The Long Mirage

by David R. George III

  “What about rumors?” Nog asked. “Has anybody else said anything about him?”

  “People always talk, whether they know anything or not,” Owens said. “Most of the rumors about Vic are at one extreme or the other: either he found his way down to the sunny beaches of Acapulco, where he’s living the life of Riley, or he’s six feet under.” Accustomed to the argot of Vic’s program, Nog understood the meaning of Owens’s idioms from their context. “Me, I’d like to think the first is true, but seeing the guys who are after him, I’m more inclined to believe the second.”

  “Neither one of them is true,” Nog said. “I saw Vic three nights ago.”

  “Here?” Owens asked. “In Vegas? Alive?”

  “Yes, here in Vegas, alive,” Nog said. “But I’m not sure for how long.” He told Owens about witnessing Vic’s abduction from a third-rate hotel. “Do you have any idea who the men were that broke in here?” Nog asked.

  “No, and I haven’t seen em since,” Owens said. “But this town’s got more hoods in it than decks of cards.”

  “Your description of the man who kicked in your door sounds a lot like the one who led Vic’s abduction,” Nog said. “Tall, big, square jaw.”

  “Did you see what kind of car they took Vic away in?” Owens asked.

  At the time of Vic’s abduction, Nog had made a point of committing to memory as many details of the incident as he could. “It was long and black—black on the outside and on the inside. It had two doors, and the wheels were mostly silver on the side with a white circle around them. It had a shield emblem and the name ELDORADO on it.”

  “A black Caddie,” Owens said reflectively. “There are a lot of those driven around Vegas these days, by a lot of big-time mobsters. Joey Conterelli’s boys got em, and Bugsy Calderone’s, and Big Jimmy Flanagan’s.”

  “So you think it could be one of those criminal organizations?” Candlewood asked.

  “I dunno, could be,” Owens said, but then he seemed to think better of his response. “Probably. I mean, who else would dare to kidnap somebody like that?”

  “But why?” Nog asked.

  “I dunno, but remember, I saw Vic with some bad people even before he disappeared the first time,” Owens said. “Not mobsters, as far as I know, but still crooks.”

  Nog shook his head. He couldn’t sort out the situation in his mind. He could have understood it as the product of another jack-in-the-box hidden in Vic’s holoprogram, but as a consequence of the person he knew Vic Fontaine to be, it made no sense.

  “Nog, do you think Vic knew his abductors?” Candlewood asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nog said. “Maybe.”

  “He told me that he’d been keeping an eye on the people looking for him,” Owens said. “That tells me he probably knew.”

  “But he didn’t tell you?” Nog asked. “Or mention anything that suggested their identity?”

  “Nope,” Owens said. “I doubt he would’ve told me if I’d asked. Like I said, I think he was trying to protect me if anybody came around looking for him.” Owens picked up the bottle of rye and poured another measure into his glass.

  “And obviously, when you saw Vic get abducted, he didn’t say anything to you,” Candlewood said to Nog.

  “No. He only told me not to get involved,” Nog said. “And that the fat lady was about to sing.”

  “The fat lady?” Owens said, peering quizzically over the rim of his glass.

  “It’s from an old saying,” Nog told the musician. “I looked it up: ‘It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.’ The way Vic said it, I think he meant that whatever he was involved in was almost over. I think he feared for his life.”

  “I never heard that saying,” Owens replied, “but I might just know who the fat lady is.”

  “What?” Nog said. “Are you saying the fat lady is an actual person?” Or in this case, a virtual person, he thought.

  “There’s a lady of ample proportions performing in town these days,” Owens said. “Her name’s Naomi Smith and she sings over at the Silver Lode. It’s the casino run by Bugsy Calderone.”

  “That’s it,” Nog said, springing to his feet. “Vic was sending me a message.”

  “Are you sure?” Candlewood asked.

  “Why else would he say that?” Nog asked. He extended his hand above the table in the traditional human custom. “Thank you, Cool Papa.”

  Owens set down his glass, stood up, and shook Nog’s hand. “You’re welcome,” he said. “I just hope you can find Vic and help him before . . . well.” Owens didn’t need to finish his statement to make his intention clear.

  Candlewood rose beside Nog. “We’ll do our best,” the science officer said. “Thanks to you, we now know where to look.”

  “Are you heading there right now?” Owens asked.

  Nog glanced up at Candlewood. “No, I don’t think so. It’s late and we need to get some sleep, but we’ll go there tomorrow.”

  Nog and Candlewood moved away from the sofa, over to the front door, which Owens unlocked and opened for them. The two Starfleet officers walked back out into the Las Vegas night. As they descended the stairs, they heard Owens call after them.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  Nog thought that they would need it.

  Four

  Transactions

  i

  * * *

  A triadic tone sounded in the Hub, accompanied by a visual notification on one of the tactical station’s displays. Zivan Slaine toggled a control surface on her console, acknowledging the alert and bringing up the details of its cause. “We’re receiving a signal from the CAS buoy,” she announced. The DS9 crew had recently anchored a communications-­and-sensor buoy on the Gamma Quadrant side of the wormhole, just beyond the Idran system. “According to long-range sensors, a single vessel is approaching the wormhole on a direct course.” She worked to refine the readings.

  “Can you identify it?” asked Commander Blackmer from where he sat in the command chair. With Captain Ro on leave, the exec acted as commanding officer of the starbase.

  “Attempting to,” Slaine said. She tried to tune the CAS buoy’s sensors. “It’s too distant to determine its configuration, but it is traveling at high warp.”

  “Assuming a constant trajectory, can you extrapolate its course backward?” Blackmer asked.

  “Calculating.” Slaine activated the holographic display above the situation table, causing a field of stars to appear. Blackmer stood up from the command chair and descended one of the sets of steps down into the Well. “Here is the Gamma Quadrant terminus of the wormhole,” Slaine said, tapping a control to highlight the reference point in blue. “And here’s the approaching ship.” She operated her panel to make a flashing red light appear in the holographic display. Slaine computed the formula for the path of the vessel, then solved it for earlier values. Above the sit table, a red line extended backward from the ship’s current position.

  “Do we know where it’s coming from?” Blackmer asked. Slaine adjusted the holographic display to shift perspective and follow the rearward course of the unidentified vessel. She froze the three-dimensional image when the red line intersected a labeled volume of space. It said DOMINION.

  “There’s a ship headed here from the Dominion?” Chief O’Brien said from his position at the main engineering panel. “That’s all we need.”

  “Curious, isn’t it?” Blackmer said, though Slaine could think of other ways to describe the situation. “The Dominion has essentially remained in isolation since the war. They’ve sent almost no ships beyond their space that we know of, and they’ve declared their borders closed to outsiders.”

  “It’s just one ship?” asked Lieutenant Ren Kalanent Viss from the communications station. The helmet of her Alonis environmental suit translated her underwater speech into Federation Standard. “Should we try to conta
ct its crew?”

  “Not yet,” Blackmer said. “Since it’s just shown up on long-range sensors, we have some time before it reaches the wormhole.”

  Slaine studied the numbers on her console. “At its present velocity, it will take three days.”

  “Before we start talking to our visitors,” Blackmer said, “let’s find out who they are. Dalin, keep the buoy’s sensors trained on the ship. Let’s see as soon as we can if it really does belong to the Dominion, and if so, what type of ship it is—Jem’Hadar, Karemma, T-Rogoran, or somebody else.”

  “Aye, sir.” Slaine issued a command to the CAS buoy to maintain a sensor lock on the unknown ship. She waited for a return signal confirming the order. “Sensors are locked.”

  “Very good,” Blackmer said. He touched a control on the sit table, deactivating the three-dimensional display above it. Then he mounted the steps to the outer ring of the Hub and returned to the command chair.

  Slaine followed the forward motion of the approaching vessel on sensors for a few minutes. Given its path from the Dominion, it seemed to her that the ship had indeed originated there. She could only hope that its crew came in peace.

  ii

  * * *

  Kira heard the clomp of shoes on the stone floor. In her room in the hostelry, she opened her eyes and turned from the shrine, where she had been offering prayers to the Prophets. A robed figure stood in the entry hall. An older man of slight build, he had thinning silver hair and pale skin. “Vedek Kira, I am Ranjen Linsa Noth. I serve as an aide to Kai Pralon.”

  “Please come in, Ranjen,” Kira said. “What can I do for you?”

  Linsa took only a single step into the room. “The kai wished me to let you know that she is about to deliver her address to the Bajoran people,” he said. “It is being carried on the comnet.”

  “Thank you.”

  Linsa bowed his head, then withdrew. Kira made her way over to the companel in the corner, sat down, and activated the device. She navigated to the Bajoran comnet. Although she had no interest in the notoriety that would doubtless attend the public announcement of her return from the Celestial Temple, she looked forward to resuming the routine of her everyday life. If she’d had her preference, she would already have gone back to Releketh Province, to her position at the Vanadwan Monastery. While Kira did not consider herself a prisoner in Ashalla, Kai Pralon made it clear that she preferred the vedek to remain there until after the announcement. Since arriving the previous afternoon, Kira had essentially remained sequestered, seeing only the kai and members of her staff.

  On the companel, a view of the Great Assembly appeared. Sitting atop the highest elevation in the capital, the circular structure had been refurbished after the Cardassians had finally left Bajor. Ironically, the building had survived intact and in good repair for most of the Occupation, with the oppressors utilizing it as their own planetbound command post. When the Cardassians had finally left Bajor, though, they had done so with contempt, wreaking devastation everywhere, leaving cities in ruins and farmlands contaminated. The Great Assembly had been a casualty, but under the leadership of Shakaar Edon, the first minister at the time, it had been among the initial reconstructions undertaken. With its broad, shallow dome held up by a ring of ornate columns, the building had quickly become a vibrant symbol of Bajor’s renewal.

  The image on the display shifted to a view inside the Great Assembly, to the main hall. The large semicircular room featured rows of seats rising from a proscenium. The hall could hold every member of the Vedek Assembly and the Chamber of Ministers, both of which appeared represented in full.

  The scene surprised Kira. Although she had not spoken with Pralon about it, she had expected the kai to address the Bajoran people outdoors, in a public space, such as the Taluno Lawn at the Shikina Monastery or the Crescent Courtyard outside the Great Assembly. It seemed more fitting to the vedek that Pralon stand not before Bajor’s leaders, but before its citizens. Large gatherings of true believers could certainly be found all over the planet. Kira could only surmise that security concerns—doubtless magnified by the recent outbursts of violence—had won the day and forced the kai to talk to the people of Bajor from a secure location. It made the vedek vaguely uneasy.

  It doesn’t really matter, Kira told herself. Via the comnet, Pralon would reach virtually all of Bajor.

  On the companel display, the lights above the audience darkened, and those on the stage came up. A podium stood in front, and at the rear, two lavish cathedrae: the Premier Chair, usually occupied by the highest ranking member of the secular government present, and the Apex Chair, for use by the kai. Asarem Wadeen sat in one cathedra, and Pralon Onala in the other.

  As Kira watched, the soft murmur of the vedeks and ministers in the Great Assembly faded to silence. In a break from tradition, the kai rose from the Apex Chair without introduction and approached the podium. At once, a vedek in the front row stood up and applauded, and three-­quarters or more of the Vedek Assembly followed his lead. Numerous ministers then got to their feet as well and joined in.

  To the casual observer, the kai’s reception probably would have appeared spontaneous, but Kira sensed planning in the effort. The first vedek to his feet had been Yevir Linjarin, a high-profile religious leader who had once seriously considered seeking the Apex Chair himself, and who had always stood in vocal opposition to the Ohalavaru. Though Kira had since made peace with Yevir, he had been the driving force behind her Attainder.

  He’s trying too hard, she thought. They all are. The choice by other vedeks to remain seated during the ovation for the kai seemed just as considered. They all plainly wanted to show a unified front with their side in the ongoing controversy over the discovery on Endalla and the surrounding claims by the Ohalavaru.

  “Good afternoon, First Minister, ministers, vedeks, people of Bajor,” Pralon intoned at the podium. She looked elegant in a layered red robe and matching headpiece of swirled fabric. “I have come to stand before you today to deliver not just good news, but inspiring news.” Again, Yevir jumped up to clap, though that time, fewer of his fellow vedeks did so behind him, and almost none of the ministers. Asarem sat motionless in the Premier Chair. The kai gestured for those standing in the audience to sit, and once they had, she continued. “In recent days, we have not been united as a people. Differences of opinion have arisen among us, and while that is neither cause for alarm nor reason for neighbors to pit themselves one against another, it has led us to difficult times.

  “I will not need to convince any of you when I say that we Bajorans are no strangers to difficult times,” the kai went on. “But we are strong, and resolute, and just as we have worked hard in the past to find our collective way out of the wilderness, I am confident that we will do so again—that what divides some of us at this moment is not nearly as important as what defines us as a people and brings us together.”

  Once more, Yevir rose to applaud, as did several other vedeks, but as Pralon continued speaking with no pause, they quickly settled back down into their seats. “No matter your beliefs as a Bajoran—” she said, and she walked out from behind the podium, as though seeking to underscore what she would next say. “No matter whether you subscribe to a traditional view of the Prophets or to the assessment imparted by the texts of Ohalu—”

  Voices buzzed in the Great Assembly, and then somebody shouted something Kira could not hear clearly. A second voice rang out as though in answer to the first, the words it yelled equally impossible to distinguish. Pralon did not raise her voice as she moved back behind the podium and continued her address, dismissing the interruptions by giving them no attention.

  “No matter if your faith or lack of faith falls under some other label, or no label at all, you recognize the existence of the Prophets. There is little doubt that through the ages, They have bestowed Their attentions upon Bajor. Even if some of us disagree on the particulars, we can all understand talk o
f the Prophets’ majesty, of Their mystery.”

  The words impressed Kira. The kai worked hard to include the Ohalavaru in her speech, while neither espousing nor repudiating their beliefs. By the same token, she did not run from traditional religious viewpoints, nor did she insist upon their acceptance.

  “More than two years ago,” Pralon went on, “renegade forces of the Typhon Pact attempted to generate an artificial wormhole and link it to the Celestial Temple. As the Emissary led a Starfleet crew to stop the aggressors, another individual, traveling aboard a much smaller vessel, helped save the day. That vedek vanquished a Romulan warship and made it possible for the Emissary and his crew to escape the temporary closure of the Celestial Temple.”

  Kira found it uncomfortable to listen to what sounded to her like hyperbole. The kai said nothing untrue, but her account bordered on the spectacular. Thank the Prophets she doesn’t know about everything else that happened.

  “We rejoiced when the Celestial Temple reopened several months ago,” Pralon said. “It demonstrated what many of us never doubted: that the Prophets not only endured, but that They would continue to play a role in the affairs of Bajor.”

  Kira briefly wondered if the Ohalavaru might take exception to such a characterization. She realized, though, that even if they believed in the mortal nature of the Prophets, that didn’t mean they wished Them to come to harm. For that matter, just because the Ohalavaru branded Them as “wormhole aliens,” it didn’t follow that they didn’t find value in the Prophets’ interest in Bajor.

  “When the Celestial Temple reopened,” the kai said, “many thought that Vedek Kira might materialize from within and return home.” Even watching on the comnet, Kira thought she could discern a sudden anticipation in the Great Assembly. “At the time of the Temple’s renewal, amid a sense of reverence and excitement, the vedek did not emerge from it.” The declaration seemed to dash the hopes of the vedeks and ministers. “The vedek did not emerge, but another individual did: a man named Altek Dans.”