The War of the Prophets

by Judith

  unex­pected direction, and at transwarp speeds even a two-minute lead could

  translate into a ten-light-year advantage.

  Karon looked up from her holographic display as Bashir stopped beside her.

  "Any sign of pursuit?" Bashir asked her.

  "The alarms would have sounded," Karon said crisply. "In transwarp, we are

  virtually undetectable, just as the Borg are."

  Bashir nodded and looked around, hands still behind his back.

  "There is something else?" Karon asked, appearing a touch more impatient,

  exactly as Bashir and the others had hoped.

  "Well, it will be four days till we reach our objective..."

  "Correct."

  "... and I'd like to fill the time with something worthwhile."

  "I suggest meditation."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of medical re­search."

  Karon stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

  "No one's ever traveled through time in this ship," Bashir explained. "There is

  a slight possibility that mere could be some... novel physical disruptions in

  bodily processes. Indigestion. Gas. Diarrhea. Vomiting."

  "I am aware of bodily processes," Karon said coldly.

  "Well, in order for me to treat these symptoms—if they occur—I'd like to have a

  baseline medical file on

  all crew members. So I can compare their readings be­fore and after the—"

  "I am also aware of the purpose of baseline readings, Doctor. Get to the point."

  "I want to give physicals to your crew."

  Karon considered Bashir, her dark eyes unblinking.

  Bashir did his best to look innocent, then puzzled, then alarmed.

  "Have I said something wrong, Centurion?"

  "You really don't expect me to let you take my crew, one by one, into sickbay,

  where you will be free to in­ject them with drugs, neural implants, who knows

  what."

  Bashir let his mouth drop open, as in shock. "Centu­rion, no! I just want to—"

  "I know what you want to do, Doctor. This truce be­tween us is strained enough

  as it is. Don't make it worse by attempting to gain the upper hand."

  Bashir affected an air of disappointment and defeat. "If that's what you think,

  I apologize. It wasn't at all what I was—"

  "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

  Bashir acted perplexed, then spoke as if he had just had a thought. "Would it be

  all right if I ran baseline tests on just the humans and Bajorans?"

  "You may vivisect them, if it will keep you off my bridge."

  "It... won't be that drastic—but thank you." Bashir looked back at the other

  crew chairs. There were five temporal refugees among the Romulans. "I'll start

  with them, may I?"

  "Just leave."

  Bashir gave a deliberately calculated half-bow, then

  gestured to the humans and Bajorans to accompany him to sickbay.

  The Romulan standing guard at the turbolift alcove immediately questioned the

  fact that the refugees were leaving, but Centurion Karon instructed him to let

  the doctor proceed with his patients.

  Bashir and his party entered the lift Bashir nodded at the guard and smiled

  warmly. The guard turned away with a grunt of disapproval.

  Then Bashir completed the final, most important act of his deception. As the

  lift doors began to close, he reached out his hand to make them open again,

  stepped out into the alcove, and firmly grasped the edges of the ship's

  dedication plaque and pulled.

  He felt as if he had sliced open half his fingers, but Nog had been right. The

  metal plaque released from its mag connectors with a pop.

  The Romulan guard turned in time to see Bashir step back into the lift with the

  gleaming metal plate.

  "We're going to make you a new one," Bashir said. "So it says Alth'Indor."

  The guard frowned but made no move to stop them as the lift doors closed a

  second time.

  Bashir kept his smile in place until he felt the jolt of the lift car beginning

  to move. He was no longer star­tled by it, now that Nog had explained why the

  damp­ening fields had been tuned to a slow response time.

  When they had descended four decks, Bashir tapped his commbadge. "We're on our

  way to sickbay. I have all the patients."

  A moment later, Worf's voice said, "Acknowledged."

  Bashir grinned, and this time he meant it.

  When the lift stopped on deck 8, Bashir rushed out,

  heading for engineering, leaving his confused patients to follow on their own.

  One of them even called out that this wasn't the deck for sickbay.

  Bashir burst into engineering, hoping he was in time.

  He was. Just.

  On the systems wall a large display showed a schematic of the Phoenix, all three

  kilometers of her, a sleek shape most resembling a pumpkin seed bristling with

  transwarp pods on its aft hulls, ventral and dorsal.

  "Here goes," Nog said, with a tense nod at Bashir.

  He tapped some controls on the main engineering table. Instantly, a set of

  system displays turned red and the computer voice said, "Warning: Initiating

  multivec-tor attack mode while in—" Nog silenced the voice with a sharp jab at

  the controls.

  Also at the main engineering table, Jadzia looked up in alarm. "Would they hear

  that on the bridge?"

  "Doesn't matter," Nog said quickly as his fingers flew over the controls.

  "They're not going anywhere."

  On the schematic, Bashir saw all the turbolift shafts turn red.

  Then a communications screen opened on the table and a holographic image of

  Centurion Karon took shape. "Captain Nog!" she shouted. "You will cease your

  attempts to override bridge authority and return the ship's dedication plaque at

  once!"

  "Actually," Nog muttered, "that's exactly what I'm not going to do." He held a

  finger over one final, flash­ing red control. "Hold on to your lobes, everyone,"

  he said, then pressed it.

  Instantly the engineering workroom filled with sirens and flashing lights and on

  the main schematic Bashir

  watched as a small section of the forward ventral hull become outlined in red.

  "Partial multivector mode established," the computer reported. "Prepare for

  bridge-segment jettison."

  The deck shuddered, as the red-outlined section of the schematic suddenly

  vanished from the board.

  "All control transferred to battle bridge," the com­puter said.

  The computer was immediately followed by Worf's triumphant voice. "We are the

  Phoenix once again."

  Bashir cheered along with Jadzia. Jake pounded Nog on the back.

  Then Worf asked over the comm link, "What are your orders, Captain Nog?"

  The doctor heard the passion in the Ferengi's swift reply. "We're going to

  Bajor."

  Bashir relaxed.

  The universe had one last chance.

  CHAPTER 24

  weyoun stepped our onto the balcony of the temple in the center of B'hala and

  held out his arms as if to show off his new robes of intense, saturated red.

  "The blood of innocents?" Sisko asked.

  "The flame of faith," Weyoun answered.

  Sisko turned back to B'hala, concentrating on the heat of the morning sun, the

  dry scent of dust, and the silence.

  The silence was absolute.

  This last day of existence, as reports of
riots on other worlds spread across

  the subspace channels, Bajor was still. Its population had long since been

  winnowed by expulsion and execution until it was only a home for believers. And

  this day, even the believers had been sent home, to pray and to wait for their

  Ascension.

  Sisko wondered how many Bajorans were huddled in the stone buildings within his

  view. He wondered how many were whispering the prayers of the Pah-wraiths

  and how many were clinging fearfully to the prayers of the Prophets, trusting

  without trust in one last miracle, one last tear as the Prophets wept for their

  people.

  "Still hoping there might be a bomb or two hidden down there?" Weyoun asked, as

  he came to stand by Sisko's side as if, somehow, they were equals.

  "It would be a nice surprise," Sisko said.

  "Ah, but if Starfleet's brave chrononauts had man­aged to plant them and fool

  our sensors, they would have gone off by now, don't you think?"

  "Maybe Starfleet sank a planet buster near the core," Sisko said, baring his

  teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Take out the whole planet any time now."

  "Benjamin, you know that's not Starfleet's style. De­stroy an entire world, just

  to stop one man?"

  "You're not a man, Weyoun. But I am glad to hear the lies have stopped.

  Starfleet wouldn't destroy a world. Wouldn't start a war. Wouldn't spread lies."

  "I wouldn't advise you to take that as a sign of moral rectitude. You should

  look at it as I do: as a sign of their weakness. Your weakness, Benjamin."

  "Starfleet's not weak," Sisko said. "There's still time to stop you."

  Weyoun's laugh was derisive. "In twenty hours? No. Every attempt has failed—and

  failed miserably. Oper­ation Looking Glass? That pathetic attempt to attack us

  in the Mirror Universe—a fiasco. Operation Phoenix? It literally fell apart—a

  Grigari ship found the bridge of the Phoenix adrift near the Vulcan fron­tier,

  filled with a crew of terrified Romulans. Don't you see, Benjamin? You people

  wasted too much en­ergy fighting each other. That is your greatest weak­ness. No

  self-control."

  Sisko refused to be provoked. "Twenty hours. Twenty seconds. I won't give up."

  "And that's your weakness, too—refusing to accept the inevitable."

  Sisko concentrated on the smooth texture of the worn rock that formed the

  balcony's edge. This couldn't end. This wouldn't end. "You will be stopped,

  Weyoun."

  "Did I mention Operation Guardian?" Weyoun asked.

  Sisko shrugged, uninterested.

  "Fascinating plan. A sure sign of the sheer despera­tion rampant in what was

  left of the Federation." Wey­oun leaned forward to be sure Sisko could both see

  and hear him. "It called for a combined force of Starfleet vessels and Borg

  cubeships! Can you imagine? The Federation and the Borg acting together?"

  Sisko was dismissive of Weyoun and his gloating. "What of it? It's our way to

  make our enemies our al­lies. Always has been. Always will be."

  "The combined force—fifty, sixty ships at least— were trying to regain a small

  planetoid with a strange alien device built into it. Have you ever heard of the

  Guardian of Forever?"

  Surprised, Sisko studied Weyoun. That might work, he thought.

  Weyoun smiled. "But they failed, of course. The Gri­gari were ready for them. To

  Starfleet's credit, or perhaps it was the Borg's—it doesn't really matter which"

  the Vorta said, "the battle lasted for days. And then, when that noble Admiral

  Janeway finally managed to get her troops on the ground and within sight of the

  device—"

  Sisko closed his eyes, willing Weyoun to vanish. Will­ing Bajor to be consumed

  by a bomb planted a billion years ago. Anything to end Weyoun's vicious

  prattling.

  "—You really should pay attention to this, Ben­jamin ... I assure you it is

  quite amusing. Just at that moment when Janeway thought she had won—knew she had

  won—the Grigari activated a singularity bomb." Weyoun snapped his fingers.

  "Instant black hole. Borg. Starfleet. The Guardian. Even the Grigari. Sucked out

  of the universe just like that. A taste of what's to come for all of us, hmm?"

  "I could throw myself off this balcony," Sisko said, looking down on the silent

  city far below.

  "You could," Weyoun agreed. "In fact, I'm a little surprised you haven't tried

  it by now. Don't let me stop you."

  "If I fall and die, would you just bring me back to life? Or would I just not

  fall?"

  "Why not try it? And I'll surprise you."

  Sisko turned around, his back to the city, leaned against the balcony wall.

  'Tell me, Weyoun. Do you re­ally need me here to ... to accomplish something? Or

  are you just desperate for an audience?"

  Red sparks danced in Weyoun's eyes. "Oh, I do need you, Benjamin. Two Temples.

  Two groups of Prophets. Two Emissaries. It all has to be brought into balance."

  "How?" The question Sisko had wanted answered for so long hung in the air

  between them.

  Weyoun looked up at the brilliant blue sky and to Sisko, it was almost as if the

  Vorta were staring directly into Bajor's sun. "Oh, the Temples are easy. And

  when they come together, the Prophets will know what to do. But the role of the

  Emissaries... you know, that's a puzzle."

  Sisko tensed, alert to the first admission from Wey­oun that his power and

  knowledge were not absolute.

  "There's something that's not written in your texts?" Sisko asked carefully.

  Weyoun shook his head. "That's what's so intrigu­ing, Benjamin. Everything is in

  the texts. Even your name—the Sisko. Your discovery of B'hala. The False

  Reckoning on your old station. The fall of the Gateway. Your return in time for

  the joining of the Temples.

  "The texts make it very clear that whoever wrote them knew about you. And that

  you are an absolute re­quirement for the Ascension to take place as prophe­sied.

  But... just before the end... the text stops—not as if there's a missing

  page—the narrative simply ends, as if whoever saw this future didn't see its end

  either."

  "Then maybe it doesn't," Sisko said.

  Weyoun waved a hand in the air. "Admittedly there are a few theological loose

  ends. But, really, physics is physics. Whatever you mink about what might be in

  them, when those two wormholes come together these eleven dimensions of

  space-time around us will unravel instantaneously and irretrievably."

  "What kind of god would want that fate for cre­ation?" Sisko asked.

  As if in answer to Sisko's question, an intense red glow flared and then faded

  hi Weyoun's eyes. Then the Vorta reached out to take his arm.

  "What do you want of me?" Sisko demanded, draw­ing back.

  Weyoun smiled and shook his head. Then firmly holding on to Sisko, he tapped his

  chest as if something were hidden beneath his robes.

  "Two to beam up," he said.

  B'hala dissolved into light as once again, Sisko was transported.

  CHAPTER 25

  the phoenix ripped through a realm of space not even Zefram Cochrane had

  imagined.

  Her engines had the power to change the course of stars and turn planets into

  glittering nebulae of atomic gas just by passing too close to
them. But that

  power was contained and channeled by technol­ogy—technology assimilated from a

  thousand differ­ent cultures, from trillions of different individuals,

  representing as it did the sum total of Borg knowl­edge.

  But now, only seventeen beings rode within the Phoenix as she began her final

  run. Fifteen of her pas­sengers were already displaced in time. Two others were

  willing to face the same risks.

  The ship's destination was fifty light-years away. But with the incomprehensible

  power she controlled, she would reach it within the hour.

  I

  And that hour might be the last the beings within her would ever know.

  "Come with us," Jake said.

  But Nog shook his head, his attention riveted on the main viewer of the battle

  bridge. "The Phoenix has to end up on Syladdo, fourth moon of Ba'Syladon," he

  said.

  Without taking his eyes from the viewer, Nog bran­dished the gleaming dedication

  plaque he was holding. "Along with this."

  "Nog, you can't do this!" Jake said, alarmed by his friend's intentions. "The

  wreckage wasn't found until after we disappeared. You won't be changing the

  time­line."

  Nog stared straight ahead, undeterred. "If the wreck­age isn't there, the

  timeline will be changed. I've gone over it with Jadzia and Dr. Bashir."

  "Then..." Jake struggled to find the right words, Ae right argument. "Then

  program the computer to crash the damn thing!"

  "No, Jake. There's no guarantee the computers will function after the slingshot

  maneuver. If they need any significant time to reset themselves, the Phoenix

  could crash somewhere else in the meantime. Maybe even on Bajor. Wipe out a

  city."

  "Come on, Nog. You can't kill yourself!"

  "I don't plan to. The Romulans' charts of the crash site were very detailed. And

  as I told you before, they only found forty percent of the ship." Nog flashed a

  quick grin at Jake over his shoulder, before turning back to the viewer.

  "Remember, the Phoenix is a multi-vector ship. Not counting the bridge we

  jettisoned, that

  means two segments didn't crash. I'll be able to go anywhere. Even Erelyn IV."

  "Anywhere except home," Jake said. Because that was Nog's plan for the rest of

  them. Starfleet Intelli­gence knew that Ascendancy starships would be keep­ing

  station at the coordinates where the wormholes would open and merge. Nog was