complete control the entire time. They initiate contact. They control the length of contact. And then they terminate contact.” He stepped into the trouser section of the suit, and then watched as the imbedded pressure rings expanded to extend the legs to the proper length.

Terrell's voice was tense. “Then under what conditions could you see them refusing to let a traveler leave their wormhole?”

Sisko held up his arms so Dr. Betan could slide the chest piece over his head.

“Terrell, you told me I was too caught up in thinking about the Orbs. What if you're too caught up in thinking about the wormhole as simply another dimension?”

Terrell was more used to the suits than was Sisko. She was already dressed, needing only to attach her helmet. “Explain.”

“The Bajorans believe their wormhole, the Blue Wormhole, is the home of their gods. In a sense, it's their heaven. But if you've truly discovered a second wormhole . . .”

“Don't even suggest it,” Terrell threatened. “Heaven and hell, as you call them—supernatural realms of eternal reward and eternal punishment—are not worthy of scientific discussion or consideration.” She strode over to Sisko and lifted a helmet from the rack behind him. “Life is everywhere in our universe, Captain. In the most unlikely ecological niche, on almost every world, we find something that qualifies as living matter. Why can't you accept that different dimensional realms also harbor life, without having to invoke superstition?”

“Just a suggestion,” Sisko said. “The Prophets or aliens or whatever you'd like to call them can be unnerving, I'll admit. And I don't usually have any idea what it is they want when they contact me. But they've never kept me in their realm against my will. Why they, or beings like them, didn't allow your people to return, I can't say.”

“Keep thinking,” Terrell said tersely as she snapped Sisko's helmet closed and sealed it. The helmet was a hemisphere of something transparent that curved from a shell-like shoulder unit. At once, all sound was muffled except for the rasp of Terrell and Dr. Betan breathing over the suit's comm link, and Terrell's voice. “I'm sure you'll come up with something more useful in the next hour.”

“Why an hour?”

“Because that's just about how long these suits will stand up to the corrosive atmosphere down there.” She stepped up on the transporter platform at the side of the bridge. Sisko saw Dr. Betan do the same and followed.

Here we go, Sisko thought.

“Atrig,” Terrell said tensely. “Energize.”

And then Sisko dissolved into light, and reformed in absolute darkness.