In the large but sparingly furnished room she had been provided in the Shikina Monastery, Kira closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The evening air smelled rich, heavy with the scent of summer blossoms—kidu and esani and nerak. She could taste the metallic tang of ozone from a thunderstorm that had passed through Ashalla late that afternoon. In the cool touch of the stone floor beneath her, in the silence and stillness permeating the cloister, a familiar tranquility nestled her in its folds. Kira accepted it, allowed it to fill her, cherished what her years in the clergy had taught her to think of as a more mature sense of home: inner peace.
Minutes slipped past. Kira concentrated on her breathing, focused her attention on the emptiness of the void and the fullness of time. Her lips remained closed, but by degrees, she began in her mind to hum the ancient, wordless music of clerical meditation.
At last, Kira opened her eyes, prepared to carry on—with her day, with her calling, with her life. After arriving on Bajor from DS9 that afternoon, she and Altek had been transported to the monastery, where they’d parted ways, each taken to their own accommodations in the hostelry. Although Kira had yet to see the kai, Pralon’s staff had visited throughout the day, at first bringing greetings from Her Eminence, and then sustenance, and finally information.
Kira reactivated her padd so that she could continue studying the materials that the kai’s staff had provided. She read through Starfleet accounts about the assault on Endalla and the discovery of the falsework. She watched members of the Ohalavaru—including such highly regarded vedeks as Solis Tendren and Garune Sysha—deliver spirited oratory to public gatherings of their followers. She saw engineering efforts to fashion a working environment on Endalla, and heated debates in the Vedek Assembly. More than anything else, though, she focused on the incidents of unrest that had plagued her homeworld over the past seven weeks, and which appeared to be escalating.
As Kira read a troubling report about the discovery of an explosive device at an Ohalavaru sanctuary, a distant sound infiltrated her awareness. She looked up from her padd and listened, but could not identify what she heard. She set the padd down, rose to her feet, and, following the sound, crossed the high-ceilinged room to an open archway that led to a balcony. Outside, she peered over the waist-high balustrade toward the tall main gates at the front of the monastery grounds—gates that, until that moment, Kira couldn’t recall ever before seeing closed. A large crowd had gathered outside the entrance. The vedek couldn’t discern much detail among the people milling about, their individual voices lost in the collective hum of the assemblage. She supposed that it could be a demonstration by the Ohalavaru, but something—perhaps the considerable size of the throng—suggested to her that people of her own faith had congregated.
“They feel lost,” Kira heard somebody say behind her. She turned, not startled, both because she recognized the voice and because she had intentionally left her door standing wide, just as she often had during her years at the Vanadwan Monastery. Many vedeks engaged in the practice, a symbolic gesture meant to signify the openness of the clergy. “Forgive the intrusion,” Kai Pralon said. “Your door was not closed.”
“Please come in, Eminence.” Kira stepped in from the balcony as the kai walked into the room from the entry hall. The vedek stopped when she reached Pralon, and she bowed her head before the Bajoran spiritual leader in a show of respect. The kai reached for Kira’s ear and grasped her lobe between thumb and forefinger. The vedek felt a gentle warmth overtake her, like the effect of a summer breeze.
“Your pagh is strong,” Pralon said after a moment. “Somewhat scattered, but settling.”
“Yes, Eminence,” Kira said. “Scattered from the last time I was here to my time here now, into the Celestial Temple and out of it, from the Gamma Quadrant to the Alpha Quadrant to Deep Space Nine.”
“And finally back to Bajor,” the kai said. “Welcome home, Vedek Kira.”
“Thank you, Eminence.”
Pralon released Kira’s ear and gazed past the vedek toward the balcony. When the kai padded in that direction, Kira accompanied her. Outside, they stood together and observed the milling crowd in the distance.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the gates of the monastery closed,” Kira said.
“From time to time, there is a need,” Pralon said. “In most cases, as in this one, it is troubling.”
“I assume the gathering is about the falsework.”
“These days, I’m afraid, that is just about all that concerns the people of Bajor,” the kai said. “The discovery on Endalla is consuming public discourse, and not for the better. Debates are loud, and sometimes shrill, with a great deal of talking and very little listening. People demonize each other for differing beliefs. It is both turbulent and disquieting.”
“I understand that there have been acts of violence,” Kira said.
“A few isolated incidents so far,” Pralon said, “but there have been recent hints of coordination and threats of escalation.”
“I was just reading about a bomb placed in Rimanabod,” Kira said.
“At the Ohalu shrine there, yes,” Pralon said. “Fortunately, the perpetrator, or somebody aware of their efforts, contacted authorities in time to prevent any casualties or damage. I was notified just before coming here that an arrest has been made.”
“It’s very troubling,” Kira said.
“It is indeed,” the kai said. “In the decade since the Prophecies of Ohalu were released to the public, the threat of extremism has almost always come from a handful of the Ohalavaru.” Pralon did not mention that Kira had been the one to upload the Ohalu texts to the Bajoran comnet, but the vedek remained keenly aware of her role in bringing those works to light. “Since the discovery on Endalla, that has changed, and the Ohalavaru have found themselves targeted as well.”
“What about those demonstrators?” Kira asked, gesturing toward the crowd beyond the front gates.
“I am sorry to say that they are people of our own creed,” Pralon said. “Their protest is a direct response to the announcement late today by First Minister Asarem that engineers have successfully erected a working artificial environment about the location of the falsework. With the site secured, the government intends to carry out its stated plan to send scientists to study what the Ohalavaru have uncovered.”
“They’re protesting against the study of the site?” Kira asked
“They are,” the kai said. She turned away from the view of the milling crowd and walked back inside. Kira followed. “A significant number of Bajoran traditionalists decry any such plans, and they are speaking out vociferously in an attempt to forestall such efforts. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that the first minister should be recalled from her post.”
“Surely that won’t happen,” Kira said. “Minister Asarem has been an effective and wildly popular leader for Bajor. When she stood for reelection, she won convincingly.”
“And a majority of the populace still support her,” Pralon said. The kai motioned to a table and chairs arrayed along one wall, and she and Kira sat down there. The large room did not contain enough furnishings to fill it: a daybed provided a place to sleep, a small shrine stood in one corner and a companel in another, with several potted plants dotting the floor and a few hanging tapestries adorning the walls. “But make no mistake,” Pralon continued. “The political and religious realms are in flux on Bajor. Fanatics on either end of the spectrum are in the minority, but theirs are the voices that are being heard. The question is how long the center can hold.”
“May I ask what your public response to all of this has been?”
“I am trying to be the voice of reason,” the kai said with a half-smile. “I have tried to accommodate those on both sides of the issue by working out a compromise with the first minister. Scientists and engineers will soon make their way to Endalla to investigate the falsework, but they will do
so under the watchful eyes of vedek observers, which will include mainstream and Ohalavaru adherents.”
“How has that plan been received?” Kira asked.
“The reaction has been mixed,” Pralon said. “It has appeased many of the dissenters on both sides, but there are traditionalists who are demanding I be removed as kai.”
The news shocked Kira. Pralon’s predecessor, Winn Adami, had been a self-serving political schemer whose popularity had waned over time, but even she had not inspired a public outcry for her removal from office. “Are you concerned?” she asked.
“About my own position?” Pralon asked. “Not at all. Even were circumstances severe enough to motivate me to step down as kai, or for the Vedek Assembly to censure me and demand that I vacate the Apex Chair, I would do what is needed to be done for the good of the people’s collective spirit. That is the path that the Prophets have laid out for me. I will not deviate from my course just because it becomes difficult to traverse.”
“Those are inspiring words, Eminence,” Kira said. The vedek could not help but draw distinctions between Pralon and Winn. It pleased Kira that the people had such a positive and dedicated spiritual leader.
“To be honest, Vedek, I do not feel inspired,” the kai said. “I feel saddened.”
“Because of the dissension among the people.”
“No,” the kai said. “Differing views and the controversies they arouse do not overly concern me. I am sad because of what all of this turmoil reveals—namely that there are many believers whose faith is so weak that they fear the falsework because they perceive it as a threat to the foundations of their lives. There is no room in their worldview for growth. They cannot abide change, whether for better or worse.”
“I wonder if there’s not more to it than that,” Kira said. “Might it not be that people with strong faith find it hard to maintain their beliefs in the face of facts that contradict them?”
“Are you such a person, Vedek?”
Kira resisted answering the kai’s question out of reflex. Instead, she considered what she’d been asked, and how she felt about the Endalla falsework. She had only had a couple of days to think about it. Finally, she said, “No, I don’t think I am such a person. I’ve felt firsthand the presence and the power of the Prophets in my life. I cannot imagine crediting somebody’s interpretation of a physical construct so much, even if corroborated by prophecy, that it could demonstrate to me that I have not had personal experience with the divine.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” the kai said. “You are obviously newly returned from the Celestial Temple, but I wonder if you have had time to form an opinion about the falsework, beyond its inability to disrupt your faith.”
“I don’t know really know,” Kira admitted. “Captain Ro informed me about it, and I learned more on the comnet, and today I’ve been going through all of the information your staff provided. I actually think it’s fascinating, and puzzling, but we’re going to need the scientists to examine it in detail before we can draw any conclusions about it.”
“It is a shame that not everybody feels as you do,” Pralon said. “People are so quick to judge, based not on facts, but on what they wish reality to be.”
“It is a mentality driven by fear,” Kira noted. “I’ve done it myself, but I think it’s important never to run from the truth. As long as people feel that they’re represented in the efforts to explore the falsework, they should embrace it, no matter the end results. I think you’re right to send traditional and Ohalavaru vedeks along with the scientists to Endalla. Perhaps it would also be wise to include a neutral third party as well, such as Starfleet.”
“You have a high estimation of Captain Ro and her crew.” Though she offered her remark as a statement, the kai clearly wanted confirmation of Kira’s opinion.
“I have a high estimation of Captain Ro, yes, and those of her crew that I know,” the vedek said. “I’m sure that she and her people would be up to the task.”
“She has offered her assistance,” Pralon said. “The first minister and I are considering it. Regardless, I hope that you will be disposed to help try to defuse the uproar on Bajor.”
“I would be happy to do my part, of course,” Kira said, “but I’m not sure what I can do.”
“After I have announced your return from the Celestial Temple,” Pralon said, “I’d like you to address the people of Bajor.”
“About the falsework?” Kira said. “I don’t think I’m qualified to do that.”
“No, not about the falsework,” Pralon said. “I’d like you to speak about your experiences in the Celestial Temple.”
The suggestion made Kira immediately uncomfortable. To begin with, she had spoken exclusively to Captain Ro about her travels in time. Altek Dans knew about his apparent interaction with her in her guise as Keev Anora, but Kira had told only Ro about her time in the past with Taran’atar aboard Even Odds. More than that, the vedek had not yet fully examined everything she had been through since the wormhole had collapsed around her more than two years prior, and the notion of talking about it in a public setting unnerved her. To the kai, she said, “I do not recall all the details of my time in the Celestial Temple.” True words, but still a prevarication.
“Do not speak in details, then,” Pralon said. “You should still be able to convey your perception of the divinity of the Prophets.”
“I can do that,” Kira said cautiously, though she did not at all like the idea of proselytizing to her fellow Bajorans. Or to anybody else, for that matter. “I’m not really sure that anything I have to say will help matters.”
“Vedek Kira, you are well known among our people,” the kai said. “Your efforts in the Resistance, your Militia service aboard Deep Space Nine alongside the Emissary, and your time in the Bajoran clergy all confer a certain authority upon you. Returning to Bajor after spending more than two years in the Celestial Temple will only reinforce that.”
“There may be truth to that, Eminence, but I should remind you that I was also Attainted by the Vedek Assembly.”
“You do not need to remind me,” Pralon said. “I voted against your Attainder, and later, for your reinstatement. It was a stain upon the Assembly that a majority of such an august body followed the narrow-minded lead of Vedek Yevir in expelling you from the faith.”
“Thank you for saying so, Eminence.”
“In this case, though, your Attainder suits the needs of our people,” Pralon said. “It was short-lived and not enough to undermine the weight of your considerable record as a champion of Bajor. At the same time, because it resulted from you making the Ohalu texts public, it lends you significant credibility with the Ohalavaru.” The kai pushed away from the table and stood up, and so Kira did as well. Pralon stepped forward to stand directly before the vedek. “You may be the perfect person to deliver a message of unity to all the people of Bajor.”
Kira felt the strength of the kai’s gaze upon her. “I will bear such responsibility as best I can, Eminence.”
“I am sure of it,” Pralon said. “If one were particularly religious,” she went on, the slightest of smiles dancing across her features, “one might think that the Prophets have sent you back to Bajor specifically for that purpose.”
Kira didn’t know what to say in reply. She did not wish to disagree with the kai’s assessment, but concurring with such a characterization would have been arrogant. Kira chose instead to say nothing.
“I will make a public address tomorrow, during which I will announce that you have returned from the Celestial Temple,” the kai said. “We will wait a day for the significance of that to take root, and then you will speak to Bajor.”
“Yes, Eminence.”
“Thank you, Vedek,” Pralon said. “I had intended to extend an invitation to you for dinner so that we could discuss all that you have been through, but I’m afraid that other urgent matte
rs have arisen that require my immediate attention. Perhaps we can speak tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Kira said. The kai strode toward the entry hall and the door, but Kira called after her. “Eminence.”
Pralon stopped and turned. “Yes?”
“I would like to contact Opaka Sulan to let her know that I’ve come back to Bajor,” Kira said. “I was also hoping to let my fellow clergy at the Vanadwan Monastery know, as well as Raiq. I thought I should check with you first.”
“I understand your desire to share your good news with friends and colleagues,” Pralon said, “but I would ask you to wait to do so. I think it would be best for that to happen after my announcement of your return.”
“Of course,” Kira said, though she did not entirely understand why the kai thought that way. “Whatever you think is best.”
Pralon gave a single nod, then continued on her way. Once she had gone, Kira went back to where she’d been sitting on the floor, bent down, and picked up her padd. She reactivated its display, but something bothered her. She set the padd down on the table and walked back out onto the balcony, where she regarded the demonstrators out beyond the monastery gates. For some reason she could not identify, she thought Pralon wanted her to wait to tell people she knew on Bajor that she had come back from the Celestial Temple specifically so that she wouldn’t speak with Opaka until after the kai’s announcement.
But why? Kira wondered. She couldn’t think of any justification for Pralon wanting to prevent her from talking to Opaka. It makes no sense, and on top of that, it’s not really in keeping with the kai’s character.
Kira thought about it for a few moments more, but she could not parse her hunch into a coherent notion. With a shrug, she dismissed it. She glanced out at the protestors once more, then walked back inside.
viii
* * *
Candlewood trailed after Nog as they skulked among the collection of two-story buildings, deadening their footsteps by walking not on the concrete path, but on the grass. Earlier, after studying the map of Las Vegas, the two Starfleet officers had hired a taxicab out of the Shining Oasis. They rode past more hotels and casinos—Flamingo, Caesar’s Palace, Aladdin, Dunes, Tropicana—but once they turned off the Strip, the great neon signs had grown scarce, and then nonexistent. The towers, sprawling complexes, and brilliant lights of the gambling mecca’s raison d’être gave way to low-rise buildings and darkened neighborhoods.
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