Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key (19 page)

“W
e’ve lost shields!” Kurn shouted. “Intendant, what are your orders?”

Iliana stood frozen as Terok Nor quaked around her.
This can’t be happening. My Path leads here. I’m fated to be the—

“Fire reported in Upper Pylon Two, near the emergency oxygen tanks,” one of the Klingons called out. “Suppression system offline.”

“Blow the emergency ports,” Kurn ordered. “Vent the pylon, before those tanks explode!”

“General, we have personnel inside the—”

“Do as I command!” Kurn roared. “Weapons, target that ship and fire at will!”

Another jolt shook the station. Beside her, the Klingon at engineering struck his head against a bulkhead and fell to the deck, either unconscious or dead. The station sustained still another resounding strike, which flung Iliana hard against the engineering console; she grunted as she fought to prevent herself from toppling over it.

Engineering. Thruster controls. Navigation.

“Lower Defense Sail one has been destroyed,” someone reported behind her. “Turbolifts are offline stationwide. Habitat Ring has sustained heavy damage to Sections Four through Nine, Levels Five and Six. Several compartments have opened to space.”

The Habitat Ring. No. Oh, no…

“General, thrusters have fired—the station is moving again!”

“What? On whose authority—?” Kurn shouted. He turned toward the engineering station, where he saw Iliana hunched over the console. “What are you
doing?
”

“They aren’t going to stop us,” she vowed. “We’re too close now for that.”

“General, she’s put us on a course for the wormhole!” the weapons officer said.

Kurn moved up the steps toward her. “Are you
insane?”

“Keep your place, General!”

“No,” Kurn said, drawing his
d’k tahg.
“I’ve had enough of your madness. No more. This farce ends now.”

Iliana’s eyes narrowed. She backed away, forcing Kurn to follow, allowing his large frame to eclipse her view of the other five Klingons in the ops center. Then she stopped and gave him an opening.

He took the bait, thrusting his knife as she brought up her hand and captured his wrist. Kurn continued to grin, pushing his blade toward her neck as if he were only toying with her. With her other hand she reached for her disruptor, and of course he caught her arm with his free hand and kept her weapon angled well away from him.

Of course, that meant he now had both hands full, and she had armed herself.

Kurn leaned in, clearly savoring the slow, incremental progress his knife was making toward Iliana’s skin. His grinning face was aligned alongside the hilt of his
d’k tahg
—and, not coincidentally, right beside Iliana’s gripping hand.

A subtle motion of her wrist was all it took. The spring-mounted blade hidden in her sleeve deployed, biting deep into Kurn’s neck. The general’s eyes went wide as her blade abruptly sliced through artery and bone and spinal cord as though they were made of paper. The general’s dying, twitching body slumped heavily against her much smaller frame.

Using Kurn’s body as a shield, Iliana raised her disruptor and fired on the remaining Klingons in ops. Three of them got off shots of their own before they fell; two of those were rendered harmless by Kurn’s broad back, which now sizzled under the thermal onslaught, while the third shot missed her entirely.

A few heartbeats later, she was the last one standing in ops—or at least the last one standing under her own power.

Her nose twitching in disgust, Iliana shoved Kurn’s partly roasted corpse away from her. It landed with a moist thud on the steps that led to the engineering station and rolled to a halt on the deck. Panting at the exertion, she took a moment to recover her wind.

I’m running out of time,
she realized as she glanced at her chronometer. She touched her communicator patch and spoke breathlessly into it. “Kira to Taran’atar.”

No answer came back.

“Taran’atar, this is the Intendant. Come in.”

Still nothing.
Damn him, where is he?

“Taran’atar, this is a direct command,” Iliana said as she recovered a couple of extra disruptors from the nearest fallen Klingons. “Go immediately to Airlock One, on the Docking Ring. Wait for me there.”

With no more time to spare, Iliana looked for her two Bajoran rebel guests. She found them cowering behind the sciences station.

“Wait here,” she told them as she quickly programmed the console’s transporter controls. “And be sure to keep watching the holoscreen. This is far from over.”

But first…the Habitat Ring.

Leaving them where they were, Iliana hurried toward the transporter stage, whose shimmering curtain of light took her a moment after she reached it.

T
aran’atar moved through the docking bay, a Jem’Hadar at war.

He stalked his targets invisibly, cutting down Klingon after Klingon with stealth and speed. Necks snapped. Throats were cut. Hearts were punctured. With each kill he claimed their sidearms, and when the trail of corpses began to attract attention, he waited in ambush, emerging from his shroud at intervals, becoming visible long enough to spray the passageways with disruptor fire.

The bay he sought was close now. A few more meters…

“Kira to Taran’atar.”

Her
voice. He unshrouded.

“Taran’atar, this is the Intendant. Come in.”

It no longer carried its former power, but still it tugged at him. Insistent. Demanding.

“Taran’atar, this is a direct command. Go immediately to Airlock One, on the Docking Ring. Wait for me there.”

Obedience brought victory. But his vow was already broken. So
much
was broken now. Even before L’Haan had reached into his mind with that final, dying effort to undo the damage Iliana Ghemor had done to him, his existence had become a farce. L’Haan’s meld had been slow to heal him, snapping his bonds one coppery tendril at a time, allowing him to assert more of his own will with each passing hour.

He had in the days since stared into the eyes of his false god, knowing even as he continued to acknowledge her every word and carry out her every command, that he was coming ever closer to exacting his revenge for what she had done to him.

Now as he heard her voice calling to him, Taran’atar knew that he was free at last to act.

Airlock 1. Halfway around the Docking Ring—

The cargo bays.

No. The false god would have to wait. He had another task to finish, another vow to keep.

Taran’atar continued down the passageway, crossing the final meters to the door he wanted. The guards had abandoned their posts. He shot out the keypad, ripped open the manual release, and pulled the level down. Forcing his fingertips into the hatchway’s edge, he shoved the door aside, pushing it into its wall pocket.

He looked inside. Vaughn stood on the other side of the doorway, flanked by eight of this station’s former masters.

“It’s good to see you, Taran’atar,” Vaughn said. “Thanks for keeping your promise.”

VEKOBET, EIGHT HOURS EARLIER

Captain Kira blacked out, and Taran’atar dropped her unconscious form at his feet.

There was not much time. He had succeeded in delaying both her capture and Vaughn’s, but more Klingons would soon be coming. Their release from captivity would have to wait until they were back aboard Terok Nor, where it might be possible to tip the odds more forcefully in his favor.

He stepped away from Kira and hurried toward Vaughn, who was still on the ground where Taran’atar had left him, lying on his back several meters away.

Vaughn became more alert when he saw the Jem’Hadar’s face over him. He tried to attack, but Taran’atar held him down with a firm hand over his chest.

“Commander, listen to me. I’m trying to help. This is very difficult, because I’m still not entirely myself. Klingons will be here soon to take you and Captain Kira prisoner. Don’t resist. They’ll take you to Terok Nor. Once I get there, I’ll find you.”

“How can I possibly trust you?” Vaughn asked.

“You can’t,” Taran’atar answered. “Nevertheless, I give you my word.”

And with that, he shrouded and left.

TEROK NOR, NOW

Taran’atar dropped his cache of weapons on the deck. While the rebels got busy arming themselves, he turned to Vaughn. “I surrender to your authority.”

Vaughn grabbed a weapon and checked its charge. “Good to know. What’s the tactical situation?”

“Unclear,” Tarna’atar said. “Within the last thirty minutes, this station came under attack by
Defiant.
The Intendant has reactivated the station’s maneuvering thrusters and has put Terok Nor on a collision course with the wormhole. I chose that moment to make my move, and I am personally responsible for the deaths of thirty-two enemy combatants in the Docking Ring. That leaves potentially as many as three hundred twenty-eight other Klingons scattered throughout the station.”

“What about
my
people?” asked O’Brien, the rebel leader.

“Presumably they’re still in confinement along this corridor,” Taran’atar said. “Freeing them should not be difficult.”

“Arming them will be a different matter altogether,” O’Brien said.

“One of the armories is close by,” said the counterpart of Ezri Dax.

“Go,” O’Brien told her. “Vendiki, go with her. The rest of us need to get down to engineering and pull this station off its present course.”

“I’ll come with you,” Vaughn said. “Maybe I can help.” He turned to face Taran’atar. “Where’s Kira?”

“In a holding cell on the Promenade.”

“I want you to release her. Tell her what’s going on. Tell her you’ve already freed the rest of us and that we’re working to correct the station’s course.”

“She will not trust me,” Taran’atar said.

“No, she won’t,” Vaughn agreed. “So you need to give her a message from me.”

Iliana was intensely relieved to discover that the damage to the Habitat Ring had not extended all the way to Vaas’s cabin. The Klingon guards assigned to watch Vaas’s quarters were gone, having been redeployed to more vital areas when the station had come under attack.

Her weapon drawn and ready, Iliana unlocked the door and stepped cautiously inside. “Let’s go,” she told Vaas at gunpoint.

“No,” the other woman answered, folding her arms defiantly.

“Idiot! We don’t have time for this!” Iliana said. “Do you want to see your husband again or not?”

“Another mind game?”

“No games. This is your last chance. If you don’t take it, you’ll never see Ataan again.”

Vaas swallowed. Finally she followed Iliana back across the cabin’s threshold. Iliana grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down the curve of the corridor.

“The station’s under attack, isn’t it?” Vaas asked.

Iliana scoffed. “What gave it away?”

“So why are you taking the time to bother with Ataan and me? Especially after what you said about—”

“I want you to understand something, Vaas. I told you before that your husband and I struck a bargain. I was ready to bombard Vekobet from orbit, because I knew it harbored agents from the other universe. Ataan pleaded with me to save you, because he knew you were down there, and in exchange for your life he told me what Vekobet really is.”

“He betrayed the enclave?”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

They stopped in front of a door, and Iliana answered, “Because after everything he’s done to advance the cause of revolution, every selfless act and every sacrifice and every crime he’s committed against his own people—when he faced the very real possibility of losing you, he chose to turn his back on all of it.

“That’s how much he loves you, Vaas. I just wanted you to understand that.”

Iliana keyed the cabin open. Ataan looked up from his bunk, and when he saw his wife, he launched himself toward her. Vaas went to him, and the two met in an embrace that looked unbreakable.

“Come on,” Iliana prompted. “You need to hurry.”

“Hurry? I don’t understand,” Ataan said.

Iliana pointed down the corridor. “Follow the curve until you reach an emergency stairwell. Go up to the top deck and follow the passageway to Shuttle Pad Three. There’s a Klingon ship there. Take it and go.”

“Go where?” Vaas asked.

“Anywhere you want. Just get out of here.” She handed them each a disruptor. “The ship may be guarded. I imagine you both know how to handle these.”

They took the weapons. “Why?” Ataan asked.

“Go
now,”
Iliana said as she backed away, heading in the opposite direction. When the couple had nearly receded from view, Iliana saw them start to run.

T
erok Nor was in chaos.

Ghemor had beamed herself to an isolated corner of the Promenade, an alcove tucked away behind one of the old, defunct shops. She could see now that she needn’t have bothered with her act of concealment. Peeking out at the mad rush of Klingons that swarmed in all directions, she thought she could have transported directly into their midst without anyone even taking notice.

Taking a deep breath, she bounced a few times on her toes before breaking into a purposeful run, blending in at once with the flurry of activity that now surrounded her.

Those who saw her coming quickly got out of her way, giving her a wide berth.

She might have guessed that one clumsy oaf would be the first to put to the test the crazy idea she’d had on Deep Space 9. That near collision had forced her to stop while the soldier met her eyes, then quickly lowered them.

“Intendant, please forgive me,” he stammered. “I had no idea—”

“Out of my way, you idiot!” Ghemor snapped, shoving the soldier aside as she raced on.

Slowing as she neared the security office, Ghemor caught her reflection in the transparent window of the door just before it opened to admit her. The face of Kira Nerys, complete with the silver headpiece and black garment of the Intendant, stared back at her. She had to hand it to Doctor Bashir; she’d suspected Federation doctors had the capacity for such transformations, but the results had far exceeded her expectations—easily on a par with anything the Obsidian Order could have done.

The Klingon who sat behind the desk rose respectfully when she entered, and she answered the gesture with a quick phaser strike to his chest. If anyone in the corridor had noticed, they would simply think Intendant Kira was in another one of her unfortunate moods.

At least, she hoped so.

Pushing aside the stunned Klingon, she moved behind the security console and checked the list of prisoners being held inside. She found only one: Kira.

Well, it’s a start.

Marching into the holding area, she dispatched the two guards who were watching over the captain with the same economy of action she had brought to bear against the one in the outer office.

Obviously stunned by the sight of the Intendant effecting a rescue, Kira could only stare as Ghemor recovered a small object from one of the corpses, quickly deactivated the force field barrier, and waved the device over each of Kira’s shackles, which promptly snapped open.

“Sorry that took so long, Captain. We got here as soon as we could.”

“Ghemor?” the captain asked, clearly reluctant to believe her own conclusion. “Is that really you?”

“I know you’d probably appreciate a long explanation,” Ghemor told them, “and I wish I could give you one, but I’m afraid we just don’t have the time.
Defiant
has taken out most of Terok Nor’s defenses—”

“Defiant?”
Kira asked.
“My Defiant?”

Ghemor nodded. “There’s a fleet of Klingon ships due here soon, so if we—” Ghemor stopped as an ominous vibration passed through the soles of her shoes. “What was that?”

“The station’s moving again,” Kira realized. “Something’s wrong.”

An unexpected voice answered her with chilling clarity. “Terok Nor is on a collision course with the wormhole.”

Ghemor spun around, her phaser aimed directly at Taran’atar’s head as he unshrouded in front of her and Kira. With movements almost too fast to follow, the Jem’Hadar grabbed her wrist and spun her around, slamming her hand hard against the bulkhead so that she released the phaser.

Then he slowly turned her back around, studying her face. “You aren’t her.”

He released her, and she stepped away from him quickly, finally having the presence of mind to slap the neuropulse device, which was disguised as the Alliance emblem in the middle of her chest.

But she saw no apparent change in Taran’atar.
Oh, no.

Ghemor saw the look in Kira’s eyes. She was angry. Angry enough to launch herself against Taran’atar, even though to do so was to risk her life.

For Taran’atar’s part, the Jem’Hadar made no further threatening moves. He remained armed, but his hands were free and open at his sides.

Then he spoke directly to Kira.

“I came to help.”

Kira stared at Taran’atar for a long moment before she managed to find her voice. “What are you telling me? That you’re no longer under her control?”

“I’m no longer under
anyone’s
control,” Taran’atar answered. Despite his characteristically flat affect, the hard fact of the statement almost seemed to cause him pain.

“Why should I believe that?”

“I saved your life on Vekobet,” Taran’atar said. “Yours and Vaughn’s.”

“You said you were following orders to capture us alive!”

“I did indeed receive those orders,” the Jem’Hadar said. “But that isn’t why I followed them, Captain. I’ve freed Commander Vaughn and the rebels. Even now, they’re attempting to correct the station’s course.”

“How do I know that anything you’re telling me is true?” Kira demanded.

“In the event you doubted me, Commander Vaughn asked me to give you a message.”

“What message?”

“He still has your back.”

Kira blinked, but allowed herself to relax somewhat.

“Captain, please tell me you aren’t going to trust him,” Ghemor said.

Kira ignored her. “Where is she, Taran’atar?”

“The Intendant is on her way to the Docking Ring, Port One.”

“Why there?”

“She is positioning herself at the leading edge of the station—the section that will reach the event horizon first.”

“She’s still bent on fulfilling the prophecy,” Kira realized. “Even if she has to destroy the station to do it.”

“So what do we do now?” Ghemor asked, sounding frustrated.

“We go after her.” Kira looked at Taran’atar. “You still want to make yourself useful?”

“Yes.”

“Then get down to engineering and see what you can do to help Vaughn and the rebels.”

Taran’atar inclined his head in a silent gesture of assent, then exited the holding area, shrouding as he passed through the door.

Ghemor paused to grab a weapon from one of the fallen Klingons, then handed her Starfleet phaser to Kira. “You’d better take this. I feel a lot more comfortable with a disruptor.”

“Thanks,” Kira said, checking the weapon’s charge.

Ghemor likewise readied her disruptor before looking up at Kira, expectation in her eyes. “You ready?”

Concealing her phaser inside her uniform jacket, Kira nodded. “Let’s move.”

Letting Ghemor drag her by the arm to keep up ap
pearances, the two women rushed out of security and straight toward the nearest emergency stairwell. As before, the Klingons rushed to get out of Ghemor’s way. Once they were clear of unwelcome eyes, they broke into a run for the Docking Ring.

At first they moved together in silence, but by the time they reached the first crossover bridge, Kira could no longer hold back the question she’d been waiting to ask.

“So were you ever going to tell me that
you’re
the one who was supposed to become the Emissary?”

“Let’s be clear about something, Captain,” Ghemor said as she continued to run alongside Kira. “I’m doing what I was trained to do: trying to neutralize a threat, nothing more. And no offense, but I’m not even overly fond of Bajor. Let somebody else usher in the new age.”

Someone who doesn’t wish to be among us is to be the Emissary.

“I’m not sure it’s possible to accept one part of a prophecy while denying the rest, Ghemor,” Kira said. “It tends to be all or nothing.”

“Great.
Now
you tell me,” Ghemor muttered, but Kira thought she heard wry amusement in the other woman’s voice.

Just as they reached the second crossover bridge, the station lurched, and its artificial gravity and inertial compensation systems offset the unexpected motion only incompletely.

Kira permitted herself a shred of optimism; the rebels must be making some progress in trying to regain control of the station. At least, that what she
hoped
was happening.

And if that’s true, it means that Taran’atar kept his word.

Ghemor suddenly downshifted to a brisk, silent walk. Kira fell in step beside her, seeing that they’d nearly reached their destination. The inner door of Docking Port 1’s airlock was open, and the two women stopped at the port’s edge. Kira took the point and peered around the circular lip of the tunnel as the station jolted and shuddered again.

Iliana was standing there, her back to the corridor, the hand that held the Shard of Souls pressed against the transparent aluminum of the outer door as she gazed out into the plasma-streaked blackness of the Denorios Belt. Waiting.

Her other hand was holding a disruptor pistol.

Kira nodded to Ghemor, and the two of them entered the tunnel, their weapons raised.

“It’s over, Iliana,” Kira said. “The station’s course is being altered as we speak. Drop your weapon and step out of the airlock. Now.”

Iliana didn’t move, and quite suddenly, the wormhole opened beyond her.

It filled the space beyond the airlock, bright and blue and churning—a roiling maelstrom against which the figure of Iliana became shadowy, almost a silhouette. And for the first time in the eight years since she’d become a witness to the majesty of the Celestial Temple, the sight of it filled Kira with fear.

The station shook, but the destruction Kira had expected didn’t come.

The rebels must have done it—they must have altered the station’s course enough to just brush the event horizon before veering
away from it! Any second now the wormhole will close and—

Iliana glanced over her shoulder at Kira and Ghemor and smiled.

“You’re too late,” she said.

Lifting her weapon to the airlock, Iliana fired.

The portal shattered outward. Swept into the hurricane rush of atmosphere that exploded from Terok Nor, Kira heard the roar of the wind and the deafening silence that followed it as she and the two women who shared her face plummeted across the gap of icy space and into the gaping maw of the unknown.