7

HIS STOPOVER AT DS9 HADN’T LASTED VERY LONG. JAKE HAD STAYED up late, hoping to spend some time with Nog—who had been able to spare all of a half hour for a midnight drink, too busy working on some Defiant array thing to get away—had finally fallen asleep in the early hours, and had crawled out of bed a full ten minutes before Kira was knocking on his door. Yevir, the vedek he vaguely remembered meeting just before leaving for the wormhole, had apparently volunteered to give Jake’s traveling party a ride to Bajor. And as soon as possible.

Much as he’d been hoping to stick around for a few days, catch up with Nog and Ez and station life, Kira seemed to think it was a good idea

and after yesterday’s conversation with Kas, he did want to get to Bajor; she was hugely pregnant, and though her complaints were lighthearted, it sounded like she could actually use some help around the house.

Kira said that Yevir’s shuttle would be ready to return to Bajor in an hour, then went off to find Opaka and Wex. Feeling entirely out of touch with reality, Jake packed a bag. Traveling had always made him feel that way, the sudden change of environments making everything seem

not quite certain. Only yesterday, he’d been saying good-bye to Itu, the Eav’oq leader, just returned to corporeal existence after fifty millennia of subspace meditation. The farewell had been pleasant and calm; from there he’d almost been blown up by a malfunction in a Tosk transport, he had seen Weyoun while on board a Dominion ship, and had almost been blown up again by the Cardassians. Now, less than twenty-six hours later, he was on his way to Bajor, with the vedek who had apparently kicked Kira Nerys out of her religion; Nog had managed to catch him up on a thing or two, information he’d gotten directly from Quark. Even Nog agreed that it was a lot to get hit with on the first day home.

Speaking of. Nog had either gotten up early and returned to work, or he hadn’t ever come in. Since Yevir’s ship was docked only two locks down from the Defiant, Jake decided to stop in and see him on his way out.

On our way out, he thought, latching his slightly overstuffed bag. Kira said that she would urge Opaka and Wex to go, too; maybe it was a safety issue. Kas had mentioned something about a few Bajorans hanging around the house, ostensibly to offer their assistance in her last days of pregnancy

but maybe they were Militia.

Maybe Yevir is trying to protect us. Jake had gotten the impression from Kira that the vedek’s visit was a welcome-back-important-people kind of thing, but perhaps that was only part of it

or maybe Kira was using Yevir’s invitation to get them to the safety of Bajor. How would Opaka and Yevir get along, the former kai and the probably kai-to-be? Jake wondered if she knew yet that Yevir had been behind Kira’s getting pushed out of the faith—Attainted, Nog had called it—and tried again to remember the smiling man he’d met at Quark’s big party. Jake had been distracted, upset by the death of the prylar who had given him his scrap of prophecy, worried about how to approach Quark to buy a shuttle

though he remembered thinking that Yevir had seemed a little young to become kai, the big rumor going around. At some point, either Kira or Nog had told him that Yevir Linjaren had actually served on the station as one of the Militia crew, and that he’d had some kind of vision after meeting Jake’s father a few years ago. Touched by the Prophets through the Emissary, Yevir had been quick to rise up through the ranks of the Vedek Assembly.

Interesting, but Jake had already decided that anyone who would banish Kira from practicing the religion she so loved was probably a jerk. He’d already heard about the Ohalu prophecies being uploaded to Bajor’s net, first from the vedek who had stopped Opaka on the Promenade yesterday, then with more details at his midnight meeting with Nog. Jake was certain that the prophecy he’d been given, about returning through the wormhole with Opaka, was from the same book, and saw no reason at all that the people of Bajor shouldn’t know what was in their history. As far as he was concerned, Kira had done the right thing.

I guess she’s come to terms with Yevir, anyway, Jake thought, hefting his bag and heading out toward the Docking Ring. She obviously trusted the vedek enough to let him transport Opaka

and he had been responsible for bringing the missing Orbs home from Cardassia. Jake decided he would reserve judgment for later, when he had the time to actually think about anything.

His visit with Nog was brief. The Cardassians standing security at the airlock wouldn’t let him board, so Nog met him in the docking corridor, hyperspanner in hand, his round face flushed. He apologized about a thousand times for not breaking away earlier, which Jake brushed off. He was back in Bajoran space to stay for a while; they’d have a chance to catch up soon enough. Nog agreed to visit after the baby was born, and Jake promised him drinks at Vic’s within a month. Nog vowed to tell everyone good-bye on his behalf, then reluctantly left Jake in the corridor. Jake watched the entry roll closed after him, then went to find Yevir’s shuttle, glad that all was well between them.

There were another two Cardassian guards at the lock where he was to meet Opaka, Wex, and Yevir’s group, both with scanning devices ready and waiting. Jake was the first to arrive, it seemed, and waited patiently while the taller of the two checked him over, presumably for weapons. It was odd that yesterday Dr. Bashir had been so sure the scans had been health-related; he was usually very precise about that kind of thing

though maybe they had been medically scanned, as possible carriers of infectious microbes or disease. The whole conspiracy to keep Bajor out of the Federation

Jake could understand why everyone was being so careful.

They’ll get in, though, Jake thought confidently, picking his bag up after the second Cardassian finished searching it. The fact that the Federation was going through all this trouble, determined to make everything secure

Bajor was already in, the official paperwork just waiting until the conspirators were caught.

He saw Opaka appear at the end of the corridor, carrying her small bag over one shoulder. A trio of Bajoran station workers were following her, and Jake watched as she stopped midway down the hall, gently speaking to them, touching their hands, blessing them. All three went away happy.

Opaka smiled and waved when she saw Jake, and he returned it, surprised at how glad he was to see her. When he’d first found the former kai, he’d been disappointed and angry—he’d hoped to find his father, after all, not the spiritual icon who had named Ben Sisko the Emissary. And he’d expected to have to hear all about the Prophets’ great Tapestry, how he was blessed that his father was in the Temple, and so on et cetera. But when he’d finally approached her for a personal conversation on their way back to the Alpha Quadrant, she’d surprised him, with empathy and open-mindedness. She had turned out to be

well, cool, in Vic-speak.

The Cardassians did their job quickly and efficiently, Opaka thanking them as she retrieved her bag. Even they seemed pleased by her, both nodding deferentially as she moved away to stand next to Jake.

“I guess we’re first,” Jake said. “Where is everyone?”

“Colonel Kira is with the vedeks who will be escorting us home,” Opaka said, craning her neck slightly to look up at him. “They’re being scanned, I believe, at the station’s medical center.”

Jake nodded, noting the sparkle in her eyes. “Are you excited to get back?”

“Oh, my, yes,” Opaka said, smiling. “It sounds as though there are many exciting changes taking place. I look forward to reading the Ohalu text, and sharing what the Prophets have taught me during my years away

and telling the Assembly about the Eav’oq.”

Her smile faded slightly at the last, and Jake nodded again, understanding completely. If the Assembly had had trouble accepting a book of prophecies from Bajor’s own past, how would they take to an alien sister species with entirely different views on the Prophets?

“Where’s Wex?” he asked.

“Wex has elected to stay behind.”

That was a surprise. “I thought

Why? Isn’t that why she came, to spend time with you?”

Before she could answer, Kira came marching down the corridor, followed by three robed and slightly disheveled-looking vedeks and a security guard. The vedek in front was Yevir, Jake was pretty sure; the youngest of the three, he had an earnest and intelligent face, and when he saw Opaka and Jake, he grinned almost self-consciously, an expression that Jake definitely remembered from their last meeting. Almost as if he were in the presence of royalty.

Jake did his best to keep an open mind, but he’d seen the same look on other Bajoran faces, too many of them. It carried implications of how he could expect to be treated by the man.

In a word, differently. After months of traveling in the Gamma Quadrant, he’d gotten somewhat used to being accepted or rejected on his own merits; being treated special just because of his father was one aspect of home that he hadn’t been looking forward to.

Kira ran through the introductions. Vedek Yevir was accompanied by vedeks Bellis and Eran, both of whom had served in the Assembly when Opaka was kai. They bowed low, praising the Prophets that she had returned. Jake couldn’t help wondering if they’d be so pleased to hear that her homecoming had been foretold in the Ohalu book. Yevir made a big show of courtesy to her, asking after her health, offering her accommodations at the monastery where she’d spent her days as spiritual leader of Bajor.

“That is where the nine Tears now rest,” Yevir said, “at least until we decide where to place them. And your own chambers have been reopened for you.”

As Opaka graciously accepted, Jake nodded at Kira. “Wex isn’t coming?”

“No,” Kira answered, keeping her voice down as Yevir continued to rain welcome over Opaka. “She said that Sulan requested some time to get settled before taking on a student.”

It was an explanation, though not one Jake would have expected. Opaka Sulan was one of those rare people who didn’t seem to feel inconvenienced, by anyone for any reason. It seemed out of character that she would ask Wex to stay behind

but then, he supposed he didn’t know her that well.

Kira told him that she’d call Kas, let her know that he was coming, and then gave him a long, tight embrace. She stepped back smiling, turning to embrace Opaka. They exchanged a few private words as they hugged, Yevir and his fellow vedeks doing their best not to look impatient.

As Yevir stiffly thanked Kira for “promoting the spiritual health of the people,” Jake turned to Opaka.

“If you need to get settled in, I’m sure Kas would be happy to have Wex stay with us for a few days,” he offered.

Opaka shook her head. “I invited her to come, Jake. She refused.”

Jake frowned, a sudden low tic of concern in his belly. Why had Wex lied to Kira? “She told Kira that you asked her to wait,” he said. “Maybe we should—”

“Everything is fine,” Opaka said, cutting him off with a light touch on his arm. “Wex is no threat, Jake, of that I’m sure. She’ll be along when the time is right.”

Jake wasn’t sure what to say to that; he was more curious than he had been, but Yevir had finished his reluctant appreciation speech and had turned his beaming smile back to Opaka and Jake.

“We’re so glad you’ve come home,” he said, ushering them toward the airlock, Bellis and Eran standing aside so they could enter first. Opaka smiled serenely and walked ahead, Jake casting a final look at Kira before following. Her gaze, fixed on Vedek Yevir, said volumes about what she thought of him

but as she turned it to Jake, the complexity of feelings dissolved, becoming much simpler and infinitely more accepting.

I love you, too, Jake thought, grinning at her, and hurried to catch up to Opaka before the feelings could make it to his eyes, suddenly damp with gratification, his throat heavy with a powerful sense that he was, in fact, quite special.

Ro had just finished reviewing the data from the first mass scan of the day. Today’s criterion was all off-duty engineering and maintenance personnel on first shift, and door-to-door checks in the habitat ring on the second, the entire fifth level. So far, so good, no new cases

but Ro was frustrated with the progress, and with the haphazard setup that security had to work with. The poor scanning equipment meant checks could only be done face-to-face, and even with the sixty-plus Cardassians who’d come to help, there was no way to get through even a quarter of DS9’s population in a single day. Thus the revolving basis for scans

but while she could tell herself that it was working, there was simply no way to know. People could be slipping through the cracks from day to day, borrowing or stealing identity tags, outright lying for one another so that their loved ones could avoid interacting with Cardassians. Besides, there were people who’d already been “interviewed” more than once, some as many as three times; how much longer would they accept the assassination-ring theory? And what if the parasites could move from person to person? It was a possibility that would make the entire operation worthless.

We don’t know enough about them, Ro thought helplessly. We don’t even know how they got here, how Shakaar was infected. Ro’s desire for neatly unfolding scenarios objected to all of the skipping around; much as she liked solving a puzzle, working one without having most of the pieces was beyond unappealing. Just knowing where Shakaar had become a host would at least give them a point to work from, to backtrack to the parasites’ place of origin and to go forward, to figure out who’d been exposed. Starfleet hadn’t yet ruled out any of the dozen or so planets and starbases they were investigating, everywhere Shakaar had been since he left Earth months ago.

She stood and stretched, gazing out at the Promenade; it was mealtime, so there was a crowd

but as it had been for the past week, the atmosphere was apprehensive and uncomfortable. There was a line at the replimat, people wanting to grab something fast and get back to the wishful security of their work environments.

Restless, she decided. She knew the feeling. Maybe a quick circuit would do some good. She contacted Shul and asked him to take the desk. After promising to bring him something from Quark’s, she stepped onto the Promenade.

She passed Quark’s for the moment, letting herself drift, letting herself walk without thinking. Past the infirmary and the Spican Jewelers, across the east platform, past the greengrocer and the Klingon Deli

and she came to a dead stop in front of the Replimat, feeling truly surprised for the first time in days.

Up on the balcony level, gazing out a viewport, stood Taran’atar. And he wasn’t alone. Wex was with him, the female Trelian from the Gamma Quadrant. And from the look of it, they appeared to be

chatting.

She knew about Wex, of course. Dax had briefed her on the Defiant’s last days in the Gamma Quadrant. She also knew that the Trelian had elected to stay behind on the station when Jake and Opaka left for Bajor. She seemed harmless enough

But then, so did the sand bats of Manark IV, until they took to the air.

And hanging around with a Jem’Hadar doesn’t seem like a harmless person’s idea of a good time.

Was it really so strange, though? They were both from the Gamma Quadrant, after all. Maybe that was enough of a reason for them to gravitate toward each other. Maybe she was interested in his perspective on life in the Alpha Quadrant. The surprising part was that Taran’atar seemed to be talking back.

Unable to supress her curiosity, Ro ascended the nearest stair spiral, winding her way up to the balcony. Foot traffic was light, but by no means absent. Falling in with a couple of techs passing by, she waited until they were past the Gamma natives’ window before she broke off and stepped to the next viewport over. She was mostly hidden by the window’s thick Cardassian frame.

“

struck by the sight of you here, among all these aliens,” she heard Wex saying. “You aren’t even in a Jem’Hadar uniform. It takes some getting used to.” Wex’s voice was low and piping, like a wind flute.

“Much about this quadrant takes getting used to,” Taran’atar said.

“Such as

?”

Taran’atar didn’t hesitate. “Plurality. Freedom. Chaos.” He’d obviously given the matter some thought.

“Sounds like fun,” Wex observed.

“Not for me.”

“I suppose not. Trelians enjoy their freedom. Did you know that?”

“Yes. They resisted Dominion control twice in the last century. I killed many during the last insurrection.”

Ro winced. She got ready to politely interrupt depending on what came next

but if Wex was disturbed by the Jem’Hadar’s blatant admittal, her voice didn’t betray it.

“And have you ever stopped to wonder why a people would risk death to be free?” Wex asked.

“Failure to recognize overwhelming opposition,” Taran’atar stated.

“No. It’s because, faced with the choice of a life of stagnation under the Dominion or the risk of death, the risk of death was preferable.”

Taran’atar hesitated before answering. “Then death is inevitable.”

“Your presence here, among the defeaters of the Dominion, proves otherwise,” Wex said, her voice mild, almost kind.

“My presence here

is lost on me.”

The tone with which Taran’atar spoke was striking. Ro had been about to move away, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but she couldn’t bring herself leave, not yet. She thought she was starting to understand something about Taran’atar, something she hadn’t realized before.

Since his arrival some months ago, Taran’atar had often infuriated her

But he had also fascinated and surprised her in the most unexpected ways. Ro had fought and killed enough Jem’Hadar during the war that she’d gotten used to thinking of them as factory produced killers, not as individuals. But Taran’atar had turned out to be as complex as any sentient she’d encountered—not only because of his origins, but because of the unique circumstances that had brought him to the station. Yet even after five months, he didn’t truly understand the task that Odo had set for him, to observe the complexities of a free society. It would seem that he saw himself as a freak and an exile, cast out by one of his gods.

“So why do you stay?” Wex asked.

“I wasn’t given the option to leave.”

“What would you do if you had the option? Go home? Return to your unit?”

Taran’atar paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was meant to carry. “I’m not sure. Do you have any suggestions, Lieutenant Ro?”

Letting out a breath, Ro turned and stepped into view, saw Wex turn to face her. Taran’atar was still gazing impassively out the window. Wex’s liquid black gaze was accusatory.

“I apologize if I’ve offended,” Ro said sincerely. “My curiosity got the better of me. This is a troubled time aboard the station. I’m the chief of security here.”

Wex scrutinized her silently. “You’re good,” she said finally. “By nature, I’m not easy to sneak up on.”

Ro smiled, relieved. “I feel I should make it up to you. Is there anything you need to make your stay with us more pleasant?”

Wex stared at her another moment, then nodded toward the entry-way into the upper level of Quark’s, across the balcony. “I was considering trying out that establishment. How is it?”

“Not bad,” Ro said, noting that Taran’atar still hadn’t moved.

“Food, drink, games of chance, holographic environment rooms. I’m on good terms with the proprietor. I can see to it you’re well taken care of.”

Wex nodded slowly. “That sounds

interesting.” She turned to her companion. “Will you join me?”

Taran’atar finally turned away from the viewport and inclined his head.

“Great,” Ro said, doing her best to keep the uncertainty from her voice as she led them toward the bar. At least her breach of etiquette would be overlooked

But glancing back at the petite, gray-skinned girl and the hulking Jem’Hadar trailing behind, she couldn’t help a mental shake of her head.

And people think Quark and I make a weird couple

The officer field shelter was Starfleet standard, a utilitarian oneman pressed piece with all the necessities and none of the luxuries. Not that Vaughn cared particularly; he’d stayed in much, much worse. The communications setup was excellent, all that really mattered.

The central compound was set up off the Tilar peninsula, near the ruins of what used to be the Karnoth resettlement camp. Not necessarily the best choice for Bajoran morale, but except for the outback southeast of them, it was the primary location for transmission clarity in all of Hedrikspool province. With this side of Bajor nearing the end of its hot season, the Occupation ruins seemed a better choice

and because of its isolation, less likely to draw attention to the magnitude of the operation. There were smaller, more discreet camps set up in the provinces of Hill, Rakantha, and Musilla.

Vaughn dropped his bag on the cot attached to one wall of his quarters, dropping after it, looking around at his new temporary home. Food replicator, computer console, fold out table, ‘fresher with shower facilities. The only thing that made it an officer’s shelter was that there was one cot instead of two.

Outside, shuttles and hoppers buzzed and rumbled in and out of the deepening shadows of the compound, taking or returning teams of examiners. It seemed he’d arrived during one of the two daily shift changes. There was equipment to be recalibrated, information to download, medical exams to be taken. A number of press-piece shelters had been organized to deal with the day-to-day, from replimat to com center. There were barracks, too, three long, slightly flattened gray tubes of replicated matter, each capable of holding fifty comfortably

depending on one’s definition of comfort.

Not bad for a week’s work, Vaughn thought tiredly, his shoulders slumped with it. Starfleet could whip together a functioning camp in no time. He knew he needed to get out there, to let the on-shift CO know that he was ready to go over everything. A faint memory fluttered through his consciousness, one of his first classes at the Academy. An instructor whose name he’d long since forgotten, making the students repeat the three S’s for organizing sweep ops—strategy, scheduling, sector coverage. After a few years in the field, he’d decided the instructor had been hopelessly shortsighted, leaving out a whole slew of letters that should have been included—D for defense in hostile territory came immediately to mind, C for communications, P for position—but the rule stayed with him. It seemed so arbitrary sometimes, what the mind decided to hold on to

.

Vaughn heard a group of people walk past his shelter, heard friendly bantering among Starfleet personnel, all of them certainly younger than he; he’d been feeling his age lately, and the Defiant’s homecoming hadn’t helped. He’d gotten little sleep the night before after a prolonged conversation with Akaar, going over his Borg report, what little there was of it. It had taken some time to convince his old friend that the danger appeared to be long past

though L.J., to his credit, hadn’t tried to lecture him after the whole story was out. An “I told you so” would have been well deserved, but the admiral wasn’t without mercy, had even squeezed his shoulder as they’d parted company.

Prynn hadn’t returned either of his calls before he’d left the station, though he’d made it clear that he might be away for a while. He was unhappy about it, but supposed he understood. Ruriko’s death—her first death, not the death he’d inflicted on the Borg creature—had kept him from having a real relationship with Prynn for too long. He had only himself to blame, of course, it was his guilt and shame that had done it

but wasn’t it ironic, that after true reconciliation between them finally seemed to be on the horizon, Ruriko’s second death had brought father and daughter back to where they’d started. Prynn was resentful and full of pain, and it was his fault. If he’d tried harder, if he’d done a better job during all those empty years, they might have had something to work with, enough kind feelings to see them through the worst of it; all they had now was remembered slights, and good intentions that had gone nowhere

.

There was a signal at his door. “Come,” Vaughn said, straightening.

Sam Bowers walked in, carrying a handful of padds, his usual gentle countenance marred by the stern look he wore as he stood at attention. “Good evening, Commander.”

Bowers would be filing daily status reports with the station, acting as contact for all of the Starfleet personnel working the planet.

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

Bowers relaxed, but only slightly. “Sir, General Lenaris hasn’t yet returned from the field, but I have his report. I’m prepared to brief you on our current status.”

Vaughn nodded, standing and motioning toward the fold-out table near the replicator. “Take a seat, Sam. When I said at ease, I was serious. Can I get you something to drink?”

Bowers relaxed even more. “Ah, that’d be great, sir. Coffee, black.”

Vaughn ordered two of them, then sat down across from Bowers, refocusing himself. Some days it was harder than others, but he was career Starfleet; no matter how bad things got, he always managed to get done what needed doing. He’d convinced himself long ago that it was a necessary skill in his line of work, and it was

but it wasn’t such a great talent, either, to learn how to suppress everything in the name of effective work habits. Something else that came with age, he supposed

figuring out what was important.

And right now, that’s finding the infected, he thought firmly. Lives were at stake, and not just those unfortunate ones who’d been attacked and taken over. For all they knew, the parasites meant genocide for the Bajoran people.

“Fill me in,” Vaughn said, and though he was focused enough as Bowers called up a sector map on the console and picked up the first padd, he could still see an image floating in front of mind’s eye—of tiny dots of Ruriko’s blood spattering ever so lightly across his daughter’s stunned face.

Stop. And focus.

Bowers was pointing out the sites that had been established as scanning stations. Vaughn concentrated, filing the information, considered adding an additional group near the labyrinths by the southern islands—and remembered dropping the phaser, turning to Prynn as Ruriko’s biomechanical limbs spasmed in death, as Prynn reflexively wiped at the spray on her face, smearing her mother’s blood across shocked flesh, beneath shocked eyes. And for the first time since that image had been reality, he felt a stab of real fear, a fear that it might not be all that difficult to lose touch with reality.

God help him, what if there were some things that couldn’t be put aside?