Steinberg laughed. “And who are you, Mister Nog, that you would have such reserves?” Nog could feel Candlewood’s gaze on him, the science officer doubtless wondering the same thing.
“My own means are unimportant,” Nog said. “Especially since Vic owns substantial water rights throughout Las Vegas.” Nog knew that the singer’s holdings did not exist, that the paperwork purporting otherwise had been forged, but he wanted to gather as much information as he could about Vic’s existence during the period when his holoprogram had been effectively locked away.
Steinberg shook his head. “Oh, yes, we know all about Mister Fontaine’s realty usage rights.” He bent beside his chair and retrieved a satchel, from which he pulled a stack of documents. Steinberg tossed them onto the table. They landed with a slap. The top couple of pages fluttered away from the others, but most of the sheets remained in a pile. Nog looked at the top document and saw a copy of one of the water-rights instruments Lani had acquired. He didn’t need to examine any of the others.
“With a person of such limited earning potential as a lounge singer,” Steinberg went on, “Mister Calderone would not have approved such a sizable loan if not guaranteed by some measure of collateral. To that end, Mister Fontaine provided the documents showing his water-use rights, which satisfied me.”
“Which satisfied you or Mister Calderone?” Nog asked.
“In this case, me,” Steinberg said. “I am Mister Calderone’s accountant, and so my approval on financial matters translates to his approval. In any event, Mister Fontaine made payments on his loan for a while, but when he stopped, Mister Calderone moved to take possession of his water rights—except that Vic Fontaine owns no such rights. All of these—” He pointed to the paper on the table. “—are fake.”
Nog at last understood the broad strokes of what had happened. Morn had provided the worthless water rights as a stopgap measure to back up his gambling losses—losses from a line of credit for which Vic had cosigned. When DS9 was destroyed and Vic’s program relegated to running in the tester, Morn could not make good on those forged papers. At some point, the Shining Oasis must have demanded repayment in full. They probably hadn’t accepted the water rights, or perhaps had even discovered their illegitimacy, though Nog doubted the latter possibility, because if Vic had known the ersatz nature of the documents, he likely wouldn’t have used them as collateral in seeking a loan from Bugsy Calderone. Nog wondered why Vic hadn’t attempted to sell the water rights himself, but suspected that he wouldn’t have had enough time before needing to pay off the sum owed to the casino. Or maybe he felt obligated to retain what he believed belonged to Morn.
Steinberg walked the length of the table and came around the end. He took a chair beside Nog and sat down. “You can imagine Mister Calderone’s annoyance in these circumstances,” the accountant said. He spoke quietly, but not without menace. “Mister Fontaine made payments for a while—not enough to settle his debt, but enough to keep him alive. But when he stopped paying and it turned out that he owned no rights, Mister Calderone had to spend resources on trying to locate him. Mister Fontaine remained out of our grasp for longer than expected, but when we found him, we invited him to be Mister Calderone’s guest. He has denied knowing that the water-rights documents were forgeries, and he has also promised to repay his debt. Of course, having lost him once before, we have no interest in letting him out of our sight. He has been attempting to negotiate with us, but I’m afraid that Mister Calderone is just about out of patience.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Nog said. “I will pay back Vic’s debt. I’ll get you the million.”
Steinberg smiled, his disbelief manifest. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small piece of paper, folded in two. He opened and read it. “One million two hundred forty-seven thousand,” he said. “For the next forty-eight hours, anyway.”
“What happens after that?” Nog asked. “What will the amount increase to?”
Steinberg folded the piece of paper and put it back in his jacket. “Normally, the sum would increase,” he said, “but in this case, Mister Calderone has grown weary of Vic Fontaine—of his inability to pay his debt, of his going into hiding to avoid that responsibility, and of his continued but failed promises to make good on the money he owes.”
“What does that mean?” Nog asked, wanting Steinberg to spell it out.
“It means that if Mister Fontaine’s debt isn’t settled within the next forty-eight hours, Mister Calderone intends his people to close out the account.” Steinberg had made himself clear: if Vic’s loan wasn’t paid off within the following two days, Vic wouldn’t live to see a third.
ix
* * *
Kira paced forward and back in her room at the Shikina Monastery, her body tense, her mind racing, her emotions volatile. After their revelatory conversation that morning in the refectory, Kira and Altek had gone to speak with the kai. They looked for her first in the office she kept in the priory. There, they found Veldis Reyn, a vedek who served as an aide and adviser to Pralon Onala. He informed them that the kai had left the monastery and would be unavailable until later, at the Great Assembly, just before Kira’s address to Bajor about her return from the Celestial Temple. Kira insisted to Veldis that she and Altek needed to speak with the kai immediately about a crucial matter. He said he would contact the kai with their request.
That exchange with Veldis had taken place several hours earlier, and still there had been no word from Pralon. The time neared when Kira would have to depart for the Great Assembly, and she would see the kai there, but she’d wanted more time before her address to discuss the implications of their discovery. It also bothered her that Pralon had not reacted swiftly to her urgent request for a meeting. Kira had a long record of service to Bajor, in multiple roles, and while she had often enough sounded the alert about one matter or another, she had never been an alarmist.
“You’re going to erode a path in the floor,” Altek said. He sat at the room’s lone table. Just a few paces away, Kira stopped when she drew closer.
“I’d tear the floor up stone by stone with my bare hands if it would bring the kai here,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary.” Kira swiveled around to see Pralon Onala standing in the entry hall. “Please forgive the delay in seeing you,” the kai said, entering the room. “Vedek Veldis contacted me shortly after you spoke with him, but I could not get away until now.”
“I wouldn’t have asked to meet with you as soon as possible,” Kira said, “if it wasn’t critical.”
“There are a great many critical issues facing Bajor these days, I’m afraid,” Pralon said. “I have just come from Lonar Province, from the town of Kenthira. This morning, a bomb detonated there.”
“Oh, no,” Altek said.
“Who planted the bomb?” Kira wanted to know.
“Law enforcement officers in the area are still searching for the culprits,” Pralon said. “So far, nobody has claimed responsibility, but their motives appear certain; the explosion destroyed a statue of Ohalu.” The notion that somebody would demolish a work of art intended as an object of commemoration simply because they disagreed with the ideas it embodied offended Kira deeply—more so because it seemed to have been done by somebody who shared the vedek’s own beliefs.
“Was anyone hurt?” Altek asked.
“Fortunately, there were no fatalities,” Pralon said. “The explosion occurred early enough in the day that there were few people out in the town, but a young man nearby was struck by a piece of debris. Doctors have him in surgery, but he may lose an eye.”
“That’s terrible,” Altek said.
“It truly is shameful,” Pralon said. “We must find a way to bring Bajor together . . . to end this escalating violence.”
“I agree,” Kira said, “but I’m not sure that what we have to tell you will help that cause.”
The kai
paused. “Perhaps, then, you should refrain from revealing whatever it is you wish to tell me. There is something to be said for plausible deniability.”
The vedek couldn’t tell whether or not Pralon intended her suggestion seriously—the kai possessed a dry sense of humor—but Kira did not consider it a viable option to keep their discovery a secret. “This morning,” she said, “Doctor Altek and I were discussing Endalla.” She recounted the conversation for the kai, concluding by telling her that, in Altek’s time, only four moons orbited Bajor.
“What are you saying?” Pralon said. “Is that an indication of how far back in time you lived, Doctor? Before the birth of Bajor’s fifth moon?” Even as she spoke calmly, the kai obviously grasped for some explanation other than the one at which Kira and Altek had arrived.
“No, we don’t think so,” Altek said. “Bajor’s moons formed billions of years ago, long before the evolution of multicellular life on the planet.”
Pralon regarded Altek for a long moment before she pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. The color drained from her face. She looked as though she might pass out.
“Are you all right, Eminence?” Kira asked.
Pralon gazed up at the vedek. “No, I don’t think I am,” she said. “Not if I understand what you’re telling me—that Endalla is not a naturally occurring satellite . . . that between Doctor Altek’s time and our own, it was constructed around the falsework in order to hide it from our people . . . that the Ohalavaru are right.”
“That does seem to be the case,” Kira said. “I mean, it appears that the Ohalavaru may be right about the falsework and about Endalla’s construction, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that the Prophets are not gods.”
“No, no, of course not,” Pralon said. “But that is what the Ohalavaru will claim. They will point to the doctor’s story as just one more corroboration of their convictions, and there will be people who believe them.”
“True faith can withstand doubts,” Altek said.
“It can,” Pralon said. “It often does . . . but for some, their faith will be shattered. Maybe for enough Bajorans that it will lead to a schism . . .” The thought, once voiced, seemed to horrify the kai. The idea shook Kira as well. “Maybe . . . maybe Doctor Altek has not come from Bajor’s past, but from the history of some other world, perhaps in an alternate universe.”
Kira took a seat at the table and faced the kai. “I imagine that, technically, that’s possible, but . . .” She realized that she would have to reveal information she had yet to impart to Pralon. “But I also lived in that time.”
The kai gazed at Kira in confusion. “What?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
“After I entered the Celestial Temple and it collapsed,” Kira explained, “at some point, I ended up living in that time period on Bajor . . . alongside Doctor Altek.”
“What?” Pralon asked. “How is that possible?”
Kira shook her head and shrugged. “I was sent there by the Prophets,” she said. “I don’t know how or to what end, but I spent months working with Doctor Altek and others to free Bajoran slaves from the Aleira.”
“From who?” the kai asked. Her questions sounded like automatic responses rather actual attempts to elicit meaningful answers.
“Another group of Bajorans who called themselves by a different name,” Altek said. “People who did not believe in the Prophets and who enslaved the Bajora.”
“From my perspective,” Kira said, “I have no doubts that I was on Bajor—our Bajor—and that it once had four moons.”
“And you did not think to share this information before now?” the kai asked, anger seeping into her tone.
“Honestly, I didn’t remember about the number of moons until this morning,” Kira said. “My memories of that time are . . . fluid. I am also reluctant to say anything because of the Temporal Prime Directive.”
“Which is a principle of Starfleet, not of the Bajoran clergy,” Pralon said.
“But it is a principle rooted in the practical objective of not altering the timeline,” Kira said. “And isn’t it a Bajoran tenet that personal religious events—Orb experiences, pagh’tem’fars, Orb shadows, dream whispers—are private, to be shared only if an adherent so chooses?” Although, immediately after her return from the Celestial Temple, Kira had struggled with whether or not to tell the kai everything, she found herself resentful that the kai proposed that she should have done so.
Pralon looked down at her hands, not chastened, but thinking. “Pagh’tem’fars and Orb experiences are most often confusing episodes, difficult to harvest clear memories from, impenetrable in terms of meaning.” The kai raised her head and fixed her gaze on Kira. “Can you be sure about what you think you experienced?”
Kira could only view the question as a desperate attempt to discredit her ability to substantiate the Ohalavaru claims. “From my perspective, Eminence, there is no doubt that Bajor once had four moons,” the vedek said. “And I understand how the Ohalavaru will try to make the case that the Prophets constructed a fifth moon, an artificial moon, to hide the Alpha Quadrant anchor for the wormhole. But that doesn’t mean we have the right to hide the truth.”
“We’re not even certain what the truth is,” Pralon said. “It will require a scientific effort to confirm or refute the role of the subterranean complex on Endalla with respect to the Celestial Temple.”
“I agree,” Kira said, “but even if the Ohalavaru are right about the falsework, it doesn’t mean that the Prophets are not divine. I know what the Prophets have shown me in my life, and what They’ve caused me to experience. My faith tells me that They are gods.”
“As does mine,” Pralon said. “When you appear before the public today, do you intend to speak of your travels in time?”
“I don’t plan to,” Kira said.
“And what about your interpretation of the events on Endalla?” the kai asked.
“I don’t know that I need to say anything about that today,” Kira told her. “But I can’t be silent forever about what we discovered. That would dishonor our beliefs, make a mockery of our faith.”
“You are well known among our people for your efforts during the Occupation and then serving aboard Deep Space Nine. You are also highly regarded for your dedication in joining and contributing to the religious leadership on Bajor.” The kai paused, and Kira had the feeling that Pralon chose the words she would say next with care. “But I would also remind you of your role in posting the writings of Ohalu to the comnet, and of your subsequent Attainder. If you are once again seen lending credence to the heretical views of the Ohalavaru, I am unsure if even my office can protect you.”
The words sounded as though they carried a message of concern and a promise of support, but they seemed to Kira like a charade. She heard a political threat, and it took her aback. She would have expected such behavior from Winn Adami, but not from Pralon Onala. “What are you saying, Eminence?” Kira asked. “Are you trying to silence me because my beliefs do not perfectly conform to yours?” She had lowered her voice in an attempt to soften what she said, but the content of her question could not be mistaken. The kai reacted accordingly.
“I would remind you of your station, Vedek,” Pralon said, standing up from her chair. “Not to mention my position as the spiritual leader of the Bajoran people.”
Earlier in her life, Kira would have forcefully stood her ground. She would have reminded Pralon—probably in rising tones—that being the kai required responsibility and unimpeachable integrity, that it demanded that she be scrupulously honest with the people whose spiritual well-being had been entrusted to her. Instead, Kira remained steadfast, but understood that, while she could make her arguments to the kai about the proper course of action, she could not force Pralon to do the right thing.
“I know my place, Eminence,” the vedek said, her manner humble. “And I know yours.”
Before Pralon could respond, a chime rang in the room, signaling a visitor at Kira’s door. The kai glanced at the companel in the corner, then said, “That will be my security staff come to fetch us. It is time to go to the Great Hall for your speech.” When Kira stood up, Pralon took her by her upper arms. “Vedek Kira, as a general principle, I seek neither to lie to the people nor to withhold factual information from them. I will remind you that I did not vote to suppress the publication of the Ohalu texts, nor did I support your Attainder.”
“I know that, Eminence,” Kira said, and she again told herself that she was dealing with Pralon, not with Winn. She found it troubling that she had needed to do that several times since her return from the Celestial Temple.
“I am not advocating that we don’t inform the Bajoran people of the four moons that existed in Doctor Altek’s time,” Pralon said. “But I am asking that you do not make that information public until we have had a chance to speak more about the issue . . . to study it. We still do not know from whence the doctor came, nor have the scientists and engineers begun studying the falsework and its relationship to Endalla.”
The kai’s request sounded reasonable to Kira. “I understand what you’re saying, Eminence. I defer to your judgment.”
“Very good,” Pralon said. “Thank you.” The kai started toward the entry hall to meet her security team, and Kira and Altek followed—although Kira knew that the doctor would not travel to the Great Hall with them, but go back to his own guest accommodations at the monastery.
As they headed out of Kira’s room, the vedek again told herself that she could not force Pralon—or anybody, for that matter—to do the right thing. No, she thought. But I can do it myself.
x
* * *
Quark stopped just before the end of the alleyway, staying in the shadows thrown by the building at his back. He felt Laren’s presence beside him in the confined passage, heard the hush of her breathing. She had broken his heart, and yet he still felt glad to have her with him—not just for her support in trying to recover his latinum, but for the joy of simply spending time with her. When it came to their romance—and they’d had such a relationship, no matter how hard she’d attempted to rationalize it away as something less—Laren made it painfully clear that she had already moved on. Quark would too—he had no choice in the matter—but she couldn’t prevent him from enjoying one last adventure with her.
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