19

MILES O’BRIEN WAS TRYING TO PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT WAS HAPPENING—but what was happening was what always seemed to happen, what had happened a hundred times before in the course of his career. He was on the bridge of the Defiant, trying to concentrate on what Kira was saying as Nog and a few of his underlings manned the cloaking device down below, as Ensign Tenmei carefully started to edge them away from the station, and a red-shirted Ezri Dax called out readings from tactical.

“

they’re fine, they’ve been taken to a Starfleet camp in the Hill province. They weren’t hurt, Miles.”

He replayed it again, then again. Nothing to worry about, right? Right. Kira wanted to go fight the good fight, and he would back her, he’d done it before

but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so helplessly adrift in a crisis, so angry with himself.

I should have been there. The parasites had to be stopped, of course, and he was more than willing to help save the Siskos, not to mention any number of other poor souls who’d fallen prey to the alien threat—

—but I still should have been there. His wife and small children had been terrorized, had watched as their friends had been abducted by strangers. They’d been left alive to bear a message of caution, and though he was infinitely relieved to know that they were unharmed, he was finding it extremely difficult to get past the news.

Things had been crazy since he’d arrived at the station, less than an hour ago. He’d stepped off the private shuttle resigned to yet another medical scan, performed just outside the airlock by a Cardassian with unfortunate breath. Given the all-clear, he’d started off to ops, feeling strangely ill-at-ease in the too-familiar corridors, trying to think of a way to convince Keiko that he was fully in support of her career without actually having to move, when an infiltration alert had started to sound. From there, things had really picked up speed; Nog and a young Andorian male, the new science officer, had tracked him down just inside the docking ring, Nog filling him in on the crisis—a real doozie, too—as he was hurried along to engineering. There was that brief run-in with Ro on the way. She’d looked startled when she saw him, but he hadn’t had time to do more than nod and hope they could talk later. He’d hardly had time to set his tool kit down before Nog had him recalibrating comp boards on enviro controls, and he had barely started that when Nog got a call from ops ordering the three of them to report to the Defiant. They’d met up with Kira at the airlock, along with several others, engineers he’d never even met before, all too young, too excited to be doing what they were doing.

The ship was already set to go when he boarded. Someone in ops had cut them loose with a wink, firing up a substantial stasis transmission at the airlock to take the place of the departing ship. Anyone scanning DS9 would get a general reading of appropriate size and mass, though it wouldn’t stand up to real scrutiny. Hell, it wouldn’t stand up to anyone looking out a window, but it would probably hold for a little while, long enough for Defiant to be on its way to Bajor.

They hadn’t been hurt, that was the important thing, he had to try and concentrate. Though maybe it is time for me to get behind her career, for a change. How many botanists are called away from home to fight terrorist aliens?

“

Chief?”

O’Brien blinked, realizing that he’d missed something. “Wha—? Sorry, say again?”

“I asked if there was any way to transport through the cloak without being detected, even theoretically,” Kira said from the center seat.

O’Brien started to tell her that there wasn’t, but then thought of the discussion that had cropped up among his AP students one day, on the subject of cloaking technology. One of them, a particularly bright youngster still too inexperienced to know what was impossible, had offered up an interesting theory.

“Theoretically, I suppose,” O’Brien said, hoping that his obvious reluctance would be deterrent enough, already knowing that it wouldn’t be. The expectant look on Kira’s face wasn’t going away.

“If we created a series of overlapping subspace fields to use as a transport site,” he said slowly. “Each progressively weaker as it neared the surface

they’d get a reading, but too vague to identify, and nowhere near the ship. If it works, though—which it probably won’t—we’d only be able to beam one person through, without setting off surface sensors.”

“That would take a tremendous amount of energy, more than we have,” the Andorian, Shar, said. Seemed like a nice enough kid, though engineering obviously wasn’t his forte.

O’Brien shrugged. “So, we tap the warp core. We’re not using it for anything else.”

“How long will it take?” Kira asked.

“How long have we got?” Miles returned.

“Do it,” she said. “Shar, you and Nog help him. You too, Prynn, once we establish an orbit.”

They all nodded, O’Brien heading for engineering, Shar close behind. Apparently, Kira hadn’t heard the ‘probably won’t’ part, though in his experience, commanders rarely did. If it did work, he’d have to give his student a substantial extra credit write up at the end of the course

which will probably be my last act as a professor at Starfleet, he thought, barely registering the thought as a decision, already certain that it was the right one, that it felt right. He loved Keiko more than this, than any of it. His work made him happy, but his family was his life, and if she still wanted to go to Cardassia when this was all over, he’d find a way to make it work. He wasn’t overjoyed at the thought of living there, but Keiko deserved to have her turn at a real career, and it wouldn’t hurt the kids to see a fair partnership between their parents. And surely they needed engineers there, particularly any with experience in Cardassian hardware.

He shivered, remembering the nightmare of rerouting power through DS9’s Cardassian/Bajoran/Federation interfaces, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant shiver. Being with Kay and the children, that was all that mattered. And he did like a challenge

As they reached the lift that ran closest to engineering, Shar spoke up. “You believe it will be possible to integrate the weakest field into linear space, with the transport subject inside,” he said, a half question as they started down.

O’Brien nodded. “Anything’s possible,” he said.

As their captors stood silent, watching over them, Opaka sat with the commander for a time, meditating, feeling for his spirit with her own. The pagh that radiated from him was powerful, the energy of a man or woman who had just received a vision from the Prophets

except he was still receiving, the muscles of his face and body relaxed, even his pulse and respiration slowed. She worked to stay in tune with him, to breathe as he was breathing, and though she could feel slight surges in his pagh, could feel that his spirit moved, there was no change for him physically.

After a time she opened her eyes, looking down at his empty face, reaching to ease his eyes closed again; they would dry out if left open, but with so much of him gone, they wouldn’t stay shut. She reached for a strip of cloth, turning to look at the loose assemblage against the wall behind her—the Emissary’s wife and son, father and sister. Kasidy was propped up by every spare cushion in the room, her face flushed, her gaze wide and unhappy.

Poor child, Opaka thought, smiling gently at her as she spoke to the others. “Would one of you get some water? There’s another basin in the storage cupboard,” she said, nodding at the old wooden unit that stood at the front of the room. “Perhaps one of our

watchers might escort one of you to the fountain outside?”

It was unlikely. They hadn’t even allowed Kasidy to relieve herself in private, but had at least let her use the room’s other basin, the one Opaka had brought in for the commander; it wasn’t uncommon for one coming back from the Prophets to feel ill for a moment or two, as they readjusted to the physical plane. Opaka had discreetly mentioned it when she’d noticed Kasidy’s obvious discomfort, shortly after they had arrived to join her and the wounded commander.

Unlikely they’d let one of us go, but they might fetch it themselves. If they mean to use us, they have to take care of us, at least on some rudimentary level. She knew she was being hopeful, but also knew that there was no other way to be. The Prophets would provide what They could; it was up to Their children to remain in faith, as much as they could. If these were to be their last moments of life, living them in fear and dread would be a horrible waste.

“I’ll ask,” Jake said, nodding, and Joseph silently stood up with him, his face set. The Emissary’s father was a strong, determined man; it shimmered from him like light, and in spite of the circumstances, Opaka was pleased to have met him.

“I’ll go with him,” Joseph said protectively, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed the trio of the infected. There were others standing guard outside, and, Opaka imagined, a number more walking the halls, dressed in the skins of her brothers and sisters. The three weapon holders stared blandly back, not speaking, not moving, their attention fully focused on the captives. Their faces were as slack as the commander’s, but their eyes burned, shining with an awareness that didn’t belong. They didn’t frighten Opaka for herself, but she was deeply concerned for the innocents who had been taken, and for the Emissary’s family.

The two Sisko men took a few careful steps forward and began negotiating for water, explaining Kasidy’s condition, explaining Commander Vaughn’s. After a moment, one of the monks went to the cupboard. Opaka pushed herself closer to Kasidy and Judith, finding another smile for the frightened young mother-to-be.

“How are you feeling?” She reached out and touched Kasidy’s hand, stroking the back of it lightly.

“Not very well,” Kasidy replied. She shifted uncomfortably against the floor cushions, forcing a smile of her own. “Though to be fair, I haven’t felt all that great, lately.”

Opaka smiled wider, still stroking the girl’s hand, feeling her respond to the light touch, her muscles relaxing slightly. It seemed that human women often experienced extreme pain when the child came forth.

“I remember my last days of bearing too well,” Opaka said. “When the baby comes, women set aside the memories of discomfort, I think, remembering the emotional—the anticipation, the joy—but carrying a new life through the last few weeks is no easy appointment, is it?”

Kasidy’s smile came more naturally, now. “No, it isn’t. Particularly when—”

She shifted again, frowning and smiling at once. “The baby’s moving,” she said.

Opaka instinctively reached for her belly, hesitated. Kas nodded her assent, placing her own long, strong fingers over Opaka’s, moving her hand to just below her navel.

Opaka closed her eyes, felt

felt the long, shuddering movement of life inside, the Emissary’s unborn turning, the pagh of new life giving off heat and energy. It was magic, the very highest kind, what Kasidy and Benjamin had created. And though pagh was not generally gender-specific, there was an intensity there

Opaka thought she knew, or at least had a good guess as to the baby’s sex. And—

—and there, the sudden tension of the muscle beneath the flesh, the involuntary strain of Kasidy’s abdomen. Opaka remained still, gentle in thought, smiling again at the young woman as she restlessly moved her legs—unaware, it seemed, that she was having a contraction. It was mild but not weak, not at all, and lasted longer than Opaka might have hoped.

“My back hurts,” Kas said, almost apologetically, shifting away from Opaka’s hand.

“I’m sure it does,” Opaka said, deciding not to speak of it, not to alarm the sweet young woman unnecessarily. If it was a true labor, she’d know it soon enough.

Prophets help them, they all would.