The Long Mirage

by David R. George III

  He turned from the window. Candlewood and Lani sat quietly on the sofa. They obviously waited for him to lead them. Nog and the science officer had come back to the Shining Oasis after their meeting with Calderone’s accountant, and they’d filled Lani in on what had taken place.

  “So what are we going to do?” Lani asked.

  “We could try a brute-force approach,” Candlewood said. “If we can determine where Vic is being held—and we did see him at the Silver Lode hotel back when we got shot at—we could break him out. If we can find Vic, we could bring him some sort of physical protection to keep him safe as we free him.”

  Nog understood Candlewood’s point, but— “That doesn’t really work,” Nog said. “Let’s say we can forcibly free Vic from Calderone.” Nog walked away from the window and over toward the sofa. He stood on the other side of the low, rectangular table there and continued to talk to Candlewood and Lani. “That wouldn’t actually solve Vic’s problems. There would be a price on his head, and even if he escaped Calderone’s clutches, he would be reduced to living in the shadows.” Nog thought back to seeing Vic in the decaying environs of the Fremont-Sunrise Hotel, at how much of himself the singer seemed to have lost. “No, we can’t leave him a hunted man.”

  “So at that point, if he became a ‘hunted man,’ you could transfer Vic’s matrix to another program,” Candlewood suggested. “There are plenty of Earth holoprograms . . . even some historical ones. Or we could code something new for Vic. It doesn’t even have to be Earth, it doesn’t even have to be historical. Move him into one of the Vulcan Love Slave programs for a while, until we can create something else where he’d have a place—maybe as an entertainer on Risa or on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet. Who knows? Maybe he’d want to be the morale officer on a twenty-second-­century starship.”

  Nog considered the general idea of transplanting Vic. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not even sure Vic’s matrix can be transferred, at least not for more than brief periods. Felix Knightly created the Las Vegas simulation to challenge Doctor Bashir, who’s a literal genius. Felix coded Vic to be self-aware, and he enacted restrictions on how the program could be used and modified. Look at all the trouble we had reentering it after being ‘killed.’ I’m not sure if we can permanently transplant Vic’s matrix.”

  “You could ask Mister Knightly,” Lani said. “Even if it’s not possible now, you could ask him to alter the code.”

  “I could,” Nog said, “but I’d have to exit the holosuite in order to do that, and we can’t leave until we solve Vic’s problems.” Nog paced back across the room and over to the window. He gazed out again at the glittering Las Vegas Strip. “The idea that makes the most sense is simply to give Calderone what he wants.”

  “It sounds right now like he wants Vic dead,” Candlewood said.

  “No,” Nog said as he watched the giant shoe spinning around at the Silver Slipper, its lights pulsating. “Calderone wants Vic’s loan repaid—plus the vigorish.”

  “And where are we going to get over a million dollars?” Candlewood asked. “Even if we could leave the program to replicate that sum, the code only allows period clothing and certain other items to be brought in.”

  “Right,” Nog said. “We need to get it from a source within the program.”

  “How?” Lani asked. “By robbing a bank?”

  “Or by executing a confidence game?” Candlewood said.

  Nog nodded. “Or by dealing in real estate, or by investing,” he said. “Any of those choices might work, but we just don’t have enough time to plan something, and then to actually accomplish it, with a one hundred percent chance of success.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Candlewood asked. “As I understand it, the entire reason that the real Las Vegas succeeded as a destination is that tourists thought they could become wealthy overnight. The reason it could sustain itself is that it was casino owners and mobsters making all, or at least most, of the profits.”

  “Look at Morn,” Lani said. “He had the knowledge and a perspective hundreds of years beyond this place, and yet even he couldn’t win in the long run.”

  “No,” Nog agreed. “It’s like John said the other day: with the odds in favor of the casino, it’s impossible for any player to win in the long run.”

  “If only we could change the odds,” Candlewood said.

  Nog suddenly remembered something that Lani had told them. He sat down at the table by the window and grabbed the stack of Vic’s forged papers. He grabbed a pen, turned the top sheet over, and started to sketch. “Maybe we can change the odds,” he said. “According to Lani, that’s what Morn was planning to do.”

  “That’s right,” Lani said. She stood up from the sofa and walked over to the table, and Candlewood came with her. “He wanted to create some sort of device so that he could control the outcome of playing slot machines.”

  “That’s a . . . a scientific problem,” Candlewood said as Nog continued to draw. “The machines here don’t use optical grids, multitronics, or bioneural circuitry.”

  “No,” Nog said. “They don’t even use duotronics. They’re electromechanical.” He finished his rudimentary illustration, turned it around, and pushed it across the table so that Candlewood and Lani could see it. It depicted the basic internal mechanism and circuitry of a slot machine. “So it’s a scientific problem, and an engineering problem,” Nog said. He looked up at Candlewood. “Do you know any scientists or engineers, John?”

  xiii

  * * *

  Pralon Onala sat in the Apex Chair, gazing out from the stage of the Great Assembly. As she had when she’d spoken there the previous day, she saw every vedek in attendance. The present crisis had motivated all of them to attend Kira’s address so that they could be seen standing their ground for their beliefs, be they traditional or Ohalavaru.

  That reality saddened Pralon. If ever she gave public voice to such an emotion, many would surely judge it peculiar for a spiritual leader to find disappointment in her people’s firm display of faith. By itself, the show of the vedeks’ devotion did not trouble her, but the fact of its context did. The kai understood it, of course; when worshippers faced adversity, it made sense for them to turn to their gods for guidance and solace. There could be no better example of that than the Occupation, during which the central role the Prophets inhabited in the lives of most Bajorans helped them through unspeakable horrors. For Pralon, that marked a selfish—or at least a self-involved—version of religious belief. She preferred to practice her own faith from the other side, using it not as a crutch with which she could navigate the bumpy path of her own life, but as an instrument of virtue and decency in order to bolster the lives of others.

  But Pralon remembered all too well the tremendous opposition among the Bajoran people to providing aid to the Cardassian Union after the Dominion War. At a time of peace and prosperity for Bajor, its citizens should have been led by their faith to offer charity and forgiveness. Many were, but a significant and vocal minority fought against giving any assistance at all to Cardassia. Even though Bajor ultimately did become a vital component of the reconstruction efforts, the kai believed that the considerable objections still reflected poorly on their society.

  To Pralon’s right, Asarem Wadeen sat in the Premier Chair. The first minister had introduced Kira Nerys, who stood at the podium as she spoke not just to the vedeks and ministers present, but, via the comnet, to all the citizens of Bajor. Asarem, rather than Pralon, had announced Kira in an attempt to deflect criticism, preemptively leveled by some Ohalavaru, that the vedek would speak as an instrument of the kai and traditional orthodoxy. Pralon hoped and trusted that the vedek would strike an intermediate note that would placate—or at least not inflame—believers on both sides.

  Kira had begun her oration by detailing the circumstances that had led her into the Celestial Temple more than two years earlier. She then talked more gen
erally about what took place inside the wormhole once it collapsed with her inside it. The vedek did not mention traveling back in time or meeting Altek Dans. Instead, she invoked a faltering recollection, comparing her elusive memories to something many Bajorans could relate to: an Orb experience. She spoke reverentially about the abilities and benevolence of the Prophets, but without the heavy-handedness that could have upset the Ohalavaru.

  Pralon approved of everything Kira had said, and she also appreciated the manner in which the vedeks and ministers had received her words. For the most part, they listened attentively and without interruption, treating the event more like a personal discourse and less like a political speech. When Kira reached a natural stopping point by expressing her gratitude to be back home on Bajor, everybody in the Great Assembly rose to their feet to clap, including the first minister and the kai.

  Pralon waited for Kira to step back from the podium, but that didn’t happen. Instead, as the applause eased, the vedek said, “Though I am happy to be home, it has been jarring to return to a world in conflict.” The vedeks and ministers started to sit back down. In her peripheral vision, the kai saw Asarem tense, but then the first minister once more took the Premier Chair. The two leaders had discussed Kira’s appearance before the Great Assembly, and while they both believed the presentation of her story could help ease the present religious strife, they had agreed that the vedek should not directly speak about the ongoing troubles. The kai had passed that on to Kira. Pralon considered stepping forward and thanking the vedek, and in that way putting an end to whatever other remarks she might make, but she knew that she couldn’t; stifling Kira after she’d mentioned Bajor’s spiritual struggle would only aggravate the situation.

  “I have learned about what recently took place on Endalla,” Kira went on. Pralon fought to keep her expression neutral as she sat down again. She worried not only that the vedek would end up enraging one religious faction or the other, but also that she would reveal Altek’s claim of Bajor having only four moons in his time—a declaration that would surely rock the foundations of orthodoxy and bring even more turmoil to their world. “It is difficult to credit the perpetration of violence by Ohalavaru extremists on Endalla, but there is also no justification for traditional adherents to oppose an examination of their faith. It is just to condemn the terrorist attacks committed by people on either side of the issue.” Pralon noted with some relief that Kira seemed dedicated to walking the line between the two rival camps, apparently wanting to give neither any sort of rhetorical advantage.

  “I don’t feel that the so-called falsework repudiates my belief in the divinity of the Prophets,” the vedek continued. “But I am also not afraid to put that belief to the test. My views are traditional, but I have no wish to impose them on the Ohalavaru, or on anybody else. I can’t support barbarous acts or attempts to bring the Bajoran religion or its opposition low, but I defend the rights of people to seek the truth—even if that truth would contradict my own.” The kai listened to Kira with a mixture of anger and ­appreciation—anger that she had spoken at all of Endalla and the Ohalavaru, and appreciation that she did not contribute more ammunition to one side or the other.

  “I must therefore pledge my support for the first minister’s plan to send scientists and engineers to study the falsework,” Kira said, sending murmurs coursing through the Great Assembly. Before they could grow into full-throated dissent, she added, “I also support the kai’s proposal of sending along observers from the Vedek Assembly to oversee those efforts.” More voices rose, and then applause began—slowly at first, but then rising, until it spread throughout the hall. Pralon felt like exhaling loudly; Kira had avowed her own faith while championing those who disagreed with her, and she had done both in equal measure. In accomplishing the delicate balancing act, she demonstrated considerable political skill.

  Pralon waited for the ovation to end and for the vedek to conclude her remarks. Kira had said more than the kai had wanted her to, but to good ends. The approbation of her peers, both traditional and Ohalavaru, marked a worthy close to her speech.

  But then Kira said more.

  xiv

  * * *

  Kira knew she’d spoken about issues that the kai had wanted her to avoid, but she didn’t feel she’d had much of a choice. Whether or not Kai Pralon had intended her own comments to the vedek as a political threat, they’d sounded like one. It surprised Kira so much that she initially discounted the idea of the kai pressuring her. After Pralon’s decision to at least temporarily hide Altek’s news about Bajor’s moons, though, the vedek decided that she needed to take control of her own public narrative. She would not permit the kai or anybody else to use her time in the Celestial Temple, her Attainder, or any other part of her life against her.

  “As all of you know,” Kira said from the stage of the Great Assembly, “almost ten years ago, I posted the translations of Ohalu’s texts to the comnet. For that act, I was Attainted. I didn’t think that would happen, but I knew it was a possibility. I chose to do what I did because I was secure not only in my own beliefs, but in the moral conviction that it was wrong to hide such a discovery from the people.”

  Kira could have stopped there—perhaps should have stopped there—but she no longer fully trusted the kai. She did not distrust Pralon, but Kira needed to ensure the integrity and openness of the Bajoran spiritual leader in the ongoing controversy. “Because of the importance of the research efforts going forward, I have accepted the kai’s offer to visit Endalla as one of the religious observers.” Pralon had made no such offer, but with Kira’s public statement to the contrary, the kai would have to allow her participation. Perhaps Pralon would have done so anyway, but Kira wanted to be certain that she played a part in the study of the falsework—not just because of its significance, but because another possibility had occurred to her.

  “Perhaps,” she ended her address, giving voice to that possibility, “it is because of the events on Endalla that I have been returned to Bajor by the Prophets.” As Kira finally stepped back from the podium, the Great Assembly erupted in applause, which did not surprise her. Because of the mainstream nature of her beliefs, the vedeks who subscribed to traditional views would believe her invocation of the Prophets returning her to Bajor meant Their will to demonstrate Their divinity. But because she had in the past acted on behalf of the Ohalavaru, those followers of Ohalu would think the Prophets wanted her to support the revelation of their powerful but prosaic alien nature.

  For Kira’s own part, she realized that maybe she still had more work to do as the Hand of the Prophets.

  xv

  * * *

  Pralon filed rapidly through the anteroom, paying no regard to her assistant, Ranjen Linsa, rising from his desk to greet her. The kai entered her own office at the Shikina Monastery and stepped off to the side, allowing Kira to follow her in. Once the vedek had, Pralon reached for the handle and swung the old wooden door closed. Then she turned to face Kira.

  “What have you done?” Pralon asked. Though she spoke quietly, and even though she’d had time to calm down, she could not entirely prevent anger and disillusionment from infusing her tone. After the vedek’s speech, Pralon had followed her offstage and told her that they needed to talk. Kira did not appear surprised, nor should she have, given the content of her remarks to the Vedek Assembly, the Chamber of Ministers, and all of Bajor. They walked in silence to the Great Assembly’s transporter room, from which they beamed back to the monastery.

  “I’m sorry, Eminence,” Kira said, though she did not sound contrite. “I did what I thought best.”

  “Just as your former reputation would have it,” Pralon said. In the Resistance, in the Militia, aboard Deep Space 9, and even while serving in Starfleet, Kira had been known to have her own mind. That she had often been right in going off on her own, or even by disobeying orders, missed the point. “I believed that you had outgrown such behavior.”

&
nbsp; Kira inclined her head to one side, as though mystified by the kai’s comment. “Pardon me, Eminence, but you believed I had ‘outgrown’ doing the right thing?”

  Pralon’s eyes narrowed involuntarily. “I believed that your entry into the clergy, and your rapid ascent from novice to vedek, had afforded you the maturity to know that Kira Nerys is not the final arbiter of what the ‘right thing’ is.”

  “I’m not saying that I get to decide that,” Kira told her. “I’m saying that I have to follow my conscience . . . that even if it would be easier for me—or easier for you—I can’t abdicate my responsibilities.”

  Fury and frustration welled up within Pralon and compelled her to move. She circled the vedek and marched past the sitting area—where a sofa and several comfortable chairs surrounded a square wooden table—over to her desk. She moved behind it, intending to sit, but the tension she felt kept her on her feet. “Your responsibilities, Vedek Kira, include supporting the kai—not maneuvering her to do your bidding.”

  “I’m not talking about my responsibilities as a vedek,” Kira said, her own voice rising as she approached the desk. “I’m talking about my responsibilities as a Bajoran . . . not just as a person of faith, but as a citizen of our world.”

  “You make it sound as though you took action based on high ideals,” Pralon said, “but all you did was disobey my instructions and manipulate me.” A thought rose in the kai’s mind, and she struggled with whether or not she should speak it aloud. She looked down at her desk and noted the position of the large mass of blond wood that stood between her and Kira—a symbol of the obstacles that had suddenly grown between them. She decided that she wanted the vedek to understand how far apart they were. “The actions you took,” she said, “are grounds for Attainder.”