Taran’atar nodded, and the two stepped backward, into the main chamber of the Wa. Kira looked for another portal nearby and saw a small pink ball, floating at the height of her knee. She motioned toward it, and for the third time, she and Taran’atar strolled into another place.
Sky blue, the new environment featured a number of small, dark-blue spheres at its center, stacked in the form of a pyramid. An aroma like that of baking bread wafted past. As Kira wondered if the spheres, each about half the size of her fist, had been arranged as artwork, or perhaps to facilitate meditation, they all shot straight up into the air. They floated at chest height in a frenetic jumble. “What—” she started to ask, but then a pair of quarter-circles lighted up on the floor. The same color as the spheres, one led from beneath her feet and around to one side of the environment, while the other ran in the other direction, from where Taran’atar stood to the opposite side of the space. “Are we supposed to follow the lines?”
“I have never seen this before,” Taran’atar said, “but it would appear so.” He paced along his line, and Kira followed along hers, until they stood facing each other, with the bobbing cluster of spheres between them. When she looked across at him, she saw a dark-blue circle projected on the wall behind him, its diameter matching his height.
“Now what?” Kira asked, but then a ratcheting sound rose up loudly. At the same time, one of the spheres stopped moving and began to glow red. The ratcheting noise occurred a second time, then a third, and finally a fourth. When the environment faded back into silence, the glowing sphere shot toward Kira. She instinctively ducked, but she needn’t have. It darted to her right as it reached her, flew past, and slammed into the wall behind her, where it disappeared with a hollow pop. She saw that a dark-blue circle had also been projected behind her, and where the sphere had impacted within it, a solid red circle had appeared.
Kira heard the ratcheting sound again. In the center of the environment, she saw that another of the spheres had stopped and turned red. After the fourth noise, it sped toward Taran’atar. He didn’t move. The sphere dipped down and whisked past him, into the wall, where it left its mark.
“It’s a game,” Kira said. Taran’atar did not respond, but when the next ball turned red, Kira braced herself. It zoomed toward her, and when it got close enough, she swung her open hand forward in an attempt to bat it out of the air. She just missed it, and it struck the wall behind her, popping and leaving behind another red blot. “See if you can stop the next one,” Kira told Taran’atar, even as the next sphere changed color and sounded its warning. He did, and as his hand struck the sphere, it buzzed once and vanished.
They played out the string, which totaled fourteen spheres, with seven launched toward each of them. Taran’atar made five successful stops, and Kira three, their misses reflected in the marks left within the circles on the walls behind them. “Well, it’s not exactly springball,” Kira said, invoking the name of a Bajoran sport, “but I guess it was entertaining.”
“Jem’Hadar are not so easily entertained,” Taran’atar said, “but the game requires hand-eye coordination and quick reflexes. I can therefore see its value as a training exercise.”
Still a soldier after all, Kira thought. His comment put her in mind of the time she had accepted his invitation to take part in one of his combat simulations. It had been a miserable few hours for her as she worked toward an objective in a holosuite program that Taran’atar had coded. As he observed her, she nearly succeeded, failing only at the very last part of the simulation.
The experience might have helped them bond, but it hadn’t. It also could have driven them apart, but it hadn’t done that either. It was just another step in those places where our paths intersected, Kira thought. Except that she knew that it must have been more than that—more than just shared moments in time. Even after all that had happened, she had not wanted him to leave Deep Space 9. And when she had watched him die, it had hurt her.
So maybe some understanding had come out of that experience with the simulation, she supposed. It must even have meant something to her at the time, she realized. Taran’atar had designed and fashioned a combat knife specifically for her to use in the simulation, and she still had it, back in her quarters at the Vanadwan Monastery.
Well, I still have it if I can get back to my own time.
“Since we entered standing beside each other, do we have to leave in the same way?” Kira asked.
“No. Just step back from the focal point.”
Kira did so, and she found herself once more back in the main chamber. The small pink ball floated in front of her knee. She expected Taran’atar to be standing on the other side of it, facing her, but he stood beside her. “It’s all very interesting,” she said. She didn’t know if she liked the experience any more than she did a visit to a holosuite, but the construction and the nature of the Wa fascinated her.
“There is more to see,” Taran’atar said. “The crew do not know how many portals there are because the colors change and the Wa frequently shifts its position. They are also unsure if the contents of the environments change, but they claim that nobody who has ever visited the Wa for more than a few minutes has ever failed to find something new.”
“I might like to explore the Wa more,” Kira said, “but I think I’d like to see the rest of the ship before I do.”
“Of course.” Taran’atar motioned toward the purple X, and they both started in that direction.
Partway there, Kira noticed a gray patch hanging in the air off to her left. It reminded her of the Jem’Hadar’s admonition to stay away from them. “Why is it important to avoid the gray portals?” she asked. “Are they dangerous?”
“According to Captain Dezavrim, they are,” Taran’atar said. “The man who sold him the ship cautioned him against attempting to enter them, but he would say no more on the subject. Periodically, the captain has tried to send probes into them. They have all been designed, built, and programmed using different methodologies to transmit data back to the crew, and to return to the Wa. In each case, communications failed as soon as the probe entered a gray portal, and none of them ever returned.”
“Why do you think that is?” Kira asked. Although they kept walking toward the purple X, they didn’t appear to be getting any closer to it. “Are they being destroyed?”
“You ask many of the same questions that I have asked, and for which I have few answers,” Taran’atar said. “Pif believes that the gray portals lead to another dimension where it is essentially easy to get lost and impossible to retrace your entry path. Itriuma thinks that, wherever they lead, they allow transit in only one direction. Prees is sure that they’re simply a type of disposal system.”
“And what do you think?” Kira asked. “Do you have a theory?”
“Not a theory, no,” Taran’atar said. “I do not have enough data about the gray portals to form even a working hypothesis as to their full nature. But . . .”
“But what?” Kira asked, curious. She also noticed that the purple X still appeared no closer to them.
“I have . . . dreamed . . . about the gray portals.” The word, isolated in his statement, still clearly troubled Taran’atar. In general, Jem’Hadar did not dream, but during his time on Deep Space 9, he had begun to do so. Doctor Bashir hadn’t had enough time to determine why that had happened, but he posited three possible causes: the stresses of being forced to abandon the only life he had ever known in favor of one dramatically different; disruptions to his brain chemistry brought about by the mind-control techniques perpetrated on him; or simply old age. Whatever the case, Taran’atar had viewed his dreaming as a personal weakness.
Kira chose to say nothing, instead waiting to see if he would continue. Suddenly, they stood directly in front of the purple X. As they continued toward it, the turbolift doors opened, appearing before them in a way that somehow suggested that Kira had been looking at them
all along. They entered, and Taran’atar stated their destination as the Even Odds bridge.
Once the lift had begun to ascend, the Jem’Hadar said, “I have dreamed on three occasions of going to the Wa, seeking out a gray portal, and entering it.”
Kira felt the inclination to ask what had happened in his dreams after that, as people often did when listening to somebody tell a story, but she feared that if she said anything at all, Taran’atar might stop talking. She wanted to hear what he had to say, not because she believed he would provide insight about the gray portals, but because he just might reveal something important about himself. The turbolift had completed its vertical journey and had begun moving horizontally before Taran’atar finally continued.
“Each time, I confronted an incredible danger,” he said. “An impossible danger.”
Kira didn’t know whether he meant that he faced a danger that couldn’t possibly have existed, or one that he couldn’t possibly overcome.
“And each time, I launched myself into combat,” Taran’atar said. “In the first two dreams, I woke before the battles ended. In the third, I woke when I died.”
Once more, Taran’atar lapsed into a silence Kira did not wish to break. She knew that some cultures considered dying in a dream a bad omen, while others drew psychological understanding from it. She could not tell if Taran’atar had taken anything away from his experiences.
They traveled the rest of the way with the hum of the turbolift providing the only sound. The cab finally slowed as it neared its destination. Then, to Kira’s surprise, Taran’atar spoke up again.
“My dreams were so vivid,” he said, “I have actually considered entering one of the gray portals.”
Kira took his meaning at once. For most of his existence, he had lived for battle, had relished defending his gods so well that he would rise to do so on another day. After he had effectively been stripped of that life, Kira could understand him wanting to test his mettle in the most extreme way possible.
Before she could say anything to him about it, the turbolift doors opened onto the Even Odds bridge. The faces of all the crew there turned toward them. Dez rose from where he sat and welcomed her, eager to show her around the ship’s command-and-control center.
Only later, after she had retired to her cabin for the night, did Kira reflect on what Taran’atar had told her. She’d initially thought that he’d considered entering one of the gray portals because he wanted to prove to himself that he still possessed the expert combat skills of a Jem’Hadar soldier. Lying awake in her darkened cabin, she interpreted what he’d said differently. She realized that Taran’atar had not thought about entering a gray portal because he wanted to test himself.
He’d thought about it because he had been contemplating suicide.
AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Kira did what she needed to do. She had been awake for much of the night, reviewing what she knew and deliberating again about what actions she should take. Her insight regarding Taran’atar’s emotional state troubled her. She understood that his loss of faith contributed significantly to his misery. No matter her opinions about the Founders, she knew that Taran’atar had looked upon them as gods, and so she sympathized with him. She could not imagine how she could possibly endure if her devotion to the Prophets deserted her. It made her wonder how much Taran’atar’s disillusionment had played a part in how his life had ended.
How it would end, she reminded herself.
The Temporal Prime Directive weighed heavily on Kira, not because she felt any residual duty or loyalty to Starfleet—although she did—but because she understood and agreed with the principles underlying the regulation. Having traveled into the past, to a time when the Ascendants crisis and the Even Odds disaster lay ahead of her rather than behind, she desperately wanted to find a way to save the thousands who would perish—including Taran’atar—when those events unfolded. She understood, though, that doing so would necessarily alter the timeline, producing unpredictable results. For all those she rescued, others might die in their stead—possibly many others.
By that morning, Kira had yet to find a way of reconciling her conflicting impulses. She reasoned that she didn’t need to, at least not then. She still had time to figure out precisely what to do, but she also knew that, whatever path she chose, the crew of Even Odds needed to head for Bajor soon in order to get there by the time they would be needed. Maybe Kira would end up choosing to tamper with events and maybe she wouldn’t, but in either case, it seemed clear to her that Even Odds represented a part of the solution to the troubles Bajor would soon face.
“I’ve thought about your offer,” she said to Dez, who sat beside her at one of the tables in the mess hall. About half the crew were present, scattered about the compartment. Taran’atar stood at attention off to the side, at what Kira assumed must be his customary place, and she wondered if the Jem’Hadar took his meals alone. The two Ferengi, Feg and Triv, sat at a table by themselves, perhaps because of what Kira deemed the nauseating nature of their native foods, which consisted in large part of insects, worms, and mollusks. Two of the Wadi, Fajgin and Itriuma, dined with Juno Mellias, the ship’s archaeologist and gemologist. The other Wadi aboard, Facity Sleedow, had already been eating with Dez when Kira had arrived.
“You mean you’ve considered becoming a crew member on the Even Odds?” Dez said. His eyebrows danced above his pastel eyes. Sleedow did not look up from her meal. “I do hope you’ve decided to join us.”
“I am tempted,” Kira said. “The Even Odds is an impressive ship, well equipped and up to date, and the Wa is a fascinating place—or maybe I should say that it’s many fascinating places.”
“It’s certainly like nothing else I’ve ever seen,” Dez said, “and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of things.”
The statement sounded vaguely flirtatious, and Kira glanced over at Sleedow to see if she would react to the captain’s potentially suggestive comment. Perhaps just as telling as her attention would have been, the first officer continued to stare down at her breakfast. Kira hoped to win her over, if for no other reason than to make the coming journey easier for everybody aboard. To Dez, she said, “I’m sure that the entire crew have had a wealth of experiences on the Even Odds. Jake certainly enjoyed his time here.”
“We liked having him with us,” Dez said. “I’m pleased to hear that he’s doing so well.” During her brief time aboard Even Odds, several of the crew had asked about Jake, and Kira had told them about his whirlwind romance with Azeni Korena and their subsequent marriage, as well as about the return of his father.
“I’ve also enjoyed meeting most of the people that Jake talked about when he got back,” Kira said.
“You’ve enjoyed meeting only ‘most’ of the people?” Dez said, picking up on the subtle emphasis Kira had given the word. “Has a member of the crew mistreated you in some way?”
“She means me,” Sleedow said, at last looking up from the plate in front of her. “She hasn’t enjoyed meeting me.”
“No, actually, that’s not the case,” Kira said. “I just meant that I’ve met most of the people Jake spoke of, but not two of them. You told me about the death of Brad-ahk’la, but there was somebody else Jake mentioned. Komes? Coemes? Something like that.”
“Coamis,” Sleedow said.
“I think Jake said he was an archaeologist.”
“That’s right,” Dez said. “If I recall correctly, he hadn’t been a member of the crew for very long when Jake joined us.”
“He left not long after Jake returned to the Alpha Quadrant,” Sleedow said. She uttered the sentence as a simple statement of fact, with no attitude or hidden meaning, which pleased Kira.
“I don’t think Coamis’ nerves were really cut out for the retrieval business,” Dez explained. “We didn’t ask him to leave, but none of us were surprised when he made his decision.”
“And none of us stood
in his way either,” Sleedow said, speaking as though revealing an unspoken truth. “If he’d stayed, he might’ve ended up getting injured or killed.”
“Or he might’ve ended up getting one of us injured or killed,” Dez said. “Which is not to say that we undertake excessively dangerous ventures; it’s more commentary on poor Coamis’ constitution and skill set than on the nature of our business.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Kira said. “I’m not particularly squeamish about risk.”
“Confidence is always a valuable trait,” Dez said.
“So is loyalty,” Kira said.
“I would absolutely agree,” Dez said.
“Then I’m sure you’ll understand my loyalty to the crew serving under me on Deep Space Nine.” Kira tried to parse her words in such a way that she would not technically say anything untrue, but if circumstances warranted it, she would have no compunction about lying. “I’m sorry, but I need to return to the Alpha Quadrant.”
Dez looked at her, and Kira thought she could see in his eyes the calculations he made in an attempt to determine how best to change her mind. Either he chose treating her decision with respect as a tactic, or he realized that he would not be able to persuade her to stay. “I’m disappointed, of course,” he said. “You would have made a valuable addition to the Even’s crew.”
“I don’t know about that,” Kira said. “It seems to me you’ve already got enough leaders on board. As a friend of mine says, ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth.’ ”
“I like that,” Sleedow said, and she actually smiled. “Is that a Bajoran saying?”
“It’s human, actually,” Kira said. She marveled at the rapid improvement in Sleedow’s manner. Since I’m not staying, Kira thought, I no longer pose a threat, even theoretically, to her position in the crew—or to her personal relationship with the captain.
“Well, we’re due in at Vrynax Two the day after tomorrow,” Dez said. “There’s a spaceport there. I’m sure you’ll be able to secure transportation back to the Alpha Quadrant.”
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