The War of the Prophets

by Judith

  allowed to return to their present, only two end results are possible. One, Vash

  changes the past, and we will no longer exist as we are, and the billions of

  beings born in the past twenty-five years will likely never exist at all. Two,

  Vash changes the past, and in so doing she creates a new timeline while we

  remain in ours—ex­actly as it is, unchanged."

  Nog shook his head. "Think of the billions who have died in the past twenty-five

  years," he said. "Think of Earth. Of Cardassia Prime."

  T'len eyed Nog with what Nog felt could only be disappointment. "Captain Nog, in

  each generation are born a mere handful of great beings. Your Admiral Pi-card is

  surely one of them. Perhaps one other starship captain in all of Starfleet's

  history has matched his ac­complishments. But if only one example of his

  bril­liance is required, then we need look no further than Project Phoenix. To

  change history without changing our timeline is a concept as revolutionary as

  Hawking's normalization of the Heisenberg exceptions."

  Suddenly, T'len's attitude, however subtly, seemed to Nog to soften. "Even as a

  Vulcan," she said, "I do un­derstand what you are about to experience will be

  fraught with emotion. You are about to open a door to your own past But do not

  allow yourself to be trapped by it. Jean-Luc Picard has given us a true phoenix.

  Trust in him, Captain. As a Starfleet officer, you can do no less."

  'Trust me, Captain," Nog said emphatically. "I have no intention of doing

  anything else."

  Nog's eyes deliberately met and held the Vulcan's as steadily as if he were

  negotiating difficult delivery dates with a recalcitrant supplier. And he was

  certain that Captain T'len in no way detected the lie he had just brazenly

  uttered.

  It's good to be a Ferengi, Nog thought proudly, and not for the first time in

  his long Starfleet career. His peo­ple's four-lobed brains were resistant to

  most forms of telepathy, and negotiation skills continued to be taught to

  Ferengi youngsters at an age when most other humanoid babies were only learning

  to say their first words.

  T'len nodded once as she led the way to the turbolift, and they rode the rest of

  the way to the conference room in silence. It was the Vulcan way. And Nog was

  glad of it

  In the command conference room of Starbase 53, Jake Sisko knew he was the most

  nervous of all the temporal refugees from the Defiant. Which wasn't to say mat

  tension wasn't high for all the other survivors— officers and civilians, humans

  and Bajorans alike.

  At first, this trip into the future had been just an ad­venture. High-risk and

  demanding, but when hadn't space exploration been that way?

  But that had all changed only hours after he and the other survivors on the

  Augustus were shown the suspicious briefing tape. Right after viewing that

  tape, he and the others had been called to another briefing, this time at the

  request of Worf and Jadzia. The revelations in that second gathering had

  con­cerned the past twenty-five years' worth of history in this timeline that

  they had missed. Suddenly, all that had been left unsaid in the first briefing

  came into focus for Jake.

  In the bluntest of terms, what the people of this time faced was nothing less

  than the impending end of the universe.

  Until the moment Jadzia and Worf and Captain T'len had related this incredible

  news, almost every pair of captives on board the Augustus had already been

  en­gaged in planning an escape or an attempt to seize con­trol of the

  surprisingly deficient ship. Because Worf and Jadzia had been first to take

  action, they had been the first to learn the truth.

  Now no one was planning to escape. Except maybe Vash.

  What appeared to be holding the others together at this moment, in Jake's view,

  was the shared opinion that if the end of the universe were approaching, it was

  because of what had been done and not done by all pres­ent during the last days

  of Deep Space 9. Although no one was talking about this upsetting conclusion,

  Jake felt certain that everyone believed in its truth.

  Which meant in a way, he realized, that the fifteen temporal refugees from his

  time were now feeling re­sponsible for everything that had happened in this time

  during the past twenty-five years, and which was now leading to disaster. How

  could they not stay here, in this time, to do everything they could to try and

  reverse what they had set in motion?

  "So, you know this big shot?" Vash suddenly asked him.

  Jake knew his uncertain smile betrayed his nervous­ness. He had always known

  that Nog would do well in Starfleet, and he was gratified to learn that his

  child­hood Ferengi Mend was a captain now. But he was having some difficulty

  thinking of Nog as a "big shot." And it was odder still to think that in just a

  few mo­ments the doors were going to open and his old friend was going to step

  through them. Twenty-jive years older.

  "He's—he was—my best friend," Jake told Vash.

  "Really." Vash ran her hands along her newly sup­plied gray-and-black uniform.

  The gesture was clearly meant to be provocative.

  "Nice uniforms, hmm?" she said with a smile, as his eyes involuntarily followed

  the seductive movement of her hands.

  Jake snapped his eyes back to Vash's face with an ef­fort. All fifteen refugees

  had been given Starfleet uni­forms of the day to wear. The Starfleet officers

  among them had received their equivalent rank and specialty markings. The

  Bajorans and civilians had been given a variant of the uniform that reminded

  Jake of what cadets used to wear. Instead of being mostly black, the main

  uniform was a ribbed gray fabric, leaving only the shoulder section black. The

  supply officer had ex­plained that the uniform identified them as civilian

  spe­cialists within the Fleet, subject to Fleet regulations.

  Jake had been surprised that the uniforms were is­sued from a storeroom and not

  a replicator station, and even more surprised that nothing fit as well as it

  should—though he supposed that was to be expected

  when clothes weren't replicated with the benefit of a somatic topography scan.

  But whoever had given Vash her specialist uniform must have expended some extra

  effort in determining her size, because to Jake it fit her to perfection. And

  she obviously knew it.

  "Sorry," Jake stammered, having no idea what to say next "I... yeah, Nog's my

  best friend." What an idiot lam, bethought.

  "How old are you?" Vash asked with a frank grin.

  "I'll be twenty next month."

  "Nineteen... what do you think your father would say if we..." Vash let her

  voice trail off suggestively.

  Is there even a chance? Jake thought in amazement. He, like everyone else who

  knew them, had assumed that Vash and Dr. Bashir were ... He abruptly stopped

  that line of thought and shifted direction. "Um, I... uh, dated a dabo girl

  once. A couple of years back. That was okay with my dad... he even made us

  din­ner."

  Vash studied him as if she were really listening to him. "A dabo girl. How

  educational for you."

  Jake nodded, watching her carefully for any s
igns mat she was making fun of him.

  It actually had been, but not in the way Vash meant. Or did she—

  "And after dinner," Vash continued, "was your date arrested, or did she just

  leave the station?"

  Jake frowned. "Uh, Mardah left, yeah. She was ac­cepted at the Regulus Science

  Academy."

  "Let me guess. Yam father wrote her a great letter of recommendation."

  Jake sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to—"

  "It's okay, Jake. We'll be friends. We'll go to... din-

  ner a couple of years from now. We won't invite your father."

  Jake nodded, half-disappointed, half-relieved, then suddenly added, "A couple of

  years from now.... So you think we're going to make it through this?"

  Vash pointed to someone standing behind Jake. "Don't ask me. Ask him."

  Jake turned to see whom Vash meant. A Ferengi standing in an open doorway beside

  Captain T'len. A Ferengi who looked like Nog, but wasn't

  This man was about five kilos heavier, with even larger earlobes, and his face

  seemed drawn, the brown skin weathered and wrinkled around the careworn, sunken

  eyes and—

  "Jake," Nog said in the voice Jake remembered from only four days ago on DS9,

  "it is me."

  Jake suddenly felt even more uncomfortable than when Vash had teased him into

  staring at her. He just knew that a look of shock had swept over his face, with

  his realization that this grizzled veteran was his friend, and that his friend

  was now so... so old. In the waves of emotions that broke over him, the

  strongest was one of sorrow. For all the time passed and not shared.

  "Nog...." Jake couldn't say anything else. His throat was suddenly swollen shut.

  But Nog shook his head as if in understanding, and stepped forward and hugged

  him strongly, slapping his back, then looked up at him, beaming. "Just as I

  re­member you. Not a day older. Not a day..."

  Jake saw Nog's old-young eyes begin to glisten as if filling with tears. But

  then his friend looked away, bared his artfully twisted fangs and called out,

  "Dr. Bashir! Commander Dax!"

  Jake broke away from Nog as his friend greeted all the others, the Ferengi's

  salutations ending with an awkward pause as he came face-to-face with Worf.

  "Commander," Nog said formally, "Starfleet has missed you. And so have I."

  "You are a captain," Worf replied gravely. "You do honor to your family and to

  your father."

  And then Starfleet formality between Klingon and Ferengi broke down as Nog

  spread his arms again and Worf embraced the diminutive officer in a bearhug that

  Jake knew could fell a sehlat.

  Finally Worf released his grip, and Nog dropped a few centimeters to the floor,

  then tugged down on his jacket and turned to face everyone. He cleared his

  throat noisily. "My friends ... oh, my friends ... I al­most don't know where to

  begin."

  But Jadzia did. "Captain T'len," the Trill officer said, "has been very

  efficient in bringing us up to date. We understand the danger threatening...

  everything. And we know that you're here to make a proposal to us about how we

  can help Starfleet destroy Bajor."

  Jake grimaced. Intellectually, he knew he was in a different time, with a much

  different Starfleet. But emotionally, he was still having a very hard time

  under­standing how anyone from Starfleet could say some­thing like that. His

  thoughts flew back to when he was a small child in San Francisco and his mother

  and his father had first explained the Prime Directive to him. He remembered his

  favorite interactive holobooks, in which Plotter and Trevis had helped children

  discover the need for the Prime Directive in the Forest of For­ever. But in this

  future—Nog's future—it was as if the Prime Directive had never been issued.

  "Still," Jake heard Nog say to Jadzia, "I can imagine how strange, even

  upsetting all of this must seem to you."

  "We are Starfleet officers," Worf said simply. "What is your proposal?"

  Nog immediately turned to Captain T'len, and now she stepped all the way into

  the conference room so that the doors to the corridor slid shut Then she entered

  a code into the wall panel, and Jake saw a security condition sta­tus light on

  the panel begin to glow. He had once thought that DS9 had become overly

  militarized during the course of the Dominion War. But what had happened to the

  station in no way compared with the battle conditions under which the Augustus

  and Starbase 53 operated.

  Nog wasted no time in beginning. "The art of mak­ing fancy speeches has declined

  in the past few years," he said crisply, "so I will state my proposition

  plainly. You do not belong in this time. Starfleet will not at­tempt to send you

  back to your own time. However, given your situation, Starfleet is willing to

  allow who­ever among you wishes to volunteer, a chance to make another journey

  in time."

  "That's not possible," Jake blurted out. He looked at Jadzia. "Didn't you say we

  couldn't establish a second Feynman curve from this time?"

  Jadzia nodded to him, but then turned back to look at Nog. It was obvious to

  Jake that she was interested hi what more Nog would say to them.

  The Ferengi smiled at him. "Jake, I... don't remem­ber you as a scientist," he

  said.

  "Jake and I have had discussions recently," Jadzia said quickly, before Jake

  could respond, "about the possibilities of going back."

  "I see," Nog said. He paused, a thoughtful expression

  on his face. "Then—hi terms of your using a different time-travel technique to

  return to your own time—yes, that's right. You could not slingshot around a

  suitable star and expect to survive a transition back to your starting point in

  2375."

  "So," Jadzia said, "you're obviously proposing a transition to a different

  time."

  "Correct," Nog agreed.

  "But doesn't that entail the same risk to us?" Jadzia asked.

  Nog shot a sidelong look at Captain T'len, and Jake could see that twenty-five

  years older or not, his "old" friend was nervous about what he was going to say

  next. "Not if the temporal length of your second Feyn­man curve is sufficiently

  greater than your initial start­ing point."

  Jake didn't have the slightest idea what that meant. He looked to Jadzia for

  some explanation. She was nodding her head as if she understood, even if the

  frown on her face indicated to Jake that she did not agree with Nog's reasoning.

  "For what you're suggesting, Nog—Captain—the temporal length of our second

  transition would have to be longer than our first by a factor of..." Jadzia

  looked up at the conference room's ceiling, as if performing a complex

  calculation in her head.

  "A factor of three," Dr. Bashir unexpectedly said.

  Jake felt his stomach tighten. That couldn't be right •Twenty-five thousand

  years?" He stared at Nog in dis­belief.

  But his best friend merely shrugged. "That's exactly right"

  Now all the temporal refugees around Jake were ex-

  changing looks of unease. Murmurs of protest began to fill the Starbase 53

  conference room.

  "It's called Project Phoenix," Nog said, waving aside their concerns. "Created

  by Admiral Jean-Luc Pi-card."


  The name alone brought silence to the group.

  "Jean-Luc?" Vash asked. "Is he still... ?"

  "Yes," Nog confirmed. "He's frail. In poor health. But... he has given us hope

  that the Ascendancy can be stopped before ... before it's too late."

  "Even assuming you have the technology to send us back twenty-five thousand

  years—" Jadzia began.

  "And we do," Nog said, but Jadzia kept talking.

  "—any change we make in the timeline to prevent the Ascendancy from arising will

  either erase this cur­rent reality, or create a parallel one, leaving this one

  un­changed and still facing destruction."

  "Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Nog said tri­umphantly. "There is a third

  solution. Admiral Picard's solution. A way to go back into the past and make a

  change that will not take effect until after the ship has departed, thus

  preserving our timeline."

  Dr. Bashir suddenly laughed. The unexpected sound was almost shocking to Jake,

  as was the observation he so clearly stated next. "A time bomb. You want us to

  place a literal time bomb."

  And Nog confirmed it.

  "Basically, that is correct," the Ferengi said. "In the past five years,

  Starfleet has expended enormous effort on the two critical components of the

  admiral's plan. The first is the U.S.S. Phoenix—the largest Starfleet vessel

  ever built in your time or ours. The second is the deep-time charges, made of a

  brand-new ultrastable

  trilithium resin together with advanced timekeeping mechanisms of incredible

  accuracy."

  "So we use the Phoenix to go back twenty-five millen­nia," Bashir said, "plant

  the deep-time charges on Bajor, and some time after we leave for the past, the

  charges detonate. Presumably destroying the Ascendancy."

  Like everyone in the room, Jake watched and listened as his best friend outlined

  the unbelievable mission.

  "—And also destroying Kai Weyoun, the Red Orbs of Jalbador, and the center of

  Ascendancy rule," Nog said.

  In the utter silence that followed Nog's list of targets, one of the Bajoran

  civilians gasped, and the following instant Jake understood why. "B'hala...,"

  the civilian said. B'hala was the most sacred city on Bajor. It had vanished

  from Bajoran knowledge twenty thousand years ago, until Jake's father discovered

  it buried deep beneath the Ir'Abehr Shield.

  "Again, correct," Nog said. "Admiral Picard's first love is archaeology, and he