CHAPTER 2

The circular hatch cycled open, and Vedek Ungtae stepped out into the docking ring. His slim build carried the red-orange robe and figured himation of Tempasa-lur with ease and grace. Kira knew that under the simple coif, his hair was sandy-red. His nasal ridges flared up like small wings over his eyebrows; with his high cheekbones, they gave an ethereal, noble air to his features.

His piercing blue eyes darted past the group of officers.

“Vedek Ungtae, welcome to Deep—“

Her attempt to formally greet the religious leader was brushed aside.

“Where is the Orb?” he demanded brusquely.

“In the station shrine, under the care of Vedek Hatha and Ranjen Shayl,” Kira replied. “Would you—“

“Is Carn already there?” the vedek interrupted.

“Yes, he arrived fifteen minutes ago and went right to the shrine. Shall I have someone—”

“I know the way.”

Vedek Ungtae pushed past her, gesturing the accompanying monks of his order to follow him. His bright robes flowed behind him as he all but ran. The monks trailed behind, only one of them pausing long enough to bow respectfully to her.

Kira’s own head was almost spinning at this point.

For a moment nobody said anything.

“Colonel?”

Kira turned to the small cluster of officers she’d hastily assembled to greet the Bajoran religious leaders. “What is it, Nog?”

“Are we expecting anybody else?” the Ferengi engineer lisped.

“No.” She shook her head tiredly. “I hope not....”

A meeting of vedeks always had the potential to turn into something venomous, when religion or politics were the topic — although generally in the most polite terms. In the sanctuary of the shrine, three of them had locked themselves away with the newly-revealed Orb, ordering everyone else out. Not even Ranjen Shayl was allowed to remain. Alone, they could discuss or argue any matter as freely as though they stood in a closed session of the Vedek Assembly.

The three stood before the ornately jeweled ark that housed the Orb. Hatha was quietly at ease. Ungtae and Carn were torn between uneasiness and anger. In the chamber now lit solely by tapers, they studied the religious artifact. Sealed in with the burning candles, the room gradually warmed and grew stuffy, except around the Orb case. It seemed to glow from within with a cold, watchful light. The glittering gems were like unblinking eyes noting their every move.

“I remain surprised that such an incredible gift was kept hidden from the Assembly,” Ungtae stated in the ringing voice that was so persuasive in the Vedek Assembly. He touched the edge of the ark, but quickly pulled back his fingers.

“Especially since the occupation has been over for nearly eight years,” Carn rumbled in gravelly tones that sounded like they had to fight their way through his beard and mustache. Either deliberately or from irritation, the Janitza Mountain burr in his voice was heavy. “Why was this Orb kept hidden from us, with the Cardassians gone?”

“It was Opaka’s instruction,” Hatha replied tranquilly.

“A kai has been known to make mistakes before,” Carn noted, glancing sideways at Ungtae. His antipathy for Winn and her close supporters was well-known. His conviction that she had somehow turned her back on the Prophets in her last days remained a closely kept secret.

But not kept hidden from Vedek Ungtae, who continued to champion a number of the previous kai’s policies, and who was Carn’s strongest competition in the upcoming election for kai. Ungtae’s eyes blazed, but otherwise he controlled his reaction.

“Kai Opaka, may she ever walk with the Prophets, has been gone from us for many years,” he said with cool civility, deliberately ignoring the veiled jibe. “Surely news of this Orb should have been conveyed to Kai Winn, during her spiritual leadership of our people. The Cardassians were gone, after all — there was no fear of news of the Orb reaching them. It should have been Winn’s decision, whether to conceal or reveal its existence.”

“Perhaps it was her instruction as well as Opaka’s,” Carn muttered, his accent so thick as to be nearly unintelligible.

“I was one of her closest advisors, she would not have kept it hidden from me.”

“Indeed,” was the other vedek’s response. “Rumor has it Winn kept many secrets, at the end.”

“This Orb could have provided much consolation for our people, a gift to sustain us when so many of the gifts of the Prophets were stolen during the Occupation. Orbs which we still have not recovered,” Ungtae said pointedly, focusing his attention on Hatha.

“When Opaka was sent to heal those in the Gamma Quadrant, I sought the will of the Prophets.” Hatha reverently rested his hand on the shell that concealed the Orb. “They spoke clearly. The Orb was to remain hidden until they revealed its time.”

“And why would that time be now?” Ungtae asked.

“The Prophets spoke. That which was hidden was to be brought forth.”

“Shabren’s Third Prophecy? The Prophecy of the Hidden?”

“So I believe.”

The other two vedeks exchanged glances at Hatha’s calm certainty.

“Shabren’s Third Prophecy speaks of a great revelation, and a great burning,” Ungtae said slowly.

“Out of the flames will come a restoration, arising from within,” Carn soberly noted. “I have studied the writings on Shabren’s Prophecies. Dinnek’s Meditations on the Third Prophecy suggest the Restoration will ultimately be heralded by war, the war of the Reckoning.”

“We have been through war.”

“My interpretation,” Carn stated flatly, “is that Shabren foresaw civil war. And Bajor in flames.”

The sanctuary felt suddenly too hot, and the flickering candle light was ominous.

Dax’s fourth and last appointment of the afternoon was, in a way, the hardest. Palani Trung was only five years old. His parents were dead, killed somewhere in the Dominion War. According to Sindelar Y’ras, his caregiver, the orphaned child hadn’t slept through a single night since a harrowing escape from Jem’Hadar troops, and not even alpha wave inducers kept him from waking up screaming or whimpering.

He’d been on the station for two weeks. She’d been counseling him since he arrived, to very little impact that she could detect. He was listless during the day, and night terrors continued to wake him.

He would probably be leaving the station in a few days. She didn’t want to feel she’d lost Palani. She didn’t want the boy to go on without getting some degree of help. It was time for desperate measures.

“Palani,” she suggested, “do you know who helps me at night when I feel afraid?”

The boy looked up at her uncertainly.

“Kukalaka.”

He squinted at her. “What’s that?”

“Kukalaka isn’t a ‘that,’ he’s a brave, strong, smart teddy bear.”

Palani’s eyes widened curiously.

“Let me introduce you.” The Trill counselor reached behind her desk to pull out the aged brown teddy bear that had been the closest companion of Julian’s childhood. “This is Kukalaka. He is a very special bear, and he belongs to a very special friend of mine, who left him here for me to take care of while he was gone.”

She looked down at the bear. “Kukalaka, this is Palani. Do you think you could stay with him for a few days while I’m so busy? I think he gets lonely sometimes.”

When she looked back at Palani, his eyes were shining and sad. “Taki,” he blurted. “Taki. I couldn’t find him. I had to leave him.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “He was all alone. I think the Jemmies killed him.”

“Who’s Taki?”

“Taki was my night buddy. Granmama Tu Tu gave him to me.” He reached for Kukalaka.

By the time the counseling session was over, Ezri could see the boy whispering to the teddy bear as he walked away with his caregiver.

That was promising. Ezri made a mental note to herself to tell the caregiver that the boy seemed to have focused his grief on the lost stuffed toy, and to find him a replacement of some kind. For today, she would let Palani have Kukalaka, and check with Sindelar the next day about whether he’d slept better.

Ezri found Commander Alden loitering outside her office.

“Endar! How are you.”

He shrugged it off as he shrugged off anything that could be remotely construed as a personal question. “How am I ever? But since you ask, I’m hungry. It’s time for dinner, and I thought I’d see if you had eaten yet.”

“No, I’ve been counseling all afternoon, but I think I just made a breakthrough.”

“With that kid?” Alden nodded after the boy.

“I like helping little boys. Of all ages.”

“You give him a trumpet too?” he jibed.

“No, a teddy bear.” Her eyes twinkled as she fell into step with the commander. “To celebrate the occasion, how about Quark’s?”

He snorted.

“Oh, right, you’re probably not Quark’s favorite person just now.”

“Am I ever?” he muttered. “How about the Replimat?”

“As long as it’s not the Klingon restaurant, I’ll go anywhere.”

They reached the Promenade, and could barely get through the mob before the shrine. Several monks stood at the entrance, quietly standing as if at guard. Half the station’s security detail was involved keeping order among the rest. There were pockets of Bajorans with arms raised in group chants, or quietly murmuring their own supplications or thanksgivings. The less spiritual and non-Bajorans shared animated curiosity or simply joined the excitement. A few argued; the deputies quickly dispersed those groups before anything could get out of hand.

“This place is hopping today,” the man remarked.

“It’s the ark of the new Orb,” Dax reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, that,” he said, a little dismissively, she thought.

“You’re forgetting how important the Orbs of the Prophets are to the Bajorans. They take their faith very seriously.” They couldn’t get through side by side, and Ezri was forced to move behind Alden, following him single file. There were a few grumbles and glares as they moved through the throng.

He pushed on toward the Replimat. “Well, it doesn’t mean that much to me.”

“Nothing about Bajor seems to mean that much to you.”

“I didn’t come here because I was desperate to see Bajor, you know that.”

“I know,” she acknowledged. “You came for the Defiant.”

Several youths tried to shove between them. Alden reached back to catch her arm and pull Dax forward with him.

“I don’t need to understand Bajor to do my job.” He sounded defensive.

“Maybe not, but I think you’d enjoy your job and your time here a lot more if you took the opportunity to get to know and understand Bajor and its people and culture.”

“Why?” he replied, almost surly, as they reached the Replimat door.

“For one thing,” she said, trying to inject a humorous note, “you wouldn’t be surprised every time you have to rearrange the duty rosters for the Bajoran personnel because of their holidays!”

“If they’d just tell me their holiday schedule instead of expecting me to know it,” he grumbled defensively, “I wouldn’t have to rearrange the duty rosters.”

“You might understand Kira a little better.”

“Like I should care about understanding her?” he shot back.

Ezri sighed in exasperation. She’d given up hoping to convince Kira and Alden to like each other; now, she’d settle for a little mutual respect and a truce between them. “She might appreciate seeing you make the effort, and she might return the favor.”

“When she makes the effort, I’ll think about it.” He led her through the just-as-crowded Replimat, heading for a small empty table.

“And for another thing,” Ezri continued, “you’d know how important it is when we get official visits from Bajoran vedeks.”

“Hey, I figured out vedeks are somewhere higher than ranjens and prylars and monks, but under kais — don’t lecture me!”

“You do know there’s only one kai, don’t you?”

“Not now, there isn’t!” He looked back, and she caught a glimpse of a actual grin. “At least, until they elect a new one.”

“Okay, all right, you got me,” she admitted. “I guess that’s a start. Let’s eat.”

Quark eyed his early evening crowd closely for any signs of impending trouble. He wanted no repeats of the night before, or more damage that would require a premium payment for quick repairs. Without the Klingons and Alden present, a brawl was less likely.

However, he remembered, Klingons were usually highly profitable customers, even when they broke up the bar, because many of their captains tended to pay handsomely for repairs and damages — one of those “matter of honor” things. And, on occasion, Starfleet and/or Bajor could be talked into paying for the same damages, so long as he handled it right.

Quick memories of previous profitable brawls cheered him up.

Out on the Promenade, Quark caught a glimpse of Dax and Commander Alden, talking earnestly.

He scowled, his mood deflating as quickly as it had risen. “I didn’t bribe the Blessed Exchequer to make Bashir go away for a few months, just so Ezri could spend all her time with that misfit Alden,” he muttered.

The Ferengi turned back to his establishment.

Something was wrong.

It took a few seconds, but he figured it out. Morn wasn’t in his usual seat at the bar. At this time of day, the Lurian should already be regaling his friends with humorous quips and colorful tales of his life, of the people he’d known, of the things he’d seen and events he’d been part of.

Was he still in the infirmary after having been hit with that chair the night before?

Or perhaps he had a date with the ever-so-exquisite new doctor on the station, Alexis Monrow.

Quark considered. Were it not for his undying devotion to sweet Ezri, he would be tempted to seek her affections and perhaps win her from Morn. And were it not for the almost divinely supple fingers of M’Pella, dabo girl extraordinaire. And perhaps were it not for the coy smile and sideways glances of the new proprietor of the Celestial Café and fellow member of the Promenade Merchants Association. And then of course there was the sinuous, wanton grace of the amethyst-haired Boslic freighter captain, who was due back on the station in just a couple of days. And if Kira would just loosen up a little and spend an evening or two with him....

He sighed with pleasure, one finger just brushing his left lobe. There were so many delightful women in the universe—

Ah, there was Morn.

But what was he doing at that back table, alone, in the shadows, away from dabo tables and bar stool and friends?

Quark craned his neck. No, not quite alone. There was another person just sitting down at the table. And setting a drink in front of Morn.

“Ah, the universe is almost back to normal.”

As the humanoid newcomer sat down, Quark caught a glimpse of his face. He was Finnean. A trio of round scars formed a triangle on his right temple and cheek. The top-most scar carved into his hairline, leaving a spot where no hair grew. As the man moved, he caught a glimpse of a dataport, peeking through the short blond hair.

“I know him....” Quark breathed to himself. “Where have I seen him before?”

There had been a mark on his hand, too, he remembered, visible as he held out the mug — a dark-veined, yellowish blotch from his thumb halfway to his wrist.

And then a cold chill ran through his lobes.

He’d heard of that man before. He’d seen him.

The Orion Syndicate. The man was part of the Orion Syndicate.