Wrath of the Prophets Page 8

  The Lieutenant felt her jaw tighten. "What do you mean?"

  Shakaar frowned. "My people have been through so much—and just when we were starting to make progress rebuilding our world, this happens. They fear the Prophets have grown angry with them—perhaps because it's taken them so long to rebuild Bajor. They believe the Prophets are the source of their virus. In fact, they're calling it the Wrath of the Prophets."

  Dax shook her head. As close as she had become with Kira, she had never quite understood the depths of Bajoran spirituality. What they called the Prophets, for instance, were a group of sentient beings who resided in the spatial distortion known as the wormhole.

  On the other hand, the faith of the Bajorans was what made them unique—what gave them their strength. And if ever they needed a source of strength, it was now.

  "It's a plague," she agreed. "But no one's wrath, First Minister."

  Shakaar grunted. "You and I know that, Lieutenant. But Kai Winn and some of the Vedeks are spewing nonsense to the contrary. No surprise, perhaps, since they're panicking themselves." He sighed softly. "But I didn't call to complain to you. I was hoping you'd made some progress analyzing the virus."

  The Trill wished she could brighten his day. She said so. "Unfortunately, things are moving slowly—on all fronts. I know it's no consolation that we're working as hard as we can—"

  The first minister held up his hand. "Don't think we don't appreciate what you're doing for us, Lieutenant. We do. I'll leave you alone to do your work. Shakaar out."

  A moment later, the screen went dark. Dax stared at it. Maybe for a long time, maybe not. She couldn't tell.

  All she knew was that when she looked up, she saw O'Brien standing next to her. Unlike Hagen, he didn't have any announcements to make. Only a cup of something hot and steaming in each hand.

  The chief smiled sympathetically at her. "I thought you might like something to drink," he said, and offered her one of the cups.

  The Trill accepted it and took a sip. It was familiar to her somehow, but she couldn't place it.

  "Thanks," she told him. "What is it?"

  "Ginseng tea," he replied. "Keiko programmed it into the replicator. She claims it has remarkable healing powers, but, personally, I haven't seen any evidence of it." He smiled at her sheepishly. "And to be honest, I can't stand the taste. That's why I've got coffee in mine."

  Dax took another sip. "Well," she said, "I kind of like it. Thanks." She glanced at the work crew on the far side of Ops. "How are they doing?"

  O'Brien snorted. "Could be better. We fixed the ventilation problem, but we're getting those damned spikes here and there. As soon as we take care of them in one place, they pop up again someplace else. I have three teams scouring the station, rebuilding conduits and junction boxes as if they were going out of style."

  Dax gazed into the amber-colored liquid in her cup. "I'm sure you'd have finished by now if you weren't covering for me all the time." She looked up at him. "I just don't know what's got me so distracted. I mean, of course I'm concerned about the plague and all—but I'm starting to think there's more to it. I just can't figure out what."

  The chief didn't say anything. What could he say?

  I can see you're perfectly useless, Jadzia, but don't worry about it. After all, I've got no worries of my own. Just a wife and a daughter in the midst of a planet-wide plague.

  "Listen," O'Brien told her at last, "why don't you take a break? You've been at this for a long time."

  "So have you," Dax reminded him.

  "Tell you what," he suggested. "Go unwind a bit. I'll take over in the meantime. And when you come back, it'll be my turn. To unwind, I mean."

  The Trill regarded him. Why not? she asked herself. She wasn't much good to anybody up here anyway.

  "All right," she agreed. "I'll be back in an hour."

  The chief nodded approvingly.

  But as Dax left, she couldn't avoid the feeling that she was abandoning her post. She felt she should be bent over her console, searching for something.

  She just didn't know what.

  Darkness was already settling in, so Kira and Ro had made a rough camp for the night. Kira lay on her back, looking up at the five moons of Bajor.

  "Maybe you were right," she said at last.

  "Of course I was." Ro was sitting up, keeping a wary eye on the fire that they had built for warmth. "Right about what?"

  "What you said before. About Bajor being sick to its soul. About our people deserving to have this … this illness inflicted on them."

  "I don't think I said 'deserved' exactly."

  "Yes, that is precisely what you said, precisely the word you used. 'Deserved.' And then I said—"

  "All right, all right, I don't need a word-for-word playback." The Maquis paused. "And now you think I was right about that."

  "Comvic Cam was one of the best men I ever knew. To me, he was emblematic of everything right with Bajor."

  Ro nodded. "I see. So now he can't help but be emblematic of everything wrong with Bajor. All the greed, the self-centeredness, symbolized in one tidy package. And faced with that, you start to wonder if perhaps the whole planet isn't worth the effort." She was quiet for a moment. "And what about the children, Major? I believe you brought that up. What about the innocent children?"

  Kira sighed. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it, when you have any discussion like this. Do they deserve to suffer for the bankrupt soul of their elders?"

  "I suppose it could be argued," Ro said, "that if they were allowed to grow to adulthood, they too would be infected by the moral and religious rot that's afflicted our people. That this is a sort of …"

  "Mercy killing?" the major suggested.

  Ro nodded.

  Kira turned to look at her companion, and for the first time there was no hint of anything on her face other than naked pain. "What kind of deity would consider slaughtering innocents because of what they might become in the future? The only way that makes sense is if their cynicism and contempt for our way of life is a certainty. In which case, what happens to free will? What—"

  "Major," Ro said softly, "can I point out something here? No matter what titles or job descriptions we presently have … no matter how we may want to define ourselves with our current goals … the bottom line is this: I'm a soldier. You're a soldier. Neither of us is the Kai, or a theologian.

  "Hell," the Maquis went on, "I'm not even sure if I believe in the Prophets in the first place, and I know I don't believe they're skulking around in the Bajoran wormhole. Maybe, just maybe, we're out of our depth bandying this stuff around. But may I remind you that Comvic Cam, whom you seem to hold in such high regard, wound up helping us? Maybe he did it for a higher purpose. Maybe there's a glimmer of hope for us after all."

  "Or maybe he just had a guilty conscience," Kira argued, "because of our past relationship."

  "It's possible," Ro conceded. "It comes down, I suppose, to how positive a face you want to put on it."

  Kira considered that for a moment and then said, "You want to know something?"

  The Maquis grunted. "You'll probably tell me in any event, so I might as well say yes."

  "When Cam was refusing to help us, I think the greatest part of my anger came from the embarrassment of knowing that you were sitting there, watching me look like an idiot."

  Ro laughed softly. Kira was surprised to make note of the fact that the woman had a surprisingly gentle laugh.

  "Kira … looking like an idiot is one thing, but being an idiot is something else." Then she lay down and rolled over.

  The major blinked. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to take that as a compliment or not."

  Ro yawned. "At this time of night, that's the best you're going to get out of me."

  CHAPTER

  7

  VARIS SUL WAS looking at the same silvery moons Kira and Ro were sleeping under. But for Varis, there was no sleep.

  Standing in her bedroom, in her nightclothes, there was
only gnawing guilt and aggravation. And a hideous memory, sharper and more galling because of how recent it was. A memory of a great weight upon her, and a low chuckle that filled her soul with revulsion . . . .

  And there was a sharp voice that barked behind her with unexpected ferocity.

  "Are you out of your mind?" demanded Kai Winn.

  Varis turned to regard the Kai, who stood across the room from her in her elegant white robes. The girl had always felt completely intimidated in dealing with Winn, even when the Kai was "just" one of the 112 Vedeks who served as the spiritual counsel for Bajor.

  That morning, Winn had come to the Paqu village to provide some sort of spiritual comfort for the ill, and for their caretakers. She had pulled the Paqu into prayer meetings, exhorting them to triumph over this hardship that had been thrown into their lives.

  The Paqu had listened attentively, mesmerized by the Kai's unmistakable personal strength and charisma. There had been only one unfortunate hitch during the Kai's discourse, and that was when a villager had keeled over, stricken by the illness, and had to be carried away to his home.

  The disease had picked up a name—"Wrath of the Prophets." Varis counted herself lucky. It could just as easily have been named after her.

  "Well?" Kai Winn was demanding. "I ask again, child, are you out of your mind?"

  Varis stared at her. Once upon a time, she would have been grateful for the loose nightclothes she was wearing. They would have served to hide the trembling of her legs.

  Now, however, she felt oddly detached from the situation. The threat of the Kai's anger was a distant second to what she had been through in the past night and day.

  His breath had been foul, and he had said things …

  Once again she tried to shake off the memory as she said, "You speak of the cure, I assume."

  Kai Winn approached her. Her voice was trembling, but it wasn't with fear.

  "It's true, then? Your dabbling in black market and illicit goods hasn't brought sufficient disaster? You have actually made inquiries about returning to that same ghastly source?"

  Varis nodded. "To see if a cure could be found, yes. I put out some feelers, spoke with some people …"

  "Have you learned nothing?" the Kai demanded.

  "What I've learned," Varis said calmly, "is that when one makes a mistake, one should try to rectify it …"

  Winn glared at her. "By repeating that mistake? Then you've learned nothing."

  Silently, Varis walked across the room and slid open the drawer of a cabinet. She pulled out a small vial from within and held it up.

  "What is that?" Kai Winn demanded.

  "A possible antidote."

  Winn's mouth moved for a moment, but no sound came out. "Antidote?" she asked at last.

  Varis watched the Kai's reaction and drew a measure of strength from it. "Yes. Obtained through black-market sources. Not the same individual from whom I got the replicator in the first place; he's disappeared, and in any event, we parted on … not the best of terms. So I made connections with a trader named Tabatch. He came to the village last night, snuck in to meet with me, and provided me with this."

  Winn held out her hands. "Give it to me, child."

  "What?" Varis said. She felt her confidence building with every moment. "Aren't you going to lecture me? Tell me how wrong I was? Scold me within an inch of my life? Berate me and …"

  "We don't have time for this nonsense!" the Kai cried. "I am telling you to give it to me!"

  Varis tossed the vial to her. She threw it with a sweeping underhanded gesture, and it fell a foot short of Winn's outstretched fingers. The vial hit the floor …

  … and shattered.

  A thick blue liquid spread out, soaking the wood floor, and the Kai let out a shriek of despair. "You … I …!"

  "It's no good," Varis told her.

  Winn looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

  The tetrarch sighed. "Do you seriously think I had something like this in my possession for this long and did nothing with it? I've already had it examined and tested."

  "And …?"

  "And it was worthless. The price I paid for it was wasted. It does nothing to slow the progress of the plague."

  "Hunh." Winn digested this information and said, "I knew it. This is what happens when you trade in—"

  "You knew it?" Varis Sul said skeptically. "Oh, please …"

  "I will thank you to watch how you address me!" the Kai ordered.

  "And I will thank you not to treat me like a fool," said the young woman. "I saw your expression, your excitement, when I said I had a possible antidote. You didn't care that it had come through the black market. You didn't care about anything except achieving the goal."

  Her voice rose with anger. "Earthers talk of the ends justifying the means, and that's what I did when I was trying to save my people from starving. And that's what you've done in your own career, Kai."

  Winn tried to interrupt in her customary highhanded tone. But Varis would have none of it, steamrolling right over her elder's protests.

  "You think I don't know? You think everyone doesn't know? By the Prophets, you're blind! We all know of your machinations and your plans and schemes, so don't you dare stand there in judgment of me—because when it comes to self-serving and single-mindedness, I can't even begin to operate on your level!"

  The Kai was trembling with anger. "You think you can talk to me in that manner?"

  "I don't think it," Varis said flatly. "I've already done it." She gathered herself. "I tried to help. I did what I thought was best for the community. And because of that—because of those good intentions—people are dying. And here's the ironic part, in case you haven't noticed."

  She tapped her chest. "I haven't contracted it. Oh, I'm sure I will, at some point. My blood has already been drawn and checked, and there's no particular immunity factors in it. It's just the luck of the draw. Or … here's an even more interesting thought … it's the will of the Prophets. For my having committed the unpardonable sin of trying to save lives, they're going to make certain that I live as long as possible, so that I can see my whole village come down with the Wrath."

  Varis swallowed. "You know what that says to me?

  It says that if the Prophets are looking down on us, pronouncing judgment on us, then they are a petty and pathetic bunch of bastards. They find us wanting? Well, I pronounce judgment on them—and I tell them to go to hell."

  The Kai looked down and said nothing at first. Finally she replied.

  "I shall pray for you, my child. I shall pray that guidance is given to your soul to bring it back to salvation. The Prophets test us, and how we respond to those tests is a measure of …"

  Varis grunted. "Save it, Kai Winn. Save the platitudes for your next sermon. Save the dogma for someone who cares. I'm already damned. I've known that since this entire sorry mess first started. If the Prophets are doing this to test our faith, well … they've already got their answer from this quarter."

  The Kai drew herself up and said, "I will pray for you … nonetheless."

  Varis shrugged. "Go ahead, for all the good it will do any of us."

  * * *

  Sisko gazed at the jumbled gray amalgam that hung in space in front of him. It was constructed of various ship fragments and antiquated station parts and a few components he'd never seen before in his life.

  "Mephil Trantos." Quark chuckled.

  The human grunted. "Doesn't look like much to me," he said.

  The Ferengi shrugged. "That's because you haven't spent some of your fondest moments in this place. There's no manner of vice that can't be fulfilled here, no itch that can't be scratched—and by professionals. I remember these two absolutely luscious Pandrilites …"

  "I don't want to hear about it," Sisko told him.

  "Twin sisters." Quark sighed, continuing his ruminations undeterred. "Arrenya and Tensata. Tall, muscular … quite lovely." His hand rose instinctively to one of his earlobes. "Had
their own stage show. And the things those ladies could do with a venn'ga frond—"

  Sisko leaned closer. "I said I don't want to hear it, Quark."

  The Ferengi sighed again, then cast a look of disapproval at his companion. "You know the trouble with you, Captain? You don't get out enough. Not nearly."

  "Whatever you say," Sisko told him. "Now, you're certain we won't have any problem disembarking here?"

  "None," Quark assured him. "The Orions don't make money by turning people away."

  "Even Starfleet officers?" the human asked.

  "They'd welcome a Klingon targ if they thought he'd brought some latinum," the Ferengi replied. "Relax, Captain." He leaned back in his seat. "I know I will."

  Sisko frowned. "Quark, I didn't bring you here for a vacation. You said you'd introduce me to the Orion trade administrator."

  "I said I'd take you to him," the Ferengi reminded him. "There's a difference, you know."

  Sensing a scam, the human rounded on him. "Quark …"

  The Ferengi held up his hand in a plea for peace. "I haven't forgotten our objective here, I assure you. It's just that we'll do better if we split up. That way, you can try your approach … and I can try mine."

  Sisko had to admit there was a certain utility to the plan. "So I'll … work on the trade administrator by myself?"

  "That's a good idea," Quark replied. "And I'll work the gaming den." He smiled, so that the points of his teeth showed. "Who knows? I might get lucky."

  The human didn't say anything this time. He just cast a withering look at his companion.

  The Ferengi assumed his most innocent demeanor. "I meant in getting hold of some answers," he explained. "Really, Captain. You've got to learn to trust me a little more."

  Sisko turned to his instruments and began to hail the station. "I'd sooner trust that targ you were talking about."

  Jake Sisko lay draped over the couch in his quarters, unable to get the image of the dying Bajorans out of his head. Here he was, safe and sound, while far below him on the planet's surface, people were losing their lives. It was remarkable to him that they had all these facilities aboard Deep Space Nine—medical, defensive, offensive, what have you—and yet they were helpless to aid people in need.