Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Soul Key (4 page)

“We must put our faith in the Prophets,” Opaka said. “And we must trust the rebels of Terok Nor to prevail against the Intendant.”

“And if they don’t?” asked Vaughn. “Are you willing to just wait around and hope for the best without a contingency plan?”

“What would you suggest?” Jaro asked.

Vaughn leaned forward. “If the Intendant takes back Terok Nor, then the station will once again fall under Bajoran oversight, yes?”

“Of course,” Jaro said.

“Then I imagine your politicians will wish to make a show of the Alliance victory over the rebels,” Vaughn went on. “Some will want to go there as soon as possible once the station has been secured.”

“Your Ghemor told us that there are highly placed dissidents in Bajor’s secular leadership,” Kira chimed in. “If you have any influence with them, we need to be ready to get someone up to the station as quickly as possible. You can send me.”

Jaro was nodding thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

“Consider this carefully, Essa,” Winn cautioned.

“I am, Adami, rest assured. And I believe Commander Vaughn’s point is well taken: we must be prepared to take swift action should the station fall.”

“You do have influential people you can count on, then?” Kira asked.

Jaro smiled. “While my position here is ostensibly that of a humble physician, Captain, there are indeed favors I can call in from certain dissident politicians, several of whom possess the authority to arrange a ‘fact-finding visit’ to Terok Nor, if it does fall under Bajor’s dominion once again—and they would do it gladly if it meant exposing the Intendant as a fraud.”

“But would this false Intendant even allow such a visit?” Winn asked. “Given what we know of her, I’m not convinced she would feel obligated to honor our protocols.”

“Ever the pragmatist, Adami,” Jaro said. “I’m fairly certain it’s why I married you.”

Winn harrumphed but otherwise let the comment pass.

“You’re quite right, of course. There are no guarantees,” Jaro continued. “However, I must remind you and Sulan both that we do not follow a path of guarantees, but rather one of choices. The Prophets gave us free will so that we might light our
own
way in the darkness.”

Kira blinked.

“You must forgive him,” Opaka said, noticing Kira’s expression. “He can be quite florid when he puts his mind to it.” She shot Jaro a warning look. “It begins to grate after a while.”

“No, it’s all right,” Kira said. “It’s just—you speak so much like the vedeks of my world, Doctor Jaro. The other Bajorans I’ve met from your universe seemed completely ignorant of—”

“Most of my people have forgotten the Prophets,” Jaro said, interrupting. “But as you already know, we three belong to a movement that labors toward a renewal of the faith. Years ago I belonged to one of the first enclaves dedicated to preserving our ancient teachings. Eventually some of our group’s followers ventured out to become founders of their own enclaves. It wasn’t until my wife and I came to Vekobet, when we rediscovered the Shards of Dava, that we came to understand what was truly at stake for our people—that the time foretold by Trakor is finally upon us—and together we set about preparing for the coming of the Emissary.”

“The Shards of Dava?” Kira asked. “Dava Nikende? He was a kai on my world centuries ago, the leader of our faith—”

“On ours as well,” Winn said. “It was he who foresaw the destruction of the Tears.”

Kira’s shock was absolute. “The Orbs of the Prophets were destroyed? How could that happen?”

“The Terran Empire,” Jaro said. “Our conquerors disapproved of our religion. They forbade its practice, and systematically wiped out its priests, its scriptures, and its icons.”

Kira felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. Even the Cardassians of her universe hadn’t gone so far during the occupation of Bajor. They had been curious enough about the Tears to confiscate them, but they had never taken the Bajoran religion seriously enough to attempt to eradicate it.

And maybe that alone explains why the Terran Empire went that extra kellipate,
Kira thought. The Bajoran faith had been the thing that held Kira’s people together during the Occupation, giving them the will to continue resisting. Perhaps that was something the Terrans had already understood when they came to Bajor—and why they had feared its power enough to want to wipe it out.

No wonder this world fell in with the Alliance, and why it breeds people like the Intendant.

“It was during this purge that the first enclave came together, dedicated to preserving what prophecies remained,” Opaka went on. “But centuries before, Kai Dava foresaw the darkening of the Tears, and he took what steps he could to preserve their light. With great reluctance, he took from each of the Nine a fragment, set them in bands of metal, and hid them to await the day when Bajor would need them again.”

“Orb fragments,” Kira whispered, and she and Vaughn exchanged a look of understanding.

“Yes,” Opaka confirmed. “And I believe I can guess what you wish to ask us next, Captain. Let me save you the trouble: the Shard discovered on your world came from ours.”

Kira shook her head in amazement. “How?”

“Those of Dava’s writings that survived from this period reflect the torment his visions caused him, as well as his anguish over the actions he felt compelled to take,” Opaka said. “One of the more oblique scrolls seems to suggest that before he hid the Shards, the Orb of Souls called to him. He describes meeting his reflection when he opened the ark, and entrusting the Shard of Souls to this second Dava.”

“My
world’s Dava,” Kira realized. “But it was all for nothing. The Shard has fallen into the hands of a madwoman bent on fulfilling Trakor’s prophecy. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps not in hindsight,” Opaka conceded. “But consider it from our Dava’s perspective. His visions of apocalypse had affected him so profoundly that he willingly defaced the Tears in order to save them. Perhaps he also foresaw some tragedy involving the Shard of Souls that he wished to avert, and only by removing it from this world did he believe it would be safe. Prophecy is often vague, Captain. That’s why we must test it.”

The familiar words brought a smile to Kira’s lips, but she wasn’t completely reassured. On the one hand, it seemed as if the Dava of this universe was indirectly responsible for giving Iliana Ghemor a weapon of incalculable power. On the other hand…

Is it possible that this is exactly what the Prophets intended should happen? But why would They—?

“Sulan,” someone said.

Kira looked up at the sound of the voice. Vaughn did not. Instead, he closed his eyes. Behind him, running toward their table from the door through which Jaro had entered earlier, was Elias’s daughter. But not
his
daughter.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

“Prynn, you shouldn’t be here,” Opaka said, rising from her chair as the young woman threw her arms around her. “What’s wrong, child? Has something happened?”

“Ashalla,” she whispered.

Kira braced herself.

“What about Ashalla?” Winn asked, leaving her place at the door and approaching the table for the first time.

“It’s gone. Ashalla’s gone,” Prynn wept. “The city’s been destroyed.”

NINE MONTHS AGO

F
ar below the cracked ochre wasteland of Harkoum’s surface, Iliana Ghemor turned away from the reading screen, her anguish and rage competing for dominance as she wedged the knuckles of her left fist between her teeth. She savored the sensation of her skin breaking against the pressure, the metallic taste of her blood mingling with the salty tears that flowed freely down the cheeks of Kira Nerys.

Her
cheeks.

Dead,
she thought as her eyes traveled tremulously back to the shatterframe monitor atop her desk.
They’re all dead. And they’ve been dead for years.
Her mother, her father, Entek, the Obsidian Order itself…And now, if this newest intel from her spies was to be believed, even Gul Dukat was gone—consumed in Bajor’s Fire Caves during an arcane confrontation with the Emissary, a battle that had evidently claimed them both.

In truth, she’d half expected this. From the moment she’d learned the full scope of the Dominion War and the attempted genocide on Cardassia that had marked
its end, Iliana had accepted the very real possibility that all the people she’d known in her old life were among the nearly one billion slain. But instead, after scouring the files of Dukat’s personal database—copied from his secret safe house beneath the lunar prison on Letau—she learned that they’d met far different fates.

Her mother had been first. Less than a year after Iliana had departed Cardassia for her covert mission to Bajor, Kaleen Ghemor had fallen into a despair from which she had never recovered. She resigned from the judiciary, withdrew from the world, and eventually became gravely ill following a prolonged struggle with a crippling depression. She finally expired in a hospital room seven years after she’d last seen Iliana.

Corbin Entek met his end three years later, after he’d become one of the highest-ranking strategists of the Obsidian Order, and during a predictably convoluted plot to expose her father’s covert involvement with a growing dissident movement on Cardassia. That the eroding certainty of her father’s political beliefs had eventually led him to become one of the movement’s leaders was a revelation, but it was as nothing compared to the shock of learning that Entek’s scheme had involved manipulating Tekeny Ghemor with the promise of restoring his long-lost daughter to him, using a surgically altered Kira Nerys—the
other
Kira Nerys—to convince him that she had finally returned from her assignment on Bajor.

That her old mentor—and the architect of her metamorphosis—had chosen to defile her memory in order to achieve his ends came as little surprise. Entek had
done a poor job of concealing his true interest in Iliana during her tutelage, and the things she had heard Dukat say to him at Elemspur on the day of her memory transference left little doubt that Entek had manipulated her from the start, and that his frustrated obsession with her was directly responsible for the course her life had subsequently taken. Fittingly, the farce he had perpetrated against her father had been Corbin’s final undoing, though it had thrust Tekeny into exile and had allowed the other Kira to survive unscathed.

The final insult, however, had come two years later, at the time of her father’s death of Yarim Fel syndrome aboard Deep Space 9. The bond that Entek’s plan had created between Tekeny and Kira had endured right up until Tekeny Ghemor drew his last breath. He had sought to spend his last days in Kira’s company, even sharing with her the final, supremely intimate rite of
shri’tal!
Had he known that Kira shared responsibility for killing the love of Iliana’s life? Was it really possible that he had given up any hope of ever finding his real daughter, and had turned to the creature Iliana had been sent to replace in some pathetic need for a surrogate, just so that he wouldn’t have to die alone?

They gave up on me. All of them.

It had been no less devastating to learn about the deaths of her Bajoran loved ones. Thanks to the memories of Kira Nerys, Iliana recalled the mortal wound Cardassian soldiers had inflicted upon Kira’s father, Taban. But Kira’s mother, Meru, had apparently lived for years as Dukat’s concubine, long after her daughter had thought she’d died of malnutrition in the refugee
camps of Singha. Dead too were Kira’s brothers, Pohl and Reon.

Most of Kira’s resistance cell—the Shakaar—were gone as well. Some had fallen during the Occupation, like Dakahna Vaas, whose loss had been so painful to Kira that it drove her into a self-destructive spiral from which she had only barely escaped; others had been murdered in recent years by a vengeful Cardassian who’d survived Kira’s bombing of Gul Pirak’s compound on Bajor—the same bombing that had killed Iliana’s beloved Ataan Rhukal. Ataan’s death had driven Iliana to the Obsidian Order in her need to exact justice—and there she had drawn first blood by killing one of the Order’s captured terrorists, Dakahna Vaas.

Ataan and Vaas. She remembered loving them both. She remembered
killing
them both. And the terrible symmetry of those memories often seemed too intolerable to contemplate.

And now to learn that Dukat, too, was dead…

She would have been the first to admit the source of the new information was dubious—
if
she had lacked Kira’s appreciation of Bajoran metaphysics.

The report, filed by members of the Vedek Assembly and now glowing out from her desktop screen, told of an account given by the wife of the Emissary. This Kasidy Yates claimed to have experienced her husband in the aftermath of his final encounter with Dukat, and that he had told her that the gul was lost forever to the very entities he had tried to unleash—the Pah-wraiths. From a Cardassian perspective, it was utter nonsense.

But from the perspective of a devout Bajoran, it was an entirely logical and fitting end to the life of the planet’s most universally hated enemy. Adding to that the information she’d gleaned from Dukat’s own files on Bajoran mysticism and the many inexplicable events of the last eight years, and Iliana could well believe that the inscrutable alien beings who resided within the Bajoran wormhole had spun a complex web that had ensnared many lives, including that of Skrain Dukat.

And perhaps even her own.

That’s it, isn’t it?
she thought. Cardassia and Bajor, her life and Kira’s, Tekeny and Taban, Kaleen and Meru, Shakaar and Corbin, Vaas and Ataan—they were all somehow intertwined; entangled by invisible strands that formed the pattern of whatever obscure and intricate tapestry the Prophets were weaving behind their impenetrable curtain of timelessness.

And the thread of
my
life? Where does it lead now? How do I make myself whole again? Cardassia lies in ruins. Bajor has no place for me. Vengeance against Dukat is denied me. Entek is long dead. My mother succumbed to her own broken heart. And my father…My father’s love was stolen from me forever.

By Kira—

“Nerys?”

Iliana started, but didn’t turn toward the voice, hastily moving instead to close the file on her reader and wipe the tears from her face.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

She sensed Shing-kur’s hesitation. Ever since they’d broken out of Letau, together with several other inmates,
the Kressari had been her devoted right hand, and she’d had the clearest understanding of everything that Iliana had endured these last two decades.

Shing-kur alone knew that Iliana was not the Bajoran she appeared to be. But she seemed to appreciate nonetheless Iliana’s all-consuming need, after fifteen years of physical and psychological torture in Dukat’s private dungeon, to cling to the identity of the Bajoran woman that she should have replaced—the woman whose identity was the only one that had any meaning to her now. Consequently, during the months since their escape to Harkoum, Shing-kur had become acutely sensitive to Iliana’s moods, and it had to be obvious to her now that she had intruded upon Iliana at a moment of acute vulnerability.

“Well?” Iliana demanded. “Out with it!”

The Kressari seemed to take the hint, though she gave no further sign that she thought anything was amiss. “There’s been news out of Bajor.”

Her interest piqued, Iliana turned her head halfway toward Shing-kur, so that the Kressari would see her profile. “What sort of news?”

Shing-kur’s voice carried an air of possibility. “There’s a Jem’Hadar soldier aboard Deep Space 9.”

Harkoum proved to be everything Iliana could have hoped for, and more: Dukat’s secret Dominion transporter on Letau had deposited her band of fugitives deep within the abysmal Grennokar Detention Center. This was one of many underground secret prison installations
that the Obsidian Order had quietly maintained over the last century, until Cardassia finally abandoned the remote planet for good. Rumor had it that mummified corpses still resided in many of those forsaken facilities, and that the so-called enemies of the state who had been incarcerated here at the end of the Order’s reign—many of them having served as test subjects for the Order’s medical research initiatives—had simply been left to die in their locked subterranean cells. Iliana had tried to imagine what it must have been like for those poor souls, caged and starving, their ever-weakening screams for help and rescue going unheard until they had at last faded into eternal silence.

But if those rumors were true, then Grennokar was a notable exception to current Cardassian policy. The initial search that she and her cohorts had made of the facility showed considerable evidence of
recent
use, which appeared to have ended both suddenly and disastrously. Between the detention center’s still-intact records, which had included copies of Dukat’s personal files, it hadn’t taken long to piece together what had happened here, or why Dukat had taken such an interest in this place that he had used the Dominion subspace transporter in his secret Grennokar safe house exclusively for travel to and from Harkoum.

Dukat had first learned about Grennokar’s existence during the time of his great disgrace several years ago, during the period when he had been relegated to captaining a military freighter that serviced some of the Cardassian Union’s most remote holdings. But it wasn’t
until he’d begun his negotiations with the Dominion to drive out Cardassia’s then-occupiers, the Klingons, that he had started formulating new plans.

Plans that were to make considerable use of the Grennokar facility.

To bring those schemes to fruition, Dukat had successfully tracked down two of the Order’s former medical researchers, Doctors Omek and Vekeer, and recruited them for a very bold and risky project. Once he’d returned to power as the new Dominion-backed ruler of the Union, Dukat had quietly set the two men up at Grennokar. He then began discreetly redirecting useful bits of Dominion technology, thereby slowly rebuilding and improving upon the experimentation facilities that already existed on the detention center’s bottommost level.

These covert machinations were all directed toward a single purpose: to secretly undermine the intricate genetic programming that governed the Jem’Hadar’s loyalty to the Founders—part of a long-term plan to challenge the shape-shifters’ mastery of Cardassia
and
the Dominion by transferring their soldiers’ genetically mandated loyalty to
him.

Research subjects were initially the corpses of Jem’Hadar soldiers recovered from battle. Later, sedated live specimens were pulled off massive offensives against the Federation and the Klingons, abattoirs of battle from which a few fallen cannon-fodder troops would never be missed; these eventually found their way to Grennokar, providing Vekeer and Omek with as much raw material as their work required.

In hindsight, it came as no surprise to Iliana that not a single individual, neither Cardassian nor Jem’Hadar, was left alive in Grennokar by the time the war had ended. Iliana recalled Shing-kur’s incredulous reaction upon studying the project data, likening the doctors’ experiments on live Jem’Hadar to studying lightning from the top of an iron tower.

Nevertheless, the research had continued for two years—until quite recently, it seemed. According to the records, at the time of Dukat’s last visit to Harkoum to check on their progress—shortly after he’d had himself surgically altered so that he could pass for a Bajoran—Omek and Vekeer were convinced that they were on the verge of a significant breakthrough. Dukat led them to believe that he intended to return in order to put the fruits of their long labors to work, once his latest task on Bajor was completed.

But he never did. And less than a month after that final visit, both the scientists and every member of their support staff died horribly—moments after their “breakthrough” Jem’Hadar test subject broke through quite literally, overcoming his restraints. The creature’s berserker rage wasn’t spent until everyone in the lab lay dead, including the Jem’Hadar itself, which apparently had fallen victim to a massive and fatal cerebral hemorrhage.

It was the grisly aftermath of the doctors’ arrogance that greeted Iliana and her gang when they had first beamed in from Letau, some weeks after the disaster had taken place. Still, these gruesome findings had done nothing to discourage her from recognizing Grennokar’s
enormous potential utility. The secrecy of the facility and the remoteness of Harkoum—to which Grennokar was linked via Dukat’s subspace transporter—offered Iliana and her band of fellow travelers a long-term haven. The fugitives spent many of their early days at Grennokar simply taking inventory of their new home, assessing its resources, and debating the possible uses to which they might be put—computers, medical technology, weapons, a communications system linked to the Cardassian subspace relay network. The place even had a number of small, nondescript spacecraft that were clearly intended not to attract any unnecessary attention.

While each of her fellow escapees started to imagine how they would resume the various individual pursuits, legal or otherwise, that had landed them in Letau’s prison levels in the first place, Iliana began to formulate how she would fold their ambitions into her own. The more she learned about the strange new galaxy into which she’d emerged, the more the scope of her desire for revenge expanded outward, becoming a need that couldn’t be satisfied simply by eliminating her double aboard Deep Space 9.