“Surely, there must be room for dissent,” Altek said.
“Of course,” Kira said. “I’m not talking about only the Ohalavaru. I mean, I don’t understand them; I’ve read their texts, listened to their arguments about the falsework, and none of it compels me to relinquish my faith. But I support their right to worship—or not worship—as they see fit.”
“Then what’s troubling you?”
“It’s the incendiary character of the rhetoric, and the growing risk of violence hanging over Bajor,” Kira said. “It’s got to stop.”
“In my experience,” Altek said, “people are never so threatened as when facts disagree with their deepest held beliefs—religious or otherwise.”
“I can only hope that Kai Pralon is right in thinking that my presence in the public eye will help calm people’s fears,” Kira said. “My presence—and yours.” Kira had not seen or spoken with Altek since the kai’s address the day before, so she had no idea how he felt about the public disclosure not only of his existence, but of his identity.
“I hope our arrival on Bajor will help too,” he said. When he added nothing more, Kira decided to put her question to him directly.
“Did you agree to allow the kai to reveal your name and likeness?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to remain as anonymous as you could.”
“I did,” Altek said. “But Kai Pralon spoke to me about how she believed I could contribute in a positive way to what’s been happening on Bajor. I don’t know if she’s right, but her conversation with me made me think about my responsibilities as a Bajoran.”
“Did the kai pressure you into letting her make you a public figure?” Even just asking the question made Kira uncomfortable. She reminded herself that Pralon Onala occupied the position of spiritual leader to the Bajoran people, not Winn Adami.
“I can say that the kai was determined to convince me,” Altek said. “I don’t look forward to the attention I’m probably going to draw, but I don’t regret my decision. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I would do when I finally made it back to Bajor. At first, I just wanted to be here, to find a place for myself among our people, but after I saw you again . . . I started to think more about what all of this means. When I arrived on Deep Space Nine, it all seemed so random, but now . . . with you here . . . I don’t know. It feels as though there must be some meaning to my being here . . . as though I was brought here for a reason.”
“Will you make a public address?” Kira asked, knowing that she would be speaking to the people of Bajor later that day.
“No,” he said. “The kai did propose that I make a speech of some kind, introduce myself to our people, but I demurred.”
“And she let it go? She didn’t insist?”
“She suggested that I at least allow members of the media to interview me,” Altek said. “I’m not comfortable with that idea, but I did tell her I would consider it. These are difficult times, and if I truly want to make a home for myself on Bajor, I have a responsibility to its people—especially during this time of spiritual crisis.”
“I understand,” Kira said. As Altek continued eating his milaberry pancakes with jumja syrup, the vedek finished the fruit on her plate: a few more alvas, some wedges of moba, and a few slices of pooncheen. She thought about what Altek had told her, and as she sipped from a cup of cela tea, she watched him eat his meal.
Something else is on his mind, the vedek thought. Altek hadn’t said anything in particular, but Kira could still perceive his preoccupation. The observation made her realize just how well she knew him, undoubtedly because of her experiences as Keev Anora. “Is something bothering you?” she asked.
Altek looked up from his plate. He sighed heavily. “I guess there is,” he said.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I think I have to,” Altek said. He set his fork down with a metallic ring. “You know how shocked I was when I first saw you.”
“How shocked we both were,” Kira said.
“Right,” Altek said. “I also told you that, after our time together in the past, I still have feelings for you—”
“Feelings for Keev Anora,” Kira said quietly, “not for Kira Nerys.” She spoke firmly, but not without kindness.
“Nerys and Anora are one and the same,” Altek said. “It’s strange, and maybe not completely explainable, but I don’t think you can deny it.”
“Maybe I can’t,” Kira said, “but we already talked about this. We can’t just pick up where we left off. Back then, with you, that was my life as Anora, but now I have an entirely different life as Nerys. Our experiences are wholly different. You can say that we’re the same person, but there’s more to it than that.”
“There doesn’t need to be more than the emotions we feel,” Altek said. “Except . . . except that there is more to it.” He looked away from her and shook his head.
“We don’t have to talk about this again,” Kira said. “You even spoke about moving forward cautiously . . . about getting to know each other again. We can just let that happen without having to continue reexamining it.”
“I know, I know,” Altek said. “That’s not it.” He set his elbows on the tabletop and folded one hand around the other. He spoke from behind his hands, as though trying to soften his words. “You know that I was on Deep Space Nine for five months. The captain and her crew helped me overcome a lot—the shock of leaving my own time, of ending up in space, the sorrow of leaving friends and family behind.”
“I can imagine how difficult it must have been for you,” Kira said. “How difficult it still must be.”
“It is, but it’s also gotten easier thanks to the people on Deep Space Nine,” Altek said. “Especially Ro Laren.”
“Ro is a good officer,” Kira said. “A good person.”
“I agree,” Altek said. “She’s helped me a great deal, and I’ve gotten to know her well. We’ve gotten to know each other well.” The tone in Altek’s voice spoke more clearly than his words. Kira felt the pit of her stomach tighten. “We started a relationship . . . a romantic relationship.”
Kira stared at Altek, but she didn’t see him. Somehow, she saw herself, but as Keev Anora—working side by side with him to free Bajora from slavery in Joradell, being freed by him from the collapse of a tunnel beneath the Merzang Mountains, kissing him outside their gild’s forest encampment. It felt like looking at herself in a mirror, but with the image not following the movements she made.
Kira blinked and refocused her eyes on Altek in an attempt to let go of a past disconcertingly not her own. “You should have told me,” she said, not reprovingly, but gently. It occurred to her that, when she first encountered Altek in Ro’s quarters, maybe she should have wondered why he was there with the captain. Of course, people visited the quarters of others all the time without matters taking a romantic turn. Kira recognized the peculiarity of the situation, and the suddenness with which she had come back into Altek’s life.
“I know I should have told you,” he said. “I was just so surprised to see you . . .” He didn’t complete his thought, but he didn’t need to do so for Kira to understand his perspective.
“That’s why you wanted to step back, take things slowly,” Kira said.
“Yes,” Altek said. “It was going to be hard enough leaving Laren . . . Captain Ro . . . to go to Bajor, but now, with meeting you, I just needed time to take stock. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt anybody.”
“Of course,” Kira said. “And I have to tell you that I have no interest in being involved in any sort of a love triangle.” Kira didn’t know if her discomfort stemmed from her having genuine feelings for Altek, or from her residual memories of Keev’s emotions, or from the realization that her initial interaction with Altek must have been difficult for Ro. “Of greater import,” she said, deciding to change the subject, “you and I need to concentrate on dealing
with what’s happening on Bajor—not just with respect to our return, but also to the discovery on Endalla and everything it has wrought.”
“You’re right,” he said, and he dropped his hands from in front of his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“It’s all right,” Kira said, seeing no point either in blaming Altek or in dwelling on the odd sequence of events. “It’s done. Let’s talk about Bajor instead. Has the kai asked your opinion about the discovery on Endalla?”
“She’s made reference to it in a couple of our conversations,” Altek said, “but no, she hasn’t questioned me about my views on it—not that I actually have any.”
“You don’t?” Kira asked. “But you worshipped the Prophets in your time, and I’m sure you’ve learned about the Ohalavaru beliefs. I’d think that would be enough for you to form at least a preliminary judgment about the meaning of the falsework.”
“Maybe,” Altek said. “I’m inclined to think that what the Ohalavaru found does not invalidate my beliefs, but I also know that’s dishonest. Wanting to cling to my convictions in the face of evidence to the contrary is the product of ego, or arrogance, or possibly just fear. I know that I should wait for more information before I draw any sort of conclusion about what it all means.”
“That sounds remarkably open-minded in dealing with a matter of faith,” Kira said. “Perhaps too much so. Faith sometimes has to reach beyond facts.”
Altek shrugged. “I’m a medical doctor . . . a man of science. I have faith, but I don’t want to run from facts.”
“According to the kai, we should know more soon,” Kira said. “First Minister Asarem intends to send research personnel up to Endalla.”
Altek chuckled. “It’s still strange to hear Bajor’s first moon called Endalla,” he said. “The planet’s name hasn’t changed, but the landmasses, the oceans, and even the moons are all called something different here in the future.”
“What did you call the first moon?”
“Orendes.”
With the name, a memory floated up through Kira’s mind like a half-remembered dream. She tried to reach for it, but it eluded her. “And what about the others?” she asked, and thought, Callastra.
“Callastra, Spelder, and Dunnin.”
The recollection came again, and Kira held on to it: waiting in the shadows to spring into action to sabotage an Aleiran drilling operation that threatened the gild’s ability to free slaves. She remembered the scene before her bathed in the light of three moons: Derna, Endalla, and Baraddo—Baraddo, also known as the Prodigal, as one grade-school teacher used to make Keev’s class recite. Except that wasn’t Keev’s teacher; it was mine, Kira thought. And the moons weren’t Derna, Endalla, and Baraddo; they were Callastra, Orendes, and Dunnin.
A wave of disorientation crashed over Kira. Whose memories are in my mind? Did she recall Keev’s thoughts, and had Keev’s thoughts used names provided by Kira’s mind?
“Are you all right?” Altek asked, reaching his hand across the table toward her.
“I’m fine,” Kira said. She picked up her cup of tea and drank from it, working to steady herself. “I just got lightheaded for a moment.”
“The color drained from your face,” Altek said. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”
“I’m sure,” Kira said. She considered telling him that she remembered the names of Bajor’s moons from back in his time, but she didn’t want to cloud her identity for him any more than it already was. She opted to go back to what he had been saying in order to distract his attention away from her transitory vertigo. “You were telling me your names for Bajor’s moons: Orendes, Callastra, Spelder, Dunnin, and . . . what was the last one?”
Altek wrinkled his brow in a perplexed look. “The last moon is Dunnin.”
“So which one am I missing?”
“You didn’t miss any of them,” Altek said. “You named all four moons.”
Once more, Kira’s world seemed to tip. “Five moons,” she said. “Bajor has five moons.” Except that Kira recalled Keev’s knowledge and memories, and she knew how Altek would react, what he would tell her.
He looked at her askance, and she could see him deciding whether or not she was joking with him. “Bajor has four moons, and only four moons.”
Kira understood the reality of the situation. “You’ve come forward in time from an era when Endalla did not orbit Bajor.”
“What . . . what does that mean?”
“It means that you can validate the Ohalavaru claims,” Kira said. “Bajor once had four moons, and then Endalla was constructed around the falsework.”
“But if the Ohalavaru are right about that . . .” Altek let the implication dangle.
Kira stood up. She knew what she needed to do next, even if she didn’t know where her actions would lead. “We have to tell the kai.”
v
* * *
Odo sat down in front of the desk in the captain’s office. Ro Laren had taken leave, and so her executive officer, Jefferson Blackmer, acted in her stead. Just a short time ago, the commander had contacted Odo and requested a meeting.
“It’s good to see you,” Blackmer said. “I’m glad that you’ve recovered from your injuries.”
Odo hadn’t fully convalesced. He still tired easily after holding a form for an extended time, which necessitated a lengthy regeneration period. But he didn’t bother to correct Blackmer, both because of the private nature of his health and because he wished to end the meeting as soon as possible. “Thank you,” he said. “What is it you wanted to see me about? Whatever it is, I hope we can dispense with it quickly. Chief O’Brien set up passage for me on a runabout heading for Bajor, and it’s departing in thirty minutes.”
“As I understand it, the New York is currently on its way specifically to take you back to the Dominion.”
“It still won’t be here for several days,” Odo said. “I can easily be back on Deep Space Nine before it arrives.” Odo chose his words carefully; he could return to DS9 from Bajor in short order, but he also hoped he wouldn’t need to do so. That would all depend on Nerys.
After Chief O’Brien’s visit the previous night, Odo had attempted to reach Nerys at the Vanadwan Monastery, but he’d been told that she had yet to return there. He then contacted the Shikina Monastery in the capital, hoping either to find her there or to speak with the kai. The person he talked to—Ranjen Linsa Noth—would not confirm or deny Nerys’s presence there, though he did promise to convey his request to speak with Pralon Onala at her earliest convenience. So far, Odo had yet to hear from either Nerys or the kai, but he had learned that Nerys would be making a planetwide address that afternoon. That being the case, he decided that he would make his way to Bajor so that he could see her in person.
“All right,” Blackmer said. “I called you here because, yesterday, long-range sensors detected a ship in the Gamma Quadrant traveling directly toward the wormhole. It was too distant to identify, but tracing its course backward, we discovered that it appears to have set sail from Dominion space.”
“That seems unlikely, Commander,” Odo said. “As you know, the Dominion is in a period of virtual isolation. Its borders are closed in both directions. Your calculations may show that the ship came from the direction of the Dominion, but perhaps the vessel hasn’t traveled that far; perhaps its flight originated in a star system between there and here. Or perhaps its course has not been straight.”
“We considered those possibilities,” Blackmer said, “but during delta shift, the ship drew close enough for our sensors to identify its configuration. It’s a Jem’Hadar battle cruiser.”
The news startled and disappointed Odo. He didn’t know what possible reason the Dominion could have for sending such a heavily armed, heavily fortified vessel to the Alpha Quadrant. Of course, that also depended on who led the Dominion. If more Fo
unders had returned, he doubted that they would want to engage with any humanoid societies beyond those already a part of their civilization. If not, if the day-to-day operation of the empire had fallen to other member species such as the Vorta or the Thepnossen or the Overne, Odo similarly expected that they would shy away from venturing beyond their borders.
But what if Laas has chosen to take a more active role in leading the Dominion? he asked himself. Odo could readily envision the volatile, humanoid-hating Changeling launching a recon of the wormhole and the Bajoran system, or even authorizing an attack. It also occurred to him that the Jem’Hadar themselves could have evolved enough to take on a leadership role in the Dominion, in which case no planned assault would be out of the question.
“Have you tried to contact the ship?” Odo asked.
“All our attempts to communicate with its crew have failed,” Blackmer said, “possibly because the signal is being jammed.”
“By who?”
“Sensors do not show any other vessels in the region,” Blackmer said, “so our best guess is that the Jem’Hadar crew are blocking any incoming transmissions.”
“Why would they do that?” Odo asked.
“That’s one of the things I hoped you could tell me.”
“Commander, I haven’t been back to the Dominion in nearly two and a half years,” Odo said. “My knowledge of the Jem’Hadar is not current.”
“I understand that,” Blackmer said. “I was just hoping that, having resided there for more than seven years, you might be able to provide some insight into what this lone ship could represent.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Odo said. “Although I think the fact that there is only one ship, rather than a squadron or a fleet, indicates that its crew probably doesn’t intend to attack. The Jem’Hadar favor overwhelming an enemy.”
“I would hope that the Dominion no longer considers the Federation its enemy,” Blackmer said.
The Long Mirage Page 20