“Most of us here today, even the ranjens, have experienced the power of the Prophets through the Orbs. The Orbs represent a tangible, tactile, physical proof that there is something beyond Bajor with a power greater than ours, a power to shape reality, to destroy, and to create.
“But we leave these Orb experiences with our own personal interpretations of what the Prophets are trying to tell us. Never have They handed us specific guidelines, and yet all too often, when we come away from the Orbs, our interpretation of our communion with the Prophets becomes Bajor’s received wisdom. We use what we feel from the Prophets to guide our world. We act as the translators of Their wishes.”
Solis paused for a moment, clearing his throat. He could see Bellis glaring at him, muttering under his mustache. He pressed on. “As we join the Federation, we combine with more than one hundred fifty other worlds, and hundreds of billions of people, all of whom have their own belief systems and faiths. We are not proselytizing to them about the Prophets because we recognize that their beliefs differ from ours. From their perspectives, their own beliefs are just as valid as our own. And truthfully, in this wonderful, vast galaxy of limitless possibilities, who among us can say that the gods of Andorians and Betazoids and humans are not as real as we know the Prophets to be?
“So now, in this time of joining and openness, the political and religious leaders of Bajor have many pressing concerns. We are standing at a physical and metaphysical crossroads, and we must choose which way to lead our people. Our animosity toward Cardassia may finally be at an end, but will we continue down the path of peace, or will we instead allow our grief and anger and Occupation-era grudges to block our way? And our faith in the Prophets is being questioned by those who propose that the prophecies contained in the Book of Ohalu should be given credence and legitimacy. Will we allow our people to question their beliefs, to question the Prophets, to emerge with their faith changed or renewed?”
Bellis stood, interrupting him. “We know that you lead this so-called Ohalavaru movement, Solis. Your liberal platitudes may have a place on the street, or in your own gatherings, but they are heresy in this hallowed place.”
“Is your faith in the Prophets so fragile, Vedek Bellis, that you cannot hear the words of others whose opinions might diverge from your own?” Solis’s voice remained firm, and he smiled beneficently at the vedeks arrayed about him in the semicircular chamber. Bellis sat down heavily, harumphing as he came to rest.
Solis continued. “I know one person whose faith in the Prophets is strong, perhaps as strong as any of ours…and certainly stronger than some of ours. Her pagh is incandescent, her actions always, always governed by her feelings for the Bajoran people. I have not always agreed with those actions over the years, and I know that many of you have had your squabbles with her as well. And yet, through it all, her belief and her faith and her intent have always been noble.
“Kira Nerys is one of the best of us. I am humbled to know her. And I don’t find it at all surprising that the Emissary and his wife hold her in such high regard. Weeks ago, the wife of the Emissary all but cast Vedek Yevir out of her house, even as she welcomed Kira in her home to stay and recuperate from deep wounds. These are wounds which we have inflicted upon her, injuries to her standing among Bajorans, the military, and the faithful. We have Attainted her, cast her out of our faith.”
Solis brought his hands together in front of himself, clasping them in a gesture of supplication. “This overly harsh sanction is an outrage that shocks the conscience of our world. It threatens to divide our people more than the words of Ohalu, which Kira liberated, ever could.”
He paused, then delivered his final thoughts. “I implore you, my fellow Vedeks, to rescind the Attainder of Kira Nerys. I know that she has not lost faith in the Prophets. Please don’t allow the people of Bajor to lose their faith in the Prophets—or in us—because of our unjustly punitive actions.”
Solis sat down, suddenly weary. Around the chamber, he saw many contemplative faces. A few heads were bobbing up and down in agreement, while others shook in furious negation.
With a deep intake of breath, Vedek Eran called for a vote.
As Mika entered the room, she saw the Assembly’s decision etched clearly on Solis’s careworn face. The flickering candlelight reflected in the tears that rolled slowly down his cheeks.
“Uncle, you did your best,” she said, crouching down near him. “All who heard your words were moved.”
He snorted, wiping at his cheek. “Not moved enough, it seems. Nor necessarily in the right direction. I fear that my words may have deepened the divide.”
“No,” she said. When he looked away, she grasped his jaw in her hand, forcing him to look at her. “No,” she repeated, more emphatically. “You spoke eloquently and truthfully. They are the ones who have chosen to estrange those of us who question. If there truly is a divide, then it is the Vedek Assembly majority that has torn it wider.”
He sniffed, and managed a weak smile. “At least the vote was a fraction closer this time.”
She smiled too, and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “Yes, it was. And perhaps if the full Assembly had been present, you would have swayed more of them. But nowhere near enough, I fear. Vedeks can be a stubborn lot.”
He made no argument with her gentle dig. “Some of the others will change their minds in time,” he said, nodding. “After their fear of us subsides. After we have been in the Federation for a while and the majority finally realizes that Bajor has not fallen from its orbit because of our presence.”
Mika’s child toddled into the room through the open doorway and cooed, smiling and running over to throw his arms around Solis’s legs.
Solis lifted the half-Cardassian child and hugged him back, looking over the boy’s head into Mika’s eyes. “I fear that by the time they change their minds, it will be too late. I won’t let the matter drop, child. I will bring the colonel’s cause up at the next Assembly session. And the one after that, and the one after that.”
Mika shook her head. “That approach will take years. I owe Kira my life, and the life of my son. And we both owe Kira for preserving the prophecies of Ohalu. Now is the time to act directly. To do something decisive to let the vedeks and ministers know that the people are not willing to allow Kira to be cast aside.”
Solis set the boy down and placed a hand on Mika’s shoulder. “Please, don’t do anything foolish. You have a child to consider now. Not to mention the rest of the Ohalavaru, who are in sore need of leaders.”
“I believe that the Prophets have already decided whose actions are foolish.” She scooped up her son, then kissed Solis on the forehead.
“Don’t worry, uncle. What needs to be done will be done. I owe Kira and the Prophets no less.”
Mika turned and walked out of the room, her retreating form casting long shadows across the candle-lit wall.
17
Chief medical officer’s personal log, stardate 53579.0
I probably shouldn’t be thinking of any of these recordings as “medical logs” anymore, since I can’t call myself a doctor any longer. Not really. But I know that people trust doctors. They place a lot of faith in them, and faith can help people do whatever they have to get done. So if it will help Ezri and Nog and everybody else aboard this ship to get through whatever hell is coming, I’m willing to try to swallow this fear that makes me quake whenever I think about it. I’m willing to play along, and let everyone pretend I’m the wise, competent doctor, even though I might as well be little Jules stitching up poor Kukalaka’s leg with sewing thread. I’m willing to keep at it, until the fear finally consumes me. Or whatever’s left of me.
In the meantime, I’ll be thankful that Sacagawea doesn’t really need a doctor anymore. And I’ll hope to God that nobody gets sick or injured and ends up really needing one.
After Nog had laid out the bare bones of his plan, then left the medical bay to prepare his detailed briefing for the senior staff, Ezri decid
ed that she couldn’t wait any longer to tell Commander Vaughn exactly what was on her mind. She began by asking to speak to him privately in his ready room. He nodded his assent, but his impassive face betrayed no emotion. Leaving Krissten to keep Julian occupied with another “examination” of their D’Naali guest, Ezri and Vaughn walked down the corridor in silence.
Once the ready room door had closed behind them, he turned to her, his face hard and determined.
“No,” Vaughn said.
Surprised, Ezri took a quick step back. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say first?”
“It’s not hard to guess what’s on your mind. And before you make your request, I want you to know that the answer will be a firm ‘no.’I will not relieve you of duty.”
“Even though lifetimes of expertise have literally leaked right out of me.”
“I need you as my first officer. Now more than ever, you’ve got to be my steady right hand.”
Frustration and despair constricted Ezri’s temples. It felt as though her spots were on too tight. “Sir, without Dax I’m no good to you. I can’t contribute anything to the mission. I might even put it in danger.”
Vaughn sat on the desk and stared up into a corner. His eyes seemed focused on something light-years away. As the silence stretched, she expected him to blow up at her, the way Benjamin Sisko had when she had tried to transfer from DS9 after her apparent failure to help Mr. Garak cope with his claustrophobia during the war. She’d been wrong then. But the circumstances had been very different.
That day, she’d still had Dax.
When Vaughn finally spoke, his voice was incongruously gentle. “You couldn’t be more wrong, Lieutenant.”
“But I can’t help Nog and Shar get around the blockade,” she said, taken aback by his softened demeanor.
He made a dismissive gesture, waving her protests away. “That matters a lot less than you’d think.”
She scowled. “With all due respect, sir, we’re not going to get past those Nyazen ships with kind wishes.”
“Not entirely,” he said with a chuckle. “Kind wishes and a duranium truncheon usually work better than kind wishes do all by themselves. But that’s not what we’re really talking about here.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Your experiences. Not Dax’s. Yours. The ones that you, Ezri Tigan, have had while wearing that command uniform. The expertise you’ve gathered over the last few months belongs to you at least as much as it does to Dax. And Dax didn’t play any role at all in your Starfleet Academy training, or your career up until the end of your stint aboard the Destiny.”
Ezri paused to consider his words. “I’ll grant you that. But so much of what Ezri Dax was came from the other hosts, and their experiences.”
“Which you found valuable, right?”
She was starting to think he was deliberately trying to goad her. “Of course I did. Joined Trills always integrate the personalities of the previous hosts into their symbioses. At least the healthy ones do. And they come to depend on them.”
He folded his arms. “And why do you suppose that is, Lieutenant?”
“Because…” she stopped, finally understanding where this was leading. “Because each host brings something unique to the symbiosis.”
He offered a paternal smile. “Each host. Not just Lela, or Audrid, or Curzon, or Jadzia. That list of unique worthies includes Ezri, too. The way I see it, the most critical part of a Trill joining isn’t the slug in your belly—it’s the walking, talking person who joins with it, nurtures it, and gives it the means to interact with the rest of the universe.”
Shame wrestled with insecurity inside her. “I understand what you’re saying, sir. And I appreciate it. But what if I still can’t measure up without Dax? Let’s face it, solving my problem is going to be a little harder than handing me some gadget I no longer know how to use and kidding everyone that I’m still able to pull my own weight around here. That might work for Julian at the moment, but—”
Vaughn stepped down hard on her words. “Julian needs to keep occupied for the sake of his own morale. You need to keep occupied for the sake of everybody else’s.”
She shook her head in confusion. “I’m not following you.”
“We’re talking about esprit de corps, Lieutenant. Morale. Specifically, that of Nog, Shar, Tenmei, T’rb, Cassini, Permenter, Hunter, Candlewood, Leishman, VanBuskirk, and whoever the hell else it’ll take to finally get us inside that artifact. If you drop out of sight because of your own perceived shortcomings, how do you think that will affect their work?”
Ezri’s mouth fell open. She hadn’t considered that. And the fact that she hadn’t considered that seemed to her a good argument in favor of removing her name from the active duty roster.
But she also understood that he was right.
“So you’re staying put, Lieutenant,” he continued, his gaze and voice hardening back into tempered steel. “That’s a direct order. You are still capable of following orders, aren’t you?”
Her despair began to abate as she came to a realization: Her ability to follow orders was perhaps the only thing about herself in which she still had any real confidence.
She offered him a small wry smile, sensing that Vaughn’s gift for saying precisely the right thing at exactly the right time rivaled even that of Benjamin Sisko. Perhaps such bluntly honest and uncompromising counseling skills were one of the chief prerequisites for a career in command.
“Request permission to return to my post, Captain. I need to get ready for the blockade briefing.”
Though Vaughn’s craggy face remained hard, Ezri saw the warmth in his piercing blue eyes. At the same time, she felt tears of gratitude beginning to well up in her own.
“Permission granted, Lieutenant,” he said. “Dismissed.”
Barely an hour after he had left the medical bay with the essence of his novel blockade-busting plan percolating in his thoughts, Nog began to feel confident that his scheme might actually work. He only hoped that Commander Vaughn would have as much faith in the idea as he did.
He also found that concentrating on that hope helped him avoid dwelling on the consequences of success—consequences of which he was reminded every time he put his weight squarely on his regenerated left leg.
Regardless, when Vaughn scheduled a technical briefing for the senior staff at 0800 the next morning, Nog felt that he was ready, his fears and misgivings notwithstanding.
Nog strode into the mess hall, where Vaughn, Ezri, and Shar were arranging themselves around the room’s largest table. Also present was Dr. Bashir, who sat with his hands folded in his lap, conspicuously silent amid the low conversational murmur that filled the room. Though he was shaved and his hair was combed, he still had a hollow, haunted look about him that made Nog shiver inwardly. The doctor glanced occasionally toward Ezri, who was seated at his right, and at Sacagawea, who occupied a specially constructed chair on his left. The towering, slender alien seemed intensely curious, swiveling its great head in every direction as though taking great care to miss nothing. As he took a seat almost directly across the table from Sacagawea, Nog wondered how much of the proceedings the alien would understand—and exactly what Commander Vaughn believed their D’Naali guide could contribute to the briefing.
Seated near Tenmei, Shar, and science specialist T’rb, Bowers stared with obvious unease across the table at Sacagawea. Turning toward the head of the table, he addressed Vaughn. “Captain, are you sure it’s appropriate for Sacagawea to attend this meeting?”
A look of sadness crossed Vaughn’s features, then vanished behind the façade of command. “I do, Lieutenant. Our guest requires Dr. Bashir’s constant attention.” Vaughn looked significantly in Bowers’s direction, and the tactical officer immediately seemed to grasp his meaning.
It’s really the other way around, Nog realized a moment later. Having the alien nearby must be keeping the doctor calm. Trying not to stare, he watched as Bashir placed a h
and on the table. It was impossible not to notice the hand’s slight tremor. Or Ezri, as she placed her hand atop the doctor’s while offering him chatty reassurances that soon, very soon, everything would be all right. He wondered if she was trying to be strong for them both, or if she was leaning on the doctor for support.
Once again, Nog felt a sensation of intense guilt welling up inside him. Two of his closest friends had been torn to pieces, maimed by the alien artifact. Perhaps forever. I, on the other hand, get restored to perfect condition. At least until we get Sacagawea’s “worldlines” untangled.
“I said we’re ready whenever you are, Lieutenant,” Vaughn was saying, his impatient tone bringing Nog out of his reverie like a sudden Ferenginar cloudburst.
Nog felt like a cadet who’d turned up for inspection late and out of uniform. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Yes, sir. I wanted to start by saying that Ensign ch’Thane has double-checked my figures, as have specialists T’rb, Hunter, and other members of the science and engineering teams involved.” Nog was gratified to see that Shar and T’rb were both nodding. A wide smile bisected T’rb’s cyan-hued Bolian features.
“And I’ll give it an official thumbs-up from a tactical perspective,” Bowers said. “At least, that’s how it looks on the padd.”
“Sounds chancy to me,” Tenmei said, laying aside a padd that displayed some of Nog’s numbers. “What you’re essentially proposing is that we use a series of large Oort cloud bodies as relays for the Defiant’ s transporter.”
“Actually,” Nog said, “those frozen rocks will act as platforms for a series of self-replicating transporter relays, which we’ll send out ahead of our away team. We’ll beam the first one out to the nearest cometary body, and it will beam another relay out to the next body, and so on.”
“It sounds too easy,” Tenmei said. “There’s got to be a huge power cost associated with doing something like this.”
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