Cathedral Read online

  During the Defiant’ s approach, the bridge’s population had gradually increased. Vaughn glanced around the room and noted that Shar, Merimark, Gordimer, and science specialists T’rb and Kurt Hunter were all present. Along with Bowers, they stood totally still, staring owlishly at the geometrical contradiction that slowly somersaulted end over end on the screen, a conglomeration of Platonic shapes viewed through a tumbling kaleidoscope.

  Vaughn’s feelings of awe were being steadily mellowed by an overtone of caution. He couldn’t help but recall Bowers’ report on Sacagawea’s obviously conflicted feelings toward the ancient edifice that now held the entire bridge so spellbound.

  Cathedral. Or anathema.

  A hard determination rose within him to get at the truth of it, no matter what it took. Cathedral. Anathema. Either way, the artifact represented the only hope of reversing—or even understanding—whatever changes it had wrought upon his first officer, chief medical officer, and chief engineer.

  His friends.

  Vaughn saw that Tenmei was already running a series of passive high-resolution scans on the object’s interior.

  “Anything, Ensign?” he said.

  “Negative, Captain. It’s a blank wall.”

  “We’re going to have to work for it, then. Switch to active mode.” He turned to Shar and T’rb, who had already begun busying themselves at a pair of adjacent consoles on the bridge’s upper level. “The moment our sensors turn up the smallest sign of internal activity, I want to know about it.”

  “Standard sensors negative,” T’rb said. “It’s like the thing isn’t there.”

  Vaughn smiled. T’rb’s off-the-cuff comment was almost literally true, since most of the artifact’s mass lay outside normal space.

  “I’m picking up a graviton absorption signature,” Shar said. He sounded almost triumphant, as though he’d just proved a pet theory. “Evidently the object is sweeping up energetic particles and carrying them into its own higher-dimensional spaces.”

  “What about positron tomography?” T’rb said to Shar.

  “Already engaged.” Shar frowned, his antennae and his gray eyes seeming to work in concert in an effort to bore a hole in his instrument display. “There,” he said at length. “I’m reading a hollow space in the object’s interior.”

  T’rb and Tenmei immediately tied their consoles in with Shar’s. They quickly began nodding to each other, confirming Shar’s discovery.

  Then T’rb scowled at his readings. “The boundaries of the hollow space seem to be fluid. In motion.”

  “I see it, too,” Shar said. “It must be a distortion effect caused by the object’s being in multiple dimensions simultaneously.”

  “Or our sensors are just reading it wrong,” T’rb said dryly.

  Vaughn didn’t like the sound of that. “Ensign Tenmei, can we beam an away team safely into the interior?”

  Tenmei looked at her console again as though to double-check, then nodded. “I believe so, though I can’t get a reading on the atmospheric composition, if any. And Chief Chao had better stay away from those shifting boundaries.”

  “I’ll tell her to aim for the middle.” Vaughn said, and turned back toward Shar. “Lieutenant ch’Thane, I want you to assemble an away team, with full environmental suits. Jury-rig an EV suit for Sacagawea and bring him along.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shar said. “I request permission to lead the team as well.”

  “I don’t think so, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said with a gentle shake of the head. “I want to keep you on board. We still need a working translation of that alien text, and so far you’re better grounded in it than anyone else.”

  The young Andorian’s eyes flashed with an intensity Vaughn had never seen before. His aspect was half plea, half fulmination. “The computer and some ancillary equipment are handling the bulk of the work now, sir.”

  It wasn’t like Shar to argue with him right on the bridge. Something was wrong. For some reason, the usually reticent science officer appeared to need to go.

  “All right, Shar. You can come along. But I intend to lead the team myself. I want to keep a low profile, but I also want plenty of secur—”

  “Incoming bogeys, Captain,” Bowers said, his fingers suddenly moving at blinding speed across the tactical console.

  Vaughn shifted instantly into his combat-imminent mode as everyone who had been standing about watching the screen scattered to various battle stations. “Are they coming from the artifact?”

  “No, sir,” Shar said from the science station, fully intent once again on his own console. “From the sunward direction.”

  “How many?” Vaughn wanted to know.

  “Eleven,” Bowers said. “No, thirteen ships. Closing fast, in a tight wedge formation. Configuration matches the hostiles we chased away from the D’Naali ship. And they’re powering weapons.”

  Though his heart thudded heavily in his chest, Vaughn maintained a studied outward calm born of decades of practice. “Yellow Alert. We’ll maintain a passive posture as long as possible, but I want you to keep the shields and phaser banks warm, Mr. Bowers. And give me a tactical display.”

  The image of the mysterious alien edifice vanished, replaced instantly by a baker’s dozen bulbous, blocky aggressor vessels, each of them very similar to the ship that had opened fire on the Defiant and the D’Naali earlier.

  “Lead ship’s range is three hundred thousand kilometers,” Bowers said. “Closing fast.”

  “Hail them, Mr. Bowers.”

  The ships continued their inexorable approach. “One hundred and fifty thousand,” Bowers reported.

  Vaughn rose. “Any response?”

  “Negative.”

  “Keep trying,” Vaughn said. “And ready phasers.”

  Bowers: “Sixty thousand and closing.”

  “Aren’t you going to raise shields, Captain?” Tenmei said. Vaughn heard the subtle Are you nuts? timbre that colored the phrase.

  “Not yet. Be ready to fire on my command, Mr. Bowers. A shot across the lead ship’s bow.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Bowers said, showing no sign of apprehension.

  Then, to Vaughn’s immense surprise, the aggressor flotilla broke formation, with most of the ships tumbling rapidly away from the Defiant.

  “They must have picked up our weapons signature,” Tenmei said. “Maybe we scared them off.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that, Ensign,” Vaughn said.

  Bowers consulted his console and quickly confirmed Vaughn’s suspicions. “They’ve slipped around and behind the artifact. Now they’re coming around toward our side of it and are taking up new positions between us and the object.”

  “Confirmed,” Shar said.

  Vaughn fumed silently. Damn! Suckered me. They weren’t planning to attack. They were trying to set up a blockade.

  Aloud, Vaughn said, “Hail them again, Shar.”

  Shar’s antennae lofted in surprise. “Sir, they are hailing us.”

  “Put them on.” And let’s hope the translator that’s good for the goose is also good for the gander.

  The viewer image shifted again, this time revealing a dimly lit ship interior. A squat being that reminded Vaughn of nothing so much as a blotchy snowman draped in seaweed regarded him with an inhuman, unknowable expression.

  This could only be a member of the species that Shar’s enhanced translator had tentatively identified as Nyazen.

  The translator spoke in a voice that evoked something halfway between wind chimes and highland pipes: “Cathedral/anathema never you to be sullied/defiled by seekers-of-curiosity, such as we believe/intuit to be your motive/purpose/goal.”

  He doesn’t want us near the artifact. Either because it’s holy, or because it’s dangerous.

  Vaughn spread his hands in what he hoped the Nyazen would take as a benign gesture, though he wasn’t at all certain that the creature even had hands as such. “I understand that you don’t wish to let strangers approach this…object. But it has br
ought harm to members of my crew. We believe that it also holds the key to undoing that harm.”

  “Believe you, we cannot. Your vessel, a D’Naali contains/shelters. Blood-foe/ancient-vow-to-destroy D’Naali represent/are/shall ever be. Trust with you not achievable/ advisable, therefore.” The Nyazen abruptly vanished from the screen, replaced by the artifact, slowly tumbling through the yawning interdimensional gulfs.

  It took Vaughn only a moment to gather the Nyazen’s meaning. His sensors have picked up Sacagawea’s presence aboard the Defiant.

  Bowers spoke quickly, his voice half an octave higher than usual. “Energy readings spiking aboard all thirteen ships’ weapons tubes.”

  “They’re opening fire,” Tenmei said.

  It was no longer possible to read any ambiguity into the Nyazen fleet’s motives. “Shields up, Mr. Bowers!” Vaughn said. “Lock and load.”

  11

  “Well, you’re certainly not one of my regular customers,” Vic said, appearing mildly surprised. “What brings you to my establishment this fine afternoon?”

  Taran’atar regarded the holographic human simulacrum stonily for a long moment before replying. Because his senses were attuned to energy fluctuations—such as those made by shrouded Jem’Hadar—he remained keenly aware of the twenty or so luminal demihumans who milled about the restaurant and dance floor of Vic Fontaine’s lounge. Only one of these beings, a gray-haired humanoid who sat drinking alone at a small corner table, appeared to have any discernible substance. Taran’atar decided that he would do well to keep an eye on that one.

  “I walked,” Taran’atar said, turning his attention back to Vic. The tuxedoed human bared his teeth in what all humans and Vorta seemed to regard as a nonthreatening gesture. Taran’atar had never enjoyed looking at teeth, whether human or Vorta.

  “And I thought Frank and Dean were the greatest straight men who ever played Vegas. They’re not gonna be happy to hear about the competition, pallie.”

  Taran’atar wasn’t at all certain what to make of the holo-human’s remarks. “Are you saying I’m not welcome in this establishment?”

  “I’ll confess to preferring to see you in a tux,” Vic said, indicating his own smart black-and-white ensemble before looking the Jem’Hadar’s dark, featureless coverall up and down. “Or even a sportcoat. On the other hand, at least the getup you’re wearing is black.”

  It had been many weeks since Taran’atar had given any thought to his apparel. “Colonel Kira ordered me to wear something other than my Dominion uniform. And it’s the will of the Founder you call Odo that I obey the colonel’s every order.”

  Vic’s smile slanted very slightly to the side. “I had a feeling when you walked in here that you’d be the life of the party. So what can I do for you?”

  Taran’atar suddenly realized that he wasn’t certain exactly how to verbalize what was on his mind. At length, he said, “Many of the station’s residents have come to value your advice.”

  Vic made a self-deprecating gesture with his shoulders. “I only tell them what I see. But it isn’t always what they want to hear.”

  Taran’atar nodded. “Perhaps that’s why so many of the humanoids have exhibited so much…faith in you.”

  “Whoa there. Faith is a concept I leave to the earring crowd, capisce? I’m only an entertainer.”

  “I’ve been told that your intervention prevented Nog’s death.”

  Vic’s eyebrows shot up and he seemed to be at an uncharacteristic loss for words, at least for the moment. After a pause he said, “Nog was pretty deep down in the dumps last year after losing his leg. He spent a lot of time here while he was recovering.”

  Taran’atar had not forgotten that it was Jem’Hadar who had been responsible for Nog’s injuries. And shortly before his departure for the Gamma Quadrant, Nog had made it abundantly clear that he had not forgotten that fact either.

  “I take that to mean that he was emotionally distressed after losing his limb in battle,” Taran’atar said.

  Vic nodded. “And how.”

  “Quark told me that you personally prevented Nog from dying.”

  “I only helped nudge him back into the real world. But Nog had to decide to do the living for himself. He learned to believe that things might get better for him out in the big bad universe if he’d just get out there and start participating in it again.”

  “So…Quark was merely being hyperbolic when he praised your abilities.”

  “I try not to think too much about what my reviewers say, pallie. Other people will believe whatever they want to believe, about me or anybody else. And that’s probably the way things oughta be.”

  Taran’atar was growing increasingly bewildered. “You don’t lay claim to any special psychotherapeutic talents. Yet others believe you possess those talents.”

  “Everybody has to have faith in something. For instance, you have faith that the Founders are gods, don’t you?”

  Taran’atar mulled that over momentarily. “No, I do not. Believing that the Founders are gods requires no faith on the part of a Jem’Hadar.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because the Founders are gods.”

  Vic shrugged again. “You ask a silly question—”

  At that moment, Taran’atar became aware of some motion from the far corner table. The iron-haired humanoid he had noticed before had risen to his feet and was now walking in his direction. Taran’atar instantly noticed three things about the man: he was far taller and broader than he had appeared while seated; he was wearing an equally outsize black-and-white suit; and he was very definitely not a hologram.

  “Have you two met?” Vic asked as the large man came to a halt within arm’s reach. “I think you may have a fair amount in common.”

  Taran’atar faced the humanoid, and finally recognized him.

  “This was the last place in the quadrant I expected to encounter a Jem’Hadar,” the humanoid said, his expression neutral. But Taran’atar was relieved to note that the man made no effort to shake his hand, a human gesture that he still had not gotten used to.

  “I didn’t know that Capellans were interested in human popular culture,” Taran’atar said. “You are Leonard James Akaar, fleet admiral, Starfleet. I did not recognize you right away because of your tuck-seedoh.”

  Akaar chuckled and raised a glass to his lips before responding. “I discovered long ago that human history and culture have much to recommend them. As they say on Earth, ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do.’ Nowtell me—what compels one of the soldiers of the Dominion to sample the historic pleasures of one of the Federation’s founding worlds?”

  “I’m not here in my capacity as a soldier. My current mission is one of peace. I’ve been instructed to learn all I can about the peoples of the Alpha Quadrant.”

  “Yes, I have been briefed about the mission on which Odo has sent you,” Akaar said knowingly, then raised his glass toward Vic, who was listening attentively to the exchange. “You will find Vic to be quite a perspicacious host, Mr. Taran’atar. We do indeed have much in common, you and I. Though I confess to finding it somewhat strange that we both appear to be so at ease in one another’s presence.”

  “I don’t understand,” Taran’atar said.

  Akaar frowned. “You cannot be serious. Tell me—how many Jem’Hadar do you think I killed during the war?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Taran’atar said, though there was no heat beneath his words. During war such things were to be expected. But now that the war was over, it was of no consequence.

  “Tens of thousands,” Akaar said. “Perhaps a hundred thousand or more. Sometimes I did it from the bridge of a starship, or from a starbase wardroom, or from Starfleet Headquarters. And I dispatched many of them at close quarters, sometimes with a hand phaser, and on other occasions with my triple-bladed kligat.” Akaar fell silent, though he looked expectantly toward Taran’atar.

  Vic winced as the tension appeared to escalate. “Fellas, please tell me you’re
not planning on trashing my place. The guys in the band are still jumpy from all those times Worf went berserk in here last year. And I’m not paying the bouncers enough to even think about going toe-to-toe with either one of you.”

  Then Akaar laughed, a low throaty sound. He placed his right fist on the left side of his chest, then extended his palm outward toward Vic. “Be at peace, Vic. Like Mr. Taran’atar, I have come to this place with an open heart, and open hands.”

  “Your experiences during the Dominion War interest me,” Taran’atar said. “But why tell me of the Jem’Hadar you’ve slain?”

  “Because my aged ears overheard your discussion of faith, and it piqued my interest. Do you know why I have come here, Mr. Taran’atar?”

  “To this lounge?”

  “To this space station.”

  “You are one of the Federation dignitaries who will bear official witness to Bajor’s entry into the Federation.”

  Akaar nodded. “An action that, in itself, is an act of faith. When a world joins the Federation, it is a most serious occasion. A time of both celebration and contemplation. Of faith.”

  Taran’atar recalled how carefully the Dominion’s Vorta managers had worked to optimize the usage of each newly annexed planet’s resources for the benefit of the Founders. But such things were merely prosaic facts of existence. They had been done with little ceremony or fanfare, other than the ordinary rituals and recitations that custom dictated surround the daily dispensations of ketracel-white.

  “Again, I do not understand,” Taran’atar said.

  Akaar sighed, as though he had just failed to convey the intuitively obvious to a dull-witted child. Taran’atar felt his frustration rising at his failure to comprehend things that these Alpha Quadrant natives appeared to grasp so instinctively.

  “I have faith,” Akaar continued, “that the years of transformation which began after the Cardassian Occupation ended have prepared Bajor to integrate itself into our coalition of worlds. I have faith that an indissoluble bond will result between Bajor and Earth, Vulcan, Andor, and the scores of other Federation planets.”