CHAPTER 28

“DOES IT FEEL LIKE coming home?” Weyoun asked.

Sisko looked around the restored bridge of the Defiant, almost unable to believe he was really here. It had been a shock when the transporter effect had faded and he had realized where he was. And the shock wasn't fading. He had never expected to see this ship again.

But he refused to accept returning here under any conditions but his own. “I won't play your games,” he warned Weyoun.

The Vorta slipped into the command chair, examined the controls on either arm. “I wish I knew what games those might be,” he said. “I'm certain they'd be amusing.”

Sisko could feel his heartbeat quickening, nearly to the point of euphoria. Two weeks ago, O'Brien had clearly explained that there was only one way back to their own present, and that was by taking the Defiant —and only the Defiant —on a reverse slingshot trajectory around the the mouth of the red wormhole.

Two weeks ago, with the Defiant battered and being towed by the Boreth, even the possibility of such a return trip had been unthinkable.

Yet here was a chance. It didn't matter how slight.

In only minutes, he knew, the red wormhole would open again. So a reverse flight could be attempted. And even if he had to face the terrible prospect of leaving his crew behind, if he could return to his present, then there was a chance he could slingshot back to this future with a full task force to rescue them in the minutes remaining.

Sisko shot a glance across the bridge to the engineering station, trying to see if—

“I know what you're doing,” Weyoun said. “I know what you're thinking. What you're planning. What you're hoping. And I assure you, none of it is going to happen.”

Sisko faced facing the Vorta, hating the way his own robes dragged on the Defiant's carpet, wanting more than anything to be in uniform again. He wanted to belong on this bridge as a Starfleet officer, as he was meant to be.

Apparently untroubled by his own red robes, Weyoun steepled his hands, elbows on the arms of the chair. “Benjamin, I know you'd like nothing better than to go back to the past. To stop the Orbs of Jalbador from ever being brought together. And I know that this vessel following a reverse temporal trajectory is your only way of doing that. So, not being the fool you take me for, when I had this ship repaired I gave specific orders that her warp engines were to be . . . gutted.”

Weyoun leaned forward. “Go ahead, check the engine status. You'll find you don't have any.”

Sisko crossed quickly to the engineering station, called up the status screens, to make his own confirmation.

Weyoun was right.

No impulse engines. No dilithium. The warp core had been jettisoned.

The Defiant had as much chance of traveling at warp as a falling rock.

“No going back,” Weyoun said. “Only forward.” He glanced over at a time display on the science station. “At least for about the next sixteen minutes.”

Sisko's pulse continue to pound, but with rage now. “Damn you, Weyoun! Why are we here?”

Weyoun seemed genuinely surprised by the sudden show of emotion. “In the absence of any definitive guidance, I thought it would be fitting—somehow in keeping with this all-important theme of balance that runs through the texts of the True Prophets. The Defiant after all was the first ship to enter their Temple. I thought there would be a certain poetry in having it be the last, as well. Surely you of all people see that?”

Sisko strode off to Weyoun's left, swinging his arms, shaking his head, struggling to keep his mind clear.

“I asked you a question, Benjamin.”

Sisko strode back, turned, then whirled around, and abandoning all thought he lunged at Weyoun and smashed his fist into the Vorta's placid, hateful face.

Weyoun was thrown back in the command chair, then sat forward, looking down at the carpet, a small drop of blood escaping from his nose.

Sisko caught his breath, expecting to be consumed by endless fire any moment.

He would welcome it.

But nothing happened.

After a few moments, Weyoun sat back again and rubbed his face, that was all.

“There,” the Vorta said as if nothing of much importance had just happened. “Did that help? Do you feel better?”

Pulse still pounding, Sisko checked the time readout. Fourteen minutes. How could he or anyone else have anything to lose at this point, so close to the end of everything? What was to stop anyone from doing anything?

“Yes,” he said. “And I'm sure I can feel even better!”

He swung at Weyoun again and the Vorta didn't dodge his blow. There was a loud crack, a gasp, and Sisko saw blood gush forth from the Vorta's nose.

“You . . . you broke it,” Weyoun said thickly, his fingers gripping the bloody bridge of his nose.

“Then kill me,” Sisko taunted.

Weyoun used the back of his hand to wipe the bright red liquid that dripped down his upper lip, held out his blood-smeared hand and looked at it with a bemused expression. “It's not my decision.”

“Then whose is it?” Sisko demanded.

“As you would say,” Weyoun replied, “your fate is now . . . in the hands of the Prophets.”

“Which ones?”

Weyoun pursed his lips as if Sisko had asked a trick question. “Why, the winners, of course.”

Then he tapped a bloody finger against the comm control. “Defiant to Boreth. I believe we are ready to depart.” He looked ahead. “Screen on, please.”

The Defiant's main viewer came to life. On it, Sisko saw the Boreth slide into view just as a shifting purple tractor beam shot out from it.

Then the image on the screen changed, as the Defiant was realigned in space. Bajor appeared, most of it in darkness, only a thin crescent showing the light of day.

Next, slowly, the planet began to recede as the Defiant was towed at warp.

“A lovely planet,” Weyoun said wistfully. “Would you like to say good-bye?”

Sisko checked the time display again. “Not for twelve minutes.”

“Oh, no,” Weyoun said. “It's not for Bajor to see the end of the universe. Watch.”

And then Sisko cried out in shock as on the viewer the crescent limb of his adopted world blazed with blinding light and what seemed to be a vast wind of white steam shot all around the planet and the atmosphere on the dark side glowed with fire and the oceans boiled and the continents rose and—

—in a flash of light that hurt his eyes despite the safety overrides in the viewer, Bajor became . . . dust and . . .

. . . disappeared.

“Bajor . . . what . . .”

“Supernova,” Weyoun said matter-of-factly. “Don't worry though. I understand the first pulse of radiation is enough to instantly kill any living being before the shockwave hits. Your crew felt no pain. I know that was important to you.”

With a roar of primal rage that startled even him, Sisko threw himself at Weyoun and was suddenly flat on his back by the science station chair, each breath he took stabbing him.

Weyoun's eyes glowed. Red. “We've played that game, I believe. And I don't like it anymore.”

Sisko got to his feet. Started for Weyoun again. “You have no choice!”

A bolt of red struck Sisko's chest.

Sisko froze in place. He could not move. The lance had come from Weyoun's hand.

“Neither do you,” the Vorta said. “Now be still. And perhaps . . . perhaps . . .” For a single heartbeat, the red light in Weyoun's eyes flickered, then vanished. “Perhaps we can both find out what's supposed to happen next.”

Sisko stood transfixed on the bridge of his starship. There was a bigger conflict here than he had ever imagined.

Not only was the universe about to be destroyed, the one person responsible didn't even know why.

The real adversaries were still in hiding.

The universe now had nine minutes left.