STAR TREK: DS9 - Prophecy and Change Read online

  The girl jumped back, her heart fluttering. Below, she could hear stone crashing against stone.

  Jek rushed over from where he was standing. She heard Sisko and Kira crawling toward her as fast as they could.

  A gaping hole had opened in the floor at her feet. She peered into the inky blackness but could see nothing. The others arrived moments later, and when Sisko shone his light into the hole, the darkness parted.

  Opaka stood in the middle of the street, a cool breeze fluttering through her robes. It reminded her that winter was coming—that the seasons rolled on in their endless cycles in spite of festival or tragedy.

  Colonel Day of the Bajoran Militia approached her, his expression stern. “Kai Opaka,” he began, “you shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe. Come, let me escort you ...”

  Opaka ignored the colonel’s condescending tone and brushed aside his outstretched hand. Like many in the Militia, Day had been a resistance fighter—a member of one of the more radical splinter groups, if the rumors were true. Now he numbered among those who seemed to think that their efforts alone had ended the Occupation, and thus had earned them the right to decide now what was best for all Bajorans. It was a dangerous mindset, Opaka knew, one that was certain to propagate strife in the days or months to come if allowed to continue. But it was also a problem for another day. “What news of the rescue efforts?” Opaka asked.

  Day frowned, his delicately chiseled features unable to conceal his displeasure at having his will ignored. “The Federation doctor has set up a triage center in the old public shelter,” he reported. “Medical personnel from the local hospital should be arriving soon.”

  “Very good,” Opaka said. “What of those trapped inside the library?”

  Day blinked as if her question was the last thing he expected from her. “Surely you don’t imagine that anyone could have survived in there? There were a lot of people injured in the surrounding buildings, Eminence,” Day added. “Nearly a dozen fatalities have been reported so far.”

  “But has anyone checked the ruins yet?”

  “There are no discernible lifesigns under the rubble. And we can’t rule out the presence of another explosive device.”

  Opaka looked to the street where the library once stood. The entire block was in ruins. “With a weapon that powerful,” she said, “would you bother to use two in the same location?”

  Day’s jaw shifted back and forth. Why is he so angry? “There’s no way of knowing, Eminence,” he said tightly. “But enough Bajoran blood has been spilled today for the sake of your alien friend.”

  Ah. There it is.

  Day had raised his voice just enough to draw the attention of several nearby Militia officers, who now frowned in his direction.

  “Every death diminishes me,” Opaka said quietly, wondering if Day even knew enough of the prophecies to recognize the quotation.

  “If that is so,” Day said, uncomfortably aware that their conversation now had listeners, “then you should be as reluctant as I am to risk more lives here.”

  “He is the Emissary,” Opaka said, her eyes narrowing. “But even if he were not, his life, and the lives of those who were with him, would still be worth the risk.”

  “There is no chance that—”

  “The Taluno Library was known to have rested atop one of the tunnels of the Paths of the Lost. You know that the catacombs are resistant to scanning. If they survived, their chance was to have made it into the Paths. ...”

  Opaka fell silent. Something had caught her attention. There was a small park not far from where they stood, a lonely patch of green that had been untouched by the destruction of the library. Someone was sitting over there in the grass, and he was watching her.

  “We must not give up on them,” Opaka finished. She turned back to Day, to the other Militia officers who had now gathered around them. “I implore you.”

  Day stood his ground for a moment, staring down at her, no doubt feeling the eyes of the others on him as they awaited his answer. After an interminable moment, he nodded, saying, “Very Well, Kai. But any more blood spilled will be your responsibility. Not mine.” He turned sharply and began issuing orders as he led his people back toward the ruins.

  Opaka watched him go, and for the first time since the news came to her, her thoughts for the growing number of victims of the explosion narrowed to one.

  “Hold on, Emissary,” the kai whispered into the wind.

  Her thoughts turned quickly back to the park, to the solitary observer sitting there on the grass. Opaka was past the age of swinging a pickax effectively, but her pagh was strong. She’d be of little use in the effort to lift tons of stone, she knew, but there was something else she could do.

  Jake watched Opaka walk toward him. The worst of his uncontrollable sobbing was over—for now, anyway. Part of him felt as if it might overwhelm him again at any moment. But right here and right now, as Kai Opaka approached him, he had himself under control.

  Opaka approached him slowly. “You’re Jake Sisko,” she began.

  Jake turned away. He nodded.

  “May I speak with you?” she asked.

  “I guess,” Jake said. His eyes stared vacantly toward the rubble.

  “I know you’re very upset right now,” Opaka said as she settled down in the grass next to him. “I just want you to know that it’s all right to hope.”

  Hope? Was she kidding? How could she expect him to have hope? Nothing could save his mother when the Borg attacked the Saratoga, and nothing was going to bring his father back to him now. Hope was a lie.

  “I’m not sure what you believe in,” Opaka said.

  “I don’t know either,” said Jake. His eyes were glassy from exposure to the dust and smoke.

  “My faith is all that I have,” Opaka said. “It is the same with many here on Bajor. Faith binds us; we are the children of the Prophets.”

  “What does that have to do with my dad?” Jake asked.

  “Your father discovered something a few days ago,” said the kai, “something that has great significance to my people.”

  “The wormhole?”

  “Yes. But it is more than that,” she said. “What you see as a wormhole, I see as the home of the Prophets, their Celestial Temple.”

  Opaka stroked Jake’s ear, but he didn’t pull away. Like her face, her touch was soft and comforting.

  “Like Heaven,” Jake said. “You think my dad is in this Temple with these Prophets?”

  “No,” Opaka said, her voice soothing. “But in my faith, it is believed that the one who finds the Celestial Temple is meant to be the Emissary.”

  “Oh,” Jake said, “so that’s what this emissary stuff is all about.”

  “The Emissary will do many things,” said the kai. “He will face many challenges, some dangerous, but he will persevere.”

  “Are you saying that you want me to believe in the Prophets?” Jake asked.

  “No,” answered Opaka. “That is not for me to decide.” She took his hands in hers and grasped them firmly. “But I want you to believe in your father.”

  Jake looked out at the still-smoking ruin of the library, feeling the control he was working so hard to maintain threatening to slip. Eyes tearing, he turned back to Opaka as if she were a lifeline. “Do you ... do you think he’s alive?”

  Opaka smiled and drew him into her embrace. “Have hope, Jake.”

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Kira asked.

  “Reasonably sure, given the circumstances,” Sisko answered.

  “How can you tell?”

  “There’s a very slight breeze coming from this direction,” he said. He gestured the way they were headed. “That may mean there’s an opening to the surface up ahead.”

  The darkness was all around them, broken only by the handlight Sisko held—its glow casting pointed shadows on the hand-carved walls. The stone, what they could see of it anyway, was cold and lifeless.

  Beyond the beam of light, the d
arkness was nearly impenetrable. The tunnel twisted and turned, but Sisko kept them heading in the direction of the breeze. As they walked carefully down the narrow corridor, he feared that they might walk right past an exit and not even know it. His fears were confirmed when he heard one of the Bajoran children speak up behind him.

  “Emissary,” said Jek, “I think I saw something back there.”

  Sisko stopped. He turned to face the child.

  “Something? Like what?”

  “A door,” answered the boy.

  The group backtracked, and after a moment’s search, found the door once they knew what they were looking for. Major Kira gripped the handle, giving it a slight turn. The door creaked open on its hinges.

  Sisko leveled the handlight, directing its beam inside. The room was small, carved from the stone by tireless labor. There were hammer and chisel marks crisscrossed all over the walls.

  “A shelter?” Sisko speculated.

  “Storage room,” Kira said, indicating a couple of crates stacked in the far corner of the chamber. “Probably belonged to the local resistance cell.”

  As the group entered the room, Kira went over to the crates and began to investigate. Sisko sat down in the corner and leaned against the wall, angling the light for maximum illumination and hoping, once again, that the power source would hold out. The children were on him in an instant, Jek sitting in his lap and Loral nuzzling up under Sisko’s arm.

  “Did the Prophets tell you the way out of here?” asked the girl. “I heard that they told you the future of everyone on Bajor. Do you know who I’m going to marry when I grow up?”

  “That’s stupid,” Jek said. “They didn’t tell him the future; they gave him magical powers. Can you see in the dark?”

  Sisko fought back laughter as he shook his head.

  “Actually,” he said, “the Prophets did something even more amazing than that.”

  The children’s eyes widened. They seemed to hang on his every word.

  “What did they do?” Loral asked.

  “When I went to the worm ... the Celestial Temple,” Sisko said, “I had given up all hope.”

  “Because of the Occupation?” Loral asked.

  “No,” Sisko said, seeing Jennifer lying dead in their quarters on the Saratoga.

  “Emissary?” Jek said, startling Sisko back to reality.

  “The Prophets showed me that I should never give up,” he said. “That there’s always a chance to make a better life for ourselves. That it’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sisko could see that Kira’s gaze was fixed on him again.

  “Anything useful in those boxes, Major?”

  Kira turned her attention to the crates. “We’re in luck. This one has food rations—looks like dried meat and fruit.” She picked up a ration pack, tore it open, and took a whiff. “Smells all right.” She took out a dark stick of what may have been the Bajoran analog of jerky, nibbled a piece off the end, and shrugged as she passed the pack over to Sisko. “Still edible. There are water packets, too.”

  “That’s something,” Sisko said with a smile. He sniffed the contents of the ration pack—strong, but not bad—and then held it out to the children, who each took some. Sisko turned back to Kira and nodded at the second crate. “Try the other one.”

  Major Kira moved the first crate aside and opened the one beneath it. Her eyes came up, flicked to the children for a moment, then settled to Sisko. She shook her head slightly.

  Sisko frowned, guessing Kira had discovered a cache of explosives, probably stockpiled for attacks against the Cardassians. Too bad we can’t use them to blast our way to the surface without risking a cave-in.

  “What’s in that one?” Jek asked.

  “Nothing,” Kira said as she resealed the crate. “Nothing we can use, anyway.” After finding an old blanket and using it to bundle together as much food and water as it would hold, the major tossed Jek one of the water packets, keeping one for herself and Sisko.

  The boy stood up and ripped open the seal.

  “You share that with Loral,” Kira ordered him. With that, she sat down next to the others. She tore open the packet and drank deeply. When she was done, she handed it to Sisko.

  “Thanks,” he said. He turned up the packet and sucked down the rest of the water.

  “Can I ask you something?” Kira said.

  Sisko looked at her and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “How do you know how to navigate through tunnels?”

  “Survival training,” he answered, “at Starfleet Academy. We took desert and arctic survival during our first and second years, and spelunking when we were juniors.”

  The children giggled, even Kira smiled. “Spelunking?” she repeated. “What’s that?”

  “Caving,” Sisko explained.

  Kira nodded. From the look on her face, Sisko could tell that there was something else on his first officer’s mind. “What is it, Major?” he asked.

  Kira hesitated, then said. “What you told the children ... about what the Prophets showed you ... it’s almost word for word in the text of Chinjen’s last prophecy.”

  Sisko shrugged dismissively. “There are many people on many worlds who have said things like that, Major. Including my own.”

  Her eyes bore into him. “Are you really the Emissary?” she whispered.

  Sisko sighed and fell silent, unsure how he should answer. “I really don’t know what that’s all about,” he said at last. “When I met Kai Opaka for the first time, she spoke so strangely. You’ll recall that I only went to her on your advice, to ask her to do what was right for Bajor.”

  “The will of the Prophets,” Kira said, “is what’s right for Bajor.”

  Sisko tensed at that, but he tried not to let it show. “Opaka grabbed my ear,” he told Kira, “and then she called me the Emissary.”

  The major’s eyes widened. She turned away and stood up, starting to pace the little room. “This is unbelievable,” Kira said.

  “Then you must feel about it the same way I do,” Sisko said. “This is exactly why Starfleet established the Prime Directive. When they find out that I’ve become a religious icon on Bajor, they’ll almost certainly want to reassign me.”

  “The Prophets wouldn’t have chosen you,” Kira said, growing more agitated by the second, “if They didn’t—”

  “Major,” Sisko snapped, cutting her off, “I never asked to be the Emissary. I don’t share your beliefs.”

  Kira stopped and stared at him. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Sisko felt the children’s eyes darting back and forth between him and Kira.

  “I’m just trying to do my job here,” he said, easing the children off him and rising to his feet. “To bring Bajor into the Federation—”

  “Fifty years of fighting for the right to be free,” Kira interrupted, shaking her head angrily, “and then you show up to make things better—after the fact. Where were you during the Occupation? Or when I was three and my mother was dying? Where the hell were you then?”

  Sisko stared back silently, uncertain how he should respond.

  “What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Isn’t there some protocol in your Federation rule book about how to deal with people like me? Don’t you have an answer? You’re the Emissary!”

  “I never said—”

  “You didn’t have to!”

  Kira drew close to Sisko, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath.

  “Are you embarrassed?” she asked. “You’ve traveled across the stars and brought truth to a race of primitive savages. And we’re so stupid, that we think you’re a god. Isn’t that what your enlightened Federation perspective has led you to believe?”

  “You’re out of line, Major,” Sisko said, his eyes never wavering. He was about to say more when he heard Loral whimpering behind him.

  “Please stop fighting,” she pleaded. “I’m scared.”

  Jek paced
to the far side of the room. His back was turned to them, but Sisko thought he saw the boy’s shoulders trembling.

  “All right,” Sisko said softly, and looked at Kira again. “No more arguing. We should be moving along anyway.” He helped Loral up. Kara was still glaring at him when she went to lay a reassuring hand on Jek’s shoulder, coaxing him toward the door. Soon the group was back in the tunnels, the dark earth and stone pressing in all around them as they set off once more in search of freedom. They walked in silence.

  Night had fallen over the city. Inside the triage center, Dr. Bashir and the Bajoran medics had done everything they could for the victims of the blast. Only when the worst of the injured had been stabilized and transferred to the nearest hospital did Bashir finally leave the makeshift surgery in order to check on the rescue efforts.

  As Bashir approached the blast site, he heard a mournful harmony rising over the rubble. Lanterns had been set up all around to hold back the darkness; clearly, the rescue workers were planning on working through the night.

  The singing grew louder as Bashir approached, and after a moment, four Bajoran Militia officers stepped slowly from the ruins. The men and women shared a weight on their shoulders—a narrow box shrouded, in white.

  The doctor bowed his head as the funeral procession moved past. He heard the arrival of someone behind him, but did not look up until the death chant had faded up the street.

  When Bashir did turn around he saw a Bajoran soldier standing at his side—a lieutenant, judging by the rank symbol on her collar.

  “That was Vedek Tanin,” the lieutenant said. “They found his body about an hour ago.”

  Bashir shifted nervously. If Tanin Prem was dead, what hope was there for Commander Sisko and Major Kira? “Have any other bodies been found?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” the lieutenant replied. “There was another cave-in when we recovered the vedek. Unless they made it into the catacombs, their chances are slim.”

  “That catacombs?” Bashir said excitedly. “Tanin showed us an entryway several blocks from here—”

  “Yes, we know about it. We sent in searchers with ropes to thread the way, but they hit a dead end—the collapse of the library has blocked off the tunnel that led toward that exit. Unless we can safely get through the rubble, either from up here or below, we’re cut off from the rest of the catacombs.”