Beyond Gloomy Chaos 1/7 (DS9/TNG)
Title: Beyond Gloomy Chaos
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Following Sisko's entry into the Celestial Temple in "What You Leave Behind," the Q find themselves facing a dilemma that could result in interplanetary catastrophe. Can Picard, Kira and Data retrieve the mysterious Book of the Resurrection before all hell breaks loose on Cardassia?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
Don't miss the incredible cover illustration by Lauren Francis.
In truth at first Chaos came to be, but next wide-bosomed Earth, the ever-sure foundation of all the deathless ones who hold the peaks of snowy Olympus, and dim Tartarus in the depth of the wide-pathed Earth, and Eros, fairest among the deathless gods.... And Earth first bore starry Heaven, equal to herself, to cover her on every side, and to be an ever-sure abiding-place for the blessed gods. (Hesiod, "Theogony")
PROLOGUE
In the beginning, there was Chaos, and Chaos was with the Continuum, and Chaos was the Continuum.
Shouts of anger and outrage, some high-pitched, some low, rang across the boundless gathering space, filling the void with portents of foreboding and expectance as storm clouds gathered on the galactic horizon. "Blasphemy!" one of the assembly bellowed with the fury of a supernova. From across the room came a loud cry of, "Anarchy!" followed by echoes of "Treachery!" and "Tyranny!" Underlying them all, like the incessant knocking of the cosmic metronome, came the steady pounding of a gavel as a solitary voice, a voice belonging to the one they all knew as their Moderator, called for order and reason.
In the midst of all this tumult stood Chaos personified, the glittering in his dark eyes belying his serious expression. Even as he observed his brothers and sisters arguing amongst themselves unto the brink of violence, he knew he could command their immediate and undivided attention with the snap of a finger. Nevertheless, he could well have done without their attention.
Their collective inattention to the affairs of the galaxy and all its various mortal and sentient species had led to the convening of this very meeting, after all. Had his brothers and sisters concentrated on maintaining the preordained order, as they had been obliged to do since time immemorial, rather than waste their energies on petty, internal affairs, then he might not have been compelled to step forward and demand their collective attention. He sighed at the irony: out of Chaos, comes Order.
From somewhere within the assembled ranks a woman stood and approached him, her haughty demeanor marred by the crease of worry across her high, sloping brow. "See what you've done, Q?" she asked, arching her sculpted eyebrows at him.
At the sight of his mate, Q tuned out the cacophony of his brothers and sisters. "Don't blame me, Q," he objected, pursing his lips in a vague semblance of contrition. "I'm not the one who started this mess in the first place."
His excuse was pitiful, and she knew it. "For once."
"At least I'm trying to do something about it," he sulked.
Q crossed her arms over her chest, allowing her long, tapered fingers to drum against the inner crooks of her elbows. "No you're not."
"I am too!"
"No, you're proposing we let that pathetic, underdeveloped, scrawny excuse for a sentient being resolve our dilemma. That you think we should ask for help from a Human, of all things, is humiliating enough, but him?" She sighed. "Well, at least you didn't suggest Janeway. The last thing we need is her pointy little nose poking around in our business again."
Q grinned and nudged her rib cage with his elbow. "My dear, I do believe you're still jealous."
"Hmph," was the only reply he would have the satisfaction of hearing, but for the moment it was enough.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Q?" boomed the voice of the Moderator, his stentorian tones rolling across the gathering place like a massive sonic shock wave. In the wake of his question, silence descended on the unruly assembly with the finality of death. All eyes focused on their wayward, rebellious brother.
Q pressed his palm against his chest. "Me? Why am I to take the blame? I didn't start this!" He looked helplessly at his mate, who shrugged her shoulders in unsympathetic reply.
"No, but you're determined to finish it!" accused one of the throng, re-igniting the agitation that had smoldered since the call to order. Once again, insults rained down on Q like a meteor shower. "Just like you've tried to finish the Continuum for millennia!"
"You're going to ruin us!" another voice cried.
"If it weren't for your meddling in mortal affairs, we wouldn't even be in this mess!" yet another charged.
Q took a few steps toward his accusers, his eyes wide with frustrated innocence. "My meddling? I had nothing to do with it!"
His mate tapped him on the shoulder and leaned close. "In case you forgot, you are the one who first promoted the idea of making Qs out of mortals," she whispered.
"Once," he snapped. "I tried it once. You saw what a complete failure that was." He turned his back to her and muttered, "I should never have put my faith in that overgrown, hairy Boy Scout. I should have gone for the Klingon. He wouldn't have let omnipotence go to his head, it would've been dishonorable. Or maybe that android Picard's so fond of. His ethical programming would've kept him in line."
Q grasped his elbow and spun him back toward her. "Maybe it was a mistake. You still set a dangerous precedent by acting without considering the consequences. Didn't it occur to you that someone might try to follow up on your experiment?"
At the slump in his shoulders, she shook her head. "You never learn, do you? You didn't learn from your experiment with the Borg, you didn't learn from the disaster with Guinan, you didn't learn from I-don't-know-what-you-were-thinking with Janeway... you just never learn, do you? Now, thanks to you and your foolish experiment with Riker, the P have invited a mortal -- a Human -- to join our company."
"Now, wait a minute," Q insisted, shaking his finger at his mate, determined to make her understand that he was not in any way at fault. "He hasn't entered the Continuum. He's in the wormhole. That's not the same thing. And I'm not the one who gave the wormhole to the P to begin with -- that was a decision made by the entire Continuum despite my objections!"
She brought up her hands, temporarily conceding his point. "All right, I owe you that much -- you did argue that giving the wormhole to the P would prove disastrous, and you've been proven right." As Q's expression brightened, however, she planted her hand against his chest. "This is no time to gloat over one small victory, Q. You're still the one -- the only one -- who thinks the only way to get that Human out of our ranks is to rely on another Human for help. If giving the wormhole to the P was a mistake, placing our fate in the hands of that self-important hairless ape with the tea fetish is an even bigger mistake."
Q shrugged. "Well, Jean-Luc is very good at that sort of thing. He relishes the idea of playing the hero, especially if it means he gets to teach me a lesson or two about moral consequences. He's perfect for the job!"
Before his mate could agree or disagree, the crowd erupted in rancorous debate yet again. "Those Humans are a dangerous, unpredictable race," one of them shouted. "No telling what they might try!"
Q paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his hands in irritation. "And the P aren't dangerous? They're the ones trying to dilute our ranks!"
His accuser guffawed. "This from the Q who tried to breed with a Human?"
"Another one of your harebrained schemes the P emulated," another reminded them all. "Can you imagine what they might have done if Janeway had actually agreed?"
"So the dilution isn't quite as bad as it could have been -- at least Sisko is only half-Human."
"This isn't getting us anywhere," his mate intervened, addressing her remarks as much to the gathering as to Q. "The truth is, we're all to blame, and we all have to take responsibility."
"Do you have a solution?" the Moderator asked.
"I don't, but Q does."
"His solution involves a Human!" Q's most vocal opponent objected yet again.
Q's mate glared at him. "So does our problem. I don't see any of you coming up with a better alternative."
"We already know the Humans will help us, given the right incentive," Q reminded his brothers and sisters.
"The right incentive?" one cried.
"All the more reason not to do it again!" another argued. "Before long, they'll catch on to our weaknesses."
"Don't be a fool," Q said. "The Humans have known about our weaknesses for a long time. Do you honestly think they believe we're omnipotent? Nobody's fallen for that ruse since the Age of Enlightenment! In their eyes, we're as relevant as hieroglyphics."
"Should we just sit by and watch the P grow in power and influence?" his mate asked the assembly. "How much longer before they start meddling in Vulcan affairs, or completely eradicate the Cardassians from existence, or abandon the wormhole permanently and move freely about the galaxy? If we wait another million years, as you would have us do, then we'll be too weak to do anything. We've got to act now."
"Your eloquence is as dazzling as your beauty," Q gushed, blowing her a kiss.
"Quiet, Q," she hissed, then turned back to the gathering. "We've all known for a very long time what a mistake we made in giving the P the wormhole, but none of us have stepped forward and offered to do something about it." She glared at her brothers and sisters as they sat in ashamed silence.
"Their crimes against the galactic order, against two corporeal races, against us, have gone unpunished for too long. Someone has got to stop them, and that someone is Q." At the murmur of protest, she raised her hand, and silence resumed. "Listen to him. His plan is dangerous, I agree. However, it's the only plan we have."
CHAPTER ONE
Every April, the air in Provence becomes a veritable effluvium of aromas, with the intermingling of the clean newness of spring lambs, the floral essence of lavender and thyme and heather and rosemary, and the mustiness of freshly-plowed soil, all sharply underwritten with the exotic scents wafting in on a northerly Mediterranean breeze. These smells could not be found in the fathomless vacuum of space, or in the pristine sterility of the corridors and offices at Starfleet Command; these smells testified to the perseverance of humanity, of mortality, of vitality.
Picard paused in pruning the muscat arbor and closed his eyes, opening his mind to the welcome assault on his olfactory sense. Tempted, he opened his mouth and imagined he could taste the roast lamb, braised in thyme and rosemary, or the as-yet unsowed yams he would grow this summer, or the soon-to-be fried cuttlefish not yet pulled from the sea, or the barrel of Noveau Picard Blanc aging unhurriedly in his cellar.
His stomach growled in protest. Picard opened his eyes just in time to see the first wisps of smoke curling from the chimney resting atop the cottage at the bottom of the hillside. He chuckled, pleased with himself and with his housekeeper's prescience. Life was very good to him.
His subconscious sensed the newcomer's presence long before his optical nerve acknowledged the flash of light, and he groaned inwardly. So much for life's bounty.
"Bonjour, mon capitain."
"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" Picard asked, returning his attention to the gnarled vine with its tender green shoots.
The gentle tut-tutting did not disturb Picard from his work, nor did he look up when a pair of pruning shears appeared magically and the interloper took a wayward tendril between his long, slender fingers and snipped it off. "Tu me vouvoies?" he asked, sounding hurt. "Mon ami, c'était longtemps."
Picard tried to contain his sigh. This would not be a short or uncomplicated visit. "Pas assez de longtemps," he muttered, then turned on his unwelcome guest and jabbed the pruning shears in his direction. "Q, what do you want?"
Undaunted by the threat, Q beamed. "Jean-Luc! And here I thought you didn't remember me." He extended his arms, prepared to embrace Picard, but Picard ducked under the arbor to escape. When he straightened again, Q had rematerialized beside him and was frowning at him. "What's the matter, Jean-Luc, can't spare a little hospitality for an old friend?"
"For an old friend, yes," Picard acknowledged, "but not for you."
Dropping all pretense at congeniality, Q returned Picard's hard stare. Only then did Picard notice the supposedly immortal, omnipotent entity who had hounded, harassed and bedeviled him ever since he first took command of the Enterprise, over fifteen years ago, appeared... older. Picard would almost say Q looked haggard and careworn, but such notions seemed foolish. Q's appearance must have been another one of his childish attempts to mock and ridicule Human mortality; how else could Picard explain the deep lines in his face, the gray streaks in his thinning hair, or the slump in his shoulders?
Self-consciously, Picard straightened and squared his own shoulders, steeling himself for whatever nonsense Q had up his omnipotent sleeve. "What brings you here, Q?" he asked again, determined to keep his tone even.
"Not even a 'How have you been, Q,' or a 'My, I sure have missed you, Q'?" Q asked, his voice uncharacteristically plaintive. "You still haven't forgiven me for that Borg incident, have you?"
Picard sighed. "All right. If it's the only way to get you to leave sooner: how have you been?"
"Hurrah!" Q crowed, throwing his hands up with glee. "Jean-Luc, I thought you'd never ask." He draped an arm around Picard's shoulders. "The truth, mon ami, is that my life has taken a turn for the worse. The situation is grim indeed." His eyes grew wide. "The galaxy itself could be at stake!"
"Really?" Picard asked, at once curious and disbelieving. "Why don't you just snap your fingers and fix everything?"
"Oh, believe me, I would if I could. Unfortunately, I can't. Rules are rules, you know, Jean-Luc, even if they are stupid rules." He cast his eyes upward, and for a moment Picard thought he looked nervous. "Which is why I'm here, actually."
"What is?"
"Rules, Jean-Luc, always rules. My hands are tied, there's nothing I can do to stop this crisis." Q leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You see, mon ami, I'm here because I need your help."
* * * * *
"Thank you, Margaret, that will be all for now," Picard said to his housekeeper, taking the steaming kettle from her. The old woman peered nervously at Q out of the corner of her eye, but as Picard remained silent, waiting for her to leave, she finally nodded in acquiescence and shuffled off. "I'll call if I need you," he called after her, reassuring himself as much as her.
As soon as the door had closed behind her, Picard turned to Q. "Tea--?"
"--Earl Grey, hot?" Q finished for him. "Don't mind if I do." Before Picard could tip the kettle, Q had already filled both cups to the rim.
Restraining his urge to make a rude remark, Picard placed the kettle on a warming plate and sat opposite Q, who was amusing himself by waving his finger above his tea, causing the steam to curl upward like ivy climbing a tree trunk. Picard took several sips of his tea -- perfectly flavored, he noticed -- while Q continued his miniscule pas de deux, then placed his cup down and folded his hands before him. "All right, Q," he said, pausing until his guest looked up at him, "just what the devil is going on here?"
Q leaned back in his seat and studied Picard, his fingers steepled neatly beneath his chin. Then, smiling, he said, "Ah, mon ami, if you only knew just how close to the truth you already are. The devil, indeed. The devil, my friend, is what's brought me here."
"Care to explain?" Picard prodded. As much as he considered Q's occasional intrusions into his life annoying, there was no question the entity engaged and challenged him as no other could.
"Hm," Q thought aloud, his fingers pressed against his lips. "How shall I put it? In Human terms, Jean-Luc, the Continuum has been infected. A nasty virus, a plague, if you will, has entered our midst and threatens to destroy us all."
"A plague has infected the Continuum?" Picard repeated, his mind exploring the numerous implications of Q's circumspect revelation. "I thought you were omniscient, bound neither by time nor space. Shouldn't you have seen this plague coming, and taken steps to prevent its incursion? For that matter, why didn't you use your oft-professed omnipotence to get rid of it?" He leaned forward, challenging Q. "What does your... disease... have to do with me?"
Q waved his hand in the air. "We might have detected the oncoming danger in time, had we been paying attention, except we were a little distracted at the time."
"By what?" Picard wanted to know.
Q hemmed and hawed, then finally admitted, "A civil war."
Picard's eyebrows shot up. "A civil war? I thought such trivialities were beneath the Q."
"They might have been, once," Q harrumphed. "Times change, people change, immortal entities change. You of all people should know that change is inevitable. Even the Q are subject to change over the course of time."
Picard's eyes narrowed. Q was notorious for his ambiguity, and as a result Picard had learned to listen for what Q was not saying in order to understand his underlying motivations. This time, however, for all his opaqueness, Q was being uncharacteristically blunt. On the other hand, he was also being even more defensive than usual, a sure sign that, whatever trouble he might be in, he was somehow responsible for creating it. The way he idly played with the corner of his napkin was proof enough of his culpability.
"You started this war, didn't you, Q?" He knew by instinct he would never get a straight answer to that question, and pressed on. "I presume, by your presence here, that the war is over. Why, then, haven't you managed to get rid of the disease?"
Q sighed. "Two reasons. First, it was some of our own -- not me, so you can block that assumption from your mind right now -- who brought the plague into our midst." He paused and chewed his lower lip.
"And the second?"
Q sighed again, then mumbled, "And the second is that the disease is a Human. A Starfleet officer, in fact. Someone you know. Or knew, rather." He looked up at Picard from beneath lowered lashes.
Despite the vast, cosmos-rattling ramifications of Q's revelation, Picard's first thought was to wonder who among his fellow officers had been allowed to join the Continuum. He wondered why he had not been so honored. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he envied his unknown comrade-in-arms.
"I like you better just the way you are, Jean-Luc," Q said softly. Picard started, unaware he had uttered his inner thoughts, and embarrassed if he had. "You didn't, and you have no reason to be," Q continued, causing Picard further embarrassment. "It's a natural and perfectly understandable wish, to want to be part of a race as advanced as ours."
"Q, stop it!" He took several deep breaths, trying to empty his mind of those distracting thoughts and focus on the crisis at hand. He wondered if the anxiety and urgency he felt was being projected on to him by Q.
"My apologies, mon ami. Your mind is just such a fascinating, unexplored territory that sometimes I can't help myself. Oh, and no, those are your own, natural, perfectly understandable feelings. This is a time of great anxiety for us all."
Wondering if he might be taking his life into his hands, Picard stretched forward and rested his hand over Q's. "Tell me," he ordered gently.
Q sat silently for a moment, studying the table. Then he took a deep breath, withdrew his hands from beneath Picard's, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You must understand, mon ami, that I wouldn't be coming to you like this if I had any other choice. If it were up to me, believe me, I would restore everything to its natural and proper order in the blink of an eye."
"But you can't."
Q shook his head. "Protocol forbids my intervention." He gave Picard a lopsided grin. "You see, we have our own version of the Prime Directive in the Continuum. The Q can't interfere in the affairs of other immortal, omnipotent species, and we can't take steps to rewrite over a million years of recorded history."
Picard could not contain his gasp. "Are you suggesting that I can?" he at last managed to say.
Q snorted. "Not without my help."
"I don't understand."
"You shouldn't. Not yet, at any rate. Given time, however, even a being of limited intelligence such as yourself should be able to put two and two together and come up with five."
Picard frowned at the thinly-veiled insult, but gave Q the benefit of the doubt and continued to listen. "As it happens, Jean-Luc, this situation is one that can be -- that must be -- resolved by a mortal, but you'll need my guidance." He leaned forward and spoke quietly but emphatically. "You'll need to go on a trip."
"A trip? What kind of trip? Where?"
"To Cardassia."
Picard sat upright, the hackles on the back of his neck bristling with suspicion and alarm. "Cardassia? Why?"
"I know you haven't had the most pleasant experiences with the Cardassians," Q said with unfeigned sympathy, "but there's an important artifact buried deep beneath the surface you must find for me."
"You want me to lead an archaeological expedition? Why don't you ask Vash?"
Q grimaced. "The last thing I, or you, or anybody, needs is for this particular artifact to fall into the hands of Orion black marketeers. The Bajoran Vedek Assembly would be outraged, to say the least."
"The Vedek Assembly?" Picard was even more confused than before. "What do they have to do with anything?"
"Nothing, if we're lucky," Q said, "and I intend to be very lucky. If they get wind of what you're up to, however --"
"Why should they care?"
Q mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, it's an ancient Bajoran artifact you need to find. Older than any artifact found to date. Older even than the ruins of B'hala. Older than Bajoran civilization itself."
Picard needed time to think. He took a sip of his tea, then grimaced to find it already cold. Unsettled, he rose and crossed to the bookshelf against the opposite wall, his gaze wandering idly over the titles. Moby Dick. Horatio Hornblower. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Robinson Crusoe. Gulliver's Travels. The Odyssey. He stopped at the last and retrieved it, his fingers running lovingly along the edges of the gilt, dog-eared pages. How many times had he imagined himself a modern-day Odysseus, condemned by a capricious deity to wander across the known universe, each day's journey pushing him that much farther from home? Ten years at war in a foreign land, followed by ten years of aimless wandering, came to twenty years of homesickness. Picard knew the feeling well.
Nevertheless, he knew he would be a fool to reject Q's plea for help. He knew, without Q's having said so, that Q would not have dared ask unless he were truly desperate. Picard also knew that the mysterious connection between a Bajoran artifact, Cardassian archaeology, and the 'disease' infecting the Continuum posed an irresistible challenge. Despite his instinctive reluctance to go to Cardassia, despite the vague possibility of inciting the fury of the Vedek Assembly, despite the charm of April in Provence, Picard knew he would not -- could not -- say no.
He returned the book to its proper place and turned back to Q. "I want Data to accompany me," he said.
"Done." Q seemed to have expected the request. "There will be others joining you down the road, but I can't tell you who yet. The less you know now, the better. I'll tell you what you need to know only when you need to know it."
Picard smiled grimly at Q. "Why am I not surprised?"
Q rose and crossed to him. "Jean-Luc, I know you're having second thoughts. That's only natural. There'll be many more doubts to come. In the end, though, I promise, you won't regret this."
Picard sighed. "I only hope you're right."
Q laughed. "When have I ever led you astray?"
CHAPTER TWO
Picard took a deep breath as he mounted the steps to the station commander's office. The last time he had been to Deep Space Nine, his mission had been to transfer several officers to then-Commander Sisko's support staff. Then, the station was still in orbit around Bajor, a world just beginning to dig itself out from under decades of oppressive Cardassian rule; the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant was still just a collection of random neutrino particles in the Denorios Belt; and Wolf 359 was still a recent memory. So much had changed.
"Captain, is there something wrong?"
Picard glanced at his companion and smiled inwardly at the perplexed frown wrinkling the ageless golden skin. "No, Data, nothing's wrong," he said. "I was just reminiscing about my last visit to DS9."
"Ah. I see." Picard thought he could almost see the arcing between Data's artificial synapses as he processed this new information and stored it for later reference. "Do you need more time to reminisce?"
"That's quite all right. Commander Kira is expecting us." He took the last two steps in a single bound and activated the signal announcing their presence. From within the office a crisp, female voice ordered the door to open and Picard and Data crossed the threshold.
Among the many changes to DS9 since Picard's last visit was the makeup of the station command staff. Once a Bajoran station under Starfleet command, DS9 was now run almost entirely by the Bajoran Militia, with only a few Starfleet personnel assisting in engineering and science. Heading the operation was Kira Nerys, who held parallel ranks in both the Bajoran Militia and Starfleet as a symbol of her challenging mission to preserve the often-fractious alliance between Bajor and the Federation. As Kira rose from behind her desk to greet her visitors, Picard noticed she wore the gray and red of Starfleet, no doubt a concession made in honor of her guests.
"Captain Picard, Commander Data, come in," she said, gesturing to the two seats before her desk.
"Colonel," Picard began, deliberately addressing her by her Bajoran rank, "there is no need for formality. Jean-Luc and Data will suffice."
"Really?" she asked, the slight jangling of her earring betraying her doubt and distrust.
"We are not here in an official capacity," Data replied before Picard could explain. "As you see, we are not in uniform."
"I noticed," Kira said, her gaze shifting back to Picard. "Why not?"
"I am aware of the recent tensions between Bajor and the Federation in regard to Cardassia," Picard began, keeping his voice smooth and even. "I understand Bajor's reticence to allow Federation observers inside Cardassian --" Her upraised hand stopped him.
"Bajor has no objection to the presence of Federation observers on Cardassia Prime," she retorted. "What we do not want is Starfleet overseeing our rescue and restoration efforts." Clasping her hands before her, she added, "Cardassia is Bajor's responsibility."
"I do not think Bajor can adequately support Cardassia," Data said simply but honestly. "Bajor is still recovering from the Occupation."
"Perhaps," Kira acknowledged with a tight, thin-lipped smile, "but the Federation has its own recovery to worry about."
Picard stopped Data before he could respond. "I assure you, Colonel, that Data and I are aware of Bajor's position on this matter, and that our intent is not to undermine that position or your efforts toward helping Cardassia recover in any way."
"Then what do you want?" she asked.
Glancing at Data before answering, Picard said, "We wish to undertake an expedition of sorts."
Kira's nose wrinkled. "An expedition? What kind of expedition? What are you looking for?"
"I can't say," Picard said. At her continued silence, he added, "I don't really know for sure."
"You don't really know for sure," Kira repeated. Leaning forward to retrieve a spherical object from the top of her desk, she asked, "You want me to give you permission to enter Cardassian space so you can undertake an expedition without knowing why or what it is you're after?" The object, balanced between the tips of her index fingers, seemed to hover in midair. "I'm sorry," Kira said, shaking her head, "but you'll have to be more specific than that."
"All I can say for sure is that I'm not looking for any thing at this point. My goal is... knowledge. Specifically, knowledge about ancient Cardassia, perhaps even older than the Hebitian era."
Kira tossed the object from hand to hand as she spoke. "Sounds like an archaeological expedition."
"It is --" Data said, before Picard again cut him off.
"It might be, eventually," Picard dissembled. "I won't know until I begin my search."
"Let me guess," Kira said, "you'll know what you're looking for once you find it."
Picard smiled grimly. "Something like that." At her rolled eyes, he added, "I would tell you more if I could, but I've already told you all I know."
"Captain, Commander," she began politely but firmly, "you must understand my predicament --"
Picard would never have imagined a matter-based being could move so quickly. By the time he blinked, there was no doubt in Picard's mind Kira had dropped the object she had been toying with and unholstered her phaser and aimed it at Q before the brilliant flash of light announcing his arrival had vanished. "Q," he warned.
"Hush, Jean-Luc, the good colonel -- or do you prefer 'Commander'?" he asked the seething woman, "--already knows me."
Picard looked at Data first, then at Kira. "You do?" he asked, curious.
She nodded, never lowering her weapon or her guard. "He visited here once, about ten years ago. He was with a woman, a treasure-hunter of some sort." The snarl in her voice told Picard all he needed to know what Kira thought of Vash. "She'd better not be anywhere within twenty light years of this station," she threatened, "or you'll regret it."
Q snapped his fingers, returning Kira's phaser to its holster. "No need to worry. Vash and I have long since severed our connection. As it happens, I'm here because Jean-Luc is here."
Kira's gaze slowly shifted to Picard. "He is?" she asked. She looked back at Q. "Somebody'd better start explaining, and fast, 'cause no one's leaving this office until I have some answers." Picard clamped his hand over Q's forearm, forestalling the anticipated gesture. Giving them little more than a scowl, she went on, "I don't care who goes first, just so long as somebody starts talking."
Picard turned to Q. "You're the one who sent us here on this fool's errand," he said. "You're the one who knows why we're here."
"And why the lovely colonel has to join you on your mission to Cardassia," Q said.
"Excuse me?" Kira interrupted, echoing Picard's own thoughts.
Q sauntered over to her desk and leaned his hip against the edge, looming over her diminutive form. "Oh, yes, this mission of mercy cannot be accomplished -- cannot even be attempted -- without your help."
"Captain," Data said in the closest approximation of a whisper he could manage, "I do not recall your mentioning Colonel Kira's participation in this expedition."
"That's because I didn't know about it myself," Picard whispered back.
"Dear Nerys," Q was saying, not even acknowledging Picard's remark, "are you familiar with the Book of the Kosst Amojin?"
The sight of the blood draining from Kira's face alarmed Picard, and he took a quick step forward, prepared to come to her aid should she need it, but Q's upraised hand stopped him in mid-stride. After a moment, Kira licked her lips and nodded. "The Book of the Pagh-Wraiths."
Q mocked her growl with one of his own. "Ah, yes. The Book of the Pagh-Wraiths." He waggled his eyebrows at Picard.
"What about it?" Kira asked, the strain in her voice betraying her rising tension.
"Well, it was destroyed... except for the missing chapter, that is."
Kira's brow wrinkled even more as she stared at Q in confusion. "Missing chapter? What missing chapter?"
Q sighed and spoke to her as if he were speaking to a small child, "There was a coda, known as the Book of the Resurrection."
"I've never heard of a 'Book of the Resurrection'," she protested.
"You've never heard of it because it's been on Cardassia."
"On Cardassia--?" she wondered aloud. Then she nodded. "Of course, it must have been stolen during the --"
Q waggled a finger in front of her face. "Ah, ah, ah, Nerys," he warned. "Jumping to conclusions is a dangerous sport best left to professionals. Just because a purportedly Bajoran codex is on Cardassia does not mean it was taken as booty during the waning days of the Occupation."
"Then how else --" she insisted, struggling to rise, but Q's hand on her shoulder kept her seated.
"History between Bajor and Cardassia extends much further than your meager humanoid memory can grasp," he said. "For now, suffice it to say that the Book of the Resurrection is on Cardassia, where it has been for the past 500,000 years, because it is supposed to be there."
Picard could no longer hold his silence. "If it's supposed to be there, Q, then why do you want us to retrieve it?"
Q twisted to study Picard, contempt written across his face. "Who said anything about retrieving it, Jean-Luc?" he asked. "Stop thinking in such two-dimensional terms! I merely want you to find it."
"What are we to do with it once we have found it?" Data wanted to know.
"That, my golden friend, will be revealed to you at the appropriate time."
"Q," Picard growled in annoyance and frustration. Q merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"How will we know what we are looking for?"
"I think I can answer that question, Mister Data," Picard said. "We'll know it when we find it." He looked at Q. "Am I correct?"
Q beamed. "Quite so, mon ami! Quite so."
He raised his hand, about to make his grand exit, but Kira stopped him. "You didn't explain why you need me to go," she said. "Captain Picard and Commander Data seem quite capable of accomplishing this expedition on their own, provided I grant them permission to enter Cardassian space."
Q pointed at the PADD on her desk. "You've already done so," he said, and with a snap of his fingers the PADD appeared in Picard's hands. Picard confirmed the official -- if unwillingly granted -- imprimatur giving him and Data right-of-passage into Cardassian territory. "As for you, my dear," Q continued, "you're going because you have no choice in the matter, because I decided long ago you were the Bajoran chosen for this mission, because it is your destiny." Before Kira could open her mouth to reply or protest, Q was gone.
"No doubt," Data concluded to himself as much as to the two other people still in the room, "Q thinks Colonel Kira will be able to provide a valuable service in the course of this mission."
"No doubt," Kira grumbled. "Well, one thing's for sure," she continued, rising, "if he's involved, I'm not about to let you two go unescorted to Cardassia, destiny or no destiny."
* * * * *
Quark watched Kira drag herself into his bar and ease on to a stool. Before he could even pour her a glass of spring wine, her usual post-shift drink, she said, "I need something stronger today. Something with a little kick to it."
"Problems upstairs, Colonel?" he asked, sidling closer and waiting for her affirmation to continue. "I know there are a couple of Starfleet officers visiting the station, and not just your ordinary run-of-the-mill Starfleet officers, either."
Resting her chin in one hand, she asked, "Oh, yeah, Quark? And what else do you know?"
He grinned in triumph and started looking through the array of bottles before him as he considered what would give the lovely colonel just the right 'kick.' Selecting a short, squat decanter of amber liquid, he said, "Oh, just that the former captain of the infamous USS Enterprise and his former operations officer, the only android in Starfleet, are anxious to get to Cardassia."
Kira rolled her eyes. "That's hardly big news. Half of Starfleet wants to get to Cardassia. They're going to have to go through me first to get there, though."
Quark nodded as he retrieved a tumbler and poured two finger-widths of the amber liquid into it. "True, but has half of Starfleet been captured and tortured by none other than Gul Madred?" The deepening of the lines around her mouth told Quark he had her attention, even if she wanted him to believe otherwise. "It's true. Captain Picard was taken prisoner during a top-secret mission about ten years ago. I hear Madred did everything he could to break Picard, but failed before Starfleet convinced the Cardassian government to release him."
Kira shrugged, but her affected nonchalance did not fool him. "Name a Bajoran over the age of thirty who wasn't also tortured by Cardassians," she said. "Madred was no better or worse than any other."
"Add to that the fact that Captain Picard is a respected amateur archaeologist," he continued.
"Old news, " she snapped. "Quark, if you've got something to say, then say it. Otherwise, just fix my drink and go away."
"Feeling a bit testy today?" he ventured with a toothy leer as he added a dash of yellow syrup to the tumbler. "All right, how's this for something you don't hear every day: have you ever wondered why and how Kai Winn, Captain Sisko, and Gul Dukat all managed to disappear at virtually the same instant?" The sight of her suddenly rigid posture was more than ample reward, not least for the fact that her doing so made her breasts more prominent. Quark absently rubbed his left lobe and purred. "Aha, it appears I've touched a nerve."
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, slouching back down and studying the thick, golden concoction he placed before her. "What is this?"
He ignored her feigned indifference for the moment. "It's called a 'Shapeshifter.' Here, watch." He took the tumbler and turned it upside down.
"Wait, don't --" she cried, then stopped and watched in fascination as the 'liquid' coalesced into a single, gelatinous strand and slowly insinuated its way downward. Long before the tip could come into contact with the surface of the bar, however, Quark righted the glass and the strand insinuated its way back into the glass. "How on Bajor am I supposed to drink something that can do that?" Kira asked.
"Try it and see," was all Quark would say.
Dubious, Kira took a tentative sip, then suddenly started choking and sputtering. Quark reached across the bar to thump at her shoulder, to little effect. As soon as the spasms in her throat abated, she scowled at him. "That's got a kick, all right," she rasped, examining the contents of her glass. "How do you make it change consistency like that?"
"Bartender's secret," he said with a grin. "Actually, it's your own saliva that causes the change from semi-solid to liquid. Like it?"
Kira shook her head and slid the tumbler back across the bar. "Too strong. I'll settle for a Black Hole."
"One Black Hole, coming up." He waited for the inevitable follow-up to the bombshell he had dropped a few moments earlier. Much to his satisfaction, he did not have to wait long.
"What makes you think there's any connection between all three disappearances?" she asked without any prelude, drumming her fingers against the countertop.
"Don't you think it's a little too coincidental to ignore?" he said. "After all, all three of them disappeared at virtually the same time, just as the war was coming to an end, and none of them have been seen dead or alive since."
"That doesn't mean anything. Lots of people disappeared during the war. That's what happens in wartime."
One of his waiters brought a tray of glasses, steaming fresh from the washer, and placed it behind the bar. Quark took a cloth and began wiping them dry, making sure not to miss any water spots. "Ah," he said with a discerning look, "but Kai Winn had nothing to do with the ongoing war effort, and both she and Captain Sisko were last seen on Bajor, far from the front lines."
"And I suppose you're also going to tell me that Dukat was on Bajor as well?" Kira harrumphed and drained her glass. "Next thing, you'll be telling me that Dukat kidnapped them and sacrificed them to his little pagh-wraith cult." She must have repeated what she just said in her mind, because she paused to stare into space for a moment, her glass tilted in mid-air toward her mouth, then shrugged the thought away and drank.
Cackling, Quark said, "Oh, I don't know, that sounds a bit far-fetched even to me. But --" he leaned over the bar, and beckoned her closer "-- a reliable source tells me that Dukat was indeed on Bajor at the time of the kai's and captain's disappearances."
Kira snorted. "Dukat on Bajor? Not on your life. He'd have been recognized and arrested the minute he set foot on Bajoran soil."
"Not if he was in disguise." He smiled to himself at her frozen expression.
His victory was short-lived, however, because she leaped over the counter, grabbed him by the lapels, and dragged him to within centimeters of her face. "What do you know, Quark?" she snarled. "Spill everything, now!"
With a squawk of alarm he struggled to free himself, but with the tenacity of a boa constrictor her grip tightened even more. "Colonel, please, you're hurting me," he gasped. "Let me go and I'll tell you what I know."
Shoving him with such force he fell against the back counter, knocking several of the newly-dried glasses to the floor, Kira sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "There. I've lived up to my end of the bargain. Now talk, or I'll personally drag you by your nostrils to a holding cell."
Quark rubbed at his sore throat and glared back at Kira. Making sure he stayed well out of her reach, he finally said, "My source tells me that Dukat had himself surgically altered to look like a Bajoran not long before the war ended."
"Uh-huh," she said. "Go on."
"And that he managed to worm his way into Kai Winn's inner circle...possibly even into her bedroom." Kira's face suddenly went pale, but she nodded for him to continue. "According to my source, Dukat convinced the kai to open some book of evil spells or something. Soon after that, both he and the kai, and Captain Sisko, disappeared without a trace."
He was tempted to summon Doctor Bashir; Kira was not only pale, but trembling so hard she had to sit down rather abruptly. After several minutes of hard, heavy breathing -- which he could not quite bring himself to be concerned about -- she finally looked up at him and asked, "How did you find any of this out? I thought Winn's apostasy had been kept completely under wraps."
Now he had been caught off guard. "You knew about this?"
Kira nodded. "It was supposed to have been kept secret -- not even the Vedek Assembly knew about it. Only the head of the Central Archives, who reported her questionable interest in demonography to us in the first place, the president of the Vedek Assembly, Shakaar and myself knew. Until now." She looked up at Quark with moist eyes. "Do you realize what this means, now that the truth is out in the open? This could be devastating for Bajor. That even the kai, the leader of the faithful, could turn to evil -- no one will believe in the supremacy of the Prophets any more."
Inexplicably worried, Quark took a cautious step closer and patted Kira's hand. Only too late did he realize his error.
With more speed and grace than a bat'leth slicing through flesh, she had once again grabbed him and hauled him halfway across the bar. Her teeth clenched so tightly she was spewing droplets of foam in his face, she hissed, "If you breathe one word of this -- one word -- to anyone else, dead or alive, I'll string you up by your ears, pin you to the sensor array, and use you as a weather vane. Am I making myself clear?"
"C-C-C-Clear, C-C-C-Colonel."
"And you'd better make sure your 'informant' is clear on this as well, because if there's even a hint that this little item of slander is spreading, you'll be the first one I'll come looking for. Got that?"
"G-G-Got it."
"Good." She released him again and wiped her hands along the sides of her uniform, as if the very feel of him was distasteful to her. For his part, Quark just lay where he was, afraid to move lest he further incite her wrath and bring down more pain and humiliation upon himself. With a tense smile, Kira said, "Good night, Quark. Don't forget what I warned you about." Then she left.
"Yes, Colonel," he mumbled to her retreating back. Then, carefully, he eased himself down from the counter and made a half-hearted attempt to put himself back in order. "Whatever the colonel wants, the colonel gets," he muttered, slowly beginning to feel better. "Aye, aye, Colonel, yes, ma'am!" he cackled, giving a jaunty salute to the air.
"Having fun?" a voice asked from the end of the bar.
Quark whirled. "Oh. It's you," he said.
The patron smirked. "Yes, Quark, it's me."
"Did you hear what she said to me? She threatened me, all because of you!"
"Tsk, tsk, my fine Ferengi friend, what did you expect from a Bajoran? Did you actually think she'd give you oo-mox in gratitude for what you told her?"
His lobes tingled at the thought of Colonel Kira giving him oo-mox. "Can you blame a man for wishful thinking?"
"No, I suppose not," the patron sneered. He tossed a pouch into Quark's waiting hands. "Here's the latinum, as we agreed. You've more than earned it."
Quark fished around in the pouch, retrieved a bar, and bit down on it, to be sure it was genuine. Satisfied, he closed the pouch and slipped it inside his vest. "There's no favor too small for latinum," he said.
"That's what makes you Ferengi so useful for stirring up trouble."
Quark grinned and rubbed his ear. "Speaking of trouble, have you seen Vash lately?"
* * * * *
Kira went straight to the shrine from Quark's. She needed to meditate. For the past several weeks restless sleep punctuated with bizarre dreams had haunted her. Visions of friends, family, loved ones, fading in and out with the tide of her consciousness, each of them speaking in a language of encrypted metaphors she could not even begin to decipher. Sisko, her mother, Bareil, Opaka, Jadzia, all faces she was overjoyed to see again but whose ghostly visits left her with a lingering sadness and confusion. What was happening to her?
She was relieved to find the shrine empty. Most of the Bajorans on the station used it only for community services, but on occasion a visiting monk might seek solace in meditation after hours. Tonight, however, she had the shrine to herself.
The glow of the burning candles cast eerie, dancing shadows on the walls, giving Kira the impression she was not completely alone. Refusing to give in to her innate superstition, she knelt on the floor before the mandala and closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing.
As each breath grew deeper and more even, she felt her awareness of the surrounding environment grow distant, fading into the background of her mental landscape. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Open the mind to the Prophets. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. True understanding comes when questions answer themselves. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
Corporeality faded, and the crackling of the flames became the buzzing of nerve endings. The hard floor beneath her became a lush Bajoran meadow. Voices, hidden within the hum of the forcefield protecting the resident orb, whispered to her. The steady, ceaseless thrum of the station core became the beat of her own heart. Peace and stillness filled the vacuum left by her fleeing cares and worries.
"Nerys."
The whisper was so soft she almost did not hear it. The faint sibilance on the final letter in her name, however, was familiar and unmistakable. It was also impossible. He could not be here.
Kira slowly opened her eyes, only to close them again to shield herself from the dazzling whiteness surrounding her. The cosmic heartbeat that accompanied an orb experience echoed in her head.
"Nerys."
No. It cannot be him. Not here. Not now.
She opened her eyes again. This time, she was back in the shrine, but she instinctively knew it was an illusion. She rose and turned in place, looking for the source of the voice, hoping beyond hope it, too, would prove to be an illusion, a trick played by her overfatigued mind. "Where are you?" she asked, her voice sounding strangely resonant in her head. "Show yourself."
"Here I am, Nerys." The owner -- or borrower, perhaps, or thief -- of the voice stepped out from behind a column and into the dancing candlelight.
"Dukat," Kira hissed, taking a step backward, her hand reaching for her absent phaser. He was not the Dukat she remembered, though. This Dukat was grossly malformed, part Bajoran, part Cardassian, his entire body blackened as though he had just walked through fire. Only the familiarity of his voice and the livid blueness of his eyes betrayed his identity to her.
The apparition -- or nightmare -- nodded. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
She refused to play his -- its -- games, and ignored the question. "You're supposed to be dead."
He tilted his head to the side in an all-too-familiar gesture and smiled. "Dead according to your limited understanding of the word, perhaps," he said, spreading his arms to indicate himself, "but, as you can surely see, not truly dead."
"What do you want with me?"
"Ah, Nerys," he laughed, mirroring her efforts to move away from him, "you've never been the sort to waste time on small talk. No time for reminiscing about the good old days, is there?"
"What do you want with me?" she repeated through clenched teeth, trying not to show her fear.
"Great danger lies ahead of you," intoned a new voice. Kira whirled to see the late Kai Winn -- at least, she presumed it was Winn, although the half-melted appearance of her face made it impossible to be sure -- standing behind her, her hands folded over her ample abdomen. "The path you have chosen has many obstacles."
Beginning to suspect the Prophets had nothing to do with this eerie visitation, Kira said, "I'm not afraid." To convince herself she really meant it, she repeated the refrain: "I'm not afraid."
"You will be," Dukat said, circling Kira to stand beside Winn.
So much for convincing herself. She felt like a gettle cornered by ravenous predators. "Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't," Winn said. "But neither should you ignore us."
"The path you have chosen will lead you away from the Prophets," Dukat said.
"They will try to stop you from straying," Winn said.
"How do I know you're not trying to lead me astray?" Kira asked. "I know you don't speak for the Prophets."
"The Prophets speak only for themselves," Dukat said.
"They care not for Bajor," Winn said.
Kira snorted. "They cared far more for Bajor than you two ever did."
"False," Dukat said. "They care only for what they can take -- your world, your devotion, your allegiance... your Emissary."
"No," Kira insisted, shaking her head. "The Prophets didn't take Captain Sisko, he went to be with them."
"They gave him little choice," Dukat said, stalking Kira. "Join them, or suffer the same fate as I."
"They could have restored him to life," Winn said with a solemn nod. "They chose not to."
Kira had no doubt anymore who, or what, her accosters were; she did not need blood-red eyes or red armbands to identify them as the embodiment of evil. She felt her pagh recoil in disgust and horror at the thought the pagh-wraiths had deigned to 'honor' her with a visit. Steeling herself for the inevitable backlash, she pulled herself to her fullest height and declared, "I refuse to stand here and listen to this!" Then she walked briskly between them toward the exit, her head held high, her eyes focused directly ahead.
As her sole means of escape neared, she began to think she might also have escaped the pagh-wraiths' wrath. Just as she reached the exit, however, Dukat said, "If you go to Cardassia, you will die."
With the pagh-wraith's threat echoing in her head, Kira almost relented. She knew they would stop at nothing to achieve their evil goals. On the other hand, she also knew they would stop at nothing to tempt her to stray from the path the Prophets had laid out for her before the dawn of time. If the pagh-wraiths were so determined to keep her from going with Picard they would even kill her, then she knew she had only one choice. Without turning around, she said, "Then I will die." Then she passed through the exit and her vision, and back into the realm of corporeal affairs.
* * * * *
As soon as Kira was out of sight, Dukat turned to Winn. "Do you think she bought it?"
Winn folded her arms over her chest. "She might have, although that crack about dying could have ruined the entire charade." She shook her head. "I never realized Bajorans were that superstitious. No wonder the P have grown so powerful."
Dukat nodded. "Now you see why it's so important we stop them before it's too late." He gave his mate a pleading look. "Can I count on your good word with the assembly?"
She sighed, but gave him a slight smile. "Yes, Q, I'll tell them that you've been following our plan to the... letter."
"Good! I knew you wouldn't let me down." He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You'd better go, then, before they start to wonder. As for me," he looked down at his sorry-looking façade, "I want to get out of this form."
"That makes two of us." In a flash of light seen only by the dancing shadows cast by candlelight, the two entities disappeared.
PART TWO
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Following Sisko's entry into the Celestial Temple in "What You Leave Behind," the Q find themselves facing a dilemma that could result in interplanetary catastrophe. Can Picard, Kira and Data retrieve the mysterious Book of the Resurrection before all hell breaks loose on Cardassia?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe and everything it encompasses. This story is not intended to infringe on any copyrights, and the only profit I gain by it is emotional satisfaction.
Don't miss the incredible cover illustration by Lauren Francis.
In truth at first Chaos came to be, but next wide-bosomed Earth, the ever-sure foundation of all the deathless ones who hold the peaks of snowy Olympus, and dim Tartarus in the depth of the wide-pathed Earth, and Eros, fairest among the deathless gods.... And Earth first bore starry Heaven, equal to herself, to cover her on every side, and to be an ever-sure abiding-place for the blessed gods. (Hesiod, "Theogony")
PROLOGUE
In the beginning, there was Chaos, and Chaos was with the Continuum, and Chaos was the Continuum.
Shouts of anger and outrage, some high-pitched, some low, rang across the boundless gathering space, filling the void with portents of foreboding and expectance as storm clouds gathered on the galactic horizon. "Blasphemy!" one of the assembly bellowed with the fury of a supernova. From across the room came a loud cry of, "Anarchy!" followed by echoes of "Treachery!" and "Tyranny!" Underlying them all, like the incessant knocking of the cosmic metronome, came the steady pounding of a gavel as a solitary voice, a voice belonging to the one they all knew as their Moderator, called for order and reason.
In the midst of all this tumult stood Chaos personified, the glittering in his dark eyes belying his serious expression. Even as he observed his brothers and sisters arguing amongst themselves unto the brink of violence, he knew he could command their immediate and undivided attention with the snap of a finger. Nevertheless, he could well have done without their attention.
Their collective inattention to the affairs of the galaxy and all its various mortal and sentient species had led to the convening of this very meeting, after all. Had his brothers and sisters concentrated on maintaining the preordained order, as they had been obliged to do since time immemorial, rather than waste their energies on petty, internal affairs, then he might not have been compelled to step forward and demand their collective attention. He sighed at the irony: out of Chaos, comes Order.
From somewhere within the assembled ranks a woman stood and approached him, her haughty demeanor marred by the crease of worry across her high, sloping brow. "See what you've done, Q?" she asked, arching her sculpted eyebrows at him.
At the sight of his mate, Q tuned out the cacophony of his brothers and sisters. "Don't blame me, Q," he objected, pursing his lips in a vague semblance of contrition. "I'm not the one who started this mess in the first place."
His excuse was pitiful, and she knew it. "For once."
"At least I'm trying to do something about it," he sulked.
Q crossed her arms over her chest, allowing her long, tapered fingers to drum against the inner crooks of her elbows. "No you're not."
"I am too!"
"No, you're proposing we let that pathetic, underdeveloped, scrawny excuse for a sentient being resolve our dilemma. That you think we should ask for help from a Human, of all things, is humiliating enough, but him?" She sighed. "Well, at least you didn't suggest Janeway. The last thing we need is her pointy little nose poking around in our business again."
Q grinned and nudged her rib cage with his elbow. "My dear, I do believe you're still jealous."
"Hmph," was the only reply he would have the satisfaction of hearing, but for the moment it was enough.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Q?" boomed the voice of the Moderator, his stentorian tones rolling across the gathering place like a massive sonic shock wave. In the wake of his question, silence descended on the unruly assembly with the finality of death. All eyes focused on their wayward, rebellious brother.
Q pressed his palm against his chest. "Me? Why am I to take the blame? I didn't start this!" He looked helplessly at his mate, who shrugged her shoulders in unsympathetic reply.
"No, but you're determined to finish it!" accused one of the throng, re-igniting the agitation that had smoldered since the call to order. Once again, insults rained down on Q like a meteor shower. "Just like you've tried to finish the Continuum for millennia!"
"You're going to ruin us!" another voice cried.
"If it weren't for your meddling in mortal affairs, we wouldn't even be in this mess!" yet another charged.
Q took a few steps toward his accusers, his eyes wide with frustrated innocence. "My meddling? I had nothing to do with it!"
His mate tapped him on the shoulder and leaned close. "In case you forgot, you are the one who first promoted the idea of making Qs out of mortals," she whispered.
"Once," he snapped. "I tried it once. You saw what a complete failure that was." He turned his back to her and muttered, "I should never have put my faith in that overgrown, hairy Boy Scout. I should have gone for the Klingon. He wouldn't have let omnipotence go to his head, it would've been dishonorable. Or maybe that android Picard's so fond of. His ethical programming would've kept him in line."
Q grasped his elbow and spun him back toward her. "Maybe it was a mistake. You still set a dangerous precedent by acting without considering the consequences. Didn't it occur to you that someone might try to follow up on your experiment?"
At the slump in his shoulders, she shook her head. "You never learn, do you? You didn't learn from your experiment with the Borg, you didn't learn from the disaster with Guinan, you didn't learn from I-don't-know-what-you-were-thinking with Janeway... you just never learn, do you? Now, thanks to you and your foolish experiment with Riker, the P have invited a mortal -- a Human -- to join our company."
"Now, wait a minute," Q insisted, shaking his finger at his mate, determined to make her understand that he was not in any way at fault. "He hasn't entered the Continuum. He's in the wormhole. That's not the same thing. And I'm not the one who gave the wormhole to the P to begin with -- that was a decision made by the entire Continuum despite my objections!"
She brought up her hands, temporarily conceding his point. "All right, I owe you that much -- you did argue that giving the wormhole to the P would prove disastrous, and you've been proven right." As Q's expression brightened, however, she planted her hand against his chest. "This is no time to gloat over one small victory, Q. You're still the one -- the only one -- who thinks the only way to get that Human out of our ranks is to rely on another Human for help. If giving the wormhole to the P was a mistake, placing our fate in the hands of that self-important hairless ape with the tea fetish is an even bigger mistake."
Q shrugged. "Well, Jean-Luc is very good at that sort of thing. He relishes the idea of playing the hero, especially if it means he gets to teach me a lesson or two about moral consequences. He's perfect for the job!"
Before his mate could agree or disagree, the crowd erupted in rancorous debate yet again. "Those Humans are a dangerous, unpredictable race," one of them shouted. "No telling what they might try!"
Q paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his hands in irritation. "And the P aren't dangerous? They're the ones trying to dilute our ranks!"
His accuser guffawed. "This from the Q who tried to breed with a Human?"
"Another one of your harebrained schemes the P emulated," another reminded them all. "Can you imagine what they might have done if Janeway had actually agreed?"
"So the dilution isn't quite as bad as it could have been -- at least Sisko is only half-Human."
"This isn't getting us anywhere," his mate intervened, addressing her remarks as much to the gathering as to Q. "The truth is, we're all to blame, and we all have to take responsibility."
"Do you have a solution?" the Moderator asked.
"I don't, but Q does."
"His solution involves a Human!" Q's most vocal opponent objected yet again.
Q's mate glared at him. "So does our problem. I don't see any of you coming up with a better alternative."
"We already know the Humans will help us, given the right incentive," Q reminded his brothers and sisters.
"The right incentive?" one cried.
"All the more reason not to do it again!" another argued. "Before long, they'll catch on to our weaknesses."
"Don't be a fool," Q said. "The Humans have known about our weaknesses for a long time. Do you honestly think they believe we're omnipotent? Nobody's fallen for that ruse since the Age of Enlightenment! In their eyes, we're as relevant as hieroglyphics."
"Should we just sit by and watch the P grow in power and influence?" his mate asked the assembly. "How much longer before they start meddling in Vulcan affairs, or completely eradicate the Cardassians from existence, or abandon the wormhole permanently and move freely about the galaxy? If we wait another million years, as you would have us do, then we'll be too weak to do anything. We've got to act now."
"Your eloquence is as dazzling as your beauty," Q gushed, blowing her a kiss.
"Quiet, Q," she hissed, then turned back to the gathering. "We've all known for a very long time what a mistake we made in giving the P the wormhole, but none of us have stepped forward and offered to do something about it." She glared at her brothers and sisters as they sat in ashamed silence.
"Their crimes against the galactic order, against two corporeal races, against us, have gone unpunished for too long. Someone has got to stop them, and that someone is Q." At the murmur of protest, she raised her hand, and silence resumed. "Listen to him. His plan is dangerous, I agree. However, it's the only plan we have."
CHAPTER ONE
Every April, the air in Provence becomes a veritable effluvium of aromas, with the intermingling of the clean newness of spring lambs, the floral essence of lavender and thyme and heather and rosemary, and the mustiness of freshly-plowed soil, all sharply underwritten with the exotic scents wafting in on a northerly Mediterranean breeze. These smells could not be found in the fathomless vacuum of space, or in the pristine sterility of the corridors and offices at Starfleet Command; these smells testified to the perseverance of humanity, of mortality, of vitality.
Picard paused in pruning the muscat arbor and closed his eyes, opening his mind to the welcome assault on his olfactory sense. Tempted, he opened his mouth and imagined he could taste the roast lamb, braised in thyme and rosemary, or the as-yet unsowed yams he would grow this summer, or the soon-to-be fried cuttlefish not yet pulled from the sea, or the barrel of Noveau Picard Blanc aging unhurriedly in his cellar.
His stomach growled in protest. Picard opened his eyes just in time to see the first wisps of smoke curling from the chimney resting atop the cottage at the bottom of the hillside. He chuckled, pleased with himself and with his housekeeper's prescience. Life was very good to him.
His subconscious sensed the newcomer's presence long before his optical nerve acknowledged the flash of light, and he groaned inwardly. So much for life's bounty.
"Bonjour, mon capitain."
"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" Picard asked, returning his attention to the gnarled vine with its tender green shoots.
The gentle tut-tutting did not disturb Picard from his work, nor did he look up when a pair of pruning shears appeared magically and the interloper took a wayward tendril between his long, slender fingers and snipped it off. "Tu me vouvoies?" he asked, sounding hurt. "Mon ami, c'était longtemps."
Picard tried to contain his sigh. This would not be a short or uncomplicated visit. "Pas assez de longtemps," he muttered, then turned on his unwelcome guest and jabbed the pruning shears in his direction. "Q, what do you want?"
Undaunted by the threat, Q beamed. "Jean-Luc! And here I thought you didn't remember me." He extended his arms, prepared to embrace Picard, but Picard ducked under the arbor to escape. When he straightened again, Q had rematerialized beside him and was frowning at him. "What's the matter, Jean-Luc, can't spare a little hospitality for an old friend?"
"For an old friend, yes," Picard acknowledged, "but not for you."
Dropping all pretense at congeniality, Q returned Picard's hard stare. Only then did Picard notice the supposedly immortal, omnipotent entity who had hounded, harassed and bedeviled him ever since he first took command of the Enterprise, over fifteen years ago, appeared... older. Picard would almost say Q looked haggard and careworn, but such notions seemed foolish. Q's appearance must have been another one of his childish attempts to mock and ridicule Human mortality; how else could Picard explain the deep lines in his face, the gray streaks in his thinning hair, or the slump in his shoulders?
Self-consciously, Picard straightened and squared his own shoulders, steeling himself for whatever nonsense Q had up his omnipotent sleeve. "What brings you here, Q?" he asked again, determined to keep his tone even.
"Not even a 'How have you been, Q,' or a 'My, I sure have missed you, Q'?" Q asked, his voice uncharacteristically plaintive. "You still haven't forgiven me for that Borg incident, have you?"
Picard sighed. "All right. If it's the only way to get you to leave sooner: how have you been?"
"Hurrah!" Q crowed, throwing his hands up with glee. "Jean-Luc, I thought you'd never ask." He draped an arm around Picard's shoulders. "The truth, mon ami, is that my life has taken a turn for the worse. The situation is grim indeed." His eyes grew wide. "The galaxy itself could be at stake!"
"Really?" Picard asked, at once curious and disbelieving. "Why don't you just snap your fingers and fix everything?"
"Oh, believe me, I would if I could. Unfortunately, I can't. Rules are rules, you know, Jean-Luc, even if they are stupid rules." He cast his eyes upward, and for a moment Picard thought he looked nervous. "Which is why I'm here, actually."
"What is?"
"Rules, Jean-Luc, always rules. My hands are tied, there's nothing I can do to stop this crisis." Q leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You see, mon ami, I'm here because I need your help."
* * * * *
"Thank you, Margaret, that will be all for now," Picard said to his housekeeper, taking the steaming kettle from her. The old woman peered nervously at Q out of the corner of her eye, but as Picard remained silent, waiting for her to leave, she finally nodded in acquiescence and shuffled off. "I'll call if I need you," he called after her, reassuring himself as much as her.
As soon as the door had closed behind her, Picard turned to Q. "Tea--?"
"--Earl Grey, hot?" Q finished for him. "Don't mind if I do." Before Picard could tip the kettle, Q had already filled both cups to the rim.
Restraining his urge to make a rude remark, Picard placed the kettle on a warming plate and sat opposite Q, who was amusing himself by waving his finger above his tea, causing the steam to curl upward like ivy climbing a tree trunk. Picard took several sips of his tea -- perfectly flavored, he noticed -- while Q continued his miniscule pas de deux, then placed his cup down and folded his hands before him. "All right, Q," he said, pausing until his guest looked up at him, "just what the devil is going on here?"
Q leaned back in his seat and studied Picard, his fingers steepled neatly beneath his chin. Then, smiling, he said, "Ah, mon ami, if you only knew just how close to the truth you already are. The devil, indeed. The devil, my friend, is what's brought me here."
"Care to explain?" Picard prodded. As much as he considered Q's occasional intrusions into his life annoying, there was no question the entity engaged and challenged him as no other could.
"Hm," Q thought aloud, his fingers pressed against his lips. "How shall I put it? In Human terms, Jean-Luc, the Continuum has been infected. A nasty virus, a plague, if you will, has entered our midst and threatens to destroy us all."
"A plague has infected the Continuum?" Picard repeated, his mind exploring the numerous implications of Q's circumspect revelation. "I thought you were omniscient, bound neither by time nor space. Shouldn't you have seen this plague coming, and taken steps to prevent its incursion? For that matter, why didn't you use your oft-professed omnipotence to get rid of it?" He leaned forward, challenging Q. "What does your... disease... have to do with me?"
Q waved his hand in the air. "We might have detected the oncoming danger in time, had we been paying attention, except we were a little distracted at the time."
"By what?" Picard wanted to know.
Q hemmed and hawed, then finally admitted, "A civil war."
Picard's eyebrows shot up. "A civil war? I thought such trivialities were beneath the Q."
"They might have been, once," Q harrumphed. "Times change, people change, immortal entities change. You of all people should know that change is inevitable. Even the Q are subject to change over the course of time."
Picard's eyes narrowed. Q was notorious for his ambiguity, and as a result Picard had learned to listen for what Q was not saying in order to understand his underlying motivations. This time, however, for all his opaqueness, Q was being uncharacteristically blunt. On the other hand, he was also being even more defensive than usual, a sure sign that, whatever trouble he might be in, he was somehow responsible for creating it. The way he idly played with the corner of his napkin was proof enough of his culpability.
"You started this war, didn't you, Q?" He knew by instinct he would never get a straight answer to that question, and pressed on. "I presume, by your presence here, that the war is over. Why, then, haven't you managed to get rid of the disease?"
Q sighed. "Two reasons. First, it was some of our own -- not me, so you can block that assumption from your mind right now -- who brought the plague into our midst." He paused and chewed his lower lip.
"And the second?"
Q sighed again, then mumbled, "And the second is that the disease is a Human. A Starfleet officer, in fact. Someone you know. Or knew, rather." He looked up at Picard from beneath lowered lashes.
Despite the vast, cosmos-rattling ramifications of Q's revelation, Picard's first thought was to wonder who among his fellow officers had been allowed to join the Continuum. He wondered why he had not been so honored. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he envied his unknown comrade-in-arms.
"I like you better just the way you are, Jean-Luc," Q said softly. Picard started, unaware he had uttered his inner thoughts, and embarrassed if he had. "You didn't, and you have no reason to be," Q continued, causing Picard further embarrassment. "It's a natural and perfectly understandable wish, to want to be part of a race as advanced as ours."
"Q, stop it!" He took several deep breaths, trying to empty his mind of those distracting thoughts and focus on the crisis at hand. He wondered if the anxiety and urgency he felt was being projected on to him by Q.
"My apologies, mon ami. Your mind is just such a fascinating, unexplored territory that sometimes I can't help myself. Oh, and no, those are your own, natural, perfectly understandable feelings. This is a time of great anxiety for us all."
Wondering if he might be taking his life into his hands, Picard stretched forward and rested his hand over Q's. "Tell me," he ordered gently.
Q sat silently for a moment, studying the table. Then he took a deep breath, withdrew his hands from beneath Picard's, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You must understand, mon ami, that I wouldn't be coming to you like this if I had any other choice. If it were up to me, believe me, I would restore everything to its natural and proper order in the blink of an eye."
"But you can't."
Q shook his head. "Protocol forbids my intervention." He gave Picard a lopsided grin. "You see, we have our own version of the Prime Directive in the Continuum. The Q can't interfere in the affairs of other immortal, omnipotent species, and we can't take steps to rewrite over a million years of recorded history."
Picard could not contain his gasp. "Are you suggesting that I can?" he at last managed to say.
Q snorted. "Not without my help."
"I don't understand."
"You shouldn't. Not yet, at any rate. Given time, however, even a being of limited intelligence such as yourself should be able to put two and two together and come up with five."
Picard frowned at the thinly-veiled insult, but gave Q the benefit of the doubt and continued to listen. "As it happens, Jean-Luc, this situation is one that can be -- that must be -- resolved by a mortal, but you'll need my guidance." He leaned forward and spoke quietly but emphatically. "You'll need to go on a trip."
"A trip? What kind of trip? Where?"
"To Cardassia."
Picard sat upright, the hackles on the back of his neck bristling with suspicion and alarm. "Cardassia? Why?"
"I know you haven't had the most pleasant experiences with the Cardassians," Q said with unfeigned sympathy, "but there's an important artifact buried deep beneath the surface you must find for me."
"You want me to lead an archaeological expedition? Why don't you ask Vash?"
Q grimaced. "The last thing I, or you, or anybody, needs is for this particular artifact to fall into the hands of Orion black marketeers. The Bajoran Vedek Assembly would be outraged, to say the least."
"The Vedek Assembly?" Picard was even more confused than before. "What do they have to do with anything?"
"Nothing, if we're lucky," Q said, "and I intend to be very lucky. If they get wind of what you're up to, however --"
"Why should they care?"
Q mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, it's an ancient Bajoran artifact you need to find. Older than any artifact found to date. Older even than the ruins of B'hala. Older than Bajoran civilization itself."
Picard needed time to think. He took a sip of his tea, then grimaced to find it already cold. Unsettled, he rose and crossed to the bookshelf against the opposite wall, his gaze wandering idly over the titles. Moby Dick. Horatio Hornblower. 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Robinson Crusoe. Gulliver's Travels. The Odyssey. He stopped at the last and retrieved it, his fingers running lovingly along the edges of the gilt, dog-eared pages. How many times had he imagined himself a modern-day Odysseus, condemned by a capricious deity to wander across the known universe, each day's journey pushing him that much farther from home? Ten years at war in a foreign land, followed by ten years of aimless wandering, came to twenty years of homesickness. Picard knew the feeling well.
Nevertheless, he knew he would be a fool to reject Q's plea for help. He knew, without Q's having said so, that Q would not have dared ask unless he were truly desperate. Picard also knew that the mysterious connection between a Bajoran artifact, Cardassian archaeology, and the 'disease' infecting the Continuum posed an irresistible challenge. Despite his instinctive reluctance to go to Cardassia, despite the vague possibility of inciting the fury of the Vedek Assembly, despite the charm of April in Provence, Picard knew he would not -- could not -- say no.
He returned the book to its proper place and turned back to Q. "I want Data to accompany me," he said.
"Done." Q seemed to have expected the request. "There will be others joining you down the road, but I can't tell you who yet. The less you know now, the better. I'll tell you what you need to know only when you need to know it."
Picard smiled grimly at Q. "Why am I not surprised?"
Q rose and crossed to him. "Jean-Luc, I know you're having second thoughts. That's only natural. There'll be many more doubts to come. In the end, though, I promise, you won't regret this."
Picard sighed. "I only hope you're right."
Q laughed. "When have I ever led you astray?"
CHAPTER TWO
Picard took a deep breath as he mounted the steps to the station commander's office. The last time he had been to Deep Space Nine, his mission had been to transfer several officers to then-Commander Sisko's support staff. Then, the station was still in orbit around Bajor, a world just beginning to dig itself out from under decades of oppressive Cardassian rule; the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant was still just a collection of random neutrino particles in the Denorios Belt; and Wolf 359 was still a recent memory. So much had changed.
"Captain, is there something wrong?"
Picard glanced at his companion and smiled inwardly at the perplexed frown wrinkling the ageless golden skin. "No, Data, nothing's wrong," he said. "I was just reminiscing about my last visit to DS9."
"Ah. I see." Picard thought he could almost see the arcing between Data's artificial synapses as he processed this new information and stored it for later reference. "Do you need more time to reminisce?"
"That's quite all right. Commander Kira is expecting us." He took the last two steps in a single bound and activated the signal announcing their presence. From within the office a crisp, female voice ordered the door to open and Picard and Data crossed the threshold.
Among the many changes to DS9 since Picard's last visit was the makeup of the station command staff. Once a Bajoran station under Starfleet command, DS9 was now run almost entirely by the Bajoran Militia, with only a few Starfleet personnel assisting in engineering and science. Heading the operation was Kira Nerys, who held parallel ranks in both the Bajoran Militia and Starfleet as a symbol of her challenging mission to preserve the often-fractious alliance between Bajor and the Federation. As Kira rose from behind her desk to greet her visitors, Picard noticed she wore the gray and red of Starfleet, no doubt a concession made in honor of her guests.
"Captain Picard, Commander Data, come in," she said, gesturing to the two seats before her desk.
"Colonel," Picard began, deliberately addressing her by her Bajoran rank, "there is no need for formality. Jean-Luc and Data will suffice."
"Really?" she asked, the slight jangling of her earring betraying her doubt and distrust.
"We are not here in an official capacity," Data replied before Picard could explain. "As you see, we are not in uniform."
"I noticed," Kira said, her gaze shifting back to Picard. "Why not?"
"I am aware of the recent tensions between Bajor and the Federation in regard to Cardassia," Picard began, keeping his voice smooth and even. "I understand Bajor's reticence to allow Federation observers inside Cardassian --" Her upraised hand stopped him.
"Bajor has no objection to the presence of Federation observers on Cardassia Prime," she retorted. "What we do not want is Starfleet overseeing our rescue and restoration efforts." Clasping her hands before her, she added, "Cardassia is Bajor's responsibility."
"I do not think Bajor can adequately support Cardassia," Data said simply but honestly. "Bajor is still recovering from the Occupation."
"Perhaps," Kira acknowledged with a tight, thin-lipped smile, "but the Federation has its own recovery to worry about."
Picard stopped Data before he could respond. "I assure you, Colonel, that Data and I are aware of Bajor's position on this matter, and that our intent is not to undermine that position or your efforts toward helping Cardassia recover in any way."
"Then what do you want?" she asked.
Glancing at Data before answering, Picard said, "We wish to undertake an expedition of sorts."
Kira's nose wrinkled. "An expedition? What kind of expedition? What are you looking for?"
"I can't say," Picard said. At her continued silence, he added, "I don't really know for sure."
"You don't really know for sure," Kira repeated. Leaning forward to retrieve a spherical object from the top of her desk, she asked, "You want me to give you permission to enter Cardassian space so you can undertake an expedition without knowing why or what it is you're after?" The object, balanced between the tips of her index fingers, seemed to hover in midair. "I'm sorry," Kira said, shaking her head, "but you'll have to be more specific than that."
"All I can say for sure is that I'm not looking for any thing at this point. My goal is... knowledge. Specifically, knowledge about ancient Cardassia, perhaps even older than the Hebitian era."
Kira tossed the object from hand to hand as she spoke. "Sounds like an archaeological expedition."
"It is --" Data said, before Picard again cut him off.
"It might be, eventually," Picard dissembled. "I won't know until I begin my search."
"Let me guess," Kira said, "you'll know what you're looking for once you find it."
Picard smiled grimly. "Something like that." At her rolled eyes, he added, "I would tell you more if I could, but I've already told you all I know."
"Captain, Commander," she began politely but firmly, "you must understand my predicament --"
Picard would never have imagined a matter-based being could move so quickly. By the time he blinked, there was no doubt in Picard's mind Kira had dropped the object she had been toying with and unholstered her phaser and aimed it at Q before the brilliant flash of light announcing his arrival had vanished. "Q," he warned.
"Hush, Jean-Luc, the good colonel -- or do you prefer 'Commander'?" he asked the seething woman, "--already knows me."
Picard looked at Data first, then at Kira. "You do?" he asked, curious.
She nodded, never lowering her weapon or her guard. "He visited here once, about ten years ago. He was with a woman, a treasure-hunter of some sort." The snarl in her voice told Picard all he needed to know what Kira thought of Vash. "She'd better not be anywhere within twenty light years of this station," she threatened, "or you'll regret it."
Q snapped his fingers, returning Kira's phaser to its holster. "No need to worry. Vash and I have long since severed our connection. As it happens, I'm here because Jean-Luc is here."
Kira's gaze slowly shifted to Picard. "He is?" she asked. She looked back at Q. "Somebody'd better start explaining, and fast, 'cause no one's leaving this office until I have some answers." Picard clamped his hand over Q's forearm, forestalling the anticipated gesture. Giving them little more than a scowl, she went on, "I don't care who goes first, just so long as somebody starts talking."
Picard turned to Q. "You're the one who sent us here on this fool's errand," he said. "You're the one who knows why we're here."
"And why the lovely colonel has to join you on your mission to Cardassia," Q said.
"Excuse me?" Kira interrupted, echoing Picard's own thoughts.
Q sauntered over to her desk and leaned his hip against the edge, looming over her diminutive form. "Oh, yes, this mission of mercy cannot be accomplished -- cannot even be attempted -- without your help."
"Captain," Data said in the closest approximation of a whisper he could manage, "I do not recall your mentioning Colonel Kira's participation in this expedition."
"That's because I didn't know about it myself," Picard whispered back.
"Dear Nerys," Q was saying, not even acknowledging Picard's remark, "are you familiar with the Book of the Kosst Amojin?"
The sight of the blood draining from Kira's face alarmed Picard, and he took a quick step forward, prepared to come to her aid should she need it, but Q's upraised hand stopped him in mid-stride. After a moment, Kira licked her lips and nodded. "The Book of the Pagh-Wraiths."
Q mocked her growl with one of his own. "Ah, yes. The Book of the Pagh-Wraiths." He waggled his eyebrows at Picard.
"What about it?" Kira asked, the strain in her voice betraying her rising tension.
"Well, it was destroyed... except for the missing chapter, that is."
Kira's brow wrinkled even more as she stared at Q in confusion. "Missing chapter? What missing chapter?"
Q sighed and spoke to her as if he were speaking to a small child, "There was a coda, known as the Book of the Resurrection."
"I've never heard of a 'Book of the Resurrection'," she protested.
"You've never heard of it because it's been on Cardassia."
"On Cardassia--?" she wondered aloud. Then she nodded. "Of course, it must have been stolen during the --"
Q waggled a finger in front of her face. "Ah, ah, ah, Nerys," he warned. "Jumping to conclusions is a dangerous sport best left to professionals. Just because a purportedly Bajoran codex is on Cardassia does not mean it was taken as booty during the waning days of the Occupation."
"Then how else --" she insisted, struggling to rise, but Q's hand on her shoulder kept her seated.
"History between Bajor and Cardassia extends much further than your meager humanoid memory can grasp," he said. "For now, suffice it to say that the Book of the Resurrection is on Cardassia, where it has been for the past 500,000 years, because it is supposed to be there."
Picard could no longer hold his silence. "If it's supposed to be there, Q, then why do you want us to retrieve it?"
Q twisted to study Picard, contempt written across his face. "Who said anything about retrieving it, Jean-Luc?" he asked. "Stop thinking in such two-dimensional terms! I merely want you to find it."
"What are we to do with it once we have found it?" Data wanted to know.
"That, my golden friend, will be revealed to you at the appropriate time."
"Q," Picard growled in annoyance and frustration. Q merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"How will we know what we are looking for?"
"I think I can answer that question, Mister Data," Picard said. "We'll know it when we find it." He looked at Q. "Am I correct?"
Q beamed. "Quite so, mon ami! Quite so."
He raised his hand, about to make his grand exit, but Kira stopped him. "You didn't explain why you need me to go," she said. "Captain Picard and Commander Data seem quite capable of accomplishing this expedition on their own, provided I grant them permission to enter Cardassian space."
Q pointed at the PADD on her desk. "You've already done so," he said, and with a snap of his fingers the PADD appeared in Picard's hands. Picard confirmed the official -- if unwillingly granted -- imprimatur giving him and Data right-of-passage into Cardassian territory. "As for you, my dear," Q continued, "you're going because you have no choice in the matter, because I decided long ago you were the Bajoran chosen for this mission, because it is your destiny." Before Kira could open her mouth to reply or protest, Q was gone.
"No doubt," Data concluded to himself as much as to the two other people still in the room, "Q thinks Colonel Kira will be able to provide a valuable service in the course of this mission."
"No doubt," Kira grumbled. "Well, one thing's for sure," she continued, rising, "if he's involved, I'm not about to let you two go unescorted to Cardassia, destiny or no destiny."
* * * * *
Quark watched Kira drag herself into his bar and ease on to a stool. Before he could even pour her a glass of spring wine, her usual post-shift drink, she said, "I need something stronger today. Something with a little kick to it."
"Problems upstairs, Colonel?" he asked, sidling closer and waiting for her affirmation to continue. "I know there are a couple of Starfleet officers visiting the station, and not just your ordinary run-of-the-mill Starfleet officers, either."
Resting her chin in one hand, she asked, "Oh, yeah, Quark? And what else do you know?"
He grinned in triumph and started looking through the array of bottles before him as he considered what would give the lovely colonel just the right 'kick.' Selecting a short, squat decanter of amber liquid, he said, "Oh, just that the former captain of the infamous USS Enterprise and his former operations officer, the only android in Starfleet, are anxious to get to Cardassia."
Kira rolled her eyes. "That's hardly big news. Half of Starfleet wants to get to Cardassia. They're going to have to go through me first to get there, though."
Quark nodded as he retrieved a tumbler and poured two finger-widths of the amber liquid into it. "True, but has half of Starfleet been captured and tortured by none other than Gul Madred?" The deepening of the lines around her mouth told Quark he had her attention, even if she wanted him to believe otherwise. "It's true. Captain Picard was taken prisoner during a top-secret mission about ten years ago. I hear Madred did everything he could to break Picard, but failed before Starfleet convinced the Cardassian government to release him."
Kira shrugged, but her affected nonchalance did not fool him. "Name a Bajoran over the age of thirty who wasn't also tortured by Cardassians," she said. "Madred was no better or worse than any other."
"Add to that the fact that Captain Picard is a respected amateur archaeologist," he continued.
"Old news, " she snapped. "Quark, if you've got something to say, then say it. Otherwise, just fix my drink and go away."
"Feeling a bit testy today?" he ventured with a toothy leer as he added a dash of yellow syrup to the tumbler. "All right, how's this for something you don't hear every day: have you ever wondered why and how Kai Winn, Captain Sisko, and Gul Dukat all managed to disappear at virtually the same instant?" The sight of her suddenly rigid posture was more than ample reward, not least for the fact that her doing so made her breasts more prominent. Quark absently rubbed his left lobe and purred. "Aha, it appears I've touched a nerve."
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, slouching back down and studying the thick, golden concoction he placed before her. "What is this?"
He ignored her feigned indifference for the moment. "It's called a 'Shapeshifter.' Here, watch." He took the tumbler and turned it upside down.
"Wait, don't --" she cried, then stopped and watched in fascination as the 'liquid' coalesced into a single, gelatinous strand and slowly insinuated its way downward. Long before the tip could come into contact with the surface of the bar, however, Quark righted the glass and the strand insinuated its way back into the glass. "How on Bajor am I supposed to drink something that can do that?" Kira asked.
"Try it and see," was all Quark would say.
Dubious, Kira took a tentative sip, then suddenly started choking and sputtering. Quark reached across the bar to thump at her shoulder, to little effect. As soon as the spasms in her throat abated, she scowled at him. "That's got a kick, all right," she rasped, examining the contents of her glass. "How do you make it change consistency like that?"
"Bartender's secret," he said with a grin. "Actually, it's your own saliva that causes the change from semi-solid to liquid. Like it?"
Kira shook her head and slid the tumbler back across the bar. "Too strong. I'll settle for a Black Hole."
"One Black Hole, coming up." He waited for the inevitable follow-up to the bombshell he had dropped a few moments earlier. Much to his satisfaction, he did not have to wait long.
"What makes you think there's any connection between all three disappearances?" she asked without any prelude, drumming her fingers against the countertop.
"Don't you think it's a little too coincidental to ignore?" he said. "After all, all three of them disappeared at virtually the same time, just as the war was coming to an end, and none of them have been seen dead or alive since."
"That doesn't mean anything. Lots of people disappeared during the war. That's what happens in wartime."
One of his waiters brought a tray of glasses, steaming fresh from the washer, and placed it behind the bar. Quark took a cloth and began wiping them dry, making sure not to miss any water spots. "Ah," he said with a discerning look, "but Kai Winn had nothing to do with the ongoing war effort, and both she and Captain Sisko were last seen on Bajor, far from the front lines."
"And I suppose you're also going to tell me that Dukat was on Bajor as well?" Kira harrumphed and drained her glass. "Next thing, you'll be telling me that Dukat kidnapped them and sacrificed them to his little pagh-wraith cult." She must have repeated what she just said in her mind, because she paused to stare into space for a moment, her glass tilted in mid-air toward her mouth, then shrugged the thought away and drank.
Cackling, Quark said, "Oh, I don't know, that sounds a bit far-fetched even to me. But --" he leaned over the bar, and beckoned her closer "-- a reliable source tells me that Dukat was indeed on Bajor at the time of the kai's and captain's disappearances."
Kira snorted. "Dukat on Bajor? Not on your life. He'd have been recognized and arrested the minute he set foot on Bajoran soil."
"Not if he was in disguise." He smiled to himself at her frozen expression.
His victory was short-lived, however, because she leaped over the counter, grabbed him by the lapels, and dragged him to within centimeters of her face. "What do you know, Quark?" she snarled. "Spill everything, now!"
With a squawk of alarm he struggled to free himself, but with the tenacity of a boa constrictor her grip tightened even more. "Colonel, please, you're hurting me," he gasped. "Let me go and I'll tell you what I know."
Shoving him with such force he fell against the back counter, knocking several of the newly-dried glasses to the floor, Kira sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "There. I've lived up to my end of the bargain. Now talk, or I'll personally drag you by your nostrils to a holding cell."
Quark rubbed at his sore throat and glared back at Kira. Making sure he stayed well out of her reach, he finally said, "My source tells me that Dukat had himself surgically altered to look like a Bajoran not long before the war ended."
"Uh-huh," she said. "Go on."
"And that he managed to worm his way into Kai Winn's inner circle...possibly even into her bedroom." Kira's face suddenly went pale, but she nodded for him to continue. "According to my source, Dukat convinced the kai to open some book of evil spells or something. Soon after that, both he and the kai, and Captain Sisko, disappeared without a trace."
He was tempted to summon Doctor Bashir; Kira was not only pale, but trembling so hard she had to sit down rather abruptly. After several minutes of hard, heavy breathing -- which he could not quite bring himself to be concerned about -- she finally looked up at him and asked, "How did you find any of this out? I thought Winn's apostasy had been kept completely under wraps."
Now he had been caught off guard. "You knew about this?"
Kira nodded. "It was supposed to have been kept secret -- not even the Vedek Assembly knew about it. Only the head of the Central Archives, who reported her questionable interest in demonography to us in the first place, the president of the Vedek Assembly, Shakaar and myself knew. Until now." She looked up at Quark with moist eyes. "Do you realize what this means, now that the truth is out in the open? This could be devastating for Bajor. That even the kai, the leader of the faithful, could turn to evil -- no one will believe in the supremacy of the Prophets any more."
Inexplicably worried, Quark took a cautious step closer and patted Kira's hand. Only too late did he realize his error.
With more speed and grace than a bat'leth slicing through flesh, she had once again grabbed him and hauled him halfway across the bar. Her teeth clenched so tightly she was spewing droplets of foam in his face, she hissed, "If you breathe one word of this -- one word -- to anyone else, dead or alive, I'll string you up by your ears, pin you to the sensor array, and use you as a weather vane. Am I making myself clear?"
"C-C-C-Clear, C-C-C-Colonel."
"And you'd better make sure your 'informant' is clear on this as well, because if there's even a hint that this little item of slander is spreading, you'll be the first one I'll come looking for. Got that?"
"G-G-Got it."
"Good." She released him again and wiped her hands along the sides of her uniform, as if the very feel of him was distasteful to her. For his part, Quark just lay where he was, afraid to move lest he further incite her wrath and bring down more pain and humiliation upon himself. With a tense smile, Kira said, "Good night, Quark. Don't forget what I warned you about." Then she left.
"Yes, Colonel," he mumbled to her retreating back. Then, carefully, he eased himself down from the counter and made a half-hearted attempt to put himself back in order. "Whatever the colonel wants, the colonel gets," he muttered, slowly beginning to feel better. "Aye, aye, Colonel, yes, ma'am!" he cackled, giving a jaunty salute to the air.
"Having fun?" a voice asked from the end of the bar.
Quark whirled. "Oh. It's you," he said.
The patron smirked. "Yes, Quark, it's me."
"Did you hear what she said to me? She threatened me, all because of you!"
"Tsk, tsk, my fine Ferengi friend, what did you expect from a Bajoran? Did you actually think she'd give you oo-mox in gratitude for what you told her?"
His lobes tingled at the thought of Colonel Kira giving him oo-mox. "Can you blame a man for wishful thinking?"
"No, I suppose not," the patron sneered. He tossed a pouch into Quark's waiting hands. "Here's the latinum, as we agreed. You've more than earned it."
Quark fished around in the pouch, retrieved a bar, and bit down on it, to be sure it was genuine. Satisfied, he closed the pouch and slipped it inside his vest. "There's no favor too small for latinum," he said.
"That's what makes you Ferengi so useful for stirring up trouble."
Quark grinned and rubbed his ear. "Speaking of trouble, have you seen Vash lately?"
* * * * *
Kira went straight to the shrine from Quark's. She needed to meditate. For the past several weeks restless sleep punctuated with bizarre dreams had haunted her. Visions of friends, family, loved ones, fading in and out with the tide of her consciousness, each of them speaking in a language of encrypted metaphors she could not even begin to decipher. Sisko, her mother, Bareil, Opaka, Jadzia, all faces she was overjoyed to see again but whose ghostly visits left her with a lingering sadness and confusion. What was happening to her?
She was relieved to find the shrine empty. Most of the Bajorans on the station used it only for community services, but on occasion a visiting monk might seek solace in meditation after hours. Tonight, however, she had the shrine to herself.
The glow of the burning candles cast eerie, dancing shadows on the walls, giving Kira the impression she was not completely alone. Refusing to give in to her innate superstition, she knelt on the floor before the mandala and closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing.
As each breath grew deeper and more even, she felt her awareness of the surrounding environment grow distant, fading into the background of her mental landscape. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Open the mind to the Prophets. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. True understanding comes when questions answer themselves. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
Corporeality faded, and the crackling of the flames became the buzzing of nerve endings. The hard floor beneath her became a lush Bajoran meadow. Voices, hidden within the hum of the forcefield protecting the resident orb, whispered to her. The steady, ceaseless thrum of the station core became the beat of her own heart. Peace and stillness filled the vacuum left by her fleeing cares and worries.
"Nerys."
The whisper was so soft she almost did not hear it. The faint sibilance on the final letter in her name, however, was familiar and unmistakable. It was also impossible. He could not be here.
Kira slowly opened her eyes, only to close them again to shield herself from the dazzling whiteness surrounding her. The cosmic heartbeat that accompanied an orb experience echoed in her head.
"Nerys."
No. It cannot be him. Not here. Not now.
She opened her eyes again. This time, she was back in the shrine, but she instinctively knew it was an illusion. She rose and turned in place, looking for the source of the voice, hoping beyond hope it, too, would prove to be an illusion, a trick played by her overfatigued mind. "Where are you?" she asked, her voice sounding strangely resonant in her head. "Show yourself."
"Here I am, Nerys." The owner -- or borrower, perhaps, or thief -- of the voice stepped out from behind a column and into the dancing candlelight.
"Dukat," Kira hissed, taking a step backward, her hand reaching for her absent phaser. He was not the Dukat she remembered, though. This Dukat was grossly malformed, part Bajoran, part Cardassian, his entire body blackened as though he had just walked through fire. Only the familiarity of his voice and the livid blueness of his eyes betrayed his identity to her.
The apparition -- or nightmare -- nodded. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
She refused to play his -- its -- games, and ignored the question. "You're supposed to be dead."
He tilted his head to the side in an all-too-familiar gesture and smiled. "Dead according to your limited understanding of the word, perhaps," he said, spreading his arms to indicate himself, "but, as you can surely see, not truly dead."
"What do you want with me?"
"Ah, Nerys," he laughed, mirroring her efforts to move away from him, "you've never been the sort to waste time on small talk. No time for reminiscing about the good old days, is there?"
"What do you want with me?" she repeated through clenched teeth, trying not to show her fear.
"Great danger lies ahead of you," intoned a new voice. Kira whirled to see the late Kai Winn -- at least, she presumed it was Winn, although the half-melted appearance of her face made it impossible to be sure -- standing behind her, her hands folded over her ample abdomen. "The path you have chosen has many obstacles."
Beginning to suspect the Prophets had nothing to do with this eerie visitation, Kira said, "I'm not afraid." To convince herself she really meant it, she repeated the refrain: "I'm not afraid."
"You will be," Dukat said, circling Kira to stand beside Winn.
So much for convincing herself. She felt like a gettle cornered by ravenous predators. "Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't," Winn said. "But neither should you ignore us."
"The path you have chosen will lead you away from the Prophets," Dukat said.
"They will try to stop you from straying," Winn said.
"How do I know you're not trying to lead me astray?" Kira asked. "I know you don't speak for the Prophets."
"The Prophets speak only for themselves," Dukat said.
"They care not for Bajor," Winn said.
Kira snorted. "They cared far more for Bajor than you two ever did."
"False," Dukat said. "They care only for what they can take -- your world, your devotion, your allegiance... your Emissary."
"No," Kira insisted, shaking her head. "The Prophets didn't take Captain Sisko, he went to be with them."
"They gave him little choice," Dukat said, stalking Kira. "Join them, or suffer the same fate as I."
"They could have restored him to life," Winn said with a solemn nod. "They chose not to."
Kira had no doubt anymore who, or what, her accosters were; she did not need blood-red eyes or red armbands to identify them as the embodiment of evil. She felt her pagh recoil in disgust and horror at the thought the pagh-wraiths had deigned to 'honor' her with a visit. Steeling herself for the inevitable backlash, she pulled herself to her fullest height and declared, "I refuse to stand here and listen to this!" Then she walked briskly between them toward the exit, her head held high, her eyes focused directly ahead.
As her sole means of escape neared, she began to think she might also have escaped the pagh-wraiths' wrath. Just as she reached the exit, however, Dukat said, "If you go to Cardassia, you will die."
With the pagh-wraith's threat echoing in her head, Kira almost relented. She knew they would stop at nothing to achieve their evil goals. On the other hand, she also knew they would stop at nothing to tempt her to stray from the path the Prophets had laid out for her before the dawn of time. If the pagh-wraiths were so determined to keep her from going with Picard they would even kill her, then she knew she had only one choice. Without turning around, she said, "Then I will die." Then she passed through the exit and her vision, and back into the realm of corporeal affairs.
* * * * *
As soon as Kira was out of sight, Dukat turned to Winn. "Do you think she bought it?"
Winn folded her arms over her chest. "She might have, although that crack about dying could have ruined the entire charade." She shook her head. "I never realized Bajorans were that superstitious. No wonder the P have grown so powerful."
Dukat nodded. "Now you see why it's so important we stop them before it's too late." He gave his mate a pleading look. "Can I count on your good word with the assembly?"
She sighed, but gave him a slight smile. "Yes, Q, I'll tell them that you've been following our plan to the... letter."
"Good! I knew you wouldn't let me down." He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. "You'd better go, then, before they start to wonder. As for me," he looked down at his sorry-looking façade, "I want to get out of this form."
"That makes two of us." In a flash of light seen only by the dancing shadows cast by candlelight, the two entities disappeared.
PART TWO