Wrath of the Prophets

by Peter David

  "Tell me," Shakaar said, his eyes fixed on the imposing figure of the Kai. "What would the Prophets have us do in this instance? Are we to stand by and watch as our laws are flaunted? As our people are placed in grave danger?"

  Winn's smile broadened. "Laws are made by men, First Minister. They are only our humble attempts to interpret the morality imparted to us by the Prophets." She gazed lovingly at Varis—or so it seemed. "What we must strive for is not law, but justice. And it would not be just to exile this child when her only purpose was to help her people."

  Shakaar appeared to be mulling the Kai's words.

  "Then you would see her go free, unrepentant of her crimes?" he asked.

  Winn shrugged. "I think Varis Sul is already repentant," she observed.

  "But surely," the first minister maintained, "an atonement—"

  "If you insist on an atonement," the Kai interrupted, "let it be a religious one. She will perform holy acts for a period of five years, under my scrutiny. By then, I believe, she will have embraced the maturity and the wisdom a tetrarch needs to govern her people."

  "And in the meantime, who will serve as tetrarch in Paqu village?" one of the other councilors inquired.

  "Why," Winn said, "she will. Don't forget, Etran Dol, I will be watching her every step of the way."

  Shakaar frowned. He could hardly argue with the Kai when she had taken such a firm and public stand. What's more, her arguments seemed so reasonable.

  "Very well, then," he declared. "It shall be as Kai Winn recommends. Varis Sul will remain tetrarch of Paqu village—under the Kai's scrutiny." He turned to the other councilors. "This tribunal is adjourned."

  Jake laughed. "I can't believe it," he said. "Varis is free." He turned to his father. "And of all people, Kai Winn was the one who rescued her."

  "Yes," Sisko said. "Of all people."

  As the Kai turned to depart the chamber, leaving Varis too numb to know if she should laugh or cry, she glanced in the captain's direction. There was a look of triumph on her face—so subtle that one might have missed it, unless one knew what to look for.

  In the end, Winn seemed to say, I always find a way to win. After all, I am the Kai.

  And she had won, hadn't she? Or …

  "Damn," Sisko blurted appreciatively. "That was masterful. Absolutely masterful."

  Jake looked at him. "What was, Dad?"

  "I'll tell you later," the captain responded. "Right now, Varis needs a friend. If I were you, I'd help her put what happened here into some kind of perspective."

  His son nodded. "I hear you, Dad." And with that, he made a beeline for the tetrarch.

  "You know," Kira said, "Shakaar had me going for a minute there."

  Sisko eyed her. "Me, too. I really believed he wanted to exile Varis."

  "While all along," the major continued, "he was playing a shrewd little game."

  "If he allowed the tetrarch to go free," the captain remarked, "he would've met with considerable opposition. And the Kai could have taken advantage of that."

  "You're not kidding," Kira agreed. "She would've screamed up and down that he was being too lenient. That he wasn't acting responsibly as first minister."

  "Therefore, he appeared to lower the boom on poor Varis," Sisko observed, "knowing all the while that Winn would attend this event. And knowing also that she would oppose whatever he did."

  The major smiled. "That's our Shakaar. He managed to get the girl off the hook, yet avoid the appearance of leniency. And the Kai feels like she won one, which will make her a little less dangerous for a while. A nice job all around."

  The captain grunted. "You're not the least bit worried that Winn will unduly influence Varis? With all that scrutiny she was talking about …"

  Kira waved away the suggestion. "Don't believe a word of it. The last thing the Kai wants to do is spend her time in Paqu village, overseeing the daily activities of a young girl she doesn't particularly like. She'd much rather be in the capitol, stirring up trouble."

  Sisko smiled at the thought. "Yes," he said. "I suppose she would."

  CHAPTER

  18

  VARIS EMBRACED JAKE so hard he thought his ribs were going to crack. Then she turned to face his father.

  "You were wonderful," the tetrarch gushed. "The things that you said …"

  "The things I said," Sisko rumbled, "were for the purpose of getting you out of the trouble you'd gotten yourself into. I did that out of respect for your basically decent motivations"—he glanced at Jake—"and your long-standing relationship with my son. But understand—I can defend your actions without approving of them."

  Varis took a step back and quietly said, "I see."

  "No, I don't think you do," said the captain. "To be tetrarch, you have to lead with both your heart and your head. Think too much and you become paralyzed, unable to make a decision. But follow your emotions exclusively, yield to your impulses, and you can unwittingly cause disaster …"

  "Which is what I did," she admitted.

  "C'mon Dad," Jake said uncomfortably, "Ease up."

  "No," Varis told him. "No, he's right, Jake. Even if everything had worked out, even if there had been no plague … my actions still validated the black market, and put myself and my people at risk. As it is, people died because of me.

  "I can try to foist the blame off as much as possible. Blame the government, blame the Prophets, blame whomever. But ultimately, at the end of the day when I look in the mirror, the blame for what happened and for the deaths that occurred rest squarely on the person whose reflection I'm staring at. How can I deny that to you and your father? I can't even deny it to myself."

  She sighed heavily. "And despite all the punishment I've endured, it will never be enough to cleanse my soul of the deaths that will always be on it."

  "But you can't let that knowledge destroy you," Sisko said. "It's far too easy to curl up into a ball and avoid dealing with the difficulties thrust upon you. Believe me … I know."

  "Don't worry, Captain," Varis told him. "I won't run. And I won't end it all, the way that poor devil Ompar did. I'll use what I've learned to be a better, wiser tetrarch. But a happy one?" She shook her head, a shadow crossing her face. "That, I fear, I will never be."

  Jake wanted to say something to comfort her—but what could he say? What could anyone say?

  With his father's hand on his shoulder, he watched Varis walk away into the distance, heading back to the home she wanted so desperately to help—and in the attempt, nearly destroyed.

  "Absolutely not!" Quark cried.

  Morn looked at him from across the bar, his hands held apart in an appeal for fairness—for reason. Still, the Ferengi was adamant.

  After all, a drink on the house was sometimes useful for building goodwill. But an unlimited number of free drinks for a lush like Morn could break even the most robust establishment.

  "Listen," Quark said, poking a finger at Morn, "whatever agreement you made was with my no-good scheming brother." He glowered sidelong at Rom, who was cringing in a corner. "As I understand it," Quark went on, "this place wasn't even operating under my name at the time the deal was struck. So if you've got a complaint, take it to the proprietor of Rom's Pleasure Palace!"

  Morn glanced at Rom. The Ferengi shrugged helplessly. Obviously, Rom didn't have the wherewithal to make good on the promise.

  Besides, the offer hadn't been made to further Rom's fortune—only to encourage Morn to save his own life. Surely, Quark thought, Morn would see that and forgive the debt.

  As it turned out, the bartender was right. With a sigh that smacked only slightly of annoyance, Morn got up from his bar stool and meandered out into the flow of traffic on the Promenade.

  But he would be back, Quark told himself—just as soon as he got thirsty. Morn had a notoriously short memory when his recollections interfered with his creature comforts.

  The Ferengi looked at his brother, who was still cringing. "Well," he said, "that's another fine mess I've go
tten you out of."

  Rom nodded appreciatively. "Yes, Brother."

  "Not that I should have anything to do with you," Quark went on, "considering you hijacked my bar as soon as I was gone."

  "Yes, Brother," Rom agreed, wincing.

  "On the other hand," said the bartender, "were our situations reversed, I would've done the exact same thing—so I can hardly hold it against you."

  Rom smiled and straightened a little. "I'm glad you see it that way, Brother. Very glad."

  Quark grunted. "Good. Now go check on that shipment I arranged for back on Mephil Trantos. I want to make sure I got everything I contracted for."

  The other Ferengi nodded vigorously. "Yes, Brother. And thank you."

  Quark dismissed him with a sweep of his hand. "Just don't let it happen again, all right?"

  Rom had barely descended into the storage space beneath the bar when Odo entered the place. The constable had that predatory look on his face that always made the bartender a little uneasy.

  "Well," Quark said, rubbing his hands together and smiling, "what can I do for you today, Odo?"

  The shapeshifter frowned. "You can tell me what was in that shipment you received a few hours ago."

  The Ferengi pretended to think for a moment. "Shipment?" he repeated.

  Odo's frown deepened into a scowl. "Don't be coy with me, Quark. According to the manifest, you got a container full of Hanipharri brandy."

  Quark stroked his chin. "Ah, that shipment. How could I have forgotten?"

  "The problem," said the constable, "is that the stuff arrived on a Metileusan cargo ship—and the Metileusans stopped dealing with the Hanipharri several months ago. Which means you've received something else entirely."

  The Ferengi swallowed. "By the Nagus … I've been swindled!"

  Odo harrumphed. "Not likely." He leaned forward over the bar. "If I were to guess, I'd say you made some sort of deal out there in Orion territory—for some sort of contraband, perhaps."

  Quark shook his head. "It's nothing like that, I swear it. I only—"

  "What seems to be the trouble here?" came a deep voice.

  Both of them turned to see Sisko, who was entering Quark's Place from the Promenade. Sisko had a bemused expression on his face. He'd been in a good mood ever since his return from Bajor.

  "Our friend here," the constable began, "has been trying to pull the wool over our eyes. Again."

  The captain looked at the Ferengi. "Is this true, Quark?"

  The bartender saw he had no chance of slipping the hook. "All right," he admitted. "Maybe I tried to avoid a few small duties here and there—"

  "By dealing with the Orions?" Sisko asked.

  Inwardly, Quark squirmed. "Er … now that you mention it …"

  "After I warned you about that sort of thing?" the captain pressed.

  "But I didn't accept delivery until after we got back," the Ferengi pointed out.

  "A subtle difference," Sisko noted. "But a difference nonetheless," Quark insisted. "And I might point out that there was nothing illegal about what I obtained."

  "I'll believe that when I see it for myself," Odo returned.

  "If that's what it takes." Quark sighed and led them downstairs to his storage chamber.

  They found Rom going through the shipment in question. As soon as he caught sight of Sisko and the constable, he tried to put everything back in the cargo container.

  "Don't bother," Quark said.

  Rom backed off from the stuff. "Er … whatever you say, Brother."

  The shapeshifter knelt in front of the pile Rom had made. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the goods, a collection of timeworn implements from a variety of cultures.

  "Well," he said, unable to keep a note of surprise out of his voice, "how about that?" He looked up at Sisko. "It's true—there doesn't seem to be anything illegal here. Just an assortment of collectibles—for which some dealer will no doubt pay a healthy sum."

  True, thought Quark. At least, that's what his trading partner had claimed back on Mephil Trantos.

  The human took a closer look at the pile as well. "What's this?" he asked, and pulled a wooden club out.

  Quark shrugged. "It's called a Loo-ee-vil something-or-other. The Orion I got it from didn't know what it was for. He just threw it in with all the other merchandise."

  Sisko nodded. "I see." He glanced at the Ferengi.

  And Quark saw the look—the one that he had trained himself to notice, the one that told him a customer was in love with something he had for sale. Except, in this instance, the Ferengi had more to gain by giving the thing away than by selling it. Besides, how much could it have been worth?

  "Why don't you take that," he suggested, "as a gift?"

  Sisko regarded him. "I'm touched, Quark."

  The Ferengi smiled magnanimously. "Think of it as a confirmation of the bond between two comrades."

  "All right," Sisko agreed. "I'll do that. Incidentally, Quark—you have some duties to pay."

  "Quite a few," Odo added. "A rather large sum, no doubt."

  The Ferengi would have been worried—except for the "gift" he had just given the station's commanding officer. "Surely," he said, "this is something two comrades ought to be able to work out."

  Sisko smiled. "I thought we already had."

  Suddenly Quark felt a good deal less sure of himself. "But what about the good deed I did? If not for me, Major Kira and her friends would never have uncovered those corrupt Bajorans."

  Sisko rested the club on his shoulder and looked at the constable. "That's true, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so," Odo replied.

  The human held up a finger. "I've got an idea. Let's waive the jail time."

  "Jail time?" Quark repeated.

  The shapeshifter sighed. "I hate to do that," he said. "But under the circumstances, I guess I can make an exception."

  Sisko nodded. "Then it seems we're done here, Constable." He turned to the bartender. "See you, Quark."

  As the Starfleet officer and the shapeshifter ascended the stairs that led back up to the bar, the bartender cursed beneath his breath. Sisko wouldn't have seen him prosecuted in any case, club or no club. He had been tricked into giving the thing away for nothing, even if it wasn't worth much more than that—and it hurt.

  Rom came over to him, smiling. "Isn't that terrific?" he said. "The captain is so grateful for what you did, he's not going to put you in jail."

  Quark glared at him. "Shut up, Rom."

  The other Ferengi winced. "Yes, Brother."

  Sisko leaned back in his chair, ignoring the monitor on his desk and all the duties it represented, and took a moment to enjoy himself. After all, it wasn't every day he came across one of these.

  He balanced the Louisville Slugger on the palms of his hands, supporting it by its extremities. He considered the weight of it, the shape, the texture of the wood. For all the chemicals that had gone into its preservation, it felt just as authentic as the bats he used in his holodeck recreations.

  There was only one disparity. In the holodeck, the bats only felt real. This one was real. It made a world of difference.

  A moment later, he heard the mechanical hum and the grinding of gears that accompanied the opening and closing of the Cardassian-designed doors to his office. But he didn't look up. At least, not right away.

  "Uh … what's that?" came a familiar voice.

  "A bat," he replied softly, still deep in the throes of admiration.

  "A bat?" his visitor echoed.

  "A bat," he said again. "Just a bat."

  There was a pause. "I don't get it," said the newcomer.

  That's when he looked up—and regarded the bemused expression on the face of his first officer. While Kira knew of the captain's affection for the pastime, she had never actually seen him participate in it.

  More's the pity, he thought. You never really know a man until you've seen him rounding third, heading for home. But that was another conversation entirely.
r />   "An interesting thing," he began. "The game of baseball, I mean. Back in the old days, on Earth, we used to spend a lot of time glorifying certain players. Babe Ruth, for instance. Cy Young. And in my case—"

  Buck Bokai," Kira said.

  Sisko looked at her. "How did you know that?" he inquired.

  She shrugged. "I remember those aliens using his image to learn about humans. Not something easily forgotten."

  He smiled. "Of course. You see, the central drama in baseball is an individual contest—that of batter versus pitcher. Pitcher versus batter. One on one, strength and guile versus strength and guile."

  He turned the bat around in his hands so that he could grip the handle. Wrapping his fingers around the slender wooden shaft, he felt each scar and pit and scratch—and reveled in them. Then he took a little practice swing, just for the hell of it.

  The Bajoran smiled her endearing, almost impish, smile. "That's very interesting. But I'm assuming there's another reason you called me in here."

  "Indeed, there is," Sisko said—and went on just as if she'd never spoken, as if she hadn't even entered the room. "Baseball was a series of individual contests," he ruminated. "And whoever won the majority of these individual contests generally won the game. However, that's an oversimplification of it."

  "I see," Kira said, though she probably didn't see at all. Not yet, anyway. She was just trying to speed things up.

  But some things resisted being sped up. Some things took their own sweet time.

  "An oversimplification," he explained, "because none of those individual contests took place in a vacuum. There might have been men on base, which would change the way the pitcher executed his windup. Or there might have been a couple of sluggers behind this particular batter, which meant the pitcher didn't have the luxury of nibbling around the strike zone.

  "And on the pitcher's side, there were eight men or women playing the field for him. They knew the hitter's strengths and weaknesses, and they knew how the pitcher was going to pitch, and they would do their best to conform to these conditions. Without a good defense behind him, even a good pitcher might not do very well."