CHAPTER
21

MAS MARKO stood in the infirmary, looking at the life readings on his son. Marko’s face was unreadable, and Bashir took that as a good sign. Obviously, it meant that he had not dismissed the rightness of the doctor’s actions out of hand. Azira stood nearby, her arms folded, not saying a word.

“As you can see,” Bashir said, “the life signs have stabilized and, in several instances, are higher than they were before. Clearly, with the medication I’ve given him so far, and with the continued administration of the tricyclidine, Rasa will live a full and healthy life.” When Marko said nothing, Bashir added helpfully, “K’olkr could not possibly object to that.”

Marko fixed him with a passionless gaze. “I see, Doctor. So you have now added theology to your fields of expertise.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Bashir, “but I just don’t see how saving Rasa’s life so that he can continue to do your god’s work can be a bad thing.”

“That is the problem, isn’t it, Doctor? For you see, the work of K’olkr is performed on all levels—among the living and beyond that simple state, unto eternity. By your interference, you have disrupted whatever plans K’olkr had for my son. Rasa is forever tainted. Whatever effectiveness he might have had in this incarnation . . . is gone.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit extreme about this?” asked Bashir.

But Mas Marko was not listening to him. He had turned toward Azira. “You,” he said softly. “You . . . let this happen. Wanted it to happen. How could you?”

She couldn’t look into his glowing eyes. “Marko, we have been a part of each other’s life for as long as I can remember. We were joined, promised to each other, when we were just beyond infancy. I remember you when you were Rasa’s age. He looks so much like you did. And you spoke to me back then of the things you were going to do—your dreams, your hopes, the accomplishments that were so important to you. And I’ve watched you, taken pride in you, as you achieved your goals, one by one. Every time I looked at Rasa, I saw so much of you in him. And I”—her voice trembled—“I love you too much, loved both of you too much, to allow Rasa’s life to end before he could accomplish any of his own goals. It . . . wouldn’t have been fair.” Now she looked at him. “I didn’t care what K’olkr’s plan was. No plan of his—no matter how divine, no matter how inspired—could have made his death fair. Could have made it right.”

“And who are you,” said Marko, “to question his plan? He is K’olkr! And you must answer to him!”

“I am Azira,” she replied evenly. “And I answer to myself.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“The Zealous is waiting for me,” he said after a time. “I am told by Commander Sisko that the subspace compression has subsided. I will return to Edema, gather together new followers, and make the pilgrimage. And as for you . . . ”

He drew himself up and then walked around her in a slow circle. He muttered a string of words that Bashir did not understand. Azira closed her eyes, obviously in pain, but she did not allow a sound to escape her lips.

“Wh-what’s happening?” demanded Bashir. “I don’t understand.”

Mas Marko finished walking in the circle and then turned to face Bashir. “It is the consequence of your actions, Doctor. You tempted Azira off the holy path, and she succumbed to your enticements. The wife of a Mas must be held to the strictest standard, as must his offspring. Azira and Rasa are tainted. Forever tainted. No forgiveness on my part—even if I had forgiveness to give—could expunge this sin from them.”

Bashir looked from Marko to Azira and back again. “Wait . . . What are you saying? This is—”

“They will never be welcome into the arms of K’olkr, for the son’s path has been altered and the mother has lost faith. She has elevated herself above K’olkr, and that cannot be. . . . Azira, I have spoken the words and walked the path that you cannot follow. We are forever divorced. Furthermore, you are forever excommunicated. If you walk the soil of Edema, you will be shunned by all followers of the word of K’olkr. Some of them can be . . . violent,” he added reluctantly. “I do not approve of their methods, but neither will I deter them.”

Bashir’s anger erupted. “You heartless bastard!” he shouted. “This woman saved your son’s life! And this is how you thank her? By cutting her off from you? From the life and world she knows? You can’t do this!”

Marko whirled on Bashir, faster than his size would have had Bashir believe possible. For just a moment his solemn voice seemed to crack. “You know nothing of what I can and can’t do, Doctor! Do you think this pleases me? Do you think I wish to do this? My people do not believe in remarriage; I shall spend the rest of my days alone. Do you truly believe I find that prospect desirable? Do you?”

He drew his robes tighter around him, as if trying to draw protection and strength from them. “You did what you felt you had to do, Doctor. And my wife—apologies, I meant to say my former wife—did as she felt that she had to do. And now . . . I do what I must do.”

Bashir looked to Azira. “This is . . . You can’t . . . ” But he could think of nothing further to say.

Mas Marko walked slowly toward the door. Despite his great height, he seemed very small and vulnerable at that moment. He paused at the door as it opened and then said softly—so softly that Bashir had to strain to hear him—“May K’olkr watch over you, Azira. You and Rasa both.”

“If he wishes,” replied Azira.

And then he was gone.

“Doctor,” said Azira after a moment, “if you would be so kind as to arrange for us to have passage to . . . ” She thought about it and then shrugged. “To anywhere, really. Perhaps to Bajor. That would not be a lengthy trip, and I understand Bajorans are a fairly religious people. Maybe their god will embrace us, even though our own has turned his back on us.”

“I . . . I’m sorry, Azira,” said Bashir, knowing that “I’m sorry” didn’t even begin to cover it. “I . . . I mean, had I known—”

“If you had known, you’d have what?” Her voice was full of scorn. “You’d have behaved differently? Spare me, Doctor. You were fixated on one thing and one thing only: saving a life. Even if I had warned you of what would happen, it wouldn’t have mattered to you. You forced me to choose between my son’s life and my own life—the life I knew with my people and my husband. And if you were put into the exact same position, there is every likelihood that you would do the exact same thing again. Wouldn’t you?”

“Very possibly,” he admitted. It galled him to confess that, because even when he had been doing it—when he’d been subjecting Azira to the holoscenario from hell—he had felt a measure of guilt. All that, however, had been washed away by the pure excitement and triumph of saving the boy’s life, of looking death in the eye and saying, “Not this time. Not this life. Not yet.” And so again he said, “Very possibly, yes. But I had no idea of the consequences when I took those actions. The only thing of significance to me was that your son would live. You, on the other hand, were perfectly aware. If you had it to do over again, would you take the same action?”

She gazed at the sleeping child on the medical bed. The child who had cost her everything—her mate, her religion, her planet, her friends . . . everything.

“I wish I knew,” she said faintly. “I wish to K’ . . . I wish to God I knew.”

The door hissed open, and Sisko was standing there. He was scowling.

“Doctor,” he said. “I’ve had a chat with Del.”

“Yes?”

“And now . . . I’d like to have a chat with you. A long chat.”

“Yes,” Bashir said softly. “I rather thought you would.”