CHAPTER
7

MAS MARKO AND AZIRA sat in their quarters. There was a dim expression of shock on Azira’s face, but Mas Marko had his carefully neutral mein on display.

Bashir sat facing them, while Sisko and Odo stood slightly behind him.

“Poor Lobb,” Azira was saying in a hushed voice. “It . . . it doesn’t even seem possible. We . . . we just saw him. K’olkr . . . Marko, we’re responsible.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Mas Marko said calmly.

“How do you figure that, Azira?” asked Sisko. Her hands moved in vague, undefined patterns. “We . . . we sent him back here with Rasa. We sent him to where his murderer was waiting for him. If it hadn’t been for us—”

“You can’t blame yourself,” said Sisko. “There was no way that you—that anyone—could possibly have known.”

“Listen to the commander, Azira,” Mas Marko told her.

Marko had been all bluster earlier when Sisko finally emerged from the quarters and agreed to let him in. But upon entering, he had become very quiet. He had knelt over the lifeless body of his follower and murmured prayers for five minutes, asking K’olkr to accept and cleanse the soul of the extremely worthy, extremely young, and extremely unfortunate missionary. He had spoken with such fervor that Sisko had found himself rather moved.

Faith, thought Sisko, was a nice thing to be able to cling to in a universe where nothing made any sense.

Kind of a shame he still had trouble with the concept.

Mas Marko turned back to Sisko. “Do you have any clues as to the murderer yet?”

Sisko turned toward Odo. “We have some promising leads,” said Odo confidently.

Sisko knew this was total fabrication. Odo’s security guards had been over every inch of the place. They had not turned up even the slightest clue as to who might have gained entry into the quarters, killed Lobb, and escaped. “It might as well have been a ghost, for all we know,” Odo had said in irritation.

But Odo spoke with confidence now. “It’s only a matter of time. That’s certain.”

“Commander,” Mas Marko said gravely, “we have a slight situation on our hands. Our beliefs call for a funeral within twelve of your hours after the deceased’s soul has passed to be with K’olkr. We would like to return to Edema—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Sisko.

They stared at him. “Whyever not?” asked Azira.

It was Odo who responded. “We’re in the midst of a murder investigation,” he said sharply. “No one will be allowed to depart the station until we have our killer safely locked up.”

“You . . . ” Azira looked stunned. “You would . . . keep us here? With some madman running around, capable of such . . . such hideous deeds, you would force us to stay here and be at risk?” She turned to her husband pleadingly. “Marko, tell them they can’t do this.”

But Marko was studying Odo thoughtfully. “You were lying before, weren’t you, sir?” he said. “You don’t have the slightest idea who was responsible for Lobb’s death. I, my wife, Del . . . everyone on board this station is equally likely to be the perpetrator. You can’t let us go because you have no more reason to believe that we did not do this . . . this hideous thing . . . than the lowliest of the liquor-guzzling slime that crawls through your Promenade. Isn’t that so?”

“We have several promising leads,” Sisko said flatly. “But with something like this, Starfleet has very, very specific procedures that we must follow. And we will follow them, even if it means keeping you here.”

“And exposing us to the same hideous fate that claimed Lobb,” said Azira tonelessly. “How . . . how could you—”

But Mas Marko put up a hand, and Azira once again lapsed into silence. Then his voice resonated in the quarters, as if he were giving a benediction. “If this is how you must proceed, Commander, then that is the way it must be. We are followers of the word of K’olkr. We trust that he will guide us through this . . . this dreadful business, just as he will guide you to the heartless creature that perpetrated this crime. And when he does . . . we will ask K’olkr to forgive him.”

“Praise K’olkr in all things,” whispered Azira, her hands wrapped around Mas Marko’s arm. It was a far more overt action than she would have taken normally with outsiders present, but clearly she felt confused and frightened by the entire business.

“But if we are to be confined here, Commander . . . then I must request that we be allowed to conduct funeral services for Lobb.” He looked saddened. “To be truthful, he had no family. No loved ones, besides those within the Order. No one except us, truly, to mourn for him. Perhaps, indeed, it is part of K’olkr’s grand plan that he be interred here in space . . . to wander forever, in body if not spirit. Would that be acceptable to you, Commander?”

“Of course,” said Sisko. “Tell me what your requirements are, and I’ll made the arrangements.”

“If we’re done here,” Odo said, “I have a murder investigation to conduct.”

Sisko nodded to him, and Odo walked out.

Mas Marko looked at the Starfleet men with a slight question on his face, clearly not understanding why they were still there.

Sisko looked to Bashir significantly, giving a silent cue as to what he was going to say next. Bashir nodded, showing that he understood. “Mas Marko,” said Sisko, “Azira . . . there is something else we must discuss.”

“Something else?” said Marko, sounding suddenly tired. “More joyous news to share with us?”

“It’s . . . about your son. Dr. Bashir here—”

“Doctor?” Marko looked up at him, and his eyes narrowed. “Ah. Now, isn’t that a remarkable coincidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, Commander. Pray continue.” But his face hardened, and Sisko suddenly felt a chill pass through him.

“Your son and I were in the infirmary chatting,” said Bashir. “Did Rasa tell you?”

“No.”

“Yes, well . . . one thing led to another, and I happened to run a standard exam on him . . . ”

“Indeed. Doctor”—Mas Marko rose, towering over the two men—”shall we end this shadow dance? Will you tell me what you found . . . or shall I tell you?”

Sisko and Bashir looked at each other. This wasn’t precisely the way they had anticipated this going.

“Panoria,” said Bashir flatly. “It’s a viral infection, potentially deadly.”

“Is that the name for it?” said Marko, sounding only mildly interested. “Thank you for telling us.”

“Were you aware of your son’s condition?” asked Sisko.

“We were aware that he is not the healthy young man he once was,” said Marko. “That, we knew.”

“Well, there’s good news, then,” said Bashir. “You’re lucky that we caught it. That we were able to diagnose the illness. Bring Rasa to the infirmary, and I can start him on medication immediately. We’ll have him out of danger in no time at all.”

“As out of danger as he could be, considering that there’s a capricious murderer stalking your station,” Marko said.

“That’s hardly the point.”

“Yes. Yes, you are quite right, Commander. Indeed, not the point at all.” Marko steepled his fingers, as if trying to determine how best to phrase what was going through his mind. “Gentlemen, your . . . zeal is appreciated. But I must ask you not to interfere.”

It took a moment for his comment to sink in fully. Sisko tried not to gape, but he was quite clearly stunned. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“I said you must not interfere,” repeated Marko. “That is not too difficult for you to understand, is it?”

“Mas Marko,” said Sisko carefully, “perhaps Dr. Bashir did not make himself clear. Without treatment . . . your son will die.”

Mas Marko laughed.

It was not a cold, unfeeling laugh, but rather one that seemed to speak of a bitter, ironic grasp of the situation. “And you are saying that, if he receives this treatment, he will never die? Is that it?”

“Of course not,” Bashir spoke up. “We’re not saying he’ll never die. That’s absurd. We’re saying that it need not happen now. That’s all.”

“These things happen in their own time and in the time that is accorded to them by K’olkr. Isn’t that right, Azira?”

“As you say, Marko,” she said. It was the softest that Sisko had ever heard a woman speak.

“Mas Marko . . . you’re saying that you do not want us to aid your son?”

“That is correct.”

“But . . . why?”

“He is in the best of all possible hands,” said Mas Marko serenely. “He is in the hands of K’olkr. K’olkr will determine his fate, as he will determine the fate of all things.”

“This is absurd!” Bashir snapped.

Sisko said warningly, “Doctor . . . ”

But Bashir didn’t seem to be listening. “You want me to just stand aside and let him die? When medicine can still save him? What . . . what sort of monster are you?”

“Doctor,” Sisko said again, this time in a tone so dangerous that it caught Bashir’s attention. But the young surgeon was still clearly roiling with barely suppressed anger.

“Apparently you are having difficulty understanding this,” said Mas Marko. “I do not see why, however. Certainly the concept of noninterference should not be alien to you, Doctor. Nor to you, Commander. I have some passing familiarity with the ways of the Federation and Starfleet. And, as I recall, doesn’t your primary law stipulate noninterference?”

Sisko nodded.

“And it is a good law. A solid law. A law that is in existence,” said Marko, “to prevent you from unknowingly forcing your own unasked-for assistance upon others. It is a law in which you are saying, in essence: we will not mix into those affairs that may not be ours to understand. Is that not right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Sisko.

“We are guided by similar beliefs, Commander. Matters of sickness and health, life and death . . . these are within the purview of K’olkr. We may not gainsay him. We may not interfere with him. That is clear. All life comes from K’olkr. He decides when we are put into this sphere, and he decides when we depart it. And no one—not you, not my beloved Azira—no one has the right to question him on matters such as these.”

“I’m not asking you to question your god’s actions.”

“He’s your god, too, Doctor,” said Marko serenely. “You simply aren’t aware of that yet.”

“Fine, whatever. But as I said, I’m not asking you to question his actions. I don’t want you to compromise your beliefs. All I’m asking you to do is save your son.”

“K’olkr gave us our son,” Mas Marko said. “If K’olkr chooses to take our son as well, then that is the affair of K’olkr. We must have faith that his decision is based on his great understanding of his master plan.”

“What master plan?” said Bashir. “You don’t know what this master plan is.”

“Exactly the point, Doctor. If we knew what the master plan was, why . . . we would be K’olkr. But we are not, quite obviously. We are mere mortals. And it is not fit for us to interfere with that plan. If we were to do so,” he said gravely, “it would be an indication to K’olkr that we had lost faith in him. That we did not believe there was a master plan. That we had acted against his wishes.”

“Mas Marko, I have a son, too,” said Sisko. “I know how I would feel if he were dying.”

“Don’t seek to compare your sorrow to mine, Commander,” said Mas Marko. “Mine is no less than yours. Do not presume to think that my son is less dear to me than yours is to you.”

“He’s your son, dammit!”

“And he’s K’olkr’s as well.” Mas Marko no longer seemed upset, but merely sad—sad that Sisko and Bashir had so much difficulty grasping a simple truth that was so clear and unvarnished to him. “K’olkr loves Rasa no less than I. In truth, he loves him more. After all, Azira and I could but ask for a son to be given to us. K’olkr was the one who actually gave him. And if K’olkr chooses to take him back, then all we can do is praise him and be grateful for the time he gave us with Rasa. And I am afraid, Commander, that that is really all we have to say on the subject.”

Bashir turned to Azira, trying to fight down the desperation he felt creeping through him. “Azira, do you agree with this . . . this philosophy? The child grew in you. He—”

“That’s enough, Doctor,” Sisko said.

“I hold my beliefs no less dear than my husband does,” said Azira softly. “No less dear, I would think, than you do your own, Doctor. I do not think you would appreciate it if I stood here and exhorted you to violate your doctrines. I would ask you, then, to extend me the same consideration.”

And she said nothing more.

They strode down the corridor, Bashir walking double time to keep up with Sisko’s long, determined stride. “You’re supposed to be the expert,” Sisko was saying. “How could you be so familiar with the Edemian race and still be totally unaware that their religion would prevent you from treating their illnesses?”

“I’m a doctor, not a theologian,” Bashir said, a bit more sharply than he would have liked. “You’re not just going to let this happen?”

“I have no choice,” Sisko shot back. “You know that, Doctor.”

“But—”

“Look, Doctor, we both know that you cannot proceed with any sort of treatment if it’s against the wishes of a parent.”

“What about Rasa himself? What if—”

“The parent, Doctor. And the parents have chosen to invoke the Prime Directive.”

“And you’re just going to stand aside! What if it were Jake? What if—”

Sisko turned on him, his eyes blazing with anger. “Starfleet Command personnel always have some degree of latitude when it comes to the Prime Directive, Doctor,” he said, his voice cold and inflectionless. “We are allowed to use our judgment in cases where there is some room for maneuvering. But this, Doctor, is not one of those times. As much as you and I may dislike the situation, we have been told in no uncertain terms to butt out. This request comes directly from the tenets of their society. We haven’t a leg to stand on here. The Prime Directive isn’t there for us to obey when we agree with it and ignore it when we don’t. You will not ignore the Prime Directive, and you had damned well better not ignore me. Is that understood, Dr. Bashir?”

Bashir felt as if Sisko’s glare might bore a hole through his face. He rallied his determination and said simply, “Understood, sir.”

“Good. Oh . . . and further tasteless comparisons to my own parental situation will not be appreciated. Is that understood as well.” It was not a question.

“Good,” Sisko repeated. He walked away, feeling as angry and helpless as Bashir . . . but managing to hide it a lot better.

He walked past a red-haired man and entered the turbolift. The door hissed shut behind him.

The red-haired man watched him go.